Caught in the Spotlight

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Mia pulled her key card from her small silver clutch and opened the door.

“Do you want to come in?”

And that was all the invitation he needed.

“Yes,” he said before he palmed her face and pulled her hard against him.

This was what he’d fantasized about since seeing her wearing droplets. Desired since she’d come to Cannes and strolled into the lobby wearing that draped-back dress. But this dress, this one-shouldered number, would be so easy to peel off her. And he would be shedding her dress in a matter of seconds.

Right now, though, he concentrated on her mouth. Her perfect lips that gave all he took. The lips he’d ached for since he’d tasted them two long nights ago.

He backed her into the suite, her clutch falling from her grasp just as the door slammed behind them. Her hands clenched around his biceps and squeezed just as she let out a soft moan.

Bronson lifted his mouth just a fraction. “I’ve wanted you for days. Tell me you’re not still with Anthony.”

“I never have been,” she assured him before she captured his mouth again.

Mia was just as hot and passionate as he’d anticipated, and even more so than the other night. Perhaps because they were behind a closed door now. And Bronson had every intention of taking advantage of this privacy. No paparazzi, no media. Pure, utter privacy.

He couldn’t take in enough of her at once. He wanted her. Naked. Now.

He continued moving her into the room until the backs of her legs bumped into the decorative table in the living area. All power was lost, all control vanished. His mouth traveled down her jawline to her neck, from her bare shoulder and on to the top of the clingy dress.

Mia placed her hands behind her on the table and arched into him, offering herself up as if she’d been needing, craving this moment as much as he had.

He lifted his head and slid the thin material down her arm until she freed herself of the unwanted sleeve. An ache he didn’t remember having in a long, long time encompassed every part of him. Taking the hem of her dress, he eased it up as Mia shifted from side to side to assist.

“I don’t have protection with me,” he told her, cursing himself for being ill-prepared.

“I have some in the cosmetic bag on the table behind you.”

God bless a prepared woman. He shuffled through the bag in a hurry, found the foil wrapper and smacked it on the table next to Mia’s hip.

She’d moved the dress farther up to her waist, giving him more than a glimpse of what she wore beneath.

“Beautiful,” he whispered as his eyes landed on the small scrap of lace in the same shade of purple as her dress. He slid the garment down her toned legs and over the stilettos. The fantasy shoes had to stay.

“You don’t know how much you’ve driven me crazy.” Bronson made quick work of his pants while Mia nipped along his jawline.

“Then kiss me because I’m going just as crazy waiting.”

She scooted to the edge of the table as he donned protection. Her long legs wrapped around his waist and he lost no time in taking her.

Yes … yes. Her body moved perfectly against his, and Bronson had to work to keep from being too rough, too fast. He wanted this feeling of euphoria to last. The anticipation building up to this paled in comparison to having Mia draped all around him.

He realized then that the past two days had all been foreplay leading up to this moment. And each one of those stepping-stones, from the subtle touches to the harmless flirting, was mild when he had Mia right where he wanted her.

With her body wrapped around his, Bronson set the rhythm, pleased when an audible sigh escaped her full, moist lips.

It was those lips that had driven him crazy. Hell, the entire package made him feel like a horny teenager, but those lips mocked him when they smiled, when they talked. When they moaned.

Bronson kept the pace fast because nothing, absolutely nothing could slow him down now. He feasted on Mia’s mouth. She grabbed hold of his shoulders, gripping the tux shirt he still wore because being inside her had taken precedence over being fully undressed.

Sweat drenched the skin beneath his shirt, and a fine sheen covered Mia’s shoulders as he moved his lips down to one freed breast.

He didn’t care that this was his mother’s assistant, didn’t care if she’d had or hadn’t had a relationship with Anthony. All Bronson knew was that he wanted this woman, and what he wanted, he took. And Mia, the intriguing, dark-eyed beauty, had been onboard from the first kiss.

When her body shivered, shook, Bronson stopped holding back and let go. As they crested together, he knew this was not a one-time thing.

When their trembling ceased, Mia opened her eyes and smiled. “I have to say, I like how you walk me to my room.”

Bronson nipped at her swollen, moist lips. “I should warn you: I intend to do this again as soon as I recover.”

Trembling fingers toyed with the buttons on his shirt. “Maybe we could be skin to skin this time.”

Anticipation rippled through him. “Absolutely.”

No, Bronson didn’t care that Mia was his mother’s assistant, didn’t care that he didn’t trust her. And he sure as hell didn’t care if she was now or ever had been involved with Anthony Price.

Because he wasn’t getting his heart involved with anyone ever again. Not after his last relationship. His ex-fiancée had walked away after miscarrying a child he’d thought was his.

His ex-fiancée had met Anthony on a movie set, where she’d been the makeup artist, ironically the same way Bronson had met her. When Bronson and she began arguing after the death of the baby, and their relationship became strained, she’d thrown the supposed affair in his face once she’d walked out on him.

So, no, there was no love lost between Anthony and him. And any potential for future relationships was completely destroyed after that whole fiasco.

Lust and sex. That’s all Bronson had room for in his life, and the very naked woman in his arms would fill that void nicely.

Four

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.