Page 3 of Threat of Danger
His mile-wide grin reflected that he fully understood the significance of the words. With every stunt, Jess put her life into the crew’s hands. At her level, she could, and did, demand to work with the best of the best.
Aron floated above the ground as he moved on to finish his tasks. He crossed paths with the stunt coordinator, Eliot Santali, and he too gave the kid a few words of encouragement before heading toward Jess.
He flashed a pleased, proud smile at her, and the last of the tension melted out of Jess’s muscles under the sunbeams of his approval. She had appreciated the director’s praise earlier, but for her, Eliot’s opinion was the only one that mattered.
The thirty-two-year-old Italian had the lean shape and handsome looks of an international soccer star, which he had been, briefly, in his early twenties. He’d left soccer for stunt work at the urging of a friend. He had started in the trenches, then became a Hollywood legend in a matter of years. He’d been one of the top stuntmen until a motocross injury. Instead of bitterness and resentment, Eliot channeled his energies into creating his own team and making sure his people were top-notch, respected, and safe. As a stunt coordinator, he was Jess’s mentor, and the person she most admired in the movie business.
“Outstanding work. Great form. Great movement,” he said as he reached her, his smile soft and kind and sexy. “That last shot was perfect. The arc of that jump was a piece of art.”
His eyes sparkled with excitement under masculine eyebrows. Even the short spikes of his hair looked dynamic somehow, like the man. His entire body radiated approval.
Pleasure spread through Jess at his praise. “Thanks.”
The stunt had been her favorite one forRevenge of the Innocent. She felt as proud of herself as Aron must have felt a minute earlier. She felt as if she was flying again. She’d grown to love the sensation of soaring high above, almost an out-of-body experience.
Eliot handed her a bottle of water. Jess didn’t have her own assistant on set. Unlike the real stars, she wasn’t even important enough for her own chair. She didn’t care. She was here for the adrenaline high, and for the chance to test herself against her fears, to push her own limits. To know that fear couldn’t stop her—that she was stronger than fear.
As she drank, Eliot watched her, as he always did after a stunt, for any stiffness of movement. He kept a close eye on his team. “Doing anything special beforeZombie Zoo? Three weeks off make for a nice break.”
“Nursing my bruises.”
He frowned. “Is Harvey being too rough again? I’ll have a talk with him.”
“Don’t. Please. We both like making it look real.”
Eliot glanced toward Harvey, who stood with Aron at the edge of the roof, gesturing, explaining something. After a moment, Eliot’s gaze refocused on Jess and warmed. “Let me see the bruises.”
She turned.
Eliot pulled down the zipper on the back of her latex bodysuit and peeled the material off her, all the way, leaving her in nothing but a black sports bra and briefs. The end of February in New York wasn’t exactly bikini season, but the roof was covered with outdoor heaters that made the cold bearable.
Nobody except Eliot paid Jess any attention. Everyone on set focused on Karli and her close-ups. Not that Jess would have been all that bothered if they did look at her. She was used to wearing next to nothing on sets. She’d even done a stunt naked once—for a sexy spy thriller.
She didn’t bother to cover up even when British screen idol Spencer Brooks strolled by, flashing her a saucy grin. He was the male lead in the movie, more than six feet tall, inky dark locks in artful waves. He had the bearing and aristocratic features of an earl, and the international fan base of a rock star.
“Need a massage for those stiff shoulders, luv?”
Eliot shifted between them in a move that seemed unintentional. He didn’t even look up as he said, “I think they’re waiting for you on set, Mr.Brooks.”
Brooks gave a dramatic sigh. “Right, then.” But he didn’t move. He peered at Jess over Eliot’s shoulder instead. “After the shoot?”
Behind him, the director was hurrying over, navigating the myriad cables on the ground. Marvin cleared his throat. “Ready? If you need another minute ...”
That even Marvin Molnar handled the British star with kid gloves was a testament to how big Brooks was in Hollywood right now.
The Brit was waiting for Jess’s answer.
“I’m heading back to the hotel to soak in a hot Epsom salt bath,” she said.
Brooks accepted the rejection like a gentleman, giving her a slight nod and a smile that said he wished her response had been different. “See you at the wrap party, then.” He strode off with the director, but he did turn back for a wink, and to have the last word. “You know what they say, luv. Live in hope, die in a tub of champagne.”
Jess couldn’t help a laugh.
Spencer Brooks was all right. Jess worked with big stars all the time. They were incredibly talented and worked harder than anyone else on set. You didn’t get to the top by being a bum. Jess admired the star’s talent and work ethic. But the men who wore fame as comfortably as they wore their costumes didn’t interest her on a personal level.
“Let me see this.” Eliot bent his head to her right shoulder, to the red indentation where the harness had cut into her skin. He rubbed his thumb over the spot gently before he pulled back. “What else?”
Jess held out her arms and turned in a slow circle, unconscious of her old scars. Joy filled her, the thrill of a job well done. The hours of training and rehearsal had paid off. She felt as if she was doing what she was meant to do, was in a place where she was meant to be.
