Hollywood Blackmail (4 page)

The clinic’s spa was a little tired and in need of updating, but the cottages were the ultimate in luxury. Helen and her late husband had designed them, the Mediterranean feel echoed in the tiled floors, plastered walls, and heavy furniture in dark wood. Each cottage had its own special color scheme and number twelve’s was white, with accents of blue in the rugs on the floor and in the cushions on the couches and chairs.

Lizzie hummed softly as she bustled about making sure all was in order. The cottages were aired daily and fresh linen put on the beds regardless of occupancy, so there wasn’t a whole lot to prepare. But Helen liked to have certain things done before a client arrived, such as having the aromatherapy candles burning and the complimentary minibar well-stocked. Usually this was filled with each client’s favorite drinks and snacks, but there hadn’t had enough notice this time.

You remember what he liked. Soda in a glass bottle. And Twinkies. And chocolate.

Lizzie pulled a face at the minibar in the lodge’s living area. Yes, she remembered that. Ash had a sweet tooth, especially after a fight. But that had been years ago. He probably liked Cristal now. Or Grey Goose. With a starlet on the side.

“Nice,” a deep voice said approvingly.

Lizzie set her jaw. Turned around. And the cottage’s massive living room abruptly shrank to the size of a broom closet as Ash sauntered into the room. He was still dressed only in his leather jacket and his jeans, sitting low on his hips, all the sharply defined muscles of his chest and stomach on show. A tribal tattoo curled over one pec and she knew from his movie posters—which often, coincidentally, showed him with no shirt on—that it covered most of his shoulder as well.

Sexy.

Uh. No. Not sexy. She’d never liked tattoos. She’d seen far too many of them at the Misty Mansion, and in places where no tattoos should ever be.

“Glad it’s up to your exacting standards,” she said, with only the faintest hint of sarcasm. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

“I don’t know yet.” He began a restless investigation of the room, picking up bits and pieces, putting them down again, moving with a powerful feline grace that had her heart skipping a beat. “You’ll have to give me a minute to check.”

Quelling a strange impulse to run and keep on running, Lizzie went over to the couch and began to rearrange the cushions instead. No, she would not be unnerved by all that restless prowling. And she wasn’t going to watch him, either. The cushions were way more interesting. Way more. “Did Dr. Lazarus sort out your treatment for you?”

Ash paused beside one of the windows, twitching aside the curtain and giving a quick look outside. “He did. He was also quite happy for you to administer it.”

Oh, damn. “It’ll have to go past Helen Ridgeway first—”

“It has.”

Double damn. She’d have to see Helen later this morning. Talk to her. Maybe once she’d explained Ash’s egregious blackmail behavior, her boss might change her mind.

Ash dropped the curtain and turned, frowning at her. “So, are you going to tell me why you dyed your hair that color? And why you’ve got brown eyes instead of gray? It’s a lousy disguise.”

“Luckily your opinion isn’t important.” Lizzie tweaked the corner of a cushion. “And if you think about it hard enough, I’m sure you can figure out why.”

“The press?”

“Excellent. You win the prize.”

His dark brows twitched. “Still? It’s been years since that episode aired.”

“Surely you of all people should know that the Internet is forever, Ash. And of course, about seven years ago, a certain person suddenly started getting famous and it was all dragged back up again.”

Ash’s rise to fame had set the press out digging and sure enough, they’d soon turned up the dirt on Ash’s time at the Misty Mansion. He was outed as “Coco’s mystery boyfriend” and there had been a minor frenzy as they’d tried to track her down.

She’d managed to keep herself hidden but it had only reinforced for her that her fame, or rather, her infamy, wasn’t going to go away anytime soon.

He was silent a long time. “You should have said something. You should have come to me. I would have helped.”

“Contacting the most famous man in Hollywood about getting a bit of anonymity seemed rather a contradiction in terms. Anyway, it’s all in the past now.” She didn’t want to talk about this anymore and certainly not with him. It was all old news and it could stay that way. Giving him a critical once-over, she pursed her lips. “Hmmm, you’re looking a bit cold.”

He frowned. “What?”

“And you’ve gone a bit pale, too. That anesthetic will start to wear off soon enough and you’ll probably be needing some pain meds.” Lizzie moved over to him and tucked her hand under his leather-clad elbow. “Here, sit down. Would you like something to eat? Drink?”

But it was like shifting a mountain. He stood there, immovable. “What did I tell you about all that nursey crap?”

“Thank you so much for dismissing my entire profession as crap.”

“Goddamn it, Lizzie. I’m trying to have a conversation with you.”

“You’re looking a trifle agitated, Mr. Kincaid. Are you sure you wouldn’t like a little something to help calm you down? I could get security to help administer it.”

Ash glared down at her from beneath dark brows. He stood uncomfortably close, that bare chest of his mere inches away, his hands now thrust in the pockets of his jeans, his gaze focused on her with such intensity it made her skin feel tight enough that she wanted to claw right out of it. With the scar on his face and the glitter in his black eyes, he looked every inch the dangerous, bad-boy movie star he was reputed to be.

“Sexy” didn’t even begin to cover it.

“Stop managing me.”

“I’m not managing you. I’m just seeing to your care.”

“My care is fine.”

Lizzie ignored the way her insides were tying themselves in knots. And it wasn’t with fear. Some long-forgotten part of her wanted to get closer to him. Feel all that bad-boy heat for herself. The one night they’d made love he’d been so gentle. Patient. When a girl’s “birds and the bees” talk had been her mother sticking an X-rated version of Pride and Prejudice in the DVD player—which involved a rather surprising star turn from Misty’s hottest male costar as Mr. Darcy—she’d needed gentle and patient. And normal.

You don’t now, though.

She pushed aside that thought. And stomped on it for good measure. “I’m just trying to do my job.”

“I don’t give a fu—”

“You’re looking tired, so I think it’s probably time for you to get some rest. Do you need anything else? No? Good. The phone is here and if you dial 0, you’ll get reception.” She had to get out of here. As in now. Before Ash’s nearness caused even more havoc with her good intentions.

She turned sharply on her heel and began heading toward the door.

Only to realize she wasn’t going anywhere as his warm fingers closed on her arm. “Now wait a goddamned minute, Lizzie Kent,” he murmured. And hauled her back against the length of his taut, muscled body.

…

She’d gone utterly still, not moving an inch. Not even to pull away. And damn but she felt good, fitting against him so perfectly. Like a missing jigsaw piece he’d spent ages hunting for. The scent of lavender and the sweet smell that was all her own twined around him, a combination of innocence and sexiness that had always had the power to drive him crazy.

No other woman had ever smelled the same. Or felt the same. No matter how many women he’d had, no matter how beautiful they’d been or how perfect their bodies, none of them had ever felt in his arms the way Lizzie had.

He couldn’t help himself; he bent his head and inhaled her. It was like coming home.

“Ash,” Lizzie said, her voice sounding thick, that cool poise gone. “Let me go.”

Shit, he probably shouldn’t have grabbed her, but he hadn’t wanted her to disappear on him. Not before he’d finished saying what he wanted to say.

“Not yet,” he said, gripping her arm, letting the heat of her body seep into him. “I don’t mean to run down your profession, Lizzie. You know I’d never do that. All I want is a proper conversation.”

Her body went stiff. “Ash, if you don’t let me go I’m going to get Dr. Lazarus to give you those suppositories himself. Personally.”

“Not until you promise to talk properly to me.” Was it just him or did she feel even better than he remembered? Hotter. Softer. He began to feel dizzy, as if he’d had too much to drink. Maybe it was the loss of blood and the late night, but maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was her. He slid his arms around her waist, the temptation to pull her closer too much for him.

He heard her breath catch, a soft, ragged gasp as the rounded curve of her butt pressed against the heat of his groin. “Okay, okay. I promise. Now let me go for God’s sake.”

Reluctantly, Ash removed his arm and she bolted away, leaving him feeling cold for the first time that evening.

She spun around to face him, her cheeks pink, eyes glittering with anger. But not just anger. There was desire in there, too; he would have sworn it on his lousy mother’s grave. If his lousy mother had a grave.

“I’m only going to say this once,” she said. “If you touch me like that again, I’m going to get the biggest syringe I can find, load it up with liquid laxatives, and stick it straight in your butt.”

Fair call. He put his hands in the pockets of his jeans to keep from closing the distance between them once again and gave her the sexy grin that charmed women out of their panties in seconds flat. “It would be worth it.”

“Don’t push me, Ash. You don’t want me angry with a needle in my hands.”

“I don’t know, I might like it.”

“You wouldn’t, trust me on that. Nurses know about pain.”

“You’re going to keep your promise, though.” He didn’t make it a question. “I want a proper conversation with you.”

She let out a sudden breath. “Why? Why is it so important? It’s been eleven years. I’ve moved on with my life and so have you. What more is there to say?”

“Because we were friends once, Lizzie. At least I thought we were. And more than friends, too.”

“All right, fine then. I’ll keep my promise. Nurse’s honor. But don’t forget that includes sticking you with a needle.”

A strange tight feeling he hadn’t known was there unraveled inside his chest. “Of course. I’d expect nothing less.”

She gave him a narrow look. “So you want this conversation now? Because I have to say, it’s late and I’m tired.”

Yeah, he could see that. There were dark circles under her eyes and she was pale. No wonder—this whole evening had been a hell of a shock for both of them. “No, not now.”

“So I’m okay to leave? You’re not going to suddenly grab me again?”

“After being threatened with a needle full of laxatives? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Her narrow look became even narrower. “If you need anything…”

“Dial 0, right?”

“Yes. But please remember that Seacliffe won’t supply you with alcohol, drugs or, ah, comfort services.”

“Comfort services? What the hell is that?”

“Some people like the company of certain ladies…” She let the sentence trail meaningfully.

“What? In a hospital? You’ve got to be shitting me.” Christ, only in Hollywood.

Her expression was entirely neutral. “We’ve had several requests before.”

“You really think I’d request—”

“It’s just our usual disclaimer.” She eyed him, then added somewhat delicately, “And you do have a certain reputation.”

Oh, Jesus, not his rep again. Yeah, he knew he’d earned it but for the last six months he’d been good. Kept things professional, no parties or blowouts. Or fights.
No fights?
Okay, apart from tonight. Which hadn’t even been his fault.

But he was trying. Because that Red River audition was for an important movie, not just the latest holiday blockbuster. Throwing punches and looking staunch with a big fuck-off gun was all very well, but he wanted more out of life than that. He wasn’t quite sure exactly what “more” he was looking for, only that right now he was dissatisfied with where he was.

Realizing his fingers were curled up into fists inside his jeans, Ash straightened them and tried to surreptitiously ease the tension from his shoulders. But of course nothing got past eagle-eyed Nurse Kent.

Her brows twitched. “Are you okay?”

It became clear to him that he could get her to stay. Tell her he was tense and needed a massage like the ones she used to give him. And then once she was touching him, he would seduce her.

It wasn’t anything he hadn’t done before.

The temptation was there, oh so much temptation.

He was sick of waking up in the mornings with a lover beside him, only to look at her and feel a vague sense of dissatisfaction. Of disappointment. As if the woman beside him wasn’t who he wanted. Sick, too, of the dreams he had of silky red curls spread out on his chest and pale, creamy skin under his hands. Perhaps what he needed was one more night with her. A chance to put those feelings to rest once and for all.

But he wouldn’t. Seduction was a powerful motivator, yet despite what people thought about him, it wasn’t the only one.

His Coco had changed from the passionate, emotional girl he’d once known. Become much more reserved, much more uptight. And no matter what she said, he knew that past had something to do with it.

He hadn’t been able to protect her back then, not from the glare of the media or the producers keen for her to be their next adult star. But these days he wasn’t the penniless, powerless security guard he’d once been. He was the richest man in Hollywood now, with more resources at his disposal than God himself.

He’d figure out what was wrong. He’d protect her this time. Make sure she was safe. Whatever was wrong in her life, he’d fix it.

So all he did was smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Probably just the meds catching up with me.”

And once he’d fixed the past for her, maybe he’d be able to fix himself, too.

Maybe he’d be able, finally, to move on.

Chapter Three

Ash woke the next morning to a loud, insistent buzzing noise coming from his phone on the nightstand beside the bed. Blearily he reached over to grab it, nearly flinching as Sam’s loud voice barked in his ear.

“Ash? Thank Christ. We’ve got a crisis. Seacliffe’s been compromised and the details are all over the papers this morning. And now some dickhead’s put the video of your fight up on YouTube—”

“Stop, Sam.” Ash shoved himself up, wiping a hand over his face, then wincing as he encountered his stitches. Oh, that’s right. The fight in the bar. The knife. The scar. Coco….no dammit…Lizzie… Instantly he was awake. “Okay, tell me again. From the top.”

“Details from Seacliffe patient files were leaked last night. The papers have gotten hold of it and the shit has well and truly hit the fan. “

A cold feeling settled in his gut. “My details?”

“Not yet. We were going to play down the fight as a rumor since no one saw much of it, but now the guy’s put it up as a You Tube video, that isn’t an option anymore. Which means we’re gonna have to rethink you lying low there.”

He cursed. Last night they’d decided he’d stay at Seacliffe for a couple of days. Just to keep everything on the down-low. Once the initial furor about the fight had dissipated, everyone would move on. Except not if the place where he was supposed to have absolute privacy was leaking his details to the media. “No shit. I guess I’ll have to go home instead.”

“Nah, you should get right out. Leave the country. Go to the Caymans or something.”

Ash leaned back against the headboard. He had a cracking headache, which didn’t do anything for his temper. “I can’t travel with this scar on my face and I don’t know what this new treatment’s going to involve. Plus running away looks like I’ve got something to hide and I don’t. So no, I’ll stick around Beverly Hills. Wait it out at home.” He paused. “Which reminds me. I’ll need one of the guest rooms prettied up for this nurse who’ll be administering the treatment.”

There was a pause down the end of the line. “Uh-huh,” Sam said slowly. “You sure she’s going to need her own room?”

Ash scowled. “That’s none of your damn business.”

“Fine, fine. It’s just that you seemed pretty determined to have her in particular…”

“Yeah, so?” He’d promised Lizzie that no one would find out who she was. Well, that started right now.

“Nothing. I’m just saying.”

“Well, don’t. She’s a nurse at the clinic and that’s it.”

“The clinic currently leaking patient files all over the place.”

“Enough, Sam,” Ash said brusquely, sick of the topic. “Tell me about the YouTube stuff.”

“Don’t worry, I’m limiting the damage. Amy and I have already made statements about the fact you were only at the bar having a quiet drink. We’ll get the lawyers involved if we have to. Tom Christiansen’s not going to rethink that audition if we can help it. “

Amy was his publicist and very good at her job. Just as well, since she had her work cut out for her with him.

“Fine. Keep me posted on the situation. Oh, and I’ll need a car. It’s not like I can walk home from here.”

“You sure you don’t want me to come get you?”

“With all due respect, your BMW is a pile of crap. Plus it doesn’t have tinted windows.”

“You should pay me more then,” his agent replied, completely unoffended. “By the way, there’s even more press outside the clinic this morning so you’ll be walking into a shitstorm if you go out the front way.”

Ash swore under his breath. Situations where he had to give the media the slip were a pain in the ass. He preferred to be up-front and damn the press. But this audition was too important. And making a performance of coming out of a plastic surgery clinic with a massive scar on his face was only going to be asking for trouble.

“Okay, cancel the car idea,” he said. “I’ll figure something else out.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’ll let you know if I need anything.”

He didn’t bother with the niceties of saying good-bye, ending the call without another word. Being the one in control, the one who called the shots, was a perk of the job that never got old. Especially after his street-fighting years, where he had no control over his fights or his opponents. Even when he’d done stunt work, he’d been at other people’s beck and call, and now that he was the one in charge, he relished it.

Hauling himself out of bed, he cast around for some clothing then realized he didn’t have any but the stuff he’d worn last night. Dammit. He was going to need a new T-shirt at least. Wasn’t like he wouldn’t call attention to himself sneaking out of the clinic with no shirt on.

He went over to the nightstand and picked up the phone sitting there. Dialed 0 and briefly entertained the idea of ordering some “comfort services” just to see what would happen. In the end he was good, merely ordering some fresh clothing ASAP.

“Oh, and one other thing,” he said to the woman on the other end of the phone.

“Yes, Mr. Kincaid?”

“I want Lizzie Kent to deliver them.”

Okay, so maybe he wasn’t that good after all.

…

Lizzie sat in the clinic’s staff room, clutching her coffee in a death grip, trying to pay attention to the emergency staff meeting Helen was in the process of giving. News of the file leak had broken that morning and the clinic staff members were in shock because it was starting to look like an inside job.

After the crappiest night’s sleep she could ever remember having, Lizzie had been called into Helen’s office that morning to go over what had happened the night before, detailing any irregularities she’d observed. She’d told them about the papers that had been left in a mess on the desk and they’d already determined that the leak had probably originated from the reception computer, though forensic computer specialists had been called in to confirm it, as had a security firm to upgrade computer security.

Lizzie couldn’t blame Helen for taking this seriously, but given that her night had been plagued by thoughts of Ash, she was finding it a little hard to pay attention. Her brain kept wandering off down paths she didn’t want it to go down. Such as how hot and hard his body had felt when he’d pulled her against him last night in the cottage. How aware she’d been that the curve of her butt had been pressed firmly against the heat of his groin. And how…

He blackmailed you. Not forgetting that.

Lizzie gritted her teeth, took another swig of her double-shot latte, and tried to focus instead on what Helen was saying.

Most of the management team was there, Colt Travers, the clinic’s other top doc, standing beside Helen, a serious expression on his handsome face. Laz looking smooth and perfectly put together, no worse for wear after his late night. And even Josh, Helen’s grandson, had put in an appearance, lounging on the other side of her, blond hair artfully styled, looking—as usual—as if he didn’t give a crap.

Abruptly her cell phone in her uniform pocket vibrated. She took it out and looked down at the screen. Reception. Another patient demand, perhaps?

Threading her way silently through the assembled staff, Lizzie slipped out and into the corridor, and made her way down to the reception desk.

“Lizzie, this is for Mr. Kincaid in number twelve,” the young receptionist said and handed her a bag from some hugely expensive shop on Rodeo Drive. “He said he wanted you to deliver it personally.”

Lizzie was very proud of the way she managed not to let slip the vile curse that sprang immediately into her brain. Or let loose the furious scowl that wanted to twist her face.

She did not want to see him. Did not want to remember any part of the night before, especially not the blackmail part. Or the part where her heart had raced and heat had prickled over her skin the moment he’d touched her.

But of course, she was a professional, so instead she smiled and took the bag. “Of course.”

Only once she was away from the reception desk and striding toward the cottage did she indulge in some serious private cursing.

She was tired and grimy after having to sleep at the clinic overnight due to all the media camped out at the front gates, and in a foul temper. Her uniform was creased, her hair curlier than ever, and she’d had to take out the brown contacts because they made her sleep-deprived eyes feel scratchy. All in all not a great mood to be dealing with Ash’s demanding presence this morning. Best to drop off these clothes, then leave. No conversation. No nothing.

Pausing outside the cottage, she gave the door a brisk knock and waited. A few seconds later it was pulled open and Ash stood in the doorway.

Oh dear heaven…

He wore nothing but a towel around his lean hips, tawny skin sheened with moisture in a way that seemed to highlight every cut muscle of his chest and stomach. He leaned a forearm against the doorway, the flex and release of those incredible muscles mesmerizing. She couldn’t seem to drag her eyes away.

At twenty he’d been pretty incredible but eleven years later… God, he was to die for. Even his tattoo looked beautiful.

Her mouth had gone completely dry, a low burn of heat in her gut.

“Hey, sugar,” he said in that sexy, raspy voice of his. “I’m up here.”

Lizzie jerked her gaze to his face, saw the glitter of amusement in his eyes. One corner of his mouth turned up. Damn. He’d totally caught her checking him out.

She struggled not to blush. “Oh, for God’s sake. Did you practice that pose in the mirror? You’re not auditioning for an aftershave commercial, you know.”

“What? You caught me as I was coming out of the shower.”

“There are robes for your use on the back of—”

“Seriously, do I look like a robe kind of guy to you? You’re lucky I bothered with the towel.”

Hell. The direction this conversation was heading was not a direction she wanted to go. “I guess I should be grateful in that case.” She held up the bag. “Your clothes, as ordered.”

“Excellent.” He pushed himself away from the doorframe. “Bring them in.”

“I’m afraid I’m a little busy this morning. So if—”

“I said, come in.” It was not a request. “I want that conversation you promised me.”

“But I’ve got a lot of work to cover and—”

“I’ve cleared your schedule with your boss and the doc is organizing the treatment stuff to be sent to my house this morning.” He gave her a smile that had satisfied written all over it. “As from now your only job is me.”

Her mouth dropped open. Be calm. Be cool. Deep breaths. In through the nose. Out through the mouth… “I wasn’t informed,” she managed, trying not to sound as outraged and as furious as she felt.

“Helen had other things to deal with this morning. I said I’d sort it out with you.” He shifted, muscles rippling. “So come inside and let’s sort it out.”

“But…I…You can’t…”

He lifted one dark brow. “I can’t what?”

“You can’t just come in here and take charge like that!” she burst out, her cool front cracking under the weight of weariness and residual anger from his behavior the night before. An anger that was slowly building again at her own stupid response to his near nakedness.

“I’m not a minion you can order around to suit your every whim!”

He stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “No, you’re not a minion. For the next two weeks, Lizzie-girl, you’re mine.” Pushing himself away from the doorframe, Ash gestured toward the door. “Now. After you.”

Left with no other option, Lizzie swallowed her anger, mustered up what little calm she could find, and brushed past him into the cottage. God, if only she had that wretched syringe on her now. She’d love to stick it into the taut muscle of his butt. Hard.

In the living area she put the bag of clothes down on the table, folding her arms and gritting her teeth as he opened it and pulled out the items he’d ordered. Black jeans, blue T-shirt. Black boxers. All designer and all hideously expensive.

She expected him to take them off into the bedroom to put on. But he didn’t.

He dropped his towel instead.

Well, how interesting. He was naked. Very, very naked.

“You don’t think that perhaps changing in the bedroom would be better?” she pointed out, staring determinedly at his face.

Ash shrugged, apparently unconcerned—except for the wicked glint in his eye. “Why? You’ve seen it all before.”

A long time ago. And then he hadn’t been as…as… Big? Built? Impressive?

She swallowed. Dear Lord, she was a nurse. She’d seen plenty of naked men before. He was just one more to add to the list. In fact, why shouldn’t she look? It would serve him damn well right.

Mentally steeling herself, Lizzie let her gaze drift down his superbly muscled body. As though she was examining a patient. Keeping it entirely impersonal.
Right back at you, Ash Kincaid.

“Very impressive.” She could do cool, oh yes she could. “I see those sock rumors weren’t true.”

He grinned. Shamelessly. “Sock rumors?”

“That you used socks to…uh…enhance your shape in the…um…trouser department.”

Ash laughed, the sound low and sexy. Why did he keep having this effect on her? She’d gotten over him years ago, hadn’t she?

He reached for the boxers, obviously in no hurry. “Been reading about me, have you?”

She refused to blush, flatly refused. “Bit hard not to when just about every magazine is filled with your exploits.”

“But you already know those rumors aren’t true.”

Lizzie pulled at her uniform. “Surely you don’t expect me to remember that? It was a long time ago.”

That wicked glint became even wickeder. “Are you sure? I could refresh your memory if you like.”

Yes, he probably could. Not that she was going to let him. “No, thank you,” she said crisply. “You’re my patient now. There are rules about that kind of thing.”

“I’ve never been good at following rules, you should know that.”

She did know, and part of her had always found that secretly thrilling.

What do you mean, “had”? You’re still thrilled about it.

Oh, no, she wasn’t. Bad boys were not part of her life. In fact boys in general weren’t. She didn’t have time for them. Her job was too busy and she was happy with it that way.