Propositioned Into a Foreign Affair by Catherine Mann

“I’m thinking that maybe you believe sleeping with me might make for good publicity.

Or you want the novelty of sleeping with an actress.” Had she actually said that? She hadn’t even known the fear existed until the words fell out of her mouth.

Sam held up one finger. “First. I don’t need you or the damn press in order to be successful. I could buy your family business twice over.” He ticked off a second finger. “Second, if I wanted novelty there are other women I could turn to who wouldn’t accuse me of chasing them for their money.”

Bella’s eyebrows shot upward. “You really aren’t lacking in ego.”

“Women chase me for my money. That’s nothing to be proud of.”

A hesitant smile tipped her mouth. “I really don’t have anything you need.”

“Now, there you’re wrong.” He stepped closer, his body totally flush against hers, his hard muscles a sweet temptation against her.

Don’t miss the exclusive in-book short story by USA TODAY bestselling author Maureen Child, leading to Seduced Into a Paper Marriage.

Seduced Into a Paper Marriage by Maureen Child

What the hell was she up to?

Was she trying to make him insane? Because if that was the plan, she was doing fine.

Rearranging the furniture, cooking dinner, wearing a dress that made a man want to tear it from her body with his teeth. Lust roared through Dev’s system like an out-of-control freight train. He’d done nothing but think about her all day and now there she stood and he was praying she’d take a breath deep enough to have her breasts pop free of that dress.

She’d been home less than forty-eight hours and already she’d tossed his world into complete disorder.

This had not been his plan when he’d gone to her condo to bring her home. He was supposed to be the one setting the rules.

If he didn’t know better, Devlin would swear she was deliberately trying to seduce him.

Available in April 2010 from Mills
&
Boon® Desire™

Inherited: One Child by Day Leclaire & Dakota Daddy by Sara Orwig

Propositioned Into a Foreign Affair by Catherine Mann & Seduced Into a Paper Marriage by Maureen Child Mini-series—THE HUDSONS OF BEVERLY HILLS

The Once and Future Prince by Olivia Gates & Pretend Mistress, Bona Fide Boss by Yvonne Lindsay

Propositioned Into A Foreign Affair

by

Catherine Mann
Seduced Into A Paper Marriage

by

Maureen Child

MILLS & BOON®

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Propositioned Into A Foreign Affair

by

Catherine Mann

Dear Reader,

Thank you for tuning in for the next instalment of the Hudson family saga! What a delight it was for me to tell Bella Hudson’s story, since she’s an actress. Prior to my writing career, I too made my living in the theatre—on the stage, however, rather than the big screen. After completing my master’s degree in theatre, I returned to Charleston, South Carolina, and worked at the historic Dock Street Theatre.

While my theatre days are now long past, I still find my training comes in handy with my books—such as when staging a scene or delving deep into characterisation. And best of all, while submerged in the world of creating stories, I get to write the script and direct the show, as well as be all the characters!

Thanks again for picking up Bella’s book and happy reading!

Cheers,

Catherine Mann

www.catherinemann.com

RITA® Award winner Catherine Mann resides on a sunny Florida beach with her military flyboy husband and their four children. Although, after nine moves in twenty years, she hasn’t given away her winter gear! With over a million books in print in fifteen countries, she has also celebrated five RITA® Award finals, three Maggie Award of Excellence finals and a Bookseller’s Best Award win. A former theatre school director and university teacher, she graduated with a master’s degree in theatre from UNC-Greensboro and a bachelor’s degree in fine arts from the College of Charleston. Catherine enjoys hearing from readers and chatting on her message board – thanks to the wonders of the wireless internet that allows her to cyber-network with her laptop by the water! To learn more about her work, visit her website at www.CatherineMann.com or reach her by mail at PO Box 6065, Navarre, FL 32566, USA.

To my delightful and talented editor, Diana Ventimiglia.

One

His hands roved her bare body, melting her with the warm heat of his strong caress.

Bella Hudson bit her lip to hold back an embarrassing groan. Barely. She called upon all her training as a Hollywood actress to stay silent while Henri worked his magic on her oiled-up body.

Muscles melting, she buried her forehead deeper in the massage table’s face cradle. The scent of aromatherapy candles soothed her nose while Christmas carols sung in French mixed with ocean sounds to caress her ears.

Pure bittersweet pleasure. Very bittersweet.

Sixty-two-year-old masseur, Henri, was likely to be the only man touching her for quite some time since her jerk of an actor boyfriend stomped her heart just last week. And wow, that thought sure kinked up her neck again, encroaching on her peaceful retreat.

She and her precious dog, Muffin, had escaped to France for some much-needed soul soothing at the seaside Garrison Grande Marseille. Garrison hotels always provided the best in pampering, peace and privacy.

And crossing the Atlantic guaranteed she wouldn’t risk accidentally running into Ridley or, worse yet, Uncle David.

Men. They were all rats. Well, except for Henri, who was too old for her and married, but oh my, he worked wonders with heated river stones along her lower back.

“Henri, are you and your wife happy?” She stared through the face cradle at Henri’s gym shoes as he swapped out the stones beside her treasured little Muffin, snoozing away in her pink doggie carrier.

“Oui, Mademoiselle Hudson. Monique and I are very ‘appy. Four-tee years, three children and ten grandchildren later. My Monique is still beautiful.”

He continued to laud his wife and family, his adoration so thick it threatened to smother her.

Or make her gag.

She’d really thought Ridley loved her, only to have him say he’d been too caught up in the romance of their starring roles in the movie about her grandparents’ WWII romance. She’d really thought her parents loved each other, too.

Wrong. And wrong again.

Her mother had cheated. She’d slept with her own brother-in-law and now Bella’s uncle David was actually her daddy David. Her two cousins were actually her half-siblings. Good God, her family was ripe to be featured on an episode of Jerry Springer.

Even river stones couldn’t ease that ache.

A low-sounding beep echoed through the room. A series of clicks eched. Had the whale sounds traded up to dolphin calls?

Henri yanked the sheet up to her shoulders. “M’selle Hudson, quick, get up!”

“What?” she asked, not quite tracking yet.

Her eyes snapped open. She blinked to adjust in the dim light and found Henri blocking someone trying to push through the door.

Someone with a camera.

Crap. Crap. Totally tracking now, Bella bolted off the table and to the floor. Her feet tangled in the sheet and she pitched forward.

“Paparazzi. Run!” Henri barked as Bella struggled to regain her footing. “Run. M’sieur Garrison prides himself on protecting the privacy of his clients. He will fire me. Then my wife, she will keel me. She is crazy mean when she gets angry.”

So much for Henri and Monique’s happy marriage.

“Where the hell am I supposed to run to?” Bella spun away from the door—and the camera—making sure to anchor the sheet over her backside. She dashed to Muffin’s quilted pink carrier and grasped the handle.

She couldn’t wedge past Henri and the photographer struggling to raise his camera over Henri’s head.

“The screen,” Henri gasped. “Move the screen. There’s another door behind. I will hold off this piece of garbage, M’selle Bella.”

Henri might have strong hands, but he appeared to be fighting a losing battle. It was only a matter of time before the paparazzi passed him.

Clutching the Egyptian cotton in one hand and the rhinestone-studded carrier in her other, Bella raced to the antique screen painted with Monet-style murals. Sure enough, she found a narrow exit decorated with a large red bow. She butt-bumped the bar, creaked the door open and peeked out.

She looked left and right down an empty corridor, less ornate than the rest of the hotel. Labeled office doors were bedecked with simple holiday wreaths. There might be some after-hours workers around, but running into them beat the hell out of sprinting through the wide-open, high-ceilinged lobby with crystal chandeliers spotlighting her mad dash toward the elevator.

“Okay, Muffin, cross your paws, ‘cause here we go.”

Her sweet little fur baby yawned.

Bella tucked into the dimly lit hall, empty but for ornately carved antiques. Her bare feet pounded along the thick Persian carpet on her way past a lush green tree, tiny lights winking encouragement. She paused at the first office.

Locked. Damn.

She ran her hand along door after door on her way down. All locked. Double damn.

An echo sounded behind her. The sound of someone running. She glanced over her shoulder and…

Click. Click. Click.

She recognized the sound of a camera in action too well. The short but bulky photographer had over-powered Henri.

Bella ran faster, Muffin’s cloth cage bumping against her leg. She wasn’t a novice in ditching the press. She’d been aware of the media attention on her family since she was born twenty-five years ago.

Gilded, framed photos of employees stared at her in a weird pseudo voyeurism. She rounded the corner and yes, yes, yes, found a mahogany door slightly ajar. No lights on. Likely empty. She would lock herself inside and call for help.

Panting, she raced the last few steps, slid through the part in the door.

And slammed into a hard male chest.

One without a camera slung over his shoulder, thank heaven, but still a warm-bodied—big-bodied—man. She looked up into his cool gray eyes. She didn’t need to check the formal photo by the door to confirm the identity of this dark haired, billionaire bachelor. At only thirty-four, he’d already been featured on plenty of “most eligible” lists. This expatriate bad boy had broken hearts from the Mediterranean to South Beach.

She’d fallen into the arms of hotel magnate Sam Garrison.

Sam stared down into the panicked blue eyes of film star Isabella Hudson.

Where the hell were her clothes?

He was used to dealing with eccentric behavior from his star-studded guest list. But a woman running around in nothing more than a sheet? That was a first.

He kept his eyes firmly locked on her panicked face and mussed red hair while waiting for her to clue him in. No need to check out the luscious cleavage on display. He could feel every voluptuous curve of the near-naked beauty pressed enticingly against his chest.

“Media,” she gasped, pressing her breasts more firmly against him. “Paparazzi!”

Damn. His libido took a backseat to business. God, he hated the press.

He prided himself on his hotel’s privacy, an essential element in attracting high-profile clientele. A breach like this could cost him. Big time. Nothing was more important to him than his hotels.

Not even a potentially distracting pair of amazing breasts.

Where was the man she’d been trysting with? Must be a wimp if he’d left her to face the media on her own while clad in nothing more than a sheet, her body slicked up enticingly.

Was the guy married? Or a high-profile politician? His mind raced with possible publicity landmines. This temperamental actress could spell big trouble.

Sam gripped her by the shoulders, her silly, pink dog carrier thumping him in the knee. “Stay in my office. I’ll take care of this.”

“Thank you. But hurry, please.” She backed into the office, her foot peeking out from beneath the sheet to show a gold toe ring. “He’s right around the corner—”

Footsteps pounded down the hall.

Sam had spent the past ten years of his life delivering on the promise of privacy and luxury at his branches of the family’s exclusive Garrison Grande Resorts. Even a resort magnate had to roll up his sleeves and play bouncer on occasion.

Today, apparently, was one of those occasions.

He stepped back into the empty reception area leading to his office. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting to pounce.

Behind him, he could hear Bella scooping her dog out of the carrier and soothing the restless pet until the bell around the dog’s neck quieted.

The footsteps grew louder. Closer.

He stuck an arm out and clotheslined the media hound. Sam lunged out just in time to press a Berluti loafer flat against the guy’s chest as he tried to arch up. Bella’s dog yipped from inside the office.

Applying more weight, he made sure the burly man became one with the floor. Yeah, he recognized this peon. The guy freelanced for a national gossip magazine.

Or rather he had worked. Because by morning, the guy would be fired.

The dog barked louder as if in agreement.

“Security will be escorting you out,” Sam growled lowly. “You are no longer welcome here. Your magazine will no longer be given access to any press conferences held here if they keep you on staff.”

A big-time loss to the magazine that would guarantee the guy’s walking papers.

“I’m just doing my job,” the photographer gasped.

“And I am doing mine.” Sam pressed his foot down more forcefully.

The guy with the camera cowered. Yeah, he’d gotten the no-trespassing message loud and clear.

Sam eased pressure. “If you manage to land another job, perhaps you will remember to be more polite to my guests in the future.”

The dog growled, launching through the door and into the hall.

Dog? More like a…Hell, he didn’t know what to call the bristly little beast that looked more like a slightly mangy steel wool pad of indeterminable breed.

“Muffin!” Bella squeaked, peeking out the door.

The photographer lurched, grappling for his camera.

Like hell.

Sam yanked the camera from the relentless guy’s white-knuckled grip. Muffin leaped with surprising lift for a dog so small. The photographer started to arch upward again. Sam scowled. Muffin landed on the guy’s face.

The photographer sagged.

Muffin growled with an underbite and a protruding lower tooth that gave the mutt something close to a Billy Idol snarl. Sam flipped the camera over and popped free the storage disk. He rubbed the tiny bit of plastic between his fingers, his brow furrowed. Then he smiled.

“Muffin,” he looked down at the dog, “fetch.”

He flicked the card full of six-figure photos to the ugliest little mutt he’d ever seen.

The pooch snapped the “treat” out of midair. Crunch. Crunch.

The photographer slumped back with a whimper.

Bella laughed from the doorway. Husky. Uninhibited.

Sam jerked to look over his shoulder at her.

She fisted the sheet tight between her breasts, flame-red hair tumbling down to her shoulders with a post-sex look that called to his libido. No question about it. The American starlet was drop-dead gorgeous. He’d noticed her before when their paths crossed at the occasional high powered party, but her up close appeal now packed an extra punch.

A security guard jogged down the hall, snapping the thread of awareness. “Do you need help, M’sieur Garrison?” Henri the masseur called.

Ah, she’d been getting a massage. He should have guessed, but something about this woman just screamed sex and he’d jumped to conclusions. Regardless, he needed to deal with the crisis at hand.

“Haul this piece of trash out of my hotel and make sure he’s never allowed back in.” He’d grown up experiencing firsthand what hell these sorts of muckrakers brought to people’s lives.

Sam watched the guard drag the dejected photographer into a stairwell, then turned his attention back to the sexy diva.

She knelt beside her dog, sheet cupping the sweet curves of her bottom. “Muffin, give it up.” She pinched at the memory card clenched in the pup’s snaggletoothed mouth. “I appreciate your help, sweetie pie, but I don’t want you to choke.”

Sam snapped his fingers.

The dog whipped her furry head around, spitting out the plastic card as she hastened to pay attention.

Bella’s eyes went wide with surprise. She gathered up her pet, just managing to keep the white sheet from slithering to her feet.

Desire spiked through him, stronger this time, followed by something else. Determination.

Bella Hudson would not be sashaying out of his life anytime soon tonight.

Two

Bella faced her rescuer. Her very hot rescuer.

Muscular Sam Garrison dominated the corridor outside his office with the same authority he reputedly brought to the boardroom. She tried to distance herself by looking at him with a more analytical eye.

His chestnut-brown hair was trimmed military short, his gray gaze more like piercing steel. He appeared strong enough to take on anyone, anywhere, but even with the sleeves of his crisp, white shirt rolled up, he didn’t look the sort to dirty his hands with this type of work often. Everything from his perfect haircut to his high-end loafers shouted privilege.

“Thanks bunches for your help with that reporter.” She fisted her hand on the sheet, securing the scant covering, and thrust her other hand out to shake. “I’m Bella Hudson.”

Sure he probably already knew who she was. Most people recognized her on sight, thanks to all the prepublicity for Honor. Posters with her face were plastered all over the U.S., U.K. and France. But it seemed rude to assume someone already knew who she was. Besides, she liked life to be as normal as possible.

Well, as normal as it could be for a girl sprinting around in nothing more than a sheet as she escaped a rabid reporter.

“I know who you are.” He extended his hand. “Sam Garrison.”

“I know who you are,” she echoed, her hand sliding into his callused grip, enfolded in heat, hidden from sight by the size of his hold.

Oh, boy.

Any hopes of staying aloof scampered away like leaves in the fall wind. Not that she felt cold. Nooo. Heat tingled up her fingers, infusing warmth through her veins from tip to toe. Too much. She’d come here to escape these sorts of feelings, damn it.

Bella snatched her hand back. “Uh, so,” she shifted from bare foot to foot, “where did a rich dude like you learn street-fighting moves like that?”

The hotel mogul Garrisons were reputed to be worth more than even her family, who’d made their money from Hudson Studio’s box-office hits. From European boarding schools to holidays in Fiji, she hadn’t exactly grown up without means, but the Garrisons had wealth that ran deeper with houses around the world. They had a Rolls Royce lifestyle all the way.

“Wealthy people don’t know how to fight?” He urged her through his office door into the empty reception area, out of the hallway and away from possible onlookers who might straggle through even after regular work hours.

“That’s what bodyguards are for.” She just hadn’t expected to need one inside a Garrison Grande spa, for crying out loud.

“I fight my own battles—always have.” His steely eyes went harder for a flash before he smiled.

Suddenly she felt very, very alone with him since everyone else must have clocked out for the night. That left her alone with Sam Garrison in the lush reception area leading to his office just beyond the open door. Alone with a very sexy male at a time when by all rights she should be swearing off any guy, much less this one, a known ladies’ man.

She’d met him briefly a few times in the past since the Hudsons and Garrisons frequented many of the same fund-raisers, parties and galas. It was a part of the whole networking game for their high-powered families to be seen in all the right places.

Sure she’d registered he was handsome in the past, but given he was nearly ten years older than her, he’d been out of her range before. What made him so much more compelling tonight? All he’d done was clothesline a reporter.

A shiver of excitement tripped up her spine.

She kept her expression bland—thank goodness for those acting skills of hers. The rogue attraction must be a by-product of raw and vulnerable emotions after her breakup. Not to mention the shock of learning about her uncle and her mother’s long-ago affair.

All the more reason to retreat to her room for a bubble bath. Far, far away from any man until she had her equilibrium back. “Thanks again for coming to my rescue. Now how can I get back to my room without flashing the entire lobby?”

“My apologies for this mess.” He knelt to scoop up Muffin then crossed to tuck the dog back into the carrier. Had he even heard her question? “We pride ourselves on privacy for our clientele. Rest assured the breach in security will be investigated and addressed.”

“It’s all right.” Stepping on the edge of the sheet, she kicked her foot free and shuffled across to take Muffin’s carrier from Sam. “I certainly don’t enjoy being hounded by the press, but I understand it’s the price I pay for having been born into this family and doing the job I love. Most of the time it’s okay.” She paused to clear the hitch in her throat. “I’m just having an especially tough month.”

He kept his hand on top of the dog carrier, preventing her from picking it up. “Then please give me a chance to make your month take a turn for the better.”

Whoa, hold on there, buster. She backed a step from the gleam in his eyes, her heel sinking deep into the lush carpet. “Getting me some clothes to wear would certainly help. I don’t even want to risk going out into the hall.”

“I have an elevator right through there in my office that will take us straight up to my suite.” He stepped closer. “My staff can deliver your clothes there, and dinner, too.”

“Dinner?” she squeaked.

He didn’t push nearer this time. He simply smiled, his steely, gray eyes glinting with appreciation. “Our chef is internationally known. I will instruct him to make anything you request.”

What about a hamburger to go? Because she should run, run, run. Run back to her penthouse for more spinsterish plans—watching a chick flick with Muffin, her third in as many days. Where again she would probably cry her eyes out. Where—yet again—she would see the beautiful French sunrise all by her lonesome.

How flipping pathetic. She needed something to jar her out of that sad routine. She needed to prove she wasn’t falling apart.

She eased her grip on the dog carrier and reassessed Sam Garrison. Perhaps he could provide just the distraction she really needed tonight. And it wasn’t like there was a chance in hell she would fall for any smooth talker’s charms again. Anything that happened between the two of them would be her choice with her eyes wide open.

Bella secured her sheet and straightened her shoulders. “Does your cook make doggie treats?”

He’d lured her to his suite.

With a gourmet meal, a little persuasion and a bit of luck, he would lure her into his bed as well.

Sam sampled the remains of his chardonnay while Bella sat across from him at the intimately small table in the alcove overlooking the moonlit water. Candlelight flickered, casting an ivory glow over her face.

She’d swapped her sheet for a voluminous white robe bearing the hotel’s crest on the pocket. Clothes would show up soon—but not too soon. He hadn’t seen the need to rush and risk her leaving before he had a chance to persuade her to stay.

The leftovers of their meal remained on the table and antique serving cart. He’d sent away their server after the hotel employee had unveiled the duck in a black currant sauce.

Bella hadn’t even blinked. She’d been too busy eating. He liked a woman who enjoyed her food. He’d wondered if the world-class cuisine would be wasted on an anorexic Hollywood type who dined only on watercress and wine.

He had the wine part right.

She alternated sips of his cellar’s best with tastes from the wooden board filled with samples of cheeses and fruit. Her face bore the smile of a content woman.

Even her dog was happily snoozing on a pile of gold tasseled pillows on the sofa after snacking on the baked puppy treats his chef had whipped up.

Bella dabbed the corner of her mouth with a linen napkin. “This was all amazing. Far more relaxing than even a massage.” She reached for her wineglass beside the single rose in a vase. The neck of her robe parted slightly to reveal the creamy curves of her breasts. “It’s just what I needed after a real bitch of a month.”

She had mentioned that in the hall earlier as well. He knew the look of a woman burning to vent and the more she talked, the longer she would stay. Conveniently, that would give him more time to win her over.

He set aside his drink, focusing his total attention on her so she could tell her celebrity tale of woe. An unflattering photo? A former friend spilling lies for a payoff? “Why has your month been so terrible?”

She hesitated for a moment before shrugging. “You must be the only person on the planet who hasn’t read a newspaper.”

“Gossip magazines you mean?” He spit out the words. “I stay away from them.”

“Smart man. I wish my job allowed me that luxury.” She downed half the remaining fine wine as if it were nothing more than water. A bracing breath later, she continued, “My grandmother has breast cancer, my boyfriend dumped me and my uncle’s really my dad.”

He whistled low and long. Not what he’d expected at all. “That is one helluva month.”

She glanced up from her drink. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For not offering platitudes that really don’t fix anything.” She set her crystal stemware back on the table. “I prefer a no B.S. attitude.”

He simply nodded, refilling her glass. He hadn’t realized the family matriarch—Lillian Hudson—was battling for her life. Lillian was somewhat of a legend around France, her homeland until she met and married a young American soldier during WWII. “This is your grandmother you made the movie about?”

“Yes. Since my grandfather died thirteen years ago, Grandmere—I’m the only one to call her Grandmere, actually, but that’s besides the point.” Bella paused to sip her wine. “She’s made it her mission to bring their wartime love story to the big screen. We were afraid she couldn’t live long enough, but with the film making its debut in a week on Christmas day, it looks like she’ll have her wish. She’s weak, but hanging on. This project has come together in time to celebrate the sixtieth anniversary of Hudson Studios. It’s perfect timing.”

“It must have been tough playing your grandmother in the movie, especially now.” He didn’t keep up with Hollywood bios, but he seemed to recall that while Bella Hudson had made great strides in independent films she’d yet to achieve a breakout role.

She toyed with her napkin, twisting it tight. “People think my casting was some kind of family gift, but I had to fight to get that part. And I’m so glad I got the chance. Making a movie about my grandparents’ World War II romance was an honor—all the more fitting since the movie itself is called Honor. Are you familiar with their story?”

“Only what I’ve read in news releases about the movie.” He lied a bit, but hearing her sexy voice stoked his senses. And talking about her grandparents softened the strained edges around her eyes.

He suspected the telling would relax her far more than any wine and he most definitely wanted to make Bella feel at home.

She eased back into her chair, toying with the stem on her wineglass. “My grandfather was a U.S. soldier when he met my grandmother here in France. She was a struggling cabaret performer. They secretly married. After the war, he brought her back to the States. My grandfather Charles founded a movie studio so Grandmere Lillian could bring her talents to the big screen. He made her a legend and she made his fledgling studio a huge success. It’s a fairy-tale story.” Her eyes sparkled more than the crystal in the candlelight.

“Sounds like you have romance in your genes.”

Her smile faded fast. She rose from her chair, taking her drink with her as she turned her back to him and crossed to the window, boats bobbing in the busy French port outside.

“My belief in romance took a serious hit recently.” Her voice trembled. “My mother had an affair with her husband’s brother. My parents have split up as a result. I always thought they had such a great marriage and now everything has come crumbling down.”

He shoved back his chair and walked over to her, stopping an inch shy of touching her. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

She glanced over her shoulder at him, fiery spirit replacing any tears in her eyes. “I’m not sure why I’m spilling my guts to you this way.”

“Maybe you just needed to tell someone rather than having the press tell it all for you.”

She tossed her head, her hair a flame-red contrast against the white robe. “Perhaps.”

The exotic perfume of her shampoo mingled with the scent of the massage oil slicking her skin. His body stirred in response, but he could control himself.

The payoff would be worthwhile for both of them if she decided to stay—and it needed to be her decision. “I’m afraid I don’t have any reassuring words to offer you, Bella. My Garrison cousins are all jumping on the marriage bandwagon, but I’m still a cynical soul when it comes to tying the knot.”

She laughed low, her eyes lingering on his face a second longer than casual interest. “Did your parents have a crummy marriage, too?”

He slid around to stand beside her, leaning one shoulder on the picture window overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. He normally didn’t roll out his life story for strangers, not that his private life was any secret after the way the press raked his mother over the coals. Anything he said, Bella could find out on her own.

So why not use those same facts to wrangle his way a little closer to her? It wasn’t like any of the information upset him anymore.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching for her too soon and risk spooking her. “My parents never had a marriage at all. My father was a scam artist looking to hook up with a wealthy Garrison. Mom fell for him at first, got pregnant, but wised up before actually tying her life to the jerk.”

Her hand fluttered to rest on his arm. “I’m sorry, for your mother and for you.”

“No loss on my part. He’s an ass. He tried to get custody of me once, but everyone knew he was only interested in the trust fund that came with me. The courts threw out his case once three women showed up with marriage licenses bearing my dad’s name.”

“He’d been married before?”

“But never divorced.”

“Ouch,” she gasped. “Your father was a bigamist?”

“Big time.” This wasn’t something he talked about, but if sharing it would gain him traction in winning over Bella, then why not? He’d long ago hardened himself to the facts that made up his parentage. “Mom was forty-one, single, pregnant and hounded by the press.”

Her eyes went wide. “Your mother was forty-one when she had you? From the way you told the story I thought she was younger.”

His mother had once told him that she hated being a cliché most of all—the old maid taken in by a younger Lothario. Sam hated most of all that the press had hammered home that image to his mother. They’d made her life miserable to the point she’d become a recluse, living in a barrier island bungalow off the coast of Southern Florida.

He stared back at young and vibrant but too vulnerable Bella. Would the media wear her down? Or would she develop Teflon defenses over time?

And speaking of relationships and breakups…“You mentioned an ex-boyfriend.”

She looked down and away, out the window again. “My costar in Honor. Ridley the Rat.”

He stroked a strand of her hair back over her shoulder, leaving his hand there, caressing the inside curve of her neck. “Ridley the Rat, huh? I’m glad he’s out of the picture.”

Bella studied him through narrowed eyes, but she didn’t pull away. “Your empathy factor is sadly lacking.”

He slid his fingers into her hair, cupping her head. “But my attraction factor is not. Ridley the Rat is an idiot.”

“Oh.” Her pupils widened and she swayed closer toward him in unmistakable attraction.

Enough dancing around the subject. Time to let her know how much she affected him and see if she felt the same. He dipped his head and skimmed his mouth over hers. Her breathy sigh, and the downward glide of her eyelashes encouraged him.

He traced the seam of her lips until she parted for him and finally her hands slipped up his arms to rest on his shoulders. A jolt of desire shot through him, instantaneous. Undeniable. He deepened the kiss, stroked, searched, learned the taste and feel of her.

She edged closer to him, returning his kiss with an enthusiasm that made him hard with desire. Her soft curves grazed his chest, her fluffy robe warm from her heat. He could keep pushing the point and he was fairly certain she would follow him all the way into his bedroom a simple door away. Her response indicated as much. But he needed to hear her total, unreserved surrender.

Sam eased his mouth from hers, his hands sliding down her back to loop loosely around her waist. He watched her, waiting for her to open her eyes again.

Finally, her lashes fluttered open again, her blue gaze passion glazed. “Wow.”

Yeah, “wow” pretty much summed it up. He wasn’t sure what it was about her kiss that sent him so high so fast, but this woman packed a hell of a punch to his libido. He didn’t want to think overlong how much a simple kiss rocked him. He gathered up his shaky control and focused on winning her over for what he wanted most.

More.

More of her.

Tonight.

“Wow,” she said again, her voice steadier this time.

He glided his knuckles along her jaw, the silky feel of her skin making him ache all the way to his teeth. He wanted to discover if she felt this good all over. “My eyes followed you more than once at parties we both attended over the years. But you don’t need me to tell you what a gorgeous woman you are when there are magazine covers devoted to stroking your ego.”

“I hardly know you.” Yet her face dipped toward his touch. “You’re polite and this dinner was lovely, but I’m not even sure I like you.”

“Ah, but do you want me?”

Three

Bella gripped the edge of the winter-cool windowsill to keep from falling straight into Sam’s muscular arms. Even the romantic Marseille skyline twinkling beyond the pane seemed to be special-ordered for seduction. With the power of his kiss still zinging through her veins, she couldn’t deny the obvious to him, much less to herself.

She wasn’t sure why he affected her so much, so quickly. She didn’t like to think of herself as shallow, falling into bed with a man because of his looks. But then hadn’t she done just that with Ridley?

God, even thinking of how easily he’d tossed her aside still hurt. Ridley had said he loved her. He’d even discussed getting married. All lies, lies she hadn’t seen through because she’d been too caught in the romantic air of filming her grandparents’ story. She’d been ripe for the picking when Ridley showered her with his flowery charm.

Apparently he was an even better actor than she’d given him credit for.

She scrubbed memories of him from her brain. Thoughts of him now, while she was with Sam, felt disloyal somehow. For tonight, in this moment, she would be totally with this man, a man who issued bold, blunt statements of fact rather than fake, empty, flattery.

Yes, she wanted Sam. Yes, she needed something to ease the pain inside her and it seemed being with him might help her forget for at least a night. But no way could she let him think she was a total pushover.

She tipped her chin, the heat of his touch still tingling. “You’re certainly not lacking in the ego department.”

He trailed a finger along the lapel of her bathrobe. “I’m only stating facts here. You’re a gorgeous woman. I would have to be dead not to notice.”

His words soothed her wounded ego. People complimented her often enough, but so many of them were sycophants and suck-ups, she discounted much of what they said. She couldn’t miss the straightforward sincerity in Sam’s eyes.

Still, a wounded part of her needed to push. “A person’s worth is about more than looks.”

“Of course.” He stepped closer, the tangy scent of his aftershave tempting her to breathe deeper. “But initial, animal attraction shouldn’t be discounted.”

“Is that what’s happening here?” she asked, even when she already knew the answer to that one.

She was completely out of her depth, wavering on weak-kneed hunger for him, and it was a feeling unlike any she’d ever experienced. Animal attraction sounded just about right for her instinctual need to touch him.

“What do you think?” He rested his hands lightly on her shoulders, broad palms gently massaging away her tension.

And self-control.

“I’m thinking that maybe you believe sleeping with me might make for good publicity, or that you want the novelty of sleeping with an actress.” Had she actually said that? She hadn’t even known the fear existed until the words fell out of her mouth.

“Damn, lady, that’s a hefty load of insecurities.” He gave her shoulders a final squeeze before pulling his hands back. “Let’s unpack that one issue at a time.” He held up one finger. “First, I don’t need you or the damn press in order to be successful. I’m managing quite fine on my own. In fact, I could buy your family business twice over.” He ticked off a second finger. “Second, if I wanted novelty, there are other women I could turn to who wouldn’t accuse me of chasing them for their money.”

Her eyebrows shot upward. “You really aren’t lacking in ego.”

“Women chase me for my money. That’s nothing to be proud of.”

A hesitant smile tipped her mouth. “I really don’t have anything you need.”

“Now, there you’re wrong.” He stepped closer, his body totally flush against hers, his hard muscles a sweet temptation against her.

“I am?” she gasped, the musky scent of him swirling through her with that one breath.

“Since the second I saw you running down that hall, I have wanted to get closer to you. So much so that I’m damn near about to explode if I don’t get my mouth on some part of you soon.”

The intensity of his rumbling voice stroked her senses as artfully as his touch, his kiss, everything about this moment drugging her, dragging her away from any good intentions.

She knew he had a reputation with women, and in a strange way that made this encounter somehow safe. She didn’t have to worry about risking a relationship. Her heart wouldn’t be in jeopardy.

Casual affairs had never been her style, but then her life had never been this upside down. Why not take what she needed? What he so clearly wanted, too.

Maybe she’d been hoping for a little adventure when she’d taken the elevator up to his private suite tonight. But then, perhaps being wrapped in Sam Garrison’s arms was the balm her wounded spirit needed. And who better to seek this moment of mindless pleasure with than a man who knew all about the joys of hot, one-time encounters?

“Birth control?” she asked, that issue the last hurdle between her and jumping into his bed.

“In the other room.” His hand slid behind her back, anchoring her against him. “Is that a yes?”

She touched his face, her fingers testing his raspy five-o’clock shadow. “Yes, definitely yes.”

A low growl of appreciation his only response, he scooped her off her feet and carried her across the sitting area to the door ajar, leading into his bedroom. Dim lighting from the crystal chandelier showcased the king-size bed with a large painted panel of the French countryside over the bed.

The burgundy-and-gold brocade comforter was turned back invitingly. Champagne waited in a bucket by the bed along with chocolate-covered strawberries.

She thumped him on the shoulder lightly. “You were planning this all along when you placed the order for supper?”

“What can I say? I was hopeful as hell from the second you slammed into my chest wearing nothing more than a sheet.”

So he’d been hopeful. Yet he’d still given her plenty of chances to say no. He might be a player, but he was a player with honor.

Time to stop thinking.

Time to feel and forget.

Raising her face for his kiss, she smoothed her hands over his hair, finally allowing herself the indulgence of feeling its texture. Soft along the top, a bit bristly as his hair tapered off at his neck. She savored the pleasure of being kissed by a man who knew how to do it so beautifully well.

Beside the sprawling king-size bed, he lowered her to her feet, her toes nearly disappearing in the carpet. Her hands roved his back, the fine fabric of his shirt soft against her fingers, a thin barrier over the hard muscled expanse. A thin barrier she quickly unbuttoned and stroked away to reveal the cut of muscles, more defined than she’d imagined. And her imagination had been darn impressed.

What other pleasant surprises waited for her? He had far more clothes on than she did and she did not intend to be the only one naked in this room.

Desperation gripped her with a frantic need to soak up everything she could from her time with him. This was her amnesia drug of choice. A way to forget everything. A way to relieve the tension Henri had said riddled her muscles. She couldn’t imagine herself in a relationship anytime soon and she couldn’t see herself indulging in a string of meaningless encounters. This, Sam, could be her last chance for the sweet pleasure of a man’s bold stroke for quite a while to come.

He kissed his way down the sensitive curve of her neck, nudging aside her robe with his chin, only an inch. She’d expected him to whip away the belt quickly. Instead he took his time, lavishing attention in the curve of her shoulder.

“Faster,” she said, unbuckling his pants frantically as he toed off his shoes and socks.

“Slower,” he commanded, lowering her to the bed, sinking her into the downy fullness. Her robe parted. He froze for an instant before he exhaled hard. “I knew you were beautiful, and it’s obvious you have a great body, but damn. Just damn.”

Maybe he was only dishing out flattery to win her over…Hey wait, he didn’t have to win her over anymore. She was already naked and ready in his bed.

Unwilling to wait any longer, she arched up and hooked her thumbs in his waistband. “How about we get rid of those pants so I can enjoy you, too?”

His hands covered hers as she swept away his trousers and boxers, the bristly hair on his muscular thighs sending a shower of awareness stinging through her. She let her eyes rove him in a “wow” moment all her own. His broad shoulders spoke of strength beyond the boardroom, a strength she’d experienced firsthand when he’d so effortlessly carried her. She glanced back up to his angular face—handsome in a stark way—softened by an intriguing dimple in his chin.

In a flash of insight, she realized she’d chosen Ridley’s opposite. Other than dark hair, Sam shared little in common with her more wiry, smoothly good-looking ex-lover. She shoved away thoughts of another man.

No one and nothing else would intrude on this.

Sam tapped her on the shoulder lightly, encouraging her to fall back on the mattress. He snagged a bottle of champagne from an ice bucket beside the bed. Deftly, he popped the magnum, angling it over her body so the frothy overflow splashed along her stomach.

“Sam!” she squealed at the cold kiss of bubbles against her overheated flesh.

He dribbled champagne along her stomach. Cool droplets gleamed on her skin, sending a shiver through her. He dipped his head to taste and tease her with his tongue. Lower, lower and lower still he slowly dribbled a thin trail of amber liquid between her legs.

Wicked determination lit his eyes as he tasted her. Carefully, again and again, just enough to tease her higher without sending her over the edge.

He glanced up at her with heavy lidded eyes. “You make me drunk.”

“We didn’t have that much wine with dinner.” She wouldn’t be able to delude herself later that this had been an alcohol-induced mistake.

He gripped her hips, his naked body sliding up and over hers. “You misunderstand. I said ‘you make me drunk.’”

“You flatter me.”

“I am known for being brutally honest.”

His undisguised admiration numbed her bruised ego more effectively than any bottle of champagne. Bella flipped Sam to his back, leaned toward the silver tray by the ice bucket and plucked up a chocolate-covered strawberry between her teeth. She brought her mouth to his and shared.

He nipped at the fruit, closer and closer until their lips met. His kiss tasted of strawberries and champagne, and she couldn’t deny the power of his touch along her skin. His touch brought the perfect forgetfulness.

Sam held her kiss while reaching to the bedside table for protection. He sheathed himself before she even had time to totally register what he was doing, but grateful all the same that he’d possessed a whisper of restraint enough to do so.

He gripped her hips and positioned her over him, nudging against her as he stared up into her eyes. Slowly, she lowered herself onto him, taking him, letting him take her with bold strokes that scattered any remaining rational thought.

Heat rose and she threw herself into that swirl of sensation. Total oblivion. Complete forgetfulness of all the things that had driven her here in the first place. Into his bed.

She writhed more urgently against him, ready for release, almost there already… He flipped her to her back and took control and kept that sweet finale from her, coaxing her to the edge again and again until her fingernails scored his back.

Still, he tormented her by slowing the pace, damn him. She’d had enough of men ruling her life and her emotions. She would take what she wanted, when she wanted it.

Bella locked her legs around his hips, sensation rolling through her as fast as their wet bodies slid against each other. Almost…Almost…

There.

Her muscles tensed as pleasure pulsed through her so hard and fast a cry burst free. Dimly she registered his hoarse growl of completion as she rode the wave into total satisfaction.

Replete, she sagged beneath him into the fluffy comforter. The scent of champagne, strawberries and lovemaking filled the air, but she knew it would all fade soon enough.

Her escape from reality would end at sunrise.

Sun peeking on the horizon, Sam tucked the sheet more securely around Bella as he carefully slid from the bed. Her hair splayed over the pillow, her bare arm gripping the coverlet as if securing it for another great escape.

Muffin stared at him quietly from the foot of the bed, wide eyes unblinking, Billy Idol snarl in place. He’d never been much of a dog person, but at least the mutt wasn’t an annoying yippy barker.

He shifted his attention back to Bella. No question that Ridley guy had done a number on her ego. The rat’s timing sure sucked, with her grandmother’s illness and her true parentage coming out.

She’d mentioned the press had already started printing stories about the mess. Media hounds would eat up her misfortune faster than wolves devoured a fresh carcass. The very reason he preferred to stay as far away from them as possible.

By all rights he should say goodbye to Bella once she woke. He’d certainly intended to when planning out this seduction.

He’d expected great sex. But he hadn’t expected to want more.

She’d made it clear this was a one-night-only deal for her, too. Now he had to convince her otherwise.

He wasn’t sure how long it would take for them to work each other out of their system. He wasn’t even sure how long he could put up with the media circus that would undoubtedly follow her wherever they went together.

The one thing he did know? He would have to tread warily with her, given her recent experience with men. Of course, he wasn’t an inept jackass like that Ridley moron.

A soft knock sounded from beyond the sitting area, out in the hall.

Right on time.

Sam shrugged into his robe and strode past the remains of their meal to answer the door. Bella’s mutt pattered across the floor to join him. Sam blocked the pup with his foot.

His personal assistant, a middle-aged Englishman, stood in the hall, his eyes going wide for a flash at the sight of the dog. “Here are the clothes you ordered for Miss Hudson, along with a new room key.”

“Thank you, Parrington.” Sam stayed in the entry, not wanting to expose Bella to the other man’s eyes. “And the security breach?”

“One of the ladies at the registration desk started dating the photographer a couple of weeks ago.” Parrington reached for the PDA clipped to his belt. “I have the name here.”

“No need to tell me now. Just send the information to my e-mail. The guy probably seduced the woman for her connections here.” A self-serving ass just like his own father. “Thank you for looking into this. I appreciate that no more stress will be visited on Bella Hudson while she is with us.”

“Rest assured.” His assistant nodded crisply.

“Good. Good. Well done.” Sam closed the door again and stared back into the bedroom at Bella. She still slept soundly.

His body stirred at just the sight of her. He wasn’t sure what made her different, but he still wanted her even after their night filled with lovemaking and what he wanted, he got.

He knew she’d only slept with him as a balm to her bruised ego. No doubt she planned to hotfoot her way out of here when she woke. Most times, that would have been a relief. But he wasn’t ready to say goodbye to her yet. He had other plans.

Plans to delay her leaving France.

Plans to get her back in his bed.

Mind set, he picked up the phone and dialed.

Bella picked through the layers of sleepy fog until she could pry her eyes open. She blinked twice and…

Oh, my God. She’d really slept with Sam Garrison because sure enough, she could hear him in the shower. What the hell had she been thinking?

She scrubbed her tousled hair off her forehead and stretched, her body tender from a night of uninhibited lovemaking. She eyed the empty champagne bottle and a fast flush heated her face. She eyed the clock and groaned again at how late she’d slept.

What seemed like such a good idea last night now seemed totally reckless. How could she have thought she could sleep with a man without giving something of herself?

The shower turned off.

No, no, no, she wasn’t ready to face him yet, wasn’t sure if she would ever be. All of her reasons for jumping into bed with him—her breakup, her parents’ marital train wreck—now had her eying the door for a fast escape before she risked even a corner of her already bruised heart.

She inched quietly out of the bed, farther and farther until one leg slipped off the mattress. She toed the floor and eased herself the rest of the way out from under the covers. Careful not to make a sound. Determined to get away before he finished his shave and she had to make morning-after talk with a man she barely knew but had slept with anyway.

She prided herself on being so much better than many of the promiscuous Hollywood party types. Hell, she’d even managed to keep her clothes on in her movies so far. She was a serious actress, a deep person who rescued pound puppies rather than spending a gazillion dollars on a vanity pet.

And yet at the first sign of heartache, she’d thrown away her clothes and inhibitions.

Speaking of clothes, she needed something to wear. She would settle for the robe, if need be—

Her gaze fell on a stack of clothes resting on the gold-striped sofa, Muffin resting her head on top of the pile. Bella raced across the room for the jeans and frilly top—hers. Sam must have sent someone into her room.

She scruffed Muffin’s head before gently moving the dog aside. “Sh…Stay quiet, sweetie.”

Under the dog’s head, a room card rested on top of the clothes. Thank goodness. With a little luck and a lot of stealth, she could make it out of here undetected with her pet.

She scooped up the clothes. Sam’s thoughtfulness tugged at her.

Or was Sam just eager to see her leave by making sure her clothes were ready? Insecurity nipped her heels harder than Muffin bounding after her, bell around her neck chiming.

“Shhh, shhh, shhh, Muffin.”

Bella took off the collar so the bell wouldn’t chime and alert him to her escape. She would put it on again once she returned to her room.

No way in hell did she plan to be featured in any photos—or relationship—with one of the world’s most eligible bachelors.

She slipped on the clothes and her gold Escada sandals quickly, tucked Muffin back in her carrier and made a beeline for the door. Half in, half out, she stared back at the bathroom door. Wistfulness whispered through her. What if they’d showered together?

God, she was a sucker. “What if” nothing. They’d enjoyed amazing sex, two adults who wanted no ties.

It was over.

She closed the door behind her and took the elevator to the penthouse floor. Almost home free. She should walk Muffin, but she wasn’t ready to be seen in public yet. She turned to the elevator operator…

He nodded. “Do you need help with your little pet, mademoiselle?”

She loved it when people read her mind. “Yes, thank you. She just needs a quick walk. Her leash is looped on the side of her cage here,” she rattled off instructions at light speed as if that would bring about her escape all the faster. She passed over Muffin’s carrier, blowing a kiss to her little sweetie.

The elevator dinged, the doors opened and she raced the last few feet to her door, ready for a shower, fresh clothes—and a new hotel. She whipped her key card in and out, shoved open the door.

And she came face-to-face with the last person she expected to see.

Four

Bella gripped the door to her hotel suite, resisting the urge to bolt back into the hall. It wasn’t like she had to face a pack of wolves. Seated on the floral loveseat was her cousin Charlotte, thumbing through a newspaper, one of her favored Jamin Puech beaded purses beside her.

A cousin who was actually her half sister since they shared the same father.

What a convoluted family tree. Bella had three brothers she’d grown up with, and now her two cousins were actually half siblings.

Charlotte Hudson Montcalm lived with her French aristocrat husband at the Chateau Montcalm, a palatial estate outside Provence, a fair ways from this port city. What in the world was she doing in Marseille?

And more particularly why was she in Bella’s hotel suite, sitting there as serenely perfect as the white calla lilies on the coffee table in front of her?

She loved Charlotte, but wasn’t ready to deal with their changed relationship. Sorting through the tumultuous emotions would take time. She wasn’t ready to see anyone associated with her tangled family tree.

Then why had she decided to hide out in the very country where her cousin/half sister lived with her husband Alec?

Bella sighed, wishing that annoying voice of reason niggling at the back of her mind would take a nap. Freudian slips were a real pain in the butt.

She closed the door behind her and stepped deeper into the sitting area. Light streamed through the window, whispery gold curtains pulled wide to reveal the harbor with sailboats and ringed with quaint whitewashed buildings.

Pulling a smile, Bella opened her arms for a hug, determined to act as normal as possible. “Hello, Charlotte. What a pleasant surprise to find you here waiting for me.”

Her cousin’s signature perfume reminded her of summer vacations together, staying up late and trying out makeup together.

“And hello to you, too.” Charlotte stood, her stomach large with her advanced pregnancy. Still the blond-haired, blue-eyed beauty carried herself with her usual sophistication. They were the same age and during their teenage years, Bella had felt freckled and chubby next to her willowy cousin.

Bella hugged her taller cousin—sister. Damn, it was tough to rewire a lifetime of programming.

Easing back, she reminded herself none of this was Charlotte’s fault. “What are you doing here so far from home?”

Bracing a hand behind her on the arm of the sofa, Charlotte lowered herself back to sit again. “Alec and I flew over this morning to shop for the baby and learned you were here, too.”

An odd coincidence, but Charlotte’s serene smile showed no sign of subterfuge. Alec had planes at his disposal ready to be used at a moment’s notice.

Charlotte pulled back, her brow puckered with worry. “Why didn’t you tell me you were in Marseille?”

Bella sat in the tapestry wingback chair. A light breakfast had already been laid out on the antique tea cart—small baguettes, jams and fresh fruit beside a carafe of coffee, starched linen napkin lying beside the silver tray.

The thought of food churned her already nervous stomach. “Would you like something to eat?”

“Does a bird sing? Of course I would like something to eat.” She grinned. “I’m pregnant.”

Bella watched as Charlotte tore off a piece of bread. “How did you find out I’m staying at the Garrison Grande?”

Charlotte smoothed her hands over her baby belly. “Alec heard it from one of his business contacts.”

The truth exploded in her mind. “From Sam Garrison.”

Charlotte’s silence and neutral smile answered clearly. She swirled the silver knife through the glistening preserves and smoothed a dollop of raspberry jam on top of her bread.

But when would Sam have had time to do this? They’d only met up the night before and they’d spent every waking moment together…

Charlotte speared a melon ball. “Okay, yes, he called early this morning.”

While she’d been sleeping, before his shower. The only question was had Charlotte truly already been here shopping or had she dropped everything to fly over just because Sam sent up an SOS. Regardless, her half sister had gone to a lot of trouble for her. Bella poured a cup of black coffee and took a sip to wash down the lump in her throat.

“I appreciate your stopping by, but why would Sam call you?”

She barely knew the man and already he was tampering with her life. She’d come here to feel closer to her grandmother. If she’d wanted to see her sister, she would have called her. Now she was stuck in an awkward situation where she appeared rude.

Charlotte waved the silver jelly knife lightly. “Who knows what men think most of the time? I do know that you shouldn’t be staying at a hotel. You should be at the estate with Alec and me.”

Damn, damn, damn Sam for interfering. “I didn’t want to risk bringing the media down on you. Stress is the last thing a pregnant woman needs.”

“I’m completely healthy—and ravenous.” She popped the last pinch of bread into her mouth. She chewed slowly before saying, “Are you staying away from me because of our father?”

Bella snapped back in her seat. She hadn’t expected ever-poised Charlotte to be so blunt. Hearing the truth of her parentage still cut straight through to her heart.

“Why would I do that? Mother and Uncle—” she winced “—David are the ones at fault, not you. They’re the ones who cheated on their spouses.”

“Looking at me could make you remember we’re half sisters rather than cousins.” Her blue eyes darkened with pain.

For the first time, Bella considered how all of this must have hurt Charlotte. David Hudson hadn’t been much of a father, always too busy to spend any time with Charlotte or her brother, but he was still their father. The way he’d torn apart the fabric of their family with his betrayal was terrible.

Bella mentally kicked herself for being so self-centered in her grief. Charlotte deserved reassurance. She reached past the wooden tea cart to squeeze her hand.

“I loved you before; I love you now.” As she said the words, she realized they were true.

Her issue was with their father, David. How strange to think she wouldn’t be here without him, yet at the same time it felt as if he’d stolen her real father from her—Markus, the man who’d brought her up, the man who’d declared her Daddy’s pampered girl, the man who’d been kept in the dark for years just as she had.

Until the whole ugly secret had come to light.

Blinking back tears, she snatched the rolled linen napkin from the silver tray and dabbed her eyes. She was tired of crying over this. She needed to quit feeling sorry for herself and move on. “I’m sorry. You’re right that I was avoiding you. I have to confess, I wasn’t sure if I could even speak to anyone about this without crying.”

Yet somehow she’d managed to tell Sam the whole sad and sordid tale. Memories of strawberries and champagne bubbled in her brain, stirring a phantom taste on her tongue.

Charlotte clasped Bella’s hand. “It’s just going to take a while to settle into this new family tree.”

Was it wrong to want the old one back? Was it wrong to be damned indignant on Markus’s behalf? So much anger could sour her insides quickly. She could sure use some of Charlotte’s serenity right about now.

“Wise words.” Bella nodded, ready to talk about anything but this. “How do you feel? Is everything going well with the pregnancy?”

“Totally perfect. I’m huge, but happy.” Her joy sparkled as brightly as her diamond ring catching the sun when she straightened her pearls. “Alec is spoiling me shamelessly. He even says pregnancy is sexy.” She rolled her eyes. “I laugh, but I’m secretly soaking it up. It’s no secret I had a hard time trusting him after the way our father treated my mother.”

Bella tried not to flinch every time Charlotte used the word father. How could she ever grow accustomed to thinking of him that way? She’d always thought she had her mother’s blue eyes. Now looking into Charlotte’s flashing blue gaze, she saw the real source of her eye color.

David Hudson.

She struggled not to cry and risk another outpouring of sympathy from Charlotte that would only make the urge to feel sorry for herself all the stronger. Blast Sam for pressing this on her before she was ready. “Thank you for coming to check on me. That was truly a sweet thing to do. No matter what, we’re family.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that.” Tears filled Charlotte’s eyes this time. “I was afraid things would be uncomfortable between us.”

“We’ll be fine.” She wished she could be so certain about how things would work out with the rest of her relatives.

“So will you stay with Alec and me?”

And watch her sister wallow in all that newlywed love and happiness as the two of them waited for their first child?

Not a chance.

Charlotte may have found peace and happiness in spite of their family’s crummy track record with marriage. But Bella just wasn’t feeling it for herself.

She patted Charlotte’s hand. “Thank you for the generous offer, but I’m afraid I’ve already hidden out from the press as long as I can. I need to get back to the States for the premiere of Honor.”

Charlotte pressed a palm to her back. “Only a few more days until the Christmas debut. I wish I could be there, but a flight that long really wouldn’t be wise for me this late.”

“Everyone understands. You have to put the baby’s health first.”

Charlotte’s smile wavered. “I just hope our grandmother can hold on long enough to see this baby.”

Facing Lillian’s impending death was difficult for the whole Hudson clan. Bella felt as if her whole family was falling apart.

Charlotte sniffed. “Enough tears. I’m meeting Alec in an hour. Please, keep in touch.”

“Of course, I will.” Bella hugged her cousin-turned-sister a final time before walking with her to the door with a farewell wave.

She stayed in the open doorway, watching Charlotte step into the elevator—

Just as Sam stepped out.

Bella gasped and started to back into her room but, oh, my God, she was too late. And hey, wait, she had a bone to pick with him anyway over the heavy-handed way he’d interfered in her life. She stiffened her resolve and waited to face him, toe-to-toe. She had a lot of mixed emotions roiling around inside her these days and he would make a perfect target for a good, old-fashioned shout down to release the pressure.

Sam closed the last few feet between them and walked her backward toward the suite again.

Stopping in the open doorway, she put her hands on her hips and wished she had on heels for height. “Why are you here?”

“Well, good morning to you, too, Bella.” He held up his hands, a filmy gold scarf dangling from one, large-framed sunglasses from the other. “I’m here to kidnap you.”

From the look on Bella’s face, this wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d planned.

“Come on,” Sam urged, “at least talk to me inside, so we don’t risk some reporter seeing us.”

Not a chance in hell would that happen here, but she didn’t need to know that.

Huffing, she spun on her heel and headed back into her suite. He closed the door behind them.

He’d hoped a visit with her cousin/sister would soften her up, help her deal with some of her frustration. He’d also hoped reminding her of her family connection to this area would entice her to stick around awhile longer. His instincts were never wrong when reading people in the business world. Why should handling Bella be any different?

He would be analytical about this. Emotions were messy and led to mistakes, a truth he’d learned from his failed engagement to Tiffany Jones. He’d certainly missed the boat on reading that woman. She was the daughter of a respected business acquaintance, and Sam had considered settling down after attending yet another wedding for one of his Garrison cousins.

A momentary weakness.

Tiffany wasn’t worth his trust. She’d slept with a yachting friend of his, then had the gall to try and blame it on Sam for not paying enough attention to her. He might not be the most attentive man on the planet, but he’d been straight-up honest with her from the start about the demands of his career. She’d responded by accusing him of loving his job more than her.

He’d realized she was right and called it quits between them.

Sam shoved aside doubts. He’d taken care of the Tiffany situation before it spiraled out of control into a lifetime mistake. Thank God they hadn’t gotten around to setting a date or sending out invitations. He hadn’t totally screwed things up.

And Bella wasn’t looking for forever. In fact, he was going to have to work his ass off to wrangle a few weeks with her. She was as committed to her career as he was. That boded well for them.

Although her scowling silence wasn’t exactly promising.

Sam looped the gold scarf around Bella’s neck playfully. “Come on.” He tugged lightly, drawing her deeper into her suite. “Smile.”

“Like hell.” She whipped the scarf out of his hand and off her neck. “I’m mad at you.”

The best defense was a good offense. “If anyone has cause to be angry, it’s me. You ran out without saying goodbye. If I’d done that to you, I would be scum. Why is it any different when you skulk off?”

She pitched the wadded scarf at his chest. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“What?” He snagged the whispery fabric before it slid to the floor. “Only women get to be indignant over someone running out after sex?”

She opened her mouth, then hesitated. Her brow furrowed with confusion. Ah, he had her off-balance. Good. Let her wonder if maybe he wanted some postcoital cuddling.

Bella shoved her tangled hair back from her face. “I’m sorry for not saying goodbye.” Her frown shifted into a scowl. “Now you can apologize to me.”

“For what?”

She crossed her arms over her luscious chest. “You know what you did.”

“I saved you from the press yesterday. Damn, I’m a real bastard.”

She jabbed him in the chest with one finger. “You called Charlotte.”

“Says who?” he hedged.

“Are you denying it?”

Apparently she knew already, so he confessed, “I’m not denying anything.”

He walked past her, deeper into her room, making it tougher for her to usher him out. He ran a cool hotelier’s eye over the polished sheen of the antiques, the designs unapologetically European. There might be a forty-six-inch flat screen with surround sound at any given U.S. Garrison Grande, but the curtains here were raw silk and the floors polished bamboo.

Here, he’d cultivated a rich, old-world feel all the way down to the paneled murals on the walls. “I called Alec this morning. I was worried about you.”

Her plump lips went tight. “You have to realize from what I told you that my cousin is really my half sister.” She dropped into a tapestry wingback chair. “I’ll deal with that when I’m good and ready.”

He looked around but saw no sign of the padded pink dog crate. “Where’s Muffin?”

“One of your helpful staff is walking her.”

“Good.” He nodded.

“Maybe you can go find her for me,” she said, her hint to leave none too subtle.

“About Charlotte…I thought you might need someone to talk to.” He plucked a couple of grapes from the breakfast tray and popped them into his mouth.

“That’s my decision to make.”

“Hey—” he thumped his chest “—I’m trying to be nice here.”

“No hidden agendas?”

“Who me?” He pinched up another purple grape.

“Said the spider to the fly.”

“Forgive me?” He brought the plump fruit to her mouth, caressing it along her lips, reminiscent of how they’d fed each other strawberries and champagne.

She bit the grape, nipping his fingers none too gently in the process. “Not yet.”

Yet? That meant he had a chance to get in her good graces again, a prospect that became all the more important as even her playful bite sent a bolt of heat straight to his groin.

Bella swallowed the grape, her tongue flicking over her lips.

“What did you mean about kidnapping me?” she asked, her voice throaty and confidential.

Victory shot a second jolt through him almost as strong as desire. “I thought you might like to spend time in France somewhere other than cooped up in a hotel.”

Her nose scrunched. “And run through the gauntlet of reporters? I don’t think so.”

He looped the scarf over her head and dropped the sunglasses in her lap. “Put those acting skills of yours to work and change up your walk a bit, take on an accent. Leave the rest to me. I’m willing to bet you could plow through your entire Christmas shopping list before a single photo is snapped…unless you would rather go home.”

She winced.

Good. Score one for his master plan.

“Come on, Bella. I have Christmas shopping of my own to take care of and I could really use your help in choosing something for my mother. So?” he pressed. “Are you in?”

“Well, I haven’t had time to shop for gifts.” Finally, her face cleared and she sighed. “All right. Find my dog and you can take me shopping.”

He held back his smile of victory.

“I need to shower first.”

His body stirred at even the thought of her naked under the spray of water. Too bad he couldn’t convince her to skip shopping altogether and spend the day in bed together.

She jabbed a finger into his chest. “You are not invited to join me.”

“Muffin and I will be waiting.”

Five

If only every day could end with coffee and a handsome man, the Eiffel Tower silhouetted in the distance.

Bella tightened the gold scarf draped over her head, but she’d ditched the large sunglasses since the sun was setting. Besides, they were indoors, tucked away in a corner of a small Parisian café. The scent of espresso wound through the restaurant, the soft chatter of native speakers soothed her with its melodious cadences.

So far Sam had done a brilliant job at evading the press, arranging a limo and extra security at one side entrance while spiriting her away to a private car out another. The plan had gone off without a hitch, but then he was full of surprises today.

Sam had told her he intended to take her shopping. He hadn’t mentioned they would be flying to Paris in his personal jet.

They’d left her dog at the hotel. Sam had reassured her that his assistant—Parrington—would take care of Muffin’s walks, food and water. Muffin would be happier playing, after all, rather than being carted around in her carrier all day.

He was right. Besides, juggling the little crate and her packages could be tough. She’d bought so much, they’d already left a load in their chauffeured car. She hadn’t had time to do any Christmas shopping with the hectic prerelease publicity schedule for Honor. She’d certainly fixed that problem now.

Somewhere around the fourth store, her anger at Sam for interfering had diminished to mere irritation. She didn’t totally trust him. After all, what man actually wanted to go shopping? Yet he hadn’t made even one move on her since they’d left the hotel. She would simply keep a wary eye on him.

A guitarist in the corner crooned “The First Noel” in French while Bella sipped her black coffee contentedly, eyeing the rest of her dessert and wondering if she dared pack on more calories. The answer? Definitely. The poire au chocolat—a Bosc pear, cooked in wine, dipped in chocolate, served with whipped cream—was irresistible.

She speared another bite, as the couple at the next table left, speaking in French at the speed of light. “I’m never going to fit into my dress for the movie premiere if I let you keep feeding me like this.”

He cocked a brow. “You look fabulous and you know it. Quit fishing for compliments.”

“Ouch.” Her irritation sparked higher. “That wasn’t very nice.”

Of course, most people had no way of knowing how hard an actress had to fight to stay competitive in an absurdly weight-conscious business. Bella had never been one of those stars accused of being anorexic, after all, she liked her food. But to remain in an industry where she was photographed constantly, she had to be extremely disciplined. One day, when she’d had enough of Hollywood, she planned to celebrate with a ten-day doughnut spree. All doughnuts. All the time.

He toasted her with his coffee, the bone china absurdly delicate in his large hand. “I’m a no B.S. kind of guy.”

“I guess there’s honor in that.” She forced down miffed feelings and savored another bite, her eyes closing in ecstasy. “I love food, but it’s true what they say about the camera adding pounds. I work out a lot. I decided early on I would not spend my life living on rice cakes and cocaine.”

“Admirable.” He seemed surprised, darn him. “Did your personal trainer come along?”

She snorted and quickly dabbed her lips with her napkin. “Don’t have one. Sure I consult with trainers on how to target problem areas, but honestly, I have such a large entourage following me around with a camera documenting everything I do, I prefer to exercise alone. Well, except for Muffin of course. Muffin needs lots of exercise too or she misbehaves. So when I walk on the treadmill, she runs circles around me. I enjoy bike rides and she trots alongside. If she gives out, I have a carrier attached to the back of the seat…”

She paused mid-ramble and stared across the table at Sam who was watching her intensely. The sunset through the window cast shadows on his leanly handsome face. Had he truly been listening or was he a B.S. artist after all? Because she truly didn’t have a clue why he’d signed on for a shopping trip today. Most men would have avoided this like the plague.

Bella ducked closer to him, careful to keep her voice low so the waiter angling past wouldn’t overhear. “Why are we doing this? What do you hope to gain?”

“I enjoyed last night,” he said simply. “I don’t see why it has to be a one-time deal.”

She’d been wondering, half expecting this all day, but hadn’t wanted to face the inevitable discussion. Spending time with him had been more fun—laid back and easy—than she’d expected.

Now that was coming to an end. “Weren’t you listening to me when I poured my heart out to you over supper? My life is a mess. I’m not in any shape for a relationship.”

She wasn’t in any shape to withstand more hurt.

“I never said I wanted a relationship.” He set his coffee back on the small café table and leaned on his elbow, closer, intent. “No offense meant, but I am most definitely not looking to marry you.”

She leaned back, her cheeks puffing out a sigh that played with the flickering candle in the middle of their table. “Wow, no need to soft soap it.”

“You’re the one who asked for reassurance.”

She was mad at herself even more than at him. She resented the pull of attraction even as she seemed unable to back away. “I didn’t ask for anything except a change of clothes to get back to my room. You don’t seem to understand.” She struggled for the right words. “I am hurting, really hurting. Despite how it seemed last night, I’m not the casual-sex sort. What we did was…an anomaly.”

“Stupid me.” He grinned. “I thought we ate strawberries off each others’ bodies.”

She slapped her napkin on the table. “Quit trying to make me laugh.”

“Why? You just said again how much you’re hurting. Is it so wrong of me to want to make you smile?”

“As long as I still have my clothes on.” Was that possible around him? Even with her defenses on full-scale alert, she couldn’t help but notice the ripple of muscle under his shirt as he’d carried her packages.

Or how the appealing scruff of his five-o’clock shadow along his jaw gave him an edgier, sexy appeal. She itched to test the texture beneath her fingertips.

Against her better judgment, her fingers began crawling across the table. The very small table. Another couple of inches and she would throw caution to the wind—Snap, snap.

The unmistakable click of cameras sounded behind her. Damn it. Her stomach clenched in frustration—and disappointment.

Sam’s face hardened. “Head down.”

So far the photographer had yet to get in front of her. Sam pitched cash on the table and looped his arm around Bella’s shoulders. She ducked into the strength of his protective embrace. Luckily, they’d already stored all their shopping bags in the car, so they were unencumbered to make a break for it.

He raced straight toward the restaurant’s kitchen door, hurrying her alongside while shielding her face. They pushed through the double swinging doors, steam blasting through carrying the scent of frying meats. Pots clanged loudly as voices shouted instructions back and forth. A humidity-limp plaid Christmas bow hung over the clock marking six o’clock.

Sam pointed across the crowded kitchen, past the cooking island down the middle. “The back exit is that way.”

“Our coats?” The winter temperatures felt all the colder to her after a lifetime in sunny California.

“Already taken care of.” He rushed her past a chef in a tall white hat, the industrial stove sizzling with sliced vegetables.

An attendant stood by the back door, their coats draped over his arms. Sam had obviously made contingency plans for evading the press. She had to admire his thoroughness.

“Merci.” Sam shrugged into his black coat while their accomplice helped Bella with her longer one of white wool.

He shuttled her out into the empty back lot, the crisp air echoing with cathedral bells chiming “Silent Night.” The lot was very empty other than their waiting transportation, thank goodness.

Sam’s arm around her shoulders, he sprinted toward the Mercedes parked nearby, exhaust chugging into the early evening. “Hurry up, Cinderella, before this sucker changes into a pumpkin.”

The chauffer swept open the door. Bella slid in as Sam launched into the other side. Her heart pounded from the exertion as much as the threat. She knew too well how quickly a frenzy of reporters could cause an accident by jumping all over a car. Once their car pulled out onto the main road, two motorcycles roared away from the curb.

The press had found them.

Their driver raced through the streets of Paris at a breakneck speed, motorcycles speeding closer behind. Her pulse thudding in her ears, Bella double-checked her seat belt. Sam pulled out his cell phone, issuing instructions for the crew on his plane to be ready for takeoff. Otherwise, silence hovered heavily in the vehicle as she checked anxiously over her shoulder.

Mere minutes later, they pulled into the small private airport, through a security gate. Sam’s silver private jet waited, the crew prepped and ready outside.

She leaped from the vehicle. A few yards away, the paparazzi on motorcycles screeched to a halt behind the fence. They wouldn’t get any farther, but their cameras had mighty powerful lenses.

“Hurry!” He ushered her up the airplane steps. “That security guard isn’t going to hold up much longer.”

Two men wearing vests with reflective tape unloaded her packages from the trunk at lightning speed while she raced up the metal stairs.

Inside, she unlooped her scarf and sunk into the leather seat. Gasping for air, she couldn’t recall feeling this breathless in a long time. She should have been frustrated, angry even.

Yet for some reason it had felt more like an adventure with Sam at her side.

Because she’d never doubted he would take care of the situation? “I can’t believe you managed to elude them all day.”

Sam sidestepped the media center dominating most of the space. He secured his seat belt near the wine refrigerator at an old-fashioned bar. Sparkling cut-crystal glasses hung upside down above a black, granite prep area. “It helps that you speak fluent French when shopping or ordering meals.”

“As do you.”

His fluency in the language shouldn’t have surprised her since he worked here, but it did make her wonder what other surprises he had in store.

“People see what they expect to see. We appeared to be two locals finishing up last-minute Christmas shopping.”

Still, Sam had a knack for ditching the press beyond anything she’d seen before. And given the high-profile Hollywood sorts who made up her regular circle, she’d seen some mighty adept press dodgers.

The airplane engines roared louder, the craft easing forward, faster, until the nose lifted off. With a smooth swoop they were airborne. The neat pile of her shopping bags barely moved from where they rested in a corner.

And it was quite a hefty pile.

She’d checked off everyone on her growing list of family members. Buying for her grandmother had been particularly difficult—and sad. What did you get for a person who wasn’t expected to live much longer?

She hoped she’d chosen well.

God, what was she even thinking wasting her grandmother’s final precious days apart? Or worse yet, what if her grandmother died before Bella could say goodbye?

The holiday cheer she’d found with Sam seeped away. Even the twinkling lights of the Eiffel Tower were fading in the distance. Her escape was truly over. Time to face reality—and Beverly Hills—again.

She needed to tell Sam that while their day shopping together had been special, come morning, she would be leaving for California.

Sam could see Bella mentally pulling away from him as clearly as if she’d risen from her seat and hopped out of the plane.

He wasn’t sure what had changed, but most certainly he’d lost some ground. He needed to get her talking again so he could find the right opening. No great hardship, actually. Spending time with her today—even out of bed—had been surprisingly entertaining.

She hadn’t shopped like a diva with the world at her feet. There hadn’t been any special requests for private showings or traipsing up the aisles with complimentary champagne in hand. Bella spent most of her time admiring the different style crèches, delighting in everything from delicate crystal figurines to rustic wood carvings. She’d slid a huge donation into a charitable collection plate when she thought he wasn’t looking, then turned around and purchased a miniature père Noël bell on a ribbon to drape around her neck—his own personal Christmas elf.

The tinkling of that small bell had charmed and seduced him all day long.

She was a total turn-on even totally clothed.

Bella shifted in her seat, her green silk blouse inching open to flash him a hint of creamy skin. “Thanks for helping me with my shopping,” she said, jump-starting the conversation for him. “This worked out perfectly since I really do have to get back home tomorrow.”

Damn. Time was shorter than he’d anticipated, but lucky for him, he already had business dealings lined up in California, the most recent in Los Angeles. He could combine work and pleasure quite easily.

He just needed the right opening to suggest a visit to her side of the Atlantic. “And where exactly is home for you?”

“At the family estate on Loma Vista Drive in Beverly Hills. I stay in the guesthouse.” Her brow puckered. “Where do you actually live?”

A promising move that she asked more about him. Sam stretched his legs in front of him as the plane droned through the dark sky. “Most of the family is located in southern Florida, but Garrison hotels have been expanding of late. I’ve taken on more traveling responsibilities as many of my family members are marrying and settling down. I oversee most new projects in the works.”

“But where do you live?” she asked again as she propped her chin on her hand.

“In my hotels.” Everything was provided for him. Why bother keeping a condo or home that would leave him losing valuable work hours commuting?

“The epitome of a rootless bachelor.”

“That would be me. A no-commitment guy. No worries about me leading you on.” The truth should put her at ease.

Studying him, Bella twisted a lock of hair then stopped abruptly as if realizing how damn sexy she looked with that simple gesture. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

“What idea would that be?”

“The sex was amazing, no question.” She chewed her bottom lip for a blood surging second that threatened to send him reaching for her again. “But I’m not interested in any kind of relationship, even a nostrings fling.”

“Who said I am?”

“Then what are we doing here?” She gestured between them.

“I’m making restitution for the inconvenience caused by my hotel’s security lapse. My business is everything to me.” Now to start easing into his plan for more time to win her over. “In fact, I have a new hotel opening in the U.S. I would have been heading back to the States soon to check on the progress anyway.”

“You take your commitment to your guests above and beyond.” She eyed him suspiciously. “Where is the new hotel?”

“Los Angeles, actually.” True enough. The hotel was almost ready to open as the latest in Garrison Grande Incorporated’s successful expansion plan.

Her brows pinched together. “Yeah, right. You just happen to have a hotel in the town where I live,” she said suspiciously. “Where in Los Angeles?”

He recited the address, a piece of prime property he’d busted his ass negotiating for.

Her eyes went wide. “You really do have a hotel there?”

“Bella, it’s not like I could or would lie about this. It’s easy enough to check out.”

“Of course. I’m sorry.” The defensiveness eased from her shoulders and she relaxed back in the white leather seat. “I’m just not sure what to think of you yet. You’ve been so nice, but then you went behind my back to call Charlotte, albeit with seemingly good intentions.”

She shoved her hand through her wind-tumbled red hair. “I just don’t know what to think these days. I’m probably being prickly and a little paranoid. I’m nervous about going back and facing everyone again at the premiere of Honor. It’s difficult enough dealing with Grandmere’s cancer. I’ll also have to face my parents and pretend I’m okay with everything.” She exhaled long, her cheeks puffing. “Then of course Ridley will be there.”

Ridley the Rat? Jealousy kicked around inside his gut. Sam stroked his jaw. “I imagine seeing him at the premiere will be tough.”

She pressed her hands to her forehead. “I don’t even want to think about it. Which makes me mad at him all over again. The premiere of Honor on Christmas day should be one of the best days of my life and he’s wrecking it. He’ll show up with his new bimbo girlfriend and I’ll be there with my dog.”

He leaned toward her. “Use me.”

Her hands fell to her lap. “What?”

The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. He’d been looking for an opening and she’d just handed him the ideal opportunity. “Take me as your date to the premiere. Use me to show that loser ex-boyfriend of yours that you aren’t shedding any tears over him. At the risk of sounding as if I have an overinflated ego, magazines seem to think I’m a fairly eligible bachelor.”

“So I’ve seen.” She toyed with the thin velvet ribbon around her neck, nudging the small bell just above the top button on her blouse. A hell of a distraction for his eyes. “But use you? Wouldn’t that be shallow of me?”

“Not if we’re both in agreement.”

“What do you gain from this?”

Bella back in his bed?

But a smart man would lead with another argument and no one had ever called him a fool. “For starters, I get to take a breather from appearing on all those damn ‘most eligible bachelor’ lists. Every time they publish one, a fresh flock of matchmaking mamas shows up at one of my hotels. It’s insulting to me and to their daughters. Not to mention a real pain in the ass.”

“Okay, I can understand that.” She nodded slowly. “I have to leave tomorrow.”

“Not a problem.” He only slept for a few hours anyway. He could wrap up business and be ready by sunup. He’d been planning a trip later next week after Christmas anyhow. “Any other questions?”

“Yeah,” she said empathically, “a big one. Why me?”

“Because I can be honest with you about this and know you’re not going to run to the press.”

She smiled grudgingly. “You have me there.”

“You agree?” That easily. Hot damn. Peeling her clothes off her after that premiere would make for a night to remember. He would pleasure her so thoroughly he would wipe Ridley Sinclair from her memory forever.

“We’re not sleeping together again.”

“Seems like you’re cutting your nose off to spite your face with that one.” He held up a hand to stop her protest. He knew to quit when he was ahead, and he’d definitely taken a huge step ahead in getting her to agree to let him hang out with her over the holidays. “But, hell, who am I to judge? No sex. We’ll leave first thing tomorrow morning. Agreed?”

She hesitated only a moment, frowning briefly before her face cleared. “I have the feeling I’m going to regret this…but…yes. We’ll go to the Christmasday premiere together.”

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