Hollywood Blackmail

by Jackie Ashenden

  Her chin lifted. “After what you’ve been doing to me the past couple of nights? Hardly.” Her hands rested on his hips. She’d gotten much less cautious about touching him and he liked the way she did it whenever he was near. As if she couldn’t keep her hands off him the way he couldn’t keep his hands off her. “But I know the real you, Ash, and it’s not what the rest of the world thinks you are.”

  “The real me? And what’s that?”

  The look in her eyes softened. “Protective. Kind. Caring.”

  He didn’t know why that made him so damn uncomfortable. “Hey, I’m a blackmailer, don’t forget. Kind isn’t the first word that springs to mind.”

  “No, true. But you’ve never hurt me. Everything you’ve done in the past week has all been for me.”

  “Purely my expert seduction technique.”

  The crease between her brows appeared again. “Why is it so hard to accept that you’re not that bad?”

  He couldn’t answer. He didn’t know. It just felt wrong for her to think he was better than he was. It made him want to live up to her expectations and God knew he couldn’t do that. He’d never been able to do that for anyone.

  Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe this whole week was a mistake…

  Ash turned away from her to the windows again, the look in her eyes making him feel suffocated all of a sudden. He focused on the glittering city beyond the glass.

  “Ash? What’s wrong?”

  This whole situation was not going the way he’d planned it. Oh, he had her in his bed and in his life but…he sure as hell didn’t want these feelings that came along with it.

  The ones that told him he couldn’t let her go again and he’d be making a huge mistake if he did.

  No, he’d had those feelings about her before and it had damn near cost him his heart. He wasn’t going to risk that again, not with anyone, least of all her. So there had to be some way of minimizing them. Making them not so important. Making her not so important.

  This house, this time together being totally alone, was a pressure cooker. A little bubble of closeness that was slowly suffocating him. Turning these feelings into something more than they were.

  You need to get out. Get some space.

  “Ash? Are you okay?”

  He tore his gaze from the LA skyline and met her gaze. Her reddish brows were creased into a look of concern, worry in her eyes.

  They were supposed to be here escaping the press, but according to Sam the fuss had died down, so maybe they could risk it.

  It was either that or he let himself be at the mercy of his own heart. And he couldn’t do that.

  Ash took her face between his hands, bent, and brushed her mouth over his. “Go get something warm to put on, sugar. We’re going out.”

  …

  Lizzie gazed dubiously at the piece of machinery Ash was fiddling with. “You want us to go out? On that?”

  “’That’s my Harley. And there’s nothing wrong with her.”

  Oh sure. Nothing wrong with hurtling through traffic surrounded by nothing but air. When there were a number of perfectly decent cars also in the garage they could be using. No, it was a mistake. In fact this whole “going out” idea was a mistake period. Wasn’t the whole idea of staying at his house so that they didn’t have to? So she could stay safe from the press?

  Ash bent over the bike, fiddling with something on the handlebar. He was in jeans and a T-shirt, with a cap pulled low on his head, aviator shades held in his free hand. This was supposed to be his disguise, which was ridiculous because how could he disguise his height? Or his muscular build? Or the intensity of his charisma? It was impossible, that was what. There was no way he’d pass for an ordinary Joe. No way in hell.

  “I don’t think this is a good idea,” she said for what was probably the millionth time. “We’re supposed to stay here, aren’t we? I mean, what about the press?”

  “What about them?” Ash straightened. “Sam’s dealt with the fight drama so that’s not a problem anymore. There’s usually some paps lurking down by the gate but I’ve organized another diversion, they won’t know.”

  “Of course they’ll know. You think a hat and some sunglasses makes you unrecognizable?”

  Ash only grinned at her. “Relax. I’ve gone incognito before. Usually when I have to see my family. But no one’s ever guessed who I am. It’s all about context. People only expect to see what they expect to see and if they don’t expect to see Ash Kincaid wandering around then they won’t see him. Besides, it’s just a ride on the bike, okay? We’re not going to stop.”

  Lizzie folded her arms. It all sounded perfectly logical and yet that didn’t help the feeling of deep unease that coiled inside her. Because what if someone did spot him? What would that mean for her?

  The trepidation must have shown on her face because he said softly, “Hey, it’ll be fine, I promise.”

  She let out a breath. “You can’t promise things like that.”

  “No, but I can promise I’ll do my best to make it not happen. And if it does, you know I’ll promise to keep you safe.”

  She shifted on her feet, irritated and uncomfortable. “I still don’t know why you think we need to go out anyway.”

  “I don’t know about you, but I’m going stir-crazy here and I think you must be, too. It’ll be good for us to go out.”

  “On that thing?” No, she didn’t like the idea, and his suggested mode of transport sucked.

  He only grinned. “I could take the Ferrari if you like. That’s way less noticeable.”

  Lizzie glanced at the bright-red machine currently sitting in the garage next to the Harley. “Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, you know.”

  Ash only laughed. “It’ll be fine. I’ll just be some dude on an old bike, taking his beautiful girlfriend out for a spin.” He laid a hand on the black leather of the seat in an affectionate gesture. “This girl has taken me for some good rides for a good many years. She’ll look after us.”

  “She? It’s just a bike, Ash.”

  “Don’t be mean to Betty.”

  “You seriously named your bike Betty?”

  He glanced down at the machine, a half smile curving his mouth. “I didn’t name her. The guy I bought her off did. Seemed like a good name, so I kept it.”

  “I would have thought a movie star didn’t need to buy secondhand bikes.”

  “I wasn’t a movie star when I bought her.” He flashed her a look. “She was the first thing I bought with my paycheck from that fight-scene double job. The second thing I ever had that was mine and mine only.”

  A peculiar feeling turned over in her chest. It was easy to forget where he came from. That when they’d met he had nothing but his security guard job and the money he earned from the street fights. Money that went straight back to his family. It had always made her feel self-conscious because whatever she might hate about her life with her mother, she’d had way more than he did. A room full of possessions that were all hers. Food whenever she wanted it. An allowance that enabled her to pretty much buy whatever she wanted. Things she’d never appreciated until she’d had to go out and earn a living like the rest of humanity.

  Lizzie glanced down at the bike. Even to her untutored eye she could see that although the bike was old, the chrome was shiny and the paintwork was fresh. The leather of the seat polished and clean. This bike had been looked after. Loved.

  Her heart gave an odd little skip. Ash was a movie star who made oodles of cash. Had a massive house in Beverly Hills with a garage full of hugely expensive boy toys. Yet she got the feeling that this bike—his very first ever—was the one he liked best of all.

  Tentatively she put a hand on the seat. It felt cool under her hand. “You said Betty was the second thing that was yours. What about the first?”

  Ash’s gaze held hers, a smile curving his mouth. “I always thought you were the first.”

  Lizzie swallowed. “I’m not a possession, Ash.”

  “No. But I alw
ays thought of you as mine.”

  Lizzie glanced away, back down to the bike, suddenly feeling breathless. When they made love he was possessive and dominant, taking her as if he was laying claim to her, and she got off on it in a major way, no denying it. She’d never had anyone claim her like Ash did and it touched some deep, fragile part of her she hadn’t realized was there.

  She’d never belonged anywhere. Never belonged to anyone. Her mother had taken an interest only when it suited the cameras and the one contact she’d had with her father, he’d told her he didn’t want anything to do with her. But not Ash.

  Don’t go thinking I’m a good boy.

  No, perhaps he wasn’t a good boy. But that didn’t matter. He’d always made her feel wanted. Made her feel like she belonged.

  “You okay?”

  “Sure.” The word sounded hoarse so she cleared her throat. “So? I suppose you have a helmet you want me to wear?”

  He stared at her a moment but, obviously deciding not to push it for some reason, he turned away and went over to a long workshop bench that ran along the side of the garage. Picked up the helmet that rested there, and came back over with it.

  “One helmet,” he said, handing it to her.

  It was sleek and black and felt heavy in her hands. Ready to protect her from all kinds of things. But it won’t protect you from him. She swallowed, trying to ignore the sudden burst of adrenaline that went through her at the thought. “Just for the record, I still think this is a stupid idea.”

  “Noted. Get on the back, Lizzie.”

  “Ash—”

  He lifted a brow. “Chicken?”

  “Oh God, we’re not going to get into dares again, are we?”

  “Of course not. If you’re too scared to go for a motorcycle ride then by all means, let’s stay at home.”

  Scared? Huh. With a decisive motion, Lizzie put the helmet on, then put her leg over the bike and gingerly got on, tucking her dress around her legs. This was stupid, she should have changed out of it, but he’d been insistent she wear it.

  Ash had the decency not to say a word, merely putting his own helmet on and getting on too.

  “Hold on to me,” he said.

  She eased forward, wrapping her arms around his waist, her thighs pressed against his. The hard warmth of him was so reassuring. Like a wall between her and the world. And for some reason the unease began to fade. How could she feel scared when she was with him?

  He paused for a moment, texting something on his phone. An instant later, a chime signaling an answer. “Okay,” he said. “We’re good to go.”

  “Where?” she asked, projecting her voice through muffling helmet.

  “Around.” Before she could ask, Ash opened the throttle and the roar of the bike’s engine filled the garage.

  Then they were off and she was clutching on to him for dear life as they sped down the driveway.

  The street outside was deserted—whatever diversion Ash had organized, it had worked. Her heart raced as they joined the stream of traffic, the wind pulling at her dress, and she pressed herself more securely against him, for warmth and for that feeling of safety. He was hard and hot between her thighs, his body powerful as he maneuvered the big bike through the traffic. The wind clawed at her as he sped up and her heart climbed up in her throat. Houses moved by fast, people a blur. The warmth of the sun on her back.

  She took a deep breath as the blood pumped hard in her veins and she realized she was grinning madly behind her helmet visor, exhilaration coursing through her.

  God, he was right. It was good to get out. Go somewhere. Feel free.

  A laugh caught in her throat. Here she was, cool, calm, and practical Nurse Kent, riding on a motorbike in a dress with the crazy-hot movie star she was currently sleeping with.

  Insanity. And she was loving every second of it.

  Chapter Ten

  He couldn’t have said what drew him back to Santa Monica. He hadn’t meant to stop, only to keep on riding until the wind and the noise of the traffic and the sun had cleared away the strange feelings that had suffocated him back in his house.

  It was probably a dumb idea since the beach was crowded, but a crowd tended to be its own protection. The less people around, the more he stood out, yet in a crowd, if he stooped his posture and moved a bit more hesitantly, he could blend in better. Because when it came down to it, people just weren’t that observant.

  He found a parking spot for the bike and got off, helping Lizzie off, too. Already he was missing the warmth of her at his back, the feel of her arms locked around his waist. It had made for an uncomfortable ride since his body had responded to her in its usual way, but hell, a hard-on was a small price to pay in return for having her pressed up against him.

  “How was that?” he asked as she pulled her helmet up. “You didn’t even fall off, not once.”

  Her face had gone pink, the clear gray of her eyes shining. She grinned. “I know. How does that work?”

  “Betty must approve of you.”

  Lizzie put a hand down on Betty’s shiny red paintwork and gave her a stroke. “That’s a relief.” She looked up at him, her mouth curving in a way that tugged at something inside him. “The beach? Are you sure it’s a good idea?”

  No, he wasn’t. But the more he’d thought about it, the more he’d known he had to come here with her. The scene of their first date.

  That day he’d secreted away a little bit of money from a fight he’d had the night before, blatantly lying to his father about it so the old man wouldn’t take every last dime. It had been important to be able to pay for the date himself because even though she had more money than he’d ever be able to dream of, he wanted it to be a proper date. Where he paid.

  It had been a magical day. A special day. And part of him hoped that if he took her here, re-created that day, it wouldn’t be either as magical or special as it had been in his mind. Perhaps she wouldn’t be as magical or as special, and neither would his feelings.

  “Come on.” He reached for her hand. “Let’s go explore.”

  So they did, wandering through the crowds toward the pier hand in hand, stopping every now and then to watch street performers and the other people in the crowd. On the pier, they checked out the shops and the carnival rides. Lizzie tsked at how expensive they all were but when it came to the old carousel, her eyes shone and he knew she was remembering how he’d paid for her to ride it on that date.

  “Go on,” he murmured as they watched a bunch of kids pick their horses. “Safer than Betty.”

  She laughed but shook her head. “You know what? After Betty, it’s a bit tame. Come on, let’s keep exploring.” She took his hand, tugging him back into the crowds.

  Tension ratcheted up inside him. It was too good feeling her fingers in his. Too good walking in the crowds with her, the sun turning her hair into a red glory, the smile on her face even brighter.

  She was so beautiful it made his chest hurt.

  They stopped for ice cream because she insisted, then made their way down onto the sand, wandering along the beach watching the people, families having fun, teenagers lounging, girls in their bikinis flirting with guys in surf shorts and carrying boards.

  This was what they had done eleven years ago, walked down the beach hand in hand, eating ice cream. He’d thought that day couldn’t have gotten more perfect and…shit, it didn’t feel any less perfect now. Which was so not what he wanted to be feeling.

  So he stopped walking, found a spot that wasn’t too crowded, pulled her down onto the warm sand, settling her between his thighs, her body relaxing back against his.

  It wasn’t any better. It made him feel like he could sit here with her forever.

  “Hmmm,” Lizzie said, wiggling a little. “Is that a book in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?”

  “Stop that. Unless you want to give that family over there one hell of a surprise.”

  She laughed. “No, seriously. There’s something hard in yo
ur pocket that’s digging into me.”

  “Which particular hard thing? There are two.”

  “Idiot.”

  He shifted and patted the pocket of his leather jacket. There was something in it. Putting a hand inside, he drew out a book. Her book. He’d forgotten he put it back there.

  “Ah,” she said. “I knew it was a book.” She reached for it, whipping it out of his hand before he had a chance to move.

  Dammit. Now she’d know he’d basically stolen it from her bookshelf.

  “Lizzie,” he began.

  “This is mine,” she interrupted softly. “Wuthering Heights.” She twisted around to look at him. “What are you doing with my book?”

  Feeling oddly exposed, Ash said, “Okay, I confess. I took it from your bookcase.”

  “Why?”

  “Open it up.”

  She frowned but turned back to the book again, opening it up and riffling through the pages. Until she got to the photo in the middle of it. She went still, staring at it. At him eleven years ago. On this same stretch of beach. Smiling.

  Goddammit. This was a mistake.

  “Oh,” she murmured.

  “You didn’t have any other pictures in your apartment,” he said. “Except that one of me. I don’t know why I took it. I think because I wanted to ask you why you kept that photo.”

  She didn’t say anything for a long moment, her head bent, looking at the picture. Then she said quietly, “I kept it because there were some things about that life I didn’t want to forget. You were one of them.”

  He looked over her shoulder at the photo she held in her hands. Of a young man smiling into the camera. “What were the other things?”

  She hesitated. “Actually there were no other things. Just you.”

  His chest ached. “Why? I thought you wanted to put everything about that life behind you?”