Hollywood Blackmail

by Jackie Ashenden

  “I don’t give a fu—”

  “You’re looking tired, so I think it’s probably time for you to get some rest. Do you need anything else? No? Good. The phone is here and if you dial 0, you’ll get reception.” She had to get out of here. As in now. Before Ash’s nearness caused even more havoc with her good intentions.

  She turned sharply on her heel and began heading toward the door.

  Only to realize she wasn’t going anywhere as his warm fingers closed on her arm. “Now wait a goddamned minute, Lizzie Kent,” he murmured. And hauled her back against the length of his taut, muscled body.

  …

  She’d gone utterly still, not moving an inch. Not even to pull away. And damn but she felt good, fitting against him so perfectly. Like a missing jigsaw piece he’d spent ages hunting for. The scent of lavender and the sweet smell that was all her own twined around him, a combination of innocence and sexiness that had always had the power to drive him crazy.

  No other woman had ever smelled the same. Or felt the same. No matter how many women he’d had, no matter how beautiful they’d been or how perfect their bodies, none of them had ever felt in his arms the way Lizzie had.

  He couldn’t help himself; he bent his head and inhaled her. It was like coming home.

  “Ash,” Lizzie said, her voice sounding thick, that cool poise gone. “Let me go.”

  Shit, he probably shouldn’t have grabbed her, but he hadn’t wanted her to disappear on him. Not before he’d finished saying what he wanted to say.

  “Not yet,” he said, gripping her arm, letting the heat of her body seep into him. “I don’t mean to run down your profession, Lizzie. You know I’d never do that. All I want is a proper conversation.”

  Her body went stiff. “Ash, if you don’t let me go I’m going to get Dr. Lazarus to give you those suppositories himself. Personally.”

  “Not until you promise to talk properly to me.” Was it just him or did she feel even better than he remembered? Hotter. Softer. He began to feel dizzy, as if he’d had too much to drink. Maybe it was the loss of blood and the late night, but maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was her. He slid his arms around her waist, the temptation to pull her closer too much for him.

  He heard her breath catch, a soft, ragged gasp as the rounded curve of her butt pressed against the heat of his groin. “Okay, okay. I promise. Now let me go for God’s sake.”

  Reluctantly, Ash removed his arm and she bolted away, leaving him feeling cold for the first time that evening.

  She spun around to face him, her cheeks pink, eyes glittering with anger. But not just anger. There was desire in there, too; he would have sworn it on his lousy mother’s grave. If his lousy mother had a grave.

  “I’m only going to say this once,” she said. “If you touch me like that again, I’m going to get the biggest syringe I can find, load it up with liquid laxatives, and stick it straight in your butt.”

  Fair call. He put his hands in the pockets of his jeans to keep from closing the distance between them once again and gave her the sexy grin that charmed women out of their panties in seconds flat. “It would be worth it.”

  “Don’t push me, Ash. You don’t want me angry with a needle in my hands.”

  “I don’t know, I might like it.”

  “You wouldn’t, trust me on that. Nurses know about pain.”

  “You’re going to keep your promise, though.” He didn’t make it a question. “I want a proper conversation with you.”

  She let out a sudden breath. “Why? Why is it so important? It’s been eleven years. I’ve moved on with my life and so have you. What more is there to say?”

  “Because we were friends once, Lizzie. At least I thought we were. And more than friends, too.”

  “All right, fine then. I’ll keep my promise. Nurse’s honor. But don’t forget that includes sticking you with a needle.”

  A strange tight feeling he hadn’t known was there unraveled inside his chest. “Of course. I’d expect nothing less.”

  She gave him a narrow look. “So you want this conversation now? Because I have to say, it’s late and I’m tired.”

  Yeah, he could see that. There were dark circles under her eyes and she was pale. No wonder—this whole evening had been a hell of a shock for both of them. “No, not now.”

  “So I’m okay to leave? You’re not going to suddenly grab me again?”

  “After being threatened with a needle full of laxatives? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Her narrow look became even narrower. “If you need anything…”

  “Dial 0, right?”

  “Yes. But please remember that Seacliffe won’t supply you with alcohol, drugs or, ah, comfort services.”

  “Comfort services? What the hell is that?”

  “Some people like the company of certain ladies…” She let the sentence trail meaningfully.

  “What? In a hospital? You’ve got to be shitting me.” Christ, only in Hollywood.

  Her expression was entirely neutral. “We’ve had several requests before.”

  “You really think I’d request—”

  “It’s just our usual disclaimer.” She eyed him, then added somewhat delicately, “And you do have a certain reputation.”

  Oh, Jesus, not his rep again. Yeah, he knew he’d earned it but for the last six months he’d been good. Kept things professional, no parties or blowouts. Or fights. No fights? Okay, apart from tonight. Which hadn’t even been his fault.

  But he was trying. Because that Red River audition was for an important movie, not just the latest holiday blockbuster. Throwing punches and looking staunch with a big fuck-off gun was all very well, but he wanted more out of life than that. He wasn’t quite sure exactly what “more” he was looking for, only that right now he was dissatisfied with where he was.

  Realizing his fingers were curled up into fists inside his jeans, Ash straightened them and tried to surreptitiously ease the tension from his shoulders. But of course nothing got past eagle-eyed Nurse Kent.

  Her brows twitched. “Are you okay?”

  It became clear to him that he could get her to stay. Tell her he was tense and needed a massage like the ones she used to give him. And then once she was touching him, he would seduce her.

  It wasn’t anything he hadn’t done before.

  The temptation was there, oh so much temptation.

  He was sick of waking up in the mornings with a lover beside him, only to look at her and feel a vague sense of dissatisfaction. Of disappointment. As if the woman beside him wasn’t who he wanted. Sick, too, of the dreams he had of silky red curls spread out on his chest and pale, creamy skin under his hands. Perhaps what he needed was one more night with her. A chance to put those feelings to rest once and for all.

  But he wouldn’t. Seduction was a powerful motivator, yet despite what people thought about him, it wasn’t the only one.

  His Coco had changed from the passionate, emotional girl he’d once known. Become much more reserved, much more uptight. And no matter what she said, he knew that past had something to do with it.

  He hadn’t been able to protect her back then, not from the glare of the media or the producers keen for her to be their next adult star. But these days he wasn’t the penniless, powerless security guard he’d once been. He was the richest man in Hollywood now, with more resources at his disposal than God himself.

  He’d figure out what was wrong. He’d protect her this time. Make sure she was safe. Whatever was wrong in her life, he’d fix it.

  So all he did was smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Probably just the meds catching up with me.”

  And once he’d fixed the past for her, maybe he’d be able to fix himself, too.

  Maybe he’d be able, finally, to move on.

  Chapter Three

  Ash woke the next morning to a loud, insistent buzzing noise coming from his phone on the nightstand beside the bed. Blearily he reached over to grab it, nearly flinching as Sam’s loud voice barked
in his ear.

  “Ash? Thank Christ. We’ve got a crisis. Seacliffe’s been compromised and the details are all over the papers this morning. And now some dickhead’s put the video of your fight up on YouTube—”

  “Stop, Sam.” Ash shoved himself up, wiping a hand over his face, then wincing as he encountered his stitches. Oh, that’s right. The fight in the bar. The knife. The scar. Coco….no dammit…Lizzie… Instantly he was awake. “Okay, tell me again. From the top.”

  “Details from Seacliffe patient files were leaked last night. The papers have gotten hold of it and the shit has well and truly hit the fan. “

  A cold feeling settled in his gut. “My details?”

  “Not yet. We were going to play down the fight as a rumor since no one saw much of it, but now the guy’s put it up as a You Tube video, that isn’t an option anymore. Which means we’re gonna have to rethink you lying low there.”

  He cursed. Last night they’d decided he’d stay at Seacliffe for a couple of days. Just to keep everything on the down-low. Once the initial furor about the fight had dissipated, everyone would move on. Except not if the place where he was supposed to have absolute privacy was leaking his details to the media. “No shit. I guess I’ll have to go home instead.”

  “Nah, you should get right out. Leave the country. Go to the Caymans or something.”

  Ash leaned back against the headboard. He had a cracking headache, which didn’t do anything for his temper. “I can’t travel with this scar on my face and I don’t know what this new treatment’s going to involve. Plus running away looks like I’ve got something to hide and I don’t. So no, I’ll stick around Beverly Hills. Wait it out at home.” He paused. “Which reminds me. I’ll need one of the guest rooms prettied up for this nurse who’ll be administering the treatment.”

  There was a pause down the end of the line. “Uh-huh,” Sam said slowly. “You sure she’s going to need her own room?”

  Ash scowled. “That’s none of your damn business.”

  “Fine, fine. It’s just that you seemed pretty determined to have her in particular…”

  “Yeah, so?” He’d promised Lizzie that no one would find out who she was. Well, that started right now.

  “Nothing. I’m just saying.”

  “Well, don’t. She’s a nurse at the clinic and that’s it.”

  “The clinic currently leaking patient files all over the place.”

  “Enough, Sam,” Ash said brusquely, sick of the topic. “Tell me about the YouTube stuff.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m limiting the damage. Amy and I have already made statements about the fact you were only at the bar having a quiet drink. We’ll get the lawyers involved if we have to. Tom Christiansen’s not going to rethink that audition if we can help it. “

  Amy was his publicist and very good at her job. Just as well, since she had her work cut out for her with him.

  “Fine. Keep me posted on the situation. Oh, and I’ll need a car. It’s not like I can walk home from here.”

  “You sure you don’t want me to come get you?”

  “With all due respect, your BMW is a pile of crap. Plus it doesn’t have tinted windows.”

  “You should pay me more then,” his agent replied, completely unoffended. “By the way, there’s even more press outside the clinic this morning so you’ll be walking into a shitstorm if you go out the front way.”

  Ash swore under his breath. Situations where he had to give the media the slip were a pain in the ass. He preferred to be up-front and damn the press. But this audition was too important. And making a performance of coming out of a plastic surgery clinic with a massive scar on his face was only going to be asking for trouble.

  “Okay, cancel the car idea,” he said. “I’ll figure something else out.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. I’ll let you know if I need anything.”

  He didn’t bother with the niceties of saying good-bye, ending the call without another word. Being the one in control, the one who called the shots, was a perk of the job that never got old. Especially after his street-fighting years, where he had no control over his fights or his opponents. Even when he’d done stunt work, he’d been at other people’s beck and call, and now that he was the one in charge, he relished it.

  Hauling himself out of bed, he cast around for some clothing then realized he didn’t have any but the stuff he’d worn last night. Dammit. He was going to need a new T-shirt at least. Wasn’t like he wouldn’t call attention to himself sneaking out of the clinic with no shirt on.

  He went over to the nightstand and picked up the phone sitting there. Dialed 0 and briefly entertained the idea of ordering some “comfort services” just to see what would happen. In the end he was good, merely ordering some fresh clothing ASAP.

  “Oh, and one other thing,” he said to the woman on the other end of the phone.

  “Yes, Mr. Kincaid?”

  “I want Lizzie Kent to deliver them.”

  Okay, so maybe he wasn’t that good after all.

  …

  Lizzie sat in the clinic’s staff room, clutching her coffee in a death grip, trying to pay attention to the emergency staff meeting Helen was in the process of giving. News of the file leak had broken that morning and the clinic staff members were in shock because it was starting to look like an inside job.

  After the crappiest night’s sleep she could ever remember having, Lizzie had been called into Helen’s office that morning to go over what had happened the night before, detailing any irregularities she’d observed. She’d told them about the papers that had been left in a mess on the desk and they’d already determined that the leak had probably originated from the reception computer, though forensic computer specialists had been called in to confirm it, as had a security firm to upgrade computer security.

  Lizzie couldn’t blame Helen for taking this seriously, but given that her night had been plagued by thoughts of Ash, she was finding it a little hard to pay attention. Her brain kept wandering off down paths she didn’t want it to go down. Such as how hot and hard his body had felt when he’d pulled her against him last night in the cottage. How aware she’d been that the curve of her butt had been pressed firmly against the heat of his groin. And how…

  He blackmailed you. Not forgetting that.

  Lizzie gritted her teeth, took another swig of her double-shot latte, and tried to focus instead on what Helen was saying.

  Most of the management team was there, Colt Travers, the clinic’s other top doc, standing beside Helen, a serious expression on his handsome face. Laz looking smooth and perfectly put together, no worse for wear after his late night. And even Josh, Helen’s grandson, had put in an appearance, lounging on the other side of her, blond hair artfully styled, looking—as usual—as if he didn’t give a crap.

  Abruptly her cell phone in her uniform pocket vibrated. She took it out and looked down at the screen. Reception. Another patient demand, perhaps?

  Threading her way silently through the assembled staff, Lizzie slipped out and into the corridor, and made her way down to the reception desk.

  “Lizzie, this is for Mr. Kincaid in number twelve,” the young receptionist said and handed her a bag from some hugely expensive shop on Rodeo Drive. “He said he wanted you to deliver it personally.”

  Lizzie was very proud of the way she managed not to let slip the vile curse that sprang immediately into her brain. Or let loose the furious scowl that wanted to twist her face.

  She did not want to see him. Did not want to remember any part of the night before, especially not the blackmail part. Or the part where her heart had raced and heat had prickled over her skin the moment he’d touched her.

  But of course, she was a professional, so instead she smiled and took the bag. “Of course.”

  Only once she was away from the reception desk and striding toward the cottage did she indulge in some serious private cursing.

  She was tired and grimy after having to slee
p at the clinic overnight due to all the media camped out at the front gates, and in a foul temper. Her uniform was creased, her hair curlier than ever, and she’d had to take out the brown contacts because they made her sleep-deprived eyes feel scratchy. All in all not a great mood to be dealing with Ash’s demanding presence this morning. Best to drop off these clothes, then leave. No conversation. No nothing.

  Pausing outside the cottage, she gave the door a brisk knock and waited. A few seconds later it was pulled open and Ash stood in the doorway.

  Oh dear heaven…

  He wore nothing but a towel around his lean hips, tawny skin sheened with moisture in a way that seemed to highlight every cut muscle of his chest and stomach. He leaned a forearm against the doorway, the flex and release of those incredible muscles mesmerizing. She couldn’t seem to drag her eyes away.

  At twenty he’d been pretty incredible but eleven years later… God, he was to die for. Even his tattoo looked beautiful.

  Her mouth had gone completely dry, a low burn of heat in her gut.

  “Hey, sugar,” he said in that sexy, raspy voice of his. “I’m up here.”

  Lizzie jerked her gaze to his face, saw the glitter of amusement in his eyes. One corner of his mouth turned up. Damn. He’d totally caught her checking him out.

  She struggled not to blush. “Oh, for God’s sake. Did you practice that pose in the mirror? You’re not auditioning for an aftershave commercial, you know.”

  “What? You caught me as I was coming out of the shower.”

  “There are robes for your use on the back of—”

  “Seriously, do I look like a robe kind of guy to you? You’re lucky I bothered with the towel.”

  Hell. The direction this conversation was heading was not a direction she wanted to go. “I guess I should be grateful in that case.” She held up the bag. “Your clothes, as ordered.”

  “Excellent.” He pushed himself away from the doorframe. “Bring them in.”

  “I’m afraid I’m a little busy this morning. So if—”

  “I said, come in.” It was not a request. “I want that conversation you promised me.”

  “But I’ve got a lot of work to cover and—”