Oops. Not the time to tell him the sneer hadn’t been about the security, but about the soulless looking apartment block. ‘I can’t understand why the security on these modern places is so lax. Surely that’s the advantage of buying one.’
‘You make it sound like the only advantage.’
Oh crap. ‘No. I mean I can see why you like it.’ She walked back into the open plan living area, with its gleaming – she’d guessed it – wooden floors, huge glass windows, weird modern art, fancy leather sofa with two strategically placed cushions. And complete absence of any clutter whatsoever. ‘It’s very you.’
Whatever he thought of her remark, he kept it to himself. ‘I’ll throw a few things in a suitcase.’ He nodded over to the clinical looking open plan kitchen. ‘Feel free to make yourself a drink.’
‘You’ve got to be kidding.’ She stepped towards the spotless worktop. ‘Where’s your mug tree? The tea and coffee canisters? This morning’s breakfast things you’ve not had time to clear away?’
With a resigned sigh, he pressed a hand against one of the shiny white doors. When it glided open, she saw two rows of neatly stacked black mugs. ‘These modern places have plenty of cupboard spaces, so no need for a mug tree.’ He pushed open an adjacent door. ‘Or tea canisters.’ Finally, he gave a unit near the sink a gentle pull, revealing a dishwasher. ‘And if you give yourself enough time in the morning, you can clear up before you leave.’ He smirked. ‘And avoid being so late you have to pinch someone’s car park space.’
‘Sarcastic sod,’ she muttered under her breath as he walked away. Her heart bumped as he halted.
‘I heard that.’
‘Heard what?’ She gave him a wide, innocent grin. ‘I’m too scared to make a mess in there, so I’ll just …’ She pointed to the sofa. ‘Try to sit as neatly as I can on your sofa while I wait.’
He shook his head, and she could have sworn she heard the words, sarcastic sod thrown back at her, though it was hard to be sure. Apparently, he was a master at hiding his thoughts even when he said them out loud.
Gingerly she went to perch on the sofa. After two minutes of looking at her phone – one message from Mandy, apologising and saying she’d pulled herself together and one from her niece saying she’d be late home because she was seeing a friend after school – Kat pushed it into her pocket and skimmed her eyes across the living space. They rested on a glass-fronted cabinet at the far end. Intrigued to see if there was anything inside that would give her a hint of the man she’d been assigned to protect, she strolled up to it.
Her jaw almost hit the floor when she saw the contents.
Teapots?
And not clever, modern, arty teapots either. Fussy, old fashioned … let’s be honest, totally naff teapots. The type your granny would have used, back in the days when she’d also have shoved a hand-knitted tea cosy over it.
Utterly spellbound, Kat opened the door and, not daring to touch, feasted her eyes on them. One, two, three … crikey moses, there had to be a dozen of them.
‘I’m done.’
Guiltily Kat stepped away and turned to see Zac standing in the middle of the living room, staring at her. At his feet was a very expensive looking leather holdall. He’d changed out of his suit and into a pair of grey tailored trousers and a meticulously ironed pale-pink collared shirt. Over his arm was a suit carrier with, she guessed, several more designer suits, pressed trousers and collared shirts.
‘Right then.’ Ask about the teapots. She had to, right, because it would look odd if she didn’t mention it. Never mind the fact she was bursting to know the story behind them. ‘I was just admiring your teapots.’
‘So I see.’
She might have guessed Mr Closed Book wasn’t going to make this easy. ‘Have you been collecting them long?’ She bit into her cheek to suppress the giggle bursting to explode. Was she really having a conversation with heart-throb actor Zac Edwards about his teapot collection?
‘I’ve had them a while, yes.’ His eyes held hers, and she had to admire his acting skills. Whether he was amused, angry, or just mildly irritated, she hadn’t a clue.
‘You know what I’m dying to ask, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’ He picked up the holdall and turned towards the front door. ‘What I don’t know, is why you’re holding back.’
‘Because I don’t want to piss you off. Protection duty only works if the bodyguard and the client get on.’ He put his hand up to open the door, but she shook her head. ‘From now on, that’s my job. I go in and out first, check it’s clear, and then you follow.’
He uttered a mild expletive but dropped his hand and took a step back.
Once they were back in the Jeep, he cleared his throat. ‘Ask the question. I made you uncomfortable earlier; it’s only fair you get a shot back.’
She glanced at his handsome profile. ‘Why do you collect teapots?’
‘I don’t. They’re my mother’s.’ Immediately he slid a phone out of his trouser pocket. ‘Excuse me while I make a call. I need to let my manager know what’s happening.’
It was clear she’d had her question, and the subject was now closed. A real bummer, because his answer had sparked a swarm of further questions. Not least why on earth the classy Lady Edwards had collected so many tacky teapots. And then palmed them off to her son.
Chapter 5
The afternoon’s filming had been tough. Or maybe Zac hadn’t been as focused as he should have been. Twice he’d forgotten his lines. Twice. He never forgot lines. He always turned up to filming impeccably prepared.
Overprepared. An image of Kat and her none-too-subtle smirk came to mind. Okay, so he had a thing about going through his lines ten times before the shoot. It wasn’t odd, it was being professional.
Except that today, his preparation had been disrupted, and his professionalism called into question. Not in so many words, but Zac hated being the one filming had to stop for. The one at fault.
Maybe this was what his stalker really wanted. To disrupt his life so much he’d no longer have a career.
The thought didn’t help his mood as Zac trudged wearily off set. ‘Zac, darling.’ Sophia Layton, who played his love interest in the film, caught his eye. With blonde hair, blue eyes and high cheekbones, she was classically beautiful. And she knew it. ‘The crew and I were talking about going out for drinks on Friday. We’re hoping …’ she smiled, showing a set of perfect white teeth. ‘I’m hoping, you’ll join us.’
Usually he’d say yes, not because he liked socialising particularly, and definitely not because he wanted to pick up on the promise in Sophia’s eyes. It was more that he saw filming as teamwork, and he was a part of the team. But as of this morning, things had changed. Now he wasn’t sure he had the autonomy to agree to a night out, or whether he needed to check with his bodyguard first.
The thought of having his life dictated by a security company stuck in his throat. ‘Sure,’ he told her, acutely aware of the irony. He’d spend the evening trying to avoid Sophia’s advances, while being watched by a woman who’d avoided his.