Secrets of the Rich & Famous (11 page)

He’d bailed her out again. This time at huge cost to himself. Would he really do that for a potential one-night stand he never needed to cross paths with again?

Eventually she could stand it no longer.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘For not saying it.’

‘Saying what?’

She gave him a rueful smile.

‘I told you so. The temptation must be huge.’

She saw the tension in his shoulders soften a little.

‘It is,’ he said.

Silence fell again.

‘VIP tickets weren’t as scarce as they made out, then,’ she said. ‘Seems a bit of a scam.’

‘What?’ He glanced at her.

‘The auction,’ she said. ‘The other night. I almost got stung for a grand on supposedly golddust tickets, but you just strolled in like you owned the place.’

Strolled in was actually way off the mark. Vaulted into the fray was more like it.

He stared straight ahead.

‘No big deal.’

‘No big deal? You
hit
him! There were enough diamond-encrusted mobile phones in that VIP enclosure to guarantee you a place
on tomorrow’s front pages. You’re probably already an internet sensation.’

‘I don’t care,’ he said.

Her stomach gave a dizzying flip. Being rescued shouldn’t really sit well with her lifelong determination to go it alone. And yet the deliciousness of it took her breath away.

They were almost at the apartment now.

‘What about the movie? All your PR rules? You’ve probably broken every single one in the space of two minutes.’ The grief this was likely to cause him suddenly hit home, and she felt a sickening stab of guilt at what she’d dragged him into.

‘Yeah, well, I’ve spent my entire career worrying about how my every move affects my work, chasing success at the expense of everything else. Maybe I just decided to do what I want for a change, without reference to any of that.’

‘So all this is about you making a point? Nothing more?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘All this …’ She waved her hands in an all-encompassing gesture. ‘Everything you’ve done. Gatecrashing the racing.’

He pulled the car to a standstill in his apartment’s parking space, turned the engine off, got out. She followed him into the lobby, waiting for an answer.

‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Am I just a distraction because you’ve been forced to stay in and miss the party for a few lousy weeks? What’s this all about?’

He stopped, laughed into the darkness.

‘A distraction?’ he said. ‘You’re right. I’ve never been so distracted by anything or anyone. And it has nothing to do with my PR team or the award prospects for my damn movie.’

In two quick strides he was right back beside her. Her stomach melted into softness.

‘I should never have let you go with him today.’

‘Then why did you?’

‘Because you were so determined to prove a point, and you would have argued me down until you were blue in the face.’

He looked up at the ceiling briefly.

‘And because I didn’t want to admit how much I want you.’

Heat tingled through her as he slid one hand firmly around her waist, traced the other along her collarbone. Sparks jolted deliciously down her spine.

‘Since when?’

He smiled down at her.

‘To be honest I think I was halfway there the first night—just finding you in the apartment like that, with your long legs and all that attitude.
But I think what really sealed it was the orange hair.’

All sense and rationality left her, pushed out by the intensity of the desire that rushed through her under his touch. She let her arms circle his neck, let his thick hair slide through her fingers. The green depths of his gaze met her own. She felt as if her knees had melted and might quit holding her up very soon.

‘I could always dye it back,’ she said into his mouth, and she felt the grin on his lips as he kissed her, his hands sliding lower to press her hard against him.

She felt him tighten his hold enough to lift her and then he was walking down the hall, her toes skimming the floor in the semi-darkness. She heard him mash the key blindly into the lock as he kissed her hungrily. Then, as he carried her inside and kicked the door shut behind him, all reservation was gone. She locked her legs behind his waist and let him carry her through to his bedroom.

Sunlight slanted into the room through a chink in the heavy curtains and fell on the pillow next to Jen, pulling her back to consciousness. Alex’s side of the bed was empty. She slid her hand beneath the cover.

Still warm.

She glanced around, collecting her thoughts.
The room was pure Alex, like the rest of the apartment. Nothing personal or sentimental. No indication that he’d put down roots here. It felt like sleeping in a hotel room. A very expensive one. A full flashback of what had happened between them zoomed into her mind and she threw the sheets back quickly.

The deep feeling of hot euphoria that had enveloped her very bones at the feel of him the previous night was fast regressing into cold tension. She stood up, glanced round the room for her clothes. Her panties had somehow ended up under the chest of drawers, and she hooked them out and stepped into them.

What had she done?

Carried away by her very own Sir Galahad, stepping in yet again to save her. Was that what had removed her sanity? The novelty of having someone actually
be
there for her for a change, for her to rely on? She’d told herself she was happy with her life, yet there had always been that sniff of what might have been lingering just out of her reach. Hell, that was what had driven the whole article idea. Had she let him under her radar because he represented that parallel universe for her—the one where she really was a rich socialite instead of just playing a part?

Rationality was sinking in deeper with every moment, driving away the delicious feeling of
happiness she’d encountered in his arms, with his hands on her skin.

She could hear his muffled voice somewhere outside the room and paused near the door, listening hard. He was obviously on the telephone. That meant he could be back in here at any moment. She looked hurriedly around for the rest of her clothes and suddenly registered a swatch of dialogue.

‘… tomorrow. Send me the flight details through …’

Cold regret seeped into her heart as she followed what he was saying. Along with anger at herself for letting things go so far.

Where exactly had she
thought
it would go from here? She knew what his priorities were. He hadn’t made a secret of it. Work came first. Would always come first with him.

Flight details
.

So he wasn’t even staying in the country for Christmas, then? What would he give her? A couple of days before he jetted off back to his life? What had she been thinking? She’d fallen into his arms like some simpering idiot, all because he’d rescued her from a scary situation. She’d slept with him and now he was going.

The only thing stopping her from becoming her mother right now was the fact he’d used a condom.

She dashed around the room, picking up her
dress and cardigan. Now reality had bitten she knew only that she had to put a stop to any further repeat of history. There was only one way forward if she were to retain the control her mother had given up.

She’d have to dump him before he got in first.

A
LEX
returned to the bedroom via the kitchen fridge, thinking they would have a slow and languorous champagne-breakfast-fuelled second round. Just the thought of the warm softness of her body curled up in his bed made hot desire rush through him again.

The bed was empty, sheets strewn haphazardly across it. As he glanced at the half-open
en suite
bathroom door, of the darkness beyond it, she popped up suddenly from behind the far side of the bed. She was naked except for lace panties and clutching the rest of her clothes to her chest, hiding her modesty as if he
hadn’t
just spent half the night exploring every silken inch of her body. He stared at her.

‘What are you doing?’

She avoided his eyes, bent down and retrieved a shoe from under the bed.

‘I need to get going.’

He shoved the tray down on the chest of
drawers as she moved towards him. On her way out.

‘To do what, exactly?’

‘I need to get to work. This article won’t write itself.’

‘Come back to bed. Have some breakfast. Another hour isn’t going to make a difference.’

‘Well, if that’s your attitude I’m amazed you’ve made such a success of your career,’ she said. ‘Lying in bed until all hours.’

‘It’s only seven-thirty,’ he pointed out.

She was next to him now, next to the open door, shoes balanced on top of her clothes. She apparently really was going.

‘So you’re choosing work over a lie-in with me?’ Surely she couldn’t be serious. ‘Let’s just have something to eat and then you can get started, spend the day on it. You can use the office, if you like.’

‘I don’t need to use the office. I need to get packed and then I’ll be out of your hair.’

His mind whirled. What the hell
was
this?

‘Out of my hair?’

She shrugged.

‘It’s been fun, but we both knew it was never going anywhere … right?’

He didn’t answer. He was too busy trying to fathom how things had gone from the intimate sizzling passion of the night to this detached coldness.

Not bothering to wait for an answer, she finally pushed past him and walked barefoot down the hall towards her own room, still clutching her clothes against her. He followed her, the smooth contours of her naked back tantalising him. Messy waves of hair were tumbling every which way over her shoulders.

She talked loudly without looking round. ‘Won’t take me long to get my stuff sorted.’

‘You’re moving out?’

‘Yes, our agreement’s reached an end. I told you I needed to stay until I got enough material. I’ve done that.’ She paused. ‘It’s over.’

She walked into her room, made as if to close the door. He grabbed it and stood in the way.

‘But you haven’t written it yet.’

‘Oh, I can write the thing anywhere,’ she said. ‘I’ve got all my notes. Once it’s done I’ll just e-mail it in and hope it’s good enough. I’m going to see my mum.’

‘You’re going home to the country?’

‘For Christmas,’ she said. She turned. Faced him. ‘Let’s face it, Alex, I was always going to be going home to the country for Christmas. This can’t come as a big surprise.’

‘But last night …’

‘Was great. But you’re not exactly the marrying kind, are you?’

She smiled at him, as if she was perfectly fine with that, but it was a perfunctory effort
and didn’t really touch the blue eyes. He’d seen what a proper smile looked like on her face and this was a poor imitation. Whatever was going on here, he wasn’t buying it.

‘I’ve got ambitions,’ she said. ‘There’s a lot riding on this project for me. I don’t have time to take a few more days out for sex with you just because you’re stuck here and you happen to have an empty diary.’

That was all it was to her? Sex? He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

‘Let’s just cut our losses and get back to normal. You must be going back to work any day now, anyway, aren’t you?’

There was a loaded tone to that question, a hint of contempt. Or maybe he’d imagined it.

He dropped his eyes for a moment, but there was no point trying to hide it.

‘I do have to fly out to the States,’ he admitted. ‘My spat with Richard Moran is going to be plastered all over the papers for the next day or so, but my PR team will smooth it over. We’re well known as business rivals, and it isn’t the first time we’ve crossed swords, so they’ll pass it off as a long-running feud and your name shouldn’t come into it.’ He gave her a small smile. ‘And even if it does it won’t be your real name.’

‘Good,’ she said. She didn’t smile back. ‘So I’ve become Viveca Holt. You sleep with me,
there’s a scandal in the press and you make yourself scarce. History repeats itself.’

‘What happened with Viveca has nothing to do with this. Don’t you think I’d stay here if I could? Ride out the storm with you? There’s been a hitch with the funding for one of my films—the kind of thing I don’t want to leave to anyone else to sort out. That’s the reason I have to go. I need to get back in control. I’ve been gone long enough.’

That urge to be back in charge was as strong as ever. He had a hands-on involvement in every film. Delegation didn’t come naturally. He found it hard to believe anyone else had the commitment and standards that he did. And yet now he found it tempered by the want, the
need
to be with her.

‘When?’ she asked, matter-of-fact.

‘Tomorrow,’ he said.

‘Well, there you go, then!’

He clenched his hands at her sudden dismissive attitude.

‘It’s the States, Jen. It’s not the moon. I’m not disappearing off the face of the earth. There are phones. There’s Skype. And I’ll be back.’

‘Of course you will. Next time your work demands it. I’m sure I’ll read about it in the papers.’

Her tone was don’t-care.

She turned her back on him, dropped the ball of clothes on the bed and stood momentarily
naked except for her panties, shrugging her way as fast as she could into a T-shirt. He could be across the room with her in three quick strides, sliding his hands around her to cup her breasts, kissing the back of her neck. It took huge willpower not to do exactly that, to use sex in that way he was used to—to divert a woman from anything with more depth and importance. But he didn’t go. He didn’t know where he wanted this … this
thing
between them to go, but he suddenly realised he wanted more from her than just sex. And to pitch them at that level now would, he instinctively knew, be a huge mistake.

Now wearing T-shirt and panties, she hauled a suitcase out from under her bed and crossed the room to the bureau, pulling open drawers, gathering up clothes and belongings. He crossed the room and shut the lid of her suitcase, stood between it and her.

‘Will you quit packing for a minute?’

She took a deep breath and stood still, a T-shirt in each hand. Her expression was one of sad resignation and his heart lurched.

‘I don’t want this to be it between us. Don’t you understand?’ he said. He made an effort to curb his tone. In his determination to make her understand his temper was fraying. ‘I know the situation isn’t perfect. We’ve both got huge demands on us, on our time. But I want to carry on seeing you.’

‘For what? A couple of dates? Or are you after an easy date whenever you happen to be in town? Call me up and I’ll drop everything and be there? Is that it?’

‘Jen, I know why you’re acting like this. You’re cutting me out because you think you know me. You’re judging me, judging us, by a million stories you’ve read about me in the press. And that’s not fair. I’m serious about this. Don’t you think you at least owe me the chance to show you that?’

She looked at him, eyebrows raised.

‘How do you plan to do that?’

He thought her tone had warmed up slightly, almost imperceptibly. Maybe at last he was getting through to her.

He took a deep breath. He couldn’t quite believe what he was about to suggest.

‘I fly out tomorrow to LA. Spend today with me. And at the end of it, if you still want out, I won’t argue with you. Your damn article can wait one day.’

‘You think spending one day in bed with you is enough to convince me you’re serious about me?’

‘Not you, no,’ he said. ‘But then you’re not run-of-the-mill, are you? Get showered and dressed. We’re going out.’

‘The M4?’

She glanced at the motorway sign. The main route to her home village.

‘I thought you were talking me out of going home. Trust me, my mother won’t thank me for turning up out of the blue with a guest in tow. She’ll be up to her elbows in pastry, making the famous Brown mince pies. Or, worse, she could be stuffing the turkey.’

‘The M4 doesn’t just serve Littleford, you know,’ he said, not taking his eyes off the road.

Light snow was falling against the windscreen, but it was deliciously snug in the Maserati with its seat-warming gadgetry and perfect climate control.

She caught on.

‘We’re going to Bristol?’

‘We’re visiting my parents,’ he said. ‘The Hammond Christmas drinks and nibbles. You’d better brace yourself.’

Jen sat in silence as he took the Bristol slip road, mulling over what this could mean. She’d challenged him with this, hadn’t she? With taking her to meet his family? Was Alex proving a point? Nervous butterflies pinged around her stomach.

It seemed the bonkers British weather hadn’t put off the traditional last-minute rush of Christmas shoppers. The roads to the town
centre were stuffed with traffic, which finally began to ease as they headed for the Downs and Clifton.

‘I should warn you they’re likely to be a bit narky,’ he said as he pulled the car into a wide avenue lined with snow-dusted trees. They came to a standstill outside a beautiful three-storey townhouse. ‘On account of the fact I haven’t visited for a while.’

She crunched across the frozen gravel driveway behind him. He rang the bell.

‘How long is “a while”?’ she asked as the front door opened and a man stepped into view.

Alex shrugged. ‘Eighteen months-ish.’

‘More like two years,’ the man said.

He had to be Alex’s father. The resemblance was strong. Sixty-ish, he had the same thick hair, though it was steel-grey, and glasses. Alex had his green eyes.

And then they were surrounded. Alex’s mother appeared from nowhere, petite with a short light brown haircut to match her elfin features. Alex made an apologetic face at Jen over her head as she dragged him into an enormous hug. There was a brother, there was a small niece and nephew who hung off Alex’s legs, there was a grandma sitting in a high-backed chair by the fireplace, and there were uncles, aunts and cousins. A total of four generations of the Hammond family.

Cheesy Christmas music was belting out from somewhere within.

The rich exterior of the house didn’t match the inside. It was stuffed to breaking point with mismatched furniture and no surface was left uncluttered. There were ornaments and knickknacks everywhere she looked.

‘I bought them the house seven years ago,’ Alex said as they were ushered through the hall. ‘Not long after I got my first big break. Took me ages to persuade them to move out of their old house, and when they eventually did they told my interior designer to get stuffed and basically moved the interior of their old place as it was.’

In the corner of the sitting room there was an enormous fake Christmas tree, festooned with a combination of hideous baubles and homemade ornaments that spelled the word
family
in a way that nothing else at Christmas quite did. A threadbare fairy perched on the top, well past her best but clearly there for years to come based on sentimentality instead of appearance.

Alex was subjected to an inquisition from the entire family that he clearly deserved and took calmly in his stride.

‘Good of you to finally show your face,’ his father said when they’d been each been given a glass of cranberry-red Christmas punch.

Yep, there was definitely an air of narkiness.

‘I’ve invited you and Mum to visit me in
LA loads of times,’ Alex protested. ‘Tried to persuade you to come and have a holiday. You never take me up on it.’

‘You know your mother is afraid of flying. And I don’t hold with that foreign food. It doesn’t agree with me.’

Everywhere Jen looked there were framed pictures of Alex with his younger brother, growing up. There was an enormous table groaning with quiche, sausage rolls and sandwiches. Good hearty food, not the one-bite-and-it’s-gone canapés she’d been served these last few weeks.

The argument went on.

‘Would it kill you to phone your mother once a week? Or even once a month? I know your every move, Alexander Hammond, I read the red-top newspapers. I know when you’re in this country, skulking in London, not bothering to nip down the M4 for an hour or so to see your family. And then just this morning there’s a picture of you smacking someone at some racetrack. Off the rails! Are you on drugs?’

Alex held both hands up to ward him off.

‘No, I am not on drugs! And I was staying out of the way because I wanted to protect you lot from all that.’ He turned to Jen. ‘The press hounded them when I broke up with Susan,’ he explained. ‘They’d follow my mother when she walked down the street, barking out questions.’
He looked at his parents. ‘I didn’t want that for you again.’

‘We’ve taken more grief than that in our time,’ his mother snapped. ‘When our Michael got caught shoplifting I couldn’t hold my head up in the supermarket for weeks. A few gutter press weren’t going to bother me after that.’

‘What’s shoplifting, Daddy?’ Alex’s six-year-old niece piped up.

Michael threw his hands up. ‘Oh, cheers, Mum. Trying to be a role model here and you bring that up.’

As the day progressed and the punchbowl emptied things slowly began to thaw. As darkness fell Jen stood in a corner of the warm kitchen watching Alex deep in conversation with his father and brother.

‘You’re the first girlfriend he’s brought home in a long time,’ his mother said, joining her. She topped up Jen’s glass, then her own.

‘I’m sure it’s just because work keeps him away so much.’