Stunt Doubled: A Movie Star Standalone

I took it and did my best to wipe off my face and my hands. Then I turned to my savior. “Are you okay?”

“Right as rain,” he said with a bit of a smirk that I didn’t understand—but apparently Mac did.

“This is Ford, our fight coordinator,” Mac explained. “He knows how to take a fall without hurting himself.”

Or without hurting me, I realized. Everything had happened so fast, but it seemed like he’d protected my body as we rolled. Yes, I had some scrapes and aches, but it could’ve been so much worse.

“Ford, this is Veronica. I can’t thank you enough for what you did.”

He held out a hand which Ford shook. “I’m just glad I was there.”

He and Mac must’ve been under that awning with the equipment I’d seen before. “What were you guys doing out here?”

“Filming a car chase,” Ford said.

I looked around. “I don’t see any cameras.”

“They’re further down the road,” he said. He got to his feet and reached a hand down to me.

“We were watching the scene on the monitors,” Mac said as Ford easily pulled me to my feet. The younger man’s dusty t-shirt didn’t showcase bulging biceps, but there was real strength there. As a fight coordinator, he probably got his muscles from martial arts, not machines at the gym.

Someone called Mac’s name, and he looked up. “That’s the assistant director. I’ve got to get back there, if you’re sure you’re okay.” I nodded, a bit bemused that he was content to see me for two minutes after nearly two decades apart. But then he said, “I’ve got a few more hours of work here, but then I’m taking you for dinner, okay?”

He gave me a hug, and I froze. I couldn’t help it. I hadn’t hugged my father since I was a child. If he noticed my stiffness, he didn’t say anything. Neither did I. Seeing him after all this time was destined to be awkward, but it didn’t help that my mind had been spun around like a stray sock in a dryer after Ford tackled me.

“Give her a ride back to camp, will ya?” Mac asked Ford and then jogged off. I stared after him, my mouth slightly agape. This was starting to feel very surreal.

“I can do that,” Ford replied, even though Mac was already across the road heading back to the tent with the monitors. “Or he can.”

I followed Ford’s gaze and my jaw dropped. If things had felt surreal a moment ago, they seemed ten times so now. Because jogging toward us on the dusty road was movie star Aiden Hunt.

My eyes nearly popped out of my head as he approached. Other than an angry scratch across his cheek, he looked exactly like he did on screen. And on the internet. And in the in-flight magazine I’d read on the way here.

He was gorgeous—the most handsome man I’d ever seen in real life. Aiden’s picture deserved to be front and center in a Wikipedia entry for tall, dark and handsome. His hair was nearly black and cut short. His beard was also short, but it did its job of highlighting his insanely strong jawline. He had a mustache, too, but not a big bushy one. It was as closely cropped as his beard and sat above his full lips—lips that seemed made for kissing, not bar fights or car chases.

To my mind, Aiden was making the wrong kinds of movies. His eyes were as dark as his hair and beard… and currently filled with concern.

He stopped in front of us, and I took a step back so I could see him better. He had to be at least eight to ten inches taller than me.

“Are you okay?” he asked, and for a moment, I was mesmerized by the deep, rumbly voice I’d last heard in a movie theater.

Ford grinned. “You’re the third man to ask her that in the last three minutes. She says she’s fine.”

Aiden didn’t look convinced. “I didn’t even see you. I only saw Ford running and waving his arms.” His normally tan face looked pale. “I almost killed you.”

Now Ford was the one looking concerned. He clapped Aiden on the arm. “You couldn’t have done anything—I don’t even think your wheels were on the ground when you cleared the ridge. You can’t brake in midair.”

Aiden nodded but didn’t relax. He was extremely handsome, but I hadn’t expected him to act like this, all humble and concerned. Given his looks and the macho roles he played, I’d expected more arrogance. He had a cowboy hat clutched in his hands, and I could see the tension in his fingers as they gripped the brim. His shirt was long-sleeved and flannel, open at the neck to reveal the smooth skin underneath. He had on faded blue jeans. The toes of cowboy boots emerged from the bottom of his jeans.