Just Physical (9 page)

CHAPTER 6

As a redhead who got
sunburned easily, Jill had never really been a sun worshipper, but right now, moving to the Arctic felt like a nice option.

June had only just begun, but the air already hung thick and muggy over Los Angeles, and smoke from a forest fire curled up over the San Gabriel Mountains. Temperatures had hovered just below the eighty-five-degree mark since Monday. Too bad she couldn't wear her cooling vest beneath the costume. She couldn't wait for next week, when they would fly up to San Francisco and shoot in cooler weather for a few days.

The clouds blocking out the sun every now and then didn't bring much relief. She was grateful for the parasol that was part of her costume, lending at least some shade while she had to wait around for the grips to set up the green screen and camera cranes for the next scene. When she stepped out of the way to give them room to work, her foot made a scuffing sound on the cobblestones.

She looked around, making sure no one was watching, before experimentally taking another step. Her toes immediately dropped down, dragging across the ground.

Great. Foot drop.
She eyed the distance to her trailer, where she always kept an ankle-foot brace that fit into her costume shoes, just in case she needed it. But she'd have to ask for a break to put it on, and she hated to hold up shooting.

Just as she was weighing her options, the cloud cover got thicker, obscuring the sun. Distant rumbling warned them that one of the area's rare thunderstorms was approaching fast.

While her colleagues threw worried glances up at the sky, Jill nearly let out a relieved laugh. For once, the weather seemed to be on her side.

Chaos broke out as the first lightning bolt flashed across the sky.

“Get the cameras and the equipment inside,” Floyd shouted over a clap of thunder.

Most members of the cast and crew were from the West Coast, so they weren't used to thunderstorms. Jill, however, had spent several summers with her grandparents in Florida—the lightning capital of the country—as a teenager. In the ensuing commotion, she grabbed a lighting stand and pretended to carry it to safety while using it as a cane. She grinned triumphantly when she reached her trailer without anyone seeming to notice her limping.

But she had cheered too soon. Someone stood on the top step of her trailer. Was it a grip who had noticed her little excursion with the lighting stand? Cautiously, Jill moved closer.

The person turned and directed her trademark crooked grin at her.

Phew.
It was just Crash, not a member of the crew come to investigate the theft of the lighting stand. Although judging by the way Jill's heart beat faster, her body didn't think of her as
just Crash
. “What are you doing here? I thought you were shooting with the second unit?”

“I was, but we're done for the day. Am I interrupting something between you and your friend?” Crash asked, pointing at the piece of equipment Jill was holding on to. “You two look awfully cozy.”

Jill rolled her eyes. “And here I thought you were a stuntwoman, not a comedian.”

“Well, I have many skills.”

Another bolt of lightning flashed above them.

“Unless one of those many skills is acting as a lightning rod, you might want to move away from those metal stairs,” Jill said.

“Said the woman carrying a piece of metal,” Crash answered.

Oops.
Dragging the stand with her, Jill limped up the three steps.

When her toes caught on the second step, making her stumble, Crash jumped to her aid and wrapped one arm around her. “I've got you.” She reached for the lighting stand with her free hand. “Both of you.”

Crash's warmth against her side made Jill feel even more overheated. If she kept standing here for much longer, she'd collapse into a puddle at Crash's feet. She reached into the beaded purse that was part of her costume, got out the key, and unlocked the door.

“Thanks,” she said. “You can let go. I'm fine now.” She pushed away from Crash and dragged herself into the trailer. As soon as she entered, she turned on the air-conditioning and then gestured at Crash. “Come on in.”

Angling the lighting stand, Crash carried it in. She looked almost comical clutching the thing, and Jill had to laugh despite the circumstances.

“So,” Jill said as Crash closed the door behind them, “what brings you to my humble abode?”

Crash lifted one shoulder into a half-shrug. “Well, it's got the best air-conditioning on the set, so…”

Jill fixed her with a narrow-eyed stare. “You want me to believe that you keep hanging around my trailer because of the air-conditioning?” Unlike Jill, Crash didn't seem to suffer much in the heat. The T-shirt she wore didn't even have sweat stains. Besides, she had already wrapped up work for the day and could just drive home.

“It also has the nicest view,” Crash said.

With a disbelieving snort, Jill looked through one of the small windows to the dusty back lot and the rows of white trailers outside. “You call that a nice view?”

“I wasn't talking about what you see when you look outside,” Crash said. A grin curled up the corners of her mouth, but the expression in her eyes was completely serious.

Folding her arms across her chest, Jill gave her a strict look. “You can stay…as long as you turn off the blarney.”

A sigh came from Crash. “Whatever happened to women who could accept a compliment graciously?”

“They have lived in Hollywood, the city of meaningless flattery, for too long,” Jill answered. She limped toward the trailer's tiny bathroom. “I'll go get changed. I don't think we'll shoot another scene anytime soon.”

“Need any help getting out of that dress?”

Was there a suggestive undertone in Crash's voice? Jill wasn't sure, but she wanted to nip this in the bud once and for all. She turned back around to face Crash. “I'm amending the conditions of your asylum in my trailer. No flattery. No suggestive remarks. I'm not on the market, so just keep it professional, okay?”

“That wasn't a suggestive remark.” One corner of Crash's mouth twitched into a hint of a smile. “Well, okay, maybe a little.” She held her thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “But mostly, I just wanted to help. I can tell that the heat is getting to you, and I remember how much trouble you had with those pesky buttons.”

Jill hated having her inadequacies pointed out to her. “That's very kind of you,” she said stiffly. “But if I need help, I'll let you know.”

“Yeah, right after you cure cancer and bring about world peace,” Crash muttered just loudly enough for Jill to hear.

Jill bit back a smile. Why was it that Crash made her smile even when her symptoms were flaring up and they were butting heads? She turned her back and tried to open the first of the tiny buttons on the front of her dress.

The damn thing seemed to escape her fingers, which felt as awkward as if she were wearing three pairs of mittens.

“Jill, come on. Let me help,” Crash said behind her. “It's no big deal.”

“Maybe not for you,” Jill mumbled. For a moment, she considered other options—taking her nail clippers to the buttons.
Okay, now you're being ridiculous.
Wardrobe would kill her if she ruined another dress. Plus using the clippers took coordination too, which she didn't have at the moment.

She turned toward Crash, took a deep breath, and let it escape. “All right.”

“All right?” Crash repeated, looking surprised. “You mean you'll actually let me undress you?”

Images of Crash unhooking her bra and then bending to kiss her breasts flashed through Jill's mind.
No.
Firmly, Jill pushed those fantasies away, because that was all they'd ever be—fantasies. Acting on them wouldn't be fair to either of them.

She licked her dry lips. “You can help me with the buttons. I'll take care of the rest.”

Crash nodded and took a step toward her.

They stood facing each other. Outside, lightning flashed, bathing the trailer in a pattern of light and shadows.

“Okay, let's see…” Crash lifted her hands to the row of buttons on Jill's costume bodice.

Jill's gaze was drawn down. She watched as Crash's fingers—slender yet strong—struggled a bit with the top button. Were her hands, usually so competent whenever Jill had watched her shoot a stunt, trembling a little? It was probably just because she wasn't used to undressing someone—at least not in this context.

Finally, the top button slid through its hole and Crash moved on to the next. Her hands an inch from Jill's chest, she paused and looked up at her face. “Are you okay?”

Jill bit her lip and nodded. This was just so confusing. Exciting and embarrassing at the same time and, most of all, terribly intimate—not just in a sexual way. Only once, on the morning of the most important press conference of her life, had she allowed Grace to help her dress. Somehow, having Grace hook her bra for her hadn't evoked so many complex emotions.

She wanted to pull away or push Crash's hands aside, but that would only make Crash aware of what a big deal this was for her.

To distract herself, she focused on the rolling thunder and the flashes of lightning outside. The weather seemed to echo the storm brewing inside of her.

Finally, the last button fell open, and Jill shrugged the dress from her shoulders. It fell to the floor, revealing the corset and the old-fashioned drawers she wore.

Normally, Jill wasn't shy about people seeing her in a state of undress, but now she felt strangely exposed. “Thanks,” she said, her voice a bit rough. “I can take it from here.” No need to torture herself by allowing Crash to put her hands on her any more than necessary. The memory of how it had felt when Crash had helped her take off the stunt harness was still ingrained in every cell of her body.

“Nonsense,” Crash answered. “The corset is damn near impossible to take off on your own. Let me help you with that.”

Jill let out a sigh, but knowing Crash wouldn't give in, she finally turned. She felt Crash's heat behind her and her breath on her neck as Crash bent her head and unknotted the laces of the corset. Goose bumps formed all over her body.

“Who the hell invented a thing like this?” Crash grunted.

“No idea. Some sadist, probably.” When the ties loosened and Crash lifted the corset away from her chest, she sucked in a breath. “Thanks.” Very aware of the fact that she wasn't wearing a bra beneath the thin chemise, she hastened toward the bathroom as fast as her still slightly dragging foot allowed. “Let me get a T-shirt.”

She firmly closed the door behind her, turned on the faucet in the tiny sink, and splashed cold water onto her face. After drying off and slipping a T-shirt over her head, she was starting to feel more in control.

When she stepped out of the claustrophobically small bathroom, Crash stood by the trailer's window, looking outside.

Maybe she did enjoy the view from the trailer after all. Jill smiled. She stepped next to Crash and peered outside too.

Lightning bolts zigzagged across the darkened sky, but the thunderstorm brought little rain.

“That's one thing I miss here in LA,” Crash said, almost as if talking to herself. “I can count the number of thunderstorms I have seen since moving here on one or two hands.”

“Hmm, I don't know. With all the wildfires they cause, I'm kind of glad we don't get them more often.” Talking about the weather was a relief. It helped get some much-needed distance after the intimacy of letting Crash help her undress.

“You've got a point.” Crash turned away from the window and faced Jill. She slowly ran her gaze over Jill's body, from her bare feet to her disheveled hair.

Ripples of awareness followed her gaze. Jill crossed her arms over her still braless chest.

Crash looked away. Another lightning flashed, then Crash asked, “Remember the two answers you owe me?”

Jill swallowed. “Yeah,” she said cautiously.

“Can I ask one question now?”

Every muscle in her body tense, Jill nodded.

“Are you uncomfortable around me?” Crash asked.

It took Jill several seconds to grasp that Crash hadn't asked an MS-related question. Now she almost wished for one. A denial was already on the tip of her tongue, but she held it back. Crash had answered both of her questions honestly and had revealed personal information, so she owed her the same.

“Because if you are,” Crash said when Jill kept silent, “I want you to know there's no reason for it. I know I come across like a bit of a female Casanova, especially around you, but—”

Jill turned toward her and held up one hand, stopping her. “At the risk of sounding like a lame cliché… It's not you. It's me.”

Crash groaned. “That does sound like a lame cliché.”

“Yeah, but in this case, it's true. You're a flirt, but not in an obnoxious way. I bet most women, even the straight ones, don't mind a bit.”

“But you do,” Crash said.

Jill sighed. “I'm not a stick-in-the-mud. I appreciate some flirting as much as the next woman, but most often flirting leads to dating and dating leads to having a committed relationship. Before you know it, you're U-Hauling and talking about getting a Golden Retriever.”

“What's wrong with a Golden Retriever? They're really sweet dogs. Not the most clever, but…” A warning glance from Jill made her trail off. “Okay, all joking aside. I get it. You're not into relationships.”

“They're just not a good idea for someone like me,” Jill said, trying to sound matter-of-fact.

“Someone like you?” Crash cocked her head.

Was she purposefully being obtuse?

A clap of thunder interrupted, giving Jill a moment to consider whether she really wanted to get into this with Crash. She hated talking about it, but Crash deserved to know, so Jill took a deep breath and forced herself to look Crash in the eyes. “Someone with MS.”