Heartbreaker (Hollywood Hearts Book 2)

by Belinda Williams

  We continued to look at each other in the mirror. I became painfully aware of our position again. If I focused, I could feel the steady beat of his heart against my back. The arm resting on my stomach was casual, but I sensed a protectiveness to it, like he was worried I might flee at any moment—and he was probably right.

  “Thank you,” I said, and meant it.

  He nodded, not taking his eyes from mine. My gaze was wary, his was watchful.

  “Let me help you with your sling,” he said.

  For a split second, I entertained the idea but I closed my eyes, willing myself to think clearly. When I opened them, I forced myself to smile. “No, it’s OK. I’m fine.”

  He dropped his arm and stepped back, and I immediately felt a sense of loss. Then he smiled, like he’d expected my response. It was just a curl of the lips—that wry, barely there grin of his—but it undid me.

  “Wait.” I reached out for his hand before he walked away. Only our fingertips brushed but it was enough to make him stop. He met my eyes again, but didn’t speak. He just waited, like I’d instructed.

  “OK. I trust you.” And I did.

  He nodded again and I wondered what he was thinking? But I didn’t have time to reflect on it because he stepped forward and placed his hands on my hips.

  “Turn around.”

  I nodded and looked down at his hands. They were elegant but strong at the same time. Long fingers, narrow palms, and a few small scars on his olive skin.

  I let him lead me back toward the mirror, then watched as his long arms reached around me. He became focused on undoing the buttons of my shirt and his chin almost rested on my good shoulder. He was so close I had the sudden urge to press my cheek against his, but instead I bit my lip.

  My reaction didn’t matter. Marc wasn’t looking at me, his gaze was down, still concentrating on the buttons. I could see my chest rising up and down as I forced myself to breathe evenly. But every time I did, I caught the scent of him. Fresh, spicy, minty—and I swore I caught coffee too even though we’d just woken up.

  He stepped back. “There.”

  My rosy red shirt gaped open in the mirror, a long line of my pale skin looking as though it split me in two.

  He shifted to one side and started working on my sling. It came free easily and he caught the material as it fell. He set it on the counter the same way Jay had done, but I hadn’t felt quite so ill at ease when he’d helped me.

  I lowered the arm that had been in the sling and winced slightly.

  “You taken any painkillers?”

  “Not since yesterday.”

  He shook his head, flashing me that wry smile again. “Figured as much.”

  I rounded my shoulders. Or tried to. “I can handle a little pain.”

  “I know you can.” He positioned himself directly behind me. “Let’s start with your good side.”

  I shrugged out of the shirt, the vibrant material slipping down my arm.

  Marc looked at me in the mirror to make sure I wasn’t in any pain, then averted his eyes. “Now the other side.”

  I shifted with him and let him maneuver the fabric down and off my arm. He turned to the side and put it with my sling, not looking at me.

  “Marc.”

  He didn’t move.

  “Can you help me change the dressing?” Jay had helped me apply the vertical strips of tape that ran along the wound to help with the healing. Technically, I was capable of removing them myself, but I had a tendency to look down at them instead of at my reflection, and it proved painful.

  Our eyes met in the mirror again, and for a brief second, I saw him take in my reflection. My bra was the same color as the shirt I was no longer wearing. The contrast of the red against my fair skin made me look vulnerable—or maybe that was just the way I felt.

  He bent his head and, very slowly, removed each of the strips carefully. “You’ll have a scar.”

  “My first.”

  “You’re lucky.”

  I wasn’t sure if he meant I’d been lucky I wasn’t hurt worse than I had been, or if I was lucky only to have one scar.

  His head was still down and his hand hovered above the scar on my shoulder like he wanted to touch it.

  “Ironically, I can’t feel any pain there. It’s numb.”

  “That’s normal. The sensation will come back when the nerves heal.”

  I saw him run his thumb alongside the length of the scar and sucked in a sharp breath.

  His head snapped up and he looked at me in the mirror. “Did I hurt you?”

  “No,” I said, weakly. How did I explain to him how badly I’d wanted to feel that? And how did I explain that to myself? “I can’t feel anything.”

  “You could get a tattoo.”

  My mouth dropped open.

  “If you wanted,” he added. “When it’s healed. To cover the scar.”

  I threw him a superior look and played it up a little. “Do I look like the sort of girl who gets tattoos?” Unlike a lot of people, I’d never felt the need to ink my body.

  “I don’t know. I think you’re still figuring out what sort of girl you are.”

  The truth of his words hit me and I stepped back into him as though someone had just shoved me. “I’m not a girl, I’m a woman,” I said, trying not to sound breathless. “I’m thirty-two.”

  “Yes. You are.”

  Now I really couldn’t breathe. He wasn’t hiding it anymore. His hands had slipped to my hips and he was looking at me. The swell of my breasts, the curve of my hips and my bare stomach. And I wanted him to.

  “Marc.”

  He dropped his hands and stepped away.

  “Where are your scars?”

  He blinked a few times and frowned. “My scars?”

  “Yes.”

  A hand automatically went to the deltoid on his left arm.

  “Your tattoo?” I asked.

  He pushed the sleeve of the T-shirt up to reveal the curls of black ink. I stepped closer to take a better look.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “The tattoo or the scar?”

  “Both.” And in a strange way it was. His scar was hidden by the ink but it was there. “How did it happen?”

  “Enemy fire.”

  I nodded. I wasn’t going to push for more details but I couldn’t resist reaching over and tracing a finger along the curl of the S in the word ‘Semper’. Always faithful. I knew it referred to his commitment to the Marines, but the sentiment seemed to fit who he was as a person, too.

  He dropped the sleeve of the shirt and I wondered if I’d gone too far, then in one swift movement he pulled the entire T-shirt over his head.

  I tried not to gape at him, so I settled for staring. He pointed to a scar on his right pectoral a few inches below his collarbone. I hadn’t seen it when he was half-dressed previously because the towel must have covered it from view. It was quite clearly a gunshot wound.

  I raised my hand to touch him, but hesitated. He reached over and caught my fingers and guided them to his chest. Tentatively, I ran my index finger across the mark.

  “How?” I asked.

  “Afghanistan. When I lost them.”

  “The other Marines?”

  He didn’t say anything and I took the chance to touch the scar again. It was part of him. Part of his story. I caught myself, embarrassed, and quickly removed my hand.

  If he noticed, he didn’t show it and put the T-shirt on again.

  “Was it bad?” I asked.

  “What?”

  I shook myself, realizing I was talking like him and I hadn’t made myself clear. I didn’t need to ask if Afghanistan or losing his fellow Marines was bad. I already knew that. “The wound. Was it bad?”

  “I almost bled out.”

  A hand flew to my mouth, but he just shrugged.

  “I tried to go back in to save them, but my lung was collapsing. Kaden followed me back in and got me out.”

  “Kaden?”

  “One of t
he guys I’d already rescued.”

  I exhaled and dropped my hand. I wondered if his family knew how close he’d come to dying. I was certain they believed him a hero, but I was sure he’d hate to be called that. “I guess you’re not bulletproof, then?”

  His solemn expression softened. “Got the scars to prove it.”

  I looked down at the one on my shoulder. “Makes mine seem pretty weak, doesn’t it?”

  “You’re not weak, Princess.”

  It should have annoyed me that he called me princess. But it didn’t. It meant more to me that he saw my strength. And maybe I was deluding myself, but it had almost sounded like an endearment.

  I gestured to the scar. “You know, if it had happened when I was modeling, or even a few years ago, I would have been devastated. I would have been so worried about how it looked. Also, Mom had scars from the surgeries. The funny thing was, she always seemed proud of them, but I just associated them with pain and hurt.”

  “She was a survivor.”

  I smiled at the memory of my spirited, beautiful mother. “Yes. And so are you.”

  “Maybe.”

  “You’re standing here in front of me. I’d say that makes you a survivor.”

  “Doesn’t always feel like it.”

  I could see he was thinking of those men he lost, but I’d been acting enough years to know when a change of scene was needed. “Is that why you’re so grumpy?” I finished it with a grin.

  He cocked his head to one side and I prayed I hadn’t misread the moment.

  “I’ve always been grumpy.”

  He matched my grin and I refrained from grabbing onto the counter to steady myself. I thought of the sunshine that had woken me up. Somehow this felt the same.

  “Everyone has scars, don’t they?”

  His smile faded and I immediately wished I had kept things light.

  He walked over to the door. When he got there, he tapped his fingers on the doorframe then turned back to me. “Yeah. You’re right. But it’s the scars on the inside that take the longest to heal.”

  Chapter 25

  We returned to Hollywood the following day. The closer we got to LA, the quieter I became.

  I wanted to be back home, of course I did. But I also wasn’t looking forward to seeing what remained of my house either.

  In typical Marc style, he didn’t feel the need to fill the silence. As we reached the outskirts of the city, he flicked the stereo on and for the rest of the trip we listened to the Chili Peppers.

  It seemed appropriate that Californication was playing when we pulled up at my front gate. Or tried to pull up at my front gate.

  “Keep your head down.”

  Reporters swarmed around the car. They’d been waiting for us.

  Vultures.

  My thoughts surprised me. Until now, I’d always accepted the media’s role in the Hollywood machine. But today, still recovering from surgery and faced with the aftermath of the fire, their presence felt cruel.

  I closed my eyes.

  The tinted windows may have protected us from prying eyes, but I could still hear them.

  Lena!

  Was it Campbell that set the fire?

  Is it true he broke into your house?

  Will you have a scar?

  Are you thinking of reconciling with Duncan?

  They shot questions at me like a firing squad. So far I was still standing, and their words weren’t powerful enough to cause anything more than shallow skin grazes.

  Lena!

  I jumped as a cameraman banged on my window.

  Has your father been in contact?

  I stared wide-eyed at the cameraman and a flash went off in my face.

  “Head down.” Marc put his hand on my head and directed it downward firmly.

  “Go,” I managed, white light still filling my vision.

  Your dad says he would like to reconcile — will you talk to him?

  What, I mouthed to myself. “Go!”

  The engine of the sedan growled loudly and most of the reporters jumped backward. I’d never been so glad to see my team of suit-clad bodyguards, who were already rounding up the crowd.

  Marc wasted no time in driving down the long driveway of my estate. We drove so quickly I barely had the chance to take in what remained of my house.

  Marc cut the engine when we pulled up at the entrance. He let out a sigh. “Welcome home, Princess.”

  I ignored him and surveyed my house. The cream stucco was ash gray around the windows of the upstairs level. Several of the windows were gone completely and plastic sheeting had been fixed into place. The area where my bedroom had been was crumbling in places, but as Jay had told me, most of the lower level appeared untouched.

  “Looks like my castle could do with some work.” I opened the door with my free arm and stepped out into the midday sun.

  “Lena!”

  I wasn’t alarmed when I heard my name called this time. Instead, I raced up the steps toward the voice. “Ally! Oh, my God. It’s so good to see you.”

  Just before we reached each other we came to a halt. Ally gave me a sad face and pointed at my sling. “How much longer?”

  “A few weeks, I think.”

  “Hmph. You need a hug.” She came to my good side and gave me a big squeeze. “I’m so glad to see you. We’ve been going out of our minds with worry.”

  “I’ve been safe.”

  “Where?”

  “Somewhere. I’m still not sure of the exact location.”

  Ally threw her hands up in the air. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” Then she pointed at Marc. “He wouldn’t tell any of us either.”

  I thought I caught Marc smile before he turned to shut the door I’d left open in my haste to get to Ally.

  “I was safe and it was for my own protection.”

  Ally’s brown eyes darkened with confusion. “I know that, but he could have taken you anywhere and we wouldn’t have any idea if something went wrong, we had no way of contacting you and—”

  “You were able to contact me.” Marc’s deep voice cut through Ally’s rant.

  “Oh, and you’re such a conversationalist!”

  “I thought you trusted Marc?” I said.

  Ally put her hands on her hips. “Well, I did. I mean, I do—but that was until you disappeared off the face of the earth. And no internet or phone calls, what the hell?”

  “It was actually kind of nice,” I said.

  Ally looked like she was about to fly off on another rant, but then her face fell. “Yeah, I actually get that. The media has been going crazy.”

  I sighed. “Please tell me you cooked? I think I need your food while you update me.”

  Ally grinned. “Lasagna.”

  I put a hand to my stomach. “You’re an angel.”

  Ally held up her arm and pointed at Marc again, who appeared to be returning to the car. “You.”

  I’d been too busy paying attention to Ally to see that he’d been about to leave. I frowned. Was this it? Now that it was over would he disappear from my life once again?

  “You,” she said again. “Are staying for lasagna. Only so I can grill you and make sure you took care of my best friend.”

  Marc nodded, like he’d expected it. “I know.”

  “Huh?” Ally and I said.

  He popped the boot of the car so his head was hidden from view. A second later he set my bags at his feet. “You think I’d miss Valenti lasagna?”

  Ally’s eyes nearly popped out of her head and she turned to me for an explanation. On several occasions in the past Ally had fed Marc when he’d been here investigating her stalker, but he’d never actually been nice about her cooking.

  I shrugged and turned to walk inside, ignoring the wave of relief I’d just experienced.

  *

  The delicious smell of Ally’s lasagna enticed me through the foyer. The rich aromas almost covered the lingering scent of smoke, but not quite.

  It didn’t matter. As
soon as I set foot in the kitchen, I smiled broadly.

  “Oh my God, Lena!”

  Chloe ran toward me and then did the same sort of awkward dance I’d done with Ally to give me a hug. She giggled and her blue eyes sparkled. “Welcome home, superstar.”

  “Air kiss,” called out Faith from the island bench.

  “Me too,” said Jake, who was lounging on the sofa nearby. It didn’t bother me in the slightest that Ally’s boyfriend had made himself at home. If anything, it made the return to my fire-damaged estate easier.

  OK, so I might have enjoyed the serenity at the ranch, but it was people that mattered most. I joined the others and the room erupted into excited chatter. Chloe and Ally lamented my security-imposed internet ban while Faith came around to study my sling. It turned out she dug scars because she appeared very impressed when I pushed the material aside.

  Jake stood up from his seat and went to shake hands with Marc. The women saw the direction of my gaze and gave me a questioning look.

  “What?” I said.

  Chloe did thumbs up and thumbs down, her eyes rounded in keen interest.

  “Sorry?” I shook my head at her, not understanding.

  She drew a heart in the air in front of me.

  “No!”

  Marc and Jake looked over at us.

  “No,” I repeated. “I cannot drink wine tonight. I had some painkillers earlier.” Being an actress occasionally came in handy.

  Chloe’s face fell and she went to the counter to pour some wine anyway.

  I fake smiled. I couldn’t believe she thought I’d been with Marc for the last week and half and I’d come back in love with him. Not even likely. I glanced over at Marc again.

  He laughed at something Jake said and the muscles in my jaw tightened as I continued to smile.

  “Quit fake smiling.”

  I glared at Faith.

  She rolled her dark eyes. “Like we can’t tell.”

  I shook my head and went to sit down on one of the stools next to the island bench. “I can see you’ve been beside yourself with worry.”

  “Frantic.”

  I laughed. God, I’d missed her dry humor.

  “Been pretty pissed at the media on your behalf I’ve got to say, though.”

  “Do I want to know?”

  “Probably not, but I’ll tell you anyway.”

  “Faith.” Marc’s voice held a warning.