Zahara stepped up beside Giselle. She ordered a rum and Coke from the bartender, then said, “You look drop-dead gorgeous. How’d your concert go?”
“Thanks, but I can’t wait to get out of this.” Giselle took the opportunity to turn away from Troy and Casey, grateful for the distraction. “As for the show, my guest violinist tripped on stage and fell on his ass, and I ended the night with a sore throat. Other than that, it was great.”
Zahara made a pained face and sucked air through her teeth. “Ooo, ouch.”
Giselle laughed, smiling at the memory of Craig hitting the stage floor, the band, the backup singers, and herself breaking out into laughter, which allowed the fans to bust up and almost brought down the house.
“It happens.” She shrugged. “And he’s got an amazing, self-deprecating sense of humor the crowd loved. I made a crack about a live concert being nothing like a movie set where you can just do another take, and everyone left happy. The audiences here are truly fabulous.”
The lights dimmed, then brightened. Giselle darted a look toward the door and found Jeff playing with the lights. “Time for the show, folks.”
“Crap,” Giselle said, turning toward a screen lowering on one wall. “I haven’t been looking forward to this.”
“I remember those days.” She gave Giselle’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “You’re going to be great.”
Giselle smiled, but when Zahara found a seat on a nearby sofa, Giselle wandered away from Troy and Casey. She didn’t need to listen to the woman gush all over him. Didn’t need any help imagining the two of them in bed together.
Images flashed on the screen, creating tension all along Giselle’s back and shoulders. Nausea burned beneath her ribs. Her head ached. And she suddenly longed for complete isolation and three days of sleep.
“For those of you who are new to dailies, these are either rough cut or uncut. You’ll have to use your imagination until the finished product is available.”
Giselle couldn’t keep her gaze from drifting toward Troy. And while Casey still stood nearby, when Giselle scanned her way up his body to his face, she found him already looking at her, his eyes intense but his expression…unreadable.
She was grateful when the lights dimmed again, and she had the clips to distract her from the inner turbulence.
The clips ran quicker than Giselle expected. A few action shots of a fight between Keaton and the villain, Alex, were followed by several different views of Troy falling down the cavern, which made Giselle’s muscles tense so hard, she ached. After the third clip, she had to close her eyes.
Finally, her love scene with Troy filled the screen. It had to be her imagination, but compared to the others, this clip seemed smoother. And infinitely longer. She swore the images dragged on and on. Swore her naked body filled the screen on the wall for hours, not minutes. And seeing herself from this vantage point, watching what Troy did to her while remembering how it had felt…
Shit.
She was wet again.
And so damn embarrassed.
She was so turned on and so pissed off—all at the same time.
She wasn’t ready for the lights when they came back on, and rubbed at her hot cheeks as everyone turned their applause on her and Troy. She received applause every night, but this wasn’t welcome or comfortable, yet still appreciated. And the emotions spiraling from her chest to her toes were both terrifying and gratifying. And so confusing.
But what made the biggest impact on her was how she couldn’t share any of those thoughts with Troy. In fact, as soon as the lights came up, he started saying his good nights and making his way toward the door, never meeting Giselle’s gaze.
She felt like some creature was inside her, gnawing at her ribs. She couldn’t take this anymore. Couldn’t just accept this angry silence. It was tearing at her, twisting at her, slowly eating at her. There may only be a few days left on set, but she had to at least try to clear the air, because if she didn’t and they parted with this…this…ick still between them, it would fester, the way it had been festering for the last seven years. And if Giselle had learned anything from seeing him again, it was that she needed to find a way to deal with this so she could move on.
“Are you ready to head back?” Chad came up beside her.
“Go ahead. I’ll be over soon.”
Brook stopped in front of her, blue eyes sparkling. “Keaton and I are headed down to the bar for a drink.”
Giselle made sure the stuntman of interest wasn’t watching, then lifted her brows. “Oh, really.”
“Really. Why don’t you come? Keep me from totally embarrassing myself.”
“Hardly.” She laughed the word. “You two have been talking for an hour, and by the way he can’t look away from you, I’d say you’re doing just fine. Have fun. I won’t wait up, but I want details tomorrow.”
On her way out, Giselle stopped to thank Jeff again and said good-bye to a few members of the crew. She started down the long hallway of hotel rooms with anxious energy tightening every muscle. Logistics crowded her mind—she didn’t know what room Troy was in. Didn’t know if he was sharing a room, or—shit—what if he’d brought Casey back to his room?
Okay, she’d go down to the desk and ask them to call him. She’d ask him to come down to the lobby. That might work. But what then? What should she say? How should she say it?