Hollywood Baby Affair

by Anna DePalo

  “My car or yours?”

  “Do you have an endless supply of pickup lines?”

  “Do you want to find out?”

  “No!”

  “That’s what I thought you’d say.” He took a sip from his mug. “How can we be two lovebirds if we don’t arrive together?”

  “We’re trying to be discreet at work.”

  “But not for the press.”

  “Anyway, you own a motorcycle.”

  “Look outside. I had my car deposited here early this morning by a concierge service.”

  Rats. He’d been up even earlier than she’d thought. She tossed him a suspicious look and then walked over to peer out the French doors. She spotted a Range Rover in the drive. “Lovely.”

  “I think so.”

  She glanced back at Rick with suspicion, but he just returned a bland look. Another of his sexual innuendoes? Because it was impossible to tell what he’d been referring to—her or the car.

  Then she sighed. She had to pick her battles, and it was clear the drive to the office was not one worth fighting over.

  Rick walked toward her, pausing to glance at a script that she’d left on the counter yesterday. “It’s early. Want me to quiz you on your lines?”

  “No!” Not least because there was a scene were the leads got flirty.

  Rick raised an eyebrow and then shrugged. “Suit yourself but the offer stands. Anytime.”

  Yup, he was an anytime, anywhere kind of guy.

  “What else are we supposed to do while we’re shacked up together?” he asked, his eyes laughing at her.

  She raised an eyebrow. “Go to work?”

  Within the hour, she and Rick pulled up to the gate to Novatus Studio in his car.

  Rick rolled down his window in order to give his identification to security, and with a sixth sense, Chiara turned her head and spotted a hovering figure nearby. The flash of a paparazzi camera was familiar.

  “Odele,” she muttered, facing forward again.

  There was a good chance that her manager had tipped off a photographer so someone could snap her and Rick arriving together at the studio. Odele was determined to give this story her personal spin.

  Rick gave an amused look. “She thinks of everything.”

  * * *

  Rick tried to be on his best behavior, but having some fun was oh-so-tempting...

  The Living Room on the first floor of The Peninsula Beverly Hills was nothing if not a den for power brokers, so he supposed it was perfect for a print interview over afternoon tea with WE Magazine—which wanted the dishy scoop on Chiara’s new relationship.

  Rick eyed the sumptuous repast set out on the coffee table before them: finger sandwiches, scones and an assortment of petite pastries. Arranged by Odele, of course, the afternoon tea in The Living Room was worthy of a queen. Of course, all of it went untouched.

  This wasn’t about food, but business. Showtime in Hollywood.

  When he and Chiara had arrived at Novatus Studio that morning, Odele had surprised them with the news that she’d arranged a friendly press interview for them later the same day. Chiara was already scheduled to have the cover of the next issue of WE Magazine in order to promote the upcoming release of Pegasus Pride, but Odele had deftly arranged for it to become a joint interview about her new relationship. He and Chiara had left work early, because Odele had already spoken to Dan, the director, about their appointment. Dan had been happy to oblige if it meant more positive ink ahead of the release of the film—everyone was banking on it opening big at the box office.

  Rick had to hand it to Chiara’s manager—she wasted no time. But he knew what Odele was thinking—better to get ahead of the gossip by getting your own version of the story out there before anyone else’s. So he’d gone along with the whole deal.

  Too bad Chiara herself didn’t want him here. But Odele had insisted, arguing his presence would make the relationship more believable. As Odele had put it, Readers inhale romance. Touch each other a lot. To which Chiara had responded, Odele, I’m not making out in public for the benefit of gawkers.

  Now, at his sudden grin at the recollection, Chiara shot him a repressive look. She’d already told him she saw his role here as a yes-man supporting player. He figured he could bridge the gap between stuntman and Prince Charming easily enough, but if Chiara thought he’d toady to a gossip columnist, she had another think coming. He stretched and then settled one arm on the back of the sofa—because he knew it would drive Chiara crazy.

  The couch was in a cozy and semiprivate corner. The interviewer, Melody Banyon—who looked to be in her late forties and was a dead ringer for Mindy Kaling—leaned forward in her armchair. “So was it love at first sight?”

  From the corner of his eye, Rick noticed Chiara’s elbow inching toward him, ready to jab in case he made a flippant comment. But then Chiara just smiled at him before purring, “Well, I don’t usually notice the stuntmen on my movie sets...”

  Rick glanced at the interviewer and a corner of his mouth lifted. “You could say Chiara’s manager played matchmaker. She thought we’d be perfect for each other.”

  Chiara’s eyes widened, but then she tossed him a grateful look. “Yes, Odele is always looking out for my best interests...”

  Melody gave a satisfied smile. “Great, just great.” Repositioning the voice recorder on the table before them, she looked back and forth between her interview subjects. “And I understand you two just moved in together?”

  “Yup,” Rick spoke up, unable to resist. “Like yesterday.” It was also roughly when their whole “relationship” had started.

  Chiara shot him a quelling look, and he tossed back an innocent one. He moved his arm off the sofa, gave her shoulder a squeeze, and then leaned in and nuzzled her temple for a quick kiss.

  “Mmm,” Melody said, as if tasting a delicious story, “you two move fast.”

  Rick relaxed against the sofa again, and responded sardonically, “You don’t know the half of it.”

  He knew he risked Chiara’s wrath, and he was surprised to find himself relishing the challenge of sparring with her again. No doubt about it—they set sparks off in each other. And it would probably carry over to the bedroom.

  He glanced at Chiara’s profile. She was a beautiful woman. Winged brows, pink bow lips, thick, rich chocolate hair and a figure that was hourglass without being voluptuous. She was also talented and tough enough to play a kick-ass action movie heroine and do her own stunts. He had to respect that—all the while being attracted as hell—even though he knew celebrity actresses like her couldn’t be trusted.

  They were duplicitous—they had to be for the press. Like right now.

  Chiara seemed chummy with Melody—as if they were friends, or at least acquaintances from way back. Melody asked a few questions about Pegasus Pride, and Chiara answered, while Rick threw in a few sentences at the end.

  He wasn’t the star attraction here, and there was no use pretending otherwise. Sure, he had a lot riding on this film—money and otherwise—but he wouldn’t be why this movie succeeded, or not, at the box office. Chiara was the public face of Pegasus Pride.

  After a few minutes, Melody changed the subject, mentioning the upcoming Ring of Hope Gala to Benefit Children’s Charities, for which half of Hollywood turned out. “So give me the scoop, Chiara.” Her voice dipped conspiratorially. “What will you be wearing?”

  “I haven’t decided yet. There are two dresses...”

  “Give me the details on both!” Melody said, her face avid with anticipation.

  Rick suppressed a grunt. As far as he was concerned, a dress was a dress. He didn’t care what it was made out of—whether a pride of lions had to be sacrificed for the embellishment, or the designer used recycled garbage bags. His youngest sibling might be an up-and-
comer in the fashion business, but it was all the same to Rick—or as his sister liked to say, Bless your style-deaf soul.

  “There’s a one-shoulder pale blue column dress from Elie Saab. The other gown is a red chiffon—”

  “Oh, I love both! Don’t you, Rick?”

  If it wasn’t for Chiara’s significant look, Rick would have answered that naked was his first preference. Chiara had a body that invited fantasies even, or especially, if she was aiming verbal barbs at him.

  He settled back. “I don’t know...isn’t pale blue the color for Cinderella?”

  Chiara turned to him and smiled, even as her eyes shot a warning. “Wrong fairy tale.”

  When Melody just appeared confused, Chiara cleared her throat. “Well, keep your eyes open on the night of the gala to find out which dress I go with.”

  The reporter pressed Stop on her recorder. “So when am I going to see you again, Chiara? Girls’ night sometime at Marmont? Paparazzi snapped Leo there just last week.”

  Rick raised his eyebrows. From the lack of a ring, Rick deduced Melody was divorced, widowed or had never married. “You ladies do go for the chills and thrills.”

  Chateau Marmont was a trendy celebrity haunt. Some booked one of the hotel rooms for privacy, and others just went to party and be seen. But he preferred his thrills a little more real than a Leonardo DiCaprio sighting.

  “I’d love to, Melody,” Chiara said, “but can I take a rain check? This movie is wearing me out—” she looked down demurely “—when Rick isn’t.”

  Yup, strong acting chops.

  Melody laughed. “Of course. I understand.”

  When Melody excused herself a moment later in order to freshen up, Rick regarded the woman who’d been driving him crazy. “So... I wear you out?”

  Chiara flushed. “Don’t look at me that way.”

  “Mmm. The image of us and a bed is sort of stuck in my mind.”

  Chiara shifted, and her skirt rode up her leg.

  He focused on her calves. She had spectacular legs. He’d seen them encased in skintight denim on set, and in a barely there miniskirt in a photo that had circulated online. He imagined those legs wrapped around him as he lost himself inside her...

  On a whim, he reached out and took her hand, and caressed the back of it with his thumb.

  “What are you doing?”

  Was it his imagination or did her voice sound a little uneven?

  “Move closer,” he murmured. “There’s a photographer watching us from across the room.”

  Her eyes held his. “What? Where?”

  “Don’t look.” Then he leaned in, his gaze lowering.

  Chiara parted her lips on an indrawn breath.

  Rick touched his mouth to hers.

  When Chiara made a sound at the back of her throat, he deepened the kiss. He stroked and teased, wanting more from her, craving more and not caring where they were. When she opened for him, he fanned the flames of their passion, cupping her face with his hand as she leaned closer.

  When her breast brushed his arm, he tensed and stopped himself from bringing his hand up to cup the soft mound in public. He wanted to crash through her barriers, making his head spin with the speed of it.

  As if sensing someone approaching, Chiara pulled back and muttered, “We have to stop.”

  Rick spotted Melody walking back from across the room, a big grin on her face. Obviously the reporter had seen the kiss. Odele would be pleased. “Not if we’re going to pretend to be a couple.”

  When the reporter drew near, she teased, “Did I say you two are fast? Now, that moment would have provided some photo op for the magazine!”

  Rick settled back and forced a grin for the reporter’s benefit. “We’d be happy to give a repeat performance.”

  “No, we wouldn’t,” Chiara interjected, but then she smiled for Melody’s benefit. “I’ll make sure you get plenty of good pictures for the cover story at the photo shoot tomorrow.”

  “Of course,” Melody said politely, maintaining her perkiness as she sat down to gather her things.

  Rick hadn’t gotten an invitation to the photo shoot—which was just as well. They were boring and went on for hours. Apparently, though, even Odele had drawn the line at a cozy tableau of him and Chiara with their arms around each other.

  “Do you have a cover line yet for this article, Melody?” Chiara asked, her face suddenly turning droll. “Or has Odele already suggested one?”

  Rick knew from his experience with movie promotions that the cover line was the front cover text that accompanied a magazine article: From Tears to Triumph, I’m Lucky to Be Alive, or even the vague but trustworthy standby, My Turn to Talk.

  “No,” Melody said, “Odele hasn’t offered anything.”

  “How about ‘Chiara Feran—True Love at Last’?” he offered drily.

  Melody brightened. “I love it. What about you, Chiara?”

  Chiara looked as if she was ready to kick him out of this interview, and Rick suppressed a laugh.

  Oh, yeah, this was going to be a roller coaster of a relationship. Make-believe relationship.

  Five

  Soon after she and Rick arrived at her house—a place that she used to consider her haven and sanctuary until Rick moved in—she decided to escape to the exercise room to let off steam. Every once in a while, the urge to do the right thing and work out for the sake of her career kicked in, so she changed into a sports bra and stretchy pedal pusher exercise pants.

  It had been a long day, and she’d risen early only to find Rick in her kitchen. At the studio, she’d gotten prepped in her makeup chair and then shot a few scenes. Afterward, she’d still had to be on, public persona in place, for the interview with Melody. It hadn’t helped that the whole time she’d been aware of Rick lounging beside her—his big, hard body making the sofa seem tiny and crowded.

  He’d enjoyed toying with her, too, during the interview. She’d been on pins and needles the whole time, wondering whether he’d say the wrong thing and Melody would see through their charade.

  Except the kiss at the end had been all too real. She’d tasted his need and his slow-burn desire underneath the playfulness, and she’d responded to it.

  I have to be more careful.

  And on that thought, she entered the exercise room and came to a dead halt.

  Apparently Rick had had the same idea about burning off steam. And in a sleeveless cutoff tee, it was clear he was in phenomenal shape.

  She’d seen her share of beautiful people in Hollywood. But Rick was...impressive. He had washboard abs, a sprinkling of hair on his chest and muscles so defined they looked as if they could have been sculpted by a Renaissance master.

  She shouldn’t be once-overing him. She was still annoyed with his behavior in front of Melody that afternoon.

  Rick looked up and gave her a careless lopsided smile. “Enjoying the view?”

  A wave of embarrassment heated her face. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

  “Yeah, but I’m not airbrushed.”

  And there was the problem in a nutshell.

  “Need an exercise buddy?”

  Oh, no. They were so not going to do this together. “I don’t need you to act as my workout instructor. I’ve been doing fine on my own.”

  “Yeah,” he drawled, “I can tell.”

  She gave him a quelling look and walked toward the weight bench.

  He followed her and then scanned the weights. He lifted one of the lighter ones as if it were a feather and placed it on the bar.

  She put her hands on her hips. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Helping you out, but not as much as I’d like.”

  “You’re already doing more than I want, so let’s call it a draw a
nd say we’re splitting the difference.”

  He quirked his lips. “Just trying to get you to release that pent-up energy and frustration.”

  She narrowed her eyes and then lay back on the bench as he fixed the weight on the other side. Unfortunately she hadn’t anticipated how much he seemed to be looming over her from this angle.

  She flexed and then grasped the barbell. Before she could do more, however, Rick adjusted her grip.

  “I started with sixty pounds,” he said, stepping back. “That’s about right for a woman your size.”

  Chiara wondered how much he lifted. He’d hoisted her with amazing agility and ease during their stunts...

  Then she turned her attention back to the weights, took a breath and began lifting. Once, twice... Rick faded into the background as she brought the same attention to the task as she did to acting.

  “Slow and smooth,” he said after a few minutes. “Slow and smooth... That’s right.”

  Damn it. Chiara’s rhythm hitched as she brought the weight back up again and then down. She refused to look at Rick. He was either a master at sexual innuendo or set on unintentionally making her lose her mind.

  She gritted her teeth and lifted the weight a few more times. After what seemed like an eternity, during which she refused to show any weakness, Rick caught the barbell and placed it on the nearby rack.

  Chiara concentrated on slowing her breathing, but her chest still rose and fell from the exertion.

  Rick leaned over her, bracing himself with one hand on the metal leg of the weight bench. “Nice work.”

  They weren’t touching but he was a hair’s breadth away—so close that she could get lost in the gold-shot green of his eyes. Her mind wandered back to their last kiss...

  He quirked his lips as if he knew what she was thinking. “Want to indulge again?”

  She pretended not to understand his meaning. “No, thanks. I’m dieting. You know Hollywood actresses. We’re always trying to shed a few pounds.”

  Rick’s eyes crinkled. “Seems more like fasting to me.”

  Damn him. As a celebrity, it wasn’t as if she could just get online, or even on an app, and hook up with someone. There was her public image to consider, as Odele never stopped reminding her, and she didn’t want to be exploited for someone else’s gain. As a result, she’d had far fewer romantic partners than the press liked to imagine. These days, a lot of men were intimidated by her status. But not Rick. He was just a lone stuntman, but he had enough ego for an entire football team.