Blackmailed Into a Fake Engagement / Tempted Into the Tycoon's Trap

“You can fix one of those,” she said, growing increasingly uncomfortable with his invasion of her little universe.

“Which one?”

“The engagement. You could make it go away. You could go away.”

He chuckled. “No chance. We’re both stuck for the duration. If you don’t like it, just think of it the same way you do the weather. It’s a trade-off.” He rested his hands on his hips. “So go on to the cabin before I’m struck with a sudden obligation to carry you.”

“God forbid,” Gwen muttered and trudged forward. She would nap in the office tonight so she could watch the monitors of the rescue barn. Every step she took, she heard the crunch of Luc’s boots just behind hers. She heard his breath. Right there behind her, watching her, he was waiting to catch her if necessary. The notion made her stomach turn a flip, a sensation she hadn’t experienced in years. She didn’t like it.

Hours later, she awakened to the sound of a knock at the front door. She sat up in bed, confused, realizing she was still dressed in the same jeans and flannel shirt she’d worn the day before. What? How? She brushed her hair from her eyes, trying to blink away her drowsiness.

Mentally backtracking, she recalled coming into the cabin and settling into the office so she could steal a few naps in between watching the mare from the remote camera feed. How had she ended up in her bed?

Another knock sounded at the door. She heard a low male voice. Luc Hudson, she remembered and pushed her quilt aside. She glanced at the clock and cringed. Seven a.m. She should have been up by five! Dashing to the bathroom, she splashed water on her face and brushed her teeth, then rushed down the hall. She took a turn toward the office.

“Gwen, dear,” Luc called.

She stopped midstep, frowning at the dear. She swung around to look at him. He stood in the doorway backlit and looking wide-eyed and perfectly awake. She tried not to snarl.

A man she’d never seen before craned around him and lifted a camera, taking a half-dozen shots as she stared in surprise. Luc shoved the door closed and strode toward her.

“They’re already here,” he said.

“Who?” she asked, craving a cup or ten of coffee. “And how did I end up—”

“We don’t have time. We’ll have to talk later.” He ran his fingers through her hair. “Put this on,” he said, pulling a jeweler’s box from his pocket and opening it. Lifting the large solitaire with a diamond-studded band, he caught her left hand and pushed the ring onto her finger.

Gwen gaped at the ring, shocked at how well it fit. “How did you know—”

“Pretend you’re madly in love with me,” he said and tugged her toward the front door.

“But what—”

“The paparazzi,” he said and opened the door.

Gwen immediately heard a dozen clicks from the camera. “When did you and Luc Hudson get involved?” another man asked. “And what’s going on with your sister, Nicki?”

Luc slid his arm around her waist. “Gotta give you guys credit. You’re the first. You make it damn hard to keep a relationship private.” He turned toward Gwen and dipped his head. “I think they’ve caught us, sweetheart, ” he said and lowered his mouth to hers.

Gwen blinked in surprise at the sensation of his lips on hers. Hearing the click of the camera reminded her of her role, Luc’s adoring fiancée. She deliberately melted against him and lifted her hand to his bicep. His kiss felt both foreign and natural. His body was warm and strong, his hand at her back firm and persuasive. His mouth lingered, catching her off guard, but she recovered, ducking her head into his shoulder.

“So shy. Listen, why don’t you come back later? We can show you the horse we rescued yesterday. She’s pregnant.”

“Gwen’s pregnant?” the reporter asked.

Gwen felt as if she’d been slapped. “No,” she said immediately in a sharp voice. “The horse is pregnant. Not me.”

“Okay,” the reporter said, sounding disappointed. “Let me get a shot of the rock. Everyone likes to see the ring.”

Gwen raised her hand and stared at the unfamiliar ring on her finger.

“Cool, you look like you can’t believe it,” the reporter said.

The man had no idea, Gwen thought and plastered a pleasant expression on her face.

He glanced at Luc. “You’ll let us shoot some film?”

“It’ll make you understand even more why I fell for her.”

The photographer glanced at Gwen. “As if you needed a reason,” he said. “Hollywood misses you, Gwen.”

Gwen smiled, amused by how glamorous she didn’t look with zero makeup, hair that hadn’t been brushed and sleepy eyes. Good thing she didn’t give a rip. “You’re too kind.” She wrapped her hand around Luc’s bicep. “There’s a diner in town if you’re hungry.”

“Okay,” the reporter said. “You promise you won’t go anywhere?”

“We’re not going anywhere,” Luc assured the man.

The reporter nodded. “This is gonna be great. So, I’m Tripp and this is Gordon.” Both men exchanged hand-shakes with her and Luc. “See you in an hour.”

“Two would be better,” Luc said.

“Okay,” Tripp said reluctantly. “Two hours, but not one minute more.”

The two men ran to their car and exchanged a high five before getting in and leaving. Disgusted, Gwen shut the front door and immediately rounded on Luc. “Why did you invite the paparazzi to hang around and shoot film? I don’t want them on the ranch.”

“They won’t be here that long,” he said. “This is perfect. They won’t be focusing their full attention on us.”

“I don’t want this ranch exploited for the almighty sake of Hudson Pictures. This is a beautiful, peaceful, safe place for the horses and—”

“And for you,” Luc interjected. “A safe place for you to hide from the rest of the world.”

Something inside her twisted. His words were like a hot poker fresh from the fire, stabbing at her most vulnerable point. “You have no right to criticize the life I’ve chosen. You have no right to invite these—” she broke off, her frustration growing by the millisecond “—these parasites onto my uncle’s property just because it serves your purpose. After years of working non-stop, my uncle is finally taking that three-week cruise he deserves. I hate to see his reaction when he returns to this mess. Have you thought about what will happen after this? How many more reporters will show up once our photos hit the rag sheets? And after this charade is over, how am I supposed to handle the reporters who keep showing up, asking for an explanation of why you and I broke up?”

Luc met her gaze with infuriating calm. “You can trust me. I’ll handle this.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ve heard that before. Trust me are the two most deadly words in Hollywood.”

“Like you said yesterday, we’re not in Hollywood. I’ve been handling the press for years, Gwen. I can handle them this time, too. If it gets too intense, I’ll bring in some security.”

“Great,” she said, her voice full of sarcasm. “Exactly what I wanted. Security.”

“It’s temporary. And you shouldn’t knock the publicity you’ll get. You’ll get a flood of donations for horse rescue after this airs.”

She sighed, hating that he was right. “I need to get a shower. I don’t know how I ended up in my bed with my clothes still on. Last thing I remembered I was in my office watching the mare on the monitor and—” She stopped, seeing the knowing expression on his face. “Oh, don’t tell me you carried me to bed.”

“I did it for myself. Your head was cradled in your hands. You were going to end up with a helluva neck ache. You’re already difficult enough without anything else added.”

She opened her mouth to retort but couldn’t think of a suitable response. Was she supposed to thank him for his thoughtfulness or rip him to shreds for daring to touch her while she was asleep? She wasn’t accustomed to having anyone watch over her, especially a man such as Luc Hudson.

“I need to know how long this is going to last,” she said. “And don’t tell me ‘however long it takes.’ You know better. I bet you have this planned down to the minute. How long?”

“Barring complications with your sister, thirty to forty-five days,” he said.

Gwen told herself it was just another shoot. Her last shoot.

Two hours later, Luc watched Gwen engage both the reporter and the photographer as she showed them the rescued pregnant horse. “She’s still skittish and afraid, so you’ll need to keep your distance. Isn’t she a beauty?”

Tripp, the reporter, nodded. “She is. Did you know she was pregnant when you rescued her?”

Gwen shook her head. “We didn’t find out until we moved her back to the ranch. Luc stepped right up and helped the firemen with the rescue.”

“Really?” the reporter said, looking at Luc. “Never knew you were a horse lover.”

“You never asked,” Luc said in a deliberately cryptic voice and slid his arm around Gwen’s waist.

Tripp gave a knowing nod. “Trying to impress your lady.”

“It worked,” Gwen said, playing her role well. “But I was impressed before.”

“How did the two of you get involved?”

“We met at an industry function years ago and were reintroduced when Gwen made a trip to L.A. a few months ago. I wasn’t going to let her get away this time.”

“The commute is rough, though. How do you handle it?”

“I have access to a jet. I can get here just about anytime I want.”

“Any chance you’ll lure her back into the movies?” Gordon asked.

Luc immediately felt Gwen stiffen. “I’m a lot more interested in luring her down the aisle.”

“Have you set a date for the big day?” Tripp asked.

“We just got engaged,” Gwen chided, nestling against Luc and looking up at him with such adoration he could understand every one of her nominations. The woman was damn convincing. “We’ve waited a long time to find each other, and we want to enjoy every minute.” She paused a half beat. “Speaking of minutes, I have that appointment in town this afternoon,” she said. “So, you’ll have to excuse us. I really need to be going.”

The photographer began to click photographs at a machine-gun speed. Gwen rose on tiptoe and skimmed her lush lips over his cheek then slid her mouth next to his ear. “Please get rid of them,” she whispered, then nuzzled him again.

“That will be all,” he said to the reporter and photographer. “Gwen and I have other things we need to do.” He slid his hand down Gwen’s arm to catch her hand. “I know you appreciate getting this exclusive scoop.”

“More than you know, man. More than you know,” Tripp said and extended his hand. “Thanks for working with us. You won’t be sorry. And good luck with the horse, Gwen. What are you going to name her?”

“I hadn’t—”

“Pyrrha,” Luc said, looking at Gwen as she whipped around to meet his gaze.

“Pyrrha?” she echoed.

“Greek mythology. She was a queen.”

“A survivor of the great flood,” she said, her lips curving in a slow but genuine smile as she nodded. He felt a sizzle of connection resonate between them. “I like that.”

Luc heard the rapid-fire click of the camera and felt a surge of annoyance. The media had worn out their welcome. He shook hands with Tripp. “Have a safe trip back to L.A.,” he said and ushered everyone outdoors. He walked Gwen to the cabin.

“Did you manufacture the appointment to get rid of the reporters, or is it real?” he asked.

“It’s real,” she said over her shoulder as she climbed the stairs. “But I was ready for them to leave. In fact, it would have been fine with me if they’d never shown up in the first place.”

“You’ll be glad when you see the donations pouring in for your rescue operation,” he said, wishing he could get a look at her long, lean legs without the benefit of denim covering them.

He closed the door behind them, and she turned to face him. “Why do you care about my rescue operation?”

He shrugged. “It’s a good cause. If you and I are forced into this little charade, you may as well benefit from it.”

She sighed, her eyes full of misgivings. “I just wonder how many donors will be asking for their money back after our so-called engagement is over.”

“We don’t have to give the engagement a dramatic ending. Unlike your—” He broke off when he saw her gaze turn chilly.

“Comments like that are exactly why I hate dealing with the press. If they can’t twist it to suit their purposes, they’ll make something up. Trust me, you know nothing about the reason my marriage broke up.” She glanced at her watch. “I need to go. I don’t want to be late for the kids.”

“Kids,” he echoed.

She raised her hand. “None of your business. You’ve exploited me enough.”

Her accusation jabbed him. He shot out his hand to catch her arm and pulled her back toward him. “Have you forgotten why we’re doing this in the first place?”

She took a deep breath and bit her lip. “Nicki.”

“Yes, Nicki. Do you want the press to crucify her?”

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “No. The more I think about it, the more I agree with you. I just find the whole paparazzi thing vile.”

“So, it’s not personal,” he said in a wry voice.

“No,” she said. “It’s not personal. You’re actually—” She broke off and shrugged. “Maybe we should start over. Hi, I’m Gwen McCord. It’s nice to meet you.”

He closed his hand over hers. “My pleasure,” he said, playing along. “I’m Luc Hudson. You’re even more enchanting in person than on the big screen.”

She smiled. “Thank you. You’re more helpful than I would have expected one of the Hudsons to be. I realize neither of us is thrilled with our assignment, but starting now I’ll try not to make it more difficult than it already is. Who knows? By the end of this, we may even be friends.”

Nodding, he lifted her hand to his lips, seeing in her eyes a spark of surprise mixed with something else. “To friendship,” he said, but at that moment he decided they would be more than friends.

Four

Whenever Gwen returned from working with the after-school program in drama therapy, she struggled with a clashing sense of satisfaction and grief. If things had turned out differently, her own child would be in preschool now. Peter had demanded, however, that she finish filming before her pregnancy was visible. He’d been unhappy when she’d told him she was pregnant, even going so far as to suggest that she get an abortion so it wouldn’t interrupt the shooting of his movie.

Gwen remembered that moment as if it had happened yesterday. That was when she’d no longer been able to deny that her relationship with Peter was crumbling.

Standing in the foyer of the cabin, she felt her keys slip through her trembling fingers to the floor. She glanced down at her shaking hands, spotting the engagement ring, and took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Food, she needed food. That was the reason she had the shakes, she told herself. She hadn’t eaten anything since morning.

The sound of Luc’s voice was muffled by the closed guest bedroom door. Relieved he wouldn’t see her in her current state, she picked up her keys, shrugged out of her jacket, hung it in the hall closet and went to the kitchen to scrounge up something to eat.

Soup, she decided, pulling a can from the shelves. And peanut butter and honey sandwiches. Not exactly gourmet, but it would fill her up. She would have to toast the bread because it was frozen.

Trying to think about anything except the baby she’d lost years ago, she heated the soup and made two sandwiches just in case Luc was desperate for nourishment.

Her mind flashed back to that day on the set when she’d fallen. The private emergency room, emergency surgery, Peter insisting on complete privacy and secrecy regarding the loss of her pregnancy. Waking up and feeling empty.

“Smells good,” Luc said just steps behind her.

His voice startled her, and she accidentally touched the hot pan with her fingers. Scalding pain singed her fingers, and she drew back, gasping. “Oh, no,” she said.

Luc swore under his breath. “Put your hand under the water,” he said, pulling her to the sink and plunging her hand under cool running water. “Damn, I didn’t mean to surprise you that much,” he said.

Overwhelmed by the combination of pain from her hand and the comfort of his chest at her back, she shook her head. “It’s not your fault. I was thinking about too many things at once. It’s just a little accident.”

“Does this happen often? Burning yourself while cooking?”

“Why?” she asked. “It’s usually food I burn, not myself.”

He nodded. “You get distracted.”

“Yes. There are more important things than food.”

“That’s why you have so many frozen meals ready for the microwave.”

She grimaced. “Okay, you know my secret. Well, one of them,” she amended. She started to pull her hand away from the faucet. “I think I’m better—”

He shook his head. “No. Keep it submerged for another few minutes. I’ll take care of the soup.”

Gwen glanced over her shoulder at Luc as he removed the pot from the burner and poured soup into the two bowls she’d set on the counter. There was a total sense of unreality to this picture. She would have never imagined seeing one of the powerful Hudsons in her kitchen serving soup.

Luc looked up and met her gaze. “You’re staring. Why?”

She shook her head. “It wasn’t on my calendar to have Luc Hudson in my kitchen this week, or any other week.”

His lips curved in a half grin. “Just lucky, I guess.”

“Which one of us is lucky?” she shot back. “You or me?”

“Excellent point. On the surface, most men would give an arm or leg or both to be in my position.”

“I hear a but coming.”

“Who wouldn’t want to be stuck in a cabin with the sexiest woman of 2004?”

She groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

“Just curious,” he said, his gaze sliding over her sweater. “Do you still have that shirt?”

Feeling his gaze like a touch, she bit her lip. “No, it was just a man’s shirt. Nothing special.”

“Do you know how many men had fantasies about that shirt?”

She felt her cheeks heat. “No, and I don’t want to know.”

“Of course, the fantasies were about removing the shirt,” he continued.

“Which didn’t happen. So you can put that in the unfulfilled-fantasy column.” She turned off the faucet.

“A lot of reality is about unfulfilled fantasy,” he said.

“It can be,” she agreed and glanced at him. “How did you learn that?”

“My position. My brothers call me a PR wizard, but I know the truth. It’s all spin and semantics.” He moved the bowls to the small dining room table and gestured for her to sit.

“Just a minute,” she said and impulsively grabbed a bottle of wine from the refrigerator and scooped a couple of wineglasses from the cabinet. After pulling a corkscrew from a drawer, she brought the sandwiches to the table. She sat down, thinking for a flash of a moment that his gentlemanly manners made her feel more feminine than she had in a long time. “That’s part of the reason I like living here. Not much spin at all. People say what they think. I’ve never felt more at peace.”

He nodded. “How come I haven’t seen a man around to help you enjoy your newfound peace? You must have had some contenders.”

She put the corkscrew on the wine bottle, and he took it from her hands. “Maybe that’s part of the secret to my peace. I could ask you the same question. Isn’t there a woman—” she paused and shot him a sideways glance, unable to conceal a ghost of a smile “—or women back in L.A. who will be devastated by the announcement of your engagement?”

He shot her his version of a sideways glance and shook his head, pulling off the cork and pouring the wine. “I haven’t had a serious relationship in two years. I almost made a big mistake.”

She watched him take a sip. “I bought that wine at the drugstore. The vintage is uncertain at best. But you mentioned mistakes. We all make them. How did you avoid making yours?”

“I don’t run from the truth when it smacks me in the face,” he said, his own face hard with cynicism. “I don’t run from much of anything.”

She could see that his strength was more than skindeep. The knowledge gave her a shiver of awareness she hadn’t felt in a long, long time. He aroused her curiosity and made her aware of herself as a woman.

“So, how did the ‘almost’ part happen?” she asked, taking a bite of her sandwich and sipping her soup.

“My brothers say I suffer from rescuing-damsel-in-distress syndrome.”

She smiled. “Pregnant horses included?”

He gave a rough chuckle and met her gaze. She felt something sizzle and hum between them and glanced away. Where was this breathless feeling coming from?

“I met a woman whose car had broken down. One thing led to another. We started seeing each other. She was a part-time actress. I introduced her to some people. I was going to propose,” he said. “Until I found out she’d gotten involved on the sly with a producer I’d introduced to her at a party.”

Gwen grimaced. “Sorry. At least you found out before you got married. That’s more than I can say. I was so young and naive, and Peter gave me the big rush. I was pretty unfocused at that point. I’d done a few commercials and some small parts. He was the exact opposite. He knew exactly what he was going to do and how to get there. He seemed to know exactly what I should do, too.”

“You eventually disagreed.”

Gwen thought of her pregnancy and nodded. “He was willing to sacrifice something I couldn’t.”

“Must have been pretty big to turn you off acting, L.A. and men.”

“It was,” she said, but her discomfort drove her to her feet even though she hadn’t finished eating. “Um, do you want some more soup? Another sandwich?”

He circled her wrist with his fingers as she tried to step away from the table, compelling her to look at him. “I’m good, but you need to eat more. Sit down and finish.”

Gwen took a deep breath, exasperated with herself. During her acting days, she had kissed major movie stars. Why did Luc Hudson bother her so much? She sank into her seat and sipped her soup and ate her sandwich, determined to finish as soon as possible.

“When we took Nicki to rehab, she told us not to call her parents. She said to call you instead,” Luc said.

Gwen stopped midbite then swallowed and nodded. “My father moved to Arizona and hasn’t been in touch. My mother remarried and lives in Malibu. She would be upset by the negative publicity. If it isn’t good news, she doesn’t want to hear it.”

“Life doesn’t always give you roses,” he said.

“Even though you can spin it that way,” she said.

“Right,” he said. “Part of the reason I can spin it is because I face the hard facts head on. Our family has dealt with some tragedy. The death of my grandfather is still difficult. He was the heart, breath and soul of Hudson Pictures. We all want to live up to what he created.”

“Tall order?”

“In more than business,” Luc said. “He was the kind of man who could fill up a room with his personality. He had a huge passion for the business, but he also had a huge passion for my grandmother, and it never seemed to wane. He met and secretly married her during World War II in France. He founded the studio to bring her talents to the big screen. In a strange way, I think all of us are striving to find a love that matches what he and my grandmother had. Hell,” he said, “he may be gone, but my grandmother still loves him.”

“That’s an amazing story,” she said.

“Yeah, and if I weren’t so damn cynical, I might believe the same kind of thing could happen to me. Lightning that lasts.”

She nodded, understanding. “Lightning that lasts,” she echoed. “Maybe it’s harder to be cynical when you see someone who actually had that. Then it’s not a myth.”

He reached his hand toward her hair and pushed a strand away from her face. “Yeah.” He gazed into her eyes for a few seconds, which made her lose her breath.