Page 2 of Impulse (Infinitus Billionaire #1)

Jillian studied the patches of green and brown visible from the window of the Cessna. They were about thirteen thousand feet above the drop zone and should be jumping soon, yet her mind was on that biker and her reaction to him. The moment he’d turned and looked her way, she’d almost chickened out.

Up close, the man packed way too much sex appeal. He had a presence most men worked hard to cultivate and failed.

Talking to him… No, flirting with him had filled her with the kind of excitement and nervousness she only felt when she was about to perform a stunt. Something few men had ever achieved. And the way her body had tightened when he’d given her a once-over had completely blindsided her.

“Jill?”

Chris shouted above the drone of the aircraft’s engine.

Jillian forced herself to focus. What the hell was wrong with her? Being distracted by a sexy smile would not do. Not before a stunt. She stood, braced herself against the wall of the plane, and moved to Chris’ side. He studied her with a frown.

“Are you okay?”

he asked, concern in the depth of his eyes.

“Yeah. I’m good. Great.”

Liar. She was rattled. She’d never reacted to a man the way she had to that biker. Damn it. She didn’t like not being in control. She nodded vigorously as though trying to convince herself more than Chris.

Scowling, Chris’ narrowed eyes stayed on her as though he didn’t like what he was seeing, or hearing. He could always read her.

“Then pull yourself together or we’re scrapping the jump.”

And have Barbs get angry? No way. Her temper was legendary. So far, it had been smooth sailing on the set. But Jillian had overheard her and her husband arguing about keeping the production on schedule and on budget.

Cheeks warm, Jillian said firmly.

“I’m fine.”

“Then prove it,”

Chris snapped.

Why was he riding her so hard? She had this. She took a deep breath and exhaled. I’m in control. I can handle anything.

Calmer, she stared straight into Chris’ eyes and caught the flicker of concern in their depths before he went back to being her superior.

“I’m good.”

Chris continued to study her intently. She sighed with relief when he nodded and glanced at Keith.

“Calm him down.”

Jillian stole a glance at the Aussie. She could see why Chris was concerned. Keith’s jaw flexed, and he kept clenching and unclenching his hands. Most actors and actresses didn’t do their own stunts, but the import from Australia liked to do things his way, including his stunts. So far, he had braved scenes that would have fazed an amateur stuntman.

As if aware of Jillian’s scrutiny, he glanced at her and flashed a smile. His sweet smile often captivated female fans of all ages. Too bad it didn’t have the same effect on her. The sensual promise she’d glimpsed on the biker’s lips had packed a bigger punch. Made her wonder what kind of kisser he was. She’d never believed in instant lust, until today.

Dang it, she was thinking about him again.

She stole a glance at Chris to see if he was watching, but he was busy consulting with Packman—the first assistant director standing in for Barbs. Jillian scooted to Keith’s side.

“You ready?”

“Yep.”

Then he chuckled nervously and swept a lock of blond hair from his forehead.

“Guess I’m a little nervous. How can you stand doing this all the time?”

Jillian shrugged.

“I don’t let fear stop me. Plus, it pays the bills.”

She was twenty-nine, not old enough to start worrying about retirement and not too young to believe she was invincible. Serious injuries were always a possibility and a concern.

“Everything will be fine,”

she reassured him.

“Just follow the sequences we did during dry runs and nothing will go wrong. Remember, I have your back and Chris is the best in the field.”

“And you’re not saying that because you’re his niece?”

Honorary niece, but he didn’t need to know that.

“No. You did the burning car scenes yesterday and made it out without a scratch.”

Keith grinned.

“That was amazing. He’s kind of a perfectionist.”

“That he is. And those two pros are covering us, too.”

Keith glanced at the two professional skydivers talking to their left.

“Okay. I’m all yours.”

Smiling, Jillian signaled Chris and gave an A-OK.

He joined them and went over the stunt sequence one last time.

“The wind velocity, visibility, and cloud ceiling are perfect. The temperature is about thirty-eight degrees.”

He gripped Keith’s shoulder.

“Remember, your main chute and the backup are fail-safe. You have Jillian below you and two divers above you. Signal them as we practiced if you need help. The ground crew will be waiting for you at the end of the field when you land.”

Turning to Jillian, he added.

“You go first. Heaney jumps after LeBlanc.”

Sean Heaney patted his cameras and gave a thumbs-up signal. Sean was a renowned cinematographer who filmed free-fall stunts for movies and commercials. How he hurtled earthward at over a hundred miles-per-hour with huge cameras strapped to his head while filming stunts defied logic. The cameras were mounted on a rig attached to his helmet, and were connected to hand-mounted controls by wires running along his arms.

Chris opened the door, and a blast of freezing air filled the cabin.

“Get into position, Jill,”

he yelled.

Wind whipping at her clothes, Jillian put her feet out on the strut and placed her hands on the wing support bar. It was cold. Although her grip was steady, the tempo of her heartbeat shot up, her pulse quickening.

Settling into a semi-crouched position, she looked toward the ground. Eighty mile-per-hour wind pulled at her clothes. It couldn’t get better than this.

Chris signaled her.

Taking a deep breath, Jillian let go of the wing support. Gravity pulled her toward the surface of the earth as she fell away from the plane. Her descent was rapid. A blurry Keith appeared in her line of vision as he hurtled toward her. She smiled. He was doing great.

For the next several minutes, she dived then arched her back and spread out her arms and legs, until she achieved stability. She was ready when Keith made his move and reached for her.

Jillian evaded him, swooped, dived, and rolled with precise and graceful moves her gymnastics teacher would have applauded. Keith kept coming after her, the mock fight seeming so real when he grabbed the sleeve of her suit and yanked. The seam, replaced with Velcro, ripped and air rushed inside the suit. Dang! It was cold. Even the inner suit didn’t protect her from the chill.

Jillian checked her altimeter. They were approaching the altitude to pull the rip cord and release their parachutes. Sean noticed what she was doing and imitated her moves. Moving her right hand to the rip cord, she released her chute and simultaneously moved her left hand over her head.

The lines jerked her body upward. Now she could control her descent. The spectacular view, the fresh air, and the feeling of oneness with nature were like the feeling she got after an amazing orgasm. However, the rush of emotions that accompanied the jump could never be compared with sex. It was better and more intense.

As she turned, dipped, and floated toward the ground, Keith followed her moves. Their landing went smoothly.

Margo, wearing a better quality of the red jumpsuit, the sleeve ripped to match Jillian’s, walked over to join her and the ground crew. Jillian knew the drill—trade places and get off the stage. It was a total buzz kill. As usual, Margo looked right through her.

Jillian had learned not to take offense. She walked off the field without looking back. That weird sense of being watched had her looking around until she found the culprit—the gorgeous stranger on his bike.

Her stomach dipped. She probably shouldn’t welcome the zing of excitement that shot through her, but she did anyway. It had been awhile since she felt it. Too bad it was for another Hollywood hunk.

He gave a stiff bow, a smile tugging the corners of his lips. Jillian looked behind her to make sure that smile was meant for her. There was no one near her. Warmth crept up her cheeks when their eyes met again. Feeling raw and exposed, she waved, yanked open the door of the trailer, and disappeared inside.

The stunt crew’s trailer was old and pitiful compared to the main cast’s fully stocked, state-of-the-art RVs. At least, she didn’t have to share with the other stuntmen and stuntwomen. Knowing Chris had its perks, even if they were sub-par.

She removed the wig and cap, shook her wheat-colored tresses, and finger-combed them. Next off was the suit. She carefully unrolled the bandages from around her chest, until her breasts spilled free.

Oh, that feels good.

She rubbed the welts left behind. Binding her breast so she appeared flat-chested and caking her face with makeup to achieve Margo’s pout and exotic features was the worst part of doubling for the actress. Jillian’s breasts hurt, and her skin needed to breathe again.

She was removing her makeup when the powerful sound of a motorcycle starting reached her. He was leaving. Already? The urge to go look followed. She ditched the idea before it took root.

Glaring at her reflection in the mirror, she blew out air. What was it about that man anyway? She’d met her share of handsome men in her line of work. Dated a few. Good looks didn’t mean jack.

Oh well. Let him go. She didn’t like the feeling of not being able to control her responses. There were enough things in life she couldn’t control, so when it came to her body, she was its mistress and she liked it that way.

The sound of the bike grew faint; then other sounds from outside replaced it. She finished washing her face and applied a light moisturizer, then changed into her regular clothes. Not wanting to clog her pores again, she didn’t bother with foundation. Just mascara on her lashes, the fake ones tossed in the garbage. A colorless lip gloss finished her post-scene ritual.

A glance out the window and Jillian grimaced. No wonder she’d heard voices. It was lunchtime, and the catering crew was removing coolers of food and drinks from their van and placing them under the tent. She was skipping lunch today, thank goodness. The stars might get whatever they demanded, but the crew got the same boring sandwiches and salads. She planned to make one quick stop at her father’s before heading home. If she got lucky, she might get her sister-in-law’s homemade stew.

Jillian grabbed her leather jacket, shrugged it on, and reached for her keys. Barbs’s voice reached her before she stepped down from the trailer.

“That was great, Keith. I know it couldn’t have been easy, but you pulled it off. One more scene today and we’re done.”

She patted him on the back and added.

“Eat your lunch and rest.”

She waved Jillian over.

“Come here, hun!”

Jillian looked longingly at her bike. She really needed to leave.

“Wasn’t she great, Chris?”

she directed the question at the stunt coordinator, but didn’t wait for a response.

“You were awesome.”

She gave Jillian a warm hug.

“Thank you, Barbs.”

They had been filming for a couple of months now, and in that short time, Jillian had come to admire the director. Barbs treated everyone cordially, from the highly paid casts to the extras. But when she lost her temper, everyone tried to stay out of her way.

“Take it easy for the rest of the week,”

Barbs said, firmly.

“We have a full schedule next week. I want you fresh and ready on Monday. Oh, I almost forgot. Our backers expect everyone involved in the production to be at the Saturday night party. Everyone, so I expect you there with your plus-one.”

She turned and hopped onto the golf cart. With a wave, she took off toward the tent.

Something had put Barbs in a good mood. Earlier, she’d seemed tense.

“Take it easy tonight, kiddo,”

Chris said, walking toward her. He tossed her a bottle of water.

“Do not add more bruises in the next two nights or you’ll be dressed like a nun come Saturday. If you call me before the party, I’ll pay your father a visit,”

he threatened.

“I can take care of a few bruises on my own.”

He shuddered.

“I’ve seen your attempts. Come here.”

With a quick hug he added.

“Now get out of here.”

Jillian put on her sunglasses and headed for her bike while guzzling water. As a stunt artist, taking care of her body was her first priority, and that meant keeping it hydrated. Water and a regimented workout. When she was on the road, it was hard to keep to a routine because her trailer wasn’t equipped with a gym. But she’d learned to make do. No use whining about things she couldn’t have. But that would soon change when she rejoined her family. Her father had just bought a new rig with travel weights and gadgets.

Jillian zipped up her jacket, swept her hair out of the way, and put on her Bluetooth enabled helmet with built-in speakers. She adjusted the volume on the handlebar-mounted controls. Now she could hear the traffic along with Beethoven’s Symphony. Within seconds, she was leaving the skydiving school behind.

Cool breezes floated past her, teasing her warm skin. Late spring was her favorite time of year. It was neither too hot nor too cold. Instead of heading north towards I-215, she took a side road and headed for Ortega Highway. It was less scenic, but had less traffic.

She was still wired up from her jump. Classical music or yoga usually relaxed her after a stunt. When those didn’t work, mind-blowing sex took care of the excess adrenaline. She hadn’t used that technique in a while.

Technique. What a way to describe sex. Sex was anything but a technique.

Out of nowhere, the image of the man with the RK flashed in her mind. She shook her head, but couldn’t dislodge his handsome features. The man was unforgettable; although everything about him yelled danger. He was the kind of man who would make a woman break all her rules.

As though her mind had conjured him, she saw him ahead. She’d recognize those broad shoulders anywhere. Her stomach did that annoying flip-flop again. She was going to pass him and keep going.

A truck was coming in the other lane, but it was still too far to worry about. The speed limit on Ortega Highway was forty-five. If she stepped on the gas, she could reach sixty easily.

She accelerated, moving to the other lane as she inched closer. She was close to overtaking him when he glanced at her, grinned, and picked up speed. What the heck? When she slowed down, he did too.

What was he doing? She stepped on the gas, tried overtaking him again, but the truck was too close. The driver flashed his headlights in warning. Luckily, there was a gravel shoulder on the road. Jillian swerved, loose pebbles flying behind her. The truck driver honked as he passed. He probably thought she was a nutcase. She careened right, flew over the edge of the road, and shot ahead of the biker.

In your face, baby. Jillian laughed.

Seconds later, her laughter disappeared as he picked up speed. This guy had a serious competitive streak. Just like her. He drew closer and closer. He was gaining on her. Of course, it could be a question of which one of their bikes handled acceleration better, but that was neither here nor there. Biking was her thing, and there was no way he was winning.

She tightened her body and sunk low, then gave her baby the final boost. She left him behind. Yes! She’d won.

Jillian did victory wheelies, which she’d perfected in her teens. Leaning back, she lifted the front wheel of her bike. Down the road she did the reverse, going for a nose wheelie. If the road was wider, she would have done a circle, but she was going too fast. Two guys in a jeep honked in appreciation as they rode past. She laughed.

The biker either didn’t like her performance or was a buzz kill. He passed her and became a road hog, swerving left then right, blocking her from overtaking him. His light blinked furiously, indicating he planned to pull over.

Did he really think she’d pull over, too? She loved danger, probably more than most girls, but there was no freaking way she was pulling up on the shoulder of some road with a stranger just because he was gorgeous. When he slowed down, she shot past him and kept going.

See yah!

*

Jillian pulled up to a Shell Gas Station in San Juan Capistrano to refuel. She was just finishing when the biker eased in behind her. She turned to face him, her stomach doing that stupid dance again as she watched him dismount his bike.

“What took you so long?”

she teased.

He pulled off his helmet, did that hair sweep he’d pulled earlier, which drew attention to his dark-brown wavy hair, and pulled off his sunglasses.

“I was enjoying the view.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks. Jillian laughed to cover her nervousness.

“I must remember to use that the next time I lose a race.”

He chuckled, the sound rich and sexy. Nice. His steely gray eyes glittered with something that had her taking a step back before she caught herself.

“I wouldn’t exactly call it losing. More like choosing my battles.”

He kept moving closer, bringing with him a masculine, woodsy scent and a large dose of sex appeal that hit all her senses at once. Her mind protested, but her body must have decided to disconnect because it greedily responded.

“Those were nice wheelies,”

he added in a voice gone husky, removing his glove and offering his hand in greeting.

“Thank you. They were my victory wheelies,”

she added.

“Basic. Nose. Circle, but…”

Her voice trailed off when he took her hand. Who knew something so simple would feel so intimate?

“You’d have to stop for the circle,”

he finished.

“Lex Fitzgerald,”

he added and lifted her hand to his lips.

A delicious warmth invaded her body. If a different guy had pulled that move in broad daylight, it would have seemed corny. From him, it seemed natural. Maybe it was the ease with which he did it or the fact that his eyes darkened as though the physical connection affected him. Why was his name familiar?

“Have dinner with me,”

the words rolled off his tongue like a prelude to something decadent. Her entire body hummed with appreciation.

“Yes,”

Jillian heard herself say above the furious pounding of her heart, her voice a tad breathless. His lips curled with masculine satisfaction and she realized she’d agreed to something. “Uh, no.”

“You can’t take it back. You can choose where we’ll go,” he added.

Jillian laughed self-consciously and eased her hand from his.

“Yeah, tempting, but the answer is still no.”

His eyebrows shot up.

“No, you don’t want to choose?”

“No to food and eating. I can’t.”

“Of course, we can.”

His hand came to rest on the seat of her bike, and for a moment, she stared at it with morbid fascination. She had sat there only minutes ago. Her traitorous mind imagined that large hand on… her ass.

Her mind just had to go there? Seriously?

When he patted the seat, her eyes flew to his. The grin on his face said he’d guessed what her crazy mind was creating. Guessed and found it amusing.

Jillian gave him a saucy grin.

“Sorry, I don’t do Hollywood.”

His expression changed, going from amusement to concern in an instant.

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t date anyone in show business.”

“Why?”

he shot back.

“They bore me, but it’s been nice meeting you, Lex Fitzgerald.”

That name. She’d heard it somewhere.

“I’m not in show business.”

He slipped his glove back on, eyes not leaving her face.

“Now that we’ve cleared up that, when and where can I pick you up?”

Such arrogance was something she usually disliked in men, yet on him it was actually a turn on. Perhaps it was the look on his face that said something about her pleased him. Probably her blabbering.

“Yeah, that’s not happening,”

Jillian said.

“You are with the studio or you wouldn’t just waltz onto the field the way you did. Actors, extras, and studio execs are all not in my dating pool.”

She shuddered, remembering the losers she’d dated the last five years. No imagination. Self-absorbed. Boring in and out of the bedroom.

Lex smiled as though pleased by her declaration or her delicate shudder. Warmth added blue to the depths of his eyes, which was interesting.

“Barbs is a family friend,”

he said.

“I brought her a message from my mother.”

Ah, that was where she’d heard the Fitzgerald name. Chris had mentioned an Estelle Fitzgerald bank-rolling the movie. Must be his mother, which meant he was the last person she wanted near her. He could never know about her nocturnal activities. Plus, his family owned Leeds, the makers of the Road King. She hoped he wasn’t easily offended.

Jillian picked up her helmet.

“I hope I didn’t insult you when I mentioned problems with your bikes.”

Lex’s broad shoulders lifted under the leather jacket, a glint entering his eyes.

“I can handle a few constructive criticisms, but I’d rather discuss yours over a meal.”

He got an A-plus for persistence and Jillian was tempted to say yes, but…

“Sorry, I have to go. It’s been nice talking to you, Lex. I’m sure you have a team of engineers who’ll figure out all the improvements your bikes need.”

She put her helmet on. Painfully aware of his silent presence, she glanced over her shoulder to find him watching with a smile as though he knew something she didn’t. As though she hadn’t just turned his dinner invitation down. Twice. Bet women rarely did that. The Fitzgeralds were loaded.

She waved and pulled away. He didn’t move, and she could still see him in her rearview mirror watching her when she stopped before entering the street.

Jillian was a bit miffed that he hadn’t asked for her name. Just because she’d said no to dinner with him tonight didn’t mean she wouldn’t mind down the line. He hadn’t struck her as a man who gave up so easily.

Oh, just as well. He packed way too much sex appeal for her peace of mind.

Five minutes later, Jillian entered the old neighborhood where she grew up, and memories flashed through her head. She’d always been a tomboy, challenging her brothers and cousins to let her do stuff with them. Street hockey. Bike stunts. She’d watch them with envy, hating that she had to do boring stuff like dance and gymnastics. Now she was grateful her mother had insisted. Being agile helped her master fight moves, jumps, and rolls, which translated to better paying stunts.

Her entire family had lived in a sprawling five-bedroom house in San Juan—her family and Uncle Rowan and his family. Now her father, her younger brother Patrick—Ricky—and his wife Ginger, and their little girl, Sophia, were the only ones left. Cian, her oldest brother, and her cousins were in Anaheim. Her uncle and aunt had moved a couple of blocks away.

An unfamiliar black SUV pulled out of her father’s driveway just as she entered the street running in front of their house. The driver, with a head built like a bullet, leered at her as they drove past. A shiver crawled up Jillian’s spine. New employees? Her father always employed a part-time guy to help drive the rig on long road trips or help Uncle Rowan assemble the equipment. Since he was out of commission, chances were he’d want someone on a permanent basis.

A boy revved the engine of his motorcycle ahead and drew Jillian’s attention. Jillian hid a grin. Watching this would never get old.

As far back as she could remember, kids on the block would try to impress her father with their biking skills. He’d give them pointers and warn them to be careful, but that was it. Finnegan Troupe never employed anyone outside the family to do stunts. Temp handymen and stunt coordinators like Chris, yes, but never stuntmen and stuntwomen.

Jillian parked her bike beside Ricky’s and waved to the biker as he rode past. Using the open garage door, she entered the house. A voice drew her to the living room. Ricky. He was yelling something.

Ricky was the bike expert. He’d taught her everything she knew about bikes—parts, performances, and how to modify them to suit her needs. He was also a hothead. Jillian wondered who he was yelling at now.

“They came to the house, Cian. A bunch of thugs. One touched Sophia’s head. You bet I wanted to punch him. Why didn’t you or Dad tell me things were this bad?”

Ricky asked.

Jillian stopped and frowned. What did Ricky mean by things were bad?

“What do you mean he didn’t want me to worry?”

Ricky snapped, then grew quiet. He was the only one she could hear, which meant he was on the phone.

“Since I got married? Fucking hell, Cian. I told him Ginger didn’t want a big wedding. Yeah, yeah, that’s beside the point now. I knew we were overextended when the Reno gig fell through, but he told me not to worry. The next thing I knew we had a new rig and the wall was upgraded, but to get in bed with Armenians like Petrosian is suicide. We have to do something.”

So the troupe had been having problems for over a year, and Cian and Dad had never bothered to tell Ricky or her? Did Uncle Rowan know? Cian was their father’s right hand man. He could convince any officials to back up the troupe, organize a gig anywhere at the drop of a hat, and rally up employees.

“How much do we owe?”

he asked.

“Three-fifty?”

Jillian gasped and slapped her hand over her mouth. Three hundred and fifty grand? They couldn’t possibly pay all that back. What was her father thinking? Chances were he’d borrowed a lot less, but it had accrued interest.

“Just what I overheard through the door,”

Ricky said, his voice low and defeated.

“They expect full payment in three months or they’ll take over the business and make us pay off the rest working for them.”

My stomach dropped. They were the Fearless Finnegans, not some Armenian lapdogs.

“Okay. I’ll join you guys after Elena comes home. What about Jill? Shouldn’t we contact her?”

Yeah! Jillian inched closer.

“Cian. No. Dude, we have to tell her,”

Ricky added.

“If she finds out that you left her out of the loop, she’ll go ballistic.”

More silence.

“Dad said that? I guess I’d forgotten about her mother. Still, if he sees how much she loves being back and the way she’s already drawing in a bigger crowd… Oh, I get it.”

She hated the one-sided conversation. She could only guess what Cian was saying, and it pointed to Dad not wanting her involved.

“No one is like her. I don’t care how or who you plan to replace her with. No one pulls moves the way Jill does.”

Jillian sucked in a breath. If he’d reached out and decked her, the pain would not have been this unbearable. They planned to replace her?

Her first instinct was to storm into the room, snatch the phone from Rick, and yell at Cian, but then she remembered her father was down the hall. He was the one calling the shots. Her fight was with him.

Carefully, Jillian backed up, opened the side door leading to the garage, and slammed it shut.

“I’m home. Where is everyone?”

she called out.

No, she wasn’t going to fight with her father, but she planned to make him change his mind.