Hollywood Baby Affair

by Anna DePalo

  She’d revealed more about her background and her mother than she’d intended. And then she hadn’t been able to keep out the wistfulness when contrasting her circumstances with Rick’s own family. Wholesome. Warm. Loving. She felt relaxed here, in the embrace of the Serenghettis and away from her problems—the limelight, her father, her would-be stalker...

  Still, she’d dodged the very real emotional and sexual currents between her and Rick by making light of the matter. The show must go on. She doubted Rick would be satisfied with that response, however. Awareness skated over her skin as she remembered the gleam in his eyes followed by his words: I think of you as real and vital. And my physical reaction to you definitely is.

  Her resolve to keep him at a distance was weakening, aided by her very real yearning for what he’d had—still had—in comparison: a tight-knit family who cared about each other.

  As if on cue, Rick’s sister appeared, her face wreathed in a wide smile. “Thank you for the on-air plug, Chiara. You are the perfect model to bring out the best in my designs.”

  Chiara smiled back and then touched the other woman’s arm. “Don’t mention it.”

  “I’ve never dressed someone so high profile before. You have a great sense of style.”

  “I owe a lot to my former stylist Emery. But she went off to start her own accessories line, so I’m open to new ideas.” Chiara’s eyes widened, as an idea struck. “I should connect the both of you. Emery would be a natural complement to your clothing line.”

  Mia gave a look of wry amusement. “I can see it now—‘ME by Mia Emery... Not Your Mom’s Everyday.’”

  “Perfect.” So this was what it might be like to have a sister. Chiara let the wistful feeling wash over her again.

  Mia tilted her head. “Rick isn’t the only maverick in the family, though he likes to think so. I’ve abandoned the family construction business and run off to New York to follow the bright lights of fashion.”

  “You make maverick sound like a bad thing. It’s not so terrible.”

  “Not so wicked, you mean?” Mia gave a sly grin. “So Rick’s worked his charm on you then?”

  Chiara’s face warmed. Was it charm—or something more? Just a short time ago, she’d have called Rick the least charming man she knew, but somehow her feelings had been changing. Now with his family, she was even more...charmed.

  Mia leaned in conspiratorially. “You’re beautiful, smart and famous. How did you and Rick wind up together?”

  “We...um...” Somehow she couldn’t bring herself to lie to Rick’s sister, so she finished lamely, “Don’t believe everything you read in the press.”

  What could she say? We’re not really a couple. It’s a big fat lie. Even if she was having increasing trouble remembering that, especially surrounded by the Serenghettis.

  “I see,” Mia responded, and then nodded as if satisfied. “Well, you two bounce off each other in a charming way. It’s as if Rick has met his match.”

  Even if that were true, it meant one of them was going down for the count...

  “You’re someone who can’t be impressed by his money,” Mia added.

  What? Chiara mentally shrugged, and said carefully, “I’m not sure how much money Rick has.”

  Mia laughed. “Neither am I, but after making a killing with his hedge fund, he’s got enough to play with.”

  Hedge fund? Chiara felt her head swim. Rick was a gritty rolling stone of a stuntman as far as she knew. If he had millions, what was he doing...?

  “He’s a stuntman,” she blurted. “He jumps off buildings, leaps from moving cars...” And embraces actresses while hanging from a helicopter.

  “And takes big risks with money by betting things are going up or down in value.” Mia shrugged. “Same thing.”

  Chiara froze. Mia made it seem as if Rick was a risk taker—which wasn’t far from her gambling father. She’d never seen the similarity, and now she was in a very public relationship with Rick. She needed therapy...and not the kind provided by pretending to talk with a wooden dummy, either. Sorry, Ruby.

  But even more shockingly, Rick wasn’t merely a stuntman, he was—

  “Pegasus Pride is his baby right now,” his sister said.

  Chiara blew out a breath and tried to keep her voice steady. “He’s got money invested in the film?”

  Mia nodded. “You didn’t know?”

  Nope. Otherwise she’d never have spent her time insulting the boss—the producer of her current film—who could have had her fired any day.

  Mia gave a choked laugh. “That’s just like Rick. He always wants to keep a low profile.” Her eyes suddenly danced. “We’re still talking about his favorite childhood Halloween costume. You know, he just tossed a brown paper bag over his head and made cutouts for eyes.”

  “And the school play?” Chiara nearly squeaked.

  “Stage crew, or he’d play the tree, of course.”

  “Well, he’s graduated to leaping from speeding motorcycles and hanging from airplanes,” Chiara replied drily. And tricking unwary actresses.

  She glanced over at Rick. Why hadn’t he told her? She’d thought...they’d... Chiara nearly closed her eyes on a groan.

  She really needed to talk to him. But not around his family. No, she’d have to wait for the right moment...

  Eight

  Chiara somehow managed to keep her silence until they were at Rick’s place.

  At least now she understood why he might be checking his phone all the time. He was a behind-the-scenes Hollywood power player who liked to keep his name out of the press. And perhaps he needed to keep track of his substantial financial investments, too.

  When they arrived at his condo, she was impressed all over again. But at least now she was prepared for what she found, unlike when they’d first arrived in Welsdale. The airy space had the stamp of muted luxury: exposed brick, rich leathers, recessed lighting and electronics hidden behind sliding panels of artwork. Nearly floor-to-ceiling windows made the most of the apartment’s perch on the top floor of a block of high-priced condos, and Welsdale’s evening lights twinkled outside.

  How was it possible she’d been in the dark? She’d researched Rick again online after her conversation with Mia, and nothing had come up. He was good at covering his tracks. Except she was on his trail, thanks to his sister.

  She sauntered into the muted light of the living room ahead of Rick. He was dressed in slacks and an open-collar navy shirt. A five o’clock shadow made him look even sexier.

  Chiara smoothed her hands down the front of her pants. Then, taking a deep breath, she pinned Rick with a steady gaze. “You didn’t tell me you’re the producer of Pegasus Pride as well as doing its stunt work.”

  When he didn’t react, she didn’t know whether to stamp her foot or applaud his acting skills.

  “Surprise.”

  “Now is not the time for humor, Serenghetti.”

  “When is?” He continued to look relaxed.

  She placed her hands on her hips. “You misled me.”

  “You didn’t ask. Anyway, does it matter?”

  “I never date the boss,” she huffed. “I don’t want the reputation of being the actress who slept her way to the top.”

  On the long list of what he’d done wrong, it was one of the lesser of his transgressions, but she was nearly speechless and didn’t even know where to begin.

  Rick, though, had the poor grace to smile. “Does it help to know I’m only the behind-the-scenes guy? I’m an investor in Blooming Star Productions.”

  “Why don’t you get your mother a cameo in a movie then? She could play herself. A cook with a local television show trying to make it big.”

  “God help us.”

  Chiara narrowed her eyes. “And where did you get the money to be
the financial backer for a film production company?”

  She’d heard it from Mia—and hadn’t quite believed it—so she wanted confirmation from the source himself.

  He shrugged. “I worked on Wall Street after Boston College and created a hedge fund.”

  She felt light-headed when he told her this, just as she had at the television studio. How much money were they talking about? Millions? Billions?

  As if reading her mind, he said, “I’ve made a few best-of lists, but I left New York before joining the billionaires’ club.”

  She figured he had serious bank dwarfing that of a run-of-the-mill actress. “It’s unheard of to be both a producer and a stuntman!”

  “They’re not as different as you think. Both involve calculated risks. One with money, the other physically.”

  His words echoed Mia’s earlier. What was this, a Serenghetti press release? Or did Rick and his siblings just think alike?

  She should have been able to read the signs and put them together. They were all there. The expensive car. The apartments on two coasts.

  He shrugged again. “I’m a maverick.”

  “You said you lived in a rental in West Hollywood!”

  “Until the house is finished. It’s under construction.”

  “And where is this house?” she asked suspiciously.

  “Beverly Hills.”

  But of course. “Brentwood must seem...quaint to you.”

  There were plenty of celebrities in her section of LA but it was a little more low-key than the brand-name neighborhoods where tourists flocked—Beverly Hills, Bel Air...

  Rick’s lips twitched. “Brentwood has its charms, particularly if there’s a thatched English cottage...and fairy-tale princess involved.”

  “She’s the kick-ass modern variety,” she sniffed—because she should be verbally demolishing him right now for letting her believe he was just an aw-shucks stuntman living for the next thrill and its accompanying paycheck.

  “Don’t I know it.” His eyes laughed at her.

  “Why would you give up New York, the financial industry and your own hedge fund to go out West to Hollywood?”

  He smiled a little, still unflappable. “New challenges. Hollywood is not that different from Wall Street. The studios take major gambles with movies. Different rules, but the same game. And it’s still about trusting your instincts and making money—or not.”

  “Well, it all makes sense now—” sarcasm crept into her tone “—except for the part where you led me to believe you were a regular Joe.”

  “Is this our first argument?”

  She nearly snorted. “Or our hundredth.”

  He sauntered closer. “Would it have made a difference if you’d known?”

  “You could have hired a stable of bodyguards for me with your bank!”

  “Ah,” he drawled, “but then I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of...your company.”

  “The joy of sparring with me, you mean? And living in a humble cottage instead of a castle in Beverly Hills?”

  He burst out laughing. “I’m paying you enough to live in more than a humble cottage.”

  “But are you paying me enough to put up with you?”

  He gave a sultry smile and reached for her. “I don’t know. Let’s find out.”

  She should be mad at him. She was angry with him. Still, it didn’t matter. The truth was she’d been lured in by the seductive cozy family life of the Serenghettis. She yearned for it. They were miles removed from her existence in Southern California, and the distance wasn’t just a matter of geography.

  When Rick’s lips met hers, Chiara was transported, winging through the clouds as if they were performing another one of their stunts. Exhilaration ran through her, the feeling humming alongside one of safety, family...and coming home.

  He molded her to him with his hand on her back, making her feel his need—his desire. She rested her hands on his shoulders, and then, caving, slid her arms around his neck, bringing his head closer.

  Rick lifted his head slightly, and muttered against her mouth, “We need props.”

  She gave a choked laugh. “This is not a film scene.”

  Rick raised his eyebrows. “You’re an actress who’s not into role-playing?”

  “I like to keep it real. Well, except for this pretending about being a couple that Odele has me doing!”

  “Believe me, this is as real and raw as it’s going to get.”

  Awareness shivered through her. “Okay, what if I’m a chilly A-list actress and you’re...the help who is intent on seducing me?”

  “There’s nothing cold about you, Snow,” he said, tilting up her chin. “Well, except for maybe your nickname.”

  “But you’re here to melt me?”

  He flashed his teeth. “I’m trying.”

  It had been safer to pretend he was the help. Just the movie stuntman. Or the make-believe boyfriend. Not a man whose wealth dwarfed hers. One who had no use for her money or her fame and celebrity. One who’d put himself on the line to protect her—just because.

  She didn’t know what to do with a man like that. She’d spent years living as if she didn’t need any man. Because she could provide for herself, thanks. But with Rick, she was at a disadvantage. He’d come to her defense against a stalker, and now it turned out he was her boss. She didn’t have the upper hand. He didn’t need her for anything, either.

  Well, except for sex. He clearly wanted her badly.

  And what was wrong with making herself feel feminine and powerful for an interlude? After all, it wasn’t as if she was giving up something. Except she risked falling for him.

  The pent-up desire that she’d been feeling these weeks and refusing to acknowledge slipped from its shackles. Rick drove her crazy, and it was a thin line between being irritated and jumping his bones. Giving in meant easing some of the frustration, and suddenly nothing else mattered.

  Seeming to read the assent in her eyes, Rick slowly took off her clothes, tossing the pieces aside one by one onto nearby furniture and peeling away her defenses to find what was in no way artifice. Then he shed some of his own clothes until they were both down to underwear.

  She shivered as the cool air hit her.

  “Let me warm you up,” he muttered.

  She wanted to say he already had, and that that was the problem. She was melting, her defenses flowing away like so much ice under a hot sun.

  Chiara stepped out of the clothes pooled at her feet. Clad in just a lacy black bra and the barest slip of underwear, she had no mask. But if she felt nervous, the naked appreciation stamped on Rick’s face put an end to it. She straightened her shoulders, and the resulting movement thrust her breasts forward, their peaks jutting against their thin covering.

  Rick’s face glowed with appreciation, and then he muttered what he wanted to do with her, his prominent arousal testimony to his words. Waves of heat washed over her, and she sucked in a breath.

  He stepped forward, and when the backs of her legs hit the sofa, she let herself fall backward, bracing herself with one hand on a pillow. Rick followed, bent and took one of her nipples in his mouth through her bra, fabric and all, suckling her gently.

  Chiara gasped, a strangled sound caught in her throat, and need shuddered through her. Her head fell back when he pushed aside her bra and transferred his attention to her other breast. She was awash in sensation, the universe popping with a kaleidoscope of color.

  Rick knelt, pulled her to the end of the sofa arm so that her legs straddled it, and then pushed aside her underwear to use his mouth to love her some more. Cries of pleasure were ripped from her throat...and she felt herself splintering—until she bucked against him with her release.

  Afterward, Rick straightened and shed his underwear like a man posse
ssed. Watching him, Chiara stood up and did the same, her remaining garments melting away.

  Rick suddenly cursed. “Damn it. Protection is still packed in my suitcase.”

  “I’m on contraception,” she said throatily, dizzy with want.

  His gaze caught with hers. “I want you to know I’ve gotten a clean bill from my doctor. I would never put you at risk.”

  She licked her lips. “Same goes for me.”

  They looked at each other for a moment, neither moving, savoring this moment.

  And then Chiara held her hand out to him. “We’re not going to make it to the bed, are we?”

  He gave her a lopsided smile. “Stuntmen can do it everywhere.”

  Chiara followed his gaze to the nearby long leather ottoman, which doubled as a coffee table. Oh. As she bent to sit on it, Rick followed her down, giving her a long, sweet, lingering kiss.

  When she embraced him, he entered her in one fluid movement, rocking her to her core. Joined to him, Chiara gave herself up to sensation, following the pace that Rick set.

  When she felt Rick tighten, nearing his climax, she ran her hands over his ripped arms and bit back a moan.

  “Let me hear you,” Rick said as the air grew thick with their deep breathing.

  “Rick, oh...now.”

  And just like that, as he thrust deep, Chiara felt herself coming apart again, dazed with her release.

  Rick gave a hoarse shout and buried himself in her, collapsing into her embrace.

  Chiara had never felt so at one with someone...exposed and yet secure.

  * * *

  As she walked by, Chiara glanced in her hallway mirror and resisted the urge to pinch herself. She looked happy...relaxed...and yes, sexually satisfied. Filming was over, so the main item on her agenda today was reading a script for a role that she was considering.

  Ever since she and Rick had returned to LA from Welsdale two days ago, she’d been in a lovely cocoon. She flushed just thinking about what they’d done yesterday. Foreplay on the weight bench, but the exercise mat and even the jump rope had come in handy...