“Uh…yes.”
“I’ve missed you.”
Missed him? Did she even know him? “Look, I…”
“You don’t remember me.”
He racked his brain, to no avail. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t.”
Her hopeful smile tightened. “Of course, why would you remember? We only met twice. Anyway, I need to talk to you. I was hoping we could slip away for a minute. Maybe upstairs?”
Her suggestion was too much like what he’d asked of Jess a few minutes ago for his comfort. Had she been eavesdropping? Damn, couldn’t he get a single night out without his privacy being invaded?
“Hey, bro, how’s it going?” Rowan came in to save the day, as he often did when he knew Reece had been cornered by some determined, hopeful fan. “I don’t mean to be rude,” Rowan continued with a friendly smile, “but I haven’t seen my brother in ages, and we have a lot to catch up on. Family stuff. You understand.”
The stranger’s eyes narrowed, and Reece noticed her fists curling at her sides. So. She was that type of fan. His stomach clenched and he stiffened, knowing she didn’t want an autograph. She had personalized their relationship in her mind. She thought he returned her feelings.
He knew from experience he couldn’t give her the slightest hint of encouragement. He hated to play the role of shitty ex–movie star, but he knew it was for the best. “If you’d like an autographed photo, you’re welcome to contact my office. We’re online.”
“I have one,” she snapped before whirling around and stalking away.
“Gee,” said Rowan. “Was it something I said?”
“No. I think it was the fact that I have no clue who she is.”
“Stalker fan?”
“I sincerely hope not.”
“You’re just a chick magnet…Eddie.”
Shaking his head, Reece resisted the impulse to punch his fraternal twin in the jaw.
“You gonna say thanks for my timely arrival?”
“It might have been timely in one regard, but definitely not in another.”
He didn’t mention he’d been about to take a stunning redhead up to the private viewing room. This crowd was filled with people he didn’t know and had no interest in talking to, and people he did know—who interested him even less. He’d wanted to get away, to be with her, and the invitation to come upstairs had seemed like the perfect way to do it.
Then his brother had come in. No way could he have whisked Jessica out of the gallery and up the elevator without Rowan seeing. And following. Rowan would have enjoyed being the kink in the hose.
“I told Aunt Sharon I’d be here,” Rowan replied, apparently not noticing he didn’t have Reece’s full attention.
“She’ll be pleased,” he murmured.
“Don’t think Raine’s gonna make it, though.”
Reece wasn’t surprised. Their baby brother, Raine, an ex-soldier and current security company owner, was bodyguarding a dimpled darling of the cinema. Not only was Raine not the art gallery type, but this exhibit wasn’t suitable for an eight-year-old movie starlet. Then again, Rowan, a police detective, wasn’t exactly the art gallery type either. Yet here he was. That said something about how much they loved Aunt Sharon.
“So, how’s it going, Georgie?” he replied, getting his brother back for calling him Eddie.
Rowan held up both hands in surrender. “Okay, keep your voice down, we’re even.”
“We’ll never be even. Georgie is far worse than Eddie.”
Their birth names had been a dreaded family secret since the kids were old enough to start school and understand firsthand what the word bully meant. Fortunately, with the two of them sticking together, they’d usually managed to come out on top. Until they’d moved to Hollywood, become child actors, and learned the real meaning of the word bully.
He shook his head, not wanting to think those thoughts. That they weren’t usually on his mind said a lot about how far he’d come. He only wondered if his brothers had, too.
“Tell me about it,” Rowan said with a heavy sigh. “I guess that’s one thing we’ll always have to thank Mom for…even if Dad will call us by our given names from now until eternity.”
That was understandable since he was never happy she had them legally changed.
Reece smiled faintly as he thought of their dad, a hardworking electrician. Reece had stayed with him for a week after the fire, enjoying the time alone with the happy retiree.
The fact that all the brothers had kept the names their manager/mother had sued to give them when they were kids said a lot about how much they’d disliked the ones they’d been given at birth: Edward, George, and Thomas. Few people knew their birth names. For decades, the world had known them as Reece, Rowan, and Raine Winchester, having watched them grow up on the small screen, and the big one, from the time the twins were seven and Raine just a baby.
And Rachel, of course. Their older sister, destined for stardom, the teenage drama queen.
Long gone, but not forgotten. At least not by her younger brothers.
Although none of them were actors any longer, the names still worked. Rowan sounded like the kind of guy who bloodhounded his way through crime investigations, as his brother did in the police department. Raine was pretty good for a man who rained down holy hell on potential kidnappers or stalkers as the owner of a private security company specializing in child-actor protection.
Reece? Well, it probably didn’t matter if the world knew his birth name was Edward, but he’d gotten used to it. Though, considering his real name was so average it might have gotten him off the damn cover of People magazine several years ago, he probably should’ve changed it back. Eddie didn’t sound like the “Sexiest Man Alive,” an honor he would gladly have done without.
“So, truce?” Rowan asked, flashing a grin.
“Truce,” Reece said, forgiving him for the name bit, even if he hadn’t quite forgiven him for interrupting his time with Jessica. He gave his sibling a quick backslap.
“How’s everything going?” Rowan asked. “Your latest project coming along well?”
“Actually, yes. It’s even under budget.”
“No way. Nice.” Rowan stepped closer and lowered his voice. “And any news about the house?”
Reece took a deep breath. “No, nothing yet.”
“The lead detective who’s working on it is good. He’ll crack it.”
“Before the new place is burned to the ground, too?” Reece had hired security to keep an eye on the construction of what would be his new house, but still…
“Just be thankful you weren’t in it.”
“Huh. Maybe if I had been, I could have caught the asshole in the act.”
“Or you might have died in your bed.” His usually cheerful brother sounded concerned.
“Don’t go there. I’m a light sleeper.”
“Not if you’re breathing smoke. Besides, if you had woken up and found somebody in your house, you probably would have beaten the crap out of him and gotten yourself sued.”
It sounded crazy, considering he’d been the victim, but he knew his brother was right.
Although the harassment had begun when he was a kid, he’d never gotten used to it or been very patient about it. This time, it wasn’t merely tearstained letters, intrusive photographs, pleas for kisses, or phone calls that kept requiring him to change his number. His home had been destroyed. Someone could have been killed. He wasn’t about to take that lightly.
Reece fucking hated feeling stalked. The sooner they caught the arsonist, the saner he would feel. Knowing somebody out there was living only to mess with him was enough to drive him out of his mind.
“Okay, enough about the fire. Seeing anyone?”
“No.” Not yet, anyway. Raising a brow, he added, “Speaking of which, you still owe me one for introducing you to Miss People’s Choice Award last month.”
His brother, broader and darker than Reece, smirked. “How about I pay you back by not
making a play for the redhead you were chatting up when I got here?”
Reece’s good humor faded. He and Rowan had always enjoyed a friendly rivalry when it came to women, though never for long. Reece had an unfair advantage here in Hollywood, and he knew it, so if he and Rowan had their eyes on the same female, he usually bowed out.
But not this time. Oh, hell no. “Hands off.”
“You didn’t just call dibs on a woman. What are we, middle schoolers?”
“Don’t even think about it. Not her.” She’d been his object of fascination for two months, since the day he’d seen her through the security system. He wasn’t about to let his competitive brother interfere, which Rowan might, if only for a prank. He had that younger twin humor thing down pat. Some might consider it strange, given his career choice, but Reece would bet few at the LAPD knew about Rowan’s mischievous side.
“You’re serious.”
“Yes I am. I’ve gone to a lot of trouble to get to know her.”
Getting Aunt Sharon to set up this showing had been challenging. Yes, she loved the art Liza Shepherd had created, as did Sid. But the artist had no reputation, no name recognition, no guaranteed high price point, nothing to bring wealthy people in to spend a lot of money on her work. It had been a gamble.
By the looks of things, the gamble had paid off exponentially. The show was a great success. He’d seen several people handing over gold cards to the cashier. Sharon would be happy, Sid would be thrilled with his commission, Liza would be suitably proud.
It was all thanks to the redhead, who’d jogged in off the beach and pitched for her sister. Jessica Jensen. The woman he hoped was waiting for him by the elevator.
“Oh, shit, I can’t believe it,” Rowan muttered, dropping the subject completely. His whole body stiffening, he stared past Reece’s shoulder, toward the gallery entrance. “It’s Steve Baker. When did he get back in town?”
It was Reece’s turn to stiffen as tension wired through his body. He hadn’t seen Steve in years. Like Rowan, he’d had no idea the man was back.
Why he was at the gallery was anybody’s guess. Maybe he was trying to rekindle old friendships, if you could call them that. They’d known the guy as kids, when his star had been on the rise playing a wisecracking teen. But considering how the friendship had ended, he and Rowan could have done without the reunion tonight. Or ever.
“If it isn’t the Winchester twins,” Steve said, his face breaking into a grin as he walked up to them. Steve had always been tall; now he was a little overweight and a very big guy. “Long time no see.”
While Reece’s guts twisted, Rowan managed to look normal. Who ever knew the cop would be the better actor? “How’s it going, Steve?”
“Pretty good. I’ve been working a lot in Italy.”
Reece had heard the man, once a teen idol—part of the Frat Pack, as Steve and several other teens, including Rachel, had been dubbed all those years ago—had been making B movies in Europe. Too bad he hadn’t stayed there.
“Nice,” said Rowan.
When are you going back? Reece thought the words but didn’t say them.
All he wanted to do was get away, to forget the ugly past. He wanted to focus on the future—namely, one dazzling night with Jessica Jensen. But some dark history hung like a storm cloud, always threatening to peal thunder and to lightning bolt his life straight to hell.
Steve Baker was a stark reminder of all the things Reece wanted to forget: loss, grief, anger, rage, violence. Worse. But Reece couldn’t reveal his true reaction. He could show nothing, let nothing slip. He and Rowan had worked too hard to forget those dark days.
The last thing they could allow was for his late sister’s boyfriend to dig up the ugly past all the Winchesters wanted to remain buried.
* * *
Jess waited for nine and a half minutes before heading toward the back hallway. She had made the decision to go upstairs with Reece Winchester as soon as he’d issued the invitation, and then had changed her mind a dozen and a half times. She’d been playing the pluck-petals-off-a-daisy game in her mind. I will go, I will not.
She’d ended on I will go. Maybe by cheating. Probably by cheating.
She didn’t question her final decision. It might be the best one of her life, or the worst. She didn’t think she’d care either way. Jess had always been one to take chances. Coming out here to pursue her writing dreams had been taking a chance. Walking into the gallery that day had been another. Without risk, there could never be reward.
What reward Reece Winchester might have in store for her upstairs, she didn’t know. But she was going to find out.
Casually moving through the crowd, Jess offered the faintest of discouraging smiles to anyone who tried to approach her. She was also taken aback to see a couple of hard stares from women, perhaps jealous because she’d been engaged in a private conversation with Mr. Superstar. A platinum blonde—perfect for a role as the evil ex—huffed and rolled her eyes as Jess walked by. One older woman with long salt-and-pepper hair, wearing an ill-fitting, though expensive, black dress, glared at her pointedly, muttering what sounded like a slur under her breath.
The dislike wafting off complete strangers was palpable. If a simple conversation garnered such anger, she felt sorry for anybody who actually got involved with the famous movie star/director. Which she would not. Ever. Period.
As she meandered through the gallery, she avoided making eye contact with Liza, who was surrounded by admirers. She headed toward the back hallway, where, she recalled, there were small studios, a conference room, and an elevator leading to what she assumed were upstairs offices. But before she even got close to it, she felt a light touch of warm fingers on the small of her back. A quick inhalation brought the unmistakable scent of his cologne, and his presence was confirmed when he moved beside her, his breath warm on her temple.
“You’ve decided?”
“How do you know I’m not going to the bathroom?” Smart, Jess, talk about bodily functions with Mr. Hollywood, why don’t you? “Umm, to touch up my makeup.”
“You don’t need to. Plus, the ladies’ room is in the other direction.”
Defeat made her sigh. “Okay then, yes, I was heading toward the elevator.”
“I know. You couldn’t resist.”
Damn, he was holding on to his advantage. “No, I suppose I couldn’t. I do want to see it, if you still want to show it to me.”
Good lord, from bad to worse. Jess was flirtatious, but she’d put her hand on a Bible and swear she hadn’t been going for sexy, saucy innuendo. The man just screwed up her thoughts and left her brains scrambled.
“I mean, your piece.”
Wondering if he was laughing at her idiocy, she quickly glanced over, noting his serious expression. She also noticed the tension in his strong body, and a faint frown he couldn’t entirely erase. Something had bothered him during the ten minutes they’d been apart, but he was obviously trying to put it aside.
“My piece?”
“The piece of art you bought previously and are having delivered to your house,” she spelled out, feeling ridiculous.
“I know what you meant.”
Of course he did. “I’ve been trying to figure out which one it is,” she admitted. “But I couldn’t get close to any of the ones still on the floor.”
“You’ll know everything shortly.”
Everything? Well, maybe. Every bit of him was launching an attack on her senses. Thought had no place in this. Twenty minutes ago, she was a rational, slightly stubborn, more than a little snarky woman in a blue dress. Now she was a walking nerve ending, exposed, jangled, and raw.
He was stared at, and a few people tried to speak to him, but he had that Hollywood-bad-boy aloofness down to an art form. Jess, too, was gawked at, even glared at by those jealous of his attention to her—men and women. Yet the crowd melted out of their way, letting him take her off like a tribal leader ushering a virgin toward a rumbling volcano. Did that make her a hu
man sacrifice? How funny that, right now, she truly didn’t care. She wouldn’t be able to protest if she wanted to.
They reached the back hallway, and he stopped before the elevator. Reece punched in four digits, ushering her inside when the door swished open, and followed her into the mirrored interior. As the door closed, leaving her alone in a small space with the man, tension roared again. Not fear, God no, but the most visceral awareness she’d ever experienced with another human being. She saw each individual golden-brown hair on his head, the flecks of light and dark swirling in his pupils, the smoothness of his masculine jaw, and the breadth of the powerful shoulders straining against the perfectly tailored fabric of his jacket.
Jess found it hard to breathe. She’d never had a panic attack in her life, had been accused of not having a fear gene, but she was well on the way to freaking out here. So she looked for something to say—anything—to make this moment normal, and less sacrificial-virgin-heading-toward-the-volcano.
Unfortunately, stupid fangirl came out. “Did you ever regret not doing James Bond?”
One brow went up.
Swallowing, feeling dumb, she went on. “I mean, when they wanted you to do the James Bond as a kid movie. Every young actor in the world wanted it, but you walked away.”
In fact, he’d walked away from Hollywood completely for several years. She’d heard stories about a dispute between his parents—his mother in California wanting to keep her kids in the spotlight, versus the father who lived on the East Coast and wanted his children away from the movie scene. There had also been a lot of speculation about the death of their sister, the golden-girl Rachel, a TV star. Many had assumed the family tragedy was what had driven the boys out of the business.
Reece had left acting as a still-cute kid with a dimple, but he’d come back as a drop-dead gorgeous eighteen-year-old with an attitude and table-broad shoulders.
His jaw stiffened a tiny bit. “I take it you were disappointed by my decision?”
“I was eight years old at the time. Of course I was disappointed. The world revolved around me, don’t you know?”
“I’m sure it did. The truth is, I didn’t like the director.”
Watching You Page 4
