Читать книгу Six Hot Summer Nights - Leslie Kelly - Страница 10

Six weeks later …

What had she eaten?

Mia groaned. Closing her eyes, she let her head fall back against the plush sofa cushions. In the seven months she’d worked for Olivia, never once had she asked for a day, or even an hour, off. But today there was absolutely no way she could’ve made it through the afternoon without falling over or running to the bathroom and hugging the commode—not qualities a personal assistant to the Grand Dane should possess.

Olivia had taken pity on her and sent her home, with the promise Mia would call if she felt worse or needed anything at all. Mia would’ve promised anything to anyone if it meant she could crawl back onto her comfy sofa and lie perfectly still. Why did the house keep shifting?

Yeah, there was no way at all she could’ve kept up with the fast-paced, never-tiring Olivia Dane. Not today.

With the majority of her work on her laptop, she was just fine right here in her own living room. Well, she would be fine if the room would stop tilting and her stomach would stop rolling. Seriously, all she’d had for dinner the previous night was a piece of baked fish and some steamed veggies. Nothing at all to prove fatal, yet death was surely knocking at her door because concentrating on these fan emails was taking the last bit of energy she had.

Mia lifted her head and clicked on another email with a sigh. The message, like hundreds of others, wanted to know when Bronson would produce a film with his mother playing the lead role. The public loved this close-knit Hollywood family, and the fact that the Grand Dane and the best producer in the business hadn’t worked together yet kept people interested.

Why did everything circle back to Bronson? In the six weeks since he’d left Cannes to go on a business trip for his next film, she hadn’t heard a word from him. She’d been in the room once when he’d called to chat with his mother, but that was as close as she came to the man who’d given her the most spine-tingling night of her life.

Obviously, he’d been able to move on, so why was she still hanging on to the memories of his touch, his kiss? His taste. She lived in Hollywood. Sexual partners came and went. Unfortunately, sex had always meant more to Mia that just a casual coupling.

But, she reminded herself, he’d stressed that he didn’t want anything personal, and she completely understood. For one night of passion with Hollywood’s hottest bachelor, she’d put her moral compass aside and taken one for the team.

Though deep down, there was that little girl inside her who wished for the old Hollywood fairy tale, the handsome man to sweep her off her feet, the mansion where they’d live happily ever after. Of course she’d keep all her wishes and dreams to herself, but she couldn’t help the fantasies that flitted through her mind.

Unfortunately this was Hollywood. Unfulfilled fantasies were everywhere. But she didn’t care if wanting her dreams to become reality made her naive. She’d continue to be a hopeless romantic.

She clasped the locket around her neck, the image of her parents’ picture inside flooding her mind. They’d chased their dreams when they’d come to America from Italy. So what if she was a dreamer? That only made her work harder for what she wanted. And a part of her did want Bronson. Granted, she didn’t know him that well, but she’d like to get to know him better. He’d been so attentive, so giving with his affection, not to mention he’d been a true gentleman the entire week they’d spent together.

But had she seriously thought Bronson would sleep with her, find himself falling madly in love and they’d ride off into the sunset in a town that was full of lies and deceit? Even couples who’d been married for a number of years seemed to fall into the bottomless pit of divorce.

And why was she wasting a workday fantasizing about weddings, divorces and Bronson’s thrilling touch?

Mia’s hands flew across the keyboard as she replied to the interested fan. There was nothing in the works for Olivia and Bronson, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a possibility. And Mia knew the two would love to work on a film together, they just hadn’t found the right one—or so she’d been told.

This was the part of her job she dearly loved—hearing from all the people around the world who reminisced about old Grand Dane movies and still enjoyed seeing her on the big screen with the hottest up-and-coming young stars. No doubt about it—when Olivia Dane made an entrance on to the screen, the audience loved her. No one could ever overshadow her beauty, class or intelligence. She reigned supreme even over today’s hottest stars.

As she read more fan mail exuding love for this successful, bonded family, guilt washed over her.

When would Anthony tell Olivia he knew the truth? On one hand, Mia wanted it to be out in the open so she didn’t have to hoard all this guilt. But, on the other hand, once the truth was out, how many lives would be ruined? Would the Danes be able to move on? They were such a tight-knit family and had lived through minor scandals, but something of this magnitude could cause tremendous upheaval. Anthony and Bronson already loathed each other. Informing Bronson they were brothers would surely prove to only drive that hatred to a deeper level.

And ruining Olivia’s flawless image wouldn’t solve anything.

Mia’s stomach churned again. Between the constant fear of how these two families would cope with a forty-year-old secret and whatever stomach bug she’d picked up, Mia was ready to crawl back into bed and call it a day. Unfortunately, it was only ten in the morning and she still had about fifty more emails to get to and some phone calls to return for Olivia’s TV talk show appearances to promote the new movie she had a cameo in. No rest for the dying.

Just as she opened another email, the doorbell sounded throughout the cottage. Cottage was a silly word for the five-thousand-square-foot guesthouse, complete with its own swimming pool, hot tub and movie room with a floor-to-ceiling movie screen. However, compared to the main house, at twenty-two-thousand square feet, this was definitely a cottage.

Mia came to her feet, thankful the room had stopped tilting for the time being, glanced down to her less-than-professional attire and shrugged. She’d changed into something more comfortable when Olivia had sent her home and hadn’t expected to see anyone else today.

Oh, well. More than likely if it wasn’t Olivia herself, then she’d sent one of the staff to check on her. Mia loved that Olivia cared for her in that motherly way … a way her own mother never had the chance to. She only prayed the cook hadn’t brought food, as Olivia had suggested. The thought sent her stomach revolting—again.

The cool tile beneath her feet as she crossed the foyer felt refreshing, considering she was getting a bit lightheaded again. Maybe she needed to crank up the AC or get a cool cloth for her head.

Mia twisted the lock and opened her door to see Bronson in all his gorgeous glory bathed in the sunlight falling over his shoulder. With his California tan, styled “messy” hair, green polo and dark designer jeans, he looked every bit of perfect. So opposite her. Oh, wait, she had the messy hair, just not in the stylish way he sported it. No, hers was more of the get-out-of-my-face-because-I’m-going-to-be-sick mess in a topknot with stray pieces hanging down.

“I called up to the house. Mom told me you were sick,” Bronson said, leaning against her doorjamb. “Is there anything you need?”

Really? He’d rushed here after not a word in weeks? A phone call would’ve proved just fine and then she wouldn’t have to worry about how deathly she looked while he, as usual, looked drop-dead sexy. If he hadn’t put their sexual encounter out of his mind already, one look at her would surely have him running for the next starlet.

“Mia. Do you need anything?” he asked again.

Yeah, for him to leave and only return when her makeup was on, her hair was done and her breath couldn’t be used as a weapon.

“I’m good.” She smiled. “Did you come over just to see how I was?”

Bronson shrugged. “I just got back into town a couple days ago and I was going to stop by to see you anyway.”

“Really?” Considering the six-week gap since they last saw each other, she was a little skeptical. “Why?”

“Honestly?”

Mia grabbed the edge of the door for some stability and lifted a brow. Yeah, she wouldn’t mind a little honesty from the man she’d slept with and couldn’t get out of her mind.

Bronson threw her that billion-dollar, white-tooth smile. “I wanted to see you again. I was hoping for dinner at my place, but if you’re sick, we can postpone.”

If she’d had the energy to jump up and down, she probably would have. Even the giddy girl inside her was wiped out this morning.

“I haven’t even agreed to see you again and you’re already making plans to postpone?” she asked. “My, my. Awfully full of yourself.”

Reaching into his back pocket, he whipped out a well-worn, folded-up tabloid.

Mia took it, unfolded it and saw the cover. A cover with the two of them in a heated embrace, kissing. Their first kiss that some paparazzo schmuck had captured and exploited. Not only was that picture blown up as the main feature, but there were also smaller pictures surrounding the perimeter. Snapshots from the red carpet, one picture of the two of them when they’d been waiting to meet with his mother for lunch—but, of course, Olivia wasn’t in the photo.

The headline read, “DANE’S NEW LEADING LADY?” She’d seen these images and more intrusive headlines on the internet, but they’d only popped up for a few days. More Hollywood drama had unfolded since then, and their little week in Cannes had been pushed aside.

Mia’s eyes darted to Bronson. “Why would this make you so confident I’d want to see you again? Aren’t you the one who wanted to keep things to that one night?”

Bronson’s bright baby blues roamed over her, heating her and making her feel just a wee bit better. “I do prefer simple, but after I saw these pictures, I knew I needed to see you again. The way you’re looking at me, the way we look kissing—it’s hard to deny that there’s some real chemistry between us, Mia. And the camera picks up everything.”

Shivers rippled one after another through her body as she slapped the the tabloid down onto the small table by the door. “In most of these we’re looking at each other. I’d say the chemistry isn’t completely one-sided.”

“As I said, the camera picks up everything.” One corner of his kissable mouth tilted. “Which is why I’d like to see you again.”

And today she was not feeling, or looking, her best. Was this fate’s way of telling her to take the night she had and move on without getting too involved with this man? She did know a secret that would crumble the solid foundation his world was built upon. On the other hand, she wanted to see this charming, sexy man again, away from the romantic, alluring ambiance of Cannes. She wanted to see if this chemistry was real.

“I’ll call later to check on you,” he told her. “If you’re feeling up to it, I’ve got a great dinner planned.”

Mia’s eyes widened. “You’re going to cook?”

“I’ve been banned from my own kitchen because I’m so terrible at cooking. But I assure you my chef will prepare a feast you’ll never forget.” His eyes grew dark, and a smile curved at his lips. “But my staff will have the night off when you’re there. I promise you my undivided attention. If you’re not feeling well, we can reschedule. Tomorrow?”

“No, I’ll be fine. I’m sure I just need to rest.”

Bronson stepped over the threshold, forcing her to take a step back. His finger trailed down her cheek, as if she needed a reminder of how spine-tingling his touches were. Those touches had driven her mad in Cannes, and she couldn’t wait for an encore. Please, God, let her feel better after a nap and some Pepto.

“You look a bit pale.” His brows drew together. “We’ll do it tomorrow.”

Great, here she’d been thinking of the last time he’d touched her with those talented hands and he was commenting on how deathly she looked. Didn’t she just reek sex appeal?

His hand came back to her forehead and she swatted him away, but not before his palm rested over her head and cheek.

“Really, Bronson, I’m not in the mood to play doctor-patient. Tomorrow I’ll feel better and we can have that dinner at your place. Maybe I’ll bring my stethoscope.”

A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I’d like nothing more than to see your bedside manner again, but let’s get you feeling better. Okay?”

“Fine,” she agreed. “Tomorrow. I’ll be there.”

“I’ll pick you up,” he told her. “Five o’clock.”

He turned and strolled back to his sleek, black sports car, leaving her standing in her doorway. That man had whipped back into her life as fast as he’d left and here she was panting after him just like the last time.

Oh, well. She didn’t care what she looked like, she only cared about being with Bronson again because that man held more arousing power in his lips and fingertips than most men held in their entire bodies.

She was not going to let Anthony’s secret or this stupid virus keep her from seeing him tomorrow. Because there was no way she would miss a repeat of the Cannes event. If Bronson had thought of her since then—and he obviously had or he wouldn’t be carrying around that tabloid—then he wanted her just as much as she wanted him.

Dinner invite to his place? That just screamed for her to wear her best lingerie.

Bronson dove headfirst into his Olympic-size pool. Getting his laps in not only kept him in great shape, but allowed him to unwind after a long day. One of his favorite places in this Beverly Hills home was the pool. And each time he came home from business, he spent his evenings here. Even when the sun set and the stars came out twinkling, he found the water refreshing and could reflect on the happenings in his life.

And right now Mia Spinelli was happening in a big way.

Never before had a woman distracted him from his work. But in the weeks since the one they’d shared in Cannes, she’d done just that.

The first tabloid he’d seen nearly had him cringing, but that was just a knee-jerk reaction to the ever-looming media. Once he looked more closely at the picture, or pictures, rather, he’d seen something he couldn’t deny. He wasn’t lying when he’d told her the camera picks up everything.

Bronson pushed off the concrete wall and began the backstroke. The paparazzo had captured that first kiss at just the right moment and just the right angle to keep Mia’s face a mystery. More pictures had shown her with her back to the camera, and that’s when he’d noticed just how he’d been looking at her.

With lust. Pure and simple. He couldn’t deny the attraction, and since he’d had her that’s all he’d been able to think of. Luckily, his business trip hadn’t taken as long as he’d thought and now he could concentrate on luring the seductive Mia into his bed once more.

Beyond that, he needed to keep an eye on her because he still wasn’t convinced that she wasn’t hiding something or out to benefit from working with his rival and now his mother.

As he came to rest with his arms on the side of the pool, Bronson vowed if Mia was hiding something, or working some angle, he’d uncover it … and, along the way, uncover her.

The next morning came with a vengeance as Mia threw back her covers and raced to the bathroom.

Just in time.

Good grief. She’d been fine yesterday afternoon and evening. Why was she feeling this way for the second morning in a row?

Mia’s hands froze as she reached to flush the commode. Oh, no. No. This timing had to be coincidental. Fate wouldn’t be this cruel to her … would it?

Easing back on her heels, her mind raced, calculating the date.

Oh, God.

Her period had always been on an odd cycle, but she’d never gone this long without one. Her eyes immediately went to her stomach. Surely there wasn’t a baby growing inside her. She refused to believe it. Unfortunately, the facts were piling up fast, leaving her heart beating heavy against her chest, giving her a whole new reason to be nauseous.

Damn, she didn’t have one of those at-home pregnancy tests on hand. She never thought she’d need one. But even if she ran out and bought one, were they 100 percent accurate? She had no clue what to do here. She’d never found herself in this predicament.

She needed to get to the doctor. Now. She needed to know the truth.

On shaky legs and with her thoughts moving through her mind faster than she could process them, Mia washed her face, brushed her teeth and threw on a strapless yellow sundress and flip-flops.

Grabbing her keys and handbag, she raced to the attached garage, pulling her cell out of her purse. By the time she got in her car, the receptionist told her they could do a walk-in test, no appointment needed. Thank God. She only hoped her sickness eased off long enough for her to find out the results.

Wait, shouldn’t she be hoping for a negative test? An upset stomach was the least of her worries right now.

Mia raced down palm-lined streets, never more afraid or eager to go to the doctor. Once this scare was behind her, she could focus on her dinner with Bronson tonight and everything that went along with it.

But this night could have a totally different outcome if the pregnancy test came back positive.

Another scandal with her name all over it was the last thing she wanted. She was still trying to recover from the media painting her as the “other woman” in Anthony’s marriage. Damn the paparazzi for adding to the already growing personal issues for Anthony and his wife. Not to mention the lies they made up about her all for the sake of a story.

Mia pulled into a parking spot on the street and tried not to run to the door, but a brisk walk was absolutely necessary. After entering the cool, air-conditioned building, Mia took the elevator to the third floor where her doctor’s office was located, and thankfully had weekend hours.

She entered the carpeted waiting room and signed in on the walk-in tablet. In no time a nurse called her name and Mia started feeling queasy all over again. She could do this. She had to know.

Thirty minutes later when Mia stumbled out of the office, she rested against the wall in the empty hallway, trying to fathom what her life would be like now.

Because in thirty-four weeks, she and Bronson were going to have a baby.

Scandal with a Hollywood Hotshot: Take Two.