He hadn’t told Moira that the reporter that had seen them together in Las Vegas had sold his story. Their picture had popped up in a few places, but because they hadn’t been seen together after that, the story fizzled.
The paparazzi, as she had so eloquently put it, didn’t pop out of cactus, but they always hovered around LAX looking for a sellable picture. The second they hit the terminal floor, they were surrounded.
“Hey, Mr. Porter, who’s that?” Reporters and photographers started to yell, tightening the circle around them.
He immediately pulled Moira into his arms to protect her. “Don’t listen to what they say, ignore them.”
“How the hell do I do that?” she whispered harshly. The frenzied crowd closed in on them.
“Who is she, Steven? Come on, tell us. That’s the same woman who was with you in Vegas, isn’t it?”
A husky woman threw herself in front of them, stopping Moira from going forward. “What’s your name, ma’am?” She stuffed the microphone in her face, which visibly shocked Moira.
“Hey,” she bellowed. “Have you ever heard of personal space? Get that thing outta my face.”
Not even fazed a little, the reporter stood her ground. “How do you know Steven Porter?” she shouted at Moira, even though she stood right in front of her. “Are you Steven’s next little conquest, or do you think you can last?”
Moira looked like she wanted to belt the woman. He held her tighter just in case. It only took a second before even he couldn’t move through the crowd. Big mistake, one he wouldn’t make again. Nobody got in his way when he walked through a set of reporters, but Moira made them crazy.
“Listen, folks, we’re going that way, now you can move or I can run over you,” he said with a warning tone. He used his arm to push at the crowd, but they clustered around them. Security came running from every direction.
The female reporter glared at Moira with story-seeking hungry eyes. “Are you two an item? How long have you been involved with Mr. Porter? You know he’s got a string of women. What makes you think he’ll stay with you?”
The questions came from every direction as security came charging into the tight cluster, pushing them back.
“Where are you going, sir?” A man almost as big as he was, who appeared in charge of the security team, broke through to them.
“Immigration.”
“This way.” He motioned to his men to keep the crowd away. They formed a barrier while shouts from the reporters flew at them.
“Why do you need her to go to immigration? Mr. Porter, Mr. Porter?” they yelled.
Moira remained calm, but the way she gripped his waist told him she was plenty scared. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry I should have anticipated this.”
She gave him a tight smile. “Is this what you go through all the time?” she asked. She held onto him tightly as he guided her toward the safety of the immigration office.
“No, not really. This hasn’t happened before, not like this. It’s you they want to know.”
“They didn’t want to know me five minutes ago, Steven,” she said sarcastically.
He laughed and leaned over to kiss her cheek. “Okay, so it’s my fault.”
While Moira worked with immigration, he got on the phone and called a security team of his own to manage their exit. Two hours later, they drove toward Malibu with an entourage.
Several cars created a barrier between them and the media who had jumped into a cavalcade of vehicles to follow them.
“This is nuts, Steven.”
“It’ll settle down. You know how the media is.”
“They’re like bloody animals. Why didn’t we have this problem in Vegas?”
“The airport is one of the worst places because they congregate there looking for celebrities. In Vegas, we moved around a lot, and there’s thousands of visitors. It’s easy to get lost in the crowd. Except of course, when we got caught after the fire.”
She nestled back in her seat. “Yeah, I saw the pictures, too.”
“You did!”
“Mandy showed me, she’s always buying those Hollywood rags. She nearly popped a vein when she saw a picture of us after the fire.”
He remembered the byline, “A different kind of mistress for Porter. Not his usual flavor,” it read. At the time, it had pissed him off, and it still did. If he ever saw that reporter again he would grab him by the throat.
She broke into his thoughts. “Mandy kept flopping down those magazines, showing me pictures of you, alone, going to events, at least most of them,” she said, her words dwindling.
By the tone in her voice, he knew she’d probably seen the photo with Delta Carlton. She was a new and up-and-coming actress, not to mention extraordinarily beautiful and nice. Delta’s head wasn’t filled with overstuffed dreams or glamour.
During the two months that lapsed between seeing Moira again, he had tried, once, to bounce back to his old life. Delta went to the opening of a new movie with him. He’d even got as far as her bedroom door afterwards, and then his heart lurched. Delta was a nice woman, with a great body, and she wanted him. He could have done it, his dry spell between the sheets wanted him to do it, but his heart started to talk, as did his mind. Obviously, neither of those two parts of him had given up on Moira. “You saw the pictures of Delta and I together?” he asked.
“Uh-huh.” She folded her hands tightly in her lap. “Mandy showed me those, too. She thought she could make me jealous enough to call you.”
Mandy was A-1 in his books. “Moira, I couldn’t touch another woman, not after knowing you. Do you believe me?”
Moira held her curls aside as they tried to fly across her face. “I don’t know,” she said seriously. “It doesn’t matter. I didn’t think I would ever see you again. I expected you to find someone”—she paused—“else.”
He was always going to be truthful with Moira. He’d almost lost her because of what he’d held back before. That would never happen again. “I tried.”
She bit her bottom lip, but remained silent.
“Moira, I stood in Delta’s bedroom door, and I saw you in my mind. I saw your face. I realized I didn’t want anyone else but you, and I left.” He turned off the highway and started to climb the winding narrow road into the Santa Monica Mountains where his estate sat. “I love you, Moira, and I know the next while is going to be a big change for you, and I know you’re doing it for me.”
Looking in the side mirror at the cars that followed them she said, “Well, I hope you’re right about the media settling down. I don’t think I’d feel very good being attacked picking up some chicken at the grocery store.”
Dane’s words came flashing back to him. You’ll have to cage her, and she’ll hate that. He couldn’t do that to her, but he’d have to, for a while. Even if she hated the idea, he would have to hire a personal security guard or three, until the excitement wore off. She wouldn’t be happy about it.
They climbed higher into the mountain range, and then he slowed near the top and turned into his driveway. They waited while large iron gates clicked open, and slowly slid apart. He parked the car, and she remained silent for a moment staring at his sprawling, twenty-thousand-square-foot house. When she got out of the car, she looked to see the see the reporters stopped on the other side of the enormous gate and walls that surrounded the compound.
She thrust her hands on her hips and said, “What the hell do you need all this square footage for, show-off?”
He couldn’t stop himself from laughing. Only Moira would give him hell for having an estate that most women would go giddy with joy knowing was going to become theirs. Truth was, he didn’t have a good answer. But for as long as he lived he would remember that first day and night.
The second she stepped into his house, she made it a home. She moved from room to room, checking every corner. He introduced her to Margarite who had taken care of his estate for more than ten years. When Moira slipped away from the kitchen to investigate the rest of the
house Margarite gave him a big smile and a wink.
“I like her, Senor Porter,” she said, nodding her approval.
“I like her, too, Margarite.”
“No, senor. Y necesito sentir.”
He nodded his understanding. “You’re right, Margarite. It is real love, and the love ever after.”
After keeping a low profile for a few hours, they finally ventured out and spent half a day at a quayside market, buying fresh produce and loaves of bread. She went nuts in the place, filling her arms with bundles of fresh flowers and more fresh fruit than they could possibly eat. People stared, but luckily, reporters didn’t hang out at the produce section, and they could wander without being bothered.
She made dinner that evening, and they ate on the large verandah with an endless view of the Pacific as the sun set the water to flame.
Moira said, “Okay, so I like it, but those colors in the bathroom have to change.”
He laughed and gathered her into his arms. “You change anything you want, sweetheart, it’s your home.”
They danced to the jazz music whispering through the air from the patio speakers as the final rays of the sun lost themselves in the sea. When he took her to his bed, the bed that they would share for the rest of their lives, he made slow, passionate love to her. His last thought before his mind drifted to darkness was how happy he was. Moira’s back snuggled against his chest, his palm filled with her warm breast, he knew that his life was complete.
* * * *
When he woke the next morning, Moira wasn’t beside him. He padded down the hallway and found her in the kitchen. She sat at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee in one hand, reading a newspaper. She heard him and swiveled in her chair, putting the mug down. She opened her mouth to say something, but he pulled her into his arms. “I woke up and you weren’t there. I thought I might have dreamed everything.” He kissed her slowly, holding her tightly to him making sure she was real. “Morning, Margarite,” he said, giving her a grin.
Margarite busied herself in the kitchen. “Good morning, Senor Porter.”
“Look at this.” Moira shoved two papers in his face.
A picture of him holding Moira in his arms and kissing her had obviously hit every rag and California newspaper. Underneath the photo, headlines from sarcastic to benign spelled it out. “Hollywood kingpin may have met his queen.” The next paper’s headline said, “Looks like Porter may surprise us all, and finally settle down.”
The mystery behind Moira sparked an incredible frenzy. He had warned his management team that they’d all be fired if one word got out about who she was. It didn’t take long since she was well known in the literary world. Within a day, less than twenty-four hours, the fact that Moira Viterra was connected to him romantically spread.
“You take a nice picture,” he said, walking to the counter where Margarite had placed a cup for his morning coffee.
“Steven—”
“Well, you do.”
“That’s not funny.”
“It’s going to blow over. Until then,” He paused. Better now than later, he thought. “You’re just going to have some company wherever you go.”
“What?”
He flinched. So this wasn’t going to be as easy as he thought.
“Company? Are you talking about a bodyguard, for me?”
He filled his cup, and darted a look in Margarite’s direction. She bent her head lower, minding the dishes. “Yes, that’s what I mean.”
“For God’s sakes, Steven, get real. Are you serious?”
“Would you like a refill?” he asked, holding the pot up.
“No, I don’t want any more damn coffee.”
He walked to the table and sat down, pulling on her hands to get her to sit. “I know this is going to take some getting used to, but it’s for your safety.”
“My safety?” She grabbed the table. “Holy shit.”
He leaned back. “Listen, I’m just being overly cautious.”
“No wonder you couldn’t get a girlfriend,” she stated.
“I had plenty of—” The words stuck in his throat. “Company.”
“One-night stand company. The criminals didn’t know who to pick on, is that what you’re saying?”
“Now you’re starting to sound like Dane.”
“What? What did Dane say?”
“Nothing.” He dragged one of the papers toward him.
Her hand slammed down on the newsprint before he could pick it up.
“What did Dane say?”
He sighed and put his cup down. “He said that it wouldn’t be fair to drag you into my life. He didn’t think we could make it, that you would feel caged.”
“He’s right.”
“Moira.” He watched her vault out of her chair and begin pacing. “This is temporary, all right.”
“Marriage is not temporary.”
“And once we’re married the rags will start the stories about how I was caught with some blonde bimbo, and you’re having an affair with the president of the USA. It’s all crap. You just have to ignore it.”
She flapped her arms against her sides. “What have I done?” She wandered toward the patio doors, and stared out between the mullions toward the backyard.
He wrapped his arms around her waist. “Sweetheart, we can do this. You just have to be a little patient.”
“I had a quiet little life before you came storming into it.”
“It’s going to take some getting used to, but I’ll be right beside you.”
She gave him a weary look.
He grinned back at her. “So what kind of bodyguard would you like, short and ugly or the tall and ugly?”
“Those are my choices?” She pursed her lips.
“Yup, I’m the only handsome guy that gets to be alone with you.” He swung her into his arms and headed down the hallway. “See you at lunch, Margarite.”
Chapter Nineteen
He never had a single desire for another woman once he looked into Moira’s eyes for the first time. The emptiness evaporated with her in his life. Finally, she stood by his side.
He thought he had opportunities for sex before, but for some reason those opportunities tripled once Moira entered his life. Whether it was a foot rubbing his leg from one of his executives’ wives under the table at lunch or a business meeting, chances flooded in.
While conducting an interview, he’d turned his back for only a minute, and when he turned around the woman lay naked on his couch. He rolled his eyes to the ceiling while he reminded her he wasn’t a doctor, and she could put her clothes back on.
Opportunities and offers came from every direction, but he didn’t want any of them. If anything got around fast in Hollywood, it was gossip and word of mouth. The word that he was committed to Moira blazed a trail. Some of the stories that spread were true, others weren’t, but all of them spoke loud and clear that he had found the woman who would be his wife.
He didn’t go to parties unless Moira was by his side. She hated them, but she also understood that it was part of who he was. She would always end up talking to the men. At first, it bothered the hell out of him, until he realized she simply felt more comfortable with men. She liked the technical aspect of movie making, and of course talking with the writers. She knew nothing about fashion, nor did she care. Her hairdresser was a sixty-year-old woman at the local strip mall. He thought for sure, in time, she would succumb to expensive clothes and shopping trips to New York, but it never happened.
But most of all her love for him was as close to perfect as a man could ever want, but life was not without its tests.
His twin brother and he were identical in every way but one; their voices were very different. Their mannerisms, their features, everything remained the same, even into their forties. It also turned out that something else was the same.
Dane’s relationship with Stephanie didn’t last, and he came for dinner a lot at their place after they broke up. He figured Dane loved Moi
ra’s cooking as much as he did. Living in a cold, empty house was something he understood, so he didn’t really blame his brother for showing up so often. Then he started to notice how Dane followed her around the room with his eyes. Sometimes he would even be there before he got home from his office. Moira would be in the kitchen making dinner, and Dane would be sitting at the island talking to her and having a drink. It looked innocent enough, but his little voice told him it wasn’t innocent at all.
* * * *
“Dane, I’m going to take a shower before Steven gets home. I should be finished before the timer goes off, but if I’m not, would you mind taking the dish out?”
“Sure, darlin’.” His gaze followed Moira from the room until she disappeared around the corner. He flopped down onto the couch, and glanced at his watch. Steven would be home in thirty minutes. He laid his head back, staring at the ceiling. What the hell was he doing here every night? But the answer was pretty clear in his mind. He needed his daily fix of Moira. Since he and Steff broke up, he had tried to date other women, but nothing clicked.
Why the hell did Steven have to meet her first? He downed the rest of his drink and plunked the glass on the table. Three stiff drinks shifted around in his stomach, but it only made his cravings worse. Reasoning with himself, he knew the only thing he would get from Moira was overweight. He’d put twenty pounds on since he’d been coming over.
He considered having another drink to dull the aching need. Hell, he looked like Steven, she loved Steven, why wouldn’t she want him, too? The fact that Steven would tear him to pieces didn’t seem so important.
Moira’s blood-curdling scream had him vaulting off the couch. It tore through the house and right down his spine. He ran down the hallway and threw open the bedroom door. Moira was on the bed, her eyes glued to something.
“Jesus Christ, Moira, what?” He followed her stare then burst out laughing when he saw the spider stone-still, probably paralyzed in terror, in the middle of the carpet. It was damn big though.
Too Grand for Words (BookStrand Publishing Romance) Page 25