A fake relationship leads to a real pregnancy! Only from USA TODAY bestselling author Anna DePalo!

To protect her reputation in a dog-eat-dog town, actress Chiara Feran needs a fake fling fast! Turning to the stuntman on her latest movie, Rick Serenghetti, seems like a sure thing. But in Hollywood, things—and stuntmen—are never what they seem. Rick is actually a wealthy movie producer who stunts for kicks. And boy, is he intrigued by this latest role! But he gets more than he bargained for as the line between fantasy and reality blurs. Soon, a very real baby is on the way. Could a marriage proposal be far behind?

Hollywood Baby Affair is part of The Serenghetti Brothers series.

“So you need a boyfriend,” Rick Serenghetti said without preamble.

She itched to rub the smug smile off his face. “I don’t need anything. This would be a completely optional but mutually advantageous arrangement.”

And right after this conversation, she was going to have another serious talk with her manager. What had Odele signed her up for?

“You need me.”

She burned. He’d made it sound like You want me.

“I’ve been asked to play many roles, but never a stud.”

“Don’t get too excited.”

He grinned. “Don’t worry, I won’t. I have a thing for the doe-eyed, dark-haired look, but since Camilla Belle isn’t available, you’ll do.”

The flames of temper licked her, not least because he was clued in as to her Hollywood doppelgänger. “So you’ll settle?”

“I don’t know. Let’s kiss and find out.”

“If the cameras were rolling, it would be time for a slap right now,” she muttered.

He caught her wrist and tugged her closer.

“This isn’t a movie, and you’re no actor!” she objected.

“Great, because I intend to kiss you for real.”

* * *

Hollywood Baby Affair is part of the Serenghetti Brothers series: In business and the bedroom, these alpha brothers drive a hard bargain!

Hollywood Baby Affair

Anna DePalo

www.millsandboon.co.uk

USA TODAY bestselling author ANNA DEPALO is a Harvard graduate and former intellectual property attorney who lives with her husband, son and daughter in her native New York. She writes sexy, humorous books that have been published in more than twenty countries. Her novels have won the RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice Award, the Golden Leaf and the Book Buyer’s Best. You can sign up for her newsletter at www.annadepalo.com.

For DeLilah & Bob,

thanks for the support & encouragement

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

One

Actress and Stuntman Lovefest! More Than Movie Pyrotechnics on Display.

The gossip website headline ran through Chiara Feran’s head when it shouldn’t have.

She clung to Stunt Stud’s well-muscled shoulders, four stories up, wind blowing and helicopter blades whipping in the background—trying to act as if her life depended on it when the truth was that only her career did. After all, a gossip site had just written that she and Mr. Stunt Double were an item, and right now she needed the press distracted from her estranged father, a Vegas-loving cardsharp threatening to cause a controversy of his own.

She tossed her head to keep the hair out of her face. She’d learned Stunt Stud’s first name was Rick when they’d rehearsed, but she thought insufferable was a better word for him. He had remarkable green eyes...and he looked at her as if she were a spoiled diva who needed the kid-glove treatment.

I don’t want you to ruin your manicure.

Thanks for your concern, but there’s a manicurist on set.

They’d had a few brief exchanges over the course of filming that had made her blood boil. If the world only knew... True, his magnetism was enough to rival that of the biggest movie stars, so she wondered why he was content with stunt work, but then again, his ego didn’t need any further boosting. And the rumors were that he wasn’t who he seemed to be and that he had a shadowy, secretive past.

There was even a hint that he was fabulously wealthy. Given his ego, she wouldn’t be surprised if he’d put out the rumors himself. He was a macho stuntman ready to save a damsel in distress, but Chiara could save herself, thank you. She’d learned long ago not to depend on any man.

She opened her mouth, but instead of an existential scream, her next line came out. “Zain, we’re going to die!”

“I’m not dropping you,” he growled in reply.

Chiara knew his voice would be substituted later with her costar’s by the studio’s editing department. She took perverse satisfaction in calling him by her costar’s character name. And since Rick was pretending to be her costar, and her costar himself was just acting, she was two steps removed from reality.

And one long fall away from sudden death.

Even though both she and Rick had invisible harnesses, accidents could and did happen on movie sets. As if on cue, more explosions sounded around them.

As soon as this scene was over, she was heading to her trailer for coffee and maybe even a talk with Odele—

“Cut!” the director yelled through a bullhorn.

Chiara sagged with relief.

Rick barely loosened his grip as they were lowered to the ground.

She was bone-tired in the middle of a twelve-hour day on set. She didn’t dwell on the other type of tired right now—an existential weariness that made it hard to care about anything in her life. Fortunately filming on this movie was due to wrap soon.

Action flicks bored her, but they paid the mortgage and more. And Odele, her manager, never stopped reminding her that they also kept her in the public eye. Her Q score would stay high, and it would keep those lucrative endorsement deals flowing. This film was no exception on both counts. Pegasus Pride was about a mission to stop the bad guys from blowing up the United Nations and other key government buildings.

As soon as her feet hit the ground, she ignored a frisson of awareness and stepped away from Rick.

His dark hair was mussed, and his jeans clung low on his hips, a dirty vest concealing his tee. Still, he managed to project the authority of a master of the universe, calm and implacable but ready for action.

She didn’t like her reaction to him. He made her self-conscious about being a woman. Yes, he was all hard-packed muscle and latent strength. Yes, he was undoubtedly in top physical shape with washboard abs. But he was arrogant and annoying and, like most men, not to be trusted.

She refused to be intimidated. It was laughable really—after all, her bank account must dwarf his.

“Okay?” Rick asked.

His voice was as deep and rich as the hot chocolate she wished she had right now—damn him. It was a surprisingly damp and cold early April day on Novatus Studio’s lot in Los Angeles. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” Dozens of people milled around them on the movie set. “All in a day’s work, right?”

His jaw firmed. “This one is asking for more than usual.”

“Excuse me?”

He looked at her quizzically. “Have you spoken to your manager recently? Odele?”

“No, why?”

His gaze moved to her trailer. “You may want to give it a go.”

Uh-oh.

He fished his cell phone out of his pocket and showed her the screen.

It took a moment to focus on the newspaper website’s headline, but once she did, her eyes widened. Chiara Feran and Her Stuntman Get Cozy. Is It More Than High Altitudes That Have Their Hearts Racing?

Oh...crap. Another online tabloid had apparently picked up the original gossip site’s story, and worse, now Rick was aware of it, too. Heat rushed to her cheeks. He wasn’t her stuntman. He wasn’t her anything. Suddenly she wondered whether she should have sent that first story into internet oblivion when she’d had the chance by denying it. But she’d been too relieved they were focusing on a made-up relationship rather than the real pesky issue—her father.

At Rick’s amused look, she said abruptly, “I’ll talk to Odele.”

He lifted her chin and stroked her jaw with his thumb—as if he had all the right in the world. “If you want me, there’s no need for extreme measures like planting stories in the press. Why not try the direct approach?”

She swatted his hand away and held on to her temper. “I’m sure there’s been a mistake. Is that direct enough for you?”

He laughed at her with his eyes, and said with lazy self-assurance, “Get back to me.”

As if. In addition to her deadbeat father making news, she had to contend with burgeoning rumors of a relationship with the last stuntman on earth she’d ever walk the red carpet with.

She turned her back on Rick and marched off. The man sent a red mist into the edges of her vision, and it had nothing to do with lust. She clenched her hands, heart pounding. Her jeans and torn tee were skintight—requisite attire for an action movie damsel in distress—and she was aware she was giving Rick a good view as she stomped away.

At her trailer, she banged through the door. She immediately spotted Odele sitting at a small table. The older woman lifted her head and gave Chiara a mild look from behind red glasses, her gray bob catching the light. If Chiara had learned anything during her years with her manager, it was that Odele was unflappable.

Stopping, Chiara touched her forehead. “I took pain medication for my headache an hour ago, and he’s still here.”

“Man problems have defied pharmacology for decades, honey,” Odele replied in her throaty, raspy voice.

Chiara blurted out the gossip about her and Rick, and the stuntman’s reaction. “He thinks he’s God’s gift to actresses!”

“You need a boyfriend,” Odele responded cryptically.

For a moment, Chiara had trouble processing the words. Her mind, going sixty miles an hour, hit the brakes. “What?”

She was one of those actresses who got paid to be photographed sporting a certain brand of handbag or shoes. She glanced around her trailer at the gleaming wood and marble countertops. She had more than she could possibly want. She didn’t desire anything, especially a boyfriend.

True, she hadn’t had a date in a long time. It didn’t mean she couldn’t get one. She just didn’t want the hassle. Boyfriends were work...and men were trouble.

“We need to retain a boyfriend for you,” Odele rephrased.

Chiara gave a dismissive laugh. “I can think of many things I need, but a boyfriend isn’t one of them. I need a new stylist now that Emery has gone off to start her own accessories line. I need a new tube of toothpaste for my bathroom. And I really need a vacation once this film wraps.” She shook her head. “But a boyfriend? No.”

“You’re America’s sweetheart. Everyone wants to see you happy,” her manager pointed out.

“You mean they want to see me making steady progress toward marriage and children.”

Odele nodded.

“Life is rarely that neat.” She should know.

Odele gave a big sigh. “Well, we don’t deal in reality, do we, honey? Our currency in Hollywood is the stardust of dreams.”

Chiara resisted rolling her eyes. She really needed a vacation.

“That’s why a little relationship is just what you need to get your name back out there in a positive way.”

“And how am I supposed to get said relationship?”

Odele snapped her fingers. “Easy. I have just the man.”

“Who?”

“A stuntman, and you’ve already met him.”

A horrifying thought entered Chiara’s head, and she narrowed her eyes. “You put out the rumor that Rick and I are getting cozy.”

OMG. She’d gone to Odele with the rumor because she expected her manager to stamp out a budding media firestorm. Instead, she’d discovered Odele was an arsonist...with poor taste in men.

Odele nodded. “Damn straight I did. We need a distraction from stories about your father.”

Chiara stepped forward. “Odele, how could you? And with—” she stabbed her finger in the direction of the door “—him of all people.”

Odele remained placid.

Chiara narrowed her eyes again. “Has he said anything about your little scheme?”

“He hasn’t objected.”

No wonder Rick had seemed almost...intimate a few minutes ago. He’d been approached by Odele to be her supposed love interest. Chiara took a deep breath to steady herself and temper her reaction. “He’s not my type.”

“He’s any woman’s type, honey. Arm candy.”

“There’s nothing sweet about him, believe me.” He was obnoxious, irritating and objectionable in every way.

“He might not be sugar, but he’ll look edible to many of your female fans.”

Chiara threw up her hands. It was one thing not to contradict a specious story online, it was another to start pretending it was true. And now she’d discovered that said story had been concocted by none other than her own manager. “Oh, c’mon, Odele. You really expect me to stage a relationship for the press?”

Odele arched a brow. “Why not? Your competition is making sex tapes for the media.”

“I’m aiming for the Academy Awards, not the Razzies.”

“It’s no different from being set up on a date or two by a friend.”

“Except you’re my manager and we both know there’s an ulterior motive.”

“There’s always an ulterior motive. Money. Sex. You name it.”

“Is this necessary? My competition has survived extramarital affairs, DUIs and nasty custody disputes with their halos intact.”

“Only because of quick thinking and fancy footwork on the part of their manager or publicist. And believe me, honey, my doctor keeps advising me to keep my stress level to a minimum. It’s not good for the blood pressure.”

“You need to get out of Hollywood.”

“And you need a man. A stuntman.”

“Never.” And especially not him. Somehow he’d gotten his own trailer even though he wasn’t one of the leads on this film. He also visited the exercise trailer, complete with built-in gym and weightlifting equipment. Not that she’d used it herself, but his access to it hadn’t escaped her notice.

Odele pulled out her cell phone and read from the screen: “Chiara Feran’s Father in Illegal Betting Scandal: ‘My Daughter Has Cut Me Off.’”

Oh...double damn. Chiara was familiar with yesterday’s headline. It was like a bad dream that she kept waking up to. It was also why she’d been temporarily—in a moment of insanity—grateful for the ridiculous story about her budding romance. “The only reason I’ve kept him out of my life for the past two decades is because he’s a lying, cheating snake! Now I’m responsible not only for my own image, but for what a sperm donor does?”

As far as she was concerned, the donation of sperm was Michael Feran’s principal contribution to the person she was today. Even the surname that they shared wasn’t authentic. It had been changed at Ellis Island three generations back from the Italian Ferano to the Anglicized Feran.

“We need to promote a wholesome image,” Odele intoned solemnly.

“I could throttle him!”

* * *

Rick Serenghetti made it his business to be all business. But he couldn’t take his gaze off Chiara Feran. Her limpid brown eyes, smooth skin contrasting with dark brows and raven hair made her a dead ringer for Snow White.

A guy could easily be turned into a blithering fool in the presence of such physical perfection. Her face was faultlessly symmetrical. Her topaz eyes called to a man to lose himself in their depths, and her pink bow mouth begged to be kissed. And then came the part of her appearance where the threshold was crossed from fairy tale to his fantasy: she had a fabulous body that marked her as red-hot.

They were in the middle of filming on the Novatus Studio set. Today was sunny and mild, more typical weather for LA than they’d had yesterday, when he’d last spoken to Chiara. With any luck, current conditions were a bellwether for how filming on the movie would end—quickly and painlessly. Then he could relax, because on a film set he was always pumped up for his next action scene. In a lucky break for everyone involved, scenes were again being shot on Novatus Studio’s lot in downtown LA, instead of in nearby Griffith Park.

Still, filming wasn’t over until the last scene was done.

He stood off to the side, watching Chiara and the action on camera. The film crew surrounded him, along with everyone else who made a movie happen: assistants, extras, costume designers, special effects people and, of course, the stunts department—him.

He knew more about Chiara Feran than she’d ever guess—or that she’d like him to know. No Oscar yet, but the press loved to talk about her. Surprisingly scandal-free for Hollywood...except for the cardsharp father.

Too bad Rick and Chiara rubbed each other like two sheets of sandpaper—because she had guts. He had to respect that about her. She wasn’t like her male costar who—if the tabloids were to be believed—was fond of getting four-hundred-dollar haircuts.

At the same time, Chiara was all woman. He remembered the feel of her curves during the helicopter stunt they’d done yesterday. She’d been soft and stimulating. And now the media had tagged him and Chiara as a couple.

“I want to talk to you.”

Rick turned to see Chiara’s manager. In the first days of filming, he’d spotted the older woman on set. She was hard to overlook. Her raspy, no-nonsense voice and distinctive ruby-framed glasses made her ripe for caricature. One of the crew had confirmed for him that she was Odele Wittnauer, Chiara’s manager.

Odele looked to be in her early sixties and not fighting it—which made her stand out in Hollywood. Her helmet hair was salt-and-pepper with an ironclad curve under the chin.

Rick adopted a pleasant smile. He and Odele had exchanged a word or two, but this was the first time she’d had a request. “What can I do for you?”

“I’ve got a proposal.”

He checked his surprise, and joked, “Odele, I didn’t think you had it in you.”

He had been propositioned by plenty of women, but he’d never had the word proposal issue from the mouth of a Madeleine Albright look-alike before.

“Not that type of proposition. I want you to be in a relationship with Chiara Feran.”

Rick rubbed his jaw. He hadn’t seen that one coming. And then he put two and two together, and a light went off. “You were the one who planted that story about me and Chiara.”

“Yup,” Odele responded without a trace of guilt or remorse. “The press beast had to be fed. And more important, we needed a distraction from another story about Chiara’s father.”

“The gambler.”

“The deadbeat.”

“You’re ruthless.” He said it with reluctant admiration.

“There’s chemistry between you,” Odele responded, switching gears.

“Fireworks are more like it.”

Chiara’s manager brightened. “The press will eat it up. The stuntman and the beauty pageant winner.”

So Chiara had won a contest or two—he shouldn’t have been surprised. She had the looks to make men weak, including him, somewhat to his chagrin. Still, Odele made them sound like a couple on a C-rated reality show: Blind Date Engagements. “I’ve seen the media chew up and spit out people right and left. No, thanks.”

“It’ll raise your profile in this town.”

“I like my privacy.”

“I’ll pay you well.”

“I don’t need the money.”

“Well,” Odele drawled, lowering her eyes, “maybe I can appeal to your sense of stuntman chivalry then.”

“What do you mean?”

Odele looked up. “You see, Chiara has this teeny-weeny problem of an overly enthusiastic fan.”

“A stalker?”

“Too early to tell, but the guy did try to scale the fence at her house once.”

“He knows where she lives?” Rick asked in disbelief.

“We live in the internet age, dear. Privacy is dead.”

He had some shred left but he wasn’t going to go into details. Even Superman’s alter ego, Clark Kent, was entitled to a few secrets.

“Don’t mention the too-eager fan to her, though. She doesn’t like to talk about it.”

Rick narrowed his eyes. “Does Chiara Feran know you approached me?”

“She thinks I already have.”

All right then.

He surmised that Odele and Chiara had had their talk. And apparently Chiara had changed tactics and decided to turn the situation to her advantage. She was willing to tolerate him...for the sake of her career at least. He shouldn’t have been surprised. He’d already had one bad experience with a publicity-hungry actress, and then he’d been one of the casualties.

Still, they were in the middle of the second act, and he’d missed the opening. But suddenly things had gotten a lot more interesting.

Odele’s eyes gleamed as if she sensed victory—or at least a chink in his armor. Turning away, she said, “Let me know when you’re ready to talk.”

As Rick watched Chiara’s manager leave, he knew there was a brooding expression on his face. Odele had presented him with a quandary. As a rule, he didn’t get involved with actresses—ever since his one bad episode—but he had his gallant side. On top of it, Chiara was the talent on his latest film—one in which he had a big stake.

As if on cue, his cell phone vibrated. Fishing it out of his pocket, Rick recognized the number on-screen as that of his business partner—one of the guys who fronted the company, per Rick’s preference to be behind the scenes.

“Hey, Pete, what’s going on?”

Rick listened to Pete’s summary of the meeting that morning with an indie director looking for funding. He liked what he heard, but he needed to know more. “Email me their proposal. I’m inclined to fund up to five million, but I want more details.”

Five million dollars was pocket change in his world.

“You’re the boss,” Pete responded cheerfully.

Yup, he was...though no one on set knew he was the producer of Pegasus Pride. He liked his privacy and kept his communications mostly to a need-to-know basis.

Right. Rick spotted Chiara in the distance. No doubt she was heading to film her next scene. There was someone who treated him more like the hired help than the boss.

Complications and delays on a film were common, and Rick had a feeling Chiara was about to become his biggest complication to date...

Two

“Hey.”

It was exactly the sort of greeting she expected from a sweaty and earthy he-man—or rather, stuntman.

Chiara’s pulse picked up. Ugh. She hadn’t expected to have this reaction around him. She was a professional—a classically trained actress before she’d been diverted by Hollywood.

Sure, she’d been Miss Rhode Island, and a runner-up in the Miss America pageant. But then the Yale School of Drama had beckoned. And she’d never been a Hollywood blonde. The media most often compared her to Camilla Belle because they shared a raven-haired, chestnut-eyed look.

Anyway, with her ebony hair, she’d need to have her roots touched up every other day if she tried to become a blonde. As far as she was concerned, she spent enough time in the primping chair.

She figured He-Stuntman had gotten his education in the School of Hard Knocks. Maybe a broken bone or two. Certainly plenty of bumps and bruises.

Rick stopped in front of her. No one was around. They were near the actors’ trailers, far away from the main action. Luckily she hadn’t run into him after her talk with Odele two days ago. Instead, she’d managed to avoid him until now.

Dusk was gathering, but she still had a clear view of him.

He was in a ripped tee, jeans and body paint meant to seem like grease and dirt, while she was wearing a damsel-in-distress/sidekick look—basically a feminine version of Rick’s attire but her clothes were extratight and torn to show cleavage. And from the quick perusal he gave her, she could tell the bare skin hadn’t escaped his notice.

“So you need a boyfriend,” he said without preamble.

She itched to rub the smug smile off his face. “I don’t need anything. This would be a completely optional but mutually advantageous arrangement.”

And right after this conversation, she was going to have another serious talk with her manager. What had Odele signed her up for?

“You need me.”

She burned. He’d made it sound like you want me.

“I’ve been asked to play many roles, but never a stud.”

“Don’t get too excited.”

He grinned. “Don’t worry, I won’t. I have a thing for the doe-eyed, dark-haired look, but since Camilla Belle isn’t available, you’ll do.”

The flames of temper licked her, not least because he was clued in as to her Hollywood doppelgänger. “So you’ll settle?”

“I don’t know. Let’s kiss and find out.”

“If the cameras were rolling, it would be time for a slap right now,” she muttered.

He caught her wrist and tugged her closer.

“This isn’t a movie, and you’re no actor!” she objected.

“Great, because I intend to kiss you for real. Let’s see if we can be convincing for when the paparazzi and public are watching.” He raised his free hand to thread his fingers through her hair and move it away from her face. “Your long dark hair is driving me crazy.”

“It’s the Brazilian-Italian heritage,” she snapped back, “and I bet you say the same thing to all your leading ladies.”

“No,” he answered bemusedly, “some of them are blondes.”

And then his mouth was on hers. If he’d been forceful, she’d have had a chance, but his lips settled on hers with soft, tantalizing pressure. He smelled of smoke from the special effects, and when his tongue slipped inside her mouth, she discovered the taste of mint, too.

She’d been kissed many times—on-screen and off—but she found herself tumbling into this one with shocking speed. The kiss was smooth, leisurely...masterful but understated. Rick could double for any A-list actor in a love scene. He touched his tongue to hers, and the shock and unexpectedness of it had her opening to him. As an unwritten rule, actors on-screen did not French kiss, so she was already in uncharted territory. The hard plane of his chest brushed against her, and her nipples tightened.

Think, Chiara. Remember why you don’t like him.

She allowed herself one more second, and then she tore her mouth away and stepped back. For a fleeting moment she felt a puff of steam over his audacity. “All right, the screen test is over.”

Rick curved his lips. “How did I do?”

“I don’t even know your last name,” she responded, sidestepping the question.

“I’ll answer to anything. ‘Honey,’ ‘baby,’ ‘sugar.’” He shrugged. “I’m easy.”

“Clearly.” This guy could charm his way into any woman’s bed. “Still, I’d prefer your real one for when the police ask me to describe the suspect.”

He grinned. “It’s Rick Serenghetti. But ‘darling’ would add the appropriate air of mystery for the paparazzi.”

Serenghetti. She knew an Italian surname when she heard one. “My last name was originally Ferano. You know, Italian.”

His smile widened. “I’d never have guessed, Snow White.”

“They used to call me Snow White, but I drifted,” she quipped. “Not suitable for the role.”

“No problem. I’m not Prince Charming. I’m just his body double.”

She wanted to scream. “This is never going to work.”

“That’s why you’re an actress.” He looked curious. “And, Odele mentioned, a beauty contestant. Win any titles?”

She made a sour face. “Yes. Miss Congeniality.”

He burst out laughing. “I won’t ask what your talent was.”

“Ventriloquism. I made my dummy sing.”

“‘Some Day My Prince Will Come’?”

“Nothing from Snow White! I was also Miss Rhode Island, but obviously that was on the state level.” She’d gone on to be a finalist in Miss America, which was where she’d earned her title of Miss Congeniality.

“Rhode Island is the smallest state. Still, the competition must have been fierce.”

“Are you mocking me?” She searched his face, but he looked solemn.

“Who, me? I never mock women I’m trying to score with.”

“Wow, you’re direct. You don’t even like me.”

“What’s like got to do with it?”

“You have no shame.” When it came to sex, she was used to men wanting to bed anyone in sight. This was Hollywood, after all.

“Is it working?”

“Nothing will work, except Odele convincing me this is a good idea.”

Rick frowned. “You mean she hasn’t already?”

It took Chiara a moment to realize he wasn’t joking. “Please. She may have persuaded you to go along with her crazy scheme, but not me.”

“I only went along with it because I thought you’d said yes.”

Chiara watched Rick’s dawning expression, which mimicked her own. “I believed you’d agreed.”

“Stuntmen are made of sterner stuff.” He threw her attitude right back at her.

Chiara realized they’d both been tricked by Odele into believing the other had agreed to her plan. Rick had dared to kiss her because he thought she’d already signed up for her manager’s plot. “What are we going to do?”

Rick shrugged. “About the gathering media frenzy? We’re already bickering like an old married couple. We’re perfect.”

Chiara’s eyes widened. “You can’t tell me you’re seriously considering this? Anyway, we’re supposed to act like new lovebirds, not a cantankerous old married couple.”

“If we’re already arguing, it’ll make our relationship seem deeper than it is.”

“Skip the honeymoon phase?” she asked rhetorically. “What’s in this for you?”

He shrugged. “Have some fun.” He looked at her lingeringly. “Satisfy my fetish for Snow White.”

Chiara tingled, her breasts feeling heavy. “Oh, yeah, right...”

“So what’s your take?”

“This is the worst storyline to come out of Hollywood.”

* * *

For the second time in recent days, Chiara banged open the door of her trailer and marched in. “I can’t pretend to be in a relationship with Rick Serenghetti. End of story.”

Odele looked up from her magazine. She sat on a cushioned built-in bench along one wall. “What’s wrong with him?”

He was too big, too macho, too everything—most of all, annoying. She still sizzled from their kiss minutes ago, and she didn’t do vulnerability where men were concerned. But she sidestepped the issue. “It’s the pretending part that I have trouble with.”

“You’re an actress.”

“Context is everything. I like to confine my acting to the screen.” Otherwise, she’d be in danger of losing herself. If she was always pretending, who was she? “You know I value integrity.”

“It’s overrated. Besides, this is Tinseltown.”

Chiara placed her hands on her hips. “You misled me and Rick into thinking the other one had already agreed to this crazy scheme.”

Odele shrugged. “You were already open to the idea. That’s the only reason it even mattered to you whether he was already on board with the plan.”

Chiara felt heat rise to her face, and schooled her expression. “I’m not signing up for anything!”

Her conversation with Rick had had no satisfactory ending. It had sent her scuttling, somewhat humiliatingly, back to her manager. Chiara eyed the shower stall visible through the open bathroom door at the end of the trailer. If only she could rinse off the tabloid headlines just as easily.

“Fine,” Odele responded with sudden and suspicious docility, putting aside her magazine. “We’ll have to come up with another strategy to distract the press from your father and amp up your career.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

“Great, it’s settled. Now...can you gain twenty pounds?” Odele asked.

Chiara sighed. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. “I’d rather not. Why?”

She’d gained fifteen for a film role two years ago in Alibis & Lies—in which she’d played a convicted white-collar criminal who witnesses a murder once she’s released from jail and thinks her husband is framing her. To gain the weight, she’d indulged her love for pasta, creamy sauces and pastries—but she’d had to work for months with a trainer to shed the pounds afterward. In the meantime, she’d worn sunglasses and baggy clothes and had lain low in order to avoid an unflattering shot by the paparazzi. And she’d been disappointed not to get a Golden Globe nomination.

She wondered what movie project Odele had in mind these days... Usually her talent agent at Creative Artists sent projects her way, but Odele kept her ear to the ground, too.

“Last time I was heavier on-screen, I got a lot of backlash.” Some fans thought she’d gained too much weight, some too little. She could never please everyone.

“It’s not a film,” Odele said. “It’s a weight-loss commercial.”

Chiara’s jaw dropped. “But I’m not overweight!”

Odele’s eyes gleamed. “You could be.”

Chiara threw her hands up. “Odele, you’re ruthless.”

“It’s what makes me good at what I do. Slender You is looking for a new celebrity weight-loss spokesperson. The goodwill with fans alone is worth the pounds, but Slender You is willing to pay millions to the right person. If you land this contract, your DBI score will go up, and you’ll be more likely to land other endorsement deals.”

“No.” Her manager was all about Q scores and DBIs and any other rating that claimed to measure a celebrity’s appeal to the public. “Next you’ll be suggesting a reality show.”

Odele shook her head. “No, I only recommend it to clients who haven’t had a big acting job in at least five years. That’s not you, sweetie.”

For which Chiara would be forever grateful. She was having a hard enough time being the star of her own life without adding the artifice of a reality show to it.

“How about writing a book?” Odele asked, tilting her head.

“On what?”

“Anything! We’ll let your ghostwriter decide.”

“No, thanks. If I have a ghost, I won’t really be writing, will I?” Chiara responded tartly.

“You’re too honest for your own good, you know.” Odele sighed, and then suddenly brightened. “What about a fragrance?”

“I thought Dior just picked a new face for the brand.”

“They did. I’m talking about developing your own scent. Very lucrative these days.”

“You mean like Elizabeth Taylor’s White Diamonds?”

“Right, right.” Odele warmed up. “We could call it Chiara. Or, wait, wait, Chiara Lucida! The name suggests a bright star.”

“How much is an Oscar worth?” Chiara joked, because her idea of becoming a big star involved winning a golden statuette.

“Of course, an Academy Award has value, but we want to monetize all income streams, sweetie. We want to grow and protect your brand.”

Chiara sighed, leaning against the walnut-paneled built-in cabinet behind her. There’d been a time when movie stars were just, well, movie stars. Now everyone was a brand. “There’s nothing wrong with my brand.”

“Yes, of course.” Odele paused for a beat. “Well, except for the teeny-weeny problem of your father popping up in the headlines from time to time.”

“Right.” How could she forget? How could anyone fail to remember when the tabloids followed the story breathlessly?

“How about a lifestyle brand like Gwyneth Paltrow or Jessica Alba has?” Odele offered.

“Maybe when I win an Academy Award or I have kids.” Both Alba and Paltrow had had children when they’d started their companies.

At the thought of kids, Chiara had an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach. She was thirty-two. She had an expiration date in Hollywood and a ticking clock for getting pregnant without spending thousands of dollars for chancy medical intervention. Unfortunately the two trains were on a collision course. If she was going to avert disaster, she needed to have a well-established career—er, Oscar—before she caved in to the public clamor for her to get a happily-ever-after with marriage and children.

Of course, she wanted kids. It was the husband or boyfriend part that she had a problem with. Michael Feran hadn’t set a sterling example for his only child. At least she thought she was his only child.

Ugh. Her family—or what remained of it—was so complicated. It wouldn’t even qualify as a Lifetime movie because there was no happy ending.

Still, the thought of a child of her own brought a pang. She’d have someone to love unconditionally, and who would love and need her in return. She’d avoid the mistakes that her parents had made. And she’d have something real—pure love—to hold on to in the maelstrom of celebrity.

“So,” Odele said pleasantly, “your other options aren’t too appealing. Let me know when you’re ready to consider dating Rick Serenghetti.”

Chiara stared at her manager. She had the sneaking suspicion that Odele had known all along where their conversation was heading. In all probability, her manager had been set on showing her the error of her ways and her earlier agreeableness had just been a feint. “You’re a shark, Odele.”

Odele chuckled. “I know. It’s why I’m good at what I do.”

Chiara resisted throwing up her hands. Some actresses confided in their personal assistants or stylists. She had Odele.

* * *

“So what’s got you down?”

Rick figured he needed to work on his acting skills if even Jordan was asking that question. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

They were sitting in his kitchen, and he’d just handed his brother a cold beer from the fridge. He grabbed opportunities with his family whenever he could since he spent much of his time on the opposite coast from everyone else. Fortunately, since his current movie was being filmed on a Novatus Studio lot and nearby locations around LA, he was able to get to his place at least on weekends—even if home these days was a one-bedroom rental in West Hollywood.

“Mom asked me to check on you.” Jordan shifted his weight on the kitchen barstool.

“She always asks you to check on me whenever we’re in the same city. But don’t assume the reconnaissance runs one way. She wants me to keep an eye on you, too.”

“My life hasn’t been that interesting lately.”

Jordan was in town because his team, the New England Razors, was playing the Los Angeles Kings at the Staples Center. He was the star center player for the team. The youngest Serenghetti brother also had movie star looks, and hardly ever let an opportunity pass without remarking that their parents had attained perfection the third time around.

Rick followed hockey—family loyalty and all—but he wasn’t passionate about it like Jordan and their older brother, Cole, who’d also had a career with the Razors until it had ended in injury. Rick had been a wrestler in high school, not a hockey team captain like his brothers.

The result was that he had a reputation as the family maverick. And hey, who was he to argue? Still, he wasn’t intentionally contrary—though Chiara might want to argue the point.

An image of Chiara Feran sprung to mind. He’d been willing to tease her about playing a couple, especially when he’d thought Chiara was going along with the idea. After all, it was nice, safe, pretend—not like really getting involved with an actress. And it was fun to ruffle Chiara’s feathers.

If he was being a little more serious, he’d also acknowledge that as a producer, he had a vested interest in the star of his latest film maintaining a positive public image despite her problematic family members—not to mention staying safe if she really had a would-be stalker.

Still, being a pretend boyfriend and secret bodyguard, if Odele had her way, was asking a lot. Did he have enough to overcome his scruples about getting involved with a celebrity? Hell, even he wasn’t sure. He’d been burned once by an aspiring starlet, and he’d learned his lesson—never stand between an actress and a camera.

For a long time, he’d counted actors, directors and other movie people among his friends. Hal Moldado, a lighting technician, had been one of those buddies. Then one day, Rick had run into Isabel Lanier, Hal’s latest girlfriend. She’d followed him out of a cafe and surprised him with a kiss—captured in a selfie that she’d managed to take with her cell phone and promptly posted to her social media accounts. Unsurprisingly it had spelled the end of his friendship with Hal. Later he’d conclude that Isabel had just been trying to make Hal jealous and stay in the news herself as an actress.

The saving grace had been that the media had never found out—or cared—about the name of Isabel’s mystery man in those photos. It had been enough that Isabel looked as if she were cheating on Hal, so Rick had been able to dodge the media frenzy.

Ever since, though, as far as he was concerned, starlets were only interested in tending their public image. And up to now Chiara had fit the bill well—even if she hadn’t yet agreed to her manager’s latest scheme. After all, there was a reason that Chiara had partnered with someone like Odele. She knew her celebrity was important, and she needed someone to curate it.

But Odele had increased the stakes by referring to a possible stalker... It complicated his calculations about whether to get involved. He should just convince Chiara to get additional security—like any sane person would. Not that sanity ranked high on the list of characteristics he associated with fame-hungry actresses.

Jordan tilted his head. “Woman in your thoughts?”

Rick brought his attention back to the present. “Anyone ever tell you that you have a sixth sense where the other sex is concerned?”

His younger brother smiled enigmatically. “Sera would agree with you. Marisa’s cousin is driving me crazy.”

Their brother Cole had recently married the love of his life, Marisa Danieli. The two had had a falling-out in high school but had reconnected. Marisa’s relatives were now an extension by marriage of the Serenghetti clan—including Marisa’s younger cousin Sera.

Apparently that didn’t sit well with Jordan.

“I’m surprised,” Rick remarked. “You can usually charm any woman if you set your mind to it.”

“She won’t even serve me at the Puck & Shoot.”

“Is she still moonlighting as a waitress there?” Rick had had his share of drinks at Welsdale’s local sports bar.

“Off and on.”

He clasped his brother’s shoulder. “So your legendary prowess with women has fallen short. Cheer up, it was bound to happen sometime.”

“Your support is overwhelming,” Jordan replied drily.

Rick laughed. “I just wish Cole were here to appreciate this.”

“For the record, I haven’t been trying to score with Sera. She’s practically family. But she actively dislikes me, and I can’t figure out why.”

“Why does it matter? It won’t be the first time a family member has had it in for you.” Jordan had come in for his share of ribbing and roughing up by his two older siblings. “What’s to get worked up about?”

“I’m not worked up,” Jordan grumbled. “Anyway, let’s get back to you and the woman problems.”

Rick cracked a careless smile. “Unlike you, I don’t have any.”

“Women or problems?”

“Both together.”

Jordan eyed him. “The press is suggesting you have the former, and you look as if you’ve got the latter.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Who’s the starlet on your latest film?”

“Chiara Feran.”

His brother nodded. “She’s hot.”

“She’s off-limits.”

Jordan raised his eyebrows. “To me?”

“To anyone.”

“Proprietary already?”

“Where did you get this ridiculous story?”

“Hey, I read.”

“Much to Mom’s belated joy.”

Jordan flashed the famous pearly whites. His good looks had gotten him many modeling gigs, including more than one underwear ad. “Gossipmonger reported you two have been getting cozy, and the story has been picked up by other websites.”

“You know better than to believe everything you read.” If the gossip had reached Jordan, then it was spreading wider and faster than Rick had thought. Still, he figured he shouldn’t have been surprised, considering Chiara’s celebrity.

“Yup. But is it true?”

Frankly, Rick was starting not to know what was true anymore, and it was troubling. “Nothing’s happened.”

Except one kiss. She’d tasted of peaches—fruity and heady and delicious. He’d gotten an immediate image of the two of them heating up the sheets, his trailer or hers. She challenged him, and something told him she’d be far from boring in bed, too. Chiara was full of fire, and he warmed up immediately around her. The trouble was he might also get burned.

Jordan studied him. “So nothing’s happened yet...”

Rick adopted a bland expression. “Unlike you, I don’t see women as an opportunity.”

“Only your female stars.”

“I’m done with that.” Isabel had been the star of Rick’s movie when they’d been snapped together. The fact that they’d both been working on the film—he as a stuntman and secretly as a producer, and she as an actress—had lent an air of truth to the rumors.

Jordan looked thoughtful. “Right.”

Rick checked his watch because he was through trying to convince his brother—or himself. In a quarter of an hour, they needed to head to dinner at Ink, one of the neighborhood’s trendy restaurants. “Just finish your damn beer.”

“Whatever you say, movie star,” Jordan responded, seemingly content to back off.

They both took a swill of their beers.

“So, the new digs treating you well?” his brother asked after a moment.

The apartment had come furnished, so there wasn’t a hint of his personality here, but it served its purpose. “The house is nearly done. I’ll be moving in a few weeks.”

Jordan saluted him with his beer bottle. “Here’s to moving up in the world in a big way.” His brother grinned. “Invite me to visit when the new manse is done.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll tell the majordomo not to throw you out,” Rick replied drily.

Jordan laughed. “I’m a babe magnet. You’ll want me around.”

Privately, Rick acknowledged his brother might have a point. These days, the only woman he was linked to was Chiara Feran, and it wasn’t even real.

Three

For two days, Rick didn’t encounter Chiara. She and Adrian Collins, the male lead, were busy filming, so today Rick was hitting the gym trailer and working off restless energy.

So far, there’d been no denial or affirmation in the press that he and Chiara were a couple. As a news story, they were stuck in limbo—a holding pattern that kept him antsy and out of sorts. He wondered what Chiara’s camp was up to, and then shrugged. He wasn’t going to call attention to himself by issuing a denial—not that the press cared about his opinion because for all they knew, he was just a stuntman. They were after Chiara.

After exiting the gym trailer, Rick made his way across the film set. He automatically tensed as he neared Chiara’s trailer. Snow White was a tart-tongued irritant these days—

He rounded a corner and spotted a man struggling with the knob on Chiara’s door.

The balding guy with a paunch was muttering to himself and jiggling the door hard.

Frowning, Rick moved toward him. This section of the set was otherwise deserted.

“Hey,” he called, “what are you doing?”

The guy looked up nervously.

All Rick’s instincts told him this wasn’t a good situation. “What are you doing?”

“I’m a friend of Chiara’s.”

“Does she know you’re here?”

“I’ve been trying to see her.” This time there was a note of whininess.

“This is a closed set. Do you have ID?” Rick didn’t recall seeing this guy before. He was within a few feet of the other man now. The guy stood on the top step leading to the door of the trailer. Rick could see perspiration had formed on the man’s brow. Was this the creepy fan Odele had referred to?

Rick went with his gut. “I’m her new boyfriend.”

The other guy frowned. “That’s impossible.”

Now that he was closer, Rick could see the other man was definitely not the glamorous or debonair celebrity type that he would expect an actress like Chiara to date.

In the next second, the guy barreled down the trailer’s steps and shoved past him.

Rick staggered but grasped the trailer’s flimsy metal bannister to keep himself upright.

As Chiara’s alleged friend made a run for it, Rick instinctively took off after him.

The man plowed past a crew member, who careened back against a piece of lighting equipment. Then two extras jumped aside, creating a path for the chase.

The guy headed toward the front gate of the studio lot, where Rick knew security would stop him. Rick could only guess how the intruder had gotten onto the lot. Had he hidden in the back of a catering truck, as paparazzi had been known to do?

Gaining on Chiara’s admirer, Rick put on a final burst of speed and tackled the guy. As they both went down, Rick saw in his peripheral vision that they’d attracted the security guards’ attention at the front gate.

The man struggled in his grasp, jabbing Rick with his elbow. “Get off me! I’ll sue you for assault.”

Rick twisted the man’s arm behind his back, holding him down. “Not before you get written up for trespassing. Where’s your pass?”

“I’m Chiara’s fiancé,” the guy howled.

Rick glanced up to see that two security guards had caught up to them. “I found this guy trying to break into Chiara Feran’s trailer.”

“Call Chiara,” her alleged fiancé puffed. “She’ll know.”

“Chiara Feran doesn’t have a fiancé,” Rick bit back.

Someone nearby had started filming with his cell phone. Great.

“We’re together. We’re meant to be together!”

Nut job. Rick was in great physical shape due to his stunt work, so he wasn’t out of breath, but Mr. Fiancé was no teddy bear, either; he continued to put up a struggle.

Suddenly the trespasser wheezed. “I can’t br-breathe! Get off me. I have asthma.”

Great. Rick eased back and let one of the security guards take over while the other spoke into his radio.

Things happened slowly but methodically after that. Police were summoned by the studio’s security, and Chiara’s special fan—who’d given his name as Todd Jeffers—was led away. Eventually Rick was questioned by a police officer. Chiara materialized soon after and was similarly prodded for details by the officer’s partner.

Before the police left, Rick gleaned that Chiara’s overly enthusiastic fan would be charged with criminal trespass, disorderly conduct and harassment. Well, that’s something. But by the time Rick had finished talking about the incident to Dan, the director, Chiara had holed up in her trailer.

Rick eyed Chiara’s door, twisted his mouth in a grim line and made his way to the trailer for some answers.

He didn’t bother knocking—chances were better for a snowstorm in LA right now than for her rolling out the red carpet for him—and simply marched inside.

He came up short when he found Chiara sitting at a cozy little table, a script in front of her.

She was memorizing her lines? He expected her to be rattled, upset...

He looked around. The trailer was a double-decker, and with walnut paneling, it was swankier than his own digs, which were done in a gray monochrome and had no upper level.

When his gaze came back to rest on Chiara, she tilted her head, and said, “People weren’t sure when you tackled him whether it was a stunt, or if you were rehearsing a scene from the movie.”

“You’re welcome.” Leaning against a counter, he folded his arms, like a cop getting ready for an interrogation. He wanted answers only she could provide, and after getting into a fight with her admirer, he was going to get them. “Luckily you weren’t in your trailer when he got here.”

“I was rehearsing. We’re shooting a difficult scene.”

Rick figured that helped explain why she was sitting with a script in front of her, though he imagined her concentration was shot.

“I can only imagine the press coverage that today will get.” A horrified look crossed her face, and she closed her eyes on a shudder.

So she wasn’t as unaffected as she seemed. In fact, Rick had already dealt with suppressing the video of him tackling Jeffers. The person who’d been taping had turned out to be a visiting relative of one of the film crew. But even if those images didn’t become public or weren’t sold to the tabloids, the media would get wind of what happened from the police report and show up for Jeffers’s court hearing. Then, of course, Jeffers himself might choose to make a public statement...

“Hey, at least it’ll take attention away from your father’s latest losses at the gambling tables.” He wondered if Chiara appreciated just how close she’d come to danger. It had been dumb luck that her overly enthusiastic fan hadn’t found her earlier.

She opened her eyes and raised her head. “Yes, how can I forget about my father? How can anyone?”

“So you have a stalker.” He kept his tone mild, belying the emotions coursing through him. Damn it. Chiara was slender and a lightweight despite her mouth and bravado. His blood boiled just thinking of some jerk threatening her.

“Many celebrities have overly enthusiastic fans.” She waved her hand, and Rick could practically see her walls going up. “But my property has a security gate and cameras.”

Rick narrowed his eyes. “Have you dealt with this Todd Jeffers guy before? What kind of unstoppable fan is he? The sort who writes you pretty letters or the type who pens twisted ones?”

She shrugged. “He tried to scale my property fence once, but he was spotted by a landscaper and shooed away even before he got within view of the security cameras. I haven’t heard from him in the months since.”

So today’s guy was the same person who’d shown up at Chiara’s house once, and yeah, she wasn’t understanding the risk... Still, Rick strove for patience. “How do you know it was Jeffers at your house that day?”

She hesitated. “He wrote to me afterward to say he’d tried to see me.”

“He wrote to you about an attempted criminal trespass?” Rick let his tone drip disbelief. “Have you gotten a temporary restraining order?”

Chiara sighed. “No. He’s never been a physical threat, just a pest.”

“Just because he only tried to jump the fence doesn’t mean that’s what he’ll settle for doing in the future. There’s often an escalation with these nut jobs once they figure out that plan A isn’t working.”

Chiara raised her chin. “He’s probably a lonely, starstruck guy. Plenty of fans are.”

“Probably? I don’t deal in probabilities. Your run-of-the-mill serial killer often starts out torturing animals before moving to the big time. As I said, escalation.”

“Like A-list stars starting out in B movies?” she asked snippily.

“Right,” he said, his voice tight even as he ignored her flippant attitude. “Listen, Snow White, there are villains out there aside from the Evil Queen.”

Rick raked his fingers through his hair. He could understand why this guy was besotted with Chiara. Unfortunately Chiara herself wasn’t appreciating the gravity of the problem. They were like two trains on parallel tracks. “You’ve got a stalker. It’s time you acquired a boyfriend. Me.”

He’d been mulling things over, his mind in overdrive ever since he’d tackled Jeffers. If he pretended to be Chiara’s boyfriend, he could stick close and keep an eye on her. Maybe once this guy realized Chiara had a supposedly real boyfriend, he’d back off. Odele may have been onto a good idea.

Chiara opened and closed her mouth. “You’re not in the protection business.”

“I’m appointing myself right now. Besides, I’ve got the right background. I used to do security.” He’d worked as a guard at an office building during his college days and beyond in order to earn extra cash. He’d been a good bouncer, too. His parents had instilled the value of hard work in their children even though they’d been well-off.

Chiara slid off her seat and stood. In the confined space, she was within touching distance. “You can’t unilaterally decide to be my protector.” She spluttered as if searching for words. “I won’t agree to it.”

“You could solve two problems at once. The bad press from your father, and the issue of your stalker and needing security. Don’t quibble.”

“I’ll get a restraining order.”

He took a step forward. “Damn straight, you will.”

“So I don’t need you.”

“You need physical protection, too, unless you have seven dwarves hanging around, because a court order is just a piece of paper.” He didn’t want to think about how many news stories there’d been concerning an order of protection being violated—and someone getting hurt or killed.

She looked mutinous. “I’ll hire professional security.”

“It still won’t solve the problem of your father and distracting the press.”

Chiara threw up her hands.

“Don’t worry. I’ll always be a step behind you, like a good prince consort—I mean, bodyguard.”

“Hilarious.”

“I’ll make sure to hold an umbrella open for you in the rain,” he added solemnly.

“What’s in this for you?”

“Let’s just say I have a vested interest in the star of my next blockbuster staying safe until the end of filming. Everyone working on this movie wants to see it finished so they can get paid.”

“I thought so. Well, my answer is still no.”

He’d given her the wrong answer, and she’d responded in kind. “Do you just act contrary, or is this your best side?”

“How can you say that about the damsel in distress you helped save from a helicopter?” she asked sweetly.

“Exactly.”

They were practically nose-to-nose, except because she stood several inches shorter than his six-foot frame, it was more like nose-to-chin. But then she raised her face to a stubborn angle, and he abandoned his good intentions about keeping himself in check during this conversation.

Hell, here goes nothing.

He tugged her forward and captured her mouth. It was just as good as before, damn it. There was a little zap of electricity because they were differently charged, and then he was kissing her in earnest, opening that luscious mouth and deepening the kiss.

She smelled faintly of honeysuckle, just like Snow White ought to. He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. She was petal-soft, and he was getting hard.

After what felt like an eternity, she pushed him away.

Her chest rose and fell, and he was breathing deeply with arousal.

She touched her fingers to her lips and then shot fire at him with her eyes. “That’s twice.”

“Are we getting better? We’ve got to be convincing if we’re going to pull this off.”

“We’re not practicing scenes, but if we were, try this response on for size.” She stretched out her arm and pointed to the door of the trailer, giving him his marching orders.

It was a proverbial slap in the face, but Chiara was wrong if she thought he was backing down. “Let me know when our next scene is scheduled for filming. It might be time to throw a plate or break something. For real, not pretend.”

After this parting shot, he turned and headed to the door, almost laughing as he heard her bang something behind him.

* * *

“She doesn’t want to get extra security.” Rick ran his hand through his hair. “She’s stubborn.”

“Hmm.” Odele nodded. “And I’m her manager, so I don’t know this?”

“And reckless, too.” They were sitting in Novatus Studio’s commissary having coffee before lunchtime. Rick had asked to meet and had told Odele not to mention it to Chiara. “How long has this guy Todd been hanging around thinking he’s her special friend?” Or fiancé.

Odele shrugged. “Several months. I had staff look at Chiara’s fan mail after he showed up at her house. He’d sent an email or two, and my assistant says he’s cropped up on social media, too. Then he started a fan club and wanted autographed photos.”

“And now he’s moved on to believing he’s her fiancé.”

Odele sighed. “Some people buy into the Hollywood celebrity stuff a little too much.”

Right. Rick leaned back in his chair. “Besides trying to scale the fence at Chiara’s house, has he made any other moves?”

“Not until yesterday. At least not that I know of.” Odele took a sip from her cup. “I’ve already instructed Chiara’s attorney to go for a restraining order.”

“You and I both know it’s only a piece of paper, but she doesn’t want to consider additional physical security. Not even if I appoint myself.” Rick didn’t hide the frustration in his voice. Damn it. Who was he kidding? Chiara would resist, especially if it was him.

“So you’re considering my idea of being a pretend boyfriend? You need to move in.”

Rick shook his head in exasperation because Odele was a bulldozer. “If she doesn’t want a fake relationship and won’t tolerate a bodyguard, she definitely won’t have someone living in her house.”

If he and Chiara lived under one roof, they’d drive each other crazy. He’d alternate between wanting to shake some sense into her and take her to bed. And she’d... Well, she’d just rage at him and deny any sparks of a simmering attraction.

It was a recipe for disaster...or a Hollywood movie.

Odele gave him a mild look. “It’s all a matter of how it’s presented to her. If you’re going to distract the press as her new boyfriend, the story will play even bigger in the media if you move in. There’ll be more opportunities for the two of you to be photographed together.”

“Pretend boyfriend.” Everyone needed to be clear on the fake part, including and particularly him, if he was going to get involved with another actress.

Odele inclined her head. “Leave convincing her to me. I won’t say anything more about having you function as a bodyguard. But believe me, the press attention surrounding her father is really upsetting her.”

In Rick’s opinion, Chiara should be spending more time worrying about her stalker than about her estranged father. Still... “Tell me about Michael Feran.”

Odele set aside her coffee cup. “There’s not much to say. Chiara’s parents divorced when she was young. Chiara and her mother were in Rhode Island until Hollywood beckoned. Her mother died a few years ago. She developed sepsis after an illness. It was a shock for everyone.”

“But her father continues to make waves.”

“Last year, he accepted money from a third-rate weekly to dish about Chiara.”

Rick cursed.

Odele shot him a perceptive look from behind her red glasses. “Yes, Chiara felt betrayed.”

So Chiara’s was far from a fairy-tale upbringing. No wonder she was prickly around him, and no doubt distrustful of men.

“Take it from me. Be the good boyfriend that she needs and keep an eye on her. Just don’t bring up the bodyguard part to her.”

“A pretend boyfriend.” Pretend being the operative word there. He wasn’t sure if he was reminding himself or Odele, though.

“Right.”

Right.

* * *

Chiara took Ruby out of her box and perched her on her knee. The dummy wore a sequined gown, and her hair and face were worthy of a Vegas showgirl.

Chiara sat at the writing desk occupying one corner of her master bedroom. There’d been a break in filming for the weekend, and she was happy to retreat to her sanctuary. She needed time away. First her father, then Rick and finally a stalker had frayed her nerves.

Still, even though it was a beautiful and sunny Saturday afternoon, and she should have been in a great mood, she...wasn’t. She was irritable and restless and anxious. She’d been having trouble memorizing her lines ever since the attempted break-in at her trailer. Pegasus Pride was an action flick, so the script wasn’t heavy, but there was still dialogue that she had to be able to say without prompting.

Frustrated, she’d finally resorted to using Ruby to help her relax. She hadn’t taken the dummy out in months, but ventriloquism kept her in touch with her former life—and at moments like these, let her deal with her present concerns.

Chiara searched the dummy’s face. “What am I going to do?”

Ruby tilted her head.

“I must be out of my mind to be talking to a dummy by myself.”

“You’re not alone if you’re having a chat with someone,” Ruby responded in her singsong voice. “I just help you figure things out, sugar.”

“I thought that’s what Odele is for.”

Ruby waved her hand. “You already know where Odele stands. She’s on the hunk’s side, and frankly, I don’t know why you aren’t, too.” Ruby tossed her hair—because rolling her eyes was out of the question. “He’s delicious.”

“Annoying. You’re reading too much gossip.”

“I have to, it’s about you,” the dummy chirped. “Anyway, it’s time you let someone under your skin, and back into your bed. And Rick...that body, that face, that kiss. Need I say more?”

“You are saucy and naughty, Ruby.”

“And you wish you could be. Let your hair down, sugar.”

Chiara’s gaze fell to the laptop at her elbow. “I have too many responsibilities...and plenty of problems.”

The headline on the computer screen spoke for itself: Chiara Feran’s Father Thrown Out of Casino.

Maybe now that he couldn’t gamble because he’d been caught counting cards, Michael Feran would stay out of trouble. But Chiara knew that was wishful thinking.

The public thought she had an enviable life—helped by Odele’s relentless image craftsmanship. But the truth...

She’d never thought of herself as a beauty queen, for one. Oh, sure, she’d been blessed with good genes—a nice face and a fast metabolism that meant it wasn’t impossible to adhere to Hollywood standards of beauty. But she also considered herself an outsider. She’d been raised by an immigrant mother, grown up enduring cold New England winters and would have still been doing theater but for a quirk of fate and Odele risking taking her on as a client.

She liked her privacy, her best friend was a smart-mouthed talent manager ripe for caricature and her sidekick was a doll made of wood. Obviously Todd Jeffers was crazier than she gave him credit for if he couldn’t pick a better-credentialed starlet to stalk. And now she had a rumored boyfriend—a muscle-bound stuntman who looked as if he could enter a triathlon.

She’d already ignored a text from Odele about the latest headline, but Chiara knew her manager was right—they needed a distraction fast...

Her lawyers were due in court in the coming days to get a temporary restraining order—so there’d be more unwanted press attention because of her unpleasant fan.

Still, Rick Serenghetti? Argh.

Her cell phone buzzed again, a telltale ringtone, and this time Chiara knew she couldn’t ignore it. With an apologetic look, she propped Ruby on a chair and took the call. “Hello, Odele.”

“Enjoying your time off?”

“Define enjoy. I’m memorizing my lines.” Among other things. She cast Ruby a hush-hush look.

“Rick needs to move in if we’re going to make this fake relationship work. It’ll help believability.”

“No.” The refusal fell from her lips without thought. Rick in her house? They’d throttle each other...if they weren’t jumping into bed. And the contradiction of trying to make a fake relationship work was apparently lost on her manager.

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