The Mysterious Italian Houseguest. Scarlet Wilson

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СКАЧАТЬ what to do about her career. But she didn’t really need to be here. She could be back in Hollywood right now, trying to dig up the career-defining story of a lifetime. Instead, she’d decided to take some time to contemplate her next step.

      Entertainment Buzz TV had been good for her. She had a steady income. A nice apartment. A good lifestyle. She’d met more famous people—good and bad—than anyone could possibly want to. But things were changing. Hollywood had lost its glitter—even when there were men like Javier around.

      Her mouth was dry. There could be a story right at her fingertips—literally. His arrogance had annoyed her before. But did she really want to dig deep and let him expose himself and his secrets to her? Was that really the type of person that she was?

      ‘I want to stay here, Portia. Not in some hotel. Do you think that could be possible?’

      Portia. He didn’t say her name. He practically sang it.

      He didn’t even remember her. Not that she expected him to—really. But she had met him and interviewed him before. And it was kind of insulting for a guy not to remember you—even in cut-throat Hollywood.

      Her rational head understood. At a press junket he met hundreds of journalists and could never be expected to remember them all. On award night he’d spoken to just as many again on the red carpet. She wasn’t any different from any other person who’d shoved a microphone in his face and tried to think of an original question.

      But it still stung.

      And now he wanted to stay with her. Javier Russo wanted to stay with her.

      She lifted her hands from his chest. She needed all her senses to be working. And they were already piqued. A fresh, clean scent drifted up under her nose. She scrunched up her face a second and tried to shake it off. The last thing she needed to think about was fresh, clean Javier Russo.

      He’d lied to her. No, not strictly true. He just hadn’t been entirely truthful. Why on earth would moneybags Mr Russo want to hide out in Aunt Sofia’s home? He really wanted to get away from things?

      It could be a story. But Internet was scarce around here, nearly as rare as a mobile phone signal. It was part of the reason she’d thought it was a good place to hide out.

      She could get all defensive, like some creature marking out their territory, and tell him he couldn’t stay. But...she could also be clever. There was always a chance she could get to the bottom of Javier Russo’s story. It might just be the thing to save her career.

      And in the meantime, she would have some company, and some eye candy.

      She sucked in a breath and tried to find the ruthless streak she’d once had. ‘You really just want to stay here?’

      He nodded.

      ‘How long for?’

      Javier ran his fingers through his dark hair as he took a little step to the side. ‘Not long. Just a few weeks.’

      She folded her arms across her chest. ‘You honestly just expected to show up, stay here and then leave, didn’t you?’

      His face creased into a smile. ‘Well, kind of.’

      She put her hand on her chest. ‘And I’ve thrown a spanner in the works for you?’

      He frowned for a second, as if he wasn’t quite sure of the expression. But then he nodded. ‘I get it.’

      ‘You do?’

      She stepped back a little, trying to get her head on straight for the first time since yesterday. Maybe it had been the wine. Maybe it had been the magical setting. But last night had been a bit unreal.

      She gave him a serious look. ‘Let’s give this some perspective. Last night some stranger appeared at the place I’m staying. Okay, so he might have had a key—and a history of sorts with the place. But I’d made arrangements with my sister—’ she put her fingers in the air ‘—the owner, to stay here for the next few weeks. I don’t plan on going anywhere.’ She pretended not to see the fleeting disappointment that shot through his eyes. ‘We both thought we would have this place to ourselves.’ She nodded out to the back conservatory. ‘Let’s face it. There’s lots to be done here. And if you’re as handy as you say you are, then I might not have any objections to you staying. My skills involve tidying up. That might sound mediocre, but, believe me, I’ve checked all the rooms and the attic—there’s a lot of tidying up to be done.’ She looked around the room as the acid in her stomach gave a little burn. She was trying her absolute best to be up front. She could hardly tell Javier that finding out what he was hiding from might save her career. Hopefully, it would be a woman. But that made the acid burn even more.

      A picture of nails scraping down a chalkboard flashed into her brain with the associated noise. If it was trouble with a co-star, a contract, an affair—any of the above—it might just be enough to give her some leeway with her job.

      It would save her telling the other secrets that weren’t really hers to share.

      She held out her hands. ‘In the end, my sister needs this place to be liveable. If you can help with that, fine.’ She shook her head and gave him a knowing glance. ‘I just want you to know, I don’t mix business with pleasure. Never have. Never will.’

      Javier looked amused; the little glint was back in his eye. She liked it when that was there. It lightened the mood. She’d spent the last five years harmlessly flirting in front of the camera; it was the unwritten rule of TV hosts. She’d dated people in Hollywood. But never anyone to do with work. Dating a popstar/film star/TV star was the ultimate no-no. Inevitably there would be a messy fallout and he would tell all his fellow performers not to be interviewed by her. Two of her associated press members had found themselves almost blacklisted around Hollywood when their short-term flings had ended.

      Portia was far too clever to be that girl.

      Javier was watching her carefully. His tools were now on the floor and he made a grab for a T-shirt that she’d missed sitting on top of a white dust sheet.

      ‘Come with me.’

      ‘What?’

      She followed him through the house to the kitchen, conscious of the fact she still didn’t have on any real clothes. The kitchen—though ancient—was almost in working order. Miranda had arranged electricity and gas. Thankfully the water was still running. Portia had bleached a few cupboards in the last few days and put a few supplies away. But that didn’t explain the bag on the countertop.

      Javier pulled out some eggs and some freshly baked bread. ‘I think our new arrangement calls for a celebratory breakfast.’

      ‘We’ve made a new arrangement?’

      He gave her his trademark Hollywood smile. ‘Sure we have. I’m staying. I’ll work on the plaster and arrange to get some glass for the conservatory.’ He pulled out a frying pan and turned on the gas. ‘How do you like your eggs?’

      Portia sat up on a stool next to the countertop. ‘You cook? And where did you get the eggs and the bread?’

      ‘I got them when I went to get the supplies this morning.’ He gave her a wink. ‘I was a bit worried that the only sustenance in this place was wine.’ СКАЧАТЬ