Torn (3 page)

Scuffed and worn brown leather boots. Dark taupe trousers covered by rumble-rough, honey tan, suede chaps. Cream muslin cowboy shirt with dusky pearl buttons, worn loose and open at the collar to reveal golden tan, smooth skin. Complete with a vintage, chocolate brown leather duster, Ty Benson was a gunslinger of estrogen dreams. All that was missing was a pair of six-shooters at his lean hips.

Forcing herself to look up without swooning –– courtesy of a bit of tender cheek clamped between a couple molars –– she didn’t hear her soft sigh as she gazed up into his face. Full, delicious lips –– that succulent, bottom lip
cried
to be sucked! ––jaw strong, nose straight, though perhaps a little large –– but you know what they say about large noses –– eyes so blue that in the low light they looked almost indigo, expressive sandy brows, and shaggy, golden blonde hair in layers to hang loose past his broad shoulders… Brad Pitt in
Legends of the Fall
had
nothing
on this guy.

“We haven’t properly met.” He smiled at her and extended his hand. Twin dimples book-ended his flawless, white smile. “I’m Tyler Benson.”

Even happier that she resisted the temptation of those bagels, and hoping that her purring was heard only in her own head, Chelsea placed her hand in his, feeling warmth on her palm where skin met skin. She opened her mouth to reply and mentally crossed her fingers for functioning vocal cords. “Chelsea Morgan.”

Tucking her hand in the crook of his arm, Tyler strolled further into the warehouse, leading her away from the others. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Chelsea. We didn’t exactly have the opportunity before.”

She flushed, remembering how embarrassingly tongue-tied she’d been at their first meeting.

“Are you nervous?” he asked, mistaking the reason for the blush. At her nod, his smile became indulgent. “Don’t be. It’s just a screen test. A formality, really. I wouldn’t worry about it; Julie’s set on you being Tina.”

He stopped suddenly and looked down at her. Chelsea shifted, her brow furrowing as she took in his tall frame. His height made her feel tiny, and at five-eight, that was a first. It was also, she observed with some concern, quite a turn-on. And when Ty Benson picked up her left hand and glanced at it; the small opal ring glimmered softly on her third finger. “Married?” he observed, “What’s your husband’s name?”

“Jake. He’s a Sagittarius, like you,” Chelsea murmured absently, then felt her cheeks flame when the actor grinned.

His smile was a slow, sexy sprawl that made her toes clench in their expensive costume slippers. “So you know I’m a Sag, huh? What else do you know about me?”

“That you’re married and a Sag…”
And that husband or no husband, when you smile like that, I want to eat you with a spoon…
Chelsea tried to hide her discomfiture with a shrug, withdrawing her hand from his grasp. “What else could I know about you? I don’t know you.”

“True.” Tyler inclined his head to the left in agreement. “We don’t know each other. Yet. But we will. We’ll be acting the part of each other’s spouse. We’ll get to know each other rather well, I’d say. Do you have any kids?”

“Two girls. Six and three.” Chelsea automatically reached for the white gold, oval locket necklace she usually wore, then remembered that she was in costume. “I can show you their pictures later if you’re still interested.”

A tiny smile hovered around Chelsea’s lips, and Tyler’s endearing, lopsided grin widened. “You wouldn’t be trying to get the inside scoop, would you?” he asked, only partially joking.

“Is there any other kind worth getting?” Chelsea quipped, and felt a strange, warm satisfaction when he chuckled.

“You see? You and I will get along just fine.” He turned and started walking back towards the set, Chelsea following. “Do you want to do a quick run through of the scene?” he asked, stopping and looking at her over his shoulder.

Chelsea watched, amused, as the film crew present snapped to attention when the director walked onto the set. Julie Bishop was a tall –– slender to the point of thin –– woman, with a full head of long, gold and brown dreadlocks. Not the neat, tidy dreadlocks that were currently
en vogue
, but the big, fat, beefy ones that screamed
Rastafari
. Her dark skin resembled smooth, dewy, ebony; her cheekbones traced to Mandingo ancestry. Her lips were full and broad, and so was her contagious smile. Her wit was sharp and dry, and her tongue even sharper. On her way to becoming a fixture in Hollywood, some in the business referred to her as being the female Spike Lee.

Julie took a seat in her personalized director’s chair and Tyler and Chelsea walked to their marks. “Chelsea, you understand the scene?” she asked, then launched into dialogue, not waiting for an answer.

“Paul is going to ride off to confront the man at the saloon who insulted you and your marriage because you’re not only a light-skinned colored woman, you’re married to a white man. He’s an ignorant, racist bastard, so naturally your relationship with Paul is unacceptable to him. You, being a black woman and a survivor, understand
why
he behaves as he does, even while you don’t agree with it.

Tyler, as Paul, is incensed, and has made up his mind to defend your honor and that of your marriage. While you’re touched that Paul is so dedicated to you, like I said before, Tina’s a survivor. She’s been through this racial ignorance before and knows it won’t be the last time in her life it will rear its ugly head. You know some battles are worth fighting and others are best to walk away from. You’d rather Paul save his energy for the family you and he are starting. In addition, you, Tina, have a bad feeling about the whole thing, and are trying to convince him by any means necessary, not to go. Okay? Remember, Chelsea, Tina knows that Paul would do
anything
for her. She knows how much he loves her, and she believes she will win this argument.” Julie paused as she looked around the set. “Ready?”

Chelsea nodded.

“Action!”

Chelsea took a deep breath, grabbed on to Tyler’s forearm, and wrapped her fingers around it tight enough to lighten her knuckles.

~ * ~

“Paul!” she cried out. “Please! Don’t go! You don’t understand! Men like him––“

“Men like him what?” Tyler turned abruptly to face Chelsea; his blue eyes glittered with rage, but softened as they gazed on his wife’s features. One large hand, warm and protective, covered hers over his arm. “Men like him need to realize that my wife the way he has and gets away with it!”
no one
insults

Watching Ty Benson work up close and personal was so surreal that Chelsea would have forgotten her place if not for the actor’s encouraging squeeze of his hand over hers. With a start, Chelsea remembered her next line. “That’s a realization that’s
not
going to happen! What he said… He’s a product of his upbringing. He’s ignorant, and––!”

“That doesn’t excuse what he did!” Tyler slipped an arm around Chelsea’s waist, tugged her close against him. His hand lifted, his fingers touching her cheek, his thumb caressing the smooth curve of the bone beneath the skin. “Sweetheart, he called you an ‘uppity, high-yella nigger’, and he…” His eyes flickered briefly to the curves of Chelsea’s breasts; the hand at her waist gently rubbed her back in a soothing motion. “He touched you. He put his
hands
on you! If it wasn’t for Parker…”

Chelsea latched onto his thought and clung to it, finished it. “That’s right, honey, Mr. Parker stopped him––“

“And for that, he has my eternal gratitude, but that bastard––“ Tyler cut himself off, stepping away from Chelsea, his hands clenched into fists.

“Please, Paul… I’m Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I have a really bad feeling about this. Leave this one alone. It’s not worth it.
begging
you…”
He’s
not worth it. Please don’t go. Just stay home with me…” Inspired, Chelsea touched her flat abdomen with her fingertips, “…with
us
.”

Her breath expelled in a “Paul…”
whoosh as
shock washed over her, drained the blood from her face.

Tyler turned to leave, grabbing his pistols and tucking them into the waistband of his trousers. Chelsea’s eyes widened, frantic. “Paul!” He opened the door and took a step over the threshold.

“
Paul!”
Chelsea screamed, running to the door after him.

He turned around as Chelsea ran out of the house; her eyes glistening with unshed tears. He opened his arms and she flung herself into his embrace, inhaled the scent of leather from the collar of his duster, of him. “
Please
!” Lord, she loved his smell. Her hands reached up to grab his face and he bent his head down, claimed her mouth with his own.

Flames of desire sped from Chelsea’s lips throughout her body, sparking an awareness of herself ––of him–– that she’d not thought possible. Tyler’s tongue flicked across her lips and she parted them with a soft moan, gave him access. He took it ruthlessly, his warm, moist, full lips slanting over hers as his arms held her tightly against him.

~ * ~

Tyler was consumed with heat the moment Chelsea’s lips touched his. All he could feel was an intense, ferocious hunger for the woman he held in his arms. It burned him. Scared him. Thrilled him. He thrust his tongue into her mouth and the electricity she sparked when she gently stroked it with her own, shot fire directly into his groin and ignited his heart. He gathered her closer against him, feeling himself harden against her thigh.

“I love you, Tina,” His voice was rough with emotion. He stepped back and released her.

“Paul!” Chelsea cried, but his back was to her as he strode off. “I love you!”

~ * ~

“
Cut
!”

Chelsea jolted at the sound of the director’s command, and turned to face the older woman, her heart pounding, her lips burning.

The director beamed from ear to ear. “And you said you weren’t an actor! When you threw in that improvisation by touching your stomach… You’re a natural!” she exclaimed. “That was amazing! Ty! Wasn’t she incredible!”

Tyler rejoined the women, a can of soda in hand; grateful for the long coat he wore. His body still hummed from the feeling of Chelsea’s lips on his. His eyes, indigo with remembered passion, focused on the woman under discussion. “Incredible,” he softly agreed, staring at her lushly swollen mouth.

Chelsea stared at him for a moment, the heightened blush on her cheeks telling him that she too, was affected by their kiss, then looked at anywhere but him. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

If Julie noticed any strange undercurrents between the pair, she was too ecstatic to comment. Besides, there were more pressing matters at hand. “How soon can you start shooting?” she asked in a jubilant voice that contrasted with Chelsea’s incongruently subdued tone. “Tomorrow?”

Chelsea frowned. “I think so. I’ll have to check with my husband first. See if he can look after our girls.” Absently, she fiddled with the opal ring on her left hand, unwittingly bringing Tyler’s attention to it.

Her husband.
She’s married
, he reminded himself, his eyes falling to the gold band on his own left hand.
So am I
. He blinked, suddenly realizing that for the first time since his marriage, his focus had actually been on the woman in his arms during the scene, rather than on his actual wife.

“Or you could bring them to the set, we’ve got a day care system set up here,” Julie was saying as Tyler brought his attention back to the conversation. “What are their names again?”

The director nodded, satisfied, her head turning at the sound of her name being called. “See you tomorrow then!” she said, and waved before walking away.

Tyler and Chelsea looked at each other. Tyler was the first to break the silence. “Congratulations,” he said.

Chelsea licked her lips, unintentionally calling his attention back to them. They were red and swollen from his kiss.

“Thanks,” she murmured. She noticed that at some point, he’d wiped off the subtle lipstick color she wore from his mouth, but it still looked… branded. Like she’d staked a claim somehow, by kissing him. Forcing her gaze elsewhere, Chelsea glanced over at the crew, watched them prepare for tomorrow’s shoot.

“Chelsea––“

“Tyler––“

They both spoke simultaneously, then laughed softly. “You first.” Tyler conceded, taking off the duster and strategically draping it over an arm.

“It wouldn’t be anything fancy, just elk steaks. Beer.” Chelsea licked her lips again, nervously, not seeing Tyler’s eyes darken as they followed the pink tip of her tongue. “U-Unless you have plans?”

He was having a harder time than usual getting his mind off of the silky, seductive memory of her mouth on his. He shook his head to clear it. What was she talking about? Dinner, that’s right. Tyler shuddered and winced as he thought of the miserable fare offered by the hotel’s room service. Because of the unusual and long work hours of filming, most restaurants were closed whenever he was free. Fast food, when it was open, was an option he frequently took advantage of, but Lord, did it have to be so close to the highway? Any more autographs at that place and he would have carpal tunnel.