Torn (18 page)

“Yeah, but still…” Tyler stepped back, palms against Chelsea’s face, looking her over with a critical eye ––or at least he tried to. It was hard to see where she was underneath all the makeup and special effects molds. “Are you okay? You weren’t hurt?”

Chelsea smiled beneath her custom mask. “Yes. I’m fine, Tyler.” Red, glossy and fluid, caught in the corner of her eye and she gasped. “Jesus, Tyler! Your hand! I ––“

“I’m fine. It’s just a scratch.”

“It is not. I can see…” Chelsea blinked, staring at his head, her face turning suddenly ashen. “Bone. I can see your bone…”

Arm around Chelsea’s shoulders to steady her, Tyler looked at his hand, wincing at the site of what did look suspiciously like bone through the slice across his knuckles. That explained the throbbing ache. So it wasn’t merely his heart. He sighed. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll have the set physician stitch it up.”

“Tyler, for heaven’s sake––“

“Ty? Chelsea? We still have a movie to shoot, you know!” Julie’s voice bellowed across the field, amplified by her megaphone, and Chelsea flinched, turned her head to look towards the director.

“Ty! Chelsea!
Today
!”

Brushing her lips briefly with his own, Tyler gave her a reassuring squeeze. “There, there. Let’s get you out of that terrible costume. You’re all done, lady! Congratulations! You did it!”

Humbled by the intensity of the pride and love she saw shining from his eyes, felt pouring from the spot he touched her, searing her skin, Chelsea couldn’t look away. When Tyler’s stare shifted into something deeper as their world narrowed to include only them, her heart beat faster, answering the pull. His arm, around her shoulder, slid down to the curve of her lower back, pressed her against him. Her gaze dropped to his mouth, and the fire inside her burned hotter, painfully, as she remembered where it had been.

All done? She was done for.

Chapter Twelve

I
t took almost as long for Chelsea to get
out
of costume as it took for her to get into it. The silicon molds on her back, breasts, and face had to be returned to the special effects and makeup department. Washing the “bruises” from her skin, hair, and nails ––not to mention the “blood”–– took the better part of two hours.

Now squeaky clean and euphoric, she hurried over to Tyler Benson’s trailer.

There wasn’t much time –– Tyler was still on the clock and she had to get home to welcome back Jake and the girls –– but she figured she had at least a few moments to say goodbye. After the other night, she knew Tyler wouldn’t feel comfortable coming to her home, nor did she feel comfortable with the thought of having him there. Not after what she had done. Jake deserved more respect than that. He also deserved more than a wife who snuck around. The secrecy of her actions didn’t sit well with her either. So she wasn’t sure when she’d see Tyler again before filming wrapped.

Chelsea knocked lightly on the thin door of the caravan, and started to turn the knob as was her custom. This time, the knob merely rattled in her hand. It was locked. Now that was odd. Tyler never locked his door. Certainly never when they were in his trailer alone together.

She stepped down and knocked again, harder. “Tyler? You in there? Your door’s locked –– I can’t get in.”

Hearing footsteps, the smile on Chelsea’s face widened. The latch flipped back. “Jeez, Tyler! You got a woman in there or something?” she laughed, and took a step up to the doorway.

“Something like that, yeah,” a feminine voice drawled, and Chelsea froze.

“Mrs. Benson!” Chelsea stammered, her thoughts racing, even as her veins filled with ice, her eyes taking in Tyler’s robe knotted carelessly over the flawless figure of the other woman.

The flawless,
nude
figure of the other woman.

It was unmistakable that Tyler Benson’s wife had answered the door after being interrupted in the act of love. Her golden hair was mussed, her lipstick smudged in that way that only another person’s lips could create, her expression relaxed and drowsy and flushed. Orgasm. Oh, God.

A door slammed in another part of the caravan, Chelsea took a step down. “Mrs. Benson,” she said again with a shaky laugh, trying to compose her features and erase the shock she knew was written there. “I didn’t mean it like that. Tyler wouldn’t––“

“Oh, please.” Rolling her eyes, Jennifer Benson leaned against the doorframe, clearly amused by the younger woman’s babbling. “He most certainly
would
. No need to look so surprised… Chelsea, is it?” When Chelsea nodded, Jennifer continued, “I take it Ty didn’t tell you I was coming for a visit.”

“No. I wish he had, I, uh… I’ve been a fan of your show since its pilot,” Chelsea managed to say, wishing the true statement didn’t sound so banal.

“A fan, huh. Cool.” Tyler’s wife seemed no less amused as she straightened and stepped back into the trailer. “Want to come in? I
always
love to visit with my fans when I can.”

“I––“ A door slammed from inside the trailer, cutting Chelsea’s train of thought.

“Hey, Jen! Where’s my shirt? I’ve gotta get back on set.”

Tyler walked into view, lacing up his chaps, naked from the waist up and barefoot. His slightly rumpled look wasn’t lost on Chelsea, and she gaped at him, feeling ill, the blood draining from her face.

So this is how Jake would feel.
The thought skittered around in her head as spots filtered her vision. She grabbed onto the handle on the outside wall of the caravan, holding onto it with white knuckles, hoping the sudden vertigo would pass quickly.

Jennifer turned her head to smirk at her husband. “Ty,
really
! We have a visitor.”

Running his fingers through his long, shaggy, blonde hair, Tyler looked up and saw Chelsea clinging to the doorframe, looking like she could barely breathe. “Chels ––“

Professional actor that he was, Ty Benson was unable to keep the note of horror from his voice, and Chelsea flinched when she heard it. With numb fingers, her hand released its grip on the handle beside the door.

“Ty!” she exclaimed, forcing a bright note of cheer into the word.

This time, it was the man who flinched. She’d called him
Ty
. Chelsea
never
called him
Ty
. He glanced at his wife, who was watching the interaction between the pair with marked interest, and swore silently.

“Ty, I was… I was just leaving the set. Wanted to drop by and tell you what a pleasure it’s been working with you.”

He watched, feeling helpless, his chest tight as the blood returned to Chelsea’s face, her dark, gorgeous eyes filling with tears even as she fought them –– and, from the ripple in her voice, he knew she
was
fighting them –– determined as she was to play
this
act out.

“Chelsea.”

She took a clumsy step down and backwards, almost falling –– she never could get the angle on those few stairs –– and Tyler moved quickly, pushing past his wife to catch Chelsea’s hand, trying to help her. She snatched it away as though his touch burned her and stiffened.

Her chin lifted and she met his gaze. “I’ve got to home to
my
family now,” she said, and Tyler closed his eyes.

“Chelsea, please,” he said quietly, “it isn’t––“

Those lips that he loved so much spread in a pained smile. “Guess I’ll be seeing you… In the movies.”

She blinked and a tear escaped her hold, trailing down the sweet, mocha curve of her cheekbone. Tyler stopped himself from reaching out to catch it. Not with Jennifer watching. And in any case, Chelsea stepped away from him before he could do anything.

“Goodbye.” She turned and started walking –– a New Yorker stride he’d never seen her do, didn’t know she could do –– that carried her swiftly away from him.

“Shit,” he swore, staring after her but doing nothing more. He couldn’t. He had to get back on the set, and Jen was still standing there as though watching a very interesting play.
“Shit!”

He stalked back to the trailer, grabbed the clean shirt that his wife held smugly out to him. “So it’s like
that
, eh?” Jennifer remarked, closing the door with a bare foot.

“Shut up, Jennifer.”

“This is what you get for drinking coffee in costume,” she smirked.

Tyler glared at his wife while he buttoned up the fresh shirt. “Who was that guy I saw leaving here from the back door?” He yanked on some clean socks and pulled on the boots he’d washed spilled coffee from.

“I mean
really
, Ty! She’s a
married
woman. Shameless hussy!” Jennifer clapped a hand over her mouth, but the giggle came out anyway.

His jaw locked. “Jennifer. I mean it. Knock it off. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Taking a seat on the couch, Jennifer grinned and Tyler’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t like that look on her face.

“Oh, but I
do
,” she smirked. “I saw the looks you two were passing each other. I bet she fancies herself
in
love
with you!” She laughed, and his teeth clenched. “I certainly hope she did a better job acting on the movie than she did at your door just now.” She laughed again, shook her head in a pitying motion.

Tyler wanted to smack her. Instead, he opened the door.

“I sure hope her husband is as
understanding
as
I
am!” she called as he left the trailer, slamming the door behind him.

Jennifer stopped laughing, listening to her spouse in name only storm away. She stood and opened the mini-fridge, cursed under her breath when it failed to produce her favorite champagne, and took out a bottled water instead. Twisting off the cap, she contemplated Chelsea Morgan’s stricken face. “Bitch.”

~ * ~

“Momma’s home! Momma’s home!” Grace Morgan ran across the kitchen. The whirring sound of the garage door closing, and Kemah and Iya barking, interrupted the quiet of a napping household.

Groggy, Jake sat up on the couch and reached for his glasses as his wife came through the back door, looking tired and drained. “Hey, honey,” he said, smiling as their youngest child vaulted herself at her mother. His smile deepened as Chelsea managed a natural grin, picking Grace up into her arms.

“Hey, Munch,” she said quietly, giving Grace a kiss on the forehead as she walked over to do the same to her husband. The child clung to her mother like a monkey, making kissing awkward, but they managed.

She flopped down beside him, and Grace unlatched herself, and ran back into her room. At her sigh, Jake put an arm around her shoulders. “Tough last day?”

“Yeah. That gang rape scene was difficult,” Chelsea said quietly, as she inhaled Jake’s warm, familiar scent and leaned into the curve of his shoulder.

“Did you get to meet Ty’s wife?”

Her head jerked up, almost hitting Jake’s chin. “Huh?”

Arching a sandy brow, Jake gestured to the television, muted, but on. “It was on the local news. One of those ‘husband and wife’ interview deals.”

Jake started to laugh, but then stopped when he caught sight of the strange look on Chelsea’s face. He slid a hand to her hip and gave it a gentle squeeze. “So you caused
coitus interruptus?
”

“More like ruined the
afterglow.
”

He shrugged, bent his head, and returned his attention to the lush curves of her breasts. “I’d like to give you an afterglow,” he said, his voice low as he lovingly lifted a full breast from the confines of her bra, glided his tongue over the nipple.

She stiffened. “Jake…”

Jake
what
? her conscience nagged her. Jake is your
husband
and he loves you. You love Jake. It’s obvious that Ty Benson doesn’t hold your feelings to heart… So why should you? You need to let go of childish fantasies and hold on to what’s tangible and real, like the man with you now.

“What?” Jake murmured, his hand on the smooth, shaven skin between her legs, already working magic as he nuzzled her neck.

“Nothing,” she said, and reached for him.

Chapter Thirteen

A
couple of weeks later, Chelsea was back to her typical, pre-movie routine: Seeing Jake leave for work, dropping the girls off at school and preschool, then returning home to work on her freelance graphic design business for her current client, and squeezing in the layout for Julie’s movie website. She was so tired that she could barely keep her eyes open, yet she managed to muster up the necessary vigor to curse at the CSS code that was
not
working cross-browsers.

“Okay, that’s about enough of you, Buju,” she muttered, shutting off her stereo and cutting off Buju Banton in mid-“Zion”. He was too distracting. In fact, everything today was a distraction. Focusing on any one thing required super-human effort, and she just didn’t have the energy.

Chelsea looked out the window at the heavily falling snow. Maybe it was the weather. Nothing like a snowstorm in April to set a day off-kilter. But even as she formed the thought, she rejected it. In her life, there were exactly three times when she felt like this. Ruthlessly, she squashed that line of thought as well.
Not going there.