Heartbreaker (Hollywood Hearts Book 2)

by Belinda Williams

  “Yes, but—”

  “But nothing. My job is to protect you, not your belongings. And maybe if you’d held on to me like I told you to—”

  “Here comes the ambulance,” Jay announced. “And the fire crew too, by the looks of it.”

  Jay’s stating the obvious made us pause long enough for the wailing of the sirens to make arguing further pointless.

  Jay stood up. “I’ll brief the fire crew and you can take care of the paramedics.”

  Marc nodded and watched Jay walk off. The way I was positioned on the grass meant I couldn’t see Jay so I found myself properly taking in Marc’s appearance for the first time since I’d jumped—or was that fallen?—from the window.

  He wore an old pair of jeans and a black T-shirt. His face was still covered in soot from the smoke. I imagined I looked much the same, but I was fairly certain I wasn’t pulling it off as well as he was. It made him look like some sort of mercenary and, despite our previous argument, I was glad he was on my side.

  Marc strode past me and I heard movement and voices behind me. I couldn’t make out the conversation but it sounded like a male paramedic was talking to Marc.

  After a painfully long wait that was probably only a minute, a big, burly guy with sandy colored hair crouched down beside me.

  “Hi Lena. I’m Matt.”

  If he knew who I was, he wasn’t making a big deal about it. It was actually quite nice for a complete stranger to look me straight in the eye and not exclaim who I was. While Matt’s blue eyes scanned me carefully to determine the extent of my injuries, it struck me that they were really pretty. Or maybe I had inhaled too much smoke.

  “Hi, Matt.”

  “I’m told you had a nasty fall.”

  “It was better than being burned to death.”

  “Yeah, it’s better you avoided that. But I think you may have bumped yourself pretty badly when you hit the ground. Can you tell me where it hurts?”

  “My ankle. Right one.” The one Marc hadn’t touched, thankfully, or I might have tried to kick him with my good leg. “My backside is pretty sore, too, but I think I’ve just bruised myself.”

  I winced as he picked up my right foot.

  “Yeah, looks like you landed on that one,” he said. “It could be broken, but we’ll have to take some X-rays when we get you to the hospital.”

  “Hospital? Do you really think so?”

  Matt’s mouth twisted into a wry grin. “I think it might be a good idea. Tell me, does your shoulder hurt?”

  “Oh, yeah. I’m trying not to think about that. The pain is pretty bad there, too.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  I tried to sit up, but Matt pushed me gently back down by putting pressure on my left shoulder. I frowned in confusion. “How did you know that was the good shoulder? And don’t tell me you were taking a fifty-fifty chance.”

  Matt laughed, and I imagined he’d had other female patients enjoy the sound of it. “It’s kind of obvious.”

  “To you, maybe, but I guess that’s why you’re the paramedic.”

  I saw Matt glance up at Marc who was standing beside us and Marc shook his head once.

  Before I could question the exchange, another paramedic—female this time—knelt down beside me.

  “Hi Lena. I’m Rochelle. I’m just going to give you something for the pain. Any allergies I should know about?”

  “What? No. No allergies. Do you really think I need something?”

  Rochelle, a redhead with her hair tied back in a high ponytail and earnest light blue eyes, smiled at me. “They didn’t tell me you did your own stunts.”

  I went to shake my head and she placed her fingers gently on my forehead. “Keep still if you can.”

  “OK, sorry. I’d prefer not to take anything.”

  Although it had been over fifteen years, I still remembered the effect the drugs had on my mother toward the end. I knew they were necessary for the pain but I’d hated the way they’d made her distant. At times it seemed like she was a different person and a part of me still mourned those days when she was alive but not really there at all.

  “I get where you’re coming from, Lena, I really do, but I’m going to have to pull rank on this one. You need something so we can move you.”

  I looked across at Matt and Marc, wondering if I was the only one who thought it was over the top. Matt nodded and Marc’s dark eyes were serious.

  “For goodness’ sake, I’m just a little bumped up and bruised,” I told them.

  “It’s your shoulder we’re worried about.”

  “Yes, you’ve already mentioned that, but honestly, I don’t think it’s that bad.”

  Rochelle narrowed her eyes suspiciously at the men, then fixed me with a firm look. “Seeing as your collarbone is currently protruding from your shoulder, I’d say it’s reasonably bad. Or were they tiptoeing around that?”

  My mouth dropped open and I raised my head and tried to twist it so I could get a better look at my right shoulder. A wave of pain crashed over me, but not before I saw the sickening way my bone was pressed against the surface of my skin. It looked like the bone was ready to pierce through at any second.

  “Oh.” I dropped my head back onto the ground, nausea mingling with the pain.

  “Shock can mask things,” Rochelle said matter-of-factly. “That’s a nasty break. Now, let me give you those painkillers.”

  “But—”

  “Take the drugs, Princess.”

  We all stopped and looked at Marc, but he merely raised a dark eyebrow.

  “OK,” I said, feeling defeated.

  After that, I stayed quiet unless they asked me a question. They lifted me onto a stretcher and rolled me toward the back of the van. When we reached the open door, without thinking, I reached out and grabbed Rochelle’s wrist with my good arm.

  “Wait!”

  “Sure,” replied Rochelle easily, and they stopped the stretcher. “How’s things?”

  I laughed—painfully. “Where’s Jay? My security guy?”

  “He’s dealing with the fire,” came Marc’s deep voice from behind us.

  “I’d like him here.”

  “He’s kind of busy because your house is on fire.”

  I thought I saw Rochelle’s mouth twitch and I dropped my hand from her arm and closed my eyes at Marc’s infuriating dry humor.

  There was a beat of silence as they waited for me to respond.

  I cleared my throat, which still felt parched and like dry ash from the fire. “I’d like him here with me.”

  “I’m here with you,” said Marc.

  I opened my eyes and when I did was close to tears. The last thing I wanted to do right now was start another argument, because Lord knows Marc and I seemed to do it so well.

  But how could I explain to them, least of all Marc, how much I hated hospitals? I hated them with every part of my being. I knew it made no sense because it was the place where the doctors and nurses had tried so hard to save my mother for two years before she died. But she had died, and all I was left with was the memory of the long hours spent in those stark rooms, by my mother’s bedside. The day she passed away, I had left and never set foot in a hospital again.

  So the very last thing I wanted to do right now was to go to one.

  “I—” I’d been about to say, ‘I can’t’ but the caress of Marc’s palm on my head, so like my dream, silenced me. His thumb stroked my hairline, once, twice, then stopped.

  “I’m here, Lena.”

  I had no idea if it was his uncharacteristic behavior, the constant onslaught of pain tiring me, or the fact I was in shock, but I managed to nod my head ever so slightly.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  The paramedics took that as their cue and something in me settled. I was lifted into the back of the vehicle, and Marc climbed in behind them.

  Where his presence usually annoyed me, now it soothed. This was what he was good at, I realized. Taking charge. I hadn’t had
a man take charge for as long as I could remember. My producer ex-husband to-be, Duncan, had been smooth and verbose and manipulating. Not straightforward and practical like this.

  As for my father, I had vague memories of him taking charge when I was younger. By the time my mother fell ill, all the decision-making capacity he had seemed to desert him. But I didn’t want to think about him right now. It was bad enough all the pain of my mother’s passing was coming to the surface.

  I forced myself to concentrate on Marc instead. He sat beside my stretcher, arms resting on his knees, close enough I’d be able to reach out and touch him with my good arm. I liked the way his presence seemed to command respect and how words weren’t always necessary.

  I closed my eyes when the van began to move, ironically grateful the drugs they’d given me were starting to work. Despite my initial reservations, they dulled the pain. It was a good thing because now we were driving I couldn’t help the way my body moved with the sway of the vehicle.

  We drove in silence for what felt like a long time, but I couldn’t be sure and I was past caring.

  “Almost here,” Rochelle told us when it felt as though I’d been about to nod off.

  “Good drugs?” Marc asked as we went over a speed bump.

  “Not bad,” I murmured drowsily.

  “Why did you let go?” His voice was quiet, but I could still hear a note of exasperation.

  The painkillers must have been good because I considered his question through my fog of muted pain. Instead of arguing, I gave him an honest answer. “Not used to holding on.”

  “Sometimes you have to.”

  “Sometimes you have to let go, too.”

  “Not when there’s someone there to break your fall.”

  His words cut through my haze. “Is that what you were planning to do? Break my fall?”

  “If you’d let me.”

  “But wouldn’t you have been injured too?”

  He didn’t respond until we’d driven over another speed hump. “Sometimes it’s better to take the fall yourself instead of watching others get hurt.”

  Chapter 15

  The rest of the night disappeared in a blur.

  When we arrived at Emergency, the nurses and doctors wasted no time seeing me. I had no idea if it was because of who I was, or the severity of my injuries. For once I hoped it was because of my public persona.

  The ankle turned out to be only a sprain—probably because I’d taken the brunt of the fall on my shoulder. Things weren’t quite so rosy for my collarbone. I’d broken it, as the paramedics had already told me, but the X-rays revealed it was a complicated break that was unlikely to heal on its own.

  After that I’d been prepped for surgery.

  Too sore, tired and groggy to be scared, I’d just wanted the pain to go away and had welcomed the oblivion of the anesthetic.

  Now it appeared to be morning. I’d just been wheeled out of recovery and into my own room. Jay smiled as I was pushed past him, sympathy written in the lines of his face. The tenderness I saw there almost distracted me from the five other guys loitering nearby.

  Five big, serious-looking dudes in matching black suits—I recognized them all from the gatehouse at home. Jay had employed them in recent months to help guard my property but they were usually on shifts, not all in one place like this.

  It appeared Jay had significantly upped my security detail. I raised my eyebrows questioningly.

  Jay just shrugged as I rolled by, which could only mean one thing.

  Romero.

  I closed my eyes as we entered the room, silently wishing I was still under anesthetic. It would be easier than lying helpless in a hospital room being guarded by my own personal Tough Guy Squad.

  “Let’s get you comfortable, shall we?” The nurse who’d been wheeling me along stopped my bed in the center of the room.

  She was nice enough. She looked about my age and I could tell she was slightly awed by who I was, despite my current state of health.

  “Thanks,” I said, as she positioned my bed and angled the mattress so I was sitting up.

  “If you need anything, just press this,” she said, setting a call button on the edge of the bed within reach of my good arm. “Anything we can do to make you feel more comfortable.”

  I smiled as she left but it faded once she was gone.

  I eyed the room around me with an intensifying sense of unease. It was like any other hospital room—apart from the group of men outside my door. God, I hated these places. I knew that wasn’t fair. Hospitals were full of nurses and doctors trying their best to help people. But how must Mom have felt spending hour after hour here with no idea if she’d ever get well?

  I looked down at my arm, secured in a sling. I wasn’t dying, I reminded myself. I was healthy, or at least most of me was considering I’d jumped out the window. I had the sinking feeling the sling wasn’t coming off anytime soon.

  “Shit,” I said out loud.

  “That bad?”

  Marc strode into the room, pushing his cell phone into his back jeans pocket as he did so. His entrance changed the feel of the room completely. Instead of the sterile chemical smell, I detected fresh soap, mint and a hint of spice.

  Obviously sometime between the fire and now he’d showered and changed. His blackened jeans had been replaced with new ones, and the leather jacket he wore highlighted his broad shoulders and narrow waist. How could he look so fresh, damn it? Knowing him, he’d barely slept.

  “It must be bad if you don’t have a smart reply for me.” He pulled a chair next to my bedside and sat down and studied me.

  His dark gaze unnerved me.

  “I’m fine,” I told him.

  “You’ve looked better.”

  His honesty made me laugh. “Ow. Thanks for that.”

  “How’s the pain?”

  “Bearable,” I lied.

  “You’re going to want to take the drugs they give you.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “Wait until the drugs from surgery wear off, then decide.”

  God, he was cocky. I also hated that he was probably right, but then he hadn’t lived through what I had with my mother. I could also be incredibly stubborn when I wanted to.

  As if reading my mind, he nodded toward my injured shoulder. “You’ll heal quicker if you take them. And something tells me the studio will try to double the dose if they think it would get you back on-set quicker.”

  “Oh,” I moaned. I hadn’t had time to think about the consequences of my broken collarbone yet. “I need to talk to Diana and Trudy.” Diana was my agent and Trudy was my publicist.

  “They’ve already been on the phone. I told them they’re not to bother you for at least another twenty-four hours or I’ll speak to the media on their behalf.”

  “You didn’t!”

  He appeared satisfied with my horrified response. “Sure I did. That includes you too. Don’t try to call them. You need to rest, not worry about production schedules.”

  “Oh, far out. They’re not going to be happy. The delay to the filming schedule is going to kill them.”

  “They can afford it for their star performer. Besides, what’s the saying? All publicity is good publicity?”

  I squinted at him because my head felt heavy, and then his words finally sunk in. “You mean the media has got a hold of this?”

  He shrugged. “You’ve got a big house. It burned for hours. It was kind of hard to miss.”

  I looked up at the ceiling in despair. “I don’t suppose there’s anything left?”

  “They managed to save downstairs, but the upstairs was damaged badly.”

  I met his eyes and all the humor was gone from them.

  “I’m sorry, Lena.”

  I wanted to shrug, but knew better. I didn’t even want to move my good shoulder in case it upset the healing process. “It’s not important. It’s just a house.”

  Marc didn’t say anything. It was like he knew I needed the time for
everything to sink in.

  “Does Ally know?” I asked.

  “She’s on her way.”

  Relief flooded through me. She was the closest thing to family I had and seeing her would make all of this seem bearable. “I’ll have to stay with her for a night or two,” I told Marc.

  The last thing I wanted to do was check into a hotel. The irony of the situation was that despite my big ass house and millions of dollars, it was my only house. Why couldn’t I have been like other celebrities who owned a scattering of indulgent properties in a variety of exotic locations? A villa in France was looking pretty good about now. But for some reason, I always liked the idea of only having one house. I’d never been frivolous with my money, but it was more than that. As much as I’d felt I hadn’t suited my house in the Hollywood Hills, I’d tried to make it a home.

  Marc cut through my thoughts. “I don’t think so.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t think so?”

  “You’re not staying with Ally.”

  “Who made you my keeper?”

  “You did, if you recall,” he replied easily. “I’ve made alternative arrangements while you recuperate.”

  I stared open-mouthed at him for a long moment, then managed to catch myself. “You can’t be serious? You had no right to do that. Where’s Jay? I need to—”

  “Jay’s across it. It’s for your safety, Lena.”

  I almost growled at him, but caught myself. If Marc did anything else for my safety, I was liable to fire him on the spot. Instead, I asked politely, “Where is it?”

  “You don’t need to worry about that.”

  I swallowed, trying to remain calm. My mouth felt awful after the surgery. Dry and sore, but it was possibly an after-effect of the smoke inhalation too.

  Marc handed me a glass of water, which only annoyed me further. I was a good actress. How was it he could read me? I took a sip anyway because I badly needed it, then cast him a steely look. “Tell me where it is, Marc.”

  He held my gaze. “It’s somewhere safe.”

  I put the water down slowly on the tray table he’d pushed in front of me, my anger subsiding as the gravity of my situation sunk in. “My God, the fire wasn’t an accident, was it?”