Читать книгу The Mysterious Italian Houseguest - Scarlet Wilson, Scarlet Wilson - Страница 8
ОглавлениеPORTIA LAY IN her bed wondering if the man in the next room was up yet.
Or maybe he’d died in the night of some hidden head injury she’d caused by throwing the wine glass?
She groaned and rolled onto her side. Sleep had been a stranger to her. She’d tossed and turned all night.
Somehow, Javier Russo had ended up sleeping in the room next to hers.
Talk about messing with her head.
She’d interviewed dozens of famous stars and met every personality trait. The smug. The bored. The sweetheart. The ignorant. The people pleaser. The desperate. And the person who appeared to be from another planet.
Javier had been charming in the way that only an Italian film star could be. But it was all an act. Last time she’d met him he’d been arrogant. He could barely even bother to say hello. He’d looked at her with those steely grey eyes as she’d asked a question and replied, ‘Is that really the best you can do?’ before walking away with a dismissive glance. It was obvious he hadn’t thought she’d been important enough to speak to.
Stars being rude was nothing new to Portia. But it had felt as though he was mocking her. And that had stung.
Most Hollywood stars at least pretended to like the press. Some tried to charm her. A few had even sent her gifts. One particularly sleazy older guy had slipped his hand a bit too low and earned himself a slap and he was apparently happily married. Five years in Hollywood had fast made her realise that everything was merely a façade. Hardly any of it was real—let alone the love stories.
The charm was all superficial. As for Javier Russo? Last time around he hadn’t even feigned interest—she’d felt as welcome as something on the bottom of his shoe. It was only when his press officer had nudged him and whispered in his ear harshly that he’d tried to turn on the charm again—but with the next person in line.
And it had annoyed her beyond belief that as soon as he’d started to speak the rhythm of his words in that alluring tone had sent shivers down her spine.
That same voice that she’d heard last night.
She still wasn’t entirely sure why he was there.
And that was pretty much the reason she couldn’t sleep.
This was it. This was her chance. This was her chance for a story. Why on earth would Javier Russo be here? The man could probably afford to rent an entire hotel to himself. What on earth was he doing at Villa Rosa?
She tried to remember everything she’d ever heard about him. The truth was there was very little scandal around him. Yes, he was arrogant and sometimes aloof. But there were never on-set rumours about weird demands or keeping others waiting for hours. His star had definitely risen in the last few years and he’d been known to date a model, a pop star, and a few co-stars.
She hadn’t realised his mother had been friends with Sofia. They’d both been models around the same time; it made sense that they’d moved in the same circles. Sofia had photograph album after photograph album in the attic above Portia’s head. Doubtless she would find some memento of the women’s past history together.
In the meantime she was trying to keep calm. She shifted uncomfortably in the bed. This could be the story that could save her career. Or it could be nothing. It could simply be about a film star that had just filmed back-to-back movies and was looking for some peace and quiet. It wasn’t really that outrageous a thought. Apart from an occasional interest in the royal family, L’Isola dei Fiori wasn’t exactly the most sought-out destination. The ferry boat from the mainland was the only way here. Tourism was low. This place was off the beaten track. That was partly why she was here too.
But maybe it was something else? Maybe there was much more to Javier Russo than anyone knew. Her stomach flipped a little. She was still annoyed at him being so dismissive at their last meeting—one that he didn’t even remember. Maybe finding a story on Javier Russo would give her the boost she needed for her flagging career?
She pushed the horrible nagging feeling to the back of her head.
She’d only agreed to let him stay here one night. Maybe if there was a chance of a story she should reconsider?
There was a noise from downstairs. She frowned and swung her legs out of bed. It only took a few minutes to source where the noise was coming from.
Oh, Javier Russo was awake all right. He was so awake he was standing bare-chested in the painted drawing room. She rubbed her eyes. Maybe she hadn’t woken up yet. Maybe this was all just some kind of weird dream. He was wearing a pair of blue jeans and black boots. And he was mixing something in a bucket, his actions allowing her to admire every chiselled muscle in his arms and abs. She was pretty sure her chin just bounced off the floor and came back up again. That smattering of dark curls across the chest then thickening and leading downwards... There should be a law against this kind of thing.
‘What on earth are you doing?’
He looked up and smiled. ‘Just making myself useful.’
There was quiet confidence in those words that actually made her smart. The painted room was her favourite in the whole house and she knew that Posy felt the same. Although they hadn’t exactly spoken about it, she was sure that getting repairs done in a room like this was entirely outside all of her sisters’ budgets.
He smeared some of the white plaster on a metal square he held in one hand. There were a number of different-sized trowels lined up on the floor, some brushes and a large open bag of plaster powder.
‘Where on earth did you get all this?’
He smiled again. ‘I borrowed the scooter parked in the garage and went to the local hardware store early this morning. If you know what you’re looking for you can always find it.’
She shook her head as she eyed the bag of plaster. That had to be heavy. ‘Where even is the hardware store? I didn’t even know one existed.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘And when on earth did you go there?’
He shrugged. ‘It’s on the outskirts of Baia di Rose. Most tradesmen like to start their work early. They don’t like to work in the heat of the day. The hardware store opened at six.’
He ran his hand along the wall and frowned, grabbing a piece of sandpaper and giving a gentle rub around the crack.
‘What do you think you’re doing? Don’t touch that. You’ll make it worse. This place is in a bad enough state without you deciding to play Mr Handyman.’
Javier sighed and shook his head. ‘You act like I haven’t done this before.’
‘You haven’t!’
He took a step closer and gave her a serious look. ‘Don’t you do your homework on the people you interview? I’ve said a number of times that I worked in the summers as a teenager with my Uncle Vinnie—the best handyman in the world.’ He waved the piece of metal smeared with plaster. ‘There are a number of jobs I can do around here in the next few weeks. Plastering was one of the things I was best at. I can repair the cracks and skim the walls in all the rooms. It will be a good foundation for any other decorating your sister has planned.’ He waved his other hand. ‘And the conservatory. I can replace the broken glass. Another of my specialities.’
Portia couldn’t speak. She was astonished. She didn’t like to be caught unawares. There were probably a million women the world over that would currently love to be in her position. A half-dressed Javier Russo offering to work as handyman. She blinked and put her fingers at the edge of her hip and gave herself a sharp pinch.
Yep. She was definitely here. She was definitely awake.
He’d just criticised her. He’d implied she wasn’t good at her job. He’d implied she didn’t do her homework. Oh, this guy was clearly going to drive her crazy. Half naked or not.
And she hated to admit it right now, but she didn’t know that much background on Javier Russo. Annoyance swept through her. She wasn’t going to let him get the better of her. There was a story here. She could practically smell it in the air between them.
She licked her lips. Her intention had been to throw him out today. But the thought of a story was making her reconsider. Maybe she wouldn’t mention anything today at all.
She glanced downwards and realised she was standing in her pale blue wrap robe and slippers, her hair tied in a tangled knot on her head. Not entirely appropriate. She’d been so focused on what the noise was she hadn’t really thought about her appearance.
She sucked in a deep breath and tried to take a reality check on what was happening. She knew exactly how to play this. She laughed out loud and held up one hand, putting the other on her hip.
Javier looked amused. Perfect. ‘What is it?’
She kept laughing. ‘Well, I’m just thinking, whatever that wine was that I drank last night—and I only had two glasses—I think I better hunt down the rest of it.’
Javier lifted his hand from the wall. ‘Why?’
She clicked her fingers. ‘Well, look what’s happened. I drink two glasses of wine, Javier Russo, world-famous movie star—and I think I remember you were last year’s Most Eligible Bachelor—has turned up half naked in my sister’s dilapidated old villa, offering to be my handyman for the next few weeks. This isn’t real. There’s no way this is real.’
He nodded slowly, contemplating her words. Javier had that tiny little gleam in his eye. It was famous. Often caught in pictures and on camera in films. It made him look as if he were talking to only you, sharing a joke only with you.
And right now, he was talking only to her. There was a real possibility of story here.
‘What will it take to convince you?’
Her breathing stopped. Second time Javier Russo had caught her unawares. What did that mean? Her mouth couldn’t find the next set of words.
For the tiniest second the thought of a story vanished. Instead, in its place, was the muscular body and grey eyes of Javier Russo. All man, right in front of her.
It was almost as if he read her mind. He put the metal square on the floor next to the trowels and stepped closer. So close that his hand rested on her hip. Yes, it did. It really did.
If this were a film she would have spent around three hours in make-up achieving the ‘natural’ look. Unfortunately, her natural look was entirely natural. Her face scrubbed last night and a bit of her usual moisturiser smeared on her face. She always tied her hair up when she went to bed and it generally managed to tangle its way into an unruly mess.
He’d got close last night. But she’d gone from being a little foggy with the wine, to thinking there was an intruder, assaulting a movie star, then finding herself making up a bed for him.
No one would believe that interview.
All of a sudden she was closer than she’d ever expected to be with a movie star. Up close and personal. She could see every tiny line around his eyes. Laughter lines. No Botox. Every strand of his dark hair. The stubble on his jaw line. Her palm wanted to reach up and feel it. His white straight teeth and something hidden behind his grey eyes.
That was what stopped her in her tracks.
She recognised the signs. Hurt. Now she’d glimpsed it she could see it as clear as day.
He still hadn’t told her why he was here. He hadn’t answered many questions last night at all. Had he been dating? Was he here to mend his heart? Somehow, it didn’t really seem to fit the bill.
Hurt. It confused her. What could hurt Mr Arrogant? The part of her conscience that had invaded her thoughts this morning crowded forward again.
She lifted both her hands and placed them on his bare chest. The heat against her palms sent tingles up her arms. It was completely forward. But it didn’t feel that way. It felt natural. Honest. Her voice was barely a whisper. ‘Javier, what are you running from?’
Beneath her palms his chest rose as he sucked in a breath. Silence. The TV host in her ached to fill it. More than three seconds of silence in front of the camera usually meant that something had gone wrong.
But her senses kicked in. The senses that were still functioning while she had her hands on the chest of a film star.
He licked his lips and she stifled her groan. He was looking at her, but it didn’t feel as if he were really seeing her. He was thinking about something else.
She watched as the virtual shields came down behind his eyes. The tiny part of Javier Russo she’d been about to see instantly hidden again. ‘I’ve been busy. Four films in eighteen months and a whole range of press junkets for this year’s new releases. I just needed a bit of time out.’
She bit her bottom lip. It was plausible. But it wasn’t the truth.
‘You have enough money at your disposal to go to a hundred private islands. You’d have as much peace and quiet as you want. Plus, you’d actually have a place with a functioning kitchen and bathrooms.’
He gave the hint of a smile and shook his head. ‘But it wouldn’t be the same.’
Something had changed behind his eyes. Now, he was being honest.
‘What do you mean?’
He glanced down at her hands and her fingers jerked self-consciously. She should really move them. And she would. Just not yet.
He held up his arms. ‘I mean, this is the place I remember. Once I got here as a kid, Sofia always filled it with happy memories. And I’ve never been a lie-on-the-beach kind of guy. I like to be doing something. I like to be industrious. It relaxes me. Helps me sort out things in my head. This place is my idea of a holiday. I just wish I’d thought of it a couple of years ago.’
Her stomach gave a little flip. Her head was all over the place right now. She’d planned to spend the next few weeks deciding what to do about her career. But she didn’t really need to be here. She could be back in Hollywood right now, trying to dig up the career-defining story of a lifetime. Instead, she’d decided to take some time to contemplate her next step.
Entertainment Buzz TV had been good for her. She had a steady income. A nice apartment. A good lifestyle. She’d met more famous people—good and bad—than anyone could possibly want to. But things were changing. Hollywood had lost its glitter—even when there were men like Javier around.
Her mouth was dry. There could be a story right at her fingertips—literally. His arrogance had annoyed her before. But did she really want to dig deep and let him expose himself and his secrets to her? Was that really the type of person that she was?
‘I want to stay here, Portia. Not in some hotel. Do you think that could be possible?’
Portia. He didn’t say her name. He practically sang it.
He didn’t even remember her. Not that she 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 cut-throat Hollywood.
Her rational head understood. At a press junket he met hundreds of journalists and could never be expected to remember them all. On award night he’d spoken to just as many again on the red carpet. She wasn’t any different from any other person who’d 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 a second and tried to shake it off. The last thing she needed to think about was fresh, clean Javier Russo.
He’d lied to her. No, not strictly true. He just hadn’t been entirely truthful. Why on earth would moneybags Mr Russo want to hide out in Aunt Sofia’s home? He really wanted to get away from things?
It could be a story. But Internet was scarce around here, nearly as rare as a mobile phone signal. It was part of the reason she’d thought it was a good place to hide out.
She could get all defensive, like some creature marking out their territory, and tell him he couldn’t stay. But...she could also be clever. There was always a chance she could get to the bottom of Javier Russo’s story. It might just be the thing to save her career.
And in the meantime, she would have some company, and some eye candy.
She sucked in a breath and tried to find the ruthless streak she’d once had. ‘You really just want to stay here?’
He nodded.
‘How long for?’
Javier ran his fingers through his dark hair as he took a little step to the side. ‘Not long. Just a few weeks.’
She folded her arms across her chest. ‘You honestly just expected to show up, stay here and then leave, didn’t you?’
His face creased into a smile. ‘Well, kind of.’
She put her hand on her chest. ‘And I’ve thrown a spanner in the works for you?’
He frowned for a second, as if he wasn’t quite sure of the expression. But then he nodded. ‘I get it.’
‘You do?’
She stepped back a little, trying to get her head on straight for the first time since yesterday. Maybe it had been the wine. Maybe it had been the magical setting. But last night had been a bit unreal.
She gave him a serious look. ‘Let’s give this some perspective. Last night some stranger appeared at the place I’m staying. Okay, so he might have had a key—and a history of sorts with the place. But I’d made arrangements with my sister—’ she put her fingers in the air ‘—the owner, to stay here for the next few weeks. I don’t plan on going anywhere.’ She pretended not to see the fleeting disappointment that shot through his eyes. ‘We both thought we would have this place to ourselves.’ She nodded out to the back conservatory. ‘Let’s face it. There’s lots to be done here. And if you’re as handy as you say you are, then I might not have any objections to you staying. My skills involve tidying up. That might sound mediocre, but, believe me, I’ve checked all the rooms and the attic—there’s a lot of tidying up to be done.’ She looked around the room as the acid in her stomach gave a little burn. She was trying her absolute best to be up front. She could hardly tell Javier that finding out what he was hiding from might save her career. Hopefully, it would be a woman. But that made the acid burn even more.
A picture of nails scraping down a chalkboard flashed into her brain with the associated noise. If it was trouble with a co-star, a contract, an affair—any of the above—it might just be enough to give her some leeway with her job.
It would save her telling the other secrets that weren’t really hers to share.
She held out her hands. ‘In the end, my sister needs this place to be liveable. If you can help with that, fine.’ She shook her head and gave him a knowing glance. ‘I just want you to know, I don’t mix business with pleasure. Never have. Never will.’
Javier looked amused; the little glint was back in his eye. She liked it when that was there. It lightened the mood. She’d spent the last five years harmlessly flirting in front of the camera; it was the unwritten rule of TV hosts. She’d dated people in Hollywood. But never anyone to do with work. Dating a popstar/film star/TV star was the ultimate no-no. Inevitably there would be a messy fallout and he would tell all his fellow performers not to be interviewed by her. Two of her associated press members had found themselves almost blacklisted around Hollywood when their short-term flings had ended.
Portia was far too clever to be that girl.
Javier was watching her carefully. His tools were now on the floor and he made a grab for a T-shirt that she’d missed sitting on top of a white dust sheet.
‘Come with me.’
‘What?’
She followed him through the house to the kitchen, conscious of the fact she still didn’t have on any real clothes. The kitchen—though ancient—was almost in working order. Miranda had arranged electricity and gas. Thankfully the water was still running. Portia had bleached a few cupboards in the last few days and put a few supplies away. But that didn’t explain the bag on the countertop.
Javier pulled out some eggs and some freshly baked bread. ‘I think our new arrangement calls for a celebratory breakfast.’
‘We’ve made a new arrangement?’
He gave her his trademark Hollywood smile. ‘Sure we have. I’m staying. I’ll work on the plaster and arrange to get some glass for the conservatory.’ He pulled out a frying pan and turned on the gas. ‘How do you like your eggs?’
Portia sat up on a stool next to the countertop. ‘You cook? And where did you get the eggs and the bread?’
‘I got them when I went to get the supplies this morning.’ He gave her a wink. ‘I was a bit worried that the only sustenance in this place was wine.’ He cracked the eggs as her cheeks flushed. But he hadn’t finished. ‘That was, of course...’ he opened the cupboard nearest him ‘...until I found the candy supply.’
He was teasing her—she knew it. ‘What can I say? There are fruit trees in the garden. Wine, fruit and chocolate. What more does a woman need?’
‘What more indeed?’ The sultry Italian voice shot straight through her, the suggestion in it taking her by surprise.
‘Hurry up,’ he said. ‘Scrambled or fried?’
She stared into the pan. ‘Fried is fine. Cooked all the way through.’
He narrowed his gaze. ‘Yolk broken?’
‘Don’t you dare.’ She sighed. ‘I’ve never got the hang of sunny side up, over easy, over medium in the States and I’ve lived there five years now.’
‘Maybe it’s time to move back?’ The hairs prickled at the back of her neck. Gossip spread fast in Hollywood. Did he know her job was on the line?
She tried not to sound as defensive as she felt. She had to remember that Javier could be the ticket to keeping her job. ‘If I’m moving back, I’ll need to hire a cruise ship to bring my clothes back. And my shoes. The studio doesn’t let me keep any of the clothes I wear. But, due to the effects of social media, as soon as pictures start appearing the designers usually send me anything they’ve seen me wear—along with a whole host of other things. They like the publicity—’ she shrugged as she broke off a piece of the bread ‘—and I like the clothes.’
He tossed the eggs. ‘You took the job for the clothes? I don’t believe that. What did you do before you got the job?’
She walked over to the sink and filled up a pan with some water. She hadn’t found a kettle, so the old-fashioned way would have to do. She set it on the gas hob next to where Javier was cooking. ‘I studied investigative journalism at university. I was on holiday in the US, when I kind of lucked into the job. The rest—as they say—is history.’ She gave his arm a nudge. ‘A film star who makes his own food. Who would have thought it?’
He let out a laugh. ‘What did you expect?’
She counted off on her fingers. ‘Well, your last co-star on the action movie flew in his own personal chef, who ensured no meal was above three hundred calories. Your last female co-star was on that new-fangled diet where people only eat prawns and drink spring water.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘No. You mean chilled spring water. We’ll not talk about how the smell of prawns seemed to emanate from her pores.’
Portia laughed but kept going. ‘Then, there was the comedian in the sci-fi film who was on the spinach, Brussels sprout and fried beans diet.’
Javier shuddered. ‘Four hours. That’s how long he was on the toilet in his trailer one day. I gave up waiting to film a scene and went for a beer.’
He turned around and pulled out plates from a cupboard. He’d found his way around this kitchen better than she had. Just how much time had Javier spent here?
