High Risk Love (5 page)

Making my way into the air-conditioned green room, I let out a quick sigh of relief. The heat was a huge change from the cool, damp city of Seattle. I plucked my shirt away from my body, letting the air conditioning do its job while I searched the room for my assignment.

Across the room from me, next to the snack table, stood a big guy. He was pretty much all muscle, wide shoulders and back narrowing to slim hips, and well-toned thighs. He had dark hair and moved with an easy grace, interacting smoothly with those around him. The small circle of people seemed enraptured with whatever he was saying, the women blinking up at him with goofy smiles on their faces and the men nodding and encouraging him.

That had to be Jet. I did another quick search of the room. Nope, there was no one else that even remotely close to Jet’s stats. Six two, 225lbs . . . except for the man on the stairs. The part of my brain attached to my stunted libido let out an excited whoop. As if I would let
that
cat out of the bag while in Mexico. I think not.

I let out a groan and then pulled myself together. I could be wrong; it wouldn’t be the first time I’d made a mistake. Already, though, I was seeing his eyes, the man on the stairs, the one I feared I would be dealing with on a much more personal basis than I’d thought when I grabbed his ear. His eyes hadn’t been brown but hazel flecked with gold and more than a whisper of a devil inside of them. I swear at that moment my panties actually twisted. A pair of eyes and a ripped body did not long-term boyfriend material make. Not that I was looking. At all. Never. And if he
was
Jet, I could just forget about it—no way I was going to lose everything over a guy.

Umm hmm.

I made my way to the large man I seriously hoped was Jet Sterling—yet knew I was wrong before I even asked the question. “Excuse me, are you Jethro Sterling?”

He turned, dark blue eyes widening as he took me in, then a deep slow smile spread across his face. The small crowd around him seemed to melt away, though the red head he’d been talking to gave me a dirty look before she sauntered off with a deliberate sway of her tiny hips.

“No, miss, I’m not. But I’m considering stealing his identity right now.” He leaned back against the table, sitting his butt on the edge and lowering himself so that I didn’t have to crane my neck.

“I don’t suppose you know where I can find him? I’m from
Wild Child
, I’m here to interview and photograph him for the magazine.” I held up my camera, as if that somehow proved my claim, then held up the media tag the security guard had given me at the front entranceway.

He snagged one of my hands before I could get it away. “I’m Hugh, Jet’s best friend and confidant. If you stick close to me he’s bound to show up eventually.” He leaned forward to read my tag, which also put him at eye level with my breasts. Classy, all the way.

He made as if to grab the badge. “Jasmin Vargas. That’s a pretty name, is it Spanish?”

I jerked my hand, and the tag, away from him, feeling trapped. Oh my God, Kevin wasn’t kidding; they were all horny devils. Especially that one on the stairs, the way his eyes had seared into mine; my heart rate picked up when I thought about him and I told myself it was just because the thought of working with him stressed me out. I sharpened my voice. “Do you know where Mr. Sterling is or not?”

Hugh’s eyebrows shot into his hairline and he smiled down at me as he stood back up. “Nope.”

I hadn’t been in a staring contest since I was a kid, but I was still good at it. I glared up at him, one hand on my hip, the same as my mother would do when scolding me or Ryan. Mostly Ryan, but still.

He shifted on his feet, his face slowly sliding from interested and seductive to uncomfortable and finally chagrined.

At last he broke. “Listen, I really I don’t know where he is.” Then he started to laugh, a smile sweeping across his face. “And if I did, trust me, I’d tell you.”

That surprised me. “You would?”

“Shit, yeah. I think you could even give him a run for his money.”

Jet had to be the man on the stairs . . . I groaned inwardly. Of course, I should have known that the best in the business would also be the best at making a move on a woman. Crap on toast. I knew I had to ask the question, though I dreaded the answer. “Was he wearing a black shirt and light blue jeans with a rip across the left knee when he left?”

Hugh smiled, his grin stretching wide. “Why yes, yes he was.”

I closed my eyes and held my breath. Count to ten, just count to ten. You can salvage this, Jasmin. I had essentially assaulted my first assignment, my first interviewee, wringing his ear like he was a naughty child. Even if he did deserve it, I was up crap creek without a paddle if I didn’t make this right. Son of a . . . I could not lose my job off my first freaking assignment!

“Oh my God,” I whispered, feeling the room tighten around me as my anxiety soared.

“That bad?” Hugh whispered from far too close. I snapped my eyes open to find myself staring into his face only inches away. But as handsome as he was, as pretty as his blue eyes were, and as bold as he was being, he didn’t strike the nerve that Jet had— the one that seemed to hang out in my panties.

I put one hand over his face and pushed him back, ignoring his laughter. “Oh, Jasmin, you’re going to fit in here just fine.”

His laughter followed me all the way back to the door, and then he called to me. “Wait, one more thing.” I turned to face him. His eyes were serious, he held up his hands. “If Jet screws up, you can come back and take pictures of me.” He winked, seriousness gone, and I let out an exasperated rush of air.

“Do you ever turn it off?”

He just shook his head, laughter again at the edge of his mouth. “And for the record, neither does Jet.”

Just what I wanted to hear.

* * * * *

It took me the rest of the day and into the early evening before I found Jet, and I had to resort to bribing the security guard on the movie set, who happily pointed out where the stuntman liked to hide from the job after I reluctantly slipped him the last $20 in my wallet. But by then I wasn’t sure I wanted to find him. I’d spent the day rehashing our meeting on the stairs, thinking about the feel of his fingertips on my chin and feeling increasingly embarrassed by my behavior. Nope, by the time I’d found him I was almost ready to take Hugh up on his offer. I could interview him, take his picture, send it back to Kevin and hope that it would be enough.

I grit my teeth, already knowing the answer. I was tougher than that; Kevin had made it clear that this was a test to see if I could hack it. Jet was my assignment, and I had to prove that I could do this. Hugh was a back-up plan I would only resort to if Jet wouldn’t work with me. Which, after the stairway incident, might just be the case.

It would be okay; I had to believe it. Even if life had always shown me otherwise, this time would be different. It had to be—the few dollars left in my bank account wouldn’t get me through the next week at home, never mind a month worth of bills, and I’d quit my retail job to take this one. All or nothing, I was all in.

The cafe wasn’t huge, but there was a back section that was mostly hid in the shadows and it was there that my assignment waited—or, more accurately, slumped. I moved toward him, weaving in between the tables, taking the scene in. Bright colored streamers swirled off the umbrellas over each little table, giving the place a festive look. Laughter from the other patrons and singing from somewhere down the street covered the sounds of my approach. On impulse, I lifted my camera and took focus on Jet. The streamers, as bright as they were, amplified the fact he was not in a festive mood. The way his one hand gripped a bottle of local beer and the other was flung over his head spoke volumes for his state of mind. Going to one knee, I caught him from the low angle, the shot highlighting the white-knuckled grip on the beer bottle. Taking a breath, I lowered the camera, slid into the seat opposite him, and tapped my knuckles on the table. The smell of stale beer and sweat swirled around my nose. I wrinkled my face and tapped my knuckles again.

“Mr. Sterling?”

He let out a groan and a muffled, “Elise, go away.”

“It’s not Elise. My name is Jasmin Vargas. I’m here on behalf of
Wild Child
to interview you and take your pictures.” Damn, how many times had I said that today? Too many and it was tiresome to have to keep explaining myself.

Jet tipped his head up and blinked up at me, recognition slowly dawning on his face. “Spitfire . . . well, I’ll be damned.” He smiled, that crooked smile. It tugged at me, but I deliberately ignored that tug.

“I realize you aren’t well—”

He lifted his head all the way up, cutting me off with a wave of his hand. “I’m just fine, the beer is weak, which is why I drink it and not the tequila.”

I folded my hands on the sticky tabletop, thinking that if I acted like the stairwell scene had never happened, maybe he would too. “I’d like to schedule with you for a shoot tomorrow. What time would be best to start this process?”

Professional, yes, I could do this. His foot slid under the table, his calf rubbing against mine, and I jerked in my seat. His eyes narrowed slightly in thought, seemingly unaware of the fact that he’d bumped my leg. Of course, he wasn’t trying to seduce me; he had brushed against me by accident. I was nothing compared to that blonde bombshell. Likely, he dated only models and actresses, not photographers with no name clothes and an older model digital camera as their only possession. Just one more reason to keep at this; a new camera would make my job even easier. If I could get this assignment under my belt.

Those little facts didn’t change the snap of awareness humming through me. I couldn’t deny it; I was definitely attracted to Jet. This was bad—this was so, so bad.

“Tomorrow, not too early.” Jet smiled and shifted in his seat, his leg once more bumping into mine then staying there, the pressure light, almost gentle.

I took a slow deep breath and held very still. Nothing, I would feel nothing.

“Not too early is fine. What about ten?”

“Still too early.” He made a motion at the bartender. “Here, let me buy you a drink.”

“Oh, no, I don’t drink,” I said, tucking my legs back under my chair, hopefully away from his long limbs.

“Really? Why not? Religion?” His questions, though they were simple and well within reason, made me leery. Was he trying to get to know me, or trying to work his way into my panties? Neither was an option, not for me. I just had to keep telling myself that.

“I don’t drink when I’m working. It is . . . unprofessional. I’m sure you understand.” I probably sounded like a prude, but maybe that would deter him from flirting with me. But Jet’s eyes didn’t mock me; there was no laughter in them. Curiosity, but no laughter.

“Hmm. Professional. Got it.” He mumbled as he took another swig of the pale yellow beer, his eyes watching me over the rim before placing the bottle back on the table. “It’s not that good anyway.”

Silence fell between us and I fought not to squirm in my seat. “So tomorrow. What time would be best for you Mr. Sterling?”

He grimaced. “God, don’t call me that. That was my father. Jet will be fine.”

I cleared my throat, “Sure. Jet. What time?”

“You are tenacious, aren’t you?”

“I make things happen,” I said, lifting my chin ever so slightly. “It’s why I was hired.” Okay, so I was stretching it a little, but he needed to know I was serious. All business.

His eyes widened and he leaned back in his chair, a smile teasing at the corner of his lips. “Damn. And you always get what you want?”

The air all but quivered between us, his words a subtle challenge I couldn’t resist.

With a slight nod of my head, I answered. “Always.”

His smile widened, and my mouth dried up. I was in over my head with this one. I had so little experience with men I barely knew where to start and where to stop. If only Lily were here to whisper suggestions in my ear; she was much better at dealing with guys than me.

I stood up, maybe a tad too fast. “I will be at your set at ten. I believe that is reasonable, and I’d like to get some work done before the hottest part of the day.”

Gathering up my camera, I turned and started to walk away. If he made this difficult, I could always tell Kevin that Jet wasn’t willing to have his picture taken. That he refused to make appointments.

The night was cool, and after a few minutes I slowed my steps and put a hand against the nearest building. Talking to him had been like standing on the edge of cliff, the wind tugging and pushing you closer to the edge until you finally gave up and jumped. But that wasn’t me. I was no high-risk girl; there would be no jumping off silly cliffs in my future.

At the sound of steps behind me, I whirled, letting out a somewhat relieved sigh that it was Jet, and not some mugger after my camera—Lily had assured me I’d be running into at least three potential muggers a day while I was here.

He cleared his throat. “Did I offend you?”

I frowned. “You mean because you came onto me in the stairwell?”

Smiling, he seemed unashamed, which intrigued the hell out of me, a feeling I determinedly squashed.

“I don’t regret that. But I’m sorry if I upset you back there.” He pointed with his thumb back toward the cafe.

“I’m used to people who are willing to work with me, not ones who won’t make reasonable appointments.” I kept my hands on my camera in front of me. No need for him to know he was my first actual assignment.

“I’m willing,” he stepped up beside me. “To work with you.”

I swallowed hard. “Right. That’s good. Because your other option was a pimple-faced geek with a bad attitude and bad hair.”

“I definitely got the better end of the deal then, didn’t I?” He said, his voice softening.

Nope, we were not going there.

He’s drawing you in, Jazzy. Be careful, this one will suck you under.
Ryan’s voice echoed through my mind and I agreed with him. Jet was dangerous. He was what was waiting for me at the edge of the cliff. Dangerous for every part of me—mind, body and heart.