Книга - Hollywood Husband, Contract Wife

Hollywood Husband, Contract Wife
Jane Porter


Leading man Wolf Kerrick is always in the headlines. This time the sexy Spanish superstar has taken Alexandra, an unknown, ordinary girl, and turned her into an instant celebrity, then into his Hollywood bride!But all the glitz and glamour of their lavish wedding is tarnished by a dirty secret – and if the tabloids find out, there'll be shock waves throughout the world…









Hollywood Husband, Contract Wife

Jane Porter








With love for my sister, Kathy Porter.




CONTENTS


PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN




PROLOGUE


THE WEDDING WAS NOT supposed to happen.

This was a charade, a job she’d been hired to do. But the charade was supposed to have ended long before they ever went to the altar.

Long, Alexandra Shanahan silently repeated, clenching her bouquet of lilies, blue hydrangeas, white orchids and violet freesias tighter between stiff clammy hands.

This was all such a horrible mistake she couldn’t even concentrate on the minister’s words.

My God, she didn’t even like Wolf Kerrick. Even four weeks of being squired around Hollywood as his newest love interest hadn’t endeared the man to her.

In fact, four weeks of playing his girlfriend had only made her dislike him more. He was horrible in every sense of the word.

He was too rich, too successful, too powerful. He was too much of everything, and that alone made her uncomfortable, but the fact that he didn’t respect women infuriated her. He treated women like playthings, taking what he wanted, when he wanted, and discarding without remorse when inexplicably bored.

And now she was his wife.

Alexandra swallowed, stunned, silenced, undone.

She, who could handle anything, she who never wavered in the face of danger, she who took risks and loved challenge, welcoming adversity with open arms, was now married to the world’s most famous film star.

Spots danced before Alexandra’s eyes and she gulped in air, trying to clear the fog from her head. If she didn’t know herself better, she’d think she was going to faint.

She couldn’t faint.

It was too much of a photo opportunity.

She must have inhaled too sharply, because suddenly Wolf’s hand was at her elbow.

“You better not faint,” he growled in his rough accented English, a sexy combination of Irish and Spanish vowels that left women weak at the knees. But that was Wolf’s magic.

He was the quintessential bad boy, times a thousand, and everybody’s celluloid dream.

Six feet three and impossibly broad through the shoulder while lean in the hip. He looked as good naked in love scenes as he did in a tuxedo shooting the latest James Bond thriller.

Alex’s jaw jutted and she tugged her arm from Wolf’s touch. “I won’t,” she whispered defiantly, even though she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t faint. Truth be known, she was scared, scared in a way she hadn’t been since first moving to Los Angeles four years ago.

It’d been a long four years, too.

Four years of struggle, attempting to crawl up the ladder of Hollywood fame. And now she was here. Sort of.

Wolf’s grip on her arm tightened. “Then smile. You look as though you’re dying.”

“If only I were so lucky.” Then she forced another tight smile just in case any of the guests could see her face. This was her wedding, after all.

“I’m your dream man. Remember?”

Those had been her words, too, her exact words, but they’d been uttered in a moment of panic, at the height of a crisis. She would have never claimed him otherwise.

Alex’s stomach rose, threatening to embarrass her right then and there. Oh, God. What had she done?

Biting her lower lip, Alexandra battled the second wave of nausea even as the Santa Barbara breeze lifted her veil, sending the lace and her long, artfully styled curls blowing around her face. Married to Wolf Kerrick. Mrs. Wolf Kerrick.

Alexandra Kerrick.

Her eyes squeezed closed, her hand shook where it rested on Wolf’s arm.

Why had she thought she could play his girlfriend?

How could she have ever thought she’d be able to manage him?

And why had she come to Hollywood in the first place?




CHAPTER ONE


Beverly Hills, California

Five weeks earlier…

ALEXANDRA SHANAHAN had thought being invited to lunch with Hollywood’s most powerful actor was too good to be true.

She was right.

“You want me to what?” Alexandra Shanahan asked incredulously, staring at Wolf Kerrick as though he’d lost his mind.

“Play my new love interest,” he repeated, his deep voice nearly flat.

Wolf Kerrick’s love interest. How ludicrous. Beyond ludicrous.

Wolf Kerrick…and her? Alexandra would have laughed if her stomach wasn’t doing wild cartwheels.

Everything, she thought woozily, about the lunch was wrong. The impossible-to-secure reservations at the famous Beverly Hills Hotel’s terrace restaurant. The bright blue sky overhead. The dizzying fragrance of the terrace garden’s roses and gardenias.

When she’d first sat down at the table, she’d introduced herself—silly, but since they’d never officially met, it’d seemed like the right thing to do.

Wolf had repeated her name thoughtfully. “Shanahan. Sounds familiar.”

“There’s a famous football coach by the same name,” she’d answered nervously, trying to ignore the excited whispers of the other restaurant patrons. Everyone had been watching them. Or at least watching Wolf. But then, he was a megastar and sinfully good-looking, so she couldn’t really blame them.

“Maybe that’s it,” he’d answered, leaning back in his chair. “Or maybe it’s familiar because it’s Irish.”

She’d managed a tight smile before dropping her gaze, already overwhelmed by his formidable size and presence.

Wolf Kerrick was bigger, broader, stronger, more male than nearly any other actor in the business. There was no mistaking him for any other actor, either, not with his Spanish-Irish black hair, dark eyes and sinful, sensual mouth.

“Daniel said you had a job offer for me,” she’d said nervously, jumping straight to the point. There was no reason to stall. She’d never be able to eat in his company, so ordering lunch was out of the question. Best just get the whole interview over and done with.

“I do.”

She’d nodded to fill the silence. She’d hoped he’d maybe elaborate, but he hadn’t. Her cheeks had scalded. Her face had felt so hot even her ears had burned. “Daniel said he thought I’d be perfect for the job.”

Wolf’s dark head had tipped, his black lashes dropping as he’d considered her. After an endless silence he’d nodded once. “You are.”

She wasn’t sure if she should be flattered or terrified. He seemed so much friendlier on the big screen, more approachable in film than he was here in flesh. Right now he was anything but mortal, human. Instead he was like a dark warrior, an avenger with a secret—and dangerous—agenda.

“I’m looking to fill a position,” he said flatly.

“Yes,” she echoed, hands knotting together in her lap.

“The role of my new love interest.”

She nearly tumbled from her chair. “What?”

She stared at him so hard his face blurred.

“It’s a publicity stunt,” Wolf said in the same flat, almost bored tone. “The position would last approximately four to six weeks. Of course, you’d be well compensated.”

Shocked, mortified, Alexandra felt as though she’d burst into flames any moment. “But I—I…couldn’t,” she sputtered, reaching for her water glass even as a rivulet of perspiration slid down inside her gray linen jacket. She was broiling here on the terrace. She’d dressed far too warmly for lunch outside, and with the bright California sun beating down on her head she thought she’d melt any moment. “I don’t date—” she broke off, swallowed convulsively “—actors.”

Wolf’s jaw shifted. A trace of amusement touched his features. “You don’t have to. You just have to pretend to date me.”

Him. Wolf Kerrick. International film star. Spanish-Irish heartthrob. Alexandra gulped more water. She was so hot she could barely think clearly. If only she’d dressed more appropriately. If only she’d thought to bring someone to the meeting with her. Her boss, Daniel deVoors, one of the industry’s top directors, had sent her here today, telling her Wolf Kerrick had a proposition for her. She’d thought maybe Mr. Kerrick needed a personal assistant. It hadn’t crossed her mind he’d be interviewing for a lover.

“Why?” she whispered.

“You’re young, wholesome, ordinary, someone the public could relate to.”

Young, wholesome and ordinary, Alexandra silently repeated, feeling her heart jump to lodge firmly in her throat. He didn’t find her attractive even though she’d made such efforts today. Alexandra rarely wore makeup, but today she’d used a little mascara and a touch of lipstick, and obviously it’d made no difference. She was still wholesome and ordinary. She took a deep breath, suppressed the sting of his words. “But I still don’t understand….”

“It’s a PR move aimed at damage control.” Wolf shifted in his seat so that his powerful body seemed to dwarf the table and the terrace and the day itself.

Alexandra’s brows furrowed. She was finding it increasingly difficult to keep focused on what he was saying, disappointment washing through her in gigantic waves. She’d been so thrilled to meet Wolf Kerrick, to have this chance to interview with him. Last night she’d barely slept. Today she’d woken extra early and showered and dressed with such care….

But now…now she just felt hurt. Disappointed.

There was no job, just this ridiculous proposal.

Her temper stirred and she sat taller. “Damage control?” she repeated, trying to keep up with him. “Why would you need damage control…?” Her voice faded as it hit her, in one lucid swoop. Joy Hughes.

This was about Wolf’s affair with Joy Hughes.

And looking across the table, it all came together. Mr. Kerrick didn’t want to hire a love interest. He didn’t want to be meeting her or sitting here in public having this conversation. He was doing this—speaking to her, asking her to play a part—to help repair his damaged reputation, and she knew who and what had damaged his reputation. His year-long affair with the very married film actress, Joy Hughes.

“Does this have to do with your…affair?” she asked awkwardly, torn between anger and shame that Daniel deVoors would even suggest her to Mr. Kerrick as a possible love interest.

Wolf Kerrick’s lips suddenly pulled back in an almost wolflike snarl. “There was no affair.”

Alexandra’s heart jumped, but she didn’t cower. “If there was no affair,” she said huskily, fingers balling into fists, “you wouldn’t need me, would you?”

Wolf leaned forward, dark eyes flashing, jaw jutting with anger. “There was no affair.”

His dark eyes held hers, fierce, penetrating, and the stillness following his words was as dangerous as his tone of voice.

She felt the blister of his anger, as well as his underlying scorn. Yet she was angry, too. He must think she was stupid or naive to take everything he said at face value. And she might be naive, but she wasn’t stupid. Alexandra met his gaze squarely. “Everyone knows you and Joy have been involved for the last year.”

Wolf and Joy Hughes were both megastars. Bigger than film stars, larger than life, they personified Hollywood power and glamour. So much so that when they’d secretly linked up earlier in the year, their affair—Joy was still married to another Hollywood heavyweight—made headline news and had remained there for nearly six months.

Even now she remembered how their photos had been on every cover of every weekly tabloid—for months. “It’s not exactly a secret,” she added.

The planes of Wolf’s face hardened, his high cheekbones growing more prominent. “The media fabricated the relationship. I thought the interest would die. I told Joy as much. It didn’t.”

He paused, considered his words. “The public’s fickle. Today they’re enthralled by rumors and gossip, tomorrow they’re appalled. But the stories have gotten out of hand. The bad press will soon influence the box-office takings. I can’t take that chance, not when it’ll hurt every single person who works on my films.”

He was right about that much, she agreed, biting her lower lip. She’d been in Hollywood four years, had worked for Paradise Pictures for nearly three and knew that a low-grossing film impacted everyone. A low-grossing film left an ugly black mark on everyone’s résumé.

Rubbing at a tiny knot of tension throbbing in her temple, she tried to see her part in this. “But to generate new press by pretending to have a relationship with me? It’s such an old Hollywood trick. I didn’t think it was done anymore.”

His long black lashes lifted and his dark gaze searched hers, his scrutiny so intense it left her feeling strangely exposed. “The studio wants proof that Joy and I aren’t an item. Being seen with you would be the proof they need.”

“Just by being seen with me?”

“That’s how the tabloids work. They snap their photos, run their stories and publicly speculate about celebrities’ happiness and future, often without interviewing one reliable source.” His tone was rueful, his expression mocking. “After one week of being together in public, we’ll be an item.”

“That’s all it takes?”

“Sometimes only one photo is necessary.” His mouth slanted. “But I should warn you, the pressure will be intense. The paparazzi are everywhere, photographers camp outside my door. Once reporters learn your name, they’ll hunt down information on you—where you work, what you do, who you’ve dated—” He broke off, looked at her from beneath arched brows. “Do you have any scandals in your past, anything the press can dredge up?”

Stunned to silence, she shook her head.

“Old boyfriends with an axe to grind?” he persisted.

Again she shook her head. She’d hardly ever dated. Growing up on an isolated ranch, there hadn’t been many chances to date, and moving to Los Angeles at nineteen had nipped her desire to date in the bud. The men she’d met in Los Angeles were often shallow, materialistic and crass, nothing like the men she’d been raised with, none revealing any of the male qualities she admired, like strength, courage, confidence, generosity.

Men in Los Angeles loved cars, tans and expensive restaurants. Oh, and women with fake breasts.

“There’s nothing in my past worthy of tabloid interest,” she said, briefly thinking of her mom who’d died when she was young and her oldest brother’s wife who’d been killed in a car accident. But those weren’t the kinds of things the gossip magazines would be interested in. Those were the personal heartbreaks that lay buried between the covers of photo albums, baby books and high school graduation diplomas.

But those personal heartbreaks were also one of the reasons she’d left Montana. Having grown up in the shadow of five older brothers, Alexandra needed space. Independence. She needed to be her own person and have control over her life.

Playing Wolf Kerrick’s new love interest would strip her identity as well as her control.

She’d be followed, photographed, harassed.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” Wolf said quietly, as if able to read her mind, or the emotions flickering over her face. “I’ve met with Daniel and your studio. They’re willing to offer you a significant promotion if you take the position. And when the assignment ends, you’ll be offered an A.D. position with Daniel.”

“Assistant director?” she repeated under her breath, dazed by the idea of really being involved in making pictures and not just taking coffee orders.

“Yes.”

For the first time since Wolf had presented her with the proposal, she was tempted to accept, she really was. To escape from photocopy hell and actually do something on a film…to leave the office behind and go on location…to be involved with real decision making versus how much liquid sugar was needed to properly sweeten the lighting technician’s double-shot iced coffee…

But looking at Wolf, she knew her decision wasn’t quite so simple. Wolf was a man. An actor. A very popular actor as famous for his skills in the bedroom as his talent on-screen.

And maybe Wolf was notorious for bedding lots of women, but she couldn’t do that—wouldn’t do that. It’s not who she was.

But what if Wolf expected that?

She shot an uncertain glance up into his face. “Mr. Kerrick, I think you should know right now, up front, that I don’t do the casting-couch routine.” Her heart raced as she considered his hard features, his firm, sensual mouth. “I won’t do it. It’s not how I was raised.”

His lips curled up, a flicker of wry amusement touched his dark eyes before just as swiftly disappearing. “I’ve never needed to convince or pressure a woman into bed.”

“Yes, I know,” she said, pulse still pounding like mad. “But I wouldn’t want you to think that later I’ll do things—”

“Miss Shanahan, rest assured that there’s no risk of that. Forgive my bluntness, but you’re not my type.”

Her face flooded with heat even as her blood turned to ice. Oh, God. How humiliating. But she’d practically asked for that, hadn’t she?

Painfully embarrassed, Alexandra felt her insides curdle and cramp. Of course she wasn’t his type. Of course he wouldn’t want to take someone like her to bed. He could have any woman in the world, why would he want to be with her?

“I’m sorry,” she said, voice noticeably husky, “but I don’t think this is going to work. I’m not who or what you need.” She fumbled for her purse, finally finding it at her feet, next to her chair. “And I’m not about to try to change to please you or anyone else.”

She rose to escape, but Wolf reached out, caught her hand, kept her from fleeing.

“That’s where you’re wrong.” His deep voice, pitched low, vibrated inside her as his dark eyes, a glittering onyx, held her transfixed. “You’re exactly what I want and need.”

His words shook her, but it was his touch, that scalding press of skin on skin, that made her knees buckle. With his hand around her wrist, she felt electric, charged, different. “I know I’m no beauty queen, but there’s no reason for you to be cruel—”

His fingers tightened around her wrist. “Cruel? I’m paying you a compliment. I’ve picked you to play the role of my lover.” His voice deepened, betraying his Dublin roots. “I wouldn’t ask just anyone—”

“And I’m to be flattered by that?”

“Yes.”

She tugged at her hand, hating the ruthless edge in his voice, that raw, hard, male quality that made him want to dominate her and everything else in his world. “That’s where you’re mistaken.” Tears shimmered in her eyes. “Because I’m not flattered and I don’t take it as a compliment that you’ve chosen me to fill a role in your life. I’m not an accessory, Mr. Kerrick. Not for you, not for anyone!”

She stole a quick breath, noticed the diners around them watching in rabid interest. “People are staring,” she said softly, a faint catch in her voice. “Please release me and let me go.”

“I’ll release you, but I want you to sit down and finish this—”

“It is finished,” she flashed furiously.

“No, it’s not. Sit down. Now.” He exhaled. “Please.”

Alex slowly sank into her chair again, her purse falling limply to her lap.

Wolf leaned forward, his dark eyes never leaving hers. “Don’t let your pride get in the way, Miss Shanahan. Your boss told me you’re smart, ambitious. This is an opportunity to make a name for yourself.”

Her nausea had returned, stronger than before. “Make a name for myself as what? Your fake girlfriend?” She stared at him incredulously. “You think I should jump at your proposal, be flattered because I’m a plain-Jane girl and don’t get out much, is that it? And yes, I’m ambitious, but unfortunately not ambitious enough to date you. Not ambitious enough to pretend to be your girlfriend to get a promotion. I find it digusting that I’d gain industry status—respect—simply by being seen around town with you. That’s not the way life should work—”

“Maybe it’s not the way it should, but it’s the way it does.”

“And doesn’t that strike you as immoral? Wrong?”

“No. It’s practical.”

“Of course it would seem so to you. You’re the man that dates married women!” And with a violent jerk, she broke free and rose to rush from the table.

Fighting tears, Alexandra squeezed through the tables lining the terrace, wound her way down a pink painted hallway to the ladies’ room even as his words rang in her head.

Perfect for the job. Damage control. Publicity stunt. Pretend to date me. Practical.

The tears fell even before she’d managed to lock herself inside the bathroom stall.

This was exactly why her father hadn’t wanted her to come to California.

This was exactly what her brothers had predicted would happen.

They’d all said she was too young, too inexperienced to survive in a dog-eat-dog city like Los Angeles, and she’d been so determined to prove them wrong. So determined to make it on her own and do it right.

But playing Wolf Kerrick’s girlfriend would be far from right.

The tears trickled down her face, and she scrubbed them away with a furious fist.

He’d pay her to be seen with him.

He’d make sure she was compensated.

Alexandra’s throat squeezed closed. She felt as though she were gasping for air on the inside, fighting for calm and control.

And then it hit her. She didn’t have to go back to the table. She didn’t have to see Mr. Kerrick again or endure any more of his painful proposal.

She could just go. She could just leave and get her car and return to work.

It was as easy as that.

Calmer now, Alexandra exited the stall, rinsed off her face, patted her damp face and hands dry. The valet attendant had her car key. She had her purse with her. She’d just go now.

Alex left the bathroom but had only taken two steps when she froze, her body stiffening with horror.

Wolf Kerrick was waiting for her. And standing, he was even taller than she remembered.

She felt all her nerves tense, tighten. Even her heartbeat seemed to slow. “The men’s restroom is on the other side,” she said lowly.

“I know.”

“The bar is the other direction—”

“You know I’m waiting for you.”

Alexandra drew a quick, shallow breath. She was exhausted. Emotionally flattened. All her excitement, all her good feelings about meeting Wolf Kerrick were long gone. “There’s no point. There’s nothing more for either of us to say—”

“There’s plenty. You can say yes.”

My God, he was arrogant and insensitive. “I don’t want to say yes.”

“Why not?”

She flinched at his curt tone. It was clear he was used to getting his way and didn’t like being thwarted. “I’d never sell myself—”

“This isn’t slavery. I’m offering you a salary.”

“And I want to make it in Hollywood my way.”

“And what is your way?” he taunted. “Making copies? Answering phones? Getting coffee?”

Alexandra’s cheeks flamed. “At least I have my self-respect!”

“You might respect yourself even more if you had a job that actually challenged you.”

“My goodness but you’re insufferable. You should fire your managers, Mr. Kerrick. They’ve got you believing your own PR, and that’s a huge mistake.”

He shocked her by bursting out laughing, eyes creasing with humor. “You really don’t like me, Miss Shanahan, do you?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me.”

“Why?” she retorted fiercely, spinning to face him, hands balled at her sides. “Does everyone have to be a fan? Do you want everyone lining up for your autograph?”

Still smiling, his dark eyes raked her. “No.”

“Because I’d be lying if I said I liked you. Maybe once admired you, lined up to see your movies, but that was before I met you. Now I see who you really are and I don’t like you or your chauvinistic, condescending attitude.”

He jammed his hands into his trouser pockets, rocked back on his heels. “Your honesty’s surprisingly refreshing.”

“Were you ever nice?”

His lips pursed, black brows pulling as he mulled over her question. Reluctantly he shook his head. “No.” Then the corner of his mouth tugged into a sardonic smile. “But you don’t have to like me to date me.”

“That’s revolting.”

“Alexandra, if you’re not an actress and you don’t date actors and you can’t get yourself promoted out of the copy room at Paradise Pictures, why stay here in Hollywood? Why not just pack your bags and go home?”

She felt a pang inside her, the muscles around her heart tightening. She’d asked herself the very same question many times. “Because I still want to make pictures,” she said softly. “I hope to one day be more involved, hope I can somehow make a difference.”

He studied her a long moment, his expression closed, eyes hooded. “You can make a difference,” he said finally. “You can help make a picture—and save the jobs of dozens of people. We’re to start filming The Burning Shore in a little over a month’s time. Work with me. Let’s get the film into production.”

Alexandra bit down, pinched her lip between her teeth. She’d love to make a difference, do something positive, learn something new. She’d love to be challenged, too, but she didn’t trust Wolf. “You think we could generate positive press together?”

He’d never looked so somber. “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here now.”




CHAPTER TWO


WOLF ACCOMPANIED Alexandra to the front of the hotel, where she’d left her car with the valet attendant.

Lush purple bougainvillea covered the hotel’s pink stucco entrance, and the fragrant blossoms of potted lemon and orange trees perfumed the air, but Wolf gave his surroundings scant attention.

Alexandra could feel the weight of Wolf’s inspection as they waited for her car to appear.

The problem wasn’t only the offer. And the issue wasn’t just her morals or her values. It was her lack of experience.

She didn’t know how to manage a man like Wolf Kerrick and couldn’t imagine how one would even date a man like him.

But they won’t be real dates, she reasoned. They’re pretend dates. It’s not as if you’ll really have to kiss him or touch him or be physically involved.

Heat washed through her at the very idea of getting physically close. She really did need more experience. “If you gave me some time,” she said after a moment, “allowed me a chance to think about your offer properly, I might say yes.” She looked up, met his gaze before quickly looking away. “But I don’t want to be pressured.”

She drew another deep breath, flexed her fingers to ease her tension. “And if I did agree, how would this work?”

If he felt any elation or sensed that he’d won, none of it showed on his face. “We’d draw up a contract, include a generous financial compensation, as it’s probable you’ll miss some workdays due to events and premieres, and then begin going places together to be seen.”

He made it sound so simple, she thought, and yet she wasn’t a glamour girl, the sort to be invited to fancy parties or industry premieres. No, she was the girl raised by her dad, grandpa and five older brothers. There hadn’t been a woman in the house, not since her mom died when Alexandra was five. Growing up, she was the original tomboy.

“And what makes you think people will believe you…and I…are together?” she asked, pushing thoughts of Montana and the Lazy L ranch from her mind. “I’m not your…usual choice in dates.”

“Lots of stars date makeup artists, casting directors, the like.”

She hesitated. “Some actors do, but not you.”

“You can’t believe everything you read in the tabloids.”

Maybe, she thought, and maybe not, but she’d seen the pictures of the women he dated. He liked starlets and models, topless dancers and magazine centerfolds, his taste typically running toward women with more cleavage than brains. And Alex didn’t even have to look down at her not-so-impressive chest to know her strength was not in her cup size.

Years ago, back in junior high school, she’d learned that there were only two avenues open for women: the one for pretty girls and the one for smart girls. Even in high school it had been one or the other—cheerleaders and beauty queens or bookworms and future librarians. Girls certainly couldn’t be both. And since Alexandra knew she wasn’t pom-pom-girl pretty, she’d decided then and there to be smart. Damn smart. “We both know I’m not pretty enough to be taken seriously as your new love interest.”

“You could be if you tried to do something with yourself,” Wolf answered with brutal candor. “Alexandra, you don’t even try.”

She bit down, not knowing where to look. “I don’t try because I know already what I am and who I am. And I don’t need makeup or fake hair or nails or a tan to make me something I’m not.”

“Which is what?” he asked quietly.

“A bimbo. I’m not going to be a bimbo. I want to be respected. Taken seriously. And if I change myself—”

“You’re changing your hairstyle, not your soul.”

Her head jerked up.

“You’re smart,” he added. “Serious. And I’m sorry, but that eliminates the bimbo category for you.”

She should have been flattered. Instead his words merely left her even more flustered.

Every time he looked at her she felt sparks on the inside, little bits of hot fire flaring here and there. It was like being a human sparkler, only worse because the heat didn’t die.

“I just don’t want to be laughed at,” she said after a moment. “People can be unkind. I know the tabloids are famous for publishing unflattering photos and pointing out celebrities’ flaws.”

“Before we go public, you’ll meet with stylists, receive wardrobe consultation. I have a team of professionals who will help ease you into the transition.”

Alexandra was intrigued despite herself. “When would that happen?”

“As soon as you signed the contract.”

Alexandra tried to imagine being groomed by top Hollywood stylists but couldn’t. She might have lost twenty pounds since moving from Montana to California, but she still thought of herself as the sturdy country girl who’d worn cowboy boots before high heels. “A beautiful starlet would be far easier to introduce to the public,” she said in a small voice.

“I’m not interested in squiring around a young actress desperate to make a name for herself—”

“But in real life—”

“This is real life, and I’m quite aware that I’m responsible for dozens of people’s jobs. I just want to get The Burning Shore made and I want to do it without emotional complications.”

She fell silent, digesting this. “You don’t want anyone to fall in love with you.”

His dark eyes creased, his mouth compressed. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Thankfully her practical little blue Ford Escort appeared that moment in the famous hotel drive.

The uniformed valet climbed from the driver’s seat and held the door for her.

Wolf walked her to the car. Alexandra slid behind the steering wheel. “I’ll call you,” she said.

“You’ve my number?”

She stared up into his dark eyes, seeing the hard, beautiful lines of his face, and her panic grew. No one had a face like Wolf. No one had his charisma either.

It’d be suicide to do this, she thought, absolute disaster—if not for him, then for her. She wasn’t as sophisticated as he was, nor did she have his experience.

“I still have the card Daniel gave me. He wrote your cell number on the back.”

Smiling faintly, Wolf closed her door and stepped away from the car. “Take your time, think about your options and call me when you’re ready.”

She hesitated and then leaned through the open window. “You think I’m going to say yes, don’t you?”

His faint smile grew. “I know you will.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re a smart girl and you’ll soon realize this is the opportunity of a lifetime.”

The opportunity of a lifetime, she repeated over and over driving home, her hands shaking on the steering wheel and her insides doing nonstop flips.



The opportunity of a lifetime, she repeated yet again as she parked her car in the tiny garage adjacent to her California bungalow, one of the tiny nondescript row houses built in Culver City during the forties and fifties.

Her house was small, and until recently she’d shared it with another girl. But since the girl had a job transfer to Boston, Alexandra was now covering the rent by herself and it was tight. She’d considered getting another housemate but was so enjoying having the space all to herself that she hadn’t gotten anybody yet.

And if she did sign the contract to play Wolf’s new love interest, she wouldn’t have to get a roommate, she’d be able to pay the entire rent herself.

Alexandra loved the thought of that.

Since moving to Los Angeles she’d really struggled, both financially and emotionally.

She’d taken a job waitressing and then a part-time job temping for an independent film studio, answering phones, handling mail, playing general office errand girl, which was mainly going to Starbucks and getting everyone’s favorite espresso and latte.

Alex discovered that she liked being useful in the office. She was good in the office—quick, smart, agile, she could multitask and never needed to be told anything twice.

After a year working for the independent film company, she answered a Paradise Pictures ad she saw in Variety and was hired to assist intense, brainy directors and producers with whatever needed to be done.

She’d worked for Paradise for nearly three years now and she thought she’d proven herself on more than one occasion, but the promotion had never come.

Why?

It wasn’t as though she couldn’t handle more responsibility. She actually needed the risk, craved change.

In the kitchen, Alexandra took out the business card Daniel had given her several days ago, the one with Wolf’s private number. She tapped it on the counter, flipped it over to the personal cell number scribbled on the back and tried to imagine the next four weeks.

New clothes. Input from a stylist. Exciting parties.

Smiling nervously, she bit her lip. It’d be scary but also fun.

Then she thought of Wolf Kerrick and the whole concept of fun went out the window, leaving her unsure of herself all over again.

But it’s an opportunity, she reminded herself sternly, and that’s what you want.

Quickly she picked up the phone, dialed Wolf’s number.

“It’s Alexandra Shanahan,” she said when he answered, dispensing with any preamble. “And I’ll do it. But before anything else happens, I want the offer—and the studio’s promise about the assistant director position—in writing.”

“Of course.”

She held the phone tighter. “And working on B-rate flicks doesn’t count. I want to work on major studio films. Big-budget films.”

“Certainly.”

She folded one arm over her chest and pressed a knuckled fist to her rib cage. “I want to be clear that this is a job, and I’ll treat it like a job. I’ll do what I have to for the cameras, but I won’t do anything inappropriate.”

“And what is inappropriate?”

“Kissing, touching, sex.”

“There’s got to be a certain amount of intimacy for the camera.”

“Only for the camera, then, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I mean it, Mr. Kerrick.”

“I’ve got it all down, Miss Shanahan. You’ll get the contract tonight. It should be there by seven.”

The contract did arrive at seven. But a courier service didn’t deliver it. Instead Wolf Kerrick brought it himself.

She hadn’t expected Wolf and she’d answered the door in her faded blue sweatpants, cropped yellow T-shirt and bare feet in dire need of a pedicure. Without her contacts, and in her glasses, with her hair in a messy knotted ponytail on top of her head, Alex knew she looked more like a librarian than the sex symbol required.

“Hi,” she said awkwardly, tugging on her ponytail, trying to at least get her hair down even if she couldn’t make the glasses vanish.

“Cleaning house, are you?” he asked.

“I didn’t expect you.”

“Mmm. But maybe I should come in. Two photographers tailed me. Red car on the right and the white car that hopped the curb. They’re taking photos of both of us as we speak.”

Alexandra opened the door so Wolf could enter.

As Wolf glanced around the house, she peeked out the living room curtain, and just as Wolf had said, the red car and the white car were out there, and both drivers held cameras with enormous telephoto lenses. “Those are some huge camera lenses,” she said.

“I learned the hard way that you’ll want to keep your curtains closed. Otherwise they’ll get shots of you walking around.”

She dropped the lace panel and faced him. “How did they know you were coming here?”

“There is always someone tailing me. Has been for years.” He dropped onto her beige couch, extended his denim-clad legs so they rested on her oak coffee table and looked up at her with piercing dark eyes. “How long have you lived here?”

“Almost three years.” The abruptness of his question was less disconcerting than the fact that Wolf Kerrick was stretched out in her living room, looking very relaxed-and comfortable—in a loose gray T-shirt, with his thick black hair tumbling across his forehead. “Why do you ask?”

“There’s not much furniture.”

“My former roommate took it all with her to Boston,” she answered, thinking that even dressed down in jeans and a T-shirt, Wolf looked like a film star. It was his bone structure, coloring, the easy way he carried himself. He was more than beautiful, he was elegant and intense and physical. Sexy.

Alexandra exhaled in a painful rush.

That was really the problem. He was far too sexy for her and had been from the time she first laid eyes on him—which was in a movie, of course—eight years ago. In Age of Valor, just his second film, he’d played a soldier. And while he wasn’t the lead in the film, his performance was so strong, he stole the show. Alexandra remembered sobbing when his character died in the film, dramatically blown to bits just before the movie’s end. She’d liked him—the man, the actor, the character—so much she couldn’t bear for the story to end without him still in it.

She had been fifteen at the time, just starting her sophomore year of high school, and of course she had known it was just a movie and he was just an actor, but she’d never forgotten his face or his name.

Wolf Kerrick.

Amused by the girl she’d once been, Alexandra took a seat on the edge of the coffee table across from him. “Shall I sign the contract?”

Wolf’s dark head tipped and his long black lashes dropped, brushing his high, strong cheekbones. “Think you can do this?”

Growing up, she’d been the ultimate tomboy. As the baby of the Shanahan clan, she’d stomped and swaggered around in her cowboy boots. But moving to Southern California had killed her confidence, and she was only just starting to realize how much she missed her old swagger.

She’d once been so brave, so full of bravado.

How had moving to California changed her so much? Was it Hollywood? The movie industry? What had made her feel so small, so insignificant, so less than?

“Yes. I know I can,” she said forcibly, and strangely enough, she meant it. She was the girl who’d roped calves and ridden broncs and jumped off the barn roof just because her brothers said she couldn’t. She was the girl who didn’t take no for an answer. If she could ride a bull, she could date a wolf.

Alexandra’s lips curved at her own feeble joke, but her smile faded as Wolf’s black eyes met hers.

“Think you can handle me?” he murmured.

Her heart stuttered. She knew what he was asking. Like everyone else who read the tabloids, she knew he’d been arrested more than once for fighting and heard it didn’t take much to bring out the street fighter in him.

She also knew that women found him irresistible, and having once been one of those giddy girls who threw themselves at him, knew she’d never behave so recklessly again.

“Yes,” she answered equally firmly, ignoring the cold lash of adrenaline. “You won’t be a problem. You might be a famous actor, but you’re also just a man. Now give me the contract and let’s get this over with.”

He handed her the contract and a pen, and Alex spread the document on the table to read while she tapped the pen against her teeth. The form read correctly, all the terms were there, everything she asked for given.

With a confident flourish, Alexandra scrawled her name at the space indicated. “There,” she said, lifting her pen and handing the paper back to him. “Signed, sealed, delivered.”

“My little lovebird,” he mocked, taking the paper and folding it up.

Her cheeks heated. Her blue eyes locked with his. Her heart was pounding wildly, but she held his gaze, kept her chin up, refusing to show further weakness. “I won’t be broken, Mr. Kerrick.”

“Is that a challenge, Miss Shanahan?”

“No. I’m just stating a fact. I had some time to think about your offer, to look at the pros and cons, and I’ve agreed to do this not because it helps you but because it helps me. I know now what I want and I know what I need to do to get there. And you won’t keep me from succeeding. There’s too much at stake.” And then she swallowed hard. “For both of us.”

He studied her from across the table, his forearms resting against his knees, his eyebrows black slashes above bold dark eyes. “There will be pressure.”

She rose to her feet. “I anticipate it.”

“The attention will feel intrusive at times.”

“I’ve considered that possibility, as well.”

“You’re truly prepared to take this all the way? Ready for the makeover, the new hair, the wardrobe and revamped image?”

“Yes.”

He stood. “Tomorrow you’ll pay a visit to the Juan Carlos Salon in Beverly Hills. The salon is expecting you. It’ll be a long day. The car will be here at seven.”

“I don’t want a limo, Mr. Kerrick.”

“It’s part of the role, Miss Shanahan. And now that we’ve agreed to this little play, it’s time we dropped the formalities. We’re lovers now.” He slowly moved toward her. “You’re Alexandra and I’m Wolf and we’re a very happy new couple.”

He was standing so close to her now she could hardly breathe. “Right.”

“Just follow my lead,” he said.

“Your lead,” she whispered, feeling the warmth of his body, his strength tangible and real. She tipped her head back, looked up into his face, with the strong cheekbones and high forehead, the piercing dark eyes.

“I’ll make it easy for you.”

“You’re that good an actor?”

“I’m that good a lover.”

She took an involuntary step backward. “You said there’d be no sex—”

“In public, it’s my job to seduce you. To make the photographers sit up, take notice.”

She inhaled hard, thinking he was the devil in the flesh. “In public, yes.”

He leaned down and brushed the briefest kiss across her flushed cheek. “But in private, we’re just friends, remember?”

She felt her stomach fall and her breath catch as his lips touched her cheek. The whisper of his warm breath sent fingers of fire racing through her veins.

Wolf headed for the door. “Don’t forget to set your alarm clock. The limo will be here early.”

Alexandra leaned against the door after Wolf closed it.

Her heart was still pounding and her tummy felt coiled in a new and aching tension.

This was not going to be easy. Pretending to be Wolf’s girlfriend would be the hardest thing she’d ever done.

And then she pulled herself together. No more negative thoughts, she told herself. No more running scared. She’d signed the contract. She had to go for it now.

And she would go for it.

She’d been in Los Angeles four years and she was hungry. Really hungry. Hungry like one living on the streets, digging out of trash cans, looking for something to fill you up, get you by.

Because, God knew, she wanted to go somewhere. She was determined to go all the way, too, all the way up, to the top. Fame, fortune, power. She wanted the whole bit.

It was time to do what she’d left Bozeman, Montana, to do. Time to make Hollywood hers.




CHAPTER THREE


THEY WERE CUTTING HER hair off.

The next morning, covered in plastic drapes, Alexandra stared aghast as Juan Carlos lifted chunks of her waist-length hair and began to chop it off to shoulder length.

She’d had long hair—really long, down to her butt—since she was a little girl. Being the only daughter, her father had wanted her to be a princess and insisted she leave her hair long. Soon he’d learned her hair was the only thing he could control, as his princess preferred jeans, boots and playing with LEGO, blocks and army trucks.

Alexandra had kept her hair long for her dad and now she found herself fighting tears as it was whacked off.

“It’ll be beautiful. You’ll be beautiful,” Juan Carlos reassured, catching sight of her tear-filmed eyes in his station’s mirror. “Be patient. You’ll see.”

Alexandra wanted to believe him. And it was just hair, nothing more important than that. And if she couldn’t handle getting her hair cut, how would she handle the other changes coming in the next few weeks?

With her long hair in pieces all over the floor, Juan Carlos patted her shoulders. “Now we change the color.”

Thirty minutes later, Alexandra was still trying to get used to the smell of bleach and chemicals from the cream applied to her hair. They were doing a two-color process—overall color and highlights—and the smelly foils on her head made her want to gag. Did some women willingly do this?

Juan Carlos had told her he was giving her warm amber highlights and promised to make her a Hollywood golden girl.

Alex wasn’t so sure about the golden part.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she battled her nerves, drew a deep breath and counted to ten.

At ten, she opened her eyes, caught a glimpse of her silver-wrapped alien like self in the mirror and closed her eyes again.

This was not going to work.

Back at home five hours later, Alexandra looked in the mirror at the new, improved version of her. Her hair shimmered with a multitude of highlights, precision-cut to fall in thick, sexy waves around her face, playing up her black-lashed blue eyes and the strong cheekbones she didn’t know she had.

The makeup artist had shown her how to use color and liner to subtly darken and define her lips, her brows, her eyes.

And studying the new, improved Alexandra, she thought she looked good. Pretty. Pretty in a way she’d never been before. Feminine but smart. And confident. Strong. And that’s the thing she hadn’t known she could be on the outside. On the inside, she liked to roughhouse with the best of them, riding bareback, helping in the roundups, slinging barbwire along with the ranch hands. She’d learned early that she had to keep up with her brothers or she’d be left behind, relegated to the kitchen and the laundry room at home, and if there was anything Alex didn’t want, it was woman’s work. Housework. Domestic chores that kept her locked inside when the sky was huge and blue beyond the windows of the house, where the land stretched endlessly, waiting for exploration and hours of adventure.

Alex’s lips half curved, and she stared, fascinated, at the face of a woman she realized she barely knew.

She really was pretty, almost pretty like the girls in magazines. And maybe it was makeup and expensive hair color and a professional blow-dry, but she wasn’t the fat girl she’d been at eleven and twelve and fifteen. She wasn’t even the sturdy, healthy nineteen-year-old who’d arrived in Hollywood eager to make movies.

Reaching up, she touched the mirror, touching her reflection, the shimmering tawny lips, the dusty glow of cheeks and eyes that looked midnight-blue in the bathroom lights.

“Be confident,” she whispered. “Be brave.”

And with one last small, uncertain smile, she turned away from the mirror and left the bathroom, hitting the light switch on her way out.

In the living room she turned on the front porch light, and before she could decide if she should turn on the stereo or the TV or pick up a magazine to read, the doorbell rang.

Butterflies danced through her middle, spinning up and into her head.

God, she was nervous. Scared.

Why was she so scared? It wasn’t as though she’d never been out with Wolf before. It’s not as if she hadn’t ever been alone with him either.

Hands pressed to her sides, she took a deep breath and reminded herself of all the reasons why she’d come to L.A. and all the things she wanted to learn, to do, to prove. Maybe Wolf Kerrick was way out of her league and maybe this was going to be a rocky couple of weeks, but doing this, playing this part, would help her succeed.

Wiping her damp hands on the side of her black trousers, she moved to the door and opened it.

And then he was there, even bigger than she remembered, taller, more intimidating. And twice as beautiful.

Maybe that’s the part she found so disconcerting, too. Because she’d been around big men all her life. Brock was six-four, and Cormac a half an inch below that. But her brothers were more rugged—handsome but lacking the dark Latin sensuality that made Wolf’s eyes just a little too dark and his lower lip a little too full and his black lashes a little too long. It’d be one thing if he didn’t know his effect on women, but he did, and it only made him more dangerous. Wolf wasn’t so much charming as lethal.

“I just need to get my purse,” she said, opening the door wider and doing her best to hide her nerves. “Do you want to come in?”

“If you’re just getting your handbag, I can wait here.”

She silently disappeared, legs distinctly trembly as she went to the couch to scoop up the little evening bag she’d laid out earlier. The bag was so pretty, a small, black, handsome couture bag that looked simple but cost a fortune. Alexandra had seen the price tag when the stylist had presented it and gasped. The stylist had merely winked. “It’s covered in your budget,” she’d said.

Now Alexandra clutched the bag beneath her elbow, feeling briefly like a glamorous celebrity herself. She knew it was all hair and makeup and wardrobe, but still, it was such a treat, such a delight to feel genuinely pretty for a change.

“So what are we doing tonight?” she asked, returning to join Wolf at the door.

“Thought we’d have some drinks, get a bite to eat.”

Alexandra nodded and closed the door behind her. She turned to head down the front steps, but Wolf hesitated and, reaching behind her, checked the door, giving the knob a twist, making sure it was locked.

She shot him a quick glance as they walked toward his Lamborghini. The fact that he’d double-check her door touched her, made her feel surprisingly safe.

She was still looking at him when his head turned and his dark eyes met hers. She shivered inwardly and amended her last thought. Make that as safe as one could feel with a wolf.

It was a warm night and the fog hadn’t yet moved in. Wolf headed to Santa Monica, where he pulled in front of the luxurious Hotel Casa del Mar, which stood next door to its famous sister property, Shutters on the Beach.

The Casa Del Mar, built in 1926, was once the grandest of the opulent Santa Monica beach clubs and hotels, and a recent fifty-million-dollar renovation had returned the historic property to its former magnificence.

Although she’d never been there until tonight, Alexandra knew that the Veranda, the elegant lobby lounge, was famous for its literary crowd. Screenwriters and novelists hung out in the celebrated bar, with its enormous windows overlooking the sea and the plush velvet chaises and chairs scattered for comfortable seating.

The Veranda was packed when they entered, but miraculously an alcove opened up for Wolf and the cocktail waitress immediately took their drink orders.

Alexandra had thought the lounge was crowded when they walked in, buzzing with laughter and conversation, but the buzz seemed even louder now that Wolf had entered the room.

Everyone was looking their way, men and women alike watching Wolf, openly fascinated.

“I forgot. You’re such a star,” Alexandra said, sitting on the edge of her red velvet chair, afraid to relax and possibly ruin her artfully styled hair or carefully applied makeup.

“You forgot?”

“Well, I forgot it was like this.” She pressed her hands against the chair’s edge. “Everyone always looks at you. They watch everything you say and do. It’s incredible. I guess that’s what star means. You’re the focus of everyone and everything.”

He shrugged, unconcerned. “People are curious. They want to know if I’m as interesting as the characters I play.”

“Are you?”

He laughed softly. “No.” Reaching out, he took her hand, brought it to his lips. He kissed her fingertips and then curled her fingers over his and kissed the back of her hand, all while his gaze held her transfixed. “I’m sorry to say, I’m really quite boring.”

She didn’t believe him, not for a second.

Not when his eyes, glowing with an inner fire, belied his words, and Alexandra felt her belly clench as his lips moved across her skin.

He was not boring. Not now. Not ever.

Wolf tugged her hand, pulling her up and out of her chair, drawing her firmly toward him.

“Wolf,” she whispered in protest.

He ignored her, pulling her down into his chair so that she sat awkwardly on his lap.

“Wolf,” she repeated fiercely, blood surging into her face, darkening her cheeks.

“You were too far away,” he said.

She felt the hard heat of his lap through her thin black trousers and it threw her, flustered her so that she tensed, going rigid in his arms. “And now I’m a little too close,” she choked, her breath catching in her throat as his hand moved to the small of her back, holding her more securely.

“I think you’re perfect.”

“I feel ridiculous.”

“Have I told you how much I like your hair?”

She felt as though everyone in the Veranda lounge must be looking at her. “Please let me off. People will talk.”

“But isn’t that the point? Don’t we want them to?”

He was right, of course, but even knowing why she was on his lap didn’t change the way she felt or how her body was responding—because it was responding. Her nerves were jumping and strange things were happening inside her, sharp hot streaks of sensation starting with the tight coil in her tummy and then racing to her breasts as well as lower, deeper, making her legs twitch and her mind wander.

“Stay here for our drink and then I’ll let you off,” he said, rubbing the small of her back as though it were perfectly ordinary for her to be on his lap with his strong hands casually caressing her, and maybe he could pretend ease, but Alexandra felt as though she’d pop out of her skin any moment.

His touch wasn’t soothing and she wasn’t relaxing. She couldn’t relax, not when he was stirring dormant feelings and even more dormant nerve endings.

Her lower back was tingling, sizzling with heat and pressure, warming to life beneath the dizzying touch of his hand, and that burn was starting to make her ache in places she didn’t want to ache. Her breasts were already growing fuller, more sensitive, and her belly was coiling hot and tight, making her think of escape. Relief.

She looked up into his face.

Had he had this effect on her four years ago? Somehow she didn’t think so. She couldn’t imagine it. Would she have very different feelings about him today if he had? “I think that’s long enough,” she whispered.

“Not even close.” And then his hands were on her waist, fingers sliding up toward her breasts, and she sucked in air, eyes widening in mute fascination.

He was turning her on. Really turning her on—and in public, too.

“Wolf. Let me go. Now.”

“We’re supposed to be lovers.”

Her mouth was parched, her lips painfully dry, and she licked her lips, trying to moisten them. “I know, but does this have to be in public?”

“If it’s not public, no one will know.”

Alexandra thought she’d run to the bar and make her own drink if the cocktail waitress didn’t return soon. “But maybe…maybe we can be one of those mysterious couples that don’t really do PDAs.”

“PDAs?” he asked, his head tipping back against the velvet chair as he watched her with lazy interest.

His hair was thick, glossy black, and he wore it a little long. And in a way it reminded her of a wolf pelt—thick, dense, male.

And Wolf was very male.

Alexandra struggled to swallow. She couldn’t remember ever being this thirsty before. Her body was burning and her throat felt absolutely parched. She pressed her lips together, feeling her teeth beneath.

“PDAs?” he prompted again.

“Public displays of affection.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “But I’ve no problem with public displays of affection if I like my woman.”

He’d trapped her in his eyes, and she gazed helplessly into the deep brown depths, a color somewhere between cocoa and black coffee, thinking they seemed endless, so dark, so deep, so alive with that unique fire of his.

One of his hands trailed up her spine, tracing her backbone and the little vertebrae between.

She shivered beneath the light caress, aroused despite her fierce desire not to be.

He had exactly the right touch, not too firm, not too delicate. And there was something about him, about his size and strength, about the tilt of his head and the mocking glint in his eyes that made her feel small and pretty and feminine. But not just feminine. Desirable. As though she were the only one in the room. The only woman in Los Angeles. California. Make that the planet.

Her pulse quickened and she found herself staring into his dark eyes, eyes that from far away were black but close like this had the smallest splinters of silver. Those shards of silver made her wonder if it was the lounge’s soft light or the fire that burned within him that made his eyes glow, turning him into some fierce and beautiful work of art.

Fire and ice.

The words whispered through her head and wrapped uncomfortably tight around her heart.

Because that was really who he was, she realized, looking at his face, the hard but expressive sensual features, the glossy black hair, the equally strong black brows.

“Now you’re staring,” he teased, his hand sliding higher up her back to rub between her shoulder blades, finding the little knots and balls of fear and tension. And magically he smoothed the knots away, rubbing firmer and then lighter, heating her, melting that resistance within her.

She wasn’t sure when she began to lean into him, seeking his touch, his warmth, but somehow his chest was where she wanted to be.

The cocktail waitress materialized with their drinks, and Wolf gestured for her to set them on the low table at his elbow. Smiling, she left the drinks and moved on, but not before giving Alexandra a brief inspection from beneath her lowered lashes.

Alexandra saw the look the waitress had given her and she wondered if everyone would look at her that way.

Wolf handed her martini glass to her before lifting his. They clinked glasses and Alexandra tilted her chocolate martini to her mouth, curious about a drink she’d heard of but never tried.

It was smooth, hot, strong, sweet, and she wrinkled her nose as she swallowed.

“Don’t like it?” Wolf asked, watching her.

“It’s different.”

“I take it different is bad.”

She smiled ruefully. “Different can be good. But in this case, different is just different.”

“Mmm.” His dark eyes glowed, and she felt, if not saw, the laughter within.

“You’re not laughing at me, are you?”

“Actually I am.”

And as she opened her mouth to protest, he caught the back of her head in his hand and pulled her close to cover her lips with his.

She inhaled at the sudden touch of his mouth on hers. It was a shock to her senses, his mouth so cool and firm, tasting of sweet chocolate and icy vodka. She shivered, her breasts peaking. At her shiver, his mouth hardened, the kiss deepening, the pressure parting her lips.

Her head spun, her senses swam, her body danced with pleasure that was as hot and sweet as it was electric.

The electric part dazzled her all over again, and blindly she leaned into him, searching for him, searching for more of the sensation and pleasure he offered.

Finally he lifted his head. She blinked, tried to focus, but she could only feel her mouth, soft, swollen, sensitive and it amazed her, this way he had of winning her over, taking her objections and melting them as surely as he’d just melted her.

Lifting her fingers to her mouth, Alex pressed down on her lips, feeling how the lower lip quivered and how her blood raced in her veins liquid-hot.

One kiss and she wanted more.

One kiss and she wanted to slide her hands into his thick ebony hair, twine her fingers through the glossy strands and hold tight, hold his face to hers so she could feel him, his beard and mouth, jaw and chin.

“You’re looking a little more relaxed,” he said, catching her hand in his and bringing it to his mouth, where he kissed the pulse beating frantically in her wrist.

“I think it’s the chocolate martini,” she said unsteadily.

His eyes creased. “I thought it was my kiss.”

She lifted her glass to her mouth and took a greedy gulp to hide the fact that he was making her nervous all over again. Those butterflies in her stomach had returned, only this time they felt more like forks of jagged lightning.

The chocolate-flavored martini slid down her throat, cool and tantalizing but also empowering. The cocktail made her feel stronger, calmer than she would have otherwise.

By the time they headed for home, close to midnight, Alexandra was laughing and surprisingly at ease.

She didn’t know if it was that first chocolate martini or Wolf making an effort to be charming, but she’d ended up having fun.

After drinks at the Casa Del Mar they’d driven to Houston’s for steaks and salads and glasses of wine. Again everyone had stared when they’d entered the darkened brick building, and again the hostess had magically found them a table.

Wolf hadn’t been the only celebrity dining at Houston’s that night, though. There’d been several other well-known entertainers, and two of them, both men, had stopped by their table to say hello.

Now Wolf was walking her to her door. After she unlocked the door, she stepped inside, and he followed her in, closing the door behind him. For a moment she felt a spike in nerves again, nerves and anticipation. Would he kiss her again?

But instead of a kiss, he checked each room, made sure everything was as it should be before saying good-night, giving her a platonic peck on the forehead and returning to his car.

His brotherly kiss jolted her back to reality. The kiss on the forehead was a kiss in private, a kiss behind closed doors and an indication of how things really were.

She wasn’t his love, wasn’t his girlfriend. She wasn’t even really his date. She was just a girl hired to play a part. Any kisses, any whispers, any sexy innuendos were for the public and the press, wherever the hidden photographers might be.

Alex leaned against the door and remembered the kisses earlier. There’d been so much heat between them. When he’d kissed her, she’d felt unbelievable. Glamorous. Funny. Delicious.

“Delicious,” Alex repeated, turning out the small hall light and heading for her bathroom, where she pulled her hair into a ponytail and washed her face, getting rid of the makeup.

In bed, Alex curled onto her side, covers pulled up high, so high that they covered her chin and the middle of her ear.

So you learned something important tonight, she told herself. You learned that there’s a difference between real and pretend, truth and fiction. Tonight was make-believe. And it’s okay to enjoy the make-believe, but don’t get it confused with reality.

You’re doing a job. That’s it.

No emotions, no hopes, no feelings.

This, she reminded herself sternly, is business.



The next morning Alex was at work when the flowers arrived. Three dozen very long-stemmed pink roses in a stunning hand-blown glass vase. Oohing and aahing, the entire Paradise Pictures office staff broke away from their tasks to look over Alexandra’s shoulder as she read the card.

Thank you for an unforgettable night. Looking forward to another. Wolf

Kristie, one of the other production assistants, snatched the card from Alexandra’s hands. “Wolf?” she said, flashing the card at everyone. “There’s only one Wolf I know of.”

“Hmm,” was all Alexandra said as she sat down in her chair and pushed the extravagant roses toward a corner of her desk to make some room to collate the scripts she’d just photocopied. It was one of the first jobs she did every morning. There were always script changes during the night, and the new, updated scenes had to be distributed to the cast and crew immediately.

But Kristie wasn’t to be put off. She leaned across Alexandra’s desk and held the small white florist card in front of Alexandra’s eyes. “Wolf.”

Alexandra looked up, her gaze meeting Kristie’s. “I think that’s what it does say.”

“Wolf Kerrick?”

Alexandra suppressed a sigh. “What do you want me to say, Kristie?”

The young, bubbly production assistant from Duluth, Minnesota, arched her eyebrows. “You’re seeing Wolf Kerrick?”

Alexandra shrugged as she reached for the next set of pages and stapled the corner. “I don’t know if I’m seeing him. We went out last night. Had dinner and drinks—”

“Is that the first time?”

“Um, well, not exactly. We’ve had lunch. And then he’s stopped by my house a couple times—”

“For real?”

Alexandra suppressed a smile. Kristie’s expression was priceless. “We’ve only just met in the past week. Who knows where it’ll go?”

But Kristie wasn’t looking at the card anymore, she was studying Alexandra. “It’s more than that. Something’s going on. You’re different, you know. You’re…pretty.”

Alexandra’s eyebrows lifted. “I wasn’t pretty before?”

“Not like this.”

Rolling her eyes, Alexandra grabbed the florist card from Kristie and shoved it in her desk drawer. She tried to focus on the job in front of her, but Kristie hadn’t budged and the other girls were still watching and waiting.

She knew she had to say something. They were desperate for a morsel of news, some juicy little tidbit, and isn’t this what Alexandra had agreed to do? Play the part? Become Wolf’s new love interest?

Shaking her head, Alexandra finally looked up. “If he proposes, I’ll let you all know.”



Three o’clock that afternoon, the studio’s main number rang and the receptionist took the call and then buzzed Alexandra to let her know she had an incoming call from Wolf Kerrick. Unfortunately the receptionist chose to use the intercom to tell Alexandra of her call, instead of a private line.

With Kristie and the other girls staring in rabid fascination, Alexandra picked up her phone and took the call off hold. “Alexandra Shanahan,” she said as crisply as possible.

“Wolf Kerrick,” the voice answered at the other end of the line. His voice was deep and husky and tinged with amusement.

Alexandra didn’t know if it was the timbre of his voice, or the amusement in it, but it immediately set her teeth on edge. “Hello.”

“Can I bring the coffee girl a coffee?”

Aware that Kristie was inching forward, Alexandra ducked her head, trying to avoid being overheard. “No, thank you.”

“How about I take you for a coffee?”

“Wolf, I’m working.”

“Not very hard.”

“What does that mean?”

“It seems to me you’re just sitting there, staring at your desk.”

“How do you know?” Alexandra demanded before noticing the office had gone strangely silent. Lifting her head, she saw that Wolf, dressed in loose dark denims and a black linen shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, had entered the front doors and stood next to the receptionist’s desk talking on his cell phone.

My God, he looked gorgeous. And sinful. “What are you doing?” she whispered urgently into the phone, trying to duck her head so he couldn’t see her face or the telltale blush turning her cheeks a crimson pink.

“Watching you.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “Why?”

“Because I want to.”

“Wolf.”

“Can you just do that with a little more passion in your voice?”

“No!” Alexandra started to slam the phone down and then, remembering she had an audience, hung the receiver up more gently. Phone down, she watched Wolf slowly saunter toward her through the rows of desks.

She heard the girls whispering excitedly as he passed. Wolf had to have heard the whispers, too.

Reaching her desk, he stood over her, his linen shirt half open, giving her and everyone else a glimpse of burnished bronze skin and hard, toned muscles. His dark eyes half smiled down at her, and yet there was nothing sleepy about him. He had the silent, watchful air of a wolf before it attacked.

“I’m stealing you away,” he said.

Alexandra hadn’t expected to see Wolf for days. She’d thought maybe by the weekend he’d call her, contact her, set something up for the future, and yet here he was, at her desk, causing trouble.

And she wasn’t ready for trouble. Didn’t think she’d be ready for his kind of trouble for a long time. Last night had taken something out of her. Last night had been a tease, a torment. She’d had so much fun with him that she’d imagined he’d been enjoying her company just as much. Instead he’d been acting.

Acting.

Alexandra smiled her brightest, most confident smile to cover her trepidation. “I wish I could go. But I’ve so much work. I’ve a million things to do and Daniel—”

“Has already given you permission to take off early.” Wolf smiled down at her, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “So get your purse and let’s go.”




CHAPTER FOUR


IT WAS A GORGEOUS afternoon, hot, sunny, the sky a dazzling California blue. Wolf was driving a different car than he had last night, a gleaming red Ferrari that looked brand-new.

A studio head, just leaving his office and heading for his car, noticed the Ferrari, too, and wandered over to shake Wolf’s hand and compliment him on the car.

“That’s a Superamerica, isn’t it?” he said to Wolf as he shook his hand. “Hardtop convertible.”

Wolf opened the passenger-side door for Alexandra. “It is.”

“I was reading about the car’s revolving roof recently. Doesn’t it open up in ten seconds?”

Wolf was heading to the driver’s side now. “It does.”

“What are they? Half mil?” he asked as Wolf settled behind the wheel.

Wolf put the key in the ignition, started the engine. “A little less than that,” he said before putting the car into reverse.

The other man whistled. “Beautiful car.”

Wolf nodded agreement and drove away. But Alexandra sat next to him, dumbfounded.

“This car is worth half a million dollars?”

Wolf shot her an amused glance. “It’s not that much. It’s closer to a third of a million. But I can see you don’t approve.”

She studied the car’s interior. The steering wheel wasn’t exactly normal. It had paddle shifters on the wheel, but other than that it looked like an ordinary—albeit very clean—sports car. “I don’t understand why anyone would spend so much money on a car.”

“I have the money.”

“Yes, but—”

He was leaving Culver City behind and heading for Santa Monica. “But what?”

“But you could do a lot of good with that money. You could feed starving children and build houses for the homeless and things like that.” She stopped talking, bit her lip, stared at her hands, inspecting the spa manicure she’d gotten at the salon yesterday. “I know it’s none of my business. I just wish I had the means to help more people. I think we should all help more people.”

Wolf looked at her for a long, silent moment. “I agree,” he said quietly before returning his attention to the road.

They traveled in silence down Santa Monica Boulevard and then north on Highway 1 wrapping the coast toward Pacific Palisades and scenic, craggy Malibu.

Wolf drove well, fast but confidently, and with the cliffs to the right and the sea to the left, Alexandra felt as though she were part of a movie or some reality television show.

He had been unusually quiet since she made her comment about helping others, but she wasn’t sorry for thinking people should help others and she wasn’t sorry for thinking an expensive car like this was a waste of money. He could buy whatever he wanted and she could think whatever she wanted. They weren’t really a couple. They didn’t have to agree.

Finally Alexandra couldn’t take the silence any longer. She made a pitiful stab at conversation by asking him, “Are you excited about the new film?”

“Excited?” Wolf repeated, his upper lip curling. “I wouldn’t say I’m excited, but I will be glad to work again. Working distracts me. Keeps my mind off other things.”

It wasn’t the answer she’d expected. She’d imagined he enjoyed acting, thought he would have found a certain fizz factor from being one of the most highly acclaimed actors in the business. “What things?”

His eyebrow arched as he glanced at her. “We all have ghosts and demons.”

“And you won’t tell me yours.”

“No.”

Alexandra didn’t know if it was his expression or the caustic curve of his sensual mouth, but she felt the strangest flutter inside her middle as though she were nothing but naked nerve endings.

“Do you ever go home?” she asked suddenly, not sure where the question came from but curious about him, curious about his past as well as those ghosts and demons he’d just mentioned.

He shot her a long, assessing glance from beneath his lashes. He knew what she was doing, too. “Ireland or Spain?”

“Which is home?”

“Both, I suppose. I’m bilingual and was raised in both countries.”

“Your mother was Spanish.”

“From Cadiz,” he answered, slowing for the traffic light looming ahead. “I was born in Cadiz, but when I was twelve my parents divorced and I moved with my father to Dublin. Spain is home in ways Ireland could never be, but I’m comfortable in Ireland, I like the people.”

“And yet now you’re here, in America.”

“It’s what the career dictated.”

Alexandra stole a glance at him from beneath her lashes. “Do you ever regret becoming an actor?”

He hesitated before answering, shifting gears down and then, after the light changed, accelerating until he pulled into the parking lot for the Malibu Coffeehouse.

Turning off the engine, he turned to look at her. “Every day,” he said grimly.

After getting their coffee, Wolf drove to one of the scenic turnouts on Highway 1 and parked. Climbing from the car, they moved to the cliff’s edge to savor the view.

Wolf drew a deep breath, breathing in the stinging salty air off the Pacific Ocean. He loved the ocean, loved the cliffs of Malibu and Pacific Palisades. This area reminded him of Ireland’s southern and western coasts, especially when the soupy fog rolled in, covering everything in a misty, mournful gray.

If it weren’t for the ocean, Wolf didn’t think he would have survived so many years in Southern California. He hated L.A. He hated the falseness, the superficiality, the attitude and airs. People in his business—like so many people in Los Angeles—were afraid to be real, human.

They were afraid of their bodies, their age, their flaws, their frailties. Women here went to ridiculous lengths to be beautiful: nipping, tucking, tightening, enlarging, enhancing, sucking, smoothing. They worked on themselves endlessly, refusing to age naturally, fixated on how they looked, how others perceived them, how attractive they were in comparison to other women.

God, he missed real women. He missed wit and banter, laughter and smiles that made the eyes crinkle and foreheads wrinkle instead of ghastly BOTOX-frozen faces. He’d love to share a drink with a girl who could tell a proper story, eat a bag of chips and not immediately worry about her thighs. Sometimes Dublin seemed too far away, and in those moments he missed his old life—the ordinary life before he’d become a celebrity—more than he could say.





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