The Movie Star and the Spy (The Secret Billionaires #5)

Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

S he was not who she pretended to be.

To an extent, he’d known from the beginning. Her behavior was just too inconsistent, too strange, as if she were two completely different women, an actress portraying an actress. Could she be in trouble? That concern motivated Julian to ask a friend, a private detective, to look into her past. Nothing too invasive, just a quick background check to make sure she wasn’t in any major trouble. He’d been in his dressing room when the phone call came.

The detective got right to the point. “Destiny Dane doesn’t exist.”

That wasn’t a surprise. Many actresses utilized professional names that differed from their legal ones. “I figured as much. What’s her real name?”

“You don’t understand.” The investigator’s voice was short and clipped. “Destiny Dane isn’t merely the stage name of an actress. The actress doesn’t exist. Her resume is a work of fiction.”

He’d caught her in some lies, but who didn’t embellish? “I know she exaggerated some of her skills, but that’s common–”

“No, not exaggerated,” the caller broke in. “Lied, and not just about one thing. About everything . Not one reference was accurate, and all those projects she supposedly worked on – not a single one panned out. I tried to track her biographical information without using a name and still came up empty.”

It didn’t make sense. “Surely there is something–”

“Julian, her social security number was invalid.”

He stiffened. Lying about experience and skills was common, but her social security number? That’s how they did payroll – she couldn’t get paid without it.

“Something is seriously off about the woman,” his friend voiced the suspicions churning inside. “I do a lot of these checks and you don’t find this much duplicity unless the person is hiding something. Something big.”

Julian didn’t need a professional assessment to know that. This was more than an embellished resume. The woman was a profound mystery.

He knew just how to solve it.

Cheyenne forced her eyes open. Again. After she’d done so again and again and again. It didn’t matter that it was daytime – it felt like she hadn’t slept at all. There wasn’t any big mystery behind her exhaustion, not when she’d spent the entire night waking up in a sweat to the most disturbing dreams of her life. Nightmares of car chases? Nope. Hostage situations? Not tonight. Bank robberies? Not even close. Instead the dreams centered on a single man:

Julian Starcroft.

She couldn’t count the times or ways she’d dreamed of Julian. Julian acting out a scene… naked. Julian leaning over her… naked. Julian caressing her… well, of course, naked. It really was the only constant, and it made her wake up oh-so- hot and oh-so-bothered time and time again. Then getting back to sleep? Forget it. Even counting sheep turned into counting Julians… naked.

She took a bite of some generic flaky cereal that tasted like stale cardboard to her tired taste buds. She still wore her comfy velour robe, and her hair was sticking in so many directions it resembled a highway interchange. Thankfully, she had a few minutes before she had to get ready, so she grabbed the television remote. Maybe some mindless programming would get her mind off Julian Starcroft and his unclothed body.

An early morning talk show came on, with a way too chipper host discussing how to catch a guy. Definitely not suitable. How to lose a guy… now that might be useful. She switched past an infomercial for a fancy appliance that was pretty much a blender, some dizzying cartoons, exes battling it out in court and finally came to an entertainment channel. She blinked as a picture of Julian Starcroft came on the screen.

“I’m really losing it if I see him while I’m awake,” she commented.

“And even more if I’m talking to myself,” she added.

She closed and opened her eyes, but the image of Julian remained. Was she still dreaming? However, this time he was fully dressed, which was what finally convinced her he was actually on the screen and not a product of her imagination.

She should change the channel. Or better yet, turn off the television and prepare for a day of sleuthing. Instead, she turned the volume up.

It was a replay of a previous telecast. “It’s Wednesday, and we’re at Miami Children’s Hospital,” a narrator was speaking, “and who do we see but A-lister Julian Starcroft? In our special segment, secret celebrity heroes, we look for stars going undercover for good causes. Julian, how long have you been volunteering for the hospital?” She thrust the microphone into his face.

It was one of those tabloid entertainment shows, where paparazzi stalk celebrities in search of juicy scoops. Julian frowned at the swarm surrounding him. “No comment.” He kept his eyes straight as he approached the entrance.

“Oh come on, Julian, give us some info! We want to hear all about your secret work.”

Cheyenne leaned closer to the screen, as he stopped, clearly frustrated. “This isn’t a photo opportunity, and I’m not doing this for publicity. I’m just trying to help. The cameras are disturbing the patients.”

Kids could be heard crying in the background. Parents carrying sick kids had to go around the news trucks, fighting for access. Security guards were trying, but because of the reporter, more people were noticing Julian. A circle of fans formed around him.

“That’s great that you’re helping so much!” The overeager newswoman ignored Julian’s plea and nearly tripped a kid on crutches. “While we’ve got you here, any news about the love life? Are you still dating that Brazilian supermodel?”

Julian’s eyes flashed with anger. “I was never–” He took a deep breath. “I have to go. No more questions.” He continued walking even as the reporter yelled at him. Cheyenne turned off the television.

Julian was obviously trying to do some good in the world, but opportunists were willing to harm him and others for their stories. The narrator had said it was Wednesday night, the night he couldn’t go out with her because of mysterious plans. She had guessed a date with fifty women. The truth had been far nobler.

Her heart shuddered.

She forced him from her mind as she styled her hair and changed into jeans and a tan button-down shirt, purposely dressing down on this day of their second date. How could an entire week pass so quickly? Of course, no matter how she’d tried to avoid it, she spent hours with him every single day.

From the crew’s comments, Julian rarely used a personal assistant. He’d been assigned one by the studio, but the general crew took care of most functions, and he preferred to do personal business on his own. Since she’d come on board, he’d made a complete turnaround. Apparently, he needed her to stir his coffee, scout out new dry cleaning locations (to add to his current three) and alphabetize his fan mail. He didn’t suddenly turn from the most independent down-to-earth star to the neediest diva overnight.

No, he wanted her around.

It made it even more difficult to talk to the other guys, especially since that’s when he found the most chores. Once, when she was about to spend time with one of her suspects, he had the urgent need for a toothpick, and she had to run to the drugstore. When she finally returned, he declared it was the wrong brand and sent her out again. Then it was the wrong color. Who uses blue toothpicks?

Tonight, they had a date, but today presented a rare opportunity. Julian was filming on location. He’d wanted her to come along, but because it was a few hours away, they’d chartered a plane and didn’t have extra seats. Working as an extra again, she’d finally get to spend time with the cast and crew as they filmed group scenes. Hopefully, the perpetrator would make his move. Even if he didn’t target her, she could still catch the crime in progress.

Putting all thoughts of her date and Julian (naked) completely out of her mind (or at least a sliver), she finished her morning routine and drove over to the lot. She immediately infiltrated a group of extras standing by the bagel bar. “Hey Jess, John, Kevin.” She smiled brightly. “How is everyone this morning?”

“Great,” Jess chirped, sliding a shy smile to where Zachary Thompson normally sat. He was out filming with Julian. “Great, actually.”

Cheyenne gave a genuine smile. Jess was clearly hung up on Zachary, and the usually confirmed bachelor seemed taken with her as well.

“We figured you’d be on location with Julian.” Kate Jenkins, a beautiful but rather spiteful extra, sent Cheyenne an icy glare. “You’ve been inseparable from him.” She made a rather compelling rendition of sucking a lemon.

This was bad. If the criminals thought she was serious with Julian, they’d never include her. “Julian? He’s just business.” She put a hand on the nearest guy. “I enjoy hanging out with all my guys.” She winked.

As everyone laughed, her peripheral visions snagged on Craig, a prop assistant, on the fringes of the room. He was the only man on her short list she had yet to approach. She excused herself, grabbed a bagel and skipped to the crewmember, who was looking uneasy as always. “Hey.” She smiled. “I brought you a bagel. Poppy’s your favorite, right?” It was the only one he ever took.

“Um, yeah.” He made no move to take the bagel, instead peering down as if it were poisoned.

She gave a friendly smile. “Would you like it?”

“Um, yeah.” Again, he didn’t move.

“Well, here.” Cheyenne pushed the bagel into his hands. He fumbled but couldn’t grasp it, and it fell to the floor, cream cheese side down.

“Oh no.” He turned as white as the cheese.

“Don’t worry.” Cheyenne picked up the sticky bread. “There’s plenty more. Want me to get another?”

“No!” he practically yelled. People turned to stare. “I gotta go.” He scurried away before she could respond.

She frowned as she mopped up the gooey mess with a napkin. Something was definitely strange with that guy, but he probably wasn’t her criminal. While the recruiters differed demographically, all were confident, assertive and self-assured. They had to be able to convince the women to join their operation.

Cheyenne dumped the remnants of the bagel in a wide metal trashcan. None of her leads were panning out, yet the informant who marked the film was highly dependable. The criminal had to be here somewhere.

“Okay, guys, let’s get started,” the assistant director called. Wiping her hands clean, Cheyenne joined the others on set.

The hours melted away, and her work progressed. Not the work on the film, although she was definitely getting better as an actress, but with chatting up potential leads. She crossed a few people off her list and added a few more. The men were looking at her with interest, and hopefully she was back in the criminal’s sights. Then, just as filming was wrapping up, everything changed.

You could always tell when Julian Starcroft entered a room.

He was dressed casually, in jeans and a black t-shirt, but there was nothing casual about how the denims molded to his long legs, how the shirt stretched across his defined chest or how he towered above the crowd, with muscles that showcased pure power. As soon as he walked in, the temperature leapt about twenty degrees. There were the usual smiles and stares, even from the cast and crew accustomed to working with the famous actor. As usual, the female extras led the pack. But he didn’t walk over to them.

Nope, he walked right over to Cheyenne.

She stretched her mouth into what she hoped passed for a grin. “Hi Julian!”

“Hi Destiny. I need some help with something. Will you accompany me to my office?”

It might sound like a request, but in reality it was a command. She could do nothing but follow. “Of course. Bye, everyone.” She waved to the group, the false smile still straining her lips. Julian walked slightly ahead of her, giving her a prime view of his ass, but of course she wasn’t going to look. Okay, fine, she was looking, but she deserved compensation since he was sabotaging her mission. They didn’t talk until they reached his office… and passed it.

She caught up with him. “Hey, what are you doing?”

“Walking and wondering.”

“Walking where? And wondering what?”

“Walking to the limo and wondering if you knew this hallway was lined in mirrors. I know what you’re looking at.”

She flushed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His grin was just slightly wicked. “It’s okay. I look at yours every chance I get.”

“Well, I look at yours, too,” she shot back. She spent the next few seconds searching for a way to reverse time. Failed. “Can we pretend I didn’t say that?”

“Sorry, I can’t forget it. It’s engraved in my memory forever.”

So was his ass. Somehow she managed not to admit it. “Why are we going to your limo?”

“We’re going to my limo because it’s time for our date. Don’t you remember?”

“Of course, I remember. I haven’t thought of anything els… I mean, it crossed my mind once or twice.” Or 4,235,332 times. “But I figured I’d go home first, take a few minutes–” Hours . “To freshen up. I’ll call you when I’m ready.” With my excuse. The dates may have been her idea, but she was seriously rethinking them. So why hadn’t she canceled them? She wouldn’t evaluate it.

“You can freshen up at my house. You can even take a nap if you want.”

She wasn’t getting anywhere near a bed with him in the vicinity, no matter how much she wanted to. “That won’t be necessary. Besides, won’t people see us leaving together? That’s why you planned to pick me up in the first place.”

“The shoot got out early, so I decided to meet you here. Don’t worry – we’re going out the back entrance, and my bodyguards will make sure it’s clear. Any other excuses?”

“Those aren’t–” she started to protest, then stopped. There was no use. “Okay, fine, no. Let’s just get this over with.”

“That’s the nicest thing a woman has ever said to me.”

She gave a low laugh. “I didn’t mean it like that. But you aren’t being honest either. It’s a classic case of wanting what you can’t have.” She kept pace alongside him. “I’m probably the only woman in the universe who isn’t spellbound by you.”

“So I only want you because I can’t have you? I appreciate your high estimation of my dating ability,” he teased. “Although there must be at least one other woman on Earth who doesn’t want to go out with me. You can’t be the only one.” He paused for a second. “No, you’re right. You’re the only one. There must be something wrong with you. Really wrong. Really, really, really–”

“Julian.”

“Yes, ma’am?” He grinned like a coyote.

“No funny stuff, all right?”

“There isn’t anything funny about what I have planned.”

What did he have planned? They reached the limo before she could ask, and she climbed in. He entered behind her and then…

They were alone.

Cheyenne toyed with her watch. She could do this. She was a professional trained to take down muscle-bound men twice her size. She could spend the next couple of hours with a famous movie star and not romantically accost him. “What about the driver?” she whispered as the car smoothly glided away from the curb. As with everything associated with Julian, it epitomized luxury, with butter-soft seats, ambience lights and gilded highlights on varnished wood features. Road noises were muted, and a new car scent sweetened the air.

“Don’t worry about the driver.” Julian grasped a cut crystal goblet and filled it with an expensive brand of sparkling water. “In three years, he’s never revealed so much as my lunch to the press, much less a juicy scoop. I pay him well, and he’s very loyal.”

“That’s good.” She looked out the window, at the colorful windows passing by. Tried to stop thoughts of the man. Yet they came unbidden. Kissing? Check. Touching? Check. Tasting? Check, check, check.

He may be right about having herself fooled.

“There’ll be some tasting.”

She gasped. “Did I say that out loud?”

“Say what out loud?”

“Tasting?”

He narrowed his eyes. “No. Is that what you were thinking?”

She flushed. And his smile grew. And grew. And grew some more. “What type of tasting were you thinking of, Destiny?”

Something very naughty. Something definitely not in the police detective handbook. “What type of tasting were you talking about?” she countered.

“Food, of course,” he gave the obvious answer. “Since cooking is your favorite thing to do, I thought you’d enjoy making something exotic. I found some great cookbooks with interesting recipes.”

She opened and closed her mouth like a floundering fish. Cooking was her favorite thing to do? Yeah, if you counted pressing the minute button on the microwave. Seriously, she didn’t even type the number. Then she remembered her fictitious resume.

“You like to cook, don’t you?” He leveled a heavy gaze.

“Oh yeah! I love to cook. And I’m really, really good at…” Destroying meals. Burning toast. Setting spaghetti aflame. “Cooking. You’re going to love my meals.” I hope you have comprehensive fire insurance.

“Excellent.” He straightened his sleeves. “Of course, I’m not bringing you over to cook for me. I have a chef, but I thought you’d enjoy it since it’s a passion of yours. Besides, I gave the chef and the housekeeper the night off. I know you value privacy.”

Suddenly privacy didn’t sound so safe. What would stop him from putting the moves on her? Okay, fine… what would stop her from putting the moves on him?

“I never have time for something as simple as cooking.” His tone took on a wistful note. “I’d love to help you create something amazing.”

Like SpaghettiOs? Because that was the extent of her cooking skills. Before the night was over, he’d know she lied about something else on her resume. Hopefully he wouldn’t realize just how much.

They made small talk for the rest of the half hour drive. They finally reached the development, which was watched over by multiple guards behind a massive fort-like gate. After gaining clearance, they travelled over an actual moat (seriously, a moat?), past a waterfall and through a series of natural arches created by trellises and climbing ivy. If this was the entrance to the development, what would his actual home be like?

Breathtaking.

The four-story mansion went on and on (and on and on, etc.). Brick with white shutters, sweeping trees and intricate iron work, the home hailed from the cover of Architectural Digest. Massive flowerpots adorned each window, filled with roses of all different colors. Expansive lawns spread out, broken by flowerbeds and a grotto with waterlilies and a babbling brook. They drove through yet another iron gate, this time, Julian’s personal one, and into a cavernous garage. More than dozen exotic cars gleamed under the lights: a Ferrari, a Lamborghini, a Rolls Royce. She’d never been a huge car enthusiast, but even she could appreciate the vehicle wonderland.

“Do you want to take a ride?”

She knew something she’d like to ride.

Did she just think that?

Yeah, she did.

He cleared his throat, his eyes darkened like the midnight sky. Did he know her unruly thoughts?

“No, thank you.” she quickly replied.

“Too bad.” A ghost of a smile played at his lips. “Too dangerous?”

“No. I just don’t think a ride would be… wise.”

“But enjoyable.”

Oh yes. So wonderfully, exquisitely enjoyable… and absolutely forbidden. “So, how do we get into this house of yours?”

“Through here.” He gestured her forward, placing a hand on the small of her back. They traveled through a long corridor and into a massive living room easily the size of three of her apartments. Ornate furniture boasted carved wood embellishments, under soaring ceilings and windows that reached at least twenty feet high, offering breathtaking scenes of the Atlantic Ocean. “The kitchen is this way.”

The cooking area was no less impressive for its practical function. Cherry wood tables and granite furnishings held state-of-the-art appliances in stainless steel. Hand-painted cathedral ceilings made a large space even as the wood provided a homey atmosphere. The breathtaking room was every chef’s dream. She whistled lowly. “Your home is beautiful.”

“Thank you. It gets all the dates. Townhomes everywhere clamor for its attention.”

She couldn’t help it – she laughed. “That was a terrible joke.”

“Then why are you laughing?”

“I’m not.” She laughed again.

“Yes, you are.” The mood lightened, and suddenly the world turned a lot less awkward and more comfortable. It simply felt… right. “Ready to get started?” He gestured to an array of cookbooks on the shelf behind her. “Is there one you prefer?”

She spotted the perfect selection. “The Four Ingredient Cookbook.”

Now he laughed. Apparently, he thought she was joking. She looked closer at the options. The cookbooks covered a variety of nationalities and cooking styles, from novice to expert and everything in between. She didn’t want to admit she’d lied (again), but she’d give herself away with the complicated recipes. “How about that one?” She pointed.

He scooped the volume off the shelf and frowned. “Easy Meals in Under Half an Hour?”

Perfect. “You said you weren’t an experienced chef. I don’t want to make something too complicated for you.”

Narrowed eyes said he didn’t quite believe her. “All right. Do you have any particular recipes in mind? I was thinking we could make an appetizer, main course and dessert.”

She didn’t have to make one dish, but three? She’d be lucky to emerge without setting anything on fire. I’m sorry, Captain, but I burned down Julian Starcroft’s mansion. Don’t worry, it’ll only cost the department twenty-five million dollars. Just take it out of my next 2,472,972 paychecks. Thankfully, they no longer sentenced people to debtor’s prison. She flipped through the appetizer section and stopped at a page in the super-duper easy section. “Cheesy crackers. These are great.”

He blinked at the recipe. “The recipe consists of precisely two ingredients: cheese and crackers. Isn’t that a bit simple for someone who’s been cooking since she was three?”

Her resume claimed she’d been cooking since the age of three? The department had wanted to give her a hobby, but they’d turned her into Michelin-starred chef, plus an accomplished dancer, Miss Excavator Falls, etc. Of course, they (and she) never imagined she’d have to prove any of it. “Simplicity builds a masterpiece.”

He looked at her as if she’d sampled a bit too much of the cooking wine. “What does that mean?”

She was hoping he’d know. “I really have no idea.”

Suspicious look #524. “Okay. Cheese and crackers it is.” He opened the fridge and retrieved several gourmet cheeses, then went to the pantry for some crackers. “All I have is plain salted crackers.” He held up the box.

“Classic.” Yet she couldn’t quite hide the cringe as he adorned the crackers with small pieces of cheddar, mozzarella and gouda. When he’d made a small array, he set them out, and they each took a selection. Cheyenne bit into a surprisingly delicious appetizer, courtesy of the gourmet cheese.

Julian ate every bite. “This is actually quite good.”

“Classic,” Cheyenne repeated, amidst stark relief. She might actually pull this off. Now all she needed was a main dish, a dessert and an excuse to leave early, and she’d be on her way with date two complete.

Julian put the plates in the sink. “So now the main dish. Any ideas?”

“Maybe Italian,” Cheyenne suggested. Even she could make pasta, and a simple sauce with clear directions should be within her reach. He swept the cookbook to the correct section, which listed thirty varied recipes, most of which seemed fairly straightforward. She pointed to an easy baked ziti. “This looks pretty good.”

He read the recipe, a simple concoction of pasta, jarred sauce and pre-shredded cheese. “It doesn’t even have four ingredients.”

Even better. “Well, it looks really good.”

He braced his hands on the counter. “Why do I get the feeling you’re hiding something? Are you sure you’re an experienced chef?”

“Of course. Cooking is my passion. After acting that is. And square dancing.” She cleared her throat. “Like I said, I just want to make it…”

“Easy for me. I know.” He gave her his patented I-know-you’re-lying-just-like-you-were-lying-about-everything-else-including-the-square-dancing-and-furthermore-I’m-going-to-catch-you-in-it look. “But I like a challenge. Plus, I bought all these fresh vegetables.” He turned the page. “How about this?”

She wet her lips at a mouth-watering vegetable lasagna. The list of steps went on and on (and on) in the most complicated recipe in the entire cookbook. “Don’t you think that’s a little complex? I’m just thinking of you, of course.”

“Of course,” he replied smoothly, “but you can teach me.” His gaze challenged her to come up with another excuse.

Unfortunately, she was all out of them. “All right.” She rubbed her hands together, pretended to study the cookbook. “The first thing to remember in any recipe is to follow the instructions exactly. We don’t want to deviate at all.”

“Really?” Julian turned the page to the continuation of the recipe. “I thought most chefs liked to tinker. You don’t see any way to make it better?”

“Order it from a restaurant.”

He blinked.

Had she said that out loud? Woops. “I’m joking, of course.” No, she wasn’t. “It’s absolutely perfect. Exactly as I would’ve made it.” Except less on fire.

“If you say so.” Chances he believed her: On the south side of 0. “Let’s gather the ingredients. I’ll get the pasta and vegetables, and you find the spices. They’re in there.” He pointed to a tall oak cabinet.

With forced poise, Cheyenne strode over to the cabinet and opened the door. Endless rows of glass jars stood like gleaming soldiers, each filled with a different spice. Red, green, yellow, black, brown, fine, coarse and whole, an array more comprehensive than at her local grocery store. The cupboard literally held hundreds of jars of spices.

And not one label.

“Uh, Julian?”

“Yeah?” Far more successful than her, he carried an armful of squash, peppers, mushrooms and broccoli and deposited them on the kitchen island. “Is everything all right?”

“The spices aren’t labeled.”

“That’s how you know they’re authentic.” He wiped his hands together. “My cook sources them from some exotic spice company. She knows them all, and since I don’t usually cook, it’s not a big deal. As long as I can recognize the salt and pepper, I’m good.”

At this point, she wasn’t sure she could pick those out of this line-up. What excuse would work this time? The hectic schedule made her forget? He distracted her to amnesia? Square dancing?

“Is there a problem?” He came up behind her, flaring heat everywhere. “I assumed you’d recognize the ones from the recipe. They’re pretty common.”

Common for someone who didn’t use their last cookbook as a doorstop. With hundreds of spices, many of which appeared identical, there was no way to select the right ones. Of course, she couldn’t tell him that. So instead, she lifted her chin, smiled and declared, “No problem.”

Oh, there was a problem. Ten to be exact, the number of jars she selected. By her not-so-scientific calculations, at least three were wrong, three were really wrong and the rest absolutely, positively wrong. He didn’t say anything as they returned to the table and began.

The creation of the meal went shockingly smooth, as did working beside Julian. She might not be an imaginative cook, but she could follow directions, and they put together the lasagna with clockwork ease. He washed while she mixed, she stirred while he chopped. As promised by the cookbook, half an hour later they put the dish in the pre-heated oven. It even looked like the picture!

It would take an hour to cook, so Julian took her to the den, an expansive chamber with thick navy carpeting, oak furnishings and bookcases that rose two stories high. Floor to ceiling windows took up one wall, and a massive fireplace played centerpiece to the other. Cheyenne blinked at the last, which the perceptive man noticed. “What are you thinking?”

“Nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. I can see your surprise.”

“I don’t want to be rude…”

He swept his hand back. “By all means, be honest.”

Well, he’d asked. “Isn’t a fireplace in Florida kind of like giving a polar bear a snow cone?”

Julian’s lips twitched. He leaned on the arm of the couch across from her. “It’s one of the advantages of fame. We’re impervious to heat.”

“Of course, you are.” Cheyenne chuckled. “Any other superpowers I should know about?”

“I can cook like a Michelin-starred chef, I’m an expert at square dancing, I won Miss Excavat– Wait, that’s not me.”

She looked upward, but couldn’t completely hide her amusement. “Extraneous fireplaces aside, your home truly is amazing. Do you live here permanently?”

“No.” He straightened a picture on the mantle. It showed him with an older woman and a lovely girl with the features of Down syndrome. “I own the house, but I live wherever work is. It’s useful to have whenever I’m in town.”

How could such an amazing home be vacant most of the time? But of course, it was, and he probably owned ten mansions just like it. Most people she knew worked long hours to afford a modest home, herself included.

“Don’t give me that look.”

“What look?”

“The ‘we’re so different’ look.”

“We are so different.”

“No, we’re not. In fact, I’ll tell you a deep, dark secret. Heat actually does affect celebrities. A fireplace in Florida is absurd.” His grin faded. “My life isn’t perfect. I have goals, aspirations, problems.”

“Really?” Cheyenne teased softly. “Like picking out what you’re going to wear when you win another Oscar?”

The smile returned. “Actually, I’m not talking about acting. I have other goals.”

She shouldn’t ask. Shouldn’t even care. With every sentence, she risked delving closer to this man. Only she couldn’t stop herself. “Like what?”

He paused for a second. “I wrote a screenplay, but most people don’t even want to see it. They tell me to stick to acting.”

“That’s because writers don’t take off their shirts,” she replied automatically. His eyes crinkled as she tried again to reverse time. And again, failed. She was giving away far too much. Yet she sobered at his serious look. “Don’t tell me the mighty Julian Starcroft lets others dictate what he can do.”

“Of course not.” He frowned. “It’s just hard when they refuse to even look.”

“Then convince them,” she said softly. “It’s hard to become a movie star, yet you did it. It’s hard to fit in time for all that charity work, but you do. It may take an extraordinary man to convince them, however…” She lowered her voice. “You are extraordinary.”

His gaze was unfathomable as the seconds ticked, as they drank each other in like fine wine. “You are extraordinary,” he murmured.

Heat crept up her neck. She was extraordinary, but not in the way he believed. And if they didn’t return to the light banter, he would discover how. “Maybe you could be creative. Take off your shirt while acting out the script.”

And just like that, the comfortable atmosphere returned. “Actually, I don’t get unclothed. That’s the role of the body double.” He looked at her pointedly. “Why did I help you switch out of that?”

“Because you’re not interested in me like that?”

“Nope.”

“Because I’m not interested in you like that?”

“Definitely not.”

Moving on. “So tell me about your writing. Let me guess – romances?”

“Is it that obvious?” He laughed. “It’s my passion, but it’s tough to write those alpha males.”

Alpha male – that’s what he was, all right. Every solid, muscle-bound inch. But she was an alpha female. She gave in to the urge for a little mischief. “Not everyone can handle one like I can. They’re actually quite easy to manipulate once you get the hang of it. They may think they’re all-powerful, but the truth is a strong woman can always take control.”

“So you think you can control me?” He rose, took a step toward her. “As a member of the male species, and specifically of the alpha male persuasion, I owe it to my brethren to accept the gauntlet you just threw.”

“There’s no gauntlet.” She looked at her nails, gave a bored look. “Just a statement of fact.”

“That’s definitely a statement of opinion. One I intend to disprove.”

She forgot about her nails. And the world in general. “And how do you plan to do that?”

His smile was pure wicked.

It was her only warning before he swooped down and captured her lips.