Heartbreaker (Hollywood Hearts Book 2)

by Belinda Williams

  The two lines between his eyebrows deepened but he did as requested. He went to the fridge and grabbed a can of Coke. When he opened it the pop and fizz echoed around the kitchen. After a long sip, he leaned against the counter and regarded me.

  “The dark won’t protect you.”

  I lowered my wine glass to the table. “Why would you say that?”

  “It will just make it harder for Jay or me to figure out where you are if you’re in trouble.”

  I frowned, annoyed that I was that transparent. “Maybe I just like the dark.”

  “Award-winning actresses who are used to the limelight don’t usually lurk around their own homes like a nocturnal animal when everything’s normal.”

  “Define normal.” I hadn’t meant for it to come out with an edge of bitterness.

  Marc picked up his Coke and came around to sit on the stool next to mine. “Your normal, anyway.”

  I sighed, the bitterness fleeting. “Because that’s so normal.”

  He lifted his shoulder in an offhand shrug. “You’re a big girl. You’ve learned to deal with it.”

  I eyed him suspiciously over the top of my glass. He was right. I loved my job and I’d adjusted to the fame as best I could, but he’d made it sound almost like a compliment. If I knew him better, I’d say he wasn’t letting me enjoy my pity party. Feeling sorry for myself was pretty rare, but tonight I was tired. Besides, who said I couldn’t feel down now and then? Fame and success didn’t buy happiness—I ought to know. “You think I’m a princess.”

  He dropped his gaze to his drink. “Plenty of women are.”

  “But I’m a Hollywood princess,” I accused.

  “You said it. Not me.” He tilted his head back and drank from the can.

  I watched his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. There was something sensual in the movement and I looked away. “But it’s what you think,” I said flatly.

  “Why does it matter what I think?”

  I frowned again. He was right and wasn’t that just annoying? I decided honesty was the best response. “It doesn’t. I guess I’m just trying to figure you out.”

  He looked across at me in surprise. “Why?”

  I gave him a small smile. “Why not? It takes my mind off, you know . . .”

  “Right.” He nodded and released a long breath. “What would you like to know?”

  I put my glass of wine down on the counter. “Really?”

  “Yeah. I figure it’s your turn to ask a few questions.”

  I stared at him. His eyes were unreadable—as usual. Unsure of the unexpected turn in our conversation I decided I might as well take advantage of it while I could. “Why do you do this?”

  “What?”

  “Protect celebrities.”

  He thrummed the fingers on his left hand against his thigh. “It pays well.”

  My eyebrows rose in surprise. “We’re a paycheck?”

  “You don’t exactly have budget constraints.”

  “So you’re doing this for the money?” I pressed.

  “You say it like it’s a bad thing. You were quoted saying you did modeling because of the financial security it gave you.”

  I continued to stare at him. Yes, he was right. I had said that. Nor did it surprise me that he knew about it. “I said that after my mother had just died and I was estranged from my father. I needed to support myself.”

  “I’m not criticizing. I’m merely pointing out that money can be a factor.”

  “True, but I didn’t hate modeling,” I clarified. “Not like you.”

  “I know. I can’t stand modeling. It’s hell on the feet.”

  I covered a small laugh with my hand at his unexpected humor. Gosh, this man was hard to keep up with.

  “I don’t hate my job,” he added.

  My smile faded. “You don’t have to be a mind reader to know that you don’t love it.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Not everyone can live their dreams like you Hollywood types.”

  “Why not just admit you don’t like this industry?” I replied quietly. There was no shame in it, even if I was currently his client.

  Marc stood and at such close proximity I was reminded of how tall he was. “My opinion of Hollywood has very little bearing on my ability to do my job.”

  I looked up at him and my stomach twisted at the defensiveness in his eyes. Way to go, Lena. And we’d been doing so well. I’d finally accepted he had a job to do and he seemed to be getting on with that job with minimal frustration levels. Until my curiosity had gotten the better of me.

  “I never said it did,” I said carefully. “All I’m trying to figure out is why you do something you don’t enjoy.”

  A muscle in his jaw twitched. “In my line of work, enjoyment and job satisfaction don’t always go hand in hand.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, and I meant it. While I was curious about him, it hadn’t been my intention to criticize. That curiosity reared its head again and the next words were out of my mouth before I could think any better of it. “Can I ask what you used to do? Before Hollywood?”

  “No.”

  I laughed lightly, not the slightest bit offended. So much for being allowed to ask questions.

  “What?” he asked.

  “You’re better at questioning people.”

  Marc’s shoulders relaxed and his mouth twisted into a wry smile. “Yeah, I’m told that.” He was still standing, looking down at me, and his expression turned thoughtful. “Money’s a factor in every job. Don’t tell me you would put up with what you do if it weren’t for the money.”

  “You know, I think I would.”

  “Then you’re lying to yourself.” He went to walk away but I grabbed his hand.

  It was like being hit by an electric shock. I dropped his hand immediately but the energy remained buzzing through my fingers and arm. Marc flexed his fingers like he’d felt it, too.

  “I’m not lying,” I said. “I don’t care about the money. So long as I make enough to survive, that’s all that matters to me.”

  “Easy to say when you’re sitting here in this fancy house.”

  “It might surprise you to know I don’t care much for this fancy house. As soon as this stalker business is done I’m selling it.”

  There was that wry smile again. “The sacrifices we make, hey?”

  “Haven’t you made sacrifices for your job?”

  He blinked and nodded slowly. “Too many, Princess. Too many to count.” He picked up his drink and walked from the room.

  Chapter 13

  “Lena.”

  His voice was a dark caress and it pulled me under.

  I opened my mouth to answer but his fingers settled on my lips. They burned against my mouth, a sweet searing sensation that transformed the breath that escaped me into a whisper. “Yes.”

  He brushed his lips against mine, but it wasn’t enough. I pulled him to me, my hands behind his neck guiding him to me.

  His beard grazed my skin as his mouth came down on mine and consumed me. Heat flared in my fingers and toes and other parts of my body and I arched beneath him, my skin flaming where I was pressed against him.

  “Lena.”

  His palms left trails of fire wherever they roamed, which was everywhere. The rise of my breasts, down to the curve of my hips and the length of my thighs—they all burned for him. But it wasn’t enough.

  “Marc,” I begged.

  I held him tighter, deepening our kiss as if he was my air and my life depended on him. But I couldn’t seem to breathe and the heat intensified.

  “Stop,” I tried to say, but couldn’t form the words. Our kiss was suffocating and it felt as though our bodies had been set alight.

  I pushed away but we were a tangle of limbs. Our bodies were slick with moisture and kept slipping every time I tried to move. I couldn’t get away.

  “Lena!”

  Jay’s big, booming voice ripped through the night and I sat bolt upright in bed, beads of perspiration gl
istening in the glow of my bedside lamp.

  Except the light wasn’t coming from the lamp and I still couldn’t breathe.

  My eyes stung with tears and widened in realization. Acrid black smoke invaded my bedroom like some sort of ghoul intent on seeking me out. Beyond that, the hallway glowed angrily.

  I floundered in bed, my body suddenly aware it needed to move, but the sheets twisted around me and I struggled to free myself.

  “Lena!” Jay called again.

  “Jay!” I screamed. “Where are you?”

  It was only now I became aware of the noise. The air had been brought to life and it crackled and whooshed in agony as the fire consumed it. In the distance, I could make out sirens.

  Fear pierced through me, hot and sharp, just like the fire, but I couldn’t seem to move. There was a part of me that still couldn’t believe my house was alight. Surely I was still dreaming?

  “Lena!” I heard Jay bellow.

  I flinched at the deep sound of Jay’s voice, and it was enough to get me moving. I scrambled off the bed and hit the floor in an effort to get some more air. My eyes and lungs were stinging from the smoke and I crawled to the window, feeling desperately for the latch. Somehow I managed to push it open. The air rushed out, as desperate to escape as I was. It took some of the smoke with it, but there was too much of it to make any real difference.

  I pushed my head out the window and saw to my relief Jay standing on the manicured grass looking up at me. His usually calm face was creased with fear.

  I went to open my mouth to call out to him but instead doubled over as a bout of coughing overtook me.

  “Climb out the window. You’re going to need to jump.”

  I closed my eyes and tears trailed down my cheeks. I wasn’t sure if I was actually crying or if it was because my eyes were burning. I clung to the window as his words began to make sense.

  He wanted me to jump. From the second floor of my palatial home?

  I opened my eyes. He still stood waiting below. Way below.

  For a brief moment it felt like I was on-set and we were filming an action scene in one of my movies. But then I glanced back and as well as the smoke, I could taste my fear again, too.

  I clambered onto the window ledge knocking my bare knees painfully because they were shaking so much, but I barely noticed.

  “That’s it,” Jay urged me on. “I’ll try to catch you.”

  I regarded the drop once more. Holy hell. Was I seriously about to jump? And had Jay just said he’d try to catch me?

  You don’t have a choice, my subconscious told me practically, but my inner voice felt distant, as if it were a long way away. All I could hear were the crackling flames, the rush of air and my heart pounding in my ears.

  Slowly, more slowly than I should have, I swung my legs over the edge, my palms gripping the window ledge painfully.

  You’re about to die.

  This voice was clearer and much, much louder.

  “No,” I whispered. Not like this. Not now. I was too young and I had too much of my life left to live, but the bitterness in my mouth was from more than the smoke. Life wasn’t fair. I knew that. Losing my mother had taught me that lesson.

  “No,” I said to myself again, and that single word was all I could manage. I clung to the window as coughs racked my body, but I knew what I had to do.

  If I was going to die tonight it would be because I was attempting to escape the fire, not because I was trapped inside.

  “Lena!”

  I squinted at Jay in the early dawn light. He was now directly below me, positioned ready to break my fall. Despite the effects of the smoke inhalation, I was almost certain he hadn’t said anything.

  “What are you waiting for?” he demanded. “Jump. Come on!”

  “Wait!”

  Jay and I both stared open-mouthed as the window two down from mine was thrust open and Marc’s head popped out.

  Oh my God. Marc. How could I have forgotten about him?

  His deep coughs rivaled mine, but even as his whole body shook, he was climbing out the window.

  “Don’t jump,” he rasped, shooting me a desperate look.

  I stared at him dumbly and watched as he scaled the wall toward me like he wasn’t balancing on a tiny ledge two levels up. Despite my earlier decision to jump, my fingers felt like they were embedded in the wood and I wasn’t going anywhere.

  Marc’s face was black from the smoke and he looked like some sort of commando as he scooted over to me like it was the most natural thing in the world.

  “Jump, Lena!” Jay called out.

  “No!” Marc’s eyes were fierce. “Wait for me to come over to you, Lena.”

  I could feel heat on my back and smoke was still billowing out the window, but I did as he said and waited, because I still wasn’t sure I could move. It didn’t take him long. When he got to my side he hopped up on the windowsill beside me and held his arms out.

  “Climb on.”

  “Where were you?” I whispered. Nothing was making sense right now, but it especially didn’t make sense that the man who had made it his mission in life to follow me around the last five days wasn’t there when I needed him.

  The steel in his eyes disappeared and his expression softened. “Sorry I took so long. The fire had me trapped. The hall was in flames and I couldn’t get to you that way.”

  I nodded, the painful lump in my throat making it impossible to swallow. Not only was my life in danger, so was Marc’s, and that didn’t seem fair either.

  I thought I heard Jay swear and I was vaguely aware of them arguing. Something about it being safer to jump by myself, but I couldn’t take my eyes off Marc. Perspiration was forming messy trails down his face that almost looked like tears, but there was nothing sad about him. There was no fear, either. Just grim determination.

  Obviously done arguing with Jay, he twisted to face me, his eyes as dark as the smoke. “Come on, Princess. Come here.”

  I nodded numbly and let him scoop me onto his lap.

  “Put your arms around my neck,” he ordered.

  I gazed up at him. I was terrified, but I still couldn’t move.

  Shock. I had to be in shock.

  Marc grabbed each of my arms and threw them around his neck. “Hold on.” I saw him dart a glance downward. “And whatever you do, don’t damn well let go. Got it?”

  Chapter 14

  “You let go,” Marc groaned.

  We lay side by side on the grass, facing each other. Most of Marc’s disgust was lost on me because of the throbbing pain in my ankle.

  “I told you not to let go,” he growled, obviously not hurt.

  Actually, it wasn’t just the pain in my ankle. I still couldn’t breathe—which made no sense because I was lying outside in the fresh air. I opened my mouth but it was as though someone had crushed my chest and I couldn’t draw breath.

  My eyes rounded in panic and Jay knelt down beside me. “The fall’s winded you. Just try to stay calm and you’ll be able to breathe soon.”

  I shook my head. Still no air. But given I was curled into a ball on my side with my shoulder pressing into the cool ground, I wasn’t in the best position for optimal breathing.

  I tried to push myself up and discovered I still had air in my lungs after all. Jay flinched as my high-pitched cry pierced the night.

  “Shit.” Marc jumped up and crouched beside me next to Jay.

  To my mortification, hot tears slid down my cheeks and they were completely involuntary. “My shoulder,” I gasped.

  Marc and Jay dropped their gazes. I saw them share a look, then Jay returned his focus to me. His chocolate brown eyes were gentle as they met mine. “OK, Lena. We’re going to roll you onto your back, but let us do all the heavy lifting, alright?”

  I didn’t like his tone. Deep down, Jay might have been a big softie, but he never spoke to me like I was delicate.

  It could only mean one thing: I was hurt. How badly, I had no idea, but I didn’t need
to be a medical professional to know that laying me on my back was standard first aid procedure.

  “OK,” I said, then swallowed and directed a hard look at Marc because that felt better than being scared. “Why aren’t you hurt?” I demanded.

  He shrugged. “I’m professionally trained.”

  “You’re not a stunt man.”

  While we’d been talking, Marc had moved to my feet and Jay was now at my head.

  They shared another glance.

  “Ready?” Marc asked.

  I opened my mouth to reply but it turned into a shriek as they rolled me onto my back. A few sobs also escaped so I squeezed my eyes shut in an attempt to gather myself. “I wasn’t ready,” I ground out.

  “Sorry, Lena,” Jay said. “It was better than risking you trying to move yourself.”

  “Does it hurt anywhere else?” Marc asked, his voice unusually soft.

  I bit my lip to stop from saying ‘everywhere’. When I didn’t answer Marc started running his palms up my left leg. My eyes fluttered open and I let out a shaky breath—but not from the pain.

  “What are you doing?” I hissed.

  “Checking to see if you’re hurt.” His eyes reflected the glow from my house, which, up until now, I had totally forgotten was in flames.

  I tried to twist to one side to see it, but Marc gripped my hips and Jay’s impossibly large hands cradled my head, keeping me from moving.

  “Don’t,” Jay urged. “Wait until the ambulance gets here.”

  “Ambulance,” I protested. “I don’t need—”

  “Lena.” Jay’s tone broached no room for argument. “You do. Now let us do our jobs.”

  I blinked away more tears—more from frustration this time as the pain was so overwhelming I’d actually started to feel numb. “But my house . . . ”

  “Is on fire,” Marc finished for me, and my moment of self-pity was lost to anger.

  “I got that,” I shot back. “Great job protecting me, by the way.”

  I knew instantly it wasn’t the right thing to say and Marc’s eyes flashed with anger. The fire made it look as if sparks flew from his gaze.

  “You’re alive, aren’t you?”

  “But my house—”

  “Is on fire and you’re in one piece. Anyway, I thought you said you didn’t like this house.”