Emily McKay – Seduced: The Unexpected Virgin (страница 2)

“Either they demand a particular kind of water, chilled to a precise temperature,” she continued. “Or they want a collection of seventeen different snacks that are all a shade of blue. Or they’re on some cleansing diet that requires them to snort freerange kelp up their nose five times a day.”

“I think,” Christi quipped, “I would have remembered it if his assistant had mentioned free-range kelp snorting.”

“What did the assistant mention?” Ana asked, unable to swallow her curiosity any longer. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

She wasn’t a groupie scanning the pages of Tiger Beat for the Jonas Brothers’ favorite color of M&M. This was professional interest only.

But it irritated her that she asked, because of course she was curious. What hot-blooded American woman between the ages of twenty and eighty-nine wouldn’t be? What woman her age hadn’t slow danced in some smoky bar to the sonorous rhythm of “Falling Hard”? Or sat in traffic singing along with “Caught You”?

He was her generation’s … well, Bono, Paul McCartney and Johnny Cash all rolled into one. A sexy bad boy with a heart of pure platinum and talent for writing songs so good they made your soul ache. He hadn’t performed or put out any new albums since his wife, Cara, had died of cancer three years ago. His absence from the public eye only added to his mystique. Die-hard fans still clamored for new songs. She certainly had her share of giddy excitement about meeting him. Maybe more than her share. But she’d worked really hard to bury it under a layer of professionalism. She just hoped she succeeded.

She glanced at her watch again. “And, he’s officially late. Very late.”

Then a voice came from behind her. “Not too late, I hope.”

It was the gravelly voice of a rock star, a voice she’d know anywhere. Hearing it made her stomach drop straight down to her toes.

She turned slowly toward the voice. And there he was. Ward Miller.

He stood just inside the hallway that led to the service entrance. He was taller than she expected, maybe just shy of six feet. He dressed in the ubercasual style of celebrities, with green cargo pants and a simple V-neck white T-shirt that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders. He held mirrored aviator glasses in one hand and had on a Stingrays ball cap. Why did stars always think a simple hat would be enough to fool people? His dark, wavy hair was shorter than when he’d toured regularly, but still long enough to make him look scruffy and a little disreputable. His face was narrow, his lips thin, but neither feature made him look parsimonious, as they might have on another man. Instead, he looked soulful and sensitive. Though not entirely tamed. That edge of wildness surprised her. Magazine photos hadn’t captured that.

Perhaps most important, he didn’t look offended. Good thing, too. Hardworking do-gooders with liberal arts degrees were a dime a dozen, but mega rock stars willing to lend their name to a charity were so much harder to come by.

Face-to-face with all his star power, she suddenly felt a little light-headed. “Mr. Miller, you’ve surprised us by sneaking in the service entrance.” She hadn’t intended to let the note of censure creep into her voice. But maybe that was better than the alternative. She could all too easily imagine herself giggling like a schoolgirl.

“I hope you don’t mind. The paparazzi followed us from the airport. I’m sorry I’m late.” And then, he winked at her. “I didn’t even have time to pick up any free-range kelp.”

Ward waited for the enticing brunette to laugh at his teasing—after all, her quip about snorting kelp had nearly had him guffawing. He didn’t meet many people willing to laugh at his fame. It was refreshing.

Instead, her posture stiffened making her appear slightly taller than he’d first thought, though she still couldn’t have been more than five-six. She blushed, which made her skin glow a gorgeous peach. With her luxurious tumble of dark hair, her wide smile and her high cheekbones, she looked lushly exotic.

However, she was also simmering with anger.

“Sorry I had to sneak in the back,” he said, trying again to massage her into a more amiable frame of mind. “We made it all the way to the San Diego airport unnoticed. But Drew Barrymore and that guy from the Apple ads were there, flying off on some vacation. Unfortunately, they made it through security just as we were coming out, so there was already a swarm of photographers there.”

He made light of it, but SUVs of camera-toting leeches had followed for nearly thirty miles. His driver had almost lost them in the maze of streets in the business district of Vista del Mar. In fact, his assistant and publicist had stayed in the car when he hopped out, both to speed things up and in hopes that the paparazzi would see the figures still in the back of the car and keep following it.

Since Ana didn’t seem amused by his joke, he flashed a smile at her companion. The woman returned his smile faintly. She had that fluttery look fans sometimes got.

He extended his hand. “Hi, I’m Ward Miller.”

“Hi,” the older blonde woman said in a breathy voice, before clearing her throat. “I’m Christi Cox. I’m the assistant director here at Hannah’s Hope.” As she slipped her hand in his, she gave a giggly squeak and elbowed Ana in the side. “See, he’s not pretentious or preening.”

Christi returned his wink with an exaggerated one of her own. Instantly, he liked her. He wasn’t going to have any trouble getting along with her. The jury was still out on the prickly other woman.

She stepped forward and extended her own hand along with a tight smile. “I’m Ana Rodriguez. The director of Hannah’s Hope.”

She shook his hand for only an instant before she pulled it back and tucked it close to her side. Good thing he hadn’t been expecting any more warmth in the greeting.

With a frown, she nodded toward the window. “It looks like you didn’t do such a good job shaking them after all.”

He looked out the front window at the street beyond. A white SUV sat in front of the building, parked at a haphazard angle. A second later, another SUV squealed to a halt beside the first. And then a third.

His cell phone vibrated and then hummed the seven-note bridge in the “Falling Hard” ringtone his aunt bought him for his birthday last year as a joke.

Ana’s brows snapped together in a frown at the sound of his phone ringing. Automatically, he glanced down at the caller ID. It was Jess, his assistant. “I better take this. He won’t be long.”

“Sorry, man,” Jess launched into speech without preamble or introduction. “We lost them at the hotel. I told Ryan we should keep driving, but he was eager to check in.”

“No worries,” Ward said into the phone, keeping his tone casual. Ryan, Ward’s publicist, could steamroll the pope. And since he was a believer in the old as-long-as-they-spell-your-name-right axiom, Ryan had probably demanded he and Jess check into the hotel precisely to engineer the press finding Ward. “You guys get settled in there. I’ll text you when I want you to send the car back.”

He ended the call and slid the phone back in his pocket with a pained smile. “Well, looks like they’re here to stay. Shall we go out and answer some questions?” He gave her shoulder a friendly clap. She looked at him with such surprise, he found himself leaving his hand there. “If we throw them a bone, maybe they’ll leave us alone.”

For a moment, he had the urge to slide his hand to the nape of her neck. Before he could stop himself, he did. With a gentle touch, he steered her toward the door. “Come on, let’s get out there.”

She skittered away from his touch. “Why should I go?”

“Free press is good press. Might as well make this work for Hannah’s Hope.”

“I—” Then she broke off, seeming to consider his words. “I guess you’re right.” With a shrug, she approached the door, carefully slanting her shoulders so she slipped through the door.

However, her thick, long hair nearly brushed his chest as she passed. Her hair smelled warm and fragrant. Like cinnamon left in the sun. A breeze drifted in through the open door, mixing her scent with the briny tang of the ocean. It was like eating snickerdoodles at the beach.

Longing stabbed at him, so sharp it nearly sucked the air out of the room. The combination was both homey and exotic. Welcoming and erotic.

It was a damn inconvenient time for his body to respond so strongly to a woman.

At least he didn’t have to worry about getting his heart involved, as well. As he’d sat at Cara’s deathbed, he’d made a promise to himself. He’d never love again.

Cameras snapped the instant Ward stepped outside. As a recent denizen of Hollywood, Ana was no stranger to the buzz of gossipmongers. If there was one thing her four years in the movie biz had taught her, it was that celebrities came alive in front of the camera and lived for the attention of the press.

Ward’s attitude only reaffirmed that impression. She barely had a chance to acclimate to the horde of reporters stewing on the street. And, good Lord, where had they all come from? She would have sworn they arrived in clown cars, rather than SUVs.