Take My Breath Away. Christie Ridgway

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      CHAPTER TWO

      RYAN HAMILTON WONDERED if he’d make it to the end of March, as surviving the month had been iffy the past three years. Each turn of those particular thirty-one days had exacted a price: he’d wrapped his Maserati around an elm tree the first year; blown up a meat smoker and almost himself while passed out on a lounge chair ten feet from it two years ago; and last year he’d lost most of his good reputation. Now, if it hadn’t been for the stunt-driving course he’d taken before shooting his final movie a decade ago, he might not have managed the escape from his own lakefront villa.

      But he’d successfully evaded the celebrity photographer who’d been camped outside the gated drive. Had he even known it was Ryan he followed in that roller skate of a car? Ryan had been forced to take a few hairpin turns at speeds that had set his heart slamming in his chest.

      He wasn’t sure how he felt about the reminder that blood still pumped through his veins and that he retained enough emotional IQ to experience even a small drop of fear. Most of the time he didn’t feel much of anything—except, of course, this was March. Fucking March.

      He found his way back to the road that led him through Blue Arrow Lake. While the body of water it was named after was private, and the boat docks only available to those with a deed to one of the pricey surrounding estates, the village itself welcomed tourists as well as the owners of the lakefront properties. Both were out in force, Ryan noted, as the traffic slowed passing the vaguely Swiss-styled buildings that held small specialty stores offering items like fancy cheeses, fancier chocolates and beers from around the world. Despite the snow left in piles here and there by the plows, warmly dressed people were seated under the clear blue skies amid patio heaters at small bistro tables, enjoying their designer coffees and flaky pastries.

      The cars in front of him continued at a crawl, but Ryan didn’t worry he might be spied by the photographer again. The road was a sea of SUVs in both directions, so his didn’t stand out.

      A ring sounded through the car speakers, and the touch screen in the dash signaled a familiar number. Ryan considered rejecting the call, but the person on the other end didn’t take hints well.

      He gave the voice command to answer and at the click of connection said, “What do you want, Linus?”

      His younger brother got right to the point. “I want to know where you are.”

      “How much is People willing to pay for that tidbit?”

      “Ha ha. Spill.”

      “It’s none—”

      “I worry, damn it.” Though Ryan couldn’t see the other man, he could imagine him forking a hand through his mop of dirty blond hair in a familiar gesture of frustration. Linus was a lankier version of himself, but with their mother’s light hair and their father’s brown eyes. “Ry, just tell me where you’ve gone to ground. Your assistant says you’re not planning on being back in the Studio City offices until April.”

      “I decided, spur-of-the-moment, to take a break.” Might as well try a new coping mechanism since he’d failed so miserably the past few years.

      “Okay. That’s good,” Linus said. “But where?”

      “I don’t want company.” A car pulled in front of Ryan’s, causing him to brake sharply. The vehicle at his rear honked in bad-tempered complaint. “Not my fault,” he muttered.

      “You’re in So-Cal,” Linus said, relief in his voice. “I would recognize the sounds of our happy traffic anywhere.”

      Ryan debated a moment, then decided giving Linus a little more info would do no harm. “I was actually at the lake house.”

      “Yeah? You think you can stay out of trouble there?”

      No, he thought, thinking of that photographer. “I handed over the keys to Anabelle and Grant for the weekend.” He didn’t need to add last names. They were one of Hollywood royalty’s brightest and most watched romances—“Granabelle.” Grant had been Ryan’s stalwart friend for the past four years, sticking by him when his mood was low, being the designated driver when he was looking for refuge in an alcoholic high. “Can you keep a secret?”

      “I’ve never told anyone you grew up afraid of the purple-haired troll under the bed that only you could see, have I?”

      “Its hair was green and you were too much of a pussy to lift the bedspread and take a look.”

      Linus snorted. “I can keep a secret.”

      “They’re getting married at the house over the weekend. Spur-of-the-moment and strictly family. To keep things as quiet as possible, I’m not even attending.”

      “Good for them,” Linus said, then paused a moment. “How long do you suppose before one of their publicists spills the beans? Doesn’t Anabelle have a new movie coming out soon?”

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