To Catch a Star

ROMY SOMMER

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First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2014

Copyright © Romy Sommer 2014

Cover images © Shutterstock.com

Romy Sommer asserts the moral right

to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is

available from the British Library

This novel is entirely a work of fiction.

The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are

the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to

actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is

entirely coincidental.

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Ebook Edition © September 2014

ISBN: 9780007594634

Version 2014-09-25

Digital eFirst: Automatically produced by Atomik ePublisher from Easypress.

To Barbara and Sarah, Terry and Sue, for friendships that have spanned decades, continents and countless film productions.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Epilogue – Tortuga

Also by Romy Sommer …

Romy Sommer

About HarperImpulse

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

One woman tearing your clothes off was fun. Five at once? Not so much.

“Please, ladies…” Christian was only half laughing now.

Rip. There went an Armani sleeve. He shrugged away from the grasp, but there were still other hands pulling at him, tugging at him.

He’d known adoring fans before, but they seldom pawed him. And this had gone way beyond pawing.

“I’ll sign autographs, but you really don’t need to take souvenirs.” He had to raise his voice over their squeals. This was definitely not fun. In fact, it was getting downright scary. The crowd surrounding him pressed in tighter. There seemed to be more of them now too.

Another rip. This time his shirt. The excited squeals increased in volume.

“He’s mine!” shouted one over-eager fan.

“Mine!” the others echoed.

“Well, actually, ladies…” He belonged to no one. But in the grip of mob mentality, they neither heard nor cared.

He had to get out of here.

With another rip, this time the rear seam of his evening jacket, he pulled away from the knot of admirers. One young woman tumbled to her knees with the impetus. Fighting every instinct to be a gentleman, he didn’t pause. He ran.

The sound of their pursuit spurred him on. He ran blindly. Now he knew how it felt to be the fox in a fox hunt.

A block or two further and the number of feet behind him seemed to diminish, but he still didn’t look back. He only hoped no one had been trampled in the ruckus. Though if one or two of the fanatics broke a heel in the process, justice would be served.

He reached an intersection and looked both ways. This foreign city had turned into a maze and he had absolutely no idea where he was. Back where he’d been accosted, the streets teemed with life. He paused. He stood now in a deserted residential street, a terrace of imposing townhouses lined with trees stark against the night sky.

And no way out.

Cul-de-sac either side and a dead-end straight ahead.

Damn.

He looked back over his shoulder. There were only three women left in the race, but they were gaining.

A car pulled out of a driveway within the cul-de-sac to his left, picking up speed as it approached his street corner. An open-topped sports car with only one occupant. Blonde was all he had time to register. Drawing on a lifetime’s worth of instinct, he took a running leap and landed face-first in the rear seat, just as the roof began to unfold and close over them.

The driver screamed, more ear-splitting even than the fans who, thwarted of their quarry, howled as the car sped past.

Christian sprawled on the back seat until the adrenalin rush waned enough that he became aware of aches and pains. He was winded too. He struggled upright.

The convertible roof clicked into place, sealing them in. Mercifully, the scream stopped as the driver drew in a fresh breath. He braced himself against another, but it didn’t come.

While the white knuckles grasping the steering wheel still revealed her terror, the driver seemed to have composed herself remarkably well. Her chin lifted and her shoulders straightened.

“What are you going to do with me?” she asked in local dialect, her voice icy, betrayed by the barest tremor. She turned her head to look at him in the rear-view mirror and he glimpsed an intriguing profile, beautifully arched eyebrows, long eyelashes, full lips, and a pert nose.

“Keep driving,” he urged, glancing out the back window at the group of young women receding into the distance. He looked down at his clothing. Great. The jacket sleeve fluttered loose and his shirt had been torn and gaped open across his chest, enough to reveal dark skin through the crisp white broadcloth.

The shirt had been hand-crafted in Milan.

He swore again.

The only thing he could rectify was the skew bow-tie. He removed it and stuck it in his pocket, then climbed into the passenger seat beside her. She gasped, as if about to scream again.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I’m not a…” he struggled for the word in her language “… hijacker.”

She glanced at him, long enough this time to be able to recognise him. Her eyes, Arctic blue, rounded with awareness, recognising him, struggling to place how she knew him. It would only be a matter of time. He relaxed.

But she didn’t. The white knuckles tightened their grip on the wheel and her gaze whipped back to the road. “I know your face… you were on television…” She choked. “Oh my God! You’re…” A single tear slid down her cheek.

He was used to women screaming, fainting, or losing the ability to speak when they recognised him, but that panicked tear was the most perplexing. Was she one of those crazies who believed actors really were the characters they played? Not that he’d played many villains. He was usually typecast as the charming rogue. The role fit him like a glove.

But she didn’t look crazy. She looked… terrified.

What was with this place? Fans who mauled him, women afraid of him…

His mother had told him a great deal about Westerwald. Sometimes, instead of bedtime stories, she’d reminisced about the place and its people. Bitter-sweet as her departure had been, she’d loved her time here and the people she’d met.

Right now he couldn’t figure out why. These Westerwaldians were mad.

The street grew busier around the car, a restaurant and a late-night corner-shop now amidst the residential buildings. He was worse than lost. He had no idea where the hell he was and had lost all sense of direction. Why had he said he’d walk to the damn party?

Because he’d wanted to see the city where he’d been conceived. Without an entourage.

Now he’d seen more than enough. Maybe he’d even agree to that local PA the producers kept trying to foist on him.

The woman was still driving way too fast.

“Slow down,” he instructed.

She nodded, a stiff movement, her gaze riveted ahead.

“What do you want from me?” She sounded calmer, but the ice was still there.

He opened his mouth to answer that he wanted nothing now he was safe, then the thought occurred that a lift to the party would be nice. He smiled with all the charm he could muster in his current sorry state.

The smile didn’t last long.

He slammed into the dashboard as the driver jammed on the brakes.

“Help!” she called. Without even cutting the engine, she leapt from the car. It stalled.

A man on the sidewalk turned at her voice. A uniformed police officer.

“I’m being abducted! This man jumped into my car… ”

The policeman stepped up to the car, leaning in to look at Christian. “You’re Christian Taylor!” He took in Christian’s dishevelled attire and frowned. “You weren’t really trying to abduct this young woman, were you?”

He sounded sceptical. At last – a rational-sounding local. And one who spoke English. Christian breathed a sigh of relief and winced, winded again.

“Of course not.” His voice sounded amazingly stable considering he felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. Twice. “I was attacked by a group of fans and this young lady unwittingly provided the getaway car.”

Saying it out loud made it seem even more bizarre than it was, but the policeman nodded, as if rabid fan attacks were an everyday occurrence in Westerwald.

Perhaps they were.

The policeman opened the passenger door and Christian stepped out gingerly, holding his bruised ribs.

“Oh, you’re hurt!” The young woman hadn’t gone far, though her stance screamed fight or flight.

The policeman’s eyes widened as he took in Christian’s state. “Do you need a hospital?”

Christian shook his head. “I’m fine.” Battered, shaken, but fine. He turned to his rescuer with another of his trademark smiles. “I’m sorry I frightened you.”

He hadn’t noticed before, but she was a real stunner. Classically beautiful, with high cheekbones and blonde hair, almost white beneath the street lights, swept back into one of those elegant twist things. She was dressed in a short, dark swing coat, buttoned up to conceal whatever lay beneath.

Like a model, she was thinner and less curvy than he preferred, but her stockinged legs, revealed now she was out the car, were the clincher. Perfectly shaped legs that went on forever. Legs he could see bare and wrapped around him in his very near future.

He grinned. Maybe he was going to like Westerwald after all.

Her classy attire was in stark contrast with his own, however. He glanced down at his torn suit. There was no way he could arrive at the party like this. It was a charity banquet and there was sure to be a press presence, and he really wasn’t in the mood for lengthy explanations.

Not when there was a much more pleasant diversion available than speeches and shaking hands.

“A lift back to my hotel for a change of clothes would be much appreciated.” And once he got her back to his hotel room…

“I’ll take you,” the woman offered, in lightly accented English. Where she’d looked pale moments before, now she looked flushed. “It’s the least I could do for not giving you a chance to explain.”

The policeman beamed. “All’s well that ends well, then.” His eyes twinkled as he turned to the young woman and addressed her in dialect. “This is your lucky day. Do you have any idea how many women would like to be in your shoes right now?”

Christian flinched. He’d just found out the hard way how popular he was in this little country.

His getaway driver didn’t look as if she felt particularly lucky either, but she nodded and climbed back into the car. Christian followed suit, this time buckling himself in. His ribs couldn’t take any more abuse.

She took a shaky breath, as if pulling herself together, and re-started the engine.

“I’m Christian Taylor,” he said as she put the car in gear and pulled off.

“I gathered.” That touch of ice was still there. So knowing who he was hadn’t melted any of her stiff attitude. “I assume I should know who you are?”

“I’m an actor. And you are?” He smiled, warming up for a charm assault, but she didn’t even glance his way. If anything, she seemed to freeze up even more.

“Teresa.”

Sheesh. Glaciers were warmer.

“Thank you for coming to my rescue, Teresa.”

“Were you really attacked by fans, or were you just pulling some stunt?”

“You didn’t see them – the girls on the sidewalk?”

Her brow furrowed and she pursed her lips, troubled. “Which hotel are you staying at?”

“The Grand. It’s on… ”

“I know where it is.”

He’d never worked such a hard crowd. But there wasn’t a woman he couldn’t seduce when he set his mind to it. He upped the smoulder. “I thought you recognised me. Who did you think I was?”

“I don’t watch much television, but the story’s been all over the news lately… Two prisoners escaped from their transit van on the way to court. I thought you were one of them.”

Another punch to the gut – an emotional one this time. “You thought I was an escaped con? Why – because I’m black?”

“Of course not.” She turned her head to look at him, as if seeing him properly for the first time.

He was a little mollified she hadn’t judged him by the colour of his skin. Even in his adopted homeland, which had made him far more welcome than his own people ever had, that still happened all too frequently.

But this woman, looking down her regal nose at him, had still judged him and found him wanting. Something started to sizzle inside him, something old, dark and unhealed.

They paused at a traffic light. “I knew I’d seen your face somewhere before,” she said.

“Which of my movies have you seen?”

“I don’t know, but I suppose I must have seen one once.”

One once? His face had been on the cover of more magazines than he could count, he was a household name on at least five continents, and she’d seen one once?

“I told you, I don’t watch much television.”

Nor was he some two-bit TV actor. His movies were Hollywood tent poles and their marketing alone cost millions of dollars. Time magazine called him the world’s most bankable star, and Vogue had voted him the world’s sexiest. And this woman didn’t know who he was?

“Besides, when you’ve seen one of those action movies, you’ve seen them all. It’s not real acting,” she said.

The punches just kept on coming. He frowned. “So if you don’t watch movies or television, what do you do for fun?”

“I read. Or I go to the opera and the ballet.”

He rolled his eyes. Bor-ing. “People don’t do those things for fun. They do those things to impress other people.”

“Maybe in Hollywood. But here in Westerwald we’re not cultural philistines. We have brains and we use them.”

Ouch. Two hits in one perfectly enunciated sentence. She spoke better English than the Queen.

The swift sensation that accompanied her words was one he hadn’t felt in years. His hackles rose. “You wanna bet? Clearly there are a few philistines here who watch my movies. I’ve never been attacked by fans in California before.”

“They were probably Americans.”

“So now you not only have a problem with movie-goers and Hollywood, but with Americans too?”

She lifted her chin. “When were you last even inside a theatre? The kind with a proscenium arch, not a screen?”

“Do the Academy Awards count?”

Her lips pursed. No sense of humour, then.

Her gaze fixed firmly back on the road as she indicated and turned into a wider street that looked vaguely familiar to him. “You Americans place so much emphasis on entertainment and beauty. On your own immediate gratification. Nothing lasts, movies are quickly forgotten. Who will even remember your movies five or ten years from now? Audiences will have moved on to the Next Big Thing and what difference will you have made in the world?”

Forget the fact that he’d been wondering the same thing these past few months. His blood boiled, the temper he usually kept in check flaring like a Californian wildfire.

What did she know about him? He’d given nearly a third of his income to Los Pajaros over the years. Not that the people there deserved it. The happiest time in his life was after he left the islands and moved to California.

“So what difference are you making in the world?” he bit out.

He eyed her tailored coat and the diamonds on her wristwatch that twinkled as she moved. It was easy to talk about making a difference in the world when you didn’t have to fight for your place in it.

“I do volunteer work for several local charities.”

And that confirmed it. Only the idle rich had time to spare to volunteer for charities. She’d probably never had a real job in her life, had never had to make it on her own or prove her worth to anyone.

She continued, her gaze still on the road ahead: “If only half the money spent on frivolous things, like movies and actors’ lavish lifestyles, were used to help the less fortunate this world would be a much better place.”

Great, a Greenpeace Evangelist. The vision of those long legs wrapped intimately around him flickered out and died.

“Are you always this judgie about people you’ve just met?” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the window. “You think you know me, but I’ll have you know I was on my way tonight to a charity banquet to raise funds for a new children’s hospital in Los Pajaros.”

Teresa flicked him a contemptuous glance. “A society event packed with pretentious people all showing off their designer wear and eating gourmet food? That’s not helping others. That’s helping yourself.”

She was right, of course. Tonight was all about him, not about the charity. His appearance as guest speaker tonight had been arranged by his publicist. And even free publicity hadn’t been his real incentive. He’d only agreed to attend when he’d heard his latest co-star was going to be there too.

But he wasn’t going to admit that this prissy bitch was right.

He forced a crooked smile. “And what’s wrong with that?”

The look she cast him could have out-frozen the Antarctic. “Do you even care about anyone other than yourself?”

Not any more.

Teresa pulled the car to a stop. Glancing out the window, he recognised the forecourt of his hotel.

Then she turned her clear, frigid gaze on him, and every repressed childhood memory, every insult and every torture he’d endured rose up. He kept his fury in check and resisted the urge to fist his hands. He thought he’d left the past behind, but clearly it still lingered beneath the surface, waiting for a moment just like this. He wanted to lash out, to take revenge on this superior ice queen, who suddenly represented every person who’d ever slighted the outcast mixed-race child from Los Pajaros.

But he was an actor. He could control his emotions. And he would die before letting her see how she’d got to him.

He opened the door and the chill night air rushed in. “I’m a narcissist and proud of it. But before you judge another person, Miss High and Mighty, you should take a walk in their shoes.”

A slight smile tugged at the edge of her full lips. “Are you upset because I haven’t fallen at your feet?”

He stepped out the car. “Thank you for the ride, Princess.” He slammed the door shut and the trailing tail of his evening jacket caught in it, but he didn’t care. He heard the fabric rip as he stalked away, head high, shoulders back, barely seeing the doorman as he pushed past into the plush lobby.

Tessa sat for a long moment, her hands on the steering wheel, which vibrated with the engine’s purr. Now he was gone and the adrenalin rush faded, reaction set in.

Her hands began to shake.

She’d been unpardonably rude.

It wasn’t like her.

Blood thundered in her ears and she laid her forehead down on the steering wheel. She could blame it on the shock of having a strange man jump into her car, invading her personal space, but it was so much more than that.

She was angry with herself.

If Daddy found out about her lapse tonight, she’d never hear the end of it. She’d been raised better than that. Remember your manners, keep your temper, and don’t be rude. She’d broken all three tonight.

Not to mention that he’d warned her that danger could come when you least expected it and that she needed to be vigilant. But she’d been so wrapped up in her own thoughts, in herself, she hadn’t even seen Christian until he’d leapt into her car. Nor had she noticed the women chasing after him. She’d been as self-absorbed as she’d accused him of being.

If her father heard of this incident, he’d have a security detail on her in a heartbeat, and she hated having eyes and ears trained on her. How could she go about planning the biggest day of her life with a bodyguard stalking her every move? She felt claustrophobic enough in her life as it was.

She could only pray that by then the escaped convicts would be back behind bars and they could stop living in fear. And that this dreadful feeling of being caged would go away.

She lifted her head and put the car in gear.

Still, neither fear nor anger was an excuse. She’d behaved insufferably tonight. Christian was right – she’d been judgmental and condescending. Just because he represented everything she distrusted and despised didn’t mean she had to say it out loud.

She’d lied too. She’d pretended not to know who he was. But even she, enclosed in her ivory tower, had heard of Christian Taylor, the man who’d made his fame playing the ultimate superhero.

She sucked in a deep breath and pulled away from the hotel forecourt.

The last thing she felt like right now was a charity banquet. Especially one where she’d just insulted the guest of honour. She turned the car in the opposite direction to the banquet hall and headed home. She’d have a bath and curl up in bed with a book. And if her father wanted to know if she’d done as he asked and met Christian Taylor, at least she could answer honestly that she had.

And she’d send up a prayer that it was over and done with and she never need see him again.

Chapter 2

“You may go straight in. Your father’s expecting you.”

His executive assistant waved her in, and with only the barest pause in her stride to acknowledge the older woman, Tessa headed towards the closed office door. Her heels beat out a firm rhythm on the parquet floor. She hesitated at the door; her hand suspended a centimetre from the solid wood door.

Did her father know what had happened last night? He always knew everything. Was he disappointed in her? Or had he summoned her here today to insist on a bodyguard? Whatever it was, his assistant had said it was urgent. So urgent she’d left one of the world’s leading dress designers standing open-mouthed in the bridal boutique.

She steeled herself with a deep breath, straightened her back, and knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

She opened the door and stepped in.

Her father stood in the bay window, which overlooked one of Neustadt’s numerous squares, a leafy oasis amongst the eighteenth-century buildings, his back to her and his hands clasped behind his back, like a king surveying his domain. Which wasn’t far off.

Victor Thomas Adler, Twelfth Count of Arelat, former Supreme Court Judge and new head of the nation’s Intelligence Service, wielded almost as much power in the little European nation as the Archduke or the Prime Minister.

He turned as she closed the door behind her. “Thank you for coming so quickly.” He waved her to the seat across the desk and she sat, folding her hands demurely in her lap. Her hand felt bare where her engagement ring usually sat. She’d barely had it a few months and already it felt like a part of her. As soon as this interrogation was over, she needed to collect it from the jeweller’s, along with the insurance valuation certificate.

“Your assistant said it was urgent.”

Please, please don’t let him have heard about last night… she hated to disappoint her father.

“Did you enjoy the banquet last night?”

She blinked.

He never indulged in small-talk. So why did he want to talk about some charity event? She crossed her fingers in her lap, careful they were out of her father’s line of vision. She nodded. “It was a lovely evening.”

“Did Stefan go with you?”

“I told you last week that he’s away. He has meetings in New York.”

He wasn’t happy with that. He’d already made his feelings known on that score – he didn’t think Stefan would make a good husband for his only child. He’s too wrapped up in his work. He should take better care of you.

Her father was a good one to talk. He was married to his job.

She was used to being alone. And tough if he didn’t think Stefan was good enough. The man he’d thought suitable – the man they’d both thought eminently suitable – now lived in exile half a world away and she had to move forward with her life.

She didn’t want to be alone. She wanted a family. And since Fredrik’s departure, she and Stefan had seemed inevitable. She’d known Stefan since they were children. They’d grown up in the same social circles and his family lineage was almost as impeccable as her own. They were friends.

“You met the American actor?”

“I did.” At least that wasn’t a lie.

Her father moved to the chair behind his desk and sat, steepling his fingers together.

Oh-oh, she was in trouble. She just didn’t know what for, yet. For lying to him, or for paying so little attention to her safety that she’d endangered herself? Or both?

“I spoke to him.”

His eyes narrowed. Worse, then. Did he know how rude she’d been to a visiting celebrity? He might not be big on small-talk but he was big on manners. And for reasons she couldn’t fathom, he’d wanted her to meet the man.

“What did you discuss?”

She’d replayed the conversation enough times in her head since last night to be able to answer that. But somehow she didn’t think ‘I mistook him for an escaped con’ or ‘I insulted him’ would rank highly in her father’s estimation.

“We spoke about opera and ballet … and the Los Pajaros children’s charity, of course.”

“Of course. And what was he wearing when you had this scintillating conversation?”

He wanted to talk men’s fashions? Something was going on here she couldn’t quite see. Did he know she hadn’t attended the banquet last night? Did he know she was lying? He always knew everything… but she was in so deep now.

She closed her eyes briefly and summoned up an image of Christian Taylor. Torn evening jacket, crisp white shirt ripped to reveal bare, hard chest beneath. Smooth, muscled chest… skin a rich cappuccino colour. “He wore an evening suit, like everyone else.”

Her father leaned forward in his seat. “Very interesting… in view of the fact that he never made it to the banquet last night.”

Oh-oh. She cleared her throat but couldn’t think where to start.

“Which means you never attended either.”

She lifted her chin. “It’s a long story.”

He waved his hand, not interested, and she breathed an inward sigh of relief at not having to divulge the entire sorry story.

“You have the opportunity to redeem yourself. After last night’s stunt, the film production company is looking for a PA for Mr Taylor. Someone local who knows their way around this city and who can ensure he gets to where he’s needed on time. I suggested you.”

Tessa choked. “I’m not a PA!” And it wasn’t as if she needed a job.

She flinched as Christian’s words reverberated, still sharp in her memory. “So what difference are you making in the world?” Spoken in a tone so scathing, it had burned at her all night.

“It’s not much different from being a social secretary. You have plenty of experience at that.” Her father relaxed a fraction and almost smiled. “You’ve been doing it for me long enough.”

She tried to think, but her head had turned to mush. See Christian Taylor again? Oh no! Not after last night… “I’m planning a wedding.”

“You have an assistant,” he pointed out.

Precisely. She had an assistant. “You can use Anna. I could pull her off the wedding preparations for the next week, and she’s an excellent PA.”

And Anna would probably love the idea of being around movie people all day.

Her father shook his head. “Not just anyone can do this job. I need your help.”

She shut her mouth. He never needed help from anyone. Her father was the most self-assured, most formidable man she’d ever known. She’d often had reason to be grateful she was his daughter, the one person in the world he cared about, and not on the receiving end of his less-merciful side.

Even so, he wasn’t above manipulating her or trying to control her life. Her eyes narrowed. Was this a ploy to keep tabs on her? An actor as famous as Christian Taylor no doubt had an entourage of drivers and bodyguards. People who could just as easily watch over her too. If she’d thought her life was suffocating before now, it would have nothing on that.

She pictured herself, trapped in the back seat of a limousine with the man she’d insulted last night, watched over by beady-eyed security men. It was enough to make her break out in hives.

But not for nothing was she her father’s daughter. She summoned up her own most formidable expression. “Why me?”

His gaze bore into her. “Because I need someone I trust to get close to him. I need to know everything about him. It’s a matter of national security.”

She couldn’t keep the surprise from her face. Since when was a frivolous Hollywood actor a matter of national security?

Her father rose from his chair and paced back to the window. “You’ve seen Fredrik’s ring – the Waldburg ring?”

She nodded. Of course she had. Her former boyfriend had worn that ring as a symbol of who he was. She swallowed against the lump in her throat. The last time she’d seen him, at his brother Max’s engagement party, he hadn’t worn it.

That night had been one of the hardest she’d ever had to endure. Almost everyone there had known she and Fredrik were dating before he’d been summarily exiled. Most had expected them to get engaged. She certainly had.

She’d been so grateful for the protection of Stefan’s engagement ring on her finger that night, even though he’d been away on business and she’d had to brave the lion’s den alone.

It should have been even worse for Fredrik. He’d lost so much more than she had. Instead, he’d been so wrapped around his new girlfriend Kenzie he’d scarcely noticed anyone else.

She frowned. Fredrik had disappointed her. She’d believed he was above vulgar public displays of affection. That’s what one expected from a Hollywood actor, not from a European prince.

“You would recognise the Waldburg ring again if you saw it?”

She forced the past back where it belonged and lifted her chin. “Of course.”

“Did Fredrik ever tell you there are three rings?”

She shook her head. They were the rings of the heirs of the Archdukes of Westerwald. Fredrik had one. His brother Max, the new Archduke, had one. Of course there could be another, locked away in safety in the event of a third son and heir being born, though that hadn’t happened in over a century.

Her father contemplated the view beyond the window. “It’s not known outside the royal family, but the third ring disappeared more than thirty-five years ago. Fredrik believes he saw it on a chain around Mr Taylor’s neck a few nights ago.”

Tessa tried hard to remember what she’d seen last night. She had to struggle past the vision of toned, dark-skinned chest.

A flash of silver.

It was possible. A lot of men wore jewellery these days. But if the ring was genuine – and she trusted Fredrik implicitly – then how had Christian Taylor come by it? A royal heirloom like that must surely have been as closely guarded as the crown itself.

Her father smiled, answering her train of thought. “Yes, that’s what I need to know. Christian told Fredrik that he got it from his mother. I checked her out. She worked as a political intern in the palace here in Neustadt many years ago, on a policy think-tank. She left before he was born. I need to know how she got that ring, and anything else she may have taken. It shouldn’t take more than a week or two at most. Then we can send Anna in to replace you.”

She thought quickly. An intern would never have had access to the royal vaults. Christian’s mother must have had inside help. But who, and how deep did this go?

Her father was right. This wasn’t a job for any ordinary PA. And this way she could restore her father’s faith in her too. Wedding or not, she’d do whatever she could to help. Even lose her independence. Even face Christian Taylor again.

She wouldn’t only be doing it for her father, or out of friendship for Fredrik, but out of love for her nation. This was her home, her security, and she loved Westerwald more than she’d ever loved any man.

“I’m sure I don’t need to tell you to keep this strictly between us. Fredrik has asked me to keep this from Max until we have real evidence.” Her father slid a file across the desk to her. “Read this before you leave. The address is inside. You’re expected there in an hour.”

“How did you persuade them to hire me?”

He smiled. “I didn’t. Kenzie did.”

The film’s production office was in the warehouse district on the outskirts of town. Though it was another balmy day, unseasonably so for January, and the sky an enticing blue, Tessa kept the top firmly closed as she drove. She wasn’t taking any more chances.

A security guard signed her in and she circled the enormous car park looking for an empty space. Half the car park was filled with trucks and motor homes. People scurried between buildings and vehicles with an almost frenetic sense of urgency.

She sat in the car for a long moment, hands gripping the steering wheel. She wasn’t sure which was worse. Having to face Christian Taylor again, or having to make nice with Fredrik’s new girlfriend. No, not girlfriend. Fiancée.

Sucking in a deep breath, she climbed out of the car.

The offices were above a voluminous warehouse space, where a construction team hammered and sawed and raised voices echoed. Up a narrow flight of stairs she found the reception and was shown to a waiting room with faux-leather sofas, a water cooler and a pile of outdated magazines. Beyond the door she heard voices, phones ringing, laughter.

Suppressing the urge to pace, she sat with her ankles crossed and her hands clasped in her lap. And tried very, very hard not to imagine how abjectly she’d have to apologise to Christian for her behaviour last night before he’d even give her the time of day.

She would do or say whatever it took. Though for someone who always knew all the right words, who wasn’t fazed in any company, the sudden attack of butterflies in her stomach was disconcerting.

“Would you follow me, please?”

Tessa followed the young receptionist down a long hall lined with offices and into a nondescript glass box identical to all the others. The redhead behind the desk rose with a ready smile and waved the receptionist away. “Thanks for coming, Teresa.”

Fredrik couldn’t have chosen two women more different if he’d tried. Where Tessa was tall and fair, Kenzie was petite and freckle-faced, her face as open as any book – not an accusation anyone would ever make of Tessa.

People usually described Teresa as competent. Kenzie was more “damsel in distress”, fragile and delicate. Tessa could understand what Fredrik saw in her.

Kenzie came around the desk, and as she moved, her hand caught the sunlight from the bare windows. Tessa rubbed the empty spot where her own ring should have been. She still hadn’t managed to get to the jeweller’s to collect it, and without it she felt naked. Unprotected.

Kenzie wrapped her in a hug and Tessa stiffened. She wasn’t a hugging type of person. Especially with a woman she’d only met once in her life.

“Try to look as if we’re old friends,” Kenzie whispered. Then she moved to close the door and waved Tessa to sit. “No one here knows who you are. I’ve told them you’re a friend of mine and you’re looking for a job.”

“I didn’t know you worked in the movies.” Tessa hadn’t made much effort to find out anything about Fredrik’s new woman. About her replacement.

And yes, she was perfectly aware this was a case of pots and kettles. Just because she was now engaged to Stefan and would soon be married herself didn’t mean she wasn’t hurt Fredrik had moved on so quickly too.

“They’re calling me the location liaison, but really it’s just a fancy title they’ve given me because the mayor of Los Pajaros refuses to deal with anyone else. Rik and I are headed back tomorrow. The production team there have hit a few snags.” Kenzie bit her lip. “In fact I’ve never known so much to go wrong on a shoot before.”

Which explained why Kenzie wasn’t the one doing the snooping. “No one’s wondering why I’m being given the job over someone more experienced?”

Kenzie laughed. “That’s the thing. Westerwald doesn’t have much of a film industry, certainly nothing like the scale of this movie. There are no film-experienced PAs here.” She dropped her voice. “And the work permit application to bring in someone from London has been held up by red tape.”

Highly unlikely. Westerwald’s bureaucracy functioned like clockwork. But Tessa had a very good idea who had held up the application. “So what do I need to do?”

“It’s very simple. You’ll be the main contact person between Christian and this office. Every day you’ll be issued a call sheet for the next shooting day. You let Christian know what time he needs to be on set, then in the mornings you check that the driver is ready and waiting on time. If there are any delays, you let the second AD know, and if there are any changes to the schedule, you let Christian know.”

Tessa raised an eyebrow. It sounded like a lot of hand-holding. Most grown men she knew were quite capable of setting their own watches without their PA’s help. Stefan certainly was.

No wonder celebrities turned into such arrogant monsters if they didn’t even have to take responsibility for getting themselves to work on time.

And Christian was definitely a monster. What rational person would slam the car door on her and stalk off just because she hadn’t fawned all over him?

Kenzie handed her a folder. “This is from Christian’s publicist back in LA. He has a few promotional commitments you’ll need to manage: you’ll need to coordinate the arrangements for a premiere in Paris after filming here in Westerwald is done, and there are a few press interviews, a photo op or two… that sort of thing.”

Like the charity banquet he hadn’t attended last night.

“Anything else?”

“You might be expected to make dinner reservations, perhaps do a little personal shopping… ” Kenzie looked apologetic. “I’m sorry, Teresa. I know this is a terrible imposition, and I’m so sorry to ask it of you, especially since you have your wedding coming up.”

Tessa gave a cool smile. “It’s no problem. And my friends call me Tessa.”

Relief blazed in Kenzie’s face. “We can’t thank you enough. With everything that’s going on back in Los Pajaros I just don’t have time to look into this, but Rik is very concerned. He’s very grateful for your help.”

But not enough to pick up the phone and talk to her himself.

Kenzie escorted her along the corridor, introducing her to a dozen people along the way, the casting director, the production people, the assistant directors.

She still had to pass an interview with Gerry, the unit production manager. While she’d never had to interview for a job in her life before, this one was a walk in the park compared to the grillings her father subjected her to.

“Christian’s easier than most,” Gerry said, leaning his elbows on the desk between them. “He’s not one of those stand-offish stars with an entourage around them who won’t look you in the eye or who’ll treat you like his skivvy. He’s very approachable and easy-going.”

Which didn’t gel with the first impressions she’d got. He’d exuded so much testosterone that “easy-going” was the very last thing she’d have described him as. She hoped Gerry was right and the man she’d met last night was nothing like the man she was about to meet.

“I’ve worked enough diplomatic parties to be able to handle whatever he throws at me,” she replied. Her voice sounded way more sure than she felt.

“I like you,” Gerry leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers, just as her father did. But that was about where the resemblance ended. Gerry looked like a cuddly teddy bear – not something her father could ever be compared to. “I was worried about hiring a female PA for Christian, but I think you’re going to work out just fine.”

She arched a questioning eyebrow and Gerry laughed. “He has a bit of a reputation with women, but you look like someone who can hold your own. Somehow I don’t think you’re going to go all fangirl on him and fall into his bed.”

“I should hope not!” Perhaps it would not be such a good idea sending Anna in to finish this job when she’d got the information she needed. Not that her personal assistant was in the habit of falling into bed with men, but it would be like sending a lamb into a lion’s den.

But finding a replacement was a worry for another day.

“What is the movie about?” she asked.

“The usual. A little romance, lots of action. It’s about the bastard son of a king and a slave girl who becomes a pirate. You’re in luck. Today’s a day off for the shooting crew, but Christian’s downstairs in the costume department doing some final fittings so you can meet him straight away. If you don’t mind waiting a few minutes, I’ll walk you over and introduce you. There’s just one call I have to return before we go.”

“I’d like her to meet Lee first,” Kenzie said, rising from the chair beside Tessa. “So we’ll meet you down at Wardrobe in ten.”

“Who’s Lee?” Tessa asked as they headed downstairs. She’d learned a few tricks over the years and was good at remembering names and faces, but she was starting to reach saturation point.

“My best friend. He’s an art director and he’s supervising the set-build downstairs.”

In the vast warehouse space Kenzie had to shout to be heard over the din of construction. “Principal photography started a few days ago. The first couple of weeks are all location filming, mostly at the palace, then they move in here and shoot the interiors of the pirate ship for a few days before the entire production moves to Los Pajaros. You have three weeks to find out what you need.”

Tessa nodded. And she had four weeks until her wedding. The quicker she could get this job done, the better.

From the outside, the set looked like nothing more than makeshift wooden walls on wheels, but passing inside was like moving from one world to another. From a dirty warehouse into the captain’s cabin of a pirate ship.

Smoke and mirrors, like everything else in the film business where nothing was real.

Lee was bent over a table littered with drawings and schematics. He straightened with a grin, dimples flashing. He might easily be the most beautiful man Tessa had ever seen.

“How’s my best girl?” He winked at Kenzie and pulled her close into his side.

“This is Tessa,” Kenzie said, hugging him back.

“Ah, the super-spy.”

Tessa frowned. “You told him?”

“I tell Lee everything. You can trust him too.”

Lee turned the full wattage of his grin on Kenzie. “If you ever need anything, just ask.”

Tessa cast a glance over the drawings on the table. “Did you do these?”

He nodded, pride shining in his eyes. “I designed this set. It’s kind of what I do. Interior design with a difference.”

“Any chance you do weddings too?”

“Tessa’s getting married soon,” Kenzie jumped in.

“It’s been a whirlwind,” Tessa explained. “I wanted a spring wedding, but Stefan’s so busy and the only break he has is over the St Valentine’s weekend. It’s all terribly last-minute, but my biggest challenge has been finding Valentine’s themed decor that isn’t a cliché.”

Kenzie grinned. “If it’s spring you want, you’ve come to the right place. Ask Lee to tell you sometime how he decorated a St Pancras station platform with fresh frangipanis in October for Rik.”

They exchanged a look. “I didn’t do it for Rik,” he said, then he turned to Tessa. “I’ve never done a wedding scene before. Could be fun.”

“Just promise me no pink hearts. I fired my wedding-planner because she insisted on hearts and cupids.”

Lee grinned. “No pink hearts. Cross my heart. Are you and your fiancé free for dinner tonight so we can thrash out ideas?” He pulled his mouth down. “I’ve got nothing planned since my best friend’s ditched me for a better offer.”

Kenzie smacked his shoulder. “It’s Rik’s farewell dinner with his family. I told you.”

Tessa ignored the pang in her chest. She’d once been a part of that family. “Stefan’s out of town on business, but my assistant and I are available for dinner.”

Lee pulled her in against his free side and gave her a squeeze. “It’s a date.”

She tried hard not to flinch at the touch, and extricated herself as quickly as she could without being rude. “So when do I get to meet Mr Taylor?”

Kenzie smiled, mistaking her question for enthusiasm. “Right now.”

In the adjacent building, they passed a warren of dressing rooms, props workshops and store rooms before they reached the costume department.

Feeling very much like that lamb being led into the lion’s den, Tessa followed Kenzie through a set of wide double doors into a bright space lined with rail upon rail of period clothing. To one side, beneath the light of the tall windows, seamstresses beavered away behind clattering sewing machines. Straight ahead, in a cleared open space, stood a couple of battered sofas and a table with a tray of coffees. Tessa could smell the fresh coffee clear across the room.

Her stomach flipped. She’d skipped lunch too in the hurry to get here.

Beyond the sofas, reflected half a dozen times in the bank of mirrors behind him, stood Christian Taylor.

He wore full eighteenth-century costume, complete with ruffled cuffs and pantaloons. There weren’t a lot of men who could look masculine in an outfit like that. Christian did.

He laughed at the stylist, who unknotted the cravat around his neck. His laugh travelled clear down Tessa’s spine. Even the bones in her heels vibrated at the sound. If a sound could personify sex, then Christian’s laugh was that sound.

“Okay, try the next one,” the stylist said, waving Christian towards the cubicle with louvered doors which stood open to reveal more costumes hanging ready.

Christian turned towards the cubicle and as he turned he caught sight of Tessa in the mirror. Their gazes locked. Recognition dawned. Her heart skipped a beat or three.

Chapter 3

Thank you, merciful fate! Christian didn’t believe in God, but if he did he’d be on his knees and saying ‘Amen’. Since he’d stormed into the hotel last night without a backward glance, he’d thought of a few choice things he’d like to say to Miss High and Mighty. Top of the list was that she should take a look in a mirror sometime.

And now fate had delivered her here. He’d get that chance to vent after all and hopefully exorcise the demons that had kept him awake all night. The fact that she’d hit on a sore spot, on something that had been nagging at him for months, hadn’t helped.

Whatever she wanted here, she wasn’t going to get it. This was his chance to turn the tables and send her packing.

“This is a private area,” the Wardrobe Supervisor said, hurrying to intervene.

“They’re not fans.” Gerry, the UPM, pushed through the doors behind the two newcomers. “Sorry I’m late, just putting out fires.” He waved at the redhead. “This is Kenzie, our Los Pajaros liaison.” She was pretty, perhaps older than she looked. At least Christian hoped she was older, or she’d be a serious case of jail-bait.

Then Gerry gestured to Miss High and Mighty. “And this is her friend, Teresa Adler. Christian, meet your new PA.”

Like hell. He’d already told the producers he didn’t want an assistant. And this was who they’d hired? Just how small was this country?

He set his hands on his hips. “Over my dead body.”

Gerry ran distracted hands through his hair so it stood up at all angles. “We’ve already had this argument once today.” He turned to the delicate redhead beside Teresa. “There’s a genuine fire on Tortuga. No one’s hurt and they’ve got it under control, but we’ve lost a large portion of the set. We’re going to need to bring in more labour if we’re going to get the build done on time. You need to speak to the mayor and ask him to give us some local labourers. We just don’t have the budget to bring in more people from Florida.”

Christian’s eyes narrowed as he followed the conversation. “Good luck with that. You won’t get a single islander to set foot on Tortuga. Not now that you’ve triggered the curse.”

Every face in the room turned to him. Gerry’s expression was one of annoyed disbelief. The redhead looked intrigued. The Wardrobe Supervisor and his stylist both simply looked lost. His friend Dominic, who’d been dozing on the couch beneath an upside-down newspaper, sat up. Only Miss High and Mighty showed no emotion whatsoever.

“You’ve heard of the curse?” the redhead asked.

“Of course. Every child on Los Pajaros knows the legend. Until the pirate and his princess return to Isla Tortuga, any person who steps foot on the island is doomed to life-long grief and heartache.”

“The pirate and his princess died several hundred years ago. They won’t be coming back.” The redhead looked almost sad. “So you’re from Los Pajaros?”

He ignored the question. His past wasn’t open for discussion. He faced Gerry. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“She’s not a babysitter, she’s your assistant. And your publicist insisted.”

Screw his publicist. Or perhaps that was the problem. He already had. This was no doubt her revenge for the fact that he’d slipped out in the middle of the night without saying goodbye. But what had she expected? She’d done enough damage control on his reputation to know what he was.

“If you don’t want her, I’ll take her.” Dominic’s voice drifted up from the sofa. He grinned at Teresa, looking her up and down. “You can assist me any time.”

Christian glared at him. “I’d like a moment alone with Teresa.” He used his most imperious tone and it worked. Everyone in the room, including the stylist, backed away. Even Dominic, though Christian had to send him another glare before he dragged himself off the sofa and followed the others, unread newspaper still in hand.

Teresa remained unmoved. He circled her, checking her out. She was as pretty as he remembered, in that Scandinavian supermodel way. An Ice Princess out of legend, with her white-blonde hair swept up into a knot at the back of her head, not a strand out of place. In the bright light of day, her complexion was pure peaches and cream, her eyebrows perfectly sculpted, her make-up professional but subtle.

She wore an elegant pants suit that hid those long legs he remembered so well, and a conservative white blouse buttoned up to the neck that was no doubt intended to conceal the swell of her breasts. It failed utterly.

What kind of a PA dressed in Ralph Lauren anyway?

Only when he stepped close did she betray herself with a startled breath.

“So you’ve come to slum it here among us philistines, have you? Or are you here to help out the less fortunate?”

Another woman might have blushed. But Teresa’s cool gaze swept over him, evaluating, unimpressed. It was last night all over again. She made him feel two feet tall, like the bastard kid he’d once been, blamed for every schoolyard prank within a mile, and made to feel like dirt for no other reason than that he had no father.

Or perhaps because the colour of his skin betrayed the fact that his father had been a white man, making him an outsider twice over.

But this was no dusty playground on Los Pajaros. They were on his turf now. And for once he had the upper hand.

“Why do you want to work for me?”

“Because I’m star-struck?” She was mocking him now. He held her gaze and waited.

She let her breath out on a sigh. “Because last night I was told I needed to walk in someone else’s shoes for a while.”

She kept her head high and held his challenging gaze. He admired a woman with spunk. She would definitely be fun to break.

“And just like that you decided to get a real job?”

“Until then I thought I’d slum it here in La-la land.”

She was either mocking him or flirting with him, but he couldn’t decide which since her face gave nothing away. Either way, she piqued his interest. There was more going on beneath the picture-perfect surface this woman portrayed to the world. As an actor, he knew one when he saw one.

“Give me one reason why I should hire you.”

She met his gaze, more like an equal than the usual deferential, sycophantic assistants he had back in LA. “Because I’m efficient, I can multi-task and I know my way around this town. I can get you a table at any restaurant at the drop of a hat and tickets to any show in town. That’s five reasons. Do you need more?”

So she was a still a smart ass. But in spite of himself he smiled. “You understand you’ll be on call to me twenty-four-seven? There’ll be no time for volunteer work.” Or a life. “And when I say jump… ”

“I ask how high?”

He grinned, enjoying himself. “No sweetheart. You don’t need to ask. You jump as high as you possibly can, with everything you have in you.”

He was sure she was going to tell him to take the job and shove it so she could go back to having her hands manicured, or whatever the idle rich did to while away the time.

And just like that he changed his mind. The idea of owning her for the next three weeks was much more appealing than watching her walk away with her pretty tail between her legs. No, he wasn’t going to send her packing. He’d give her the job. And he’d get his revenge in the most pleasurable way possible.

He wouldn’t just crack that damned composure. He’d see her completely undone.

Once again he imagined those long legs wrapped around him. Naked, unbuttoned. She wouldn’t call him a philistine when he was inside her.

He grinned, with all the charm he was famous for. “Shall we start afresh? Hi, I’m Christian Taylor.” He held out his hand.

“Teresa Adler.” She shook his hand. Her touch was as cool and impersonal as her voice. She tried to pull her hand out of his as soon as it was polite, as if the contact stung her delicate pale skin. “I am really, really sorry for the things I said last night. It was inexcusable and I apologise.”

“You had a very good excuse. It’s not every day, I’m sure, that a stranger jumps into a moving car beside you.” He could afford to be magnanimous, but he wasn’t above teasing. He gripped her hand tighter, refusing to let go. “I assume you’ve never worked as a personal assistant to an actor before?”

She shook her head, and he wondered if that spark in the cool, contained depths of her eyes was amusement or anger or fear. “I’ve never worked as anything before. Will you be gentle with me?” Definitely amusement. But she wasn’t flirting with him. More like playing with him, like a cat playing with a captive mouse.

So much for his turf. Even so, he couldn’t resist flirting back. He wrapped her hand in both his, daring her to pull away.

Her breath stuttered and her gaze flicked down to their joined hands, hers so small and white between his larger, darker ones.

“Since we’re going to be spending a lot of time together over the next few weeks, how about we get to know each other better. Tonight – over dinner?”

“I already have a date for tonight.”

“Break it.”

She shook her head and yanked her hand out of his. “I think dinner would be crossing a line. It wouldn’t be professional.”

That hadn’t stopped his publicist. Or his previous two assistants.

“Suit yourself.” He stepped away and waved the others closer. “Okay, I’ll go for this. On one condition.” He held Teresa’s gaze. “You’re mine for the next three weeks. This isn’t a game. I need you to take this job seriously.”

She nodded slowly. “Agreed.”

“As soon as this fitting is done, Dominic and I are heading to rehearsals. You can go with us, and on the way I’ll fill you in on what I expect from you.”

“Great!” Gerry clapped his hands together in relief. “Play nicely.”

He and the redhead headed for the doors, heads bent together in earnest conversation.

Dominic settled himself back on the sofa, looking much more awake than a moment ago. “We will!” he called after their departing backs and patted the open space next to him for Teresa to sit.

Christian sent him a look that his old friend couldn’t miss: Hands off. She’s mine.

This fitting was a far cry from the one she’d left in such a hurry this morning. The bridal boutique had been pristine and uncluttered, smelling of roses, with hushed voices, champagne, the soft strains of classical music drifting through, and the designer himself dancing attendance on her.

The costume department was noisy, with people coming and going, and a faintly musty smell. But it wasn’t as dull as Tessa had expected. Not with Dominic serving her coffee and pastries, and keeping up the banter.

Unlike Christian, who glowered in their direction between costume changes, Dominic had no problem sharing his life’s story. It was surprising that Christian had become the star when Dominic was the born entertainer. Within the space of half an hour she learned that the two of them had been friends since high school. They’d started in the movie business together as stunt men, before Christian had been “discovered” and turned into a star. Dominic still worked as stunt coordinator on all Christian’s pictures.

Which explained how Christian had managed that flying leap into her car last night with the top already half-closed. Fleetingly she wondered what else that athleticism would be good for, but she shut the thought down before it could take root. He flustered her enough already without indulging her imagination. And she never indulged her imagination.

Listening to Dominic chatter was not only a mine of information, far more so than the “official” biographies she’d read in the file her father showed her, but also a much-needed distraction. It was incredibly hard not to stare whenever Christian stripped off to try on a new shirt, and the stylist seemed to have rather a lot of shirts for him to try.

In the darkness of her car last night she hadn’t fully appreciated just how lean and muscled Christian was. He made Stefan look positively soft in comparison, and Stefan was no lightweight in the looks department.

“If Dominic has finished monopolizing your attention, we need to run through tomorrow’s schedule,” Christian said, frowning at his friend.

Tessa pulled out a notebook and pen, and the call sheet Robbie, the Second Assistant Director, had provided her with, and scribbled notes. Christian was very specific about what he ate, when he ate, and how he liked his life run. If this was easy-going, she’d hate to know what a more demanding star would be like.

She was almost relieved when the fitting was over. The three of them left the wardrobe ladies bagging up the costumes to ship to Los Pajaros, and headed back through the maze of corridors to the rehearsal room.

Her relief was short-lived.

This wasn’t a group of people sitting around a table reading from a script. The rehearsal was a sword-fighting practice. With both men barefoot and stripped down to their jeans.

Tessa sat mutely in the corner, eyeing them over the top of the folder of printed-out emails from Christian’s publicist that remained unread, and tried to look as if two half-naked men trying to smack each other with dulled swords was an everyday thing.

The swords may not have been lethal, but they weren’t play-things either. They looked heavy, and the sound that rang out when they struck was pure metal on metal.

The two men were equally matched. Dominic’s skill was greater, but Christian was quick on his feet. There was something familiar in the way he moved: light and graceful, but she couldn’t quite place it. She rubbed her brow and the sense of déja-vu disappeared.

She hadn’t yet learned anything that wasn’t in the file her father had shown her. The first few pages, Christian’s official biography according to Wikipedia, IMDB and a dozen other websites, held no mention at all of his family or his childhood. Transcripts of various press interviews were less than helpful. They frequently contradicted one another and never asked the important questions. The gaps had been filled by the woefully short single-page report gathered by her father’s intelligence people.

Christian had been born on Los Pajaros, only child of a single mother, which was still a stigma in the islands. There was no father named on his birth certificate. He’d been in and out of trouble from a young age. Then mother and son had suddenly moved to Los Angeles when he was fourteen. And that was where Christian Hewitt became Christian Taylor. It was almost as if they’d wanted to disappear.

Tessa’s father had marked the print-out with a big, bold question mark. She knew what he wanted to know. Not just “why?” but “how?” How could a single mother, working as a school teacher, afford to move countries to start a new life in middle-class suburbia in California?

They’d cut all ties to Los Pajaros. There was no mention of his being born or raised there in any of his official biographies. She rubbed her forehead.

The only new information Tessa had for her father was that Christian wasn’t wearing the ring now. She couldn’t have missed it if she tried. His bare chest glistened with a sheen of sweat as he and Dominic danced around each other, moving slower as they tired.

“Enough,” Christian said, breathing hard.

“You’re getting soft.” But Dominic’s laugh was just as breathy. “Are you letting this ‘being a movie star’ thing get to your head?”

“Never!”

They sheathed their swords and Christian turned to her. “I’m going to take a shower, then we can head back to my hotel.”

Tessa nodded and glanced at her watch. She needed to check in with her father. And Anna. And she needed to call Stefan. What time was it in New York anyway?

While the two men hit the showers, she made the most urgent call of all, to her dress designer. “I’m so sorry, Anton. Something’s come up. Is there any way we can re-schedule for later?”

She was going to have to put the wedding together in what little down-time her new job offered. This was one of those moments in life where the presence of a mother would have been good. Someone who could choose floral arrangements and discuss menus, and all the other stuff she still had to tick off her to-do list. For the first time in her life, she was going to have to leave the details to other people.

Anton wouldn’t let her go without an explanation. She could practically hear him drooling down the phone at the mention of Christian’s name. “You change your mind, love, and I’ll take the job!”

She smiled.

Christian emerged from the adjacent bathroom, his short hair still damp. “It’s a miracle: she smiles!”

She ended the call, her smile turning to a frown. “What are you wearing?”

“The usual.” He looked down at the old jeans and baggy sweatshirt he now wore. “Is there something wrong with my clothes?”

“They’re fine if you’re planning to be mistaken for a homeless person.” She’d thought Hollywood actors were obsessed with looking good.

Christian grinned. “You sound just like my stylist.”

She switched back to professional mode. “Gerry arranged for your car to meet you at the front entrance.”

“Tell him not to bother. You know where I stay. You can take me.”

She pursed her lips. She remembered way too vividly how he filled the space in her little car. But she’d promised her father she’d stick with this until she could get the intel he needed. The sooner she found out what they needed to know, the better. And where better to start asking questions than alone in her car?

Christian matched her pace as she strode out to the car park, texting his driver as she walked.

“Where’s the fire?” he asked, practically jogging to keep up. “Or are you just eager to get rid of me so you can get to your hot date?”

That was a little closer to the truth. She’d love to get rid of him. The quicker she could get this job over and done with, the happier she’d be.

She slowed her pace. “How did you know about the Tortuga curse?”

She tried not to seem as if she was holding her breath. If he lied outright about having grown up in the islands, her work was going to be much tougher.

They reached her car, and Christian moved around to the driver’s door and held it open for her to climb in. His manners surprised her. Or maybe he was just avoiding her question.

He only answered when they were buckled inside. “I lived on the island of Arelat in the Los Pajaros islands until I was fourteen.”

She let go the breath she’d been holding. “The curse doesn’t bother you? You’ll be filming there in a few weeks.”

“I’ve been away from the islands long enough not to believe that old claptrap any more. But on Los Pajaros, the belief is still alive and well.”

“Why did you leave?”

He fiddled with the radio channels and Tessa gritted her teeth. Even Stefan knew better than to touch her pre-programmed settings.

Christian finally settled on a rock station, as far from her favourite classical station as one could get.

“This is a sweet ride. I bet she can do nought to hundred in four seconds.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

Christian rolled his eyes. “Will you let me drive her sometime?”

“No.”

He leaned back with his elbow on the window frame, his gaze fixed on her. “Tell me about yourself.”

She kept her eyes firmly on the road. “There’s not much to tell.” She didn’t need to look to know he grinned at her. But she looked anyway. His eyes, an unexpectedly bright blue, so unusual against his dark skin, were mesmerising. With an effort, she forced her attention back to the road ahead.

“Okay, let me guess then.” Taking her silence as assent, he pushed on. “You’ve grown up with wealth and privilege. You’ve never wanted for anything in your life.”

Wrong. Living in a big house and not having to worry about bills didn’t mean there weren’t things she wanted and couldn’t have. Christian may not have had the same kind of wealth she had growing up but he had the one thing she’d wanted more than anything in the world.

And right now what she wanted more than anything was to see his ring, find out his secrets, and get back to her own life. Her neat, organised, quiet life where her pre-programmed stations were inviolate and a man’s gaze didn’t have the power to burn her.

Christian studied her. “You’ve lived your whole life here in Westerwald, and I’m going to bet you haven’t travelled much beyond these borders either.”

“I love my home,” she said, immediately on the defensive. “I don’t need to go anywhere else.” He’d touched a raw spot.

“You’ve never seen a different view of the world. You’ve spent your whole life in your neat, white world, being a big fish in a very small pond. You’re too scared to leave. Am I right?”

The raw spot grew even more tender. “Now who’s being judgie? Are you trying to get me back for last night? I apologised for everything I said. In my defence, I thought I was being car-jacked.”

“Tell me about these escaped convicts you’re so afraid of.”

Another subject she didn’t want to dwell on. But perhaps if she shared a few confidences, Christian would be willing to open up further too. “My father was a judge, and he convicted the two drug dealers for murder. They had a parole hearing last week and somehow on the way to court they managed to escape. My father’s afraid they’ll try to get revenge on him through me.”

“No shit! So you thought it would be a good idea to come work for me? Thanks a lot.” But he smiled. Having seen him wield a sword, she wasn’t surprised he was unafraid. She had no doubt he’d be able to take good care of himself in a fight.

“I didn’t really take the threat seriously – until you jumped into my car. Besides, I’m pretty sure they’re long gone by now. Would you hang around in Westerwald if you had a bounty on your head?”

He laughed. “Last night I felt like I had a bounty on my head, and I was more than ready to get out of town.” He sobered up. “From now on we travel with my car. The driver’s also a trained bodyguard.”

She sighed. Exactly what she didn’t want. “You’re as bad as my father. I’m not going to change the way I live my life for some vague danger. Then the bad guys will have won.”

Christian said nothing, and she flicked a glance his way. She didn’t like the way he looked at her. As if he was seeing her in a whole new light. Not unlike a hungry person eyeing a tasty meal.

She didn’t like the idea of him giving her too much thought at all.

“And your mother – what does she do?” he asked.

She shifted gears. “She’s dead,” she said at last.

“I’m sorry. Mine died recently too. Do you miss her?”

You couldn’t miss what you couldn’t remember. Tessa went back to being all business. “Your call time on set tomorrow is seven o’clock. I’ll be ready and waiting with your driver at six thirty. Would you like me to give you a wake-up call?”

“Join me for breakfast.”

Though the word “breakfast” was a misnomer, since he’d told her his idea of breakfast was espresso.

She floundered. Were meals part of the deal? She really should have checked.

“Or are you planning on sharing breakfast with your hot date?” he teased.

She set her jaw. “I’ll meet you at six in the hotel’s dining room.”

“I usually breakfast in my suite.”

“The dining room or not at all.”

“Yes ma’am!”

She turned into the tree-lined boulevard that housed The Grand Hotel. It lived up to its name, a grand eighteenth-century mansion converted into a hotel, with a park-like garden at the rear. It was private, exclusive and she couldn’t picture Christian, who was all vibrant energy, against the quiet, solemn, old-world interiors.

She pulled into the forecourt and kept the engine running. A valet leapt forward to open the door, but Christian waved him away.

“Is there anything else you need from me?” she asked.

When he didn’t answer, she looked across at him. There was a decidedly dangerous twinkle in his eyes that stopped her heart. She’d seen that look a hundred times and it couldn’t be from any movie. Why did he seem so familiar?

“Yes. I had a mishap with a dress shirt last night. Could you please arrange a replacement?” He opened his door and climbed out, then leaned back in to look at her. “Enjoy your date, but don’t stay up too late. We work pretty long hours in the movie business and you don’t want to burn yourself out.”

She nodded and he closed the door. He remained at the hotel’s front entrance until she disappeared from sight. Only then did her gaze leave the rear-view mirror.

“What do you mean you have a job?”

She hadn’t been sure Stefan was listening but now she knew she had his undivided attention. “It’s just a temporary thing, to help out my father.”

This was her ace. Stefan admired her father, though his respect was tempered with a healthy dose of fear.

She flipped her mobile to her other ear and reached for her wine glass. She’d never needed a drink as much as she did tonight. It had certainly been a rollercoaster twenty-four hours, and the crash course Anna had given her in how to be a PA had left her with a nagging headache.

“Are you working with him in Intelligence?”

Trust Stefan to find that impressive. She sighed. “Not exactly. I’m hand-holding a visiting celebrity.”

“Anyone I know?” There was a moment’s pause and she could easily picture Stefan on the other side of the line running through the list of visiting dignitaries – US state senators, ambassadors…

She sighed. “I doubt it. He’s an actor called Christian Taylor.”

Stefan whistled.

“You’ve heard of him?”

“Of course I’ve heard of him. Who hasn’t? That film where he single-handedly saves an entire city from terrorists was awesome.”

Awesome? She frowned. “I didn’t know you liked action movies.”

She worried her lip, pleased she hadn’t Skyped and he couldn’t see her face. Maybe knowing someone all your life didn’t mean you really knew them. And their courtship had been something of a whirlwind…

She shook her head, shaking off the niggling feeling that something wasn’t quite right. She was just tired, and there was still so much to do. When the wedding was over, this terrifying feeling of being suffocated would go away. She sipped her wine.

Stefan laughed into the silence. “I don’t work all the time. And spending as much time away from home as I do, sometimes the only way to relax is to tune in to a mindless movie.”

Mindless. Her point exactly. “What was the name of that film?” she asked.

“I can’t remember. Does it matter? I’ll check the internet for you… ” and that was Stefan, always willing to make the extra effort.

“It doesn’t matter.” She’d made her point. That was the thing with a movie. A couple of years later and the viewers could barely remember its name.

What Stefan did was much longer-lasting. As a policy consultant for Westerwald’s foreign affairs ministry, he had the power to shape the future, to affect people’s lives. Just as her father did, as the Archduke did. This was the world she was raised to be a part of. The world where what people did mattered.

Not the frippery world of make-believe in which people believed in their own importance and chased shallow dreams. And when those dreams couldn’t deliver, they invariably ended up dead. Or worse.

“He has a terrible reputation,” Stefan said.

“Who does?” Tessa asked, trying to back-pedal through her scattered thoughts.

“Christian Taylor. Apparently he’s something of a magnet for women.”

She shrugged. “I guess I can see the attraction.”

“Should I be worried?” though Stefan didn’t sound in the least worried. Another of the things she loved about him. His faith in her. And she trusted him. He was steady, dependable, rock-solid. They were going to make a good team.

“I don’t know. Should I be worried about what you’re up to in the Big Apple?” she teased back.

“Never.” There was a smile in his voice. “It’s just back-to-back meetings. I can’t wait to get home. And I promise when I return I’ll have something from Tiffany’s for you. It can be your something new for the wedding.”

She smiled. If there was one thing she knew about Stefan it was that when he made a promise, he stuck with it. He was noble down to the core. He would never let her down. He would never abandon her.

“I look forward to it,” she said. “Take care.”

Chapter 4

Christian was so not a morning person. It usually took a cold shower and two espressos before he could even think straight. So it was a surprise when his alarm sounded and he opened his eyes without swearing.

For the entire decade and a half he’d been in the movie business, even when he’d still loved what he did, every morning had been a battle to get up and ready for set.

It was getting harder these days. What had Teresa said to him the night they met? When you’ve seen one action movie, you’ve seen them all. Her words had cut deeper than Dominic’s sword blade because he’d begun to feel the same.

All the movies he’d made had begun to merge together into an indistinguishable mass. He needed a new challenge. He just didn’t know yet what it was.

He rolled his legs off the bed and sat up. Maybe the fact that he’d gone to sleep stone-cold sober made the difference. He and Dominic had gone out clubbing, but his heart hadn’t been in it. He’d left the club before midnight. Alone. Something else his heart hadn’t been into.

He must be getting old.

He stood up and padded over to the windows, flinging open the heavy curtains. Beneath him, the gardens lay dark and silent. This city had more green space than any European city he’d visited before.

He looked up. The sky was still dark but clear, with the crisp, wintry feel he so loved about Europe. And he could see stars. That was the one thing missing in LA – the kind of stars you had to look up to see.

The night sky was the only thing he remembered fondly about Los Pajaros – that vast, empty sky with the entire Milky Way on display. How many times had he looked up at that sky and wished for another life? He’d got it, too.

He hadn’t been home to the Caribbean since he’d left as an angry kid. Had it changed as much as he had? In four short weeks he would find out.

He turned away from the window and headed to the bathroom, resisting the urge to dive back into the warmth and comfort of the vast hotel bed.

Once he’d showered, he dressed in jeans and a rumpled sweatshirt, stuck a beanie on his head, grabbed his coat, and headed downstairs.

He was early.

Teresa was earlier still.

She sat at one of the tables in the elegant dining room, sipping tea from a porcelain cup. There were no other hotel guests in sight.

And on the table before her stood the double espresso he’d instructed her to have ready and waiting. He should have been pleased. But instead, the unusually good mood he’d woken with evaporated at the sight of her.

She looked as immaculate and poised as ever, her hair neatly pinned back and her make-up flawless. This morning she wore a grey, calf-length skirt, heeled boots, a turtleneck sweater that didn’t need a label to have designer written all over it, with a cashmere scarf artfully knotted around her throat.

One elegant eyebrow arched as she took in the crumpled sweatshirt and beanie.

She made him feel rough and uncouth, as if he was still just some island boy carrying suitcases and fetching drinks for the rich out-of-towners. A girl like her wouldn’t have given him the time of day then.

These days he didn’t give girls like her the time of day.

Why the hell had he said “yes” to hiring her? He should have insisted on the kind of woman he preferred – confident, sassy. The kind of woman who wasn’t afraid to show a little skin or live on the wild side. At least then he might have had a little fun alongside his espresso.

The repressed virginal types just brought out his dark side. He wanted to muss up her hair and wipe the satisfaction off her face. He wanted to see her hungry for something she couldn’t have.

Which wasn’t a good way to start the day.

He slid into the seat across the table from her and tasted the espresso. Exactly the way he liked it.

“Good morning,” she said brightly. “I have your new shirt.” She patted the wrapped parcel on the table beside her. The stores would have been closed by the time she left the hotel yesterday. How in all that was holy had she managed to go shopping between then and now?

And not just any shirt.

He looked closer at the brown-paper package wrapped in black ribbon with the name of the designer on the attached card. Anton Martens, one of Westerwald’s most famous exports, designer to the rich and famous.

Christian flipped the card over. There was even a personal message from Anton himself hand written on the back.

No assistant he’d ever had would have been able to pull that off overnight.

Tessa sipped her tea. “I’ve spoken to Robbie, the Second Assistant Director. He says they’re ahead of schedule this morning and would like you to join them as soon as possible. Your driver will be out front in ten minutes.”

“You’d make a good boot-camp drill sergeant,” he grumbled.

Teresa arched an elegant eyebrow. “Your thanks are overwhelming. Are you always this pleasant in the mornings?”

“No, I’m usually grumpier.”

“I’ll remember that.” She sipped her tea and silence fell.

He downed his first espresso and Teresa waved for the waiter to bring another. With caffeine in his bloodstream, he felt a little less like a barbarian. Not that the urge to throw her over his shoulder and carry her up to his room abated any.

The waiter also delivered a platter of croissants with preserves, cold meats and local cheese, but Christian couldn’t stomach food this early.

“You hungry?” He asked.

She shook her head. “I already ate. You should eat something. Coffee is not a breakfast.”

“Wanna bet?”

Silence fell again. The caffeine worked its way through his system, and he started to feel a little less off balance. A little more rational.

“You’re early. Does that mean your date wasn’t a great success?”

“It was a lovely evening, thank you.” And she smiled.

He leaned back in his seat and contemplated her. Smiling, she looked less stuck-up. Less like the brats he’d had to say “yes, sir” and “no, sir” to all that last summer in Los Pajaros.

“You should do that more often.”

“Do what?” Her face smoothed out into the calm, unemotional mask he’d already learned was her default setting. She unconsciously tucked back a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

He reached across the table and worked it loose again. She froze at his touch. “You should smile more often.”

He wouldn’t have believed it possible if he hadn’t seen it. She blushed as she turned her face away, revealing just how porcelain-thin her skin really was.

God, even her neck was perfect. For a wild moment he imagined himself nipping that delicate skin at her throat with his teeth. His body pulled tight in response.

“I’ll wait outside for the car to arrive.” She began to rise, but he grabbed her hand.

“It won’t be here for another few minutes and it’s cold outside. Sit down.” He grinned. “I won’t bite, I promise.”

She didn’t look as if she believed him, but she sat back down and folded her hands demurely in her lap, eyes cast down. He had no illusions it was out of any kind of meekness. He’d seen enough to know Teresa Adler was neither meek nor shy.

She simply didn’t want to look at him. Why? Other women had no problem looking. And looking. Could it be because of the colour of his skin, or because she thought he was beneath her? It couldn’t be because she wasn’t interested. That blush said she was very interested.

He wanted to reach out again and touch her, but resisted the temptation. It was growing obvious she didn’t like to be touched. Yet that silky skin, the colour of fresh cream and just as soft, begged him to touch so much he ached with the desire.

He emptied his cup and put his shades on. “Let’s go.”

But walking was an effort.

Christian’s car was a luxury grey sedan with darkened windows. She’d expected a stretch limousine, something showy and pretentious, so the understated elegance came as something of a surprise.

The driver stood waiting beside the car. He looked military, with his buzz cut and sharp eyes, though he wore an unremarkable suit beneath his massive overcoat. He held the door open for Christian, who climbed wordlessly into the back and turned to Tessa with a quick smile. “He’ll be much friendlier once he’s woken up. I’m Frank.”

As they pulled off, she called Robbie on her mobile. “We’re on our way. We’ll be there in about twenty minutes, morning rush-hour traffic permitting.”

“Text me when you’re two minutes away,” Robbie said.

This was ridiculous. Stefan didn’t buzz his office with two-minute warnings. These film people really were angsty.

They drove in silence. She was sure Christian dozed behind his dark glasses. If she hadn’t seen firsthand how much of a morning person he wasn’t, she’d have thought it to be a pretentious Hollywood thing.

Except he hadn’t looked sleepy in that moment he’d touched her. He’d looked as if he’d been stung, those mischievous blue eyes alight with interest. There’d been a startled intensity in his eyes, a focused look that unnerved her even more than his touch had.

It didn’t bother her that he found her attractive. Many men openly admired her. What bothered her was the nervous flip her stomach had made.

She paged through the morning papers that had been provided ready in the car, and when they were mere minutes away from the palace she texted Robbie.

A military guard opened the massive palace gates as they approached, and Frank eased the car around the palace building to the gravelled forecourt, where at least half a dozen trucks were parked, their contents spilled out around them. Several large motor homes stood in a cordoned-off area to one side, and it was here they headed.

Frank pulled the car up beside the largest trailer before jumping out to survey the area. He opened the door for Tessa and she stepped out, Christian a pace behind, rubbing his bleary eyes as if he’d only just woken.

Robbie already awaited them, stamping his feet to keep warm in the icy wind that whipped about them. Of course the balmy weather had been too good to last. Tessa stuck her hands deep into her coat pockets. She’d left her gloves in her car back at the hotel.

“Good morning, Mr Taylor,” Robbie said with a cheerful smile.

Christian grunted a return greeting as he climbed the stairs to the trailer. Behind his back Robbie rolled his eyes, and Tessa suppressed an uncharacteristic giggle. Robbie was a fresh-faced young Englishman, easy-going and easy to like.

“His costume stylist is already in there, then he’ll be in the make-up trailer for quite a while. Come with me and take a look at the set.”

Tessa cast a look towards the open trailer door. Christian had disappeared inside without a word so she shrugged and followed Robbie, who was already busy on his radio, letting the rest of his team know that “the eagle had landed”. She rolled her own eyes.

Robbie walked her through the lot, pointing out the make-up trailer, the mobile production office, the portable toilets for the crew and non-featured cast. Then he led her through a side door and into the palace.

Organised chaos, that was the impression that struck her first.

She’d danced in the palace ballroom many times, especially when Archduke Christian, Fredrik’s father, had been alive. Those parties had been legend, yet they’d never matched the spectacle before her now.

If she ignored the massive film lights scattered around the room, the great thick cables running along the walls, or the corrugated cardboard taped around the door frames to protect them from damage; she might have stepped back in time.

The ballroom, with its high ceiling decorated with an intricate frieze, thronged with people, all in magnificent period costume. Everywhere she looked there were massive hooped skirts, tall feathered head-dresses, and every colour of the rainbow. And that was just the women. There was more satin and silk on display than at a wedding fair.

Film crew darted between the extras, fiddling with equipment, arranging impressive displays of imported flowers, adjusting the performers’ clothes, or moving people like chess pieces on a board, their modern clothing incongruous amongst the period costumes.

Tessa wondered what time the crew must have started work to get this all ready on time, especially the elaborate wigs and make-up.

Robbie introduced her to a few people, then left her on one side of the ballroom as he was called away. She hovered by a wall, trying to keep out of everyone’s way.

Most of the activity centred around the camera, mounted on tracks that ran half the length of the room. She watched, intrigued, as rehearsals began.

Dancers swirled around the camera, parting as a young man of Christian’s height and colouring, dressed in sombre dark clothes, made his entrance and strode across the floor towards the camera, a stark figure amidst all the bright colour and movement.

Again and again they repeated the move, with Christian’s stand-in blocking his moves. The young man may have borne him a more than passing resemblance, but he didn’t move with Christian’s lightness, or have his mesmerising appeal. She had no problem dragging her gaze away from him.

“Hello, chica!”

She looked around to see Lee and smiled. He leaned up against the wall beside her. “I was hoping to catch you here. I had a few ideas after our dinner last night and started some sketches. Want to see them?”

“Of course.”

“All good things come to those who wait.” He smirked. “I’ll show them to you over lunch.”

She smacked him on the arm. “Tease.”

“Speaking of which, how has Mr Taylor been so far?”

Infuriating. Unsettling. Occasionally charming. She couldn’t pin down how he made her feel. One minute all intense, those seductive blue eyes making her feel like prey in the hunter’s sights, the next minute prickly and combative.

“He’s fine,” she said.

“He shared any confidences yet?”

If only. But since she didn’t know how much Lee knew, she simply shook her head. He leaned closer, dropping his voice. “You know that the quickest way to get him to reveal whatever you want to know is to seduce him? You’re sure to catch him unwary in the throes of passion.”

Her entire body stiffened in horror. “I couldn’t do that!” Even if she wasn’t engaged, it was unthinkable.

“Pity.”

She followed Lee’s gaze across the room to where Christian had just entered, flanked by Robbie, Christian’s stylist, his make-up artiste, and the man Tessa had already gathered was the director. She wasn’t the only one who turned to look. A flutter swept around the room. Christian seemed oblivious. With those looks, he’d no doubt had people falling at his feet his entire life. Add the athletic build and the attitude, and he was very hard to ignore.

Lee laid a dramatic hand over his heart and sighed. “If I were in your shoes, I’d so do him. He’s even sexier in person than up on the big screen.”

She didn’t dispute that. She’d never met a man who made her skin prickle with awareness like Christian did.

Christian was joined by a young woman Tessa vaguely recognised, and this time it certainly wasn’t from any late-night crime report. She was a brunette, at least a head shorter than Tessa, with an exotic Mediterranean colouring, slender yet with curves in all the right places, and a cleavage that needed no accentuation. Especially in her heavily embroidered Baroque ball gown.

Scarlet. It suited her.

Tessa pursed her lips as Christian bent to kiss the woman’s cheek and whisper in her ear. The woman blushed and giggled.

“Nina Alexander, Christian’s leading lady,” Lee said. “She’s not half bad for an actress who it’s rumoured will be an Oscar contender this year. Almost as down-to-earth as Christian and she has a wicked sense of humour. The crew are laying odds she’s going to make him wait until the end of the movie before he gets lucky, though.”

“What are the odds he doesn’t get lucky at all?”

Lee laughed. “Nil. As long as she’s not married, she’s fair game. And there isn’t a woman who can say no to him if he sets his sights on her.”

Want to bet?

Across the room, Nina laughed at something Christian said. He definitely seemed in a better mood now. Tessa bit her lip. “I hope the poor woman isn’t looking for a relationship. Christian’s attention span seems to be limited to about a week.” Or so said the page and a half of her father’s report that had been devoted to his love life.

Lee nudged her. “That’s why you’d be so good for him. What you want from him is unique. It’s not like you want to marry the man.” He rubbed his stubble thoughtfully. “Might even be good for you.”

“I don’t mess around,” she said stiffly.

The dimple appeared in his cheek. “Not even a last little fling before you settle down to marriage?”

They’d gotten to know each other well enough over dinner last night for Tessa to be pretty sure that that Lee was only teasing. In spite of the fact he never took anything seriously, she could understand why he and Kenzie were such good friends. And why he and Anna had hit it off so well last night.

He was a good listener. And he’d become even more excited about her wedding than the know-it-all wedding-planner she’d hired and fired. Certainly more excited than she felt.

There were days she wished they could just elope and get married on a tropical island somewhere. But Europe’s entire aristocracy expected to be present at the wedding of the last heiress of the noble House of Arelat, the family that had given its name to the island where Christian was born, and noses would be out of joint if she didn’t deliver.

“Well, if you change your mind, it won’t be hard. We men are such suckers for a pretty face, and you’re definitely a pretty face. And with Christian’s reputation… ”

As if he’d heard his name, Christian looked up and his gaze connected with hers, clear across the crowded ballroom, knocking the wind out of her.

He raised an eyebrow and grinned, a look so cocky and sure of his own appeal, that she had to turn away. Even if she were capable of seducing anyone, she wouldn’t give Christian the satisfaction. And she would not let him get any more under her skin than he already was.

A man like Christian Taylor could not be trusted. People like him, who courted fame and adoration, always after the quick thrill of the moment, destroyed everything they touched. She was not about to be destroyed a second time.

Now what had put that look in her eye? Christian only listened to the director with half an ear as he stared across the ballroom at Teresa. The dislike in her usually unruffled demeanour startled him. What had he done to upset her? God, he hated mornings.

It definitely wasn’t the pretty boy next to her causing her to frown, because she laughed as he made some comment.

Christian’s gut clenched.

“You got that?” the director asked. “You’re spurned and angry and about to take revenge on everyone in the room who ever slighted you.”

Which was about right. Christian’s hands fisted.

There were two reasons he’d signed on for this movie. The first lay beyond his control and he wouldn’t be entirely surprised if he had to leave Westerwald without achieving it.

But the second lay firmly within his grasp. The chance to visit both the land of the father who hadn’t wanted to own him, and the island that had been his childhood home. The chance to return not as the outcast child but as the victor.

He was here to show them all the man he’d become, starting with that prissy little PA who turned her back on him as if he was beneath her notice.

He took the starting position he was indicated and breathed deeply, focusing on the role at hand.

They walked through the rehearsal a couple of times, following the movements the director had already blocked out with his stand-in. He only gave half his energy to these run-throughs, saving his best for when the cameras actually rolled.

“Final checks,” the AD called. The make-up and wardrobe stylists fluttered around him like agitated butterflies before hurrying away out of shot. Then “Quiet! Roll sound,” the AD called.

Another voice called back, an indistinct affirmation.

“Roll camera.”

“Camera speed,” piped up the first camera assistant.

“Mark it.”

The second camera assistant banged the clapperboard and leapt out of the way.

“And… action!”

The dancers moved around him, their movements eerie without music to accompany them. Their feet stamped, their costumes rustled, but the room had that strange sound film sets had during filming, the sound of a hundred people holding their breaths, trying not to make any noise that might be picked up by the microphones.

The AD waved his arm and on cue Christian stepped forward through the wide doorway and began to stride towards camera.

It was a big, emotionally charged shot with which to start the day. It should have been hard. It should have required more preparation and more focus. It should have required him to dig deep into his emotions. But he didn’t need any of that.

Just having Teresa in the room, watching him from the sidelines, was all the preparation he needed. He didn’t need to look to know she was there, to know that she watched him. He was aware of her every movement in his peripheral vision.

Her presence sparked a sensation he’d never felt before, an uncomfortable prickle beneath his skin. Rather like that very first night in her car, when she’d questioned his worth to the world. Only now the itch seemed ten times worse.

The dancers parted for him. Waiting for him before the camera stood his co-star, Nina. A luscious little thing with dark, sensual eyes and full red lips. When they’d first met, at some party back in LA, he’d been determined to sleep with her. This movie had seemed like a good opportunity to accomplish that too.

Three birds, one stone.

Only now the thought of bedding her held no appeal. Unwanted, unsummoned, an image intruded of long pale, naked legs and white-blonde hair spread across his pillow.

“What are you doing here?” Nina asked in a scandalised stage whisper.

“I’m here to see you.”

She toyed with her gold mask, using it to screen her face. “What if someone sees us together? You’ll ruin me.”

“We are two people passing the time at a ball. How could that possibly ruin you?”

Nina lowered the mask so he could see her eyes. Though the camera was focused on him for this shot rather than her, her expression held all her character’s emotions. She was certainly a consummate professional. “Because of who you are.”

He prowled around her, a slow, threatening glide, and the camera moved with him in a long slow arc. His voice was low, only just loud enough for the microphone carefully concealed in his clothing. “And what am I, Celeste? Your plaything, your rebellion, or your lover?”

Her eyes flashed angry darts at him. “You’re an outsider. You don’t belong here.”

He laughed, low and dangerous. “You weren’t saying that when I was between your lovely, naked thighs last night.”

“Hush! What if someone hears you?”

“So what?” He stopped his prowl, stood poised at her shoulder to whisper in her ear. “I’m good enough to bed but not good enough to stand by your side in polite company?”

Nina’s voice shook, but it was nowhere near as convincing as Teresa’s had been the first night they met. “Do you even care about anyone other than yourself?”

Even with the screenwriter’s words in his mouth, the answer was still the same as the one he’d had for Teresa. “No, I don’t. Because no one else has given me a damned thing unless they wanted something from me in return.”

He stroked his fingers down Nina’s neck. Her skin was smooth and warm. He wondered what Teresa’s skin would feel like. Probably cold as ice.

“Even you want something from me, Celeste, though you won’t admit it. But you know what?” His voice hardened. “You’re going to have to get down on your knees and beg me for it.”

Nina shook her head. “I won’t.”

Though he spoke his words for the microphone, and the brunette standing before him, he directed every line at the cold-eyed blonde who watched from across the room. He released all the pent-up rage she’d stirred in him when they first met. “Oh yes, you will.”

The actress stared at him wide-eyed. One beat. Two beats.

“Cut!” cried the director, jumping up from his seat behind the monitor. “That was incredible! I’m blown away, Christian. Do you think you can do that again?”

Christian nodded.

Nina’s eyes were still wide, her mouth parted just a little now. “God, you’re good,” she said.

“Thanks.” He bent to her ear, his voice a whisper he hoped even the sound man wouldn’t pick up. “You ever want to find out how good, I’m in the penthouse suite at our hotel.”

“In your dreams.” But there was an extra sashay in her hips as she turned and walked away, and the coy look she cast him over her shoulder spoke volumes. Christian grinned. Nina was definitely his kind of woman, and a man had to keep his options open, after all.

“Back to the top,” the AD shouted out to the room, and there was a mad bustle as everyone returned to their starting places amidst the AD calling out instructions for tweaks to the lights, a slower zoom in by the camera and “why the hell is there a wristwatch on that extra?”

Chapter 5

If she’d thought Christian was grumpy that first morning, it was nothing on his mood the rest of the week. Until he’d had his second espresso, he could barely manage a grunted greeting.

And every day he got grumpier.

Teresa took it in her stride. She made sure his espresso was ready, that the car was out front, that his script sides were on hand, and she avoided conversation. She sipped her tea, read the morning papers and enjoyed the peace and quiet while it lasted.

“Didn’t you sleep well last night?” she asked on the fifth morning as Frank drove them to the palace. The sun wasn’t quite up yet, the sky lightening with a smudge of pink in the east. Though the morning rush hour had yet to start, she felt wired and ready to go. It was good to have a reason to get out of bed in the morning, even if that reason was something as trivial as making a movie.

Christian scowled back in answer.

As soon as they arrived on set he was hustled into his trailer, dressed by his wardrobe stylist, then handed over to the make-up artistes who had their own special truck, ready rigged with basins, mirrors and bright lights.

It was warm inside the trailer, crowded and noisy with voices and music from the make-up artistes’ MP3 player. Since it was still too early to run Christian’s errands, Tessa sat quietly in a corner and read the script as his make-up artiste Marie readied him for the cameras.

With Christian’s hair trimmed so short, she couldn’t figure out what took so long.

“They’re getting rid of my excesses,” Christian said, catching her eye in the mirror as Marie massaged moisturiser into his skin. He held her gaze a second too long, so that the blood in her veins began to fizz and bubble until she forced herself to look away.

“You really should sleep more and drink more water,” Marie chided. “All that partying is damaging your skin.”

“It’s the film lights that damage my skin.”

Marie giggled and glanced at Tessa who’d reached the last page and closed the script.

“If you want something else to read, there’s a pile of magazines under the basins. They’re mostly local rags, but I love all the pictures of the who’s who of Europe.” She sighed. “We don’t have any Dukes or Counts or Princes in the States.”

“And thank heavens for that.” Christian’s expression shifted from amused to bitter in a heartbeat. “Bunch of inbred brats.”

“Why do you say that?” Tessa asked, keeping her voice level.

“I met my fair share of them when I was a kid working for my uncle’s fishing-charter business. Self-indulgent and self-absorbed, the lot of them.”

It was the first time he’d mentioned his childhood on Los Pajaros. She should have pushed, widened the crack, but she was side-tracked by the sting. He’d said it like a barb, as if he’d known she was one of them. And resented it.

She returned to her seat and opened the magazine, paging blindly past countless faces she recognised. Her social circle was certainly incestuous. Everyone knew everyone. And yes, there were parties and social events, so many they seemed to blur together these days, but in that respect her life in Westerwald wasn’t much different from Christian’s life in Hollywood.

Except for one big difference. The people she knew were no more self-indulgent than she was. With privilege came responsibility and duty, and no one knew that better than the descendants of lines that had served their nations for hundreds of years.

Besides, who was Christian to lecture her about self-indulgence? He partied as if there was no tomorrow. Frank had told her at what ungodly hour he’d finally brought Christian and Dominic home from some nightclub in the early hours of this morning.

“What’s so engrossing?” Christian asked, swinging away from the bank of mirrors and holding out his hand to her for the magazine.

She’d stared at the same page for a full minute without paying the slightest attention to it. She looked now and blood rushed to her face.

Christian beckoned with his fingers. “It can’t be that bad. Let’s see it.”

She stuffed the magazine behind her back.

He beckoned again. “You know if you don’t hand it over I’ll have to come and get it?”

She had no doubt he’d do it too. Reluctantly she handed over the magazine. But not before she closed it. Christian took it and flicked through the pages.

And unerringly found the page she’d wanted to hide.

“Hey, that’s you!” Marie peered over Christian’s shoulder. “Who’s the hunk you’re with?”

Tessa’s blush deepened.

“It’s Prince Fredrik,” Christian said. He laid the magazine down in his lap and contemplated her. “It says your engagement announcement is imminent.”

“It’s an old magazine and we were never engaged.” They’d discussed marriage but Fredrik had never got around to proposing. Fate in the form of a blood test had intervened.

“A prince, huh?” Christian still looked at her strangely.

Unable to bear the hard scrutiny, she rose and wandered across to the shelves of cosmetic products lined up beside the basins. “Not anymore.”

“I met him at the welcome drinks party,” he said. “He was there with your friend.” He said it like a question.

“He and I… we separated by mutual agreement and there are no hard feelings. I’m happy that he and Kenzie are together now.” And for the first time she meant it. If Rik could overcome being disinherited and find happiness, then she could overcome losing the safety net he’d provided.

“So how did you hook up with a prince?” Nina asked from the make-up station at the far end of the trailer, where her stylist was busy creating an extravagant up-do with a wig and thousands of pins, a process that took over an hour every day.

Hook up. Such an American expression. It had never been like that for Teresa and Rik. Or even for her and Stefan. But she didn’t think this Hollywood actress, nice as she was, would comprehend relationships based on mutual understanding, on a common background, on shared ideals.

Tessa shrugged. “This is a small country. We grew up together.”

Christian studied her with narrowed eyes. “Los Pajaros is a pretty small place too, but I didn’t even attend the same school as the mayor’s kids, let alone play with them.”

She didn’t like that look. It was worse than the constant prickle. It was even worse than when he’d tried to flirt with her.

“You’re from Los Pajaros?” Nina asked, her already-big eyes growing rounder.

Christian’s jaw tensed, a sign so subtle that no one else seemed to notice. Tessa did.

“Robbie wanted you to come to set as soon as you’re ready. Shall I let him know you’re on your way?” she asked.

If she’d hoped for gratitude for rescuing him from an awkward conversation, she was disappointed. He nodded and rose from the seat, removing the protective napkins tucked into his collar, then waved for her to precede him out the door.

“Don’t go!” Nina called. “This is just getting interesting. Stay and tell me all about your prince.”

Tessa cast Christian a beseeching look but he was far less magnanimous. “Yes, stay Baroness. You can tell her all about how you went from dating a prince to slumming it here as my PA.”

Damn. He’d read the fine print in the article too.

By the time he stepped in front of the cameras each day, Christian turned into the Energizer bunny and there was no stopping him.

Especially when Dominic was around. They were like two little boys, egging each other on. Tessa learned to tell where they were on set by the sound of laughter.

Their pranks had become legendary. One of her tasks was to provide a steady supply of whoopee cushions and fake turds – and then there was the day she had to scour every pharmacy and supermarket across town for a very specific brand of condom that didn’t appear to exist. She was sure the errands were designed for her maximum embarrassment.

At least she found a ready supply of fake blood in the make-up trailer and saved herself a trip when Christian decided to prank the director into thinking Dominic had wounded him during rehearsal.

But that was by no means her least-favourite task. That honour went to screening Christian’s calls. While he was on set she kept his mobile, answered his calls and took messages. The press phone calls were a pain, but easy to deal with. She simply said “no” and “no comment” unless they were on the approved list.

The requests for charitable donations, memorabilia and signed autographs to auction, and the “please endorse my product” calls, were equally easy to deal with.

The incessant phone calls from women were not.

The worst of them was Christian’s publicist. The poor woman was clearly desperate to talk to him. He was equally determined not to. Instead, Pippa turned to Tessa as her confidante, pouring out her heart and the minute details of their affair.

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