Hollywood Blackmail Page 7

  No photos on the walls or on any of the surfaces, though. No pictures of family or friends. He could understand the family part, but not the friends. Surely she had them?

  Pausing by a bookshelf, he cast his eye along the spines. She’d always liked books. Had been difficult to get her nose out of one, so it wasn’t surprising she had a bookcase stuffed full of them. A title caught his eye, the spine cracked and broken. Wuthering Heights. Huh, now that one he did remember, because she’d talked to him about it. He hadn’t understood half of what she’d been talking about because books and literature weren’t exactly his thing, but he’d tried to listen. She’d been all passionate about it, all kind of romantic. Understandable, since that’s the way girls were and it wasn’t like the Misty Mansion was full of romance. Sex, yes. Romance, nope.

  Ash pulled the book out of the bookcase, riffled through the pages. And something fell out. He frowned, bent to pick it up. It was a photograph. Of him.

  It felt like someone had landed a punch straight to his gut.

  His own face, much younger, stared out of the picture at him, looking vaguely embarrassed yet smiling all the same. God, he remembered that picture. In the background he could see white sand and blue water. He’d had the day off and had wanted to take her on a proper date. They’d gone to the beach because she’d wanted to go somewhere normal.

  In a room where there were no displayed photos, this was the only one he’d seen.

  Why had she kept it? What did it mean? Did it even mean anything?

  A picture of you in her favorite book? Of course it means something.

  The sound of a footstep came from behind him. Ash didn’t even think, he put the photo back, closed the book, and for some completely inexplicable reason, he slid the book into the pocket of the security guard jacket. Then he turned around.

  Lizzie stood behind him, a suitcase on the floor beside her. Her hair was sleek and dark, and coiled into a neat bun on the top of her head. The uniform had to be fresh because there were absolutely no creases on it anywhere. She looked neat as a pin, the consummate professional.

  “Okay,” she said briskly. “I’m ready to go.”

  The book felt heavy in his pocket all of a sudden and the memory of that date on the beach heavy in his mind. He’d kissed her on the sand, tasting the ice cream he’d bought her on her mouth. It had been the sweetest damn kiss he’d ever had.

  Lizzie raised an eyebrow. “Ash?”

  He put his hands into the pockets of the jacket, his fingers brushing the hard edges of the book. Smiled. “Then let’s go.”

  She’d kept the photo, after all these years, which implied she didn’t hate him as much as she was letting on. Quite what else it meant he didn’t know, but he aimed to find out.

  It was all information. All insights into the woman his Coco had become.

  A woman he very much wanted to find out more about.

  Chapter Five

  As she’d approached the long driveway that wound up to Ash’s mansion, Lizzie had been conscious of a small knot of tension sitting right between her shoulder blades. A tension she couldn’t quite pinpoint the source of. But it wasn’t until Ash had directed her up the driveway and into the massive turnaround in front of his house that she understood what the problem was.

  The last Hollywood mansion she’d been in was her mother’s, a vast and tasteless homage to Versailles. When she’d been a little girl, she’d loved it. It had been like a fairy palace and her mother the fairy princess. But then things had changed and Lizzie had discovered that the fairy princess wasn’t all that interested in having a daughter, only an accessory that could get her more publicity. And the mansion had gradually come to seem like an extension of Misty herself—overblown and overdecorated. Like a sheikh’s palace on steroids.

  But it hadn’t been just her mother’s egregious use of interior decoration that Lizzie had hated. She’d also hated the fact that the house had been constantly full of people. Misty liked to have her entourage around her at all times, just as she liked to give parties at least twice a week, not to mention the cameramen who followed her around wherever she went. So there were always people staying, always people around. Always music thumping somewhere. Always someone skinny-dipping in the pool.

  Part of her wasn’t expecting Ash’s place to be any different.

  But it was.

  For a start, apart from the security guard at the entrance no one else seemed to be around. There was no eighteenth-century monstrosity at the end of that long driveway, but a series of stacked boxes made of a combination of stone and glass that seemed to be built into the hillside itself. It was clean, minimalist, with modern desert-style gardens around it, and what looked like an impressive infinity pool on one of the upper balconies.

  Much to her discomfort, Lizzie kind of liked it. There was something open and airy about the place that appealed to her.

  “Where is everyone?” she asked as she got out of the car.

  Ash had already grabbed her suitcase for her from the trunk. “What do you mean, everyone?”

  “I mean it looks really quiet. Don’t you have lots of other people here? Staff? Minions?”

  “No. There’s Bill down at the entrance and I usually have one other security guy up at the house. The only other person who comes here regularly is Carla, my housekeeper. But she doesn’t live on-site.” He closed the trunk and came around the side of the car. “I’m constantly surrounded by people all day and I don’t want them hanging around when I get home.” He paused beside her, studying her face. “This isn’t like the Misty Mansion, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  Oh, damn. How could he tell that was what was bothering her? “I wasn’t thinking that.”

  “What did I say about evasions?”

  Lizzie gave a silent curse. “Okay, so I was thinking that.”

  “Better, sugar, much better.”

  “But only because the parties you had here were supposedly legendary.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not doing that anymore.” He started toward the entrance of the house.

  She followed him, having to walk quickly to keep up with his long strides. “Not doing what? Parties?”

  “No parties. No bars. No nightclubs. No drinking.” He stopped at the massive front door and glanced at her. “No women.”

  Lizzie stared at him. “Are you sure that knife didn’t accidentally nick your brain?”

  “I’m on the straight and narrow these days. Cleaning up my act. Haven’t done any of that crap for six months.”

  “Really?” Actually, now that she thought about it, she hadn’t seen any news articles about his wild exploits recently, other than the usual stock-standard Hollywood gossip about him and his latest leading lady. Not that she’d been looking, of course. She never bought those magazines to read about him. Like she didn’t go to the cinema to see every single one of his movies.

  But if she had, she would have approved of this change in his selfish, self-destructive lifestyle. Yes, she most definitely would. “But what about that fight last night then?”

  “I was having a quiet drink with my manager to celebrate an anniversary with him. Nothing major. Until some tool decided to prove a point by picking a fight with me.”

  “What? He just randomly came up to you and started fighting?”

  “No, he wanted my autograph. Then he wanted me to show him some moves out back of the club. So I did.” He lifted a shoulder. “I don’t like saying no to fans. But then the guy pulled a knife. He was drunk and trying to make himself look good by taking me down.”

  A fan pulling a knife. God, it could have been so much worse than a cut to the face. A sliver of ice wound its way through her. Ash could have been hurt badly.

  He could have been killed.

  The ice became a cold hand closing around her heart.

  His gaze lingered on her face. “Hey, don’t worry. I’m fine. The guy was a tool and a drunk and I took him down before he could do any real damage. H
e only got me because I was trying not to hurt him.”

  “I’m not worried,” she said quickly. Oh, sure. The thought of him being stabbed doesn’t suddenly make you want to throw up. “Are you going to show me inside or are we going to spend all night on the doorstep?”

  He smiled. As if he knew she was lying through her teeth. But he didn’t say anything else. Instead he put a finger to a technical-looking keypad to one side of the door. Must have been some kind of biometric locking device because as soon as he did so, the front door unlocked with a click and lights came on inside.

  “You could spend all night on the doorstep.” Ash pushed the door open for her. “Or you can come inside.”

  Strange to feel so hesitant. As if once she stepped over the threshold, something would change. Like maybe her nice, quiet, safe existence ceasing to exist.

  You won’t ever be able to go back…

  Lizzie ignored the nagging voice in the back of her head. Of course she’d be able to go back. She was here for two weeks to treat a patient. Nothing more. And at the end of it, she’d be back in her apartment and everything would remain exactly the same.

  Exactly.

  Shrugging off the weird sensation, Lizzie squared her shoulders and stepped inside.

  …

  As he finished giving Lizzie the tour of the house, Ash’s phone rang. He was tempted not to answer it, but when he glanced at the screen, he saw it was Sam. Probably with another update on the whole Seacliffe/scar debacle.

  Leaving Lizzie in the upstairs suite to unpack, Ash slid back one of the huge glass sliding doors that led to the pool area and stepped outside to take the call.

  “What’s the news, Sam?”

  “Shit’s hitting the fan for Seacliffe, but so far nothing about you. It’s all good. Paps are still camped by the clinic so you’re sweet. Just stay where you are. Amy’s organizing press releases about the fight last night and we’re all lawyered up in case the dickhead who cut you does something dumb like press charges.” As his agent went on with the updates, Ash cast a glance up toward the windows of the guest suite where Lizzie was now staying. He’d felt strangely hesitant as he’d given her a quick tour of the house, which was just downright odd. It had almost been like he was worried about her reaction. Wanting her to like the place. And that was odd because he didn’t normally give a crap about people’s opinions—at least not unless they were going to net him the audition he wanted.

  Au contraire. You always cared about her opinion.

  Yeah, that was true. Once, hers had been the only opinion that mattered.

  Until she left.

  Ash scowled and looked away, the expression pulling irritatingly on the wound. So she’d left. So what? He’d understood why she’d had to go and she’d been clear on why she hadn’t wanted him to follow her. And it had been the best thing for both of them.

  His goal had always been to get out of the projects any way he could, and the gig as a fight-scene double he’d landed due to Misty’s contacts had been the best thing to have ever happened to him. Hell, after Lizzie had left him, it had seemed even more important because it wasn’t like he’d had anything else. Yeah, he’d felt some guilt about using her mother’s contacts like that, especially considering he was kind of the reason for Lizzie’s departure, but what was he supposed to do? Spend his life being a second-rate security guard and killing himself in fights at night?

  “Ash?”

  “What?” He stalked over to the edge of the pool terrace and stared sightlessly at the million-dollar view over LA. Skyscrapers glittered in the distance, tall and dark against the dusty blue sky. His view. So he could see how far he’d come. A reminder of what he’d never go back to.

  “Are you listening?”

  “Yeah, of course I’m listening.”

  “Then you know we’ve got Arctic still to deal with?”

  Shit. In all of the excitement from last night, he’d kind of forgotten about that. Arctic, an action movie set in a research station in the arctic circle, was releasing in two weeks and of course he had shitloads of promo all lined up. Including the premiere.

  “You’ll have to cancel some of the live stuff,” he said. “Get Amy to organize phone interviews. I can handle all of that from here. Tell them I’ve got the plague or something.”

  Sam gave a hoarse cough of laughter. “The plague, sure. But what about the premiere? You can’t get out of that short of death. You know what the execs are like. Plus it’s not going to look good for Christiansen. Gotta show support for the work and all that.”

  Ash muttered a curse under his breath. God, his life was going to hell in a handbasket and all because he wanted the Red River audition.

  Do you really need it that badly?

  Stupid question. Of course he needed it. Otherwise he was stuck with shoving guns in people’s faces and kicking them in the teeth for the rest of his career. And it wasn’t enough for him these days. He wanted more than that. He wanted something with meaning.

  “Don’t worry about the premiere. I’ll be there.”

  “But that scar—”

  “The doc said this treatment should make the scar considerably less noticeable by the end of the two weeks. If not, that’s what makeup is for.”

  “That’s something, I guess. What about your date?”

  Oh hell, the date. He hated the whole performance involved in bringing a date to a premiere. Women tended to think that if he asked them, it meant they were getting married or something equally ridiculous. And if they didn’t think that, then the press did. Even last time when he’d asked a friend to come with him, the press had concocted some story about Ash Kincaid’s “secret new romance”. Not really the look he wanted to go for when he was supposed to be cleaning up his act.

  “What about it?” he said. “I was planning on not bringing anyone.”

  There was a pause. Usually Sam’s pauses indicated he had something to tell Ash that he knew Ash wouldn’t want to hear. “Amy had an idea,” his agent said eventually.

  “I’m not going to like it, am I?”

  “She thought you could bring a nice girl. Someone not connected with the industry. Or hey, even your mother.”

  Ash didn’t say anything. Sam knew that he had no contact with his family, not after their latest attempt to extort more money out of him had failed. He sent them a weekly stipend to live on, plus extra in a college fund for his two brothers and one sister. But no more than that. Not since he’d found out his father hadn’t gone into rehab after all and had been in the process of drinking away all the money he sent them.

  At his silence, Sam added, “Okay, so not your mom. But I’m serious about the nice girl.”

  “Why the hell would I want to bring a ‘nice girl’?”

  “For your image. Imagine turning up with someone wholesome and fresh-faced on your arm? The columnists would have a field day. The ultimate proof that Ash Kincaid is finally settling down.”

  “Jesus Christ, you’re not serious.”

  “It was Amy’s idea,” Sam said. “But y’know, I think it’s got merit.”

  “And where do you think I’ll find someone ‘fresh-faced and wholesome’ in Hollywood?” As soon as he said the words, an image flashed into his mind. Of Lizzie on his arm, her hair flaming red instead of brown, cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkling. Smiling and nervous and holding tightly to him on the red carpet. Something inside him constricted at the thought.

  But no, he’d promised her privacy. He couldn’t drag her into that, he just couldn’t.

  “Hey, this is LA,” Sam replied. “You can get anything here. Just don’t ask for a virgin.”

  Ash turned his back on the view and leaned against the glass balustrade that was the only thing between him and a big drop into the gardens below. “Fine. Find me someone you’d think would work. As long she understands it’s an image thing only, I don’t care.”

  “No problem. I’m on it.” Sam began to ramble on about something else but Ash found his g
aze drifting to the windows of the guest suite again.

  Finally she was here, after all these years. Just him and her and no one else. And now they had time to talk about things properly. Time to find out what had happened to her and time to discover what she really felt about him.

  Why does that matter so much to you?

  Because there was definitely something still between them, no matter what she said. And he wanted to explore exactly what that something was.

  Which brought up the question of why he was standing around out here talking to his agent when he could be inside getting answers from Lizzie.

  “I have to go,” he said shortly, interrupting his agent’s monologue. “Only call me if there’s an emergency.” Then before the other man could get another word out Ash ended the call.

  …

  Lizzie put her case down on the massive bed and gave Ash’s “guest room” another once-over. Though “guest room” was a bit of a misnomer. It was more like a “guest suite.” Or “guest floor.” Because she could have fitted her own apartment into the place. It consisted of a massive bedroom, and a walk-in closet that was really another room in itself. A vast bathroom with a shower that a whole football team could have showered comfortably together under, and her own personal lounge area.

  She sat down on the bed feeling like she was sinking into a giant marshmallow the white comforter was so soft. No doubt full of goose down from royal geese fed gently by hand on specially grown grain. Or something.

  Through the massive windows, the city sparkled in the distance. It must look amazing at night. In fact, the whole place was pretty amazing, she had to admit. Luxuriously soft charcoal-colored carpet, floor to ceiling windows, minimalist furniture. It could have come across as cold but it didn’t due to the softness of the furnishings. And not a gold-plated toilet in sight.

  You like it. Go on.

  Lizzie sighed. She didn’t really want to like it, still resentful of the fact that she had to be here at all. But the fact was she did. It was restful. Peaceful. The polar opposite of the Misty Mansion in every respect.