Hollywood Blackmail (7 page)

She sat down on the bed feeling like she was sinking into a giant marshmallow the white comforter was so soft. No doubt full of goose down from royal geese fed gently by hand on specially grown grain. Or something.

Through the massive windows, the city sparkled in the distance. It must look amazing at night. In fact, the whole place was pretty amazing, she had to admit. Luxuriously soft charcoal-colored carpet, floor to ceiling windows, minimalist furniture. It could have come across as cold but it didn’t due to the softness of the furnishings. And not a gold-plated toilet in sight.

You like it. Go on.

Lizzie sighed. She didn’t really want to like it, still resentful of the fact that she had to be here at all. But the fact was she did. It was restful. Peaceful. The polar opposite of the Misty Mansion in every respect.

So peaceful in fact that suddenly the only thing she wanted to do was lie down on all that softness, burrow into it, and go to sleep. The late night and the early start this morning, not to mention the shock of having Ash turn up in her life again, were taking their toll.

She yawned and rubbed her eyes, trying to get up the energy to get off the bed and unpack. But she couldn’t seem to muster any enthusiasm. Perhaps she should have a nap instead. Just a quick one to recoup some energy. Because God knew she was going to need it with Ash around.

Sighing, Lizzie let herself fall back on the bed. And closed her eyes for a minute.

The next thing she was conscious of was something hot and bright shining directly on her face. She groaned and rolled over, burrowing back down into the softness of the bed so the sun wasn’t in her face…

Wait a minute. The sun? In her face? But she didn’t get direct sunlight shining on the bed in her bedroom.

Blearily Lizzie cracked open an eye. The room was shadowed, a shaft of bright sun coming through a crack in the heavy ivory linen curtains the only light.

Nope, she didn’t have curtains like that in her bedroom either. Which mean that she wasn’t in her bedroom. So where the hell was she?

She lay there for minute, completely disoriented, staring at the ceiling. But the ceiling wasn’t very forthcoming with answers either, so she sat up instead. And became aware of two things. One, that finally she remembered where she was, and two, she’d been tucked quite comfortably into bed.

Ash’s place. She’d gone to sleep intending to have a small nap. But it must have been more than a small nap because now the curtains had been drawn and someone had come in and tucked her into bed.

Oh God, had Ash done that for her? A prickle of heat washed over her skin at the thought.

Insane. She was certifiably insane.

Throwing back the covers, Lizzie grabbed for her phone on the nightstand beside the bed and checked the time. Seven a.m. Okay, not so bad then, but looked like she’d slept over twelve hours straight through. When was the last time she’d slept so deeply? She couldn’t remember. Couldn’t remember feeling so good, either. Like for the first time in ages she’d had a proper, restful sleep.

Still not quite awake, she went into the en suite bathroom, peeled off her rumpled uniform, and took a quick shower, turning it to cold to let the water wake her up fully. Then she hauled one of the white, fluffy bath towels around her and stepped back into the bedroom.

Her suitcase wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Puzzled, she did a quick search and found it sitting, empty, in the walk-in closet. All her clothes had apparently been put away. God, had he been responsible for that as well?

The thought of Ash creeping around tucking her into bed then unpacking her clothes for her while she slept seemed…odd. She wasn’t used to people doing things for her. Normally she was the one seeing to everyone else’s needs.

Frowning, she pulled open the drawers of the dresser, trying to find her spare uniform and failing. She went through all the drawers—twice—but couldn’t find it. What the hell?

Irritated, she put on clean underwear then stood for a moment debating what to do. Not that she had a choice. It was either she put on ordinary clothes or her slept-in uniform, or she didn’t wear anything. Damn him. The one she’d slept in was wrinkled and she couldn’t wear that. What had he done with her spare? She needed it. A clean, well-ironed uniform was part of her job and made her feel more in charge.

Cursing, she dug around in the drawers, eventually hauling out the closest thing she could come to a uniform—a pair of black trousers and a dark-blue T-shirt. She put them on, then went back into the bathroom to see if she could do anything with her hair. Her flatiron was gone, too. Damn the man. Had he taken it as well?

Eventually she tied her hair in a simple ponytail and, feeling slightly more together than she had when she woke up, she cautiously ventured out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

The massive lounge area was empty, a huge sectional sofa taking up most of the space. More windows dominated the room and she realized that they could be pulled aside completely, so there were no barriers between the lounge itself and the slate terrace and pool area.

The LA skyline glittered in the distance, early-morning sun glinting off the windows. Looked like it was going to be another scorcher of a day. Lizzie stood staring at the view and the expensive bits of art dotted around the place for a moment. Then, continuing her exploration, she went through another doorway, which proved to lead into the huge kitchen area.

All slate floors, stainless steel, and black granite, the kitchen was a monument to minimalist chic, and so spotless she’d wondered—when Ash first showed her around—if anyone ever used it.

But apparently they did because it was occupied now.

Ash stood at one of the counters, his head bent, cutting up something. He didn’t look up as she entered, only said, “I was wondering when you’d wake up. Take a seat, I’m getting you some breakfast.”

Lizzie’s jaw kept insisting on dropping open. Did the man have no respect for female sensibilities? He wore a pair of battered-looking low-slung jeans and a black shirt that he either had forgotten to button up or just couldn’t be bothered to. Or maybe deliberately not buttoned up just to mess with her. Whatever it was, he was hot, sexy, and no matter how much she tried to tell herself she wasn’t messed with at all, she couldn’t take her eyes off him.

“I’m sure that’s not very hygienic,” she said, trying and failing not to sound grumpy as she came into the kitchen and perched on an industrial-looking barstool near the breakfast bar.

Ash was cutting up bits of fruit and putting them in a glass bowl, his movements quick and delicate. “What’s not?”

“Cooking with your shirt undone.” The tiny fruit knife he held looked ridiculous in his large hands and yet he handled it with a deftness that spoke of years of practice.

He kept his attention on what he was doing, but his mouth turned up in a smile. “I thought you might like something to look at.”

“Do you get arrogance lessons when you get to be a movie star? Because I’m sure you never used to be this much of an ass.”

“Considering I got a good look at you last night, I’m just returning the favor.”

Oh God. So he had put her to bed. How humiliating. “I was wondering how I managed to tuck myself in in my sleep. I hope you’re not expecting me to thank you, since doing things with a sleeping woman without her permission isn’t generally something a gentleman would do.”

He glanced at her then, dark eyes glinting. “But I’m not a gentleman, sugar. You should know that by now.”

“You used to be,” she reminded him.

Ash returned his attention to what he was doing. “That was a long time ago. Anyway, I was going to wake you but you looked so sweet sleeping. And I thought you’d be more comfortable under the blankets.” He paused. “You’ll have to take my word for it that I was good and didn’t touch you any more than I needed to.”

“You didn’t have to touch me at all.”

“This is true. But then I could have left you as you were, and you could have woken up in the middle of the night feeling cold. I didn’t think you’d appreciate that.”

Unfortunately he was right—she wouldn’t have. “What did you do with my spare uniform?”

“I don’t know. It wasn’t in your bag.”

“Oh, Ash, come on. You unpacked my suitcase, didn’t you? Where did you put it?”

“Okay, you got me. I put it away.” Black eyes held hers. “I told you there wasn’t going to be any hiding going on, and that includes hiding behind your uniform.”

“You had no right—”

“You’re on vacation, Lizzie-girl.” He pointed the knife at her. “As of now.”

Lizzie opened her mouth to tell him that he’d gone way beyond arrogance-land and was now entering asshat country, then stopped. Because what was the point of arguing? It would only make him worse.
And besides, you’re kind of into the whole vacation thing. Don’t pretend you’re not. With a hot man to cut up fruit for your breakfast…

She shut her mouth with a snap, only narrowly missing biting her tongue. “All right, you win. Vacation it is. But remember, you just crossed the line with the whole blackmail thing and now you’re getting yourself deeper in hostile backcountry by breaking my rules. I told you not to touch me without permission, remember?”

“Does that mean I get the laxative injection?”

Did he have to sound so completely unworried about it? “Since I have no laxatives on hand, not today. But you’ll have to be punished somehow.”

His mouth curved. “If you’re the one doing the punishing, I’m okay with that.”

“You don’t have to turn everything into a double entendre.”

“Then stop talking about punishing.” Putting down the knife, he gathered the fruit he’d just cut up, put it in a bowl, then pushed it across the counter to her. “Now eat your fruit salad. Plus there’s Greek yogurt to have with it.”

An odd sensation turned over inside her, one that wasn’t only hunger. She stared at the bowl. “You remembered.”

Ash leaned against the counter. “Of course. You used to eat it every day.”

She had. About the only thing she liked from the chef Misty employed. Fruit salad and yogurt. Ash had even remembered to put fresh raspberries on it. “Thank you,” she said, ignoring the weird feelings. So he’d made her fruit salad. No big deal. She picked up the spoon. “I’m surprised, though.”

“What about?” Ash crossed to the massive fridge and got out some juice, began to pour a couple of glasses.

“Don’t you have a chef to do this kind of thing for you?”

“Sometimes. But I like to cook for myself when I can.”

“A movie star who cooks? Will wonders never cease?”

“I used to cook for myself a lot before I got my big break. I still like it.”

Interesting. She hadn’t known that. “Really? What do you like about it?”

“It’s kind of restful. Plus I like the creative aspect of it.”

“Better than shooting guns and kicking people I suppose.”

“There is that, yes.”

She ate a bit of apple and raspberry. It was delicious.

He leaned against the counter, watching her. “You like?”

“It’s adequate.”

“Ouch. Damning me with faint praise, sugar? Or is that my punishment?”

Lizzie licked a bit of yogurt from her spoon and then blinked as Ash’s gaze dropped to track the movement of her tongue as if mesmerized.

Quickly she put the spoon down, uncomfortable with the look. She always was when it came to getting men aroused—it was too close to home. Too much like Misty doing her thing.

“Why am I here, Ash?” she asked abruptly.

His brow creased. “The scar treatment—”

“No, why am I here really? And don’t tell me it’s because I’m the only one you trust because I don’t think that’s the real reason.”

For a long moment he just stared at her. Then he shifted and leaned his elbows on the counter. “No, it’s not the real reason. But I think you already know that.”

Lizzie took an unsteady breath. “Perhaps you’d better spell it out to me. So we’re both on the same page, so to speak.”

“Same page, huh? Well, okay then. I’m talking about you and me. We still have some stuff to work out. That chat you promised me for a start.”

Ah, yes. That. She tried not to let her apprehension show. “Do we have to do this now?”

The look on his face was uncompromising. “I’ve respected your privacy for eleven years, Lizzie-girl. But that’s over now. I want some damn answers.”

She swallowed. “What do you want to know?”

“Why you left. Where you’ve been. Why you didn’t want me following you. Why you didn’t contact me, not once.”

She directed her attention once more to her bowl because it was easier than looking at him. “You know why I left. It was in the note.”

“I want to hear it from you.”

Lizzie let out a breath. “It’s not that hard to work out. I left because I didn’t want to be part of the Misty Dawn circus anymore and when that episode screened, that was the last straw. I didn’t want the important, personal parts of my life plastered all over the media because my mother thought it would be good for the ratings. She had no respect for my privacy. No respect for me. So I left.”

“Why didn’t you talk to me first?” Something hot lingered in Ash’s eyes, an echo of an old anger. “We could have worked something out. Together.”

Her heart twisted and she had to look away from him again. “No, we couldn’t. Remember those dreams you talked about? About getting out of the projects? About wanting a better life for yourself? About being a big star? I couldn’t give you that and I…didn’t want to put you in the position of having to choose between me and your dreams. Not when all I wanted was the world to forget about me.”

“Yeah, well, you should have given me the choice.” He was silent a moment. “I loved you back then, Lizzie. And after you left, I was half out of my mind with worry about where you’d gone and whether you were safe or not.”

Lizzie couldn’t look at him. Guilt sat in her gut like a heavy weight. “I know and I’m sorry. I thought about telling you but…I didn’t want you coming after me and you would have if you’d known where I was.”

He said nothing, the truth of that settling between them. “So, where did you go?” he asked finally. “Did you stay in LA this entire time or what?”