Hot Docs On Call: Hollywood Heartthrobs. Louisa George

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СКАЧАТЬ he turned to see the cause of his insomnia, who was doubled over, trying to haul in air while simultaneously juggling two other bejewelled, yapping dogs close to her breasts. Lucky damned pooches.

      And there he was again—losing himself.

      It hadn’t occurred to him that she’d be here, but maybe she’d come to wave the Nassau-bound party off? Making sure her boss actually left the ground? Not such a bad idea. Shame she’d be stuck with those dogs, though. Nightmare. ‘Peanut? That’s a name? I thought it was something you had with beer.’

      ‘Sorry, it’s chaos as always. Can we do a swap? Please take Butter for a second while I secure Peanut. Yes, we have Peanut, Butter and this is Jelly. I know.’ Lola straightened up, offered one of the other dogs to Jake. He couldn’t tell whether she was glaring at him or the dogs. Either way there was no smile, and he felt guilty by association. ‘Not my choices, by the way. So, Peanut is the devil incarnate—you need to keep a special eye on her or she’ll be AWOL in five seconds flat. Butter is the glutton and Jelly is the sweetie. Take my advice, never, ever get three puppies at the same time.’

      ‘It never crossed my mind to get even one. Ever.’ He swapped one wriggling jiggling dog for another, which leaned in close and sniffed his face. Its breath smelt like rank dog biscuits and its claws were sharp. Then it stuck out its pink tongue. For a second he thought it was going to take a bite, but instead it began to lick his cheek with unhindered gusto. ‘Ugh. No. Er... Butter. Stop.’

      He held it at arm’s length, looked over at Lola, who was now grinning at his discomfort, and then wished he hadn’t as he noticed the smooth curve of her mouth and her clipped-back hair, the soft cotton flowered top and loose skirt that blew a little round her legs in the light wind. That flight couldn’t come soon enough.

      With a rise of her eyebrows Lola nodded. ‘She likes you. That’s her way of kissing.’

      ‘Yuck. Personally, I prefer the human way.’ The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them, and the memories of the other night tumbled too, making him feel hot and unsatisfied all over again. It was obvious that Lola was thinking the same, as she bit down on her bottom lip and looked away red-cheeked, leaving him wondering exactly where things would have ended up if he hadn’t uttered those kiss-of-death—or rather, death-of-kiss—words: Cameron Fontaine.

      ‘Yes. Well...’ Lola attached a lead to Peanut’s collar, took Butter from his outstretched hands and put all three dogs on the ground. ‘Unfortunately she hasn’t mastered the art of tact yet.’

      ‘Like her owner.’ And me. Jake threw Lola a smile, not sure if it was reassuring or what the hell it was. He didn’t know the required etiquette for talking to someone who really didn’t want to share the same air as him, and had told him as much.

      Lola looked up at him through dark, thick eyelashes, solemn and serious. ‘Er...about the other day—’

      ‘No need...really.’

      ‘It’s just, you know, bad timing.’

      ‘It’s fine, I understand.’ Although he didn’t. Seriously, he was a surgeon, dealing with science and facts and black and white. All this chaos and acting and kissing was way beyond his comprehension.

      But he did understand her reluctance to want to do it again. She’d been taking up far too much of his head space. He preferred his liaisons to be brief, satisfactory and forgettable. That way he could focus entirely on his work and paying back his dad. Just the thought of the debt he owed gave Jake a jolt in his chest.

      ‘Lola! Do hurry up! And you too, Dr Lewis.’ Ms Fontaine was waving and indicating that it was time to leave. ‘Don’t make us late. Lola, where are your bags?’

      ‘Sorry! Coming!’ Lola started towards her boss, encouraging the three yapping stooges to follow on their leads. ‘Come on, sweeties. Hurry up. This way.’

      But Jake held back, suddenly off balance all over again. ‘What? Your bags?’

      ‘Oh. Yes.’ Lola threw the comment over her shoulder, like scraps to a hungry bird. ‘Apparently Mommy doesn’t want to leave her babies—for some reason she’s come over more broody than usual and can’t bear to be parted from them. So we’re all coming too. Normally I would be thrilled at the idea of going to Nassau for the weekend, but—’

      He never got to hear the but, although he imagined what it was, as the jet engines powered into life, the noise sending thoughts and words into the wind, and that much of the but had to do with him and that kiss. Or maybe he was reading too much into it. Though the blush on Lola’s cheeks wasn’t due to make-up, and the tone in her voice hadn’t been wistful and hopeful. It had been as wary as he felt, a warning almost.

      Out on the tarmac a fierce draught blew Lola’s red curls round her face, and the dogs’ mouths opened and closed with apparent indignation at the racket, but Jake couldn’t hear anything over the engine din. He was beginning to realise that whatever plans he’d made were about to crash into oblivion. He was not going to get private time to discuss Cameron’s pregnancy. The attraction to her assistant was not abating any time soon. And a decent night’s sleep was clearly going to become a thing of the past.

      In truth, Lola coming on this trip was the worst possible outcome he could imagine.

      * * *

      Cameron had fallen asleep in one of the sumptuous red and cream leather sofas on board, and Jake was doing a good impression of the same thing. However, as he’d been seated next to her, Lola could see that even though his eyes were closed, his breathing wasn’t rhythmic and slow. He was just pretending to be asleep.

      He was pretending? Just so he didn’t have to talk to her? Charming.

      And the problem was, even on a plane like this where seating was plentiful and generous, he was still too close for any kind of comfort. Worse, that ridiculous urge to reach out and touch him hovered around—to just lay her hand against his chest or his arm, or something. The other night had been a close-run thing, and she’d felt mortified when Cameron had demanded she accompany them on this trip when she’d have far preferred not to see Jake again. Somehow she would have to keep her distance. The man was no good for her plans.

      After five and a half uncomfortable hours of dark silence, followed by awkward conversation whilst trying to contain three excitable puppies, they landed in Nassau. So much for private flying—not one sip of champagne had passed her lips; Miss Fontaine was on a clean diet so that meant everyone else was too.

      The lunch had been delicious, though—a decent serving of fresh raw taco shells with spicy vegetables, salsa and cashew cheese. Slightly strange, but far better than any economy class, ever, even if just for the real knives and forks instead of plastic ones, and real linen napkins.

      ‘Well, that was very acceptable. I think I’m spoiled for flying ever again,’ she whispered to Jake, just for something to say as they stood shoulder to shoulder at the top of the steps, waiting to disembark. Cameron had insisted on going first, making a grand entrance for the waiting local paparazzi, while the staff hung around in her slipstream. ‘I don’t suppose you could convince the boss that drinking buckets and buckets of French champagne is very good for you? She’s got it into her head that alcohol is very bad, but I’d love a glass.’

      He shook his head and frowned. ‘A cold beer would have been great, but...not for Cameron. She shouldn’t be drinking.’

      ‘Why not?’

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