High-Stakes Bachelor

by Cindy Dees

  She blinked over at him, startled. That was why he’d been coming home so late every night? He wasn’t trying to avoid her?

  “You’re positive the guy who tried to kill you is still locked up?” Jackson asked.

  “Yes. Positive. Brody and Callum verified it last week. Besides, I’m on the list of people to be notified if he’s ever released.”

  “Have there been any rumblings about him getting out?”

  She shrugged. Privacy laws being what they were, she wasn’t granted much access to Chandler’s medical records. She shared what she did know, though. “The way I hear it, he had a complete schizophrenic break and has never shown any signs of rejoining reality.”

  “Okay, so we rule out LaGrange as a suspect,” Jackson commented.

  “Have you learned anything more about the studio accident?”

  “No amateur would know how to set the specialized charges that brought down the light track. I’ve been going through the roster of all the employees to see who might have past training in handling explosives. Of the guys who know how to make cutting charges, none of them have any connection to you. I gotta say, I’m stumped as to who’s coming after you.”

  “And you’re sure it’s not just a random thing? That I wasn’t in the wrong place at the wrong time and the victim of a random crime?”

  “Not three times in a row. I don’t believe in that kind of chance.”

  Neither did she.

  Silence filled the Hugster until they pulled into Jackson’s spot in the studio parking lot. A couple of crew members were lounging out front on a covered porch, smoking. They guffawed at Jackson’s new wheels and razzed him about his sexy ride.

  During the morning, she might have accidentally let slip something about the factory-installed baby seat in Jackson’s new minivan. Before long, the entire crew was giving him holy hell about his hot ride. As pranks went, Ana had to give Minerva credit for sheer, evil genius.

  Today, she and Jackson were supposed to rehearse their first scene with Adrian. She was already nervous, and now Jackson was in a royally foul mood to boot.

  She changed into a lime-green bodysuit with white dots strategically placed all over it. Apparently, the dots were used by CGI artists to tie their computer graphics to film of her body movements. Although today was only a screen test of their fight choreography, Adrian made a policy of staging every screen test just like a real film shot. That way, if today’s take was better than anything he got later, he’d still have usable film.

  She spied the tall, lime silhouette of Jackson heading across the green carpet. Yup. He was still pissed. She knew that set of his shoulders and the way his jaw was rippling with clenched muscle. Not that he was the type to randomly spew his temper at the people around him. He was too good a boss for that.

  “All right, guys,” Adrian said cheerfully from the edge of the mat. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  She and Jackson duly went through the argument lines leading up to the fight sequence. They actually grappled today, and she knew immediately that it wasn’t working. Jackson was holding back and refusing to really engage in the fight with her.

  They tried a couple of takes, and finally, as lunchtime came and Adrian dismissed the cameramen to go grab a bite to eat, the director came over to the two of them privately. He asked quietly, “Is there something going on between the two of you that I should know about?”

  Ana looked up at Jackson, blatantly punting the question to him. He said, “What do you mean, Adrian?”

  “You’re off your game. It’s like the two of you are afraid to hit each other. Did one of you get walloped again during rehearsals or something?”

  “Nope. Nothing like that,” Jackson answered evasively.

  “You need to get over whatever’s making you guys so cautious. Go have sex or something. Get your hands on each other and get comfortable with each other like you were a few weeks ago. I’ll meet you back here in an hour.”

  Ana’s jaw dropped as the director turned and strolled away from them. Go have sex?

  “My office. Now,” Jackson muttered.

  She followed him to his office, which was small, neat and functional. Not all the lavish Hollywood star’s digs she’d expected. She closed the door and turned to face him expectantly. She might be the amateur actor, but even she knew he was the problem.

  His mobile features conveyed deep chagrin. “Look, Ana. It was a mistake for us to sleep together. We have to find a way to get past it and get back to the initial working relationship we had.”

  He might as well have stuck a dagger in her heart and twisted it. Her impulse was to crumple up in a little ball until she found the strength to slink away and never come back. But then anger poured through her. She was nobody’s victim, and she didn’t slink away from anything or anyone.

  She stood up straighter and glared up at him. “I happen to disagree. I do not think it was a mistake. I don’t regret it for one second. The sex rocked and I’d love to do more of that with you.”

  Shock—and heat—began to fill his gaze.

  She continued more forcefully, “However, you obviously are emotionally stunted and trapped in your hurt feelings from years ago. You aren’t mature enough to handle a real relationship with any woman, and you certainly don’t deserve me. I’m not about to stick around waiting for you to get your head out of your ass and realize how awesome I am and how much I care for you. I’ve signed a contract to do this movie, and I’m going to do my level best on it. But after that, I’m out of here, Jackson.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing. You’re an idiot.”

  She turned and marched out of his office without a backward glance. God, that felt good. She’d needed to say that to him for a while. He was an idiot for not seeing how much she loved him and what a great girlfriend she would be—

  Oh. My. God. She’d just admitted to him that she had serious feelings for him.

  And as if that weren’t horrendous enough, she’d also just told him to go to hell. What in the world had gotten into her? She didn’t do emotional outbursts. Ever. It hadn’t been her style even before Chandler tried to kill her, and it still wasn’t her style. She was calm about her interactions with other people. Thoughtful. She analyzed and examined things from every angle before she decided how she felt about them. She didn’t just blurt out that she cared for a man in one breath and inform him in the next breath that she hated his guts!

  She held it together until she hit the ladies’ locker room. And then she fell apart. Totally. Tears and all. It was official. She’d lost her mind. And apparently, she’d lost Jackson, too.

  Chapter 11

  Jackson stared at his office door as it shut behind Ana. What in the hell had just happened? He’d brought her in here to apologize to her for holding back this morning, and she’d gone completely postal on him! He’d apologized for having sex with her because it was what he thought she wanted to hear from him! Hell, he thought the sex between them had been epic, too.

  He shoved a distracted hand through his hair and fell into his desk chair. She cared for him? Equal parts terror and exultation roared through him. Did he care back? Cripes, he was too shell-shocked right now to have the slightest idea how he felt about her.

  Where had calm, steady, dependable Ana gone to? Since when was she emotional and volatile? Genuine worry for her filled him. But if he wasn’t mistaken, he’d just been told in no uncertain terms to butt out of her life. He frowned. If she were any other woman, he might put it down to some sort of massive hormone surge and ignore the order to buzz off. But he had no idea how to proceed with Ana.

  Shocked at himself for doing it, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed Minerva.

  “Hello, dear. Is everything all right?”

  He leaned back in his chair and closed his
eyes. “I don’t know. I need some advice.”

  “About what?”

  “Women.”

  “Ahh. You and Ana have a fight?”

  “I guess so. Not exactly. She had a fight with me.”

  “Big emotional blowup where she vented stuff she’s been hanging on to for a while?” Minerva asked perceptively.

  “Yes, actually. That’s pretty damned accurate. Do you know what’s up with her?”

  Has grandmother laughed gently. “Yes, honey. It’s called pregnancy hormones. Hers are raging out of control right now. It’ll get worse before it gets better. Your job is to be patient and understanding and not take any of it personally.”

  He mumbled something incoherent and got off the phone fast.

  Huh. If Ana were actually pregnant, he’d be all over doing what Minerva had suggested. But she wasn’t pregnant, and he had no earthly idea what had caused her to flip out. He’d been doing everything in his power to get things back to the way they’d been before they’d had sex because that seemed to be what she wanted, but nothing had worked.

  Hell, he probably should have dragged her to bed the first time things got weird between them and kept having sex with her until they were totally at ease with each other. Even Adrian had suggested they just have sex and get it over with.

  Did the director see the attraction between them, then? Did everybody else see it? Was he the only one who’d been blind to it all this time?

  He wasn’t particularly prone to long bouts of introspection and self-examination, but he did close his eyes and cast his mind back over the past months of working with Ana. Had the signals been there the whole time?

  It wasn’t that he didn’t find her attractive. He actually did. Who wouldn’t? He hadn’t been lying the other night when he’d said he had noticed she was a girl. She was pretty, funny, smart, easy to be around. And she looked great in a tight T-shirt. But he’d been so busy trying to be a good boss that he’d strangled any reaction he might have had to her as a woman. In his own defense, he’d been working eighteen-and twenty-hour days trying to get the movie rolling and catch whoever had sabotaged his set. It wasn’t like he’d had time to do anything about his attraction to her.

  Speaking of which, he had a bunch of set stills to approve. The photos were taken of newly constructed sets to check how they would look on camera. He stuck the pictures under his desk lamp to study it more closely. Son of a bitch. These had been taken during yesterday’s rehearsal, and he and Ana were in a bunch of the shots. He was looking off into the distance, but she was looking up at him. Staring up at him adoringly, to be more precise.

  He pulled out another picture of them together. And another.

  In every one of them, her attention riveted on him. Jesus. Had she been doing that all along? How had he missed it?

  Talk about feeling like an idiot. He deserved the moniker from her. What about him? How did he feel about her? It wasn’t like he’d ever really stopped to think about it. Visions of her wearing dresses and makeup, sitting across the veranda table from him looking so tasty he could eat her alive, flashed through his mind.

  And the night they’d made love...sure, she’d provoked him. Hell, she’d dared him outright to have sex with her. But he hadn’t been in any big hurry not to take her up on it. He wasn’t some raw kid to allow himself to be manipulated like that. If he were to be brutally honest with himself, he’d been all over jumping in the sack with her.

  It had freaked him out a lot worse than he’d expected, though. The emotional connection between them had been too intense for him.

  Be honest, dude.

  Okay, fine. Their emotional connection had scared the hell out of him. He never opened up to other people that way, male or female. But she’d blown right past his defenses and looked deep into his naked soul.

  And I pushed her away.

  When he’d wanted to tell her how amazing she was and how great she’d made him feel, he’d asked her instead if she was hurt and promptly started to talk about work. He’d fled for safe ground because he was a damned coward.

  He swore under his breath. Which left them...where? She apparently hated his guts now, and planned to go as far away from him as she could as fast as she could. The thought caused panic to rip through his gut.

  Two weeks. That was about how long the remaining filming of their scenes together would take. All the time he had left to break through whatever barriers she’d thrown up regarding him. A couple months from now, Adrian might need to do some retakes, but knowing the accomplished director, he would get all the takes he needed the first time around.

  Two weeks wasn’t long to fix things between him and Ana. Particularly since he didn’t have the foggiest idea how to make things better. The first order of business was to find her. Talk to her. Salvage this afternoon’s shoot, somehow.

  He left his office and looked all over the set for her but couldn’t find her anywhere. Eventually one of the female prop girls said something about seeing her in the ladies’ locker room. Hiding perchance? Since when did Ana hide from anybody? Frowning, he made his way to the locker-room door.

  He cracked it open enough to call through it, “Ana? Are you in there?”

  “Go away.”

  So not happening. He pushed open the door and strode into the forbidden land of estrogen. It looked about like the men’s locker room, but it smelled better and the discarded towels were mostly in the laundry bin by the showers.

  “Jackson! Get out!”

  “Is anyone else in here?” he asked tersely.

  “No. But—”

  “Great.” He turned around and locked the hallway door. “We need to talk.”

  “I’ve said all I need to say.”

  “Yeah, well, I haven’t.”

  Ana glared at him through watery eyes.

  “You’re right. I’m an idiot. I should have noticed a long time ago how you felt about me. But I didn’t see it, and I can’t change that. For better or worse, you’ve taken me by surprise. I need a little time to process it all and figure out how I feel. And in the meantime, you and I have a movie to shoot. We’ve got to set aside our personal feelings and get the job done.”

  She shrugged. “What do you think I’ve been doing for the past couple of weeks? You’re the problem in that department, not me.”

  It stung to hear her point it out. “Fair enough. I’ll do my best. I just need a little reciprocity from you. Can I count on that?”

  “Sure. You can always count on me. Good ol’ reliable Ana. That’s me.”

  “Look. I know you’re mad. You probably have a right to be. But can we at least try to keep this civil?” he asked.

  “Actually, no. I don’t think so.”

  He stared, stunned. What the hell had gotten into her? She never acted like this!

  “It’s time for us to head back out to the mat, Jackson. I need to stretch before we fight again. My back’s been a little tight the past few days.”

  She sailed out of the dressing room while he stared, dumbfounded, at the door as it swung shut behind her. She’d lost her mind. Totally lost it.

  * * *

  Ana did, indeed, need to stretch her back. It had been aching right between her shoulder blades. Those damned push-up bras she’d bought back when she thought she had a chance with Jackson had made not only her back hurt but also made her breasts ache. Her poor girls weren’t used to being smushed and pushed quite so aggressively. It didn’t help that she’d been sleeping like hell, either.

  Screw him. Even when Jackson was trying to make nice and calm her down, he said not a word about returning any of her feelings. What. A. Jerk.

  The tiny voice in the back of her head rather hesitantly brought up the possibility that she might be overreacting a teensy weensy bit, but she mentally snapped at the
voice to sit down and shut up. Thankfully, it did.

  “Okay, kids,” Adrian announced jovially. “Let’s fight.”

  Actually, that sounded like a great idea. Eyes narrowed, she stepped forward to face Jackson. If he refused to fight with her, that didn’t mean she couldn’t vent her frustrations on him. In fact, a good hard fight might be just what the doctor ordered.

  Adrian called for the cameras to roll and she closed in on Jackson, spitting and snarling like the feline-based alien she was portraying. Her glare was entirely real as she leaped at him.

  Jackson fended off her first attack, and a look of genuine surprise crossed his face. They hadn’t choreographed that leap.

  She pounced again. This time, though, he was ready for her. She bounced off his hard forearm thrust and crouched low, circling him angrily, looking for an opening to attack again.

  Jackson ground out from behind unmoving lips, “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Acting.”

  The guy’s physical defenses were impenetrable. Time to improvise, especially since they were totally off the choreography already. She eyed the ledge behind him and maneuvered him toward it with a series of feints and retreats. When he was in the right position, she took a running start and ran up the inclined ramp beside the structure, onto the ledge itself and took a flying leap at Jackson, pouncing on his back.

  “Jesus, Ana,” he grunted. “You’re way off script.”

  “Screw you and your damned scripts,” she growled back in his ear.

  He whirled fast, almost dislodging her. She reached across his chest and raked her hands across his upper torso. Letting go of all her rage, she bent her head and grabbed his earlobe between her teeth and bit down. Hard.

  “Ow!”

  He bent over hard from the waist, slingshotting her over his shoulder to slam to the mat. He jumped after her, but she scrambled aside just in time to avoid being flattened. He did snag her around the waist with his outstretched arm, though, and dragged her up against him, squirming and swearing.