Читать книгу The Mysterious Italian Houseguest - Scarlet Wilson, Scarlet Wilson - Страница 3

‘I want to stay here, Portia. Not in some hotel. Do you think that would be possible?’

Portia. Javier didn’t say her name. He practically sang it.

He didn’t even remember her. Not that she’d expected him to—really. But she had met him and interviewed him before. And it was kind of insulting for a guy not to remember you—even in the cut-throat Hollywood industry.

Her rational head understood. At any press junket he’d meet hundreds of journalists and could never be expected to remember them all. On awards nights he’d speak to just as many again on the red carpet. She wasn’t any different from any other person who shoved a microphone in his face and tried to think of an original question.

But it still stung.

And now he wanted to stay with her. Javier Russo wanted to stay with her.

She lifted her hands from his chest. She needed all her senses to be working. And they were already piqued. A fresh, clean scent drifted up under her nose. She scrunched up her face for a second and tried to shake it off. The last thing she needed to think about was fresh, clean Javier Russo.