His Rules: Ludlow Nights - Book1 (A Ludlow Nights Romance)

by CC MacKenzie

  Never?

  Why?

  Then he remembered her tears.

  Something had upset her.

  Dio, and he hadn't even asked her why she'd been crying?

  All he'd done was kiss her to make her feel better, and then one thing had led to another.

  He winced.

  But then he remembered her response to those kisses, remembered the way she'd utterly surrendered to him in his arms. This morning she'd used shock tactics to block him out. But it was too late for that now. Whether she was aware of it or not, Anastacia had given herself to him completely. He was going to hold her to it. However, something told him she was going to put up a fight.

  He couldn't wait.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ferranti Boutique Hotel, London.

  The trick to a successful shoot, Anastacia knew, was to work with a super duper director. And Ed Brookes was rock solid. Best of all he was young, hip and happening. He had a skinny build, was good looking, with bright eyes and an even brighter smile. And Ed managed to skilfully handle a newbie without using technical jargon. He was also dynamic without losing empathy. On this set Ed was the boss. His control unquestioned. With a copy of the script in one hand, he managed the final adjustments to the cameras, the lighting, the reflectors.

  Olivier was sitting on a low couch of black velvet in the reception of the new Ferranti Boutique hotel right in the centre of London. And he looked every inch the star.

  Anastacia had personally chosen the dark sharp suit that hugged his wide shoulders, the white crisp shirt, open at the collar. And she'd made sure the hair stylist didn't use too much product. His shoes were simply fabulous. Hand made by a new hot Italian designer, they fit him like a glove. The man looked good enough to eat.

  "Can I look through the lens, Ed? I just want to check that the shirt and the hair work with the backdrop," Anastacia asked.

  Ed eased back, shot her his signature lazy grin.

  "Sure, babe. He's gotta great face. Women are gonna love him."

  She looked through the lens, checked the frame.

  "Yeah, he's gotta pretty face alright and women already love him."

  Anastacia was determined to keep it strictly professional as she stared at a face she couldn't get enough of and a pair of dark eyes stared right back.

  He looked like grumpy cat.

  She poked her head around the camera and beamed him a toothy grin.

  "What's up?"

  Still smarting after being tossed out of her bed after the best night of his life, Olivier had been sitting just watching Anastacia for over half an hour. She had no right to treat him like a damned stud. No right at all. While he brooded, a technician stuck a light meter next to his face. Another assistant fiddled with his hair, while yet another messed with the shirt sleeve under his jacket. And all the time he watched her. This woman was a rare contrast to the woman who'd had dinner the night before with the Ferranti family. Very different from the one he had in his arms yesterday morning. Her hair was tied back in a complicated braid, nothing like the unconventional black curls he was used to. She wore black jeans that could have been sprayed on. Black leather ankle bootees with a platform and spiky heels that should be illegal. And a sleeveless shirt of crisp white cotton that was tailored to her slim body to within an inch of its life. Her eyelids were smoky and her full mouth was slicked with a fire engine red lipstick. She looked fabulous. She looked scary. Most of all, she looked ruthlessly sexy.

  Then he realized it wasn't the hair or the clothes or the make-up that signified the change in Anastacia. It was the authority. He'd seen it before at the match at Wembley, and later at dinner with Nico. But then it had been played down. Now she fizzed with it, beckoning, dictating, while the team set about delivering her vision. The only person who questioned her was the director, Ed. And he handled her like a pro.

  But when she'd started to talk about Olivier as if he was a thing rather than a person, irritation tugged hard in his belly. When she tossed the throw-away remark about his face, he couldn't help but respond,

  "A real man should never be described as pretty. I am a real man. I am Italian."

  Even as she gave him a deliberately insolent and slow study, those blue eyes took a lazy journey up, then down and back up again, he had the distinct impression she was trying very hard not to laugh.

  "Looking hawt in the suit and shirt, Oli, baby," she said.

  So she was permitted to call him Oli on set, in that naughty little purr, while he was not permitted to call her Ana because it would be unprofessional?

  Double standards there, baby.

  "You look hot, too." His smile was fast, white and edged with fury. "I cannot wait to get my hands in your hair."

  And around your beautiful neck.

  Those blue eyes flashed now.

  "Make-up!" yelled Anastacia. "He looks too shiny."

  The make-up girl threw a plastic bib over his suit, lightly dusted his face.

  And all the while he bravely endured the attention, Olivier's eyes never left Ana's.

  "We can't have you perspiring live on camera," Anastacia said, absolutely thrilled and delighted with his broodingly silent response. "What we need is one of those smiles you flash when you're playing football."

  "I never smile when I am playing football."

  The tone was dangerous.

  It was also sulky.

  Dying to laugh because he was sounding more and more like Nico Ferranti in a huff, but knowing Olivier would never forgive her, Anastacia sent him another toothy grin.

  "Remember when you gave the kid your autograph at half-time? We want one of those. Plenty of super-white teeth, and sexy eyes."

  His sexy eyes narrowed.

  Ed took over, nudged Anastacia out of the way.

  "Who's the director around here?"

  She fluttered her eyes at Ed when he rolled his.

  Ed watched the screen on the camera.

  "Olivier, I want you to remember the penalty at Wembley. There you go. That's the face we're looking for."

  And so the day progressed with take after take and then the close-ups.

  They managed a quick break for lunch.

  When Mimi Moretz strolled in, every guy with a pulse stopped what he was doing.

  And that included Olivier.

  Anastacia couldn't help but grin.

  Mimi was tall, curvy, with a river of golden hair, big brown eyes and a mouth made for sin. She was also was one of the nicest women Anastacia knew.

  "Hey, Ana Banana." Mimi caught her in a tight hug. "How the hell are you?"

  "I'm good." Anastacia drew back to take a good look at her pal. "And I can see that you're looking well, too. Married life agrees with you."

  "Honey, there's nothing like regular sex with the right man to keep the heart healthy."

  The way Olivier's laughing eyes met hers had Anastacia blush right to the roots of her hair.

  She cleared her throat.

  "Lucky you."

  Mimi was staring very hard at her. However, Anastacia was determined to give nothing away. But Mimi wasn't having it.

  "What's going on?" she whispered in her ear, then drew back to study her face again. "Are you keeping secrets?"

  "Tell you later," Anastacia whispered back.

  "I'll hold you to that."

  Then Mimi turned and gave Ed a hug.

  She was introduced to Olivier, who kissed her hand.

  "I must get your autograph for my H, he'll be in heaven. He's such a fan."

  "Grazie, Mimi," Olivier drawled. "It will be my pleasure."

  Olivier and Mimi did the check-in at reception scene.

  Anastacia reckoned he did very well.

  He was cool and self-contained in the way he paid attention to Mimi.

  They looked like the perfect couple.

  And then it was a wrap for the day.

  Linda was at her side, taking notes and fielding calls on Anastacia's cell.

  "Our
boy's done good," she said. "If things go as smoothly tomorrow, we might get ahead of ourselves for once."

  "Yep, he's done well."

  "This letter was delivered by hand. Looks important, strictly private and confidential." Linda handed her a large crisp white envelope and Anastacia gave it a glance. She frowned, it had a lawyer's stamp in the top left hand corner. But before she could open it, her PA continued, "Nico rang. As soon as you wrap, he wants a meet back at the office."

  Nico didn't make a habit of arriving unexpectedly.

  Letter forgotten, she thrust it in her bag and turned to stare at her PA.

  "Did he say why?"

  Linda shrugged. "Nope. I can wrap up here and put Olivier in a taxi."

  Anastacia's busy mind ran through the scenes for the next day as she brought Linda up-to-date.

  Tomorrow would be the bedroom scene with Olivier's line,

  "The best thing about a Ferranti hotel is a comfortable bed and a good night's..." The camera swings to Mimi in bed then pans back to Olivier's dark eyes twinkle into the lens. "Rest."

  "You are happy with how the day went?" Olivier asked Anastacia as she packed her bag in a hurry to return to her office. She nodded, busy keying in notes on her cell for Linda for the next day.

  "Yes, the day went well. Ed will have a rough edit done by tomorrow. We'll get a chance to see the first part of the ad. Then you'll do the bedroom scene with Mimi."

  "Si, Mimi is a lovely girl. She made me look good. Are you finished for the day?"

  She pressed send before glancing up to look into his face.

  He was wearing his own clothes, the usual jeans tucked into boots and a fitted shirt. And she wondered why he didn't look exhausted. They'd had a very long, very stressful day, but Olivier looked as fresh as a daisy.

  "No. I'm meeting Nico back at the office."

  "I thought we might have dinner together."

  Oh did he?

  Good job she had a bona-fide excuse to miss that particular treat.

  "Sorry. Even when I'm on site I have to stay on top of business."

  His hand lifted to smooth a curl that had escaped from her plait and tuck it behind her ear. Her skin burned where his knuckles had scraped her cheek.

  Dark eyes held hers.

  "You work too hard."

  His concern and the proprietary way he was touching her dinged Anastacia's highly developed internal alarm system. Her career was her number one priority and certainly not a subject open to debate with any man. Even the one staring at her as if she was the greatest thing since sliced bread. Hadn't she been down this road before and had nearly lost it all, including herself? Why was it that when a woman said 'no' men never listened? Why was it that men only heard what they wanted to hear?

  "I love my job. It doesn't feel like work."

  "I watched you today. You never stop."

  Now she worried where the conversation was leading.

  She frowned.

  "As I said, I adore my job."

  "Tonight we will eat, drink wine and make love."

  The way he said it, as if he ruled, made Anastacia's teeth tug hard on her bottom lip. They'd had a very successful day and the last thing she wanted was an argument. So she used logic instead.

  "Sorry. I don't know how long the meeting with Nico will last and we have a very early start again tomorrow and you need to be fresh. You don't want make-up moaning about dark circles under your eyes."

  His response was to grab her. Hot and hungry his mouth was on hers. Immediately, her body went up in flames as her hands gripped his shoulders. She shuddered. And now he eased back to stare at her burning face, her glittering eyes. The way his mouth kicked told her he knew exactly what he was doing to her.

  "You need to have a little more playtime in your life."

  She licked her lips and tasted him and smelled him, too.

  It was a scent that was already becoming all too familiar to her.

  And Anastacia knew that she could so easily fall madly in love with this man.

  "Playtime?"

  "Si, time to relax, kick back, take a trip on the London Eye, spend time with your lover." She jerked and since his arm was still around her waist, she knew he'd felt it. Now his eyes went watchful as they held hers. "Haven't you ever had a deep relationship with a man? One where you spend time walking hand in hand, just enjoying the moment, the companionship, and talking about your day?"

  Looking up into his face, into those dark eyes, Anastacia could feel all opposition to his propositions simply fade away. Without thinking, her hand lifted to cup his cheek, to run her thumb over his beautiful mouth.

  "You make everything sound so easy," she whispered.

  "Things with you are never easy," he responded in a long-suffering tone, and took her hand to his mouth and pressed his lips on her fingertips. "But then I have never wanted or expected a life that is easy. I want you... right now. In my bed, naked. I want you to challenge me every single day to make you scream my name. I want us to dance in the rain and laugh. I want you in my life. But I also know that life with you will never, ever, be easy."

  She saw the sincerity in his gorgeous eyes and something else that made her belly and heart flutter. God, he challenged her on every conceivable level.

  His words seemed to reach right into those dark little places where she didn't let anyone touch her. She was so focused on the impact of those words, of the way he said them, as if he'd already decided that their relationship had a future, that she didn't take care with her own words to him.

  "I cannot permit myself to get in too deep with you."

  A funny way to put it, Olivier mused as he continued to play with a glossy black curl. He wondered why she refused to admit to the truth that they were already in too deep. The girl was incredibly wary and untrusting of her own feelings. The fact that she didn't trust him, his motives, was a new and unwelcome experience for him. He was a man who was used to receiving high levels of respect, used to people (especially those closest to him) trusting him implicitly. Now, Olivier tried very hard not to take her lack of trust personally.

  "More rules, Anastacia?" he drawled. "You must make me a list of these rules. Give me half a chance to follow them. I imagine it is a long one."

  Her punch on the shoulder didn't hurt.

  It was the hint of fear in her blue eyes that hurt.

  To hide the hurt and before she could respond, he moved in fast to take her mouth with his. His kiss held a desperate edge that worried him, made him pull back, made him gentle the kiss. The woman was tying him up in knots.

  "You're making me sound like an idiot," she muttered against his mouth.

  "I live for the day you learn to believe in me." And learn to believe in yourself he nearly added, but didn't.

  "You're moving too fast for me, Olivier. Please stop pushing me."

  Well now, he'd asked for trust and she'd told him exactly what she was thinking, feeling.

  He should be delighted.

  Instead, he felt something like despair that she seemed to be slipping through his fingers no matter how hard he tried to hang on to her. Anastacia Morgan was resisting every single step he took to bring them together.

  He closed his eyes, rested his forehead on hers and prayed to God for patience and decided to lighten the mood.

  "This acting gig takes a lot of energy. I am exhausted," he lied.

  Her throaty chuckle and the way her hand stroked his cheek, with tenderness, made him smile.

  "Poor baby. Maybe you need a drink of hot milk and an early night?"

  "I will if you will."

  He smiled into her eyes, told himself he was over thinking.

  And watched her walk away.

  Chapter Nineteen

  "Hi guys!" Anastacia sang as she tripped into her office to find Nico and Bronte helping themselves to coffee. "You were bang on the money with Olivier, Boss. He did great! And Mimi loves him, they worked soooooo well together." As she chatted, she unpacked her la
ptop, her cell, her notebook and placed the hand-delivered letter on her desk. It didn't occur to her that her boss and his wife were too quiet, and she missed the swift worried look Bronte sent her husband, too.

  "I am pleased the day went well. Sit down, Ana," said Nico.

  Now she looked at Nico and Bronte properly for the first time and the look on their faces made her stomach clench. The atmosphere in the room was... strained.

  Anastacia sank into the chair behind her desk.

  "What is it? What's happened? Are the kids okay?"

  "Si, they are fine. Ana, did you receive a letter today?"

  Her brows shot into her hairline as she stared at Nico.

  She blinked as the tension in the room rose.

  Baffled, she said, "Sure."

  Now she picked up the letter and looked at it properly.

  The large envelope was crisp, expensive, with the name of a London law firm stamped in the corner. For some reason, her hand shook as she opened it to find a covering letter and another, smaller, envelope. An envelope with her name on it and written by hand.

  The silence in the room was too loud as she read the lawyer's letter precisely three times before the facts written sank into her stunned brain.

  Face white, she shook her head.

  "This... this is not possible. My biological father is dead..." Her eyes jumped between Nico and Bronte and what she saw there brought a hot, hard, lump to her throat. "You knew about this?"

  "Christopher approached me after photographs of you and Olivier appeared on social media. He was in a state of shock. He's been looking for you for twenty-two years."

  Again, Anastacia shook her head.

  This was simply not possible.

  This Christopher Rucker, whoever the hell he was, was barking up the wrong tree.

  Somebody had messed up.

  Big time.

  "Look, this whole thing is wrong. All wrong. Someone's made a big mistake, Nico. My father is dead."

  Nico shook his head.

  "Ana, is it possible... was your mother capable of lying?"

  Anastacia opened her mouth to hotly refute such a suggestion. But her brow creased as she bit down hard on her bottom lip, and forced herself to face facts. She remembered how up and down her mother had been. Her daughter might receive a hug one minute and the back of a hand the next. Alicia Morgan was not a woman who'd spared the rod either. Then she remembered how her mother had fallen apart after the death of her step-father. How she'd lied about her drinking.