by Heidi Rice
He eased over onto his back and blinked groggily at the indent on the fluffy goose down pillow beside him.
Holding the phone away from his ear, he strained to hear any sound from the en suite. All that greeted him was Mickey’s muffled voice and the rustle of a breeze in the terrace vines.
He frowned. Strange. Where was the woman who had starred in the dream Mickey had so rudely interrupted?
‘Hold up, Mick,’ he said, interrupting the whining monologue he hadn’t heard a word of. ‘Can I call you back?’
Mickey heaved an exaggerated sigh. ‘Sure. But do me a favour. Next time you decide to rearrange the tonsils of some London shop girl, give me a heads up, will you? I’ve been fielding calls from the British tabloids most of the night. They haven’t quit yet and it’s now six in the morning LA time.’
Mac bolted upright, his knuckles whitening on the handset. ‘What did you say?’ he asked, somewhat redundantly, as he’d heard every word this time—and was having the heart palpitations to prove it.
‘The photos are all over the morning papers in the UK.’
‘What photos?’ Why couldn’t Mickey ever get to the point?
‘Of you and the shop girl,’ Mickey said, sounding taken aback. ‘Getting physical on some balcony in France.’
Mac’s astonishment turned to fury.
Some bastard had snapped their photo last night. And now that private, impossibly sexy kiss had been served up for public consumption, to titillate people over their morning coffee. A snarled expletive cut the country quiet as his stomach turned over.
‘Hey, man. Don’t sweat it.’ Mickey’s voice drifted on as Mac’s temper surged out of control. ‘They’re long-range but you both look really hot. All we need here is our own angle.’
He hated those damn parasites. Why couldn’t they leave him the hell alone?
‘It’ll be great publicity for the European release of Death Game,’ Mickey wittered on. ‘Especially as the girl’s British. Hey, she’s not there with you, is she?’ Mickey’s voice peaked with excitement. ‘Could I get a quote?’
Mac took a couple of deep breaths. ‘No, she’s not here,’ he growled, suddenly glad of her temporary absence.
He wanted to kill someone and it might as well be the messenger. ‘I don’t want any damn quotes. Not a one. I’ve told you before, my sex life is no one’s business but my own and if you give a single column inch of mileage to this story you’re fired.’
There was a pregnant pause on the end of the line, then Mickey’s voice came back on, considerably subdued. ‘Understood, Mac. How do you want me to spin it, then?’
Was he hitting his head against a brick wall or what?
‘No spin, Mick. No nothing. Tell them no comment and that’ll be the end of it.’
Mickey cleared his throat. ‘Not quite, man.’
‘Why not?’
‘They’ve got the girl’s name.’
Damn. ‘I’ll take care of the girl,’ he said and realised he meant it.
Juno would be completely unprepared for what was about to hit her—and he planned to be there to protect her from the worst of it. He decided not to think about the fact that he’d never been the knight-in-shining-armour type before.
He went to hang up and then a thought occurred to him. He brought the phone back to his ear. ‘Mick, wait. By the way, what is her name?’
He didn’t know where she’d popped off to or how long she’d be and he needed to put the wheels in motion. He’d start by booking them a couple of flights to LA to get her out of harm’s way.
‘Man, you didn’t get her name before you nailed her?’ Mick’s laddish chuckle grated on Mac’s last nerve. ‘Boy, oh, boy, you’re such a player. If I had that kind of power, I’d be hitting on everything that moved too—’
‘Shut up, Mick, and give me her damn name,’ he snapped, not liking the renewed spurt of guilt at his publicist’s insinuations.
He listened to the rustle of paper before Mickey spoke. ‘According to this one she’s called Juno Delamare. Works in some dress shop in Portobello Road in West London named The Funky Fashionista and—’
Mac slammed the phone down, having heard all he needed to. Swinging his legs off the bed, he ran his fingers through his hair, scrubbed his hands down his face. He stared out of the open terrace doors, and noticed how high the sun was in the sky.
What time was it? If it was past six in LA it had to be past noon here. After yesterday’s emotional roller coaster—not to mention the mind-blowing sex—he’d slept like a dead man.
No wonder she wasn’t here. She could have woken up hours ago. She must have headed off in search of breakfast.
His heartbeat evened out for the first time since he’d spotted her empty pillow. He’d have a quick shower and then hunt her down—and tell her how they were going to handle the press.
He stood and stretched, deciding not to dwell on the little resolution he’d made to himself last night to send her packing first thing in the morning. He couldn’t let her go. Not after he’d got her into this mess. She’d just have to spend a couple of weeks with him in LA where she’d be safe from prying eyes.
His lips curved as he wrapped the bed sheet round his waist. After the way things had gone last night, he didn’t see it being a hardship for either one of them.
He took a step forward, heard the crunch and looked down to see a piece of notepaper snagged under his big toe. It had his name written on it in block letters.
He picked it up and opened it.
His heartbeat skipped up as he read the two short sentences, three times over.
Dear Mac,
Thank you for a memorable night.
Have a wonderful life.
Juno
Astonishment came first.
Unbelievable. She hadn’t gone out for a croissant, she’d run out on him.
Swiftly followed by temper. He crushed the letter in his fist.
She hadn’t just run out on him, she’d left him a damn kiss-off note.
What exactly did she mean by ‘memorable night’? Like he was some convenient stud she could dump when it suited her. And that crack about having a wonderful life. So she’d decided they were never going to see each other again, had she?
He stalked across the room and shoved open the door of the en suite. What gave her the right to decide these things all by herself? And then hare off like some scared rabbit before they had a chance to discuss it.
She could forget that. No woman gave Mac Brody a kiss-off note, especially once he’d decided he didn’t want to be kissed off.
Dropping the bed sheet, he whipped back the shower curtain with enough force to rip part of it off the rail. He stepped into the tub, cursing the sight of his morning erection standing proud despite his aggravation.
Wasn’t that just fine and dandy?
He switched the shower dial to Froid and gritted his teeth.
If it wasn’t bad enough she’d mortally offended him and done another damn vanishing act, she’d now added injury to her insults.
The frigid water hit him like a slap in the face.
‘Wonderful life, my arse,’ he growled as he reached for the soap.
Chapter Eight
JUNO let Daisy’s excited chatter and Connor’s calm measured responses float over her as the limousine cruised off the Westway and headed towards Portobello.
Why did she feel so out of sorts?
Ever since she’d arrived at the chteau that morning, she’d felt totally unlike herself. Weary and unsettled, dissatisfied and confused. Of course, it didn’t help that her body ached in some very unusual places. Or that her head hurt from fielding Daisy’s endless enquiries about why she’d appeared at eight in the morning still wearing her maid of honour gown. Or that their flight had been delayed for three endless hours in Nice airport because of some oversight with the paperwork.
But why couldn’t she shake this hollow feeling—as if she’d lost something she could never get back? And why
did she keep picturing Mac Brody, the bronzed skin of his back gleaming in the dawn light as she shut the hotel door?
She’d promised herself she wouldn’t moon over the man. She couldn’t afford to start believing in fantasies. However mouth-watering this one might have been. And yet she couldn’t seem to stop herself.
The only explanation was exhaustion.
What she needed was to return to the quiet order of her bedsit, ground herself in real life again and sleep for a week.
A tired sigh left her lips as the pale Georgian terraces of Colville Gardens glided past the car window. Not long now.
‘What the hell..?’ Connor’s startled shout had Juno’s drooping eyelids jerking open.
She peered out of the limo’s tinted window. How peculiar. A herd of people crowded round the front of Daisy and Connor’s house, spilling off the pavement and blocking the road. Then one man with two enormous cameras hanging from his neck broke from the herd and ran towards them. He lifted one of his cameras and fired. The flash of strobe lighting seared Juno’s eyeballs like a flame-thrower. By the time she’d refocused the pack of photographers had surrounded the vehicle like ravening wolves.
‘We’ll have to run for it.’ Connor lifted Ronan out of his car seat and cocooned the crying baby against his shoulder. He tapped the partition. ‘Jim, get as close as you can and then call the police.’
The chauffeur signalled with his mobile, already dialling the local constabulary.
Juno stumbled out of the car behind Daisy and Connor. The barrage of flashes blinded her as whirring shutter clicks and urgent shouts battered her eardrums. She shielded her eyes from the glare and gripped Daisy’s hand as they elbowed their way through the crowd. But she couldn’t shield her ears from the questions fired at her like bullets.
‘Juno, how long have you known Mac Brody?’ ‘Is he as hot as everyone says, Juno?’ ‘You two an item now?’ ‘Where’s Mac? Will he be visiting you in Portobello for another night of passion?’
Her head throbbed and her eyes stung as she and Daisy ran up the steps of the house behind Connor and the baby, flashbulbs exploding in her face like a demented fireworks display.
She could hear Ronan’s high-pitched wailing as Connor shoved open the door, jostled them inside and then slammed it in the face of the media horde.
‘What the hell was that all about?’ Connor shouted.
‘Keep your voice down,’ Daisy admonished him. She scooped the distressed baby out of Connor’s arms and rocked him.
All three of them jumped when a newspaper landed on the mat and a nose and mouth appeared in the letter slot. ‘Fantastic picture, Juno. You sure you ain’t got a comment?’ a disembodied cockney voice pleaded.
Connor swore and slapped the flap shut as he bent to pick up the newspaper. ‘Take this and go to the study,’ he said, shoving the paper into Juno’s hands. ‘I’ll wait for the police.’ He pulled his mobile out of his top pocket. ‘The firm’s security can send over some muscle as well.’
Juno followed Daisy and the baby to the study, consumed by guilt.
Why hadn’t she thought of the possible fallout from last night? Mac was a famous man. Of course their little tryst wouldn’t have remained a secret. And now she’d brought this madness down on Connor and Daisy, on the first day of their honeymoon.
Daisy peeked out of the study window. ‘Good grief, they’re like a swarm of locusts,’ she murmured, her voice ripe with fascination as she let the curtain fall.
‘This is all my fault,’ Juno mumbled, hideously ashamed.
‘Ju, what on earth’s the matter?’ Daisy hurried over and took her arm. ‘Sit down before you fall down.’
Juno sank onto the sofa. Daisy perched beside her as Ronan’s cries turned to jerky sobs. Juno’s guilt intensified. How could she have been so thoughtless and irresponsible last night?
She stroked a trembling palm down Ronan’s curls, his gulping sobs piercing her heart. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered. ‘Will Ronan be all right?’
‘Ronan will be fine,’ Daisy said easily. ‘He’s had a bit of a shock, that’s all.’ Unbuttoning her blouse, she lifted her breast deftly out of her nursing bra and the baby’s mouth latched onto her nipple. His sobs gentled as he concentrated on sucking voraciously. ‘You see, all sorted.’
Daisy patted Juno’s knee and smiled. ‘You can stop shaking now, he’s okay.’ She nodded at the paper still clutched forgotten in Juno’s fist. ‘Why don’t we see what the fuss is about?’
Juno unfolded the paper on her lap and gawped at the front page.
Underneath the banner headline ‘Hollywood Hunk Brody’s Night of Passion with London Shop Girl’ was a huge, grainy, colour photograph. Despite the poor picture quality, the image had recognition blazing through Juno like a fireball. Mac towered over her on the chteau balcony, his dark head obscuring most of her face as his mouth devoured hers. His large hand covered her bottom, drawing her close, while her fingers clutched at his shoulders as she kissed him back for all she was worth.
Daisy hummed. ‘Suddenly, the mystery is solved.’
Juno slapped the paper closed, despair and humiliation churning in her stomach. How did you go about explaining the unexplainable? ‘I didn’t plan for it to happen. He kissed me on the balcony—and we sort of got carried away.’
‘I can see that,’ Daisy said, a smile lurking at the corners of her mouth.
‘This is so awful.’ How typical that her big Cinderella moment should turn into a pantomime disaster.
‘No, it’s not,’ Daisy said firmly, easing Ronan off her breast. She lifted the baby onto her shoulder and patted his back. ‘Actually, I think it’s fabulous.’ The smile became a mischievous grin. ‘Now, I have two very important questions to ask. Was your night of passion with the Hollywood Hunk as hot as it looks from that photo? And when are you seeing him again?’
The blush that flooded Juno’s cheeks had Daisy chuckling. ‘Okay, scratch question one,’ she said. ‘I think I got my answer to that one.’
‘I’m not seeing him again,’ Juno said firmly. ‘It was strictly a one-night deal.’
‘Who says? Did he say that?’
‘Not in so many words,’ Juno said carefully. ‘He was still asleep when I left this morning.’
Daisy’s eyebrows shot up. ‘You ran out on him? A man most women would kill for. Are you nuts?’
‘I didn’t want to wake him,’ she said plaintively. ‘I left him a note.’ Fine, so it sounded a bit lame now, even to her. But that was hardly the point. ‘Anyway, it’s academic. He wasn’t looking for more than one night—and neither was I.’
It was the truth. Even if her heartbeat did the two-step every time she thought about him. That could only be leftover sexual chemistry—anything else would signal disaster.
Daisy adjusted the sleeping Ronan on her shoulder and gave Juno a look that made her want to squirm. ‘How do you know? You didn’t wait to find out.’
‘I didn’t need to wait,’ she said deliberately. ‘It was understood. I was being realistic.’ Wherever Daisy was going with this, she didn’t want to follow. Daisy was a bona fide hopeless romantic; she wouldn’t know realistic if it hit her over the head.
Daisy held up her palm. ‘Don’t even think about hiding behind that being realistic baloney. There’s a time for realism and there’s a time for letting your inner nymphomaniac loose and going completely insane. Having the opportunity for a wild fling with Mac Brody would definitely qualify as the latter.’ She sighed. ‘I can’t believe you let a chance like this slip through your fingers. Forget slip. You just chucked it under a bus.’
‘Daisy, don’t. It’s over and done with.’
Daisy’s expression sobered, making Juno feel very, very uneasy. ‘Don’t do this, Juno. Not now. Not after everything you’ve achieved in the last couple of weeks.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’ But she had a bad feeling she did know, and she didn’t want to hear it.
‘Juno, ever since yo
u met Mac at Heathrow and shared that kiss, I’ve seen a side of you I’ve never seen before, and it’s been wonderful to watch. Honestly, it’s been like seeing a butterfly coming out of its cocoon and learning to spread its wings.’ Daisy gave a sad smile. ‘Don’t you see, you were finally starting to get your spirit back? Just look at the way you wore that maid of honour gown, even though you felt naked in it. And the way you had the guts to spend the night with Mac.’ Daisy’s tone deepened. ‘I bet you were scared to death when you got to his hotel room, weren’t you?’
Juno’s blush returned full force. ‘Maybe a bit. But he was okay about it. Actually, he was pretty amazing really.’
Daisy let out a deep sigh. ‘So why did you run out on him?’
‘Because I didn’t want to make a fool of myself,’ Juno blurted out. So it made her sound pathetic? So what. It didn’t alter the facts. She couldn’t get drawn into another impossible romantic fantasy with a man who wasn’t interested. ‘For goodness’ sake, Daisy, he may be Connor’s brother, but he’s a movie star. He has women far more gorgeous and glamorous than me falling all over him. I didn’t want to have him patronise me and pretend he cared when he didn’t. It would have been embarrassing.’ And it would have crushed the thrilling feeling of power, of achievement.
She’d discovered something wonderful last night. That the world wasn’t going to collapse around her if she took a chance and went with her instincts. Maybe one day she’d even have the courage to go after what Daisy had found and see if she couldn’t find the same thing for herself. But if and when she did decide to reach for the stars, she would take it one patient step at a time, assessing the risks carefully as she went. She wasn’t going to charge into the unknown, trust to luck and then be forced to spend another six years picking up the pieces of her shattered heart.
‘I’m not you, Daisy,’ she said. ‘And Mac’s not Connor, either. I risked everything once before and it was a disaster. I can’t do it again. And I won’t. Not until I’m sure.’