by Anna DePalo
Rick’s blood pumped as he raced forward. Damn it, he’d be lucky if this was an ordinary street burglar. But the brief glimpse he’d caught said this guy resembled Chiara’s stalker.
* * *
Chiara came out of the marble bath in her bedroom suite and then walked into the dressing room. She pulled underwear and exercise clothes from a dresser and slipped into them.
In order to help her relax, she’d just taken a shower—and intended to take another after her workout. Her doctor had cleared her for moderate exercise in her first trimester.
After her argument with Rick earlier, she’d been torn between wanting to cry and to wail in frustration. Her life had been a series of detours and blind turns lately...
She went downstairs to her home gym, and then glanced out the window at the overcast day. It suited her mood. Even the weather seemed ready to shed some tears...
Suddenly she spotted a hunched figure darting across the lawn. Frowning, she moved closer to the window. She wasn’t expecting anyone. She had a regular cleaning service, and a landscaper who came once a week, but she didn’t employ a live-in caretaker. There was no reason to, since she was often away on a movie set herself. Still, thanks to her fame, and now a sometime stalker, she had high fences, video cameras, an alarm system and a front gate with a security code. Even if she no longer had a bodyguard...
How had he gotten in?
As Chiara watched, the intruder slipped around the side of the house and out of view. Moments later, she heard a crash and froze. She ran over to the exercise room door and locked it.
Spinning around, she realized how vulnerable she was. Her workout clothes didn’t have pockets, and she’d left her cell phone upstairs. She’d also never put a landline extension in this room, because there’d seemingly been no need to. The gym was on the first floor and faced a steep embankment outside. While it would be hard for someone to get in, it also meant she was trapped.
She heard the distant noise of someone moving around in the house. Her best bet was to stay quiet. She hoped whoever it was wouldn’t look in here—at least not immediately. In the meantime, she had to figure out what to do... If the intruder wandered upstairs, perhaps she could make a dash for freedom and quietly call 911.
She heard the sound of a car on the gravel drive and almost sobbed with relief. Whoever it was must have known the security code at the front gate. Her heart jumped to her throat. Rick?
He didn’t know about the intruder. He could be hurt, or worse, killed. She had to warn him.
Only a minute later, voices—angry and male—sounded in the house, but the confrontation was too indistinct for her to make out what was said.
“Chiara, if you’re here, don’t move!” Rick’s voice came to her from the rear of the house.
She heard a scuffle. Something crashed as the combatants seemed to be fighting their way across the first floor.
Ignoring Rick’s order, she wrenched open the door to the exercise room and dashed out in the direction of the noise. The sight that confronted her in the den made her heart leap to her throat all over again. Rick was pummeling Todd Jeffers, and while Rick appeared to have the upper hand, his opponent wasn’t giving up the fight.
She looked around for a way to help and found herself reaching for a small marble sculpture that her interior decorator had positioned on a side table.
Grabbing it, she approached the two men. As her stalker staggered and then righted himself, she brought the sculpture down on the back of his head with a resounding thud.
Jeffers staggered again and fell to his knees, and Rick landed a knee jab under his chin. Her stalker sprawled backward, and then lay motionless.
Rick finally looked up at her. He was breathing heavily, and there was fire in his eyes. “Damn it, Chiara, I told you not to come out!”
As scared as she was, she had her own temper to deal with. “You’re welcome.” Then she looked at the figure at their feet. “Sweet heaven, did I kill him?”
“Heaven is unlikely the place he’ll be,” Rick snarled.
“So I killed him?” she squeaked.
Rick bent to examine Jeffers and then shook his head. “No, but he’s passed out cold.”
She leaped for the phone even though what she wanted to do was throw up from sudden nausea. “I have to call 911.”
“Do you have any rope or something else we can tie him up with?” Rick asked. “He’s unconscious but we don’t know for how long.”
With shaky fingers, she handed him the receiver. While Rick called the police, she ran to get some twine she kept for wrapping presents. Her uninvited guest needed to be hog-tied, not decorated with a pretty bow, but it was all she had.
As she passed through the house, she noticed some picture frames had been repositioned—as if her stalker had stopped to admire them—and some of her clothes had been moved. Chiara shuddered. Likely Jeffers’s obsession with her stuff had bought her time—time enough to stay hidden in the gym until Rick arrived.
Eleven
Chiara sat in her den attempting to get her bearings. Todd Jeffers was on his way to prison, not least because he’d violated a restraining order by scaling her fence, taking advantage of the fact that her alarm system had been off and she’d been ignoring the video cameras. Breaking and entering, trespassing... Thanks to Rick, the police would throw the book at him.
While Rick walked the remaining police to the door, she called Odele. She needed someone who would deal with the inevitable press attention. And even though she’d uttered the words you’re fired, she and Odele were like family—and there was nothing like a brush with danger and violence to mend fences. She filled in her manager on what had happened, and Odele announced she would drive right over—both to get the fuller story, and perhaps because she sensed Chiara needed a shoulder to lean on.
Because Rick wasn’t offering one—he continued to look mad as hell.
She knew she was lucky Rick had shown up at the right moment. She’d been in the shower when her father had attempted to reach her, and because he was worried she hadn’t picked up, he’d called Rick. Michael Feran had done nothing for her...until today, when he may have saved her life. The ground beneath her had shifted, and there hadn’t even been a major seismological event in LA. Forgetting about her scheduled call with her father had been a lucky break because minutes later she’d had an intruder in her house.
When Rick walked back in, Chiara hugged her arms tight across her chest as she sat on her couch.
He looked like a man on a short leash. The expression on his face was one she’d never seen before—not even in the middle of a difficult stunt. He was furious, and she wondered how much of it was directed at her.
“Thanks,” she managed in a small voice.
“Damn it, Chiara!” Rick ran his hand through his hair. “What the hell? I told you to get extra security.”
“You were it. I didn’t have time to replace you...yet.”
“You didn’t have time? There’s been a court order in place for weeks!”
She stood up. “Sarcastic stuntmen willing to moonlight as bodyguard and pretend boyfriend are hard to come by.”
“Well, you almost gained an unwelcome husband!” Rick braced his hands at his sides. “According to the police, your Romeo had picked a wedding date and drafted a marriage announcement before he showed up today.”
Chiara felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. As a celebrity, she’d gotten some overzealous adulation in the past, but this was beyond creepy. “Don’t lecture me.”
She was frustrated, overwhelmed and tired—nearly shaking with shock and fear. She needed comfort but Rick was scolding her. It was all too much.
Rick crouched beside her. “We need to resolve this.”
She raised her chin. “My stalker is behind bars. So that
’s another reason I don’t need you anymore, I guess.”
Except she did. She loved him. But he’d offered nothing in return, and she couldn’t stay in a relationship based on an illusion. She’d learned this much from Tinseltown: she didn’t want make-believe. She didn’t want a relationship made for the press, and the false image of a happy couple expecting their first child. She wanted true love.
Rick stood up, a closed look on his face. He thrust his hands in his pockets. “Right, you don’t need me. You’ll never need any man. Got it. Your father may be back in your life, but you always stand on your own.”
She said nothing. In her mind, though, she willed him to give her the speech that she really wanted. I love you. I can’t live without you. I need you.
He braced his hands on his sides. “We’re stuck playing out this drama, the two of us. The press junket for Pegasus Pride is coming up, and we don’t want to be the story instead of the movie. I’ll move back in with you here until my house is ready. We’ll do promo for the movie and then nest until the baby arrives. All the while, we’re back to Chiara and Rick, the happy expectant couple, as far as the press is concerned.”
She lifted her chin again. “Got it.”
The only thing that saved her from saying more was Odele breezing in the front door and descending like a mother hen.
“Oh, honey,” her manager exclaimed.
Chiara looked at her miserably and then eyed Rick. “I’m glad you’re here because Rick was just leaving to pack. He’s moving back in with me.”
“I’ll be back soon.”
She’d dreamed about their getting back together, but it wasn’t supposed to happen like this.
* * *
Rick looked around his West Hollywood rental, debating what to pack next. The movers could do the rest.
Chiara’s stalker may have been arrested, but the threat to Rick’s own sanity remained very real. He’d always prided himself on being Mr. Cool and Unflappable—with nerves of steel in the face of every stunt. But there was nothing cool about his relationship with Chiara.
“So the first Serenghetti grandbaby, and it was a surprise.” Jordan shook his head as he taped a box together. “Mom must be beside herself.”
His brother happened to be in town for another personal appearance, so he’d come over to help Rick pack. Together, they were surrounded by boxes in the small living room.
“Last I heard, she was trying three new recipes.” Rick knew cooking was stress relief for his mother.
Damn it, he wished the news had broken another way. Yet, if Chiara was to be believed, it wasn’t her doing that the cat was out of the bag.
Jordan shook his head. “Of course Mom is cooking. First Cole throws an unexpected wedding, now you hit her with a surprise grandchild. She’s probably trying to figure out what went wrong with her parenting recipe—was she missing an ingredient?’
“Hilarious,” Rick remarked drily. “She’s got two more kids she can hang her hopes on.”
Jordan held up his hands as if warding off a bad omen. “You mean, she has Mia to help her out.”
Rick shrugged. “Whatever.”
His brother looked around. “You know we could just throw this stuff in a van ourselves instead of using movers.”
“Yeah, but I’ve got more pressing problems at the moment.”
Jordan cocked his head. “Oh, yeah, daddy duty. But that doesn’t start for another...?”
“Seven months or more,” Rick replied shortly.
Chiara had gotten pregnant in Welsdale or soon after. There’d been plenty of opportunities. Once the floodgates had opened, they hadn’t been able to keep their hands off each other.
“You know, I was debating what housewarming gift to get you. Now I’m thinking you need one of those dolls they use in parenting classes...to practice diapering and stuff.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Well, you and Chiara are definitely in the express lane of relationships,” Jordan remarked.
“The relationship was a media and publicity stunt.”
Jordan’s face registered his surprise. “Wow, the work of a stuntman never ends. I’m impressed by your range.”
“Put a lid on it, Jordan.”
His brother flashed a grin. “Still, a publicity stunt...but Chiara winds up pregnant? How do you explain that one?”
“I was also supposed to protect her from her stalker friend. That was the real part.”
Jordan picked up his beer and toasted him with it. “Well, you did do that. I suppose one thing led to another?”
“Yeah, but it could have gone better.” The nut job had already been in Chiara’s house when he’d arrived. As for the relationship part...
“Or worse.”
Rick’s hand curled at his side. Damn it. Why hadn’t Chiara listened to him and taken more precautions? Because she was hardheaded.
Jordan shook his head. “I can’t believe I had to get the news from Gossipmonger.”
“Believe it. Chiara’s team has a contact there.”
“Still, I figured I’d hear it from you. I thought the brotherly bond counted for something,” Jordan said in a bemused tone.
“You didn’t need to know it was a publicity stunt.”
His brother shrugged. “It seemed real enough to me. So what are you going to do?”
“For the moment, I’m moving back in with her. What does it look like I’m doing?”
Jordan nodded, his expression blank. “So you’re muscling back into her life. Do you know an approach besides caveman-style?”
“Since when are you a relationship expert?”
“This calls for a grand gesture.”
Rick nearly snorted. “She’s practically announced she doesn’t need a knight on a horse.”
Jordan shrugged. “She doesn’t need you, you don’t need her, but you want each other. Maybe that’s what you have to show her.” His brother’s lips quirked. “You know, upend the fairy tale. Show up on a horse and tell her that she needs to save you.”
Rick frowned. “From what?”
Jordan grinned. “Yourself. You’ve been bad-tempered and cranky.”
“So says the Serenghetti family philosopher who only does shallow relationships.”
Jordan placed his hand over his heart. “My guru powers only work with others.”
Rick threw a towel at his brother, who caught it deftly. “Get packing.”
Still, he had to admit Jordan had given him some ideas.
* * *
“You look like a miserable pregnant lady,” Odele remarked.
“My best role yet.” Chiara felt like a mess...or rather, her life was one. Ironically the situation with her father was the only part she’d straightened out.
After yesterday’s drama, Odele had stayed over, feeling Chiara needed someone in the house with her. And Chiara was thankful for the support. She’d let herself cry just once...
Chiara toyed with her lunch of salmon and fresh fruit. Outside the breakfast nook, the sun shone bright, so unlike yesterday. Her mood should have picked up, too, but instead she’d been worried about spending the next months with Rick in her house—falling apart with need, so unlike her independent self.
“I hate to see you make a mistake,” Odele remarked from across the table.
Was that regret in her manager’s voice? “You sound wistful.”
“I’m speaking from experience. There was one who got away. Don’t let that be your situation.”
“Oh, Odele.”
“Don’t Odele me,” her manager said in her raspy voice. “These days there’s a fifty-three-year-old editor at one of those supermarket rags who is just waiting for a date with yours truly.”
Chiara managed a s
mall laugh. “Now, that’s more like it.”
Odele’s eyes gleamed. “He’s too young for me.”
“At fiftysomething? It’s about time someone snatched him out of the cradle.”
“I’ll think about it...but this conversation isn’t about me, honey. It’s about you.”
Chiara sighed. “So how am I supposed to avoid making a mistake? Or are you going to tell me?”
“I’ve got an idea. You and Rick are meant to be together. I’ve thought so for a long time.” She shook her head. “That’s why—”
“This pregnancy is a sign from the heavens?”
“No, your moping expression is.”
Chiara set down her fork. “I guess I’m not as good an actress as I thought.”
“You’re a great actress, and I’ve lined up Melody Banyon at WE Magazine. She can come here for an interview tomorrow.” Her manager harrumphed. “My second attempt at making you and Rick see reason.”
“Another of your schemes, Odele?” she said, and then joked, “Haven’t we had enough of the press?”
“Trust me, you’re going to like this plan better than my idea of lighting a fire under your stuntman with the pregnancy news, but it’s up to you what you want to say.”
When Odele explained what she had in mind, Chiara nodded and then added her own twist...
* * *
By the next morning, Chiara was both nervous and excited. She felt as if she was jumping off a cliff—in fact, it was not so different from doing a movie stunt.
Sitting in a chair in her den facing Melody Banyon, she smoothed her hands down the legs of her slacks. It was almost a replay of her last interview with the reporter...except Rick wasn’t here.
“Are you pregnant?”
There it was. She was about to give her confirmation to the world. “Yes, I am.”
“Congratulations.”
“I’m still in my first trimester.”
“And how are you feeling?”
Chiara sucked in a shaky breath. “Good. A little queasy but that’s normal.”