The Talk of Hollywood

by Carole Mortimer

  ‘Perhaps we should.’ He chuckled wryly.

  Stazy’s eyes widened as she saw that a cleft had appeared in Jaxon’s left cheek as he smiled, and those grey eyes were no longer cold but the warm colour of liquid mercury, his teeth very white and even against his lightly tanned skin.

  Stazy had spent the past eleven years acquiring her degree, her doctorate, and lecturing—as well as attending as many archaeological digs around the world as she could during the holidays. Leaving very little time for such frivolities as attending the cinema. Even so, she had seen several of Jaxon Wilder’s films, and was able to appreciate that the man in the flesh was very much more … immediate than even his sexy screen image portrayed. Mesmerisingly so.

  Just as she was aware of the heat of his body as he sat beside her on the swing seat—of the way his lightly spicy aftershave intermingled with the more potent and earthy smell of a virile male in his prime.

  That was something of an admission from a woman who over the years had eschewed even the suggestion of a personal relationship in favour of concentrating on her career. And now certainly wasn’t the time for Stazy to belatedly develop a crush on a film star!

  Even one as suavely handsome as Jaxon Wilder.

  Especially one as suavely handsome as Jaxon Wilder! What could a London university lecturer in archaeology and an award-winning Hollywood actor/director possibly have in common? Nothing, came the clear answer!

  Was she disappointed at that realisation? No, of course she wasn’t! Was she …?

  Stazy got abruptly to her feet. ‘Shall we continue with our walk?’ She set out determinedly towards the fishpond, without so much as waiting to see if he followed her.

  Jaxon slowly stood to stroll along behind Stazy, not quite sure what had happened to make her take off so abruptly, only knowing that something had. He also knew, after years of spending time with women who were totally fixated on both their career and their appearance—and not necessarily in that order!—that Stazy Bromley was so much more complex than that. An enigma. One that was starting to interest him in spite of himself, Jaxon acknowledged ruefully as he realised he was watching the way her perfectly rounded bottom moved sensuously beneath her black fitted dress as she walked.

  Even Stazy’s defence of her grandparents, although an irritation to him, and casting aspersions upon his own character as it undoubtedly did, was still a trait to be admired. Most of the women Jaxon was acquainted with would sell their soul to the devil—let alone their grandparents’ reputations!—if it meant they could attract even a little publicity for themselves by doing so!

  Stazy Bromley obviously did the opposite. Even that inaccurate biography had only fleetingly mentioned that Anastasia had had one child and one grandchild, and any attempt to talk to Stazy after the publication of that book had been met with the response that ‘Dr Stazy Bromley does not give personal interviews’.

  ‘So,’ Jaxon began as he joined her beside a pond full of large golden-coloured fish, ‘what do you think of your grandfather’s idea that the two of us meet here in the summer and research your grandmother’s personal papers together …?’

  She gave a humourless smile as she continued to watch the fish lazing beneath the water in the warmth of the early-evening sunshine. ‘If I didn’t know better I would say it was the onset of senility!’

  Jaxon chuckled appreciatively. ‘But as we both do know better …?’

  She gave a shrug. ‘You really can’t be persuaded into dropping the film idea altogether?’

  He drew in a sharp breath. ‘Stazy, even if I said yes I know for a fact that there are at least two other directors with an interest in making their own version of what happened.’

  Stazy turned to look at him searchingly, knowing by the openness of his expression as he returned her gaze that he was telling her the truth. ‘Directors who may not have your integrity?’ she questioned flatly.

  ‘Probably not.’ He grimaced.

  ‘So, what you’re saying is it’s a question of going with the devil we know, or allowing some other film director to totally blacken my grandmother’s name and reputation?’ Stazy guessed heavily.

  Jaxon nodded abruptly. ‘That about sums it up, yes.’

  Damned if they did—double damned it they didn’t. ‘You do realise that if I agree to do this I would be doing so under protest?’

  His mouth twisted derisively. ‘Oh, I believe you’ve made your feelings on that particular subject more than clear, Stazy,’ he assured her dryly.

  She shot him an irritated glance before once again turning to walk away, this time in the direction of the horses grazing in a corner of the meadow that adjoined the garden. One of those horses, a beautiful chestnut stallion, ambled over to stretch its neck across the fence, so that Stazy could stroke absently down the long length of his nose as she continued to consider the options available to her.

  There really weren’t any.

  She either agreed to help Jaxon Wilder in his research or she refused, and then he’d go ahead and make the film without any input from her grandfather or Anastasia’s private papers.

  Her uncharacteristic physical awareness of this man was not only unacceptable but also baffling to Stazy, and even now, standing just feet away from him as she continued to stroke Copper’s nose, she was totally aware of Jaxon’s disturbing presence. Too much for her not to know that spending a week in his company was simply asking for trouble.

  It was all too easy for Jaxon to see the riot of emotions that flashed across Stazy Bromley’s expressive face as she considered what to do about this situation: impatience, frustration, anger, dismay—

  Dismay …?

  Jaxon raised dark brows as he wondered what that was all about. Obviously Stazy would rather this situation didn’t exist at all, but she didn’t appear to be the type of woman who would allow anything to get the better of her. And exactly why was he even bothering to wonder what type of woman Stazy Bromley was? Jaxon questioned self-derisively.

  Her physical resemblance to her grandmother had aroused his interest initially, but this last hour or so of being insulted by her—both for who and what he was—had surely nullified that initial spark of appreciation?

  Jaxon studied Stazy from beneath lowered lids. That wonderful hair gleamed fiery-gold in the sunlight, her eyes were a sultry and luminescent green, and there was a slight flush to her cheeks from walking in the sunshine. Her full and sensuous lips curved into an affectionate smile as the stallion nudged against her shoulder for attention.

  He drew in a deep breath. ‘It must have been a difficult time for you after your parents died—’

  ‘I would rather not discuss my own private life with you, if you don’t mind,’ she said stiffly.

  ‘I was only going to say that this must have been a wonderful place to spend your teenage years,’ Jaxon murmured as he turned to lean his elbows on the fence and look across at the mellow-stoned house.

  ‘It was—yes,’ Stazy confirmed huskily. She looked up at him curiously. ‘Whereabouts in England are you from?’

  ‘Cambridgeshire.’

  ‘And do you still go home?’ she prompted curiously.

  ‘Whenever I can.’ Jaxon nodded. ‘Which probably isn’t as often as my family would like. My parents and younger brother still live in the small village where I grew up. But it’s nowhere near as nice as this.’

  It really was idyllic here, Jaxon appreciated, with horses gently grazing behind them, birds singing in the trees in the beautiful wooded area surrounding Bromley House and the coastline edging onto the grounds. The slightly salty smell of the sea was just discernible as waves gently rose and fell on the distant sand.

  ‘I had forgotten that places like this existed,’ he added almost wistfully.

  ‘Nothing like it in LA, hmm?’ Stazy mocked as she turned to look at him.

  He shot her a rueful smile. ‘Not exactly, no.’ The place he had bought on the coast in Malibu several years ago was too huge and modern to feel i
n the least homely. ‘Although I do own a place in New England—very rustic and in the woods—where I go whenever I get the chance.’ Which, he realised, hadn’t been all that often during recent years.

  He had been busy filming and then editing his last film most of the previous year, then caught up in attending the premieres and numerous awards ceremonies since—including those that Stazy had mocked earlier! All of that had left him little time in which to sit back and smell the roses. Here at Bromley House it was possible to do that. Literally.

  But the serpent in this particular Eden appeared to be the tangible antagonism of the beautiful and strangely alluring woman standing beside him.

  Jaxon breathed deeply. ‘For your grandfather’s sake, couldn’t we at least try to—?’ He broke off as Stazy gave a derisive laugh. ‘What?’ he prompted irritably.

  ‘My grandfather has taught me never to trust any statement that begins with “for whoever or whatever’s sake”!’ she revealed. ‘He assures me it’s usually a prefix to someone imposing their will by the use of emotional blackmail!’

  Jaxon gave a rueful shake of his head. ‘I would have thought you were old enough to make up your own mind about another person’s intentions!’

  Stazy felt the sting of colour in her cheeks at this obvious challenge. ‘Oh, I am, Jaxon,’ she assured him derisively.

  He arched dark brows. ‘And you decided I was going to be trouble before you even met me?’ he guessed easily.

  ‘Yes.’ A belief that had been more than borne out these past few minutes as Stazy had become more physically aware of this magnetically handsome man in a way she wasn’t in the least comfortable with! ‘Shall we go back to the house?’ It was a rhetorical and terse suggestion on Stazy’s part, and she gave Copper one last affectionate stroke on his velvet-soft nose before walking away.

  Jaxon fell into step beside her seconds later. ‘And is that your final word on the subject?’

  Stazy eyed him derisively. ‘Don’t be misled by my grandfather’s social graciousness or his age, Jaxon. If you do come here to stay for a week to do your research then I believe you will very quickly learn that he always has the last word on any subject!’

  Jaxon Wilder wouldn’t be here at all if Stazy had her way!

  A fact he was well aware of if his rueful smile was any indication. He shrugged those impossibly wide shoulders. ‘Then I guess the outcome of all this is completely in your grandfather’s hands.’

  ‘Yes,’ she acknowledged heavily, knowing her grandfather had left her in no doubt earlier as to what he had already decided.

  Geoffrey was his usual charming self when he returned downstairs a short time later, obviously refreshed and alert from his nap. He took charge of the conversation as they all ate what on the surface appeared to be a leisurely dinner together.

  Beneath that veneer of politeness it was a different matter, of course: Stazy still viewed Jaxon Wilder with suspicion; and on his part she was sure there was amusement, at her expense, glittering in those mercurial grey eyes every time he so much as glanced her in her direction!

  By the time they reached the coffee stage of the meal Stazy could cheerfully have screamed at the underlying tension in the air that surrounded them.

  ‘So.’ Her grandfather finally sat back in his chair at the head of the table. ‘Did the two of you manage to come to any sort of compromise in my absence?’

  Jaxon gave a derisive smile as he saw the way Stazy’s mouth had thinned into stubbornness. ‘I believe my conclusion is that all the talking in the world between the two of us won’t make the slightest bit of difference when you are the one to have the final say in the matter!’

  ‘Indeed?’ the older man drawled. ‘Is that what you believe, too, Stazy?’

  She shrugged slender shoulders. ‘You know that I will go along with whatever you decide, Gramps.’

  ‘I would rather have your co-operation, darling,’ Geoffrey prompted gently.

  Jaxon watched Stazy from beneath lowered lids as he took a sip of his brandy, knowing her initial antagonism towards him hadn’t lessened at all over the hours. That if anything Stazy seemed even more wary of him now than she had been earlier—to the point where she had avoided even looking at him for the past half an hour or so, let alone making conversation with him.

  Could that possibly be because she was as physically aware of him as Jaxon was of her …?

  Doubtful!

  She grimaced before answering her grandfather. ‘Mr Wilder has very kindly pointed out to me that he isn’t the only film director interested in making a film about Granny.’ The coldness of Stazy’s tone implied she considered Jaxon anything but kind.

  ‘So I believe, yes.’ Geoffrey nodded.

  Stazy’s eyes widened. ‘You knew that?’

  ‘Of course I knew, darling,’ her grandfather dismissed briskly. ‘I may not be in the thick of things nowadays, but I still make it my business to know of anything of concern to my family or myself.’

  Jaxon frowned. ‘In my defence, I would like you to know that I have every intention of giving a fair and truthful version of the events of seventy years ago.’

  ‘You wouldn’t be here at all if I wasn’t already well aware of that fact, Jaxon.’ Steely-blue eyes met his unblinkingly. ‘If I had believed you were anything less than a man of integrity I would never have spoken to you on the telephone, let alone invited you into my home.’

  His respect and liking for the older man deepened. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Oh, don’t thank me too soon.’ Sir Geoffrey smiled. ‘I assure you, you’ve yet to convince my granddaughter!’ he drawled, with an affectionate glance at Stazy’s less than encouraging expression.

  Jaxon grimaced. ‘Perhaps the situation might change once we’ve worked together …?’

  ‘Stazy …?’ Geoffrey said softly.

  Stazy was totally aware of being the focus of both men’s gazes as they waited for her to answer—her grandfather’s encouraging, Jaxon Wilder’s much more guarded as he watched her through narrowed lids.

  But what choice did she have, really …?

  Her own feelings aside, her grandfather might have said he would have to accept Jaxon’s film and ‘be damned’, but Stazy wasn’t fooled for a moment. She knew of her grandfather’s deep and abiding love for her grandmother, and of how much it would hurt him—perhaps fatally—if the film about Anastasia were to be in any way defamatory. And the only way to guarantee that didn’t happen was if she agreed to work with Jaxon Wilder.

  ‘Okay,’ Stazy agreed heavily. ‘I can give you precisely one week of my time at the beginning of my summer break.’ She glared across at Jaxon as she recognised

  the triumphant gleam that had flared in his gaze at her capitulation. ‘But only on the condition.’

  ‘Another condition?’ Jaxon grimaced.

  She nodded. ‘My grandfather has to give his full approval of the screenplay once it’s been written,’ she added firmly.

  Working here with the prickly Stazy Bromley for a week was far from ideal as far as Jaxon was concerned. But not impossible when he considered the alternative …

  ‘Fine.’ He nodded abrupt agreement.

  The tension visibly left Sir Geoffrey’s shoulders, and Stazy saw this as evidence that he hadn’t been as relaxed about this situation as he wished to appear. ‘In that case, shall we expect to see you back here the first week of July, Jaxon?’

  ‘Yes.’ Even if that would involve reshuffling his schedule in order to fit in with Stazy Bromley’s.

  She still looked far from happy about the arrangement.

  Her next comment only confirmed it. ‘A word of warning, though, Jaxon—if anything happens to my grandfather because of this film then I am going to hold you totally responsible!’

  Great.

  Just great!

  CHAPTER THREE

  ‘WHAT’S with all the extra security at the front gates?’

  Much as six weeks previously, Stazy had been prowling restlessl
y up and down in the drawing room of Bromley House as she waited for Jaxon Wilder. Her stomach had tightened into knots when she’d finally seen their visitor had arrived. Not in the expensive black sports car she had been expecting, but on a powerful black and chrome motorbike instead.

  Convinced Jaxon Wilder couldn’t possibly be the person riding that purring black machine, and confused as to why the guards had let a biker through the front gates at all, Stazy had continued to frown out of the window as the rider had brought the bike to a halt outside the drawing room window, before swinging off the seat and straightening to his full, impressive height.

  The man was completely dressed in black—black helmet with smoky-black visor, black leathers that fitted snugly to muscled shoulders and back, narrowed waist and taut backside, and long, powerful legs. Black leather gloves. And heavy black biker boots.

  He—it was definitely a he, with that height and those wide and muscled shoulders—had had his back turned towards her as he’d removed his gloves, before unfastening and removing the helmet and shaking back his almost shoulder-length dark hair as he placed the helmet on top of the black leather seat.

  Stazy had felt the colour drain from her cheeks as the rider had turned and she had instantly recognised him. Jaxon Wilder. Almost instantly he had looked straight up into the window where she stood staring down at him, leaving her in absolutely no doubt as to his knowing he was being watched.

  Staring?

  Gaping at him was probably a more apt description!

  All her defences had gone—crumbled—with the disappearance of the sophisticated man she had met six weeks ago, wearing a discreetly tailored suit, silk shirt and tie, with his dark hair slightly long but nevertheless neatly styled. In his place was a rugged and dangerous-looking man who looked as if he would be completely at home at a Hell’s Angels reunion!

  Stazy had left all the details of Jaxon’s visit to her grandfather, knowing from conversations with Geoffrey that the two men had been in contact by telephone on several occasions during the last six weeks, and that the date for Jaxon to arrive at Bromley House had been fixed for today—the day after Stazy had driven herself down from London.