Hollywood Blackmail

by Jackie Ashenden

  Luckily, these days, he was.

  “Everyone else get out,” he ordered brusquely.

  “Come on,” Sam said, “you heard the man.”

  “Mr. Kincaid, I strongly suggest you let me deal with that wound right now,” the doc said flatly, ignoring Sam. “Unless speaking to Lizzie is worth a scar the size of the Grand Canyon?” The other man’s tone was perfectly polite but Ash could hear the subtext loud and clear. You need to calm down, dude.

  Shit, the doc was right. He needed to get a handle on this anger and impatience, stop letting them overrule his common sense. Not exactly the best mood to be in talking to Coco or Elizabeth or whatever name she was going by these days.

  Sam opened his mouth, probably to keep arguing, but Ash held up a hand, silencing the guy. “Five minutes, doc. Then you can do whatever you want.”

  Helen and the doc glanced at each other, then the man eventually nodded. “Okay. Five minutes.”

  As they left, Ash said, “You, too, Sam.” He didn’t spare his agent a glance. As if taking his eyes off Lizzie would make her disappear on him again.

  Seeing something dangerous in Ash’s expression, Sam didn’t bother arguing this time. Just headed out the door. Smart man.

  Coco/Elizabeth stood there, her hands clasped in front of her. The shock had faded from her finely sculpted features but she was still pale.

  “Coco,” he said. “It is you. I knew it.”

  “My name is Elizabeth, Mr. Kincaid,” she replied calmly. “I’m not sure who else you’re referring to.”

  Ash scowled, making the wound on his face hurt even more. Why the hell was she denying it? Did she really think he wouldn’t recognize her? “Bullshit. I know it’s been eleven years but I’m not stupid.”

  “I’m sorry, but I really don’t know who this Coco person you keep talking about is.” A crease appeared between her brows as she moved forward to where he sat on the bench. “Why did you send Dr. Lazarus out? You need to get that cut stitched and fast.”

  “You think dyeing your hair and putting contacts in makes you different?” He gripped the edge of the bench he was sitting on as the shock of seeing her began to wear off and the pain ramped up. “You’re no actor, Coco, and I should know since that’s what I do for a living.”

  Her expression didn’t change but he saw the way her lovely mouth tightened. She leaned in to examine the wound, not saying a word.

  “What happened to you?” he persisted. “Where did you go? And what the hell are you doing here?”

  She stilled, her expression unreadable. Then she let out a soft breath. “I see you’re getting into fights again, Ashford. Just like old times, huh?”

  It was her. It was. “Coco, I mean Elizabeth—”

  “That’s going to scar if Dr. Lazarus doesn’t get to it soon.”

  Shit, he didn’t want Dr. Lazarus. He wanted to talk to her. Get some answers. Then again if he wanted that Red River audition with Christiansen he was going to have deal with the stupid knife wound. Of course the prick who’d cut him had gone straight for the face.

  “Then get him,” he said. “But don’t think that means you’re leaving.”

  She gave him a look but said nothing. Turning, she went to the doorway, called the doctor, then came back, the doc following along behind her.

  “Can you stitch it?” Ash asked, not looking at the doc but at Coco—Elizabeth—who’d calmly begun arranging things on the cart. Looked like she knew what she was doing, too. Well, obviously she must know what she was doing since here she was, in a medical clinic. She must have had some medical training at some stage. But when? He hated that he didn’t know.

  Dr. Lazarus—the only doc you’d ever want near your face with a sharp instrument, according to Sam—stood back and surveyed the oozing wound. “Sure. I can stitch you up,” he said. “But for the scars to disappear? You’re looking at two to three months probably.”

  Ash gritted his teeth, frustration beginning to set in. Man, this was such lousy timing. He’d spent the past six months trying to clean up his image and now this. He so didn’t need this crap. He’d been trying to have a quiet drink, not have a knife pulled on him by some drunken idiot trying to prove himself a big man by beating up a movie star. “I have an audition in a month,” he said. “I can’t have any scars.”

  The doctor grinned as if this was no problem. “Then you’ve come to the right place. Dr. Travers and I have developed a new scar treatment that I think you’d be a good candidate for. However, it does involve daily monitoring and treatment of the wound.”

  Ash watched as Lizzie picked up a syringe and began doing medical-type things with it. Oh yeah, she knew what she was doing all right. Her hands were slim, her movements careful and practiced. He remembered how those hands had felt on him that one night they’d had together. Another thing he’d never forgotten.

  “I can’t come here every day, doc.” He didn’t look away from Lizzie.

  “No, of course not. We’d get one of our staff to come to you.”

  Ash went very still. “Which staff?”

  “One of our nursing staff. We have excellent—”

  “Lizzie,” he growled, before the idea had even had time to lodge fully in his brain. “It has to be Lizzie.”

  The doc’s smile didn’t falter but his gaze flickered to where she stood, still holding the syringe. “Lizzie can certainly—”

  “No,” she interrupted with absolute certainty. “I’m sorry, Ash, but I can’t.”

  People did not say no to him. Not these days. Because these days he wasn’t a know-nothing kid from the projects anymore, street-fighting for money to help keep his family’s head above water, a bit of security-guarding on the side for legitimacy’s sake. He had power, influence, and people usually gave him whatever he wanted.

  Ash stared at her. Brown eyes with a telltale rim of gray stared calmly back. Stubborn, of course. He should have remembered that, too. “Stitch me up, Doc,” he said softly. “Then me and Lizzie here are going to have a nice little chat.”

  …

  Lizzie met Ash’s black gaze and told her frantically beating heart to chill out. So he’d recognized her, no surprises there, and continuing to deny it would have been futile since he was right, she was no actor. She had to get a grip here.

  Being an excellent nurse meant remaining cool under pressure, and that was something she did very well indeed. So losing it now was not an option.

  But there was no way in hell she was going to be his personal nurse.

  She’d once loved him with every breath in her—at least she had until what she’d considered deeply private had turned into a media circus to end all circuses. A circus that she would forever associate him with. Sure, it had happened a long time ago, but if she wanted it to stay in the past where she’d put it, staying away from him was her best option.

  As Laz began to sew up the wound, Lizzie busied herself with the medical equipment, needing the distraction. Yet the fact that Ash’s burning gaze followed her every movement did not help. Or make her any less aware of him.

  He was much bigger than she remembered. As powerfully muscled as a lithe jungle cat. And his hair was longer, silky black strands hanging over his forehead. Back when she’d known him, he’d kept it short and out of the way.

  But that familiar face, its angular, fiercely masculine beauty in no way marred by the livid red wound that bisected it, was just the same. Except for the lines of experience around his eyes and long mouth. He looked much harder now. Guarded. Which wasn’t surprising, all things considered. Living the life he did wasn’t easy, as she had good reason to know.

  And there was one other thing that definitely hadn’t changed, either.

  Which you are not going to think about right now.

  No, she wasn’t. Ash Kincaid was still off-the-charts hot but she wasn’t going there again. It had taken her eleven years to get over him and now that she had, there was no way in hell she was going back.

  Ash di
dn’t speak as Laz dealt with the wound, not one word, and the silence in the treatment room was deafening.

  Far too soon Laz began to finish up. After giving the wound another critical once-over, he stood back, stripping off the disposable gloves he’d put on. “There we go, Mr. Kincaid. That should do you for now. Lizzie can clean you up and then we’ll decide on the details of your treatment.”

  “Thanks, Doc,” Ash said in his deep, rough voice, the one that had always made her shiver.

  Laz turned and raised an eyebrow at Lizzie in a wordless “are you okay?” question.

  She nodded because of course she was. The unexpected arrival of the love of her teenage life in her treatment room wasn’t anything to worry about. She was a professional. She could handle it.

  As the door closed behind Laz, Lizzie took a deep mental breath. Right. Wound cleaning time. Deal with that first.

  She came around the front of the bench to stand right in front of Ash’s massive figure. God, he really was big. And under that leather jacket a whole lot of bare, brown muscular chest was on show. Talk about washboard abs…

  Don’t look. For the love of God, don’t look.

  Fine, she wouldn’t look. But unfortunately she still had to breathe and that meant inhaling his scent. Soft leather and spices and musk…

  So many memories associated with that smell.

  Lizzie’s mouth went dry. “You need a gown,” she muttered.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You’d be far more comfortable.” Correction, she’d be far more comfortable.

  “No gown.” Ash’s disconcerting gaze didn’t budge from hers. “You never answered my questions. Where did you go? What happened to you?”

  She swallowed. God, she wasn’t seventeen anymore. Why did being close to him still have this effect on her? Perhaps it was his “eau de movie star” aftershave or something. “I became a nurse. And I got a job here. End of story.”

  He scowled, obviously unimpressed with her answers. “That’s not the end. That’s not even the beginning.”

  Keeping a firm hold on her galloping awareness, Lizzie reached for a swab, then, concentrating only on the wound, began the delicate task of cleaning it, her hand shaking only minimally. “It’s all the story you’re going to get, I’m afraid.”

  He didn’t like that, either, but didn’t push. “Tell me why you refused to help with that treatment,” he asked instead.

  “Because that’s not my job. We have some great nursing staff who’d be—”

  “I don’t want other nursing staff. I want you.”

  Her hand had stopped shaking. Fantastic. “Any particular reason?”

  “How about because we haven’t seen each other for eleven years and I want to talk to you?”

  “That’s got nothing to do with your treatment.”

  He muttered something under his breath she didn’t catch. “Fine, how about this then? People talk, no matter how discreet they’re supposed to be. And I can’t have information about this scar treatment coming out in the press.”

  “Bit late for that now, isn’t it? You must have the entire paparazzo population of LA camped out in front of the clinic.”

  “Sam’s going to handle it. As long as this fricking scar disappears and I lie low for a while, we can make people forget about it in a couple of days.” He paused. “But they won’t if people talk.”

  “Scowling is not helping,” Lizzie reminded him, dabbing at the wound. “And you really have to keep still.”

  Unexpectedly his hand came up, fingers locked around her wrist. Her breath caught as a flash of heat bolted up her arm. Oh, that was bad. Very bad.

  “Don’t deflect me with that nurse bullshit.”

  Something warm and sensual stretched and rolled over inside her. Like a lazy cat dozing in the sun. Screw “bad.” It was now officially “worse.”

  Lizzie fought to ignore the sensation. “Ahem, you realize that nurse ‘bullshit’ is the only thing standing between you and an attractive red scar, don’t you?”

  “It’s got to be you, Lizzie.” Finally he released her. “I don’t trust anyone else.”

  She swallowed, her wrist incredibly sensitive where he’d touched it. “You trust me? Why? It’s been eleven years since we’ve seen each other, Ash.”

  “And not once in those eleven years did I ever read a tell-all about ‘how I lost my virginity to Ash Kincaid.’”

  “I didn’t need to,” she said before she could help herself. “Not when everyone in the entire country had already seen the TV episode.”

  A deathly silence fell.

  Great. Why had she said that? Yes, it had been the single most embarrassing, shameful experience in her life to see the defining moment of her relationship with Ash beamed into the homes of millions of viewers as an episode of American Porn Star.

  The moment where the producers had cut footage of her and Ash—footage taken when neither of them had even realized they were being secretly filmed—together to make it look more sensational than it had been. However, the clip of him sneaking into her bedroom one night then leaving the next morning had been just what had happened. Their one and only night together—infinitely special, infinitely private—packaged and distributed to greedy audiences along with cheesy sound effects. Her mother had been thrilled, her concern only for the sky-high ratings.

  While her? At seventeen she’d almost died of shame.

  “Coco—”

  “It’s okay, that was years ago,” she interrupted briskly, forcing the memories away. “But I’m sorry, I’m still not going to be your nurse.”

  “It’s got to be you.” He stared at her, unblinking. “Surely you of all people would understand the importance of privacy?”

  Oh, boy. Low blow.

  Anger turned over inside her, joining with the shock of seeing him again and creating a fiery, volatile mix. But long habit made her swallow it back. Getting angry wouldn’t help.

  “And what about my privacy?” She dabbed at the wound again. “I’d have to make daily visits to your house or set or wherever. You think the press won’t notice that? I don’t want them sniffing around here, at my place of work, inquiring into my background. I’ve got more important things to do, such as saving lives.”

  Ash’s eyes gleamed. Always a bad sign. “They won’t notice if you stay with me.”

  Slowly the swab dropped as she stared at him. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

  “I’m not staying with you, Ash. My job description doesn’t cover live-in medical care.”

  He stared back, iron will in every line of his face. Even when he’d been twenty he’d liked to get his way. Looked as if that hadn’t changed. “Your job as a nurse is to look after a patient’s needs, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Keep them happy so they recover faster?”

  “Again, yes, but—”

  “Then you should be catering to my needs and keeping me happy. By handling my treatment yourself.” Two hands abruptly settled on her hips. Two big, warm hands. That sent a bolt of something hot and liquid straight through her, making her nearly drop the stupid swab.

  “I’ve found you again, Lizzie,” Ash said, his hands tightening on her hips. “And if you think I’m going to let you go as easily as I did the first time, you’ve got another thing coming.”

  Chapter Two

  A furious look sparked in her eyes. But there was no way he was going to release her. Eleven years ago he’d let her slip through his fingers and it was not going to happen again. Not if he could help it. He wanted to know what had happened to her. What she’d been doing over the years. Whether she was okay. The questions had haunted him for eleven years and now that opportunity had delivered her to him, he was going to take it.

  God, she felt good. Warm and soft, her curves still fitting neatly in his hands. He tugged on her hips, pulling her even closer. She gave a gasp, the hand that wasn’t holdin
g the swab reaching out to balance herself on something.

  There wasn’t anything except his bare chest.

  A crackle of sparks ignited in his blood the moment her small palm made contact with his skin, a blinding flash of heat that made his fingers tighten on her hips even further.

  Jesus, he remembered this. The chemistry they’d had. It was still there.

  Lizzie froze as their eyes met, the furious look fading, color bursting into bloom in her cheeks.

  And just like that all the years disappeared and they were once again back in her room, in her bed, the one and only night they’d had together. Lying tangled in the sheets, feeling her body trembling against his, red hair plastered to her cheeks, gray eyes so wide. She hadn’t been his first lover, not physically, but in every other way that mattered, she had been.

  “Coco,” he murmured.

  She tore her gaze away from his, clearing her throat. “Right, I think that’s you all cleaned up. You can let me go now, please. We can have this discussion at a later time.” As if his hands on her hips and the heat between them didn’t exist.

  Are you surprised? Given what happened after that night?

  Ash’s jaw tightened. Yeah, he remembered. And after her earlier comment it was clear she did, too.

  Her mother’s reality TV show, and the episode that had plastered Coco’s image all over the news. The episode where he’d been captured sneaking out of her bedroom early one morning. He’d never signed release forms allowing his image to be used but they’d used it anyway, blurring him out.

  She had been devastated when the episode had screened and soon after that, she had left.

  “No, we won’t have this discussion at a later time,” he said, keeping a firm grip on her hips. “This is about us, isn’t it?”

  Annoyance flickered across her features. “Hardly.”

  “The hell it isn’t. I can see it in your eyes.”

  “It was a long time ago, Ash.” Lizzie dropped the tweezers on the cart beside the bench. She made no effort to get away, only stood there and folded her arms, looking at him with a faintly exasperated expression. “Now, if you don’t let me go I’ll get Dr. Lazarus to prescribe your painkillers as suppositories. Because I can. Very easily. In fact it would be no problem at all.”