Chapter 1
Zac straightened his already straight silk tie, checked his cufflinks were still in position and brushed the non-existent fluff off his Hardy Amies Saville Row suit. Slotting his smile into place, he accepted the proffered glass of champagne and stepped into the impressive ballroom of Heatherden Hall, the nineteenth-century, Grade II-listed mansion at the heart of Pinewood Studios.
As his eyes skimmed the room, noting the faces he knew, he raised the glass to his lips. Dutch courage. His job title might read actor, his online profile might say film star, but he wasn’t the gregarious type and never felt entirely comfortable in film industry crowds. Today’s rather ostentatious gathering had been put on by Vision Films to celebrate thirty years in the business. As it was the film company he was currently contracted to, he’d felt obliged to show his face. Now all he had to do was find the key people to show his face to, and he could be out of here …
What the hell?
Someone careered into him from behind, and champagne that should have been fizzing delicately in his glass now began to run down the front of his white Turnbull & Asser tailored shirt.
‘Shit.’
A pair of hands flew out to grab his arms, presumably for support, and the resulting jolt knocked the remaining contents of his glass down his jacket.
‘Oh, my flaming God, I’m so sorry.’ Two horrified brown eyes locked onto his. ‘I knew I shouldn’t have worn heels, but my niece was adamant I couldn’t wear my boots with this dress. They wouldn’t have got caught in the flipping carpet though, would they.’
‘Err, no?’
Perhaps he should have been more annoyed – champagne was a treat when swallowed, but plastered against his skin, not so much. Yet it was hard to muster any anger when the person he should be directing it against was so apologetic. So amusing. And so … striking.
Her hand flew to her face. ‘Holy moly, listen to me carping on about my shoes while you’ve got champagne dripping down … well, dripping where I’m sure you don’t want it dripping. Hang on a sec.’
Bemused, and yes, dripping, though perhaps a more accurate description would be sticking, he watched as she shuffled off to one of the grandly set tables and snatched a few of the carefully folded napkins.
‘Here.’ She started to wipe the napkin down his sodden chest, then paused and gave him a wry smile. ‘I’m guessing you’d be better doing this yourself.’
‘Maybe.’ Fighting a smile, he nodded down to the napkin. ‘But you seem to be making an excellent job of it.’
‘You think so?’
Chocolate-brown eyes sparked back at him, amusement in their depths, and he found he was unable to drag his own eyes away. Short dark hair framed a face that wasn’t beautiful – it was far too interesting to have such a mundane label attached to it. Sharp edges, yet softened with an easy, unaffected smile.
Abruptly she withdrew her hand. ‘You know what, I have a far better idea. Wait here.’
As if he could do anything else. Enthralled, he waited, waving away those who approached him, explaining he’d see them later, he was waiting for someone. She returned a few minutes later, brandishing a T-shirt.
‘Instead of Turnbull & Asser I get to wear,’ he peered at the logo, ‘Pinewood Studios?’
‘It’ll be a good look on you. Everyone will be after one by the end of the evening.’ A soft sigh escaped her. ‘I really am sorry, though. Can I get your shirt dry-cleaned?’ She winced as she saw the splashes on his jacket. ‘Err, all of you dry-cleaned?’
‘No, it’s fine.’ He could see she was about to leave and realised with a start that he wasn’t ready to say goodbye. Talking to her seemed infinitely more preferable than polite conversation with studio bosses and fellow actors. ‘You could help me find somewhere to change, though.’
She gave him a wary look. ‘This isn’t some sort of trick, is it?’
‘Trick?’
‘You know, we head off to find a quiet room and when I’m not looking you produce a bottle of wine and pour it all over me to get your own back.’
He searched her eyes, trying to get a read on whether she was joking or not. He couldn’t. They were seemingly bottomless pools of rich, smooth brown. ‘I can think of far better things to do to you in a quiet room than douse you in alcohol.’
Surprise flickered before her guard came down. ‘Oh no, that’s not … we’re not.’ She huffed. ‘Look, I’ll show you to the gents’.’
Great. Now she had him down as some entitled, pervy actor – that’s if she even recognised him. ‘I was hoping for somewhere a little more salubrious,’ he ventured.
‘Salubrious?’ She wrinkled her nose; slim and attractive, like the rest of her. ‘Is that a fancy way of saying a room without urinals?’
‘It’s my way of saying I’d rather not strip off in front of urinating males, yes.’
‘Okay.’ Her face relaxed a little. ‘I guess that makes sense. And my role in this shirt changing exercise would be what, exactly?’
‘Help me find a room. Be on the lookout while I change.’ Keep talking to me, he added silently. And flash me another of those amazing smiles.
‘Fine.’
They began to walk towards the grand wooden archway he’d entered from. ‘Which way, left or right?’
‘Wow, you’re entrusting me with this huge decision?’ Her gaze came back to his. ‘You realise if I get it wrong, you’ll be wearing champagne all evening?’
‘That’s true,’ he agreed soberly. ‘Yet you’re the one who’s got me into this pickle. It seems only right you’re the one to get me out of it.’
‘This pickle?’ She burst out laughing. ‘I guess that’s one way to describe it. Alcohol is a good preservative, after all. And if we don’t get you out of that shirt soon, you might literally be pickled.’
Her laughter fluttered across his skin, leaving tingles in its wake. God, there was nothing sexier than a woman who liked to laugh. ‘I like the we in that sentence,’ he murmured, unable to help himself. His third attempt at flirting. And this time, he couldn’t have been more obvious.
***
For the second time that evening, Kat stumbled over her feet. The first had launched her headlong into the one man she’d come here to see. Yet not be seen by.
Not only had she failed spectacularly at that, he was – unbelievably – flirting with her. The comment about the quiet room had been shocking enough. The last statement, delivered with a low, sexy murmur, had been hot enough to weaken her knees and make her lose her footing.
Awkward did not begin to describe it.
Heavens above, he was gorgeous, though. Some actors, and in her line of work she’d met a few, disappointed in the flesh. They were less; diminished somehow from how they appeared on the big screen.
Zac Edwards was more. Much, much more. Those green eyes of his didn’t just captivate, they snared a woman, making her want to keep on looking at him. Then there was the quirky smile, a sort of tilt of his lips, that had her unwittingly not only smiling back at him but, honest to God, melting.
Yet this man was off limits, out of bounds. Someone she could not afford to flirt with, no matter how much her hormones demanded her to.