Heartbreaker (Hollywood Hearts Book 2)

by Belinda Williams

  To my supreme satisfaction, his mask cracked momentarily and I saw a flicker of surprise.

  My lips twisted into an uncharacteristic, cruel smile. “Yes. I’ve been fantasizing regularly about you leaving me alone.”

  With that I spun on my heel and exited the trailer, badly in need of some fresh air.

  Chapter 11

  Marc didn’t leave me alone, of course.

  He stayed nearby for the remainder of the day but had the good sense to keep out my way. As soon as I’d stormed from the trailer, I’d felt bad. I was embarrassed my behavior had been so perverse and I hated that I’d acted like the spoiled princess he thought I was. I was obviously just stressed by the whole series of events and had taken it out on him. It still didn’t make it acceptable, but I tried to get on with the rest of the day and put it to the back of my mind so I could get on with filming my scenes.

  I was surprised when we called it a wrap around seven in the evening. Manning’s shoots were very efficient, and I was finding the longer everyone worked together the more like a well-oiled machine we became.

  “An early night for a change,” said Chloe as we walked to our trailers. “Doesn’t happen very often.”

  “No,” I replied. On any other day I would have been relieved at having the extra downtime. Today? Not so much.

  “So, ah, I guess I’ll leave you guys to it,” Chloe said when we reached our trailers. She darted a glance at Marc, who’d been walking silently behind me. “Have a nice night.” I didn’t miss her curious look before she disappeared inside.

  It was kind of a strange situation. For all the world, Marc and I were in a relationship, but Chloe knew better. And while we were used to having bodyguards around, most of the bodyguards weren’t as sullen as Marc. It was like having a thundercloud following me around and I couldn’t wait to get home and enjoy some personal space.

  I endured the ride home in his car in silence. Talking to him would only annoy me—or him—and I was too tired for another heated exchange. The responsible thing to do would be to apologize to him for my earlier behavior, but I had a sneaking suspicion he had plenty to be annoyed about already.

  Our red-carpet kiss had been all over the media and the speculation over Marc’s identity was still going strong days later. Fortunately, he’d put together an airtight persona and no one seemed to suspect that he was anything other than Nathan, a wannabe actor. Judging by the amount of calls my publicist had been fielding, though, I’d be surprised if his phone wasn’t ringing hot. I tried to imagine him talking to the media but the idea was laughable—he’d break his cover in a second by being rude to them. The most likely scenario was he wasn’t answering their calls, which was a much more comforting thought.

  I released a sigh of relief when we pulled up in front of my wide entrance steps. I exited the car quickly, not in the mood for him to come around and open my door.

  By the time he’d secured the car, I was opening the front door. I forced myself to wait for him instead of disappearing inside like I really wanted to.

  I closed the door behind him and nodded to the only thing I truly loved about my too-big house: the Gone with the Wind staircase. “I’ll show you where your room is.”

  He followed me without a word, our shoes clicking briskly on the marble stairs. Upstairs, I turned right on the landing and led him down the long hallway until we reached a door about halfway along.

  “You can have this one,” I informed him. Ally had used this guest room when she’d lived with me earlier in the year and it was still made-up.

  “Isn’t your bedroom down the other end of the hall?” he asked.

  I bit off a smart retort about him wanting to be close to me. Instead I pointed to a doorway on the opposite side of the hall two down from his. “That’s me.”

  “You’ve moved?”

  “Wouldn’t you?”

  For a moment I thought I saw a flash of regret in his eyes, but it was hard to tell because I hadn’t bothered to turn the lights on in the hall. Since the stalker had broken in, I found I preferred the dark. Having lights on would show an intruder where I was and I’d begun to associate the dark with a feeling of shelter.

  “Of course,” he said.

  I nodded. “Help yourself to whatever you want in the kitchen. There’s a place to workout downstairs if you follow the hall off the living area.” I turned and walked toward my bedroom.

  “Where will you be?”

  I stopped walking but didn’t turn around. I forced myself to inhale a deep breath. “In my room or downstairs in the kitchen. Will that be a problem?”

  “No.”

  I waited until I heard the door to his room click quietly shut then continued to my room.

  I might be safe from the stalker for now, but with Marc under my roof it certainly felt like I was living with an intruder.

  *

  After I’d showered and enjoyed a half hour to myself lounging in my bedroom, my stomach insisted I make my way downstairs to the kitchen.

  Thankfully there was no sign of Marc in the open-plan area and I put together a simple plate of food. Normally my cook, Melina, would have left me something, but she’d expected me to be on-set until late tonight.

  Not that I minded. While I was hungry, I wasn’t starving and the selection of cheese, crackers and fruit would keep me going.

  Plate in hand, I walked quietly out of the kitchen enjoying the sensation of my feet on the tiles. I was used to wearing high heels but I cherished the times I could walk around in bare feet.

  At the base of the stairs, I stopped. I’d intended to take the plate upstairs to my room and eat in peace, but the soft sound of the television coming from somewhere in the house made me pause.

  As far as I could tell, the tinned laughter came from the formal living area. The room was located out of sight around the corner from the dining room that was off the foyer. Curiosity got the better of me, and I set the plate down on a side table. I padded quietly through the dining room. When I came to the door to the lounge area, the oversized flat-screen television was on, tuned to an old rerun of Everybody Loves Raymond.

  Marc was sprawled on the sofa in front of the TV, asleep. His laptop sat open with the screen saver swirling colorfully on the black background.

  I took a tentative step into the room, but paused and eyed him guiltily. I’d been about to reach across and wake his computer up to see what was on his screen. He still hadn’t shed any light on how the investigation was going and I wondered if he’d been working on it before he fell asleep.

  I took another step, still watching him. It was only now he was asleep I noticed the dark circles beneath his eyes and the fact his beard appeared a bit longer than its usual neatly trimmed perfection. Then again, I’d been actively trying to forget he was there all day so I hadn’t really looked at him properly.

  I swallowed. His features were softer when he slept. The taut pull of his frown was gone and the furrow in his brow was smooth. I’d never seen him like this. He almost looked serene.

  Beautiful.

  Although I hated to admit it, the man was gorgeous in his brooding way. He wasn’t my type, though. I preferred the affable guys—the ones with a ready smile.

  Actually, that described Ally’s partner and my former co-star, Jacob Swan. Funny. I’d always had a soft spot for him but never thought of Jake in that way. Come to think of it, my soon-to-be ex-husband wasn’t affable either. Duncan was controlling and focused.

  Marc shifted in his sleep and I stiffened. What was I doing contemplating my taste in men while Marc was passed out on the sofa beside me?

  Oh, right. His looks.

  My gaze lowered to his long body, which took up the length of the three-seater. He’d changed out of his shirt and put on a T-shirt. When he’d shifted just now it had pushed the T-shirt up to reveal a line of olive flesh. In the dim light from the television I could just make out a trail of dark hair that disappeared beneath his jeans . . .

  I look
ed away, my face flaming. I didn’t need to be reminded of Marc’s olive complexion after that awkward scene on the beach.

  I turned my attention back to the laptop and crept over to it. I crouched in front of it and slid my index finger across the trackpad silently.

  It lit up and showed a document open on the screen.

  It appeared to be some sort of police profile. A pale-faced middle-aged man stared blankly at me. He had a receding hairline and it was difficult to tell if his hair was a light brown or gray. It was almost like the color had been sucked out of it completely. His blue eyes were round and pale but those were his most remarkable features. Everything else about him was nondescript. I supposed his weak jawline and his slightly sagging cheeks made him look like he was unhappy with life, but no one ever looked normal in profile shots like this.

  Martin Campbell, I read.

  I scanned the text quickly.

  It said he had some priors. A restraining order related to an ex-girlfriend and a few incidents of shoplifting. He wasn’t exactly an ax murderer, but then none of my other stalkers had been, either.

  “Finished snooping?”

  At the sound of Marc’s deep voice, I startled and fell backward onto my backside. I got to my feet quickly, by which time Marc was sitting up and observing me.

  “You could have asked,” he said. His dark eyes appeared black in the dim light.

  “And what would you have told me?”

  He rested his elbows on his knees, his index fingers forming a V beneath his chin. “That we had some possible leads.”

  “But you wouldn’t have told me about Martin.” It wasn’t a question.

  “No, not at this stage.”

  “Why?” In the past I wouldn’t have pushed him on his professional decisions. But before now, there had never been the requirement to have him here in my house ‘minding’ me.

  He sighed and gestured to the laptop. “Because now you’ll picture him.”

  “What’s wrong with that? Especially if I see him somewhere. Isn’t it better I’m on alert?”

  He blew out a long breath. “It’s complicated.”

  When he didn’t elaborate, I crossed my arms. “I’m a smart woman. Why don’t you enlighten me?”

  He glanced at the screen. “He’s a possible suspect. Possible being the operative word.”

  “Like I said, I’m a smart woman,” I repeated.

  This time he sighed. “I never said you weren’t. But you’re vulnerable—”

  I opened my mouth to object but he silenced me with a look so dark I snapped it shut again.

  “You could imagine you see him somewhere and compromise the investigation,” he told me.

  “But I could really see him somewhere.”

  “It’s a possibility. It’s also likely the power of suggestion can have a big impact even if you’re not consciously aware of it.”

  “I think I’m a logical person and I’d be able to remain rational.”

  “He works at the studio.”

  I blinked and then reached out to steady myself on the arm of the sofa. Marc didn’t say anything and watched while I lowered myself onto the other end of the sofa from him.

  “Oh,” I said eventually.

  “Now if you see him, what will you be imagining?” My eyes widened and Marc shook his head. “Don’t answer that. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it that way.”

  “But it’s true,” I said flatly.

  “And that’s why I wasn’t going to tell you until I had more evidence.”

  “How long has he been a suspect?”

  “A week or so.”

  And in the last week or so, Jay had been sticking to my side like glue.

  I exhaled a shaky breath. “OK. I get it. I’m sorry I snooped.”

  I might have been mistaken but I thought I detected a hint of a smile. “I would have if I were you, too. And I shouldn’t have left my laptop accessible.”

  I eyed him warily.

  “What?” he said.

  “I can’t work out if that was an apology or you were being nice,” I admitted.

  He looked away and reached across to snap his laptop shut. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  “Oh. So it was neither of those?”

  He pushed the laptop into a black bag sitting at his feet. “No, it was both of those. Not that you’ll believe it.”

  “Why wouldn’t I believe it?”

  “Because you prefer to think of me as the bad guy.”

  I frowned, not sure what to make of his words. “I don’t think you’re the bad guy.”

  He stood up and slung the bag over his shoulder. “You don’t think I’m the good guy either.”

  I bit my lip, trying to formulate my reply. “I don’t really know you,” I said eventually, because it was true.

  He nodded like that was the response he’d expected. “And it’s better we keep it that way, trust me.”

  With that he strode from the room leaving me sitting alone, staring after him.

  Chapter 12

  A strange thing happened after our conversation.

  I let Marc do his job.

  I wasn’t sure if it was because the image of Martin’s face haunted me, or knowing for certain that Marc was acting in my best interests.

  Ally kept telling me Marc had been doing that all along, but stupidly I’d refused to believe her.

  And maybe he was right. Maybe I did want to think of him as the bad guy. After all, every time Marc appeared in my life it wasn’t because something good had happened. It was because another crazy person had decided to fixate on me. And maybe I’d been subconsciously directing all my pent-up anger, fear and desperation onto the one person I thought didn’t matter: Marc.

  But he did matter. It mattered that he was able to do his job and keep me safe. Instead, I’d been acting like a stuck-up princess and making his life harder.

  On-set, I found myself checking he was there. He was so good at being unobtrusive I’d occasionally find my heart beating faster when I couldn’t see him. Then, when I located him, we’d make eye contact and he’d nod. Just nod. But it was enough to make my heart rate settle.

  And he was right. I kept looking for Martin. When there was crew around that I didn’t recognize, I’d grow tense until I made sure no one looked like him. The face I’d seen on Marc’s laptop appeared in my nightmares. I’d been having bad dreams ever since the stalker had broken into my house, but now I could visualize someone it made them so much worse.

  Another thing that bothered me after our discussion that night was Marc’s certainty that I not get to know him. On the surface it made sense. An investigator didn’t need his clients knowing him on anything more than a professional level. But the way he’d said it made me think it was more than that. Like it was better no one got to know him. And of course that made me curious.

  “I can ask Mom if you like,” Chloe said to me a few days later.

  We were sitting in her trailer, both nursing steaming styrofoam cups—coffee for Chloe and tea for me—in an attempt to make the unearthly hour remotely bearable. The autumn mornings were growing cooler. Actually that wasn’t entirely accurate. Outside the trailer window it was still pitch dark and the sun hadn’t even begun to appear on the horizon. While it might technically be morning, as far as my body clock was concerned it was still night.

  “Why do you think your mom would be able to help?” I asked.

  “She’s been in the industry a long time and I sort of mentioned you might have been having some issues.” Chloe’s expression turned sheepish. “Sorry. I know I shouldn’t have said anything but she was there when I found out about the stalker getting into your house and I was pretty upset for you.”

  “It’s alright. So long as she keeps it quiet.”

  “Don’t worry. She remembers what it was like to have her marriage break up all over the news. She won’t say anything.”

  “So she knows Marc?”

  “Not personally, but when
I said you had an industry security specialist working for you she nodded knowingly. When I pressed her on it, she said a colleague of hers had worked with him and that he’s very experienced.”

  “That’s reassuring. I guess.”

  “No, I mean like his experience is second to none. There are rumors he worked for the FBI or something like that.”

  I didn’t say anything, but was secretly impressed.

  “Hopefully I might be able to find out some more for you,” she said.

  I tried to shrug but my shoulders felt stiff from the cold. “See what she knows. It can’t hurt.”

  “OK.” She took another sip of hot coffee. “So, ah, how’s it going with Marc living under your roof?”

  “There’s only one more night until Jay’s back.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  I set my cup down because my fingers were throbbing from the heat. “No. It’s fine. He’s staying out of my way.” I wasn’t going to elaborate on my own stalking behavior several nights ago. “I actually think it’s the only time he has to get any real work done.”

  “Do you think he has any idea who it might be?”

  “I’m not sure,” I lied. “He’ll tell me if he does when he’s ready. It’s how he works. Come on,” I said, standing up. “We’re due for make-up.” I’d had enough talking and thinking about Marc for now. All it did was remind me how little I knew about the man who knew nearly everything about me.

  *

  Instead of retreating to my room when we arrived home, I sat by myself with a glass of wine in the kitchen. I’d left the lights off. There was a full moon and I liked the way it cast a cool glow across the marble tiles.

  I wasn’t sure how long I’d been sitting there when I heard footsteps approaching.

  Rather than being alarmed, I sat quietly, knowing it was Marc before he entered the kitchen. His steps were quiet, but deliberate—much like the man himself.

  I heard him swear softly when he reached the doorway. “What are you doing sitting here in the dark?” His tone was gruff.

  “Relaxing.”

  He reached over to turn the lights on.

  “Don’t,” I told him. “Please.”