Stunt Doubled: A Movie Star Standalone

“And in case you haven’t noticed, cars have only four tires. You can’t have a flat every other day.”

“What are you saying?” The bigger guy took a threatening step towards Ford, his fist raised. Ford held his hands up as he moved backward, his body pressing up against the railing.

“I’m saying that if you don’t show up on time tomorrow, don’t bother showing up at all.”

The big man didn’t like that, and my heartbeat sped up. Should I go get someone? Where was Mac? He was the stunt coordinator—maybe news like that should come from him, not Ford.

Apparently, the big stunt man thought so, too. He pulled his arm back, getting ready to take a swing. A cry of warning ripped from my throat, but Ford moved faster than I anticipated. He ducked down and the meaty fist smashed through the air where Ford’s head had been seconds before. Momentum got the better of the big man and he stumbled forward, hitting the railing and then falling over it, his head pointed toward the ground.

I screamed and Ford jumped to his feet, leaning over the railing to try to catch the man’s foot. It was too late. The man flipped over in midair and disappeared in the thick mat below. Then Ford gave a cry as he, too, tumbled over the railing. My heart pounded painfully in my chest as I rushed forward. Neither man was visible due to the thickness of the mat, but I was expecting the worst. A broken back. A twisted leg. A concussion at the very least.

But when I found Ford, he was lying flat out with his ankles crossed and his hands behind his head as he grinned up at me. The other man was already sitting up and he was smiling, too.

I put my hand to my chest, so relieved that they were okay that it took me far too long to work my way to indignant. “You assholes.”

Ford grinned wider at my tone. “This is Gary. He’s only an asshole when I tell him to be.”

“Good to know.” I was still trying to calm my breathing. “Is this some kind of hazing ritual for the newbies?”

“Something like that.” Ford brought his knees to his chest, rocking back on his shoulders, and then kicked his legs up, arched his back, and landed on his feet. He shook hands with the other man, who gave me a wink and left. “So, what did you think of my acting?”

“I think it’s a damn good thing you know how to do stunt work.”

Ford chuckled, his green eyes gleaming. “Not the first time I’ve heard that. Ready to go for a run?” His eyes roamed over my sports bra, running shorts, and mostly bare legs.

I rolled my eyes. “I’d rather run after you wielding a baseball bat.”

“Sure, after I show you how to make a fake hit look real.”

“If I hit you for real, it would look real,” I countered.

“Next time, perhaps. I’m ready to go if you are.” He had on running shoes, black shorts, and a long-sleeved t-shirt. That last part seemed like an odd choice, but then he grasped the hemline and lifted it over his head.

Holy shit.

The muscles of his arms were long and lean. His stomach was flat with a deep ridge between his abs. His pecs didn’t bulge quite as much as the twins’, but his muscles were proportionate with his size and he looked sexy as hell. He tossed his shirt onto a nearby chair and smirked.

Damn it, he’d caught me looking.

“Need any water? You look a little flushed.”

“We’re in a desert,” I protested.

He shot me a wink. “No, that’s not it.”

Then, before I could act on an urge to find a baseball bat, he strode past me and held open the door. Blinking at the extraordinarily bright sunlight, I put on my sunglasses. We did some stretches, and then we took off, Ford leading me in a different direction than I’d run the other day. Presumably, this one was away from any filming that was going on.

Once I got over his prank, I had to admit that he was a good running partner. He set a fairly brisk pace, but not one I couldn’t handle. He soon led us onto a well-worn dirt path that cut through the rocks and the scrubby little bushes that somehow managed to grow in the dry, red dirt.

The path narrowed as I followed Ford. This was obviously a path he knew well. The ground was a little uneven, so I alternated between watching where I placed my feet and watching the muscles on Ford’s back ripple as he ran. Every movement he made was disciplined—it was like watching a finely tuned machine. His front foot hit the ground as his back foot lifted off of it. One arm pumped forward, the other one slid back. And those toned back muscles moved in sync, one side then the other.