Harlequin Desire January 2021--Box Set 1 of 2

by Maisey Yates

  Something short-circuited in Nina’s mind.

  She got up from the table, approached the deck rail and watched, transfixed, as Julian grabbed a towel off the back of a chair and wiped himself down. He dropped the rumpled towel in a basket and stood still a moment, hands on narrow hips, head back, face offered to the sun.

  Heaven. I’m in hell.

  Nina’s breath went shallow as need and want coiled inside her. She ran through the not my type argument one more time. Some women preferred men who could change a flat tire or handle power tools. Nina didn’t own a car, plus she had a competent handyman on speed dial. She liked brainy guys, the type who could review her tax returns, give her investment advice or draft a cease-and-desist letter in a pinch. Practical stuff. And there was one more thing: she didn’t date actors. Never had. Never would. She had a lot of respect for the profession; that was the truth. To get sucked into that world again, all that drama, she’d sooner jump out of a plane just for kicks. But Julian… Oh, God, Julian… Was he worth it? Was she overthinking it? Their future together was capped to the five nights she had left on this vacation. Then it was back home to a life that did not include buff movie stars splashing around in pools.

  Now the buff actor was staring up at her, grinning and waving, doing his best to grab her attention. It was cute because he didn’t have to work so hard. He had all her attention, all the time.

  * * *

  Moments later, he joined her on the deck. She stood and smoothed down her linen shirtdress.

  “Don’t move,” he said. “Sit.”

  She eased back into the chair and watched him drop his gym bag to the ground, pull out a camera and raise it to his eyes. “What are you doing?”

  “You are so beautiful in the morning. I want you to see what I see.”

  Nina laughed off the extravagant compliment. While he snapped a few photos, she lost herself, watching him. He had a healthy post-workout glow. He wore a loose T-shirt, but his muscles were taut and glistening from his swim.

  “Sit down. I ordered breakfast,” she said. “Want anything?”

  “I’ll grab a protein shake,” he said.

  “Of course you will.”

  “Believe it or not,” he said, “maintaining this body requires discipline and sacrifice.”

  Julian was not as bulky as in his films. She imagined that physique required months of intense training to achieve and the discipline of a pro wrestler to maintain. He kept to a strict diet and workout regime. As a result, he was lean and toned to an inch of his life. Generally, Nina avoided this type of guy, jocks and gym rats and the like. She wanted her man fit but miraculously so. Maybe he played ball with his friends on weekends. Maybe he built muscle chopping firewood or whatnot. Either way, he ate real food, didn’t obsess over protein powders or stock up on power bars.

  That was before she met Julian.

  The rooftop attendant arrived with her food. She’d selected the Cuban breakfast, consisting of scrambled eggs, sliced avocado, pico de gallo and crusty bread. Julian eyed her plate lustfully. Still, he ordered a protein shake with added greens.

  “Any preference of greens, Mr. Knight?”

  “No preference. Just toss everything in.”

  “Yes, Mr. Knight.”

  “Mmm.” Nina patted her belly. “Sounds delicious.”

  He flashed a smile, displaying a row of perfect white teeth. “Don’t mock me, Nina.”

  She grabbed her fork and loaded it with eggs and avocado. “Try this,” she said, holding it up to his lips.

  “Don’t tempt me, Nina,” he said. “I’m trying to be good.”

  “Come on, Julian,” she whispered. “Live a little. I won’t tell your personal trainer.”

  He locked eyes with her. Then he took the fork in his mouth, his teeth scraping the prongs as he pulled away. The desire to kiss him was so sharp it cut her appetite.

  She dropped the fork and picked up the bread. She ripped a piece and bit into it, buying some time. It was light and chewy and delicious. “I work out and eat right and all the things,” she said. “Just not on vacation. It’s against my religion to be so disciplined at a five-star hotel.”

  He relaxed in his chair and stretched out his legs, brown skin over taut muscle. “What church is that? Can I convert?”

  “Sorry. We only let in true believers.”

  The attendant returned with his shake, topped off Nina’s mimosa with champagne, then discreetly backed away.

  Julian stirred the thick shake with a glass straw. “I’m going to miss you tonight.”

  Those few words undid her. She cleared her throat. “How about we continue our marathon with Thunder II?”

  “You’ve been through enough,” he said. “Plus, I have a thing tonight.”

  “Oh!” She had to grip the bread or risk dropping it. “I… Oh.”

  Of course he had a thing—whatever that meant. He hadn’t flown across country to swim laps in a fancy pool. Unlike her, he had a life. Nina scarfed down her eggs, aware that he was watching her. He was such a keen observer. Nothing was lost on him. She’d pay cash to know what he was thinking.

  “It’s a work thing,” he said. “The last time I met with this person, we spoke for hours. I have no idea how it will go tonight, but I’m hopeful.”

  She reached for her glass and raised it. “Good luck.”

  “Thanks.” He continued to stir his shake, in no apparent hurry to drink it. “What are your plans for today?”

  “There’s the move to my new room, and that’ll take all of ten minutes.”

  He offered to help, and she turned him down. “I’m good. Thanks.”

  “What else?”

  At this point, she should initiate plan WWMD: What would Mom do? “The point of this trip is to celebrate my mother’s life. So I’m going to do the things that she’d like to do, given the chance.”

  “Which are?”

  “Lounging at this fabulous hotel, drinking, flipping through magazines… I’ll have to book a manicure.” She shrugged, failing to come up with anything better. “She took relaxation very seriously.”

  “What are the things that you like to do?”

  “Me?” Why had the question stumped her? “Honestly, I don’t vacation well. I work a lot of the time. So I’d read or revise a manuscript or use the trip to research a setting.”

  The straw clinked on the sides of his glass as he continued to stir. He was mulling over something. Nina held her breath until he came out with it.

  “Why don’t you come with me tonight?” he said.

  “To the work thing?”

  “It’s a dinner.”

  “I don’t know,” she said, suddenly uneasy.

  “You might enjoy it. And you’d be doing me a favor—I’m the third wheel.”

  Nina immediately considered what she might wear and missed it when he lifted his gym bag onto his lap. He pulled out his phone. “What’s your email address?”

  “Why?”

  “I’m going to send you some reading materials,” he said. “You might want to study up for tonight.”

  “Oh? Okay,” she said. “Send it to Hello@NinaTaylor.com.”

  He narrowed his eyes, tapping away at his phone. “I don’t have to remind you that anything I share with you is confidential.”

  “Should I remind you that friendship is based on trust?”

  He put the phone down. “Is that what this is? A platonic friendship?”

  “I don’t know what this is,” she said. And that was the honest truth.

  He seemed to like her answer. Concealing a smile, he drew the straw from the shake, set it down on a napkin and drained the glass with a few gulps. His Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed.

  Nina’s mouth went dry.

  He rose to his feet. “I need a shower.”
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br />   “What time is dinner?” she asked.

  “Seven. I’ll come get you.”

  “See you then.”

  He turned to walk away, hesitated, then returned to his seat. “Nina, I’m nearly done with your book.”

  She groaned. He raised a finger. “Let me say this one thing. You don’t have far to go to connect with your mum. You saw her clearly for who she was, and that’s a lot.”

  Nina shook her head, regret and sorrow churning in her gut. “She didn’t see it that way.”

  Her mother had read an early excerpt of Backstage Diva. She wept and accused Nina of distorting facts to paint herself in a positive light.

  “Why do you think I insist that you, that everyone, call me Julian?” he said.

  “It’s a beautiful name,” she said.

  “Most people can’t separate me from the person they see on screen. It’s annoying, for one thing. And it’s isolating.”

  “Oh, Julian…” The name escaped her lips, now full of meaning.

  “You were not her fan. You were her daughter. She had something real with you, and it’s a shame she couldn’t see it.”

  He got up and slung his gym bag over his shoulder. Nina watched him leave, speechless. Every time she thought she had this man figured out, he revealed another facet of himself. Curiosity as to what he might have sent her in the email took over. She grabbed her phone and clicked on the message. The attached document was titled Midnight Sun.

  Nina finished her breakfast and took her drink over to a lounge chair. It was time to hit Pause on plan WWMD. She had a fresh drink and new reading material. This was her idea of fun.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Julian stood at Nina’s door in a steel-gray suit that his stylist had had delivered after he put in an emergency call. He’d wanted to look good for their night out, only they were staying in. Francisco had agreed to meet at Sand Castle. Actually, he’d insisted on it.

  Nina looked stunning in what couldn’t be dismissed as a little black dress, because the long bias-cut skirt had a high slit and the bodice was completely backless. Julian went stiff with want. He yearned to take her in his arms, and it took effort to suppress the urge.

  “Don’t just stand there,” she said. “Come in! I have something for you.”

  He stepped into her room and cast a look around. The Garden Room lived up to its name with hand-painted flowers scattered all over the walls, a bed covered with a floral duvet and drapes with stitched flowers framing a view of the enclosed garden—the one with the famed statue of Aphrodite. As an added touch, the orchid Amelia had selected for her was sitting on the nightstand. “So, this is it,” he said. “Like it?”

  “I like it well enough.” She walked to a corner desk and grabbed a few sheets of paper. “I read the screenplay and made notes.”

  Julian took the few pieces of hotel stationery from her hands and inspected them. “I should’ve thought twice before asking a writer to read anything.”

  She snatched the pages from him. “It’s a good thing. I’m excited!”

  “But are you hungry?” he asked, hoping for a diversion. “Ready for dinner?”

  “Ready! I’ll grab my purse.”

  She headed over to the dresser and dabbed perfume on the insides of her wrists. The gesture was so intimate, Julian felt privileged to watch it.

  “Nina,” he said.

  She tossed him a look over her shoulder. He forgot what he wanted to say.

  “Yes?”

  “Uh… Right. Bring your notes. It’s early. We can talk over drinks.”

  “Ah!” She folded the pages into a tiny clutch purse. “Now you’re talking my love language.”

  * * *

  They were seated at the hotel bar with a half hour ahead of them. When Francisco and his date arrived, they’d have the dining room to themselves—Julian had seen to it. Who knew how many first dates and birthday dinners were canceled to accommodate him? Only he wasn’t too worried about it, not if it meant guaranteeing quiet time with Nina…and Francisco, too.

  Their reflection was splashed against the mirrored wall. Seated like this, facing each other, dressed as they were, Julian couldn’t deny it: they were one smoking-hot couple. Not that appearances mattered for anything. Still, it was hard to ignore the truth.

  Hands shaking, she pulled her notes from her bag and smoothed them on the onyx bar top. “You wrote Midnight Sun,” Nina said. “There’s nothing you can say to convince me otherwise.”

  He paused, took a sip of his gin and tonic. “What makes you say that?”

  Julian had taken precautions to send her an unmarked copy. He’d wanted her honest opinion.

  “Every character sounds like you,” she said.

  He winced and reached for his drink again.

  “Don’t look so worried. I told you I liked it.”

  He thumbed through her notes open on the onyx bar top. “So, what’s all this?”

  “Just some notes.” She sat up straight and crossed her legs. The slit of the skirt spread to reveal toned thighs. Julian’s gaze skidded off the pages onto her lap. “Which role are you playing?”

  Julian hesitated. Would she be disappointed when he told her? He wasn’t the star of his own movie. He couldn’t be. If he were going to salvage his career, he’d have to try new things. And he couldn’t do that if a film’s success rested on his name and image. That left him with supporting roles, which meant his star would dim. Not the one on Hollywood Boulevard, thankfully. That one was set in concrete.

  “I play Luke.”

  “The con artist? Oh, God… I love him!”

  In that moment, Julian loved her.

  “That scene when he drives Amanda home from the party is so tender,” she said. “I’m glad the lead is a woman. That was a good choice.”

  “Is the dialogue that terrible?”

  “Actors need lines. Good delivery isn’t enough. It has to be on the page. I learned that from my mother.”

  She was so brilliant; Julian couldn’t get over it. When she picked up her dirty martini, he reached out and toyed with the gold bracelet at her wrist. She brought the glass to her lips, her eyes on him, her expression dark. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear that she was making up her mind about him. God, he liked his chances!

  “Julian! There you are!”

  Francisco was early. Nina turned to the voice and recognized the actor. In his motorized chair, he looked sharp in a dark blue suit. She slipped off the bar stool and floated over to him. “Francisco Cortes! What an honor!”

  Frank beamed up at her. He had not lost his matinee-idol looks: deep tan, chiseled jaw, trim beard and sterling silver hair. Julian approached and introduced her properly. “Frank, this is Nina Taylor. Nina is a very talented writer and a friend.”

  “Nina, I’m familiar with your work.”

  “Really?”

  She seemed completely flabbergasted. Did she not understand the reach and importance of her work?

  “Oh, yes,” Frank said. “I caught your mother on stage once. Brilliant performance! And you know we actors love to read about ourselves. That can’t be helped.”

  “Well, I loved you in The Longest Day. That might be my favorite movie of all time.”

  Francisco laughed. “Have I interrupted something? I arrived early, I know.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Julian said. “You honor us.”

  Grace joined them. She and Francisco went way back, and she was his date for the evening. They took off ahead of them, Grace leading the way to the dining room. Nina and Julian followed.

  “You weren’t that excited to meet me,” Julian said, speaking low so only Nina would hear. The added precaution wasn’t necessary. Frank and Grace were enthralled with each other.

  Nina did nothing to conceal her joy at his petty display of jealousy
. “Francisco Cortes isn’t disrupting my vacation plans.”

  “You didn’t know any of my films.”

  “None of your films were featured at the Tribeca Film Festival,” she said. “I can’t be blamed for that.”

  “Is Grace single?” he asked. “See how Frank is looking at her?”

  “Lucky woman!” Nina exclaimed.

  “Go on and twist the knife,” he said.

  She laughed and slipped her hand in his.

  The dining room was an intimate setting with sloped ceilings and shell-inlaid walls that gleamed in flickering candlelight. He’d seen it earlier in the day. Tonight, he had the pleasure of seeing it through Nina’s wide eyes. She never held back, and he loved that about her.

  A grand table was set for four. After a pleasant meal, Grace left them to talk business. Frank got straight to it.

  “I’d like to talk about the script. It needs tightening up.”

  “Let me guess,” Julian said. “The dialogue.”

  “Bingo!” Frank said with a snap of his fingers. “That gives me such hope. I thought you were going to give me a hard time.”

  “It’s too late for that. Nina beat you to the punch.”

  Francisco turned to Nina. “You agree?”

  “It needs some dusting up. Otherwise, it’s perfect.”

  No…she was perfect. Her support meant even more to him than she could imagine.

  “So, you’ve agreed to take on a rewrite?” Frank asked.

  “Me? No!” Nina looked to Julian in panic. “I’m not a screenplay writer. You know that, right?”

  “But you’re a writer,” Julian said.

  “And a damn fine one,” Frank added.

  “Yes, but—Thanks, but—No.”

  Julian hoped she didn’t feel ambushed. That wasn’t his intention. He hadn’t thought the script needed any help, but he wasn’t so stubborn to refuse it. Why take their chances with a script doctor? Nina would be perfect for the job.

  “Welcome to Hollywood,” Frank said to her. “Nobody knows anything and we’re all just winging it.”