by Heidi Rice
‘Is Death Game your latest movie?’ she asked carefully.
‘Yeah. I’m supposed to be promoting it, but I’ve already rescheduled a couple of interviews and the studio is pissed about it.’ He snapped the words, frustration edging his voice.
She put her fork down carefully. Why was he angry with her? ‘So it sounds like you should go to the premiere.’
‘It makes me look unprofessional if I don’t attend,’ he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘Especially as I’m in LA at the minute.’
That was definitely accusation she could hear. She straightened her spine and held on to her temper. ‘If you need to go to the premiere, you should go to the premiere.’ Did he think she was going to beg him not to? ‘You don’t have to worry, Mac. I’m perfectly capable of amusing myself for an evening.’
‘You don’t get it,’ he said, still staring at her. ‘I have to take a date with me. No one attends a premiere alone. It makes you look like a loser.’
What was that supposed to mean?
Then she knew and she could feel the blood leaching out of her face. He couldn’t take her to a Hollywood premiere. It wouldn’t look right, she didn’t look right. She bit into her lip, forced herself to stay stiff in her chair.
Don’t you dare fall to pieces.
She knew she had no real claim on him, but how could he even consider dating someone else while she was still here? Had she been wrong about him? Was he really as selfish as he claimed?
‘I see,’ she said, pleased at the way her voice hardly wavered. ‘What are you expecting me to do—give you my permission?’
‘I don’t need your permission,’ he said with a callousness she didn’t understand. Why was he being deliberately cruel? ‘But don’t read too much into it. Okay?’
‘Why would I do that?’ she snapped back, temper taking over despite her best efforts.
He wasn’t going to make her feel inadequate because she didn’t fit into his Hollywood lifestyle. She had her own life—she was her own woman—and she wasn’t going to let him make her feel like less of a person because of it. She’d allowed herself to get in much deeper than she should have. But what right did he have to punish her for it?
‘So who is the lucky lady?’ she said, her voice brittle. ‘Another of your two-week conquests?’
‘What lucky lady?’ he demanded, still with that bitter edge to his voice. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘Fine, don’t tell me.’ She stood up, threw her napkin down on the table. He was not going to make her crumble. At least not until she was alone. ‘It really doesn’t matter to me one way or the other.’ She wasn’t going to let it matter.
He stood up too and grabbed hold of her arm. ‘What doesn’t matter to you?’
‘Who you take to your bloody premiere.’ The minute the shout had left her lips, she knew she’d given herself away. Big time.
It did matter. It mattered a lot. And now he knew it did too.
But instead of gloating, or trying to placate her—which would have been far worse—he simply stared. ‘Juno. It’s you who I’m taking with me,’ he said at last. ‘Why would I take someone else?’
‘Me?’ she asked, the huge rush of relief quickly followed by a wave of mortification. What was wrong with her? Why had it meant so much to her? She didn’t even want to go. Really. ‘But I can’t go,’ she said in a small voice. ‘That would be ridiculous.’
He grasped her other arm to stop her turning away. ‘And why can’t you?’ he murmured. ‘What would be ridiculous about it?’
She looked down, the blush burning her scalp. ‘It’s just…’ Why was he making her say it? ‘It wouldn’t look right. I wouldn’t look right. I’m not that sort of woman.’
He tilted his head. ‘And what sort of woman would that be, now?’
Glamorous. Sophisticated. Beautiful.
‘The sort of woman who goes to movie premieres,’ she mumbled.
‘Juno, you slay me.’ He chuckled. ‘You don’t seriously think they’re better than you?’
‘Of course not.’ Or not exactly. ‘But I’d be completely out of my element.’
‘And thank God for it,’ he said with a vehemence that made her heart stutter.
‘I don’t even have anything fancy to wear…’ she added, a little desperate now. However pleased she was that he’d asked her, did she really want to expose their relationship to any more public scrutiny?
‘We’ll go to Rodeo, then,’ he said easily. ‘Get you something fancy. I know a stylist will be able to help.’
Her heart stumbled. Why was he doing this?
He brushed his thumb across her chin. ‘The only thing those women can do better than you is show off. And believe me, even in Hollywood, showing off as a life skill is overrated.’
Tears prickled at the backs of her eyelids—and the band around her heart tightened. He shouldn’t say these things. Because it felt like more now, more than it was ever meant to be.
‘So will you come to the premiere with me?’ he asked. ‘I’d be in your debt.’
When he put it like that, what choice did she have? She nodded mutely, her heart thumping in her chest like a sledgehammer. ‘I suppose so, if you’re sure.’
‘I am.’
Mac watched Juno leave to get her shoes and bag and cursed himself for being all kinds of a fool.
He should have taken the opportunity to make up a fictitious date—and told her she couldn’t come with him to the Death Game premiere.
Ever since yesterday he’d been trying to create some distance between them. For his own good as well as hers. Because she was really starting to scare him.
The way she’d somehow got him to talk about things he’d not told another living soul. The way she’d cried for him when she’d never even cried for herself. The way she still looked at him as if he were one of the good guys, when he’d told her as plain as day that he wasn’t. The way she seemed to be able to see right through all the defences he’d constructed so carefully over time and make him need things he didn’t want to need.
He didn’t just feel involved any more, he felt…Hell, he wasn’t even sure what he felt. Which could not be good.
And yet, when his agent had reminded him about the premiere tonight, he’d known instantly he wanted her on his arm—because she would make the whole ordeal that much more bearable.
And as soon as the thought had occurred to him it had annoyed the hell out of him. And he’d taken it out on her.
But how could he have known his irritable invitation would make her jump to entirely the wrong conclusion? Once he’d seen the crushed expression on her face, he’d felt like the worst kind of heel.
He sat at the table and picked up his cell phone to dial the stylist.
Leaning back in his chair, he crossed one leg over his knee and waited for Juanita Suarez to pick up—and a picture of Juno decked out in another tempting bit of fancy such as the one she’d worn to the wedding formed in his head. Quickly followed by the picture of him peeling it off her.
His irritation dissolved in a haze of lust.
What the hell?
Why shouldn’t they have tonight? Why shouldn’t he pamper her a little? He’d given her little enough of the moviestar trimmings all his other dates took for granted. And he’d been more than a bit cranky with her since yesterday. It was the least he could do.
Tomorrow would be soon enough to worry about the strange effect she had on him. He’d waited more than a week already. What harm could one more day do?
‘Hi, Juanita, it’s Mac Brody.’ His lips quirked at Juanita’s enthusiastic greeting. ‘I’ve a date I want to take to the Death Game premiere tonight, and I want to make sure she enjoys it.’
Chapter Fourteen
MOTHERLY, efficient and expertly groomed, Juanita Suarez took Juno under her wing the minute Mac introduced them, firing enough sartorial suggestions at her to have Juno’s mind boggling.
As soon as they got to the glitz
y shopping mecca of Rodeo Drive, with its rarefied collection of fashion boutiques and designer outlets, it became apparent Mac wasn’t a natural shopper—his eyes glazing over with boredom after less than five minutes.
Juno might once have thought the same of herself. Daisy had always been the design genius behind The Funky Fashionista, but since Daisy had opened the shop Juno had taken her job as manager seriously and had learned as much as she could about fashion for the benefit of the clients. But she’d never had the thrill of putting that knowledge to work for her own benefit. So once she and Juanita had cut Mac loose and the stylist got down to business, Juno found herself marvelling at the dizzying selection of haute couture garments on offer—and getting more and more excited about choosing her own perfect outfit to spend a night on the town as Mac’s date.
Maybe there was something to be said for avoidance after all. She’d been worrying about what was really going on between her and Mac since yesterday and all it had done so far was give her a headache—and kick off an argument about nothing.
When was she going to get another opportunity to dress up like a movie star and go to a Hollywood premiere with one of the sexiest men on the planet on her arm? This would be a story to tell her grandkids one day. She could always start panicking again tomorrow.
‘Oh, yes, honey. I love that one on you,’ Juanita enthused as Juno stepped out of the dressing room in a flowing off-the-shoulder gown of turquoise taffeta with a beaded bodice. ‘The colour’s perfect for your eyes. What do you think?’
Juno peered down at herself. The material felt soft and exclusive next to her skin and, while she never would have chosen the dramatic design or revealing cut for herself, she could see it made quite an impact. Goodness, she even had boobs again.
‘It’s beautiful,’ she said. ‘But how much does it cost?’ Not one of the outfits she’d tried on so far had a price tag, and it was making her a little nervous.
Juanita grinned. ‘Aren’t you precious?’ she said, the condescension sounding pleasant in her laid-back Californian accent. ‘Don’t you worry about the cost. Mac told me to go right ahead and spend whatever we wanted. And it’s always been my motto never to cross an A-lister—especially if I’ve got my hands on his plastic.’ She waved the credit card Mac had blithely handed over before making his getaway.
Juno ran her palms down the luxurious gown. ‘I don’t feel right spending too much of his money.’
Juanita looked completely nonplussed for the first time since Juno had met her. ‘Mac said you were one of a kind—and he wasn’t kidding. You’re the first one of his dates to say that to me.’
Had he really said she was one of a kind?
‘Have you met lots of his dates, then?’ The question popped out before she could stop it.
‘Quite a few,’ Juanita said as she unhooked the gown and helped Juno out of it. ‘I used to work for Gina—that’s how Mac and I met.’
‘Gina?’
‘Gina St Clair, the supermodel. She and Mac were an item a while back.’
‘Oh.’ Juno felt a sinking sensation in her stomach as she tugged her jeans back on. Why had she asked about his exgirlfriends? She’d promised herself on her first day in Mac’s house she wouldn’t worry about it. Hearing about all the stunning women he’d dated now would only knock her confidence.
Juanita laughed as she put the gown back on its hanger. ‘Sweetie, there’s no need to look so miserable. I’ll let you into a little secret. But you’ve got to give me your solemn promise you won’t tell Gina I said this.’
‘All right.’ What was Juanita going to say? And did she really need to hear it?
‘Gina fancied herself in love with him. And she hasn’t been the first, I’ll tell you. Or the last. That man has left a trail of broken hearts through Beverly Hills—and the real tragedy is he hasn’t a clue. Women look at him as if he could hang the stars and he doesn’t even notice.’
The heat hit Juno’s cheeks. Did she look at him like that too?
‘He takes them out for a couple of months and then drops them flat,’ Juanita continued.
Juno gulped down the ball of dejection threatening to gag her. Where had that come from? She knew her time with Mac was limited. At least she’d never allowed herself to get that delusional. So what exactly did she have to feel dejected about?
‘It’s all right, Juanita. I know where I stand with Mac.’
‘But, honey, you haven’t let me get to the best part. I’ve seen the women in Mac Brody’s life come and go. And he treats them all exactly the same. Charming, friendly and totally uninvolved. But you’re different.’
Of course she was different. She wasn’t a supermodel.
‘How?’ she asked, sure she didn’t want to know the answer.
‘He looks at you differently. Like he really sees you.’ Juanita winked as she tapped his platinum card to her nose. ‘And here’s the kicker. He’s never once trusted any of the others with his credit card. And there’s a saying in Hollywood that I know to be the God’s honest truth.’ She lifted her eyebrows. ‘Plastic speaks louder than words.’
Juno smiled. Juanita’s teasing lifting her mood back off the floor.
Whatever was happening between her and Mac, she liked the idea she’d made an impression on him. That he wouldn’t forget her too easily.
It seemed only fair—after all, he’d certainly made an impression on her.
Chapter Fifteen
THE tiny little butterflies that had flitted about in Juno’s belly as she’d stood before Mac in her glamorous new outfit and watched his eyes darken with desire had become eagles with ten-foot wingspans by the time their stretch limo slid to a halt in front of the art deco theatre in Westwood.
Mac had briefed her during the long winding drive down Wilshire Boulevard on what would be expected of them once they arrived. But with his hand absently rubbing her thigh through the figure-hugging taffeta, her anticipation levels at fever pitch and his long, lean frame so heart-meltingly gorgeous in the formal tuxedo, Juno had been finding it a little hard to concentrate.
In fact, as he offered her his arm and she stepped out onto the pavement she realised she hadn’t heard a single word.
‘We’ll get this over as quick as we can,’ he murmured against her ear as his hand gripped her waist and the camera flashes exploded around them.
He guided her to a wall of people waving autograph books and screaming his name, barricaded behind the main walkway.
‘Stay put. This won’t take a minute,’ he said as he let her go.
It didn’t take a minute, it took twenty before he managed to extricate himself from his fans and come back to her. And during it all Juno could see how stiff and uncomfortable he was, exactly as he had been outside the church in France.
‘Sorry about that.’ He grasped her hand and gave a curt nod to the security guards who’d been keeping her company. ‘Right, let’s go see this damn movie,’ he said, striding off down the red carpet.
But as they reached the pillared entrance to the theatre, a reporter stepped into their path and shoved a huge microphone under Mac’s nose.
‘Mac, great to see you here. Charlie Stater for Good Evening, America. So Death Game’s a new departure for you. What’s it like to play the bad guy for a change?’
Mac grasped her fingers and sent the reporter a strained smile. ‘Anson’s not the bad guy, Charlie. He’s misunderstood.’
As the impromptu interview continued and Mac talked about a movie she knew nothing about Juno became aware of the photographers flocking around them. The rapid shutter clicks and endless flashes gradually getting louder and more intrusive.
How did Mac stand it?
‘So who’s this beautiful vision you’ve brought with you tonight, Mac?’
She barely had a chance to register the reporter’s fawning question before Mac tucked their joined hands behind her back, drawing her against his side.
‘This beautiful vision is Juno,’ he said before his lips tou
ched hers in a brief but deliberately intimate kiss.
As Mac stepped back, his eyes hot on her flushed face, the reporter’s questions, the camera noise, the distant shouts from the crowd faded away, until all she could hear was the rapid pulse of her own heartbeat, thumping in her ear.
Why did she suddenly feel as if this were the perfect time to panic?
The rest of the reception went by in a blur with Mac introducing her to a host of famous faces whom she was sure she ought to know.
The film turned out to be superb. A fast, furiously actionpacked thriller anchored by Mac’s central performance.
Juno sat in the darkened theatre and saw yet another side of Mac emerge that she hadn’t known existed. He’d immersed himself so completely in the part, the raw emotion etched on his face in the final scene so real and so vivid, he’d become a different person. This was more than talent, she thought. Much more.
After the screening Mac did a series of press interviews with her hand clasped in his. He insisted on introducing her to every reporter. And each time he did, the flicker of panic increased.
By the time they arrived at the after-show party in a Michelin-starred restaurant in Beverly Hills, it occurred to her he’d hardly let go of her all evening. Even during the screening, he’d threaded his fingers through hers and held on.
‘So what did you think?’ he asked as he whisked a glass of champagne off the tray of a passing waiter and handed it to her.
The question sounded casual, but his eyes fixed on her face and she knew it wasn’t.
She remembered how he’d shifted and fidgeted in his seat through most of the movie. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said seeing himself on screen made him nervous. The thought was strangely endearing.
She took a fortifying sip of the champagne, not sure she could put her feelings about his performance into words. ‘I don’t know anything about movies or movie acting. But you seemed so real, like a real person. I totally believed you were capable of killing that man. You looked like you. But I forgot it was you. It was incredible.’
