Just Physical (29 page)

“Ooh, this is good,” Crash said between two bites. “Tell them to forget about the main dish.”

Jill laughed. “Oh, you say that now. Wait until you taste the charbroiled chicken.”

“I usually don't eat like this.” Crash gestured at the linen-topped table, which was already covered with plates and bowls.

“I noticed.” On the set, Crash ate even less than Jill did—usually just a salad for lunch, and if they started shooting early in the morning, she came in with a smoothie while other actresses were sipping their coffee. “Stuntwomen are probably under the same pressure to stay thin as actresses, right?”

“Worse, actually,” Crash said and, as if to contradict or rebel against what she was saying, reached for another piece of bread.

“Worse?” Jill paused with a piece of eggplant-dipped bread hovering in front of her lips. “Why's that? I would have thought that stuntwomen needed to be athletic, not rail-thin.”

Crash reached out for one of the bowls, hesitated, and then seemed to decide against putting onions on her bread. “They need to be both. For some stunts, you have to put on hip, butt, and thigh pads, so you appear bigger than the actress you're doubling for. You can imagine that most actresses wouldn't be pleased if their stunt doubles make them look fat on camera.”

“Well, this actress is very pleased with the way her stunt double looks,” Jill commented.

They shared a grin across the table, the magnetism between them in full force.

Jill could only hope that she'd have the energy to end the night the way she wanted it to end—in Crash's arms. “Trying to be thinner than most actresses in Hollywood is just crazy,” she added.

“Tell me about it. I don't like it, but that's the way it is. Which is why you need to take this bread away from me.”

Jill, of course, didn't. She enjoyed seeing Crash lick bits of dip off her fingers too much. “Stuntwomen are much more physically active than actresses, so you must burn off a lot more calories.”

“True,” Crash said and took another piece of bread. Finally, she pushed her plate back and leaned her dimpled chin on her hand. The candle cast a soft glow over her features. “But let's not talk about me all night. Tell me about yourself.”

Jill hesitated. The soft music, the romantic lights, the getting-to-know-each-other conversation… This really was a date, wasn't it? Was she ready to have that happen?

“I told you my math-tutor story,” Crash said when Jill remained silent. “Tell me how you realized you're a lesbian.”

Okay, that was a harmless enough story. “I don't really remember it, but when I was five, I apparently told my parents that I wanted to be an actress and marry Sandra Bullock when I grew up.”

“Cute,” Crash said with a wide grin.

Jill gave an impish smirk. “Me or Sandra Bullock?”

“Well, Sandra Bullock looks great for a woman her age, but I was talking about you,” Crash said.

Laleh returned with their food in record time. Skewers of chicken breast kabob and ground chicken stretched from one end of the plate to the other. Both skewers lay on a huge pile of safran-tinted basmati rice and came with grilled tomatoes and peppers.

Jill spooned half of it onto the empty plate Laleh had brought for Crash. Her mouth watered, and she quickly got started on her own dinner. The chicken was tender and moist and charbroiled to perfection, just the way it always was. She hummed with satisfaction.

Crash tried a bit of the meat and let out a moan that made Jill's body heat as memories of what she'd done to make Crash sound like that in the past washed over her.

Crash's voice pulled her from her erotic haze.

“…that declaration?”

“Uh, excuse me? I was a little distracted for a moment.”

Crash grinned as if she knew exactly what had distracted her. “I asked what your parents said to the declaration that you wanted to marry Sandra Bullock.”

“They just laughed. No one took it seriously. I came out to them before I moved to LA.”

“I bet they didn't laugh then,” Crash said.

“No, they didn't. They didn't say much either. Well, except for James. My brother had plenty to say.” Jill couldn't keep the hint of bitterness from her voice.

Crash lowered her fork and glanced over at her. “Is that the religious one who always quotes from the Bible before dinner?”

Wow.
Jill was impressed that Crash actually remembered that. “Yes, that's him. I only have one brother.”

“What about your parents? How did they react?”

“That's just it. They didn't,” Jill said. “There were no tears, no shouting, no attempts to convince me it was just a phase. Nothing. They choose to ignore it for the most part. That's what they always do whenever I do something they don't approve of.” The cold-shoulder treatment hurt, but she was used to it.

Crash slowly shook her head. “I can't even imagine what that must be like. In my family, nothing is ever ignored. Everyone is in each other's business all the time, especially my mother.”

“So if she knew about…” Jill bit back the
us
on the tip of her tongue and instead said, “…that we're sleeping together, she'd be on the next plane to LA with her shotgun, demanding that I make an honest woman out of you?”

Crash laughed. “Not exactly, but she would demand that I bring you home to meet the family somewhere around the second date.”

Even if she knew about the MS?
Jill couldn't believe that. “Well, maybe there is something to be said for my family's don't-ask-don't-tell policy.”

During the rest of dinner, conversation flowed smoothly. Jill didn't want the evening to end, but exhaustion hit her long before they finished their meal. She struggled to suppress a yawn. It was more than merely being tired. She had never been able to explain MS-related fatigue to a person who didn't suffer from it. It felt as if she'd been awake for twenty-four hours, and sometimes, that feeling hit her out of the blue, occasionally even in the morning after a good night's sleep.

She declined dessert when Laleh asked, and to her relief, Crash didn't want anything either, so Jill asked for the check.

When they eventually got up and started to make their way across the patio, Jill stumbled—maybe over an uneven patch of floor, maybe over her own numb feet. Only Crash's fast reflexes and her secure grasp around Jill's waist prevented her from landing face-first in someone's dinner.

“You okay?” Crash asked right next to her ear. She still didn't let go, even after Jill had regained her footing.

Jill slowly exhaled. “I'm fine. Thank you.”

Hesitatingly, Crash relinquished her hold.

Laleh rushed over. “Jill! Are you all right?” She patted Jill down, brushing her hand over Jill's clothes as if she had actually taken a header into someone's food and needed to be cleaned up.

The people at the tables surrounding them looked over.

All the attention made Jill's cheeks heat with embarrassment. She ignored the glances and gently brushed off Laleh's helping hands. “I'm fine,” she said again. “I just didn't pay attention to where I was going. Guess the great chicken soltani put me into a food coma.”

Laleh laughed. “It's been known to happen.”

Crash didn't laugh. She stuck close to Jill as they made their way out of the restaurant and down the street.

“Stop it,” Jill said.

“Stop what?”

“Hovering and looking at me.”

Crash smiled. “Maybe I like looking at you.”

Even though her near fall made Jill a bit grouchy, she couldn't hold on to her bad mood.

Crash shortened her steps and took her hand again, and Jill welcomed it—only because she liked the feeling, not because she needed the support.

When they reached Crash's car, which was parked along the wall surrounding Jill's house, they kept walking as if by silent agreement. At the gate, they paused and faced each other.

“So,” Crash said.

“So,” Jill repeated.

A soft smile curved Crash's lips. “I believe someone promised me dessert. Can I come in?”

Jill hesitated. She wanted to ask her in; she really wanted to, but she just wasn't sure if she had enough energy for sex tonight. Did she have the right to ask Crash to just hold her, without anything else happening?

Before she could decide, Crash bent her head and started nibbling on Jill's neck.

All of Jill's bones seemed to liquefy in an instant. A wave of desire washed away her exhaustion. She clutched Crash's back with both hands, enjoying the feeling of slender muscles beneath her fingers as Crash's lips wandered up to her earlobe.

“Code,” Crash breathed into her ear.

“Huh?” Jill's brain had trouble processing thoughts. It was too busy with the sensations coursing through her body. Never before had a woman reduced her to three-letter words so easily.

Crash let her hands run up and down Jill's sides. “We need the security code to get inside and into the house.”

“Yeah.” It took Jill a moment to remember that she was the one who had the code. She kicked herself into gear and entered the four digits into the panel next to the gate.

They tumbled inside, up the driveway, and into the house, arms around each other, mouths fused.

Jill slid her hands beneath Crash's blazer, pushed it back, and let it drop to the side table, eager to get to some bare skin. Her fingertips explored the gentle curve of Crash's biceps, then up to strong shoulders. Still moving them through the hall, she struggled with the top button on Crash's blouse.

Tramp came running, nearly making them trip over him. He sniffed to see if they had brought him anything, then trotted off when it turned out they hadn't.

Jill tugged her toward the stairs leading to the master bedroom. Halfway up the stairs, her left foot started dragging, instantly cooling her libido as she struggled not to fall or to draw Crash's attention toward her leg.

Crash looped one arm around her, either to bring her closer or to steady her; Jill wasn't sure. “You should move your bedroom downstairs,” Crash said in a light tone.

Jill pulled free of her gentle grip. Grace and Lauren had suggested the same, and other friends such as Amanda and Michelle had commented on it too, but Jill didn't want to take that step before it became absolutely necessary. Reorganizing her home would have felt like an admission that the MS was the mistress ruling her life. “That's not necessary. I can manage.”

“Yeah. But maybe I can't wait. If your bedroom were downstairs, I could already…”

At the tone of Crash's voice, a shiver went through Jill. “You could already do what?”

On the top step, Crash wrapped both arms around her and kissed her with a passion that made Jill's legs feel even weaker than they already did after navigating the stairs. “I could tell you,” Crash whispered against her lips. “Or I could show you.” She looked at Jill, her eyes burning with desire. “Your choice.”

Instead of a verbal answer, Jill took her by the hand and pulled her into the bedroom.

Crash guided Jill backward toward the bed, taking a moment to look around Jill's bedroom—light cream walls, a wooden dresser with deep red drawers, and syringes on the bedside table—before the back of Jill's knees hit the mattress.

She ran her hands over Jill's hips. That curve felt so good, as if it had been made just for her touch. The urge to feel Jill naked beneath her gripped her, and she struggled not to rip Jill's blouse open.

Slow, slow,
she urged herself. Even though Jill had extended their “just one time” arrangement, she feared that Jill might pull the plug any day and decide that they were getting too close and needed to end things. So Crash was determined to enjoy this night, because it might be their last one together.

She held her breath as she reached for the top button on Jill's blouse, not sure if Jill would allow her to undress her after the shoelace incident.

But in this context, Jill seemed fine with it. Her face was flushed, and her lids heavy with desire. She kicked off her shoes and struggled with her belt while Crash slid the blouse down her creamy-pale arms. At Jill's wrists, the blouse caught, for a moment shackling her arms to her sides.

Crash pulled the blouse off Jill's hands and let it drop to the floor. Her own top and Jill's jeans and bra followed. Impatient to feel Jill against her, she guided her onto the bed and immediately covered her body with her own. Jill's heat filtered through the fabric of Crash's slacks. She leaned over Jill, balancing on her elbows to keep most of her weight off her, and kissed a path down Jill's neck.

By now, she was familiar with Jill's body and knew where to touch her to make her sigh and moan and whisper Crash's name in that breathless, husky tone that made Crash's head spin with the excitement of it all.