The Royal Romantics

He laughed at the stylist, who unknotted the cravat around his neck. His laugh travelled clear down Tessa’s spine. Even the bones in her heels vibrated at the sound. If a sound could personify sex, then Christian’s laugh was that sound.

“Okay, try the next one,” the stylist said, waving Christian towards the cubicle with louvered doors which stood open to reveal more costumes hanging ready.

Christian turned towards the cubicle and as he turned he caught sight of Tessa in the mirror. Their gazes locked. Recognition dawned. Her heart skipped a beat or three.

Chapter 3

Thank you, merciful fate! Christian didn’t believe in God, but if he did he’d be on his knees and saying ‘Amen’. Since he’d stormed into the hotel last night without a backward glance, he’d thought of a few choice things he’d like to say to Miss High and Mighty. Top of the list was that she should take a look in a mirror sometime.

And now fate had delivered her here. He’d get that chance to vent after all and hopefully exorcise the demons that had kept him awake all night. The fact that she’d hit on a sore spot, on something that had been nagging at him for months, hadn’t helped.

Whatever she wanted here, she wasn’t going to get it. This was his chance to turn the tables and send her packing.

“This is a private area,” the Wardrobe Supervisor said, hurrying to intervene.

“They’re not fans.” Gerry, the UPM, pushed through the doors behind the two newcomers. “Sorry I’m late, just putting out fires.” He waved at the redhead. “This is Kenzie, our Los Pajaros liaison.” She was pretty, perhaps older than she looked. At least Christian hoped she was older, or she’d be a serious case of jail-bait.

Then Gerry gestured to Miss High and Mighty. “And this is her friend, Teresa Adler. Christian, meet your new PA.”

Like hell. He’d already told the producers he didn’t want an assistant. And this was who they’d hired? Just how small was this country?

He set his hands on his hips. “Over my dead body.”

Gerry ran distracted hands through his hair so it stood up at all angles. “We’ve already had this argument once today.” He turned to the delicate redhead beside Teresa. “There’s a genuine fire on Tortuga. No one’s hurt and they’ve got it under control, but we’ve lost a large portion of the set. We’re going to need to bring in more labour if we’re going to get the build done on time. You need to speak to the mayor and ask him to give us some local labourers. We just don’t have the budget to bring in more people from Florida.”

Christian’s eyes narrowed as he followed the conversation. “Good luck with that. You won’t get a single islander to set foot on Tortuga. Not now that you’ve triggered the curse.”

Every face in the room turned to him. Gerry’s expression was one of annoyed disbelief. The redhead looked intrigued. The Wardrobe Supervisor and his stylist both simply looked lost. His friend Dominic, who’d been dozing on the couch beneath an upside-down newspaper, sat up. Only Miss High and Mighty showed no emotion whatsoever.

“You’ve heard of the curse?” the redhead asked.

“Of course. Every child on Los Pajaros knows the legend. Until the pirate and his princess return to Isla Tortuga, any person who steps foot on the island is doomed to life-long grief and heartache.”

“The pirate and his princess died several hundred years ago. They won’t be coming back.” The redhead looked almost sad. “So you’re from Los Pajaros?”

He ignored the question. His past wasn’t open for discussion. He faced Gerry. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“She’s not a babysitter, she’s your assistant. And your publicist insisted.”

Screw his publicist. Or perhaps that was the problem. He already had. This was no doubt her revenge for the fact that he’d slipped out in the middle of the night without saying goodbye. But what had she expected? She’d done enough damage control on his reputation to know what he was.

“If you don’t want her, I’ll take her.” Dominic’s voice drifted up from the sofa. He grinned at Teresa, looking her up and down. “You can assist me any time.”

Christian glared at him. “I’d like a moment alone with Teresa.” He used his most imperious tone and it worked. Everyone in the room, including the stylist, backed away. Even Dominic, though Christian had to send him another glare before he dragged himself off the sofa and followed the others, unread newspaper still in hand.

Teresa remained unmoved. He circled her, checking her out. She was as pretty as he remembered, in that Scandinavian supermodel way. An Ice Princess out of legend, with her white-blonde hair swept up into a knot at the back of her head, not a strand out of place. In the bright light of day, her complexion was pure peaches and cream, her eyebrows perfectly sculpted, her make-up professional but subtle.

She wore an elegant pants suit that hid those long legs he remembered so well, and a conservative white blouse buttoned up to the neck that was no doubt intended to conceal the swell of her breasts. It failed utterly.

What kind of a PA dressed in Ralph Lauren anyway?

Only when he stepped close did she betray herself with a startled breath.

“So you’ve come to slum it here among us philistines, have you? Or are you here to help out the less fortunate?”

Another woman might have blushed. But Teresa’s cool gaze swept over him, evaluating, unimpressed. It was last night all over again. She made him feel two feet tall, like the bastard kid he’d once been, blamed for every schoolyard prank within a mile, and made to feel like dirt for no other reason than that he had no father.

Or perhaps because the colour of his skin betrayed the fact that his father had been a white man, making him an outsider twice over.

But this was no dusty playground on Los Pajaros. They were on his turf now. And for once he had the upper hand.

“Why do you want to work for me?”

“Because I’m star-struck?” She was mocking him now. He held her gaze and waited.

She let her breath out on a sigh. “Because last night I was told I needed to walk in someone else’s shoes for a while.”

She kept her head high and held his challenging gaze. He admired a woman with spunk. She would definitely be fun to break.

“And just like that you decided to get a real job?”

“Until then I thought I’d slum it here in La-la land.”

She was either mocking him or flirting with him, but he couldn’t decide which since her face gave nothing away. Either way, she piqued his interest. There was more going on beneath the picture-perfect surface this woman portrayed to the world. As an actor, he knew one when he saw one.

“Give me one reason why I should hire you.”

She met his gaze, more like an equal than the usual deferential, sycophantic assistants he had back in LA. “Because I’m efficient, I can multi-task and I know my way around this town. I can get you a table at any restaurant at the drop of a hat and tickets to any show in town. That’s five reasons. Do you need more?”

So she was a still a smart ass. But in spite of himself he smiled. “You understand you’ll be on call to me twenty-four-seven? There’ll be no time for volunteer work.” Or a life. “And when I say jump… ”

“I ask how high?”

He grinned, enjoying himself. “No sweetheart. You don’t need to ask. You jump as high as you possibly can, with everything you have in you.”

He was sure she was going to tell him to take the job and shove it so she could go back to having her hands manicured, or whatever the idle rich did to while away the time.

And just like that he changed his mind. The idea of owning her for the next three weeks was much more appealing than watching her walk away with her pretty tail between her legs. No, he wasn’t going to send her packing. He’d give her the job. And he’d get his revenge in the most pleasurable way possible.

He wouldn’t just crack that damned composure. He’d see her completely undone.

Once again he imagined those long legs wrapped around him. Naked, unbuttoned. She wouldn’t call him a philistine when he was inside her.

He grinned, with all the charm he was famous for. “Shall we start afresh? Hi, I’m Christian Taylor.” He held out his hand.

“Teresa Adler.” She shook his hand. Her touch was as cool and impersonal as her voice. She tried to pull her hand out of his as soon as it was polite, as if the contact stung her delicate pale skin. “I am really, really sorry for the things I said last night. It was inexcusable and I apologise.”

“You had a very good excuse. It’s not every day, I’m sure, that a stranger jumps into a moving car beside you.” He could afford to be magnanimous, but he wasn’t above teasing. He gripped her hand tighter, refusing to let go. “I assume you’ve never worked as a personal assistant to an actor before?”

She shook her head, and he wondered if that spark in the cool, contained depths of her eyes was amusement or anger or fear. “I’ve never worked as anything before. Will you be gentle with me?” Definitely amusement. But she wasn’t flirting with him. More like playing with him, like a cat playing with a captive mouse.

So much for his turf. Even so, he couldn’t resist flirting back. He wrapped her hand in both his, daring her to pull away.

Her breath stuttered and her gaze flicked down to their joined hands, hers so small and white between his larger, darker ones.

“Since we’re going to be spending a lot of time together over the next few weeks, how about we get to know each other better. Tonight – over dinner?”

“I already have a date for tonight.”

“Break it.”

She shook her head and yanked her hand out of his. “I think dinner would be crossing a line. It wouldn’t be professional.”

That hadn’t stopped his publicist. Or his previous two assistants.

“Suit yourself.” He stepped away and waved the others closer. “Okay, I’ll go for this. On one condition.” He held Teresa’s gaze. “You’re mine for the next three weeks. This isn’t a game. I need you to take this job seriously.”

She nodded slowly. “Agreed.”

“As soon as this fitting is done, Dominic and I are heading to rehearsals. You can go with us, and on the way I’ll fill you in on what I expect from you.”

“Great!” Gerry clapped his hands together in relief. “Play nicely.”

He and the redhead headed for the doors, heads bent together in earnest conversation.

Dominic settled himself back on the sofa, looking much more awake than a moment ago. “We will!” he called after their departing backs and patted the open space next to him for Teresa to sit.

Christian sent him a look that his old friend couldn’t miss: Hands off. She’s mine.

This fitting was a far cry from the one she’d left in such a hurry this morning. The bridal boutique had been pristine and uncluttered, smelling of roses, with hushed voices, champagne, the soft strains of classical music drifting through, and the designer himself dancing attendance on her.

The costume department was noisy, with people coming and going, and a faintly musty smell. But it wasn’t as dull as Tessa had expected. Not with Dominic serving her coffee and pastries, and keeping up the banter.

Unlike Christian, who glowered in their direction between costume changes, Dominic had no problem sharing his life’s story. It was surprising that Christian had become the star when Dominic was the born entertainer. Within the space of half an hour she learned that the two of them had been friends since high school. They’d started in the movie business together as stunt men, before Christian had been “discovered” and turned into a star. Dominic still worked as stunt coordinator on all Christian’s pictures.

Which explained how Christian had managed that flying leap into her car last night with the top already half-closed. Fleetingly she wondered what else that athleticism would be good for, but she shut the thought down before it could take root. He flustered her enough already without indulging her imagination. And she never indulged her imagination.

Listening to Dominic chatter was not only a mine of information, far more so than the “official” biographies she’d read in the file her father showed her, but also a much-needed distraction. It was incredibly hard not to stare whenever Christian stripped off to try on a new shirt, and the stylist seemed to have rather a lot of shirts for him to try.

In the darkness of her car last night she hadn’t fully appreciated just how lean and muscled Christian was. He made Stefan look positively soft in comparison, and Stefan was no lightweight in the looks department.

“If Dominic has finished monopolizing your attention, we need to run through tomorrow’s schedule,” Christian said, frowning at his friend.

Tessa pulled out a notebook and pen, and the call sheet Robbie, the Second Assistant Director, had provided her with, and scribbled notes. Christian was very specific about what he ate, when he ate, and how he liked his life run. If this was easy-going, she’d hate to know what a more demanding star would be like.

She was almost relieved when the fitting was over. The three of them left the wardrobe ladies bagging up the costumes to ship to Los Pajaros, and headed back through the maze of corridors to the rehearsal room.

Her relief was short-lived.

This wasn’t a group of people sitting around a table reading from a script. The rehearsal was a sword-fighting practice. With both men barefoot and stripped down to their jeans.

Tessa sat mutely in the corner, eyeing them over the top of the folder of printed-out emails from Christian’s publicist that remained unread, and tried to look as if two half-naked men trying to smack each other with dulled swords was an everyday thing.

The swords may not have been lethal, but they weren’t play-things either. They looked heavy, and the sound that rang out when they struck was pure metal on metal.

The two men were equally matched. Dominic’s skill was greater, but Christian was quick on his feet. There was something familiar in the way he moved: light and graceful, but she couldn’t quite place it. She rubbed her brow and the sense of déja-vu disappeared.

She hadn’t yet learned anything that wasn’t in the file her father had shown her. The first few pages, Christian’s official biography according to Wikipedia, IMDB and a dozen other websites, held no mention at all of his family or his childhood. Transcripts of various press interviews were less than helpful. They frequently contradicted one another and never asked the important questions. The gaps had been filled by the woefully short single-page report gathered by her father’s intelligence people.

Christian had been born on Los Pajaros, only child of a single mother, which was still a stigma in the islands. There was no father named on his birth certificate. He’d been in and out of trouble from a young age. Then mother and son had suddenly moved to Los Angeles when he was fourteen. And that was where Christian Hewitt became Christian Taylor. It was almost as if they’d wanted to disappear.

Tessa’s father had marked the print-out with a big, bold question mark. She knew what he wanted to know. Not just “why?” but “how?” How could a single mother, working as a school teacher, afford to move countries to start a new life in middle-class suburbia in California?

They’d cut all ties to Los Pajaros. There was no mention of his being born or raised there in any of his official biographies. She rubbed her forehead.

The only new information Tessa had for her father was that Christian wasn’t wearing the ring now. She couldn’t have missed it if she tried. His bare chest glistened with a sheen of sweat as he and Dominic danced around each other, moving slower as they tired.

“Enough,” Christian said, breathing hard.

“You’re getting soft.” But Dominic’s laugh was just as breathy. “Are you letting this ‘being a movie star’ thing get to your head?”

“Never!”

They sheathed their swords and Christian turned to her. “I’m going to take a shower, then we can head back to my hotel.”

Tessa nodded and glanced at her watch. She needed to check in with her father. And Anna. And she needed to call Stefan. What time was it in New York anyway?

While the two men hit the showers, she made the most urgent call of all, to her dress designer. “I’m so sorry, Anton. Something’s come up. Is there any way we can re-schedule for later?”

She was going to have to put the wedding together in what little down-time her new job offered. This was one of those moments in life where the presence of a mother would have been good. Someone who could choose floral arrangements and discuss menus, and all the other stuff she still had to tick off her to-do list. For the first time in her life, she was going to have to leave the details to other people.

Anton wouldn’t let her go without an explanation. She could practically hear him drooling down the phone at the mention of Christian’s name. “You change your mind, love, and I’ll take the job!”

She smiled.

Christian emerged from the adjacent bathroom, his short hair still damp. “It’s a miracle: she smiles!”

She ended the call, her smile turning to a frown. “What are you wearing?”

“The usual.” He looked down at the old jeans and baggy sweatshirt he now wore. “Is there something wrong with my clothes?”

“They’re fine if you’re planning to be mistaken for a homeless person.” She’d thought Hollywood actors were obsessed with looking good.

Christian grinned. “You sound just like my stylist.”

She switched back to professional mode. “Gerry arranged for your car to meet you at the front entrance.”

“Tell him not to bother. You know where I stay. You can take me.”

She pursed her lips. She remembered way too vividly how he filled the space in her little car. But she’d promised her father she’d stick with this until she could get the intel he needed. The sooner she found out what they needed to know, the better. And where better to start asking questions than alone in her car?

Christian matched her pace as she strode out to the car park, texting his driver as she walked.

“Where’s the fire?” he asked, practically jogging to keep up. “Or are you just eager to get rid of me so you can get to your hot date?”

That was a little closer to the truth. She’d love to get rid of him. The quicker she could get this job over and done with, the happier she’d be.

She slowed her pace. “How did you know about the Tortuga curse?”

She tried not to seem as if she was holding her breath. If he lied outright about having grown up in the islands, her work was going to be much tougher.

They reached her car, and Christian moved around to the driver’s door and held it open for her to climb in. His manners surprised her. Or maybe he was just avoiding her question.

He only answered when they were buckled inside. “I lived on the island of Arelat in the Los Pajaros islands until I was fourteen.”

She let go the breath she’d been holding. “The curse doesn’t bother you? You’ll be filming there in a few weeks.”

“I’ve been away from the islands long enough not to believe that old claptrap any more. But on Los Pajaros, the belief is still alive and well.”

“Why did you leave?”

He fiddled with the radio channels and Tessa gritted her teeth. Even Stefan knew better than to touch her pre-programmed settings.

Christian finally settled on a rock station, as far from her favourite classical station as one could get.

“This is a sweet ride. I bet she can do nought to hundred in four seconds.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

Christian rolled his eyes. “Will you let me drive her sometime?”

“No.”

He leaned back with his elbow on the window frame, his gaze fixed on her. “Tell me about yourself.”

She kept her eyes firmly on the road. “There’s not much to tell.” She didn’t need to look to know he grinned at her. But she looked anyway. His eyes, an unexpectedly bright blue, so unusual against his dark skin, were mesmerising. With an effort, she forced her attention back to the road ahead.

“Okay, let me guess then.” Taking her silence as assent, he pushed on. “You’ve grown up with wealth and privilege. You’ve never wanted for anything in your life.”

Wrong. Living in a big house and not having to worry about bills didn’t mean there weren’t things she wanted and couldn’t have. Christian may not have had the same kind of wealth she had growing up but he had the one thing she’d wanted more than anything in the world.

And right now what she wanted more than anything was to see his ring, find out his secrets, and get back to her own life. Her neat, organised, quiet life where her pre-programmed stations were inviolate and a man’s gaze didn’t have the power to burn her.

Christian studied her. “You’ve lived your whole life here in Westerwald, and I’m going to bet you haven’t travelled much beyond these borders either.”

“I love my home,” she said, immediately on the defensive. “I don’t need to go anywhere else.” He’d touched a raw spot.

“You’ve never seen a different view of the world. You’ve spent your whole life in your neat, white world, being a big fish in a very small pond. You’re too scared to leave. Am I right?”

The raw spot grew even more tender. “Now who’s being judgie? Are you trying to get me back for last night? I apologised for everything I said. In my defence, I thought I was being car-jacked.”

“Tell me about these escaped convicts you’re so afraid of.”

Another subject she didn’t want to dwell on. But perhaps if she shared a few confidences, Christian would be willing to open up further too. “My father was a judge, and he convicted the two drug dealers for murder. They had a parole hearing last week and somehow on the way to court they managed to escape. My father’s afraid they’ll try to get revenge on him through me.”

“No shit! So you thought it would be a good idea to come work for me? Thanks a lot.” But he smiled. Having seen him wield a sword, she wasn’t surprised he was unafraid. She had no doubt he’d be able to take good care of himself in a fight.

“I didn’t really take the threat seriously – until you jumped into my car. Besides, I’m pretty sure they’re long gone by now. Would you hang around in Westerwald if you had a bounty on your head?”

He laughed. “Last night I felt like I had a bounty on my head, and I was more than ready to get out of town.” He sobered up. “From now on we travel with my car. The driver’s also a trained bodyguard.”

She sighed. Exactly what she didn’t want. “You’re as bad as my father. I’m not going to change the way I live my life for some vague danger. Then the bad guys will have won.”

Christian said nothing, and she flicked a glance his way. She didn’t like the way he looked at her. As if he was seeing her in a whole new light. Not unlike a hungry person eyeing a tasty meal.

She didn’t like the idea of him giving her too much thought at all.

“And your mother – what does she do?” he asked.

She shifted gears. “She’s dead,” she said at last.

“I’m sorry. Mine died recently too. Do you miss her?”

You couldn’t miss what you couldn’t remember. Tessa went back to being all business. “Your call time on set tomorrow is seven o’clock. I’ll be ready and waiting with your driver at six thirty. Would you like me to give you a wake-up call?”

“Join me for breakfast.”

Though the word “breakfast” was a misnomer, since he’d told her his idea of breakfast was espresso.

She floundered. Were meals part of the deal? She really should have checked.

“Or are you planning on sharing breakfast with your hot date?” he teased.

She set her jaw. “I’ll meet you at six in the hotel’s dining room.”

“I usually breakfast in my suite.”

“The dining room or not at all.”