Chapter 10
Then
The opportunity to stress-test our truce came just a couple of days later.
He’d definitely thawed since our forced ceasefire, though I still half expected that the moment I let my guard down, Rude Ryder? would make his reappearance, bop me on the nose, and say, You didn’t actually believe that self-effacing, vulnerable crap, did you?
Talk about gullible! When I nodded off in the makeup chair, I still slept with one eye open.
Ryder didn’t seem to share my giddiness, though.
He’d been quiet all day, and the closer we got to our call time, the more agitated he appeared.
It was sweltering outside, and since the plane wasn’t air-conditioned, we were waiting inside the airport’s small, glass-walled lounge until the last possible second.
I’d been sitting around, chatting with the beauty team as they touched me up and fussed over my hair, but Ryder couldn’t seem to sit still, pacing around the room like a caged tiger.
Knowing how he felt about Jason and I messing around between takes and the focus he liked to maintain before a scene, I gave him his space.
It struck me that I’d begun to read his moods without him having to say a word.
As soon as we hit the golden hour, Nate ushered us out to the plane.
The tight configuration of the cockpit and the instrument controls required me to sit in Ryder’s lap, the bulk of my weight resting on his right leg.
As the stunt coordinator triple-checked our safety harnesses, I heard Ryder’s short, shallow breaths in my ear, felt them heating the back of my neck.
Captain Gary was running us through a final checklist, reminding Ryder which switches to flip and demonstrating how to pull back or push forward on the steering column, called the yoke, to look the most realistic.
Judging by his quiet grunts and the dearth of his usual follow-up questions, I wasn’t convinced he’d heard a word of it.
I waited until Gary had hopped out to confer a final time with Nate before speaking up. “Hey Ry—you good?”
There was no reply beyond his erratic Lamaze-esque breathing, so I twisted around to peer at his face. It was white as a sheet. “Ryder.”
“What.” It was uttered so quietly that I wouldn’t have heard it unless I was staring at his mouth.
“What’s wrong with you?”
His brow was sheened with sweat. “I…have problems…flying.” Getting the words out seemed to require superhuman effort.
“And you’re just sharing this now?” I exclaimed, incredulous. “You’re playing a fighter pilot!”
“The Lost Letter isn’t exactly Top Gun, okay?
I didn’t think we’d actually be shooting in the air.
I assumed they’d just use a green screen or something.
” His words were coming out halting and stilted, slurred even.
I wasn’t a doctor, but it didn’t sound good.
“You know how it is—when you’re at an audition and they ask if you can sing, you say yes.
If they ask if you can juggle, you learn how to juggle. ”
I stared at him in disbelief. “I mean, yeah, we’ve all fudged a few things, but this is a little different, don’t you think?”
His eyes were glassy on mine. “This isn’t helping.”
Now I was starting to panic. How the heck were we going to pull off this scene if Ryder was seconds away from passing out over the controls?
I couldn’t do this alone. Also, this plane was a literal hotbox, blazing sunlight ricocheting off every metallic surface.
We were slow-roasting inside an oven, which surely wasn’t helping matters.
Captain Gary had said it would be better once we were in the air, but we needed to get there first. “What’s your specific issue? Heights?”
“Heights, enclosed spaces. Crashing.” He swallowed heavily and closed his eyes. “I thought I could power through it, but after seeing this rust bucket, I don’t think I can. Are we even sure it’s safe to fly?”
“Of course it is. They wouldn’t let us up in it if it wasn’t.” I don’t think. “What do you do when you fly normally?”
He made a pitiful noise. “I usually drug myself into oblivion. Can’t exactly do that here.” One eye slit open. “I took a couple shots in my trailer to try to calm down, but I can’t even feel them.” Oh geez. Guess that explained the glassy eyes.
If this had happened a week ago, I would’ve pointed at him and laughed. I would have delighted in his distress, relishing the rare, golden opportunity to undermine him in front of Nate. Now I was in overdrive trying to save him from himself.
Think. I eyed Captain Gary outside, in a huddle with Nate and our cinematographer. In a minute, he’d be back in here and we’d be taking off, and Ryder’s meltdown would be exposed in humiliating fashion. We were seconds away from this turning into a much bigger debacle. Think.
My mind shifted into problem-solving mode. “Listen, these are mostly reaction shots, so this shouldn’t take very long. You only have a couple of lines.” Which there was no way he could deliver in his current state, though I kept that thought to myself.
I racked my brain. How could I help him get through this? The heat was rapidly becoming suffocating. I shifted in his lap, my dress riding up slightly, and when I saw his gaze sweep over my thigh, a light bulb blinked on. Distraction.
I placed my hands over his on the yoke, which he currently had locked in a death grip. I wiggled my butt in his lap again, and he stiffened. “What are you doing?” he croaked. His voice came out thin and reedy.
“Getting into character,” I said innocently, massaging my fingers over his on the yoke.
I chuckled, low and husky. “Breathe,” I purred into his ear, and he exhaled a jagged breath.
“Think about the scene. Holden and Melody are in love. They can’t keep their hands off each other.
They’re ready to jump each other’s bones. ”
I felt his hands slacken under mine, his grip on the yoke loosening ever so slightly. “Holden’s finally got her alone for the first time, away from her parents, away from Tate. What would he be thinking right now?”
Ryder licked his lips. “He’d…want to impress her. Show off.”
“That’s right,” I cooed. I noticed the sweat gathering at his temples and blew a little cool air over them. “He’d be confident and competent. He’d be in control.”
I felt the barest nod against my neck.
I ran a fingertip down the back of his hand to his wrist. “Would he be wanting to slide his hand under her skirt?”
“Jesus, Scarlett,” he swore, and there was no hesitation this time, his voice coming in strong and clear.
“I’m not Scarlett,” I murmured, and nuzzled my nose against his neck, letting my lips graze his collarbone.
“I’m Melody, remember? And you’re Holden.
” I pulled back and stared into his eyes, wanting to make sure he understood, to urge him to play along.
Acting meant living inside someone else’s skin, and Ryder needed to force himself to do that now.
Incredibly, this Hail Mary of mine appeared to be working.
Gone were the glassy eyes and shallow breaths.
His gaze was now sharp and focused on mine, a flush returned to his cheeks, his breathing evening out.
“Holden isn’t afraid to fly. The air is where Holden feels the most comfortable, the most free. This plane is an extension of himself.”
Ryder blinked, his chest expanding with a deep lungful of air. “You’re right.”
I arranged my features into wide-eyed hero worship and toyed with the buttons on his shirt. “You’ve got Melody in your lap. It’s her first time in a plane and she’s excited to see what you can do. Where are you taking her?”
His amber eyes were fixed on mine, his pupils dilated. “To see the sunset.” His voice was an idling engine, low and rumbling.
I scratched my nails through the hair at his nape, brushing it away from his collar.
“That’s right. A romantic twilight flight.
” Our mouths were just a millimeter apart, so close that his breath warmed my lips.
His hands found my hips and he repositioned me on his lap, sliding me back to fit more snugly against his groin.
And here I thought it couldn’t get any hotter in here.
There was a short rap on the plane’s fuselage as Captain Gary climbed aboard and fired up the engine. Perfect timing. He turned his head to glance over his shoulder and smirked at our closeness, like he’d just caught us mid-thrust. “You two ready?” he called over the roar of the propeller.
I looked at Ryder with raised eyebrows, and he nodded, his hand tightening on my hip. “Ready!” I called back, flashing Gary the thumbs-up.
We were halfway down the runway when I felt his lips at my ear. “Thank you.”
I laced my fingers through his and gave them a squeeze, doing my best to ignore the heat coiling low in my belly. “Anytime.”
His opportunity to repay the favor came quicker than expected.
The day had been a comedy of errors. A malfunctioning camera delayed our start time, and then lighting issues set us back further.
Now we were all so cranky and tired that it was showing in our performances.
It was late, something or someone seemed to screw up every take, and no one was at their best. Nevertheless, Nate had made it clear that we wouldn’t be wrapping until we got this scene in the can.
Making matters worse, the headache I woke up with this morning had progressed from a nagging nuisance into a full-blown migraine.
I’d dealt with migraines since I was a kid, and this one was bad.
Really bad. I’d taken some of my prescription medication a couple of hours ago, but it didn’t seem to have made a dent.
I was suffering. I was doing my best to gut it out, but hiding how much pain I was in was getting progressively more difficult the longer the night dragged on.
Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on how you looked at it—I wasn’t the only one screwing up tonight.