The Housewife and the Film Star

  Evernight Publishing

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2013 Doris O’Connor

  ISBN: 978-1-77130-608-9

  Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs

  Editor: Karyn White

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  With thanks to Evernight Publishing and my fabulous editor Karyn.

  Thank you to my readers who liked this story in its original form as 'Scandinavian Scandal' and are as excited as I am to see the new and much improved version.

  A special thank you goes to Daniella for her expert help with the Swedish phrases.

  And the biggest thank you goes to my hubby and Sir. We're continuing our own journey through this lifestyle, and his input, as always, has been invaluable.

  THE HOUSEWIFE AND THE FILM STAR

  Doris O’Connor

  Copyright © 2013

  Chapter One

  "You want me to do what? Have you completely lost the ability to use your brain cells?" Sylvia stared at her best friend in disbelief. As if it wasn't bad enough Kathy had dragged her to this club and insisted she wear this ridiculous outfit. An outfit, which had every male in their vicinity treat her like just another one of the overinflated Barbie dolls that filled this place. Now, Kathy wanted Sylvia to…

  "I won't do it. I don't even know what the blasted man looks like, for pity's sake. You know damned well I don’t go to the movies, and I don’t read the stupid gossip mag you chose to work for. This is insane. Get her to do her own dirty work. I'm going home!"

  "Sylvia, please, you can't. This is my chance to finally get my own column. I'm so done with being her lackey, you know that. All we have to do is find him, get some pictures, and Evelyn can do the rest."

  Oh, blast it all to damnation and back.

  Kathy's green eyes bored into her. She clamped her hand on Sylvia's arm to stop her from leaving. Anxiety poured off Kathy in waves.

  "And why can the great Evelyn not do this herself?" Sylvia asked.

  "He'll run a mile, that's why. The man has a completely unreasonable dislike of reporters, especially female ones. He hasn't been in London for a while, so this may be the only chance we have to get close. Please, I wouldn't ask, but, according to Evelyn, he was checking you out before she lost him on the dance floor."

  Seriously? Kathy had definitely lost the plot. Mr. Sex-on-Legs Sven Larsson had been checking her out—as if!

  "Are you hearing yourself? Why on earth would a fancy, schmanzy film star be checking me out? And, even if he was, why on earth would I let a man with his reputation anywhere near me?"

  Sylvia might not read the papers, but even she'd heard of Sven Larsson's reputation as a womanizer extraordinaire, and his penchant for kinky sex. Whilst that thought might get Sylvia excited again in the privacy of her bedroom, reading her smutty novels, she wasn't dumb enough to place her trust and her body into the hands of any man ever again. Let alone with the added kink. Therein lay a recipe to disaster.

  "Because you owe me a favor? Please?" Kathy's desperate voice in her ear shook Sylvia out of her internal thoughts. "All you have to do is find him and let him … well, you know. A few pictures, and, hey presto, I have my column. You never know, you might even enjoy it."

  “You’re not going to let this go, are you?” Sylvia had to shout to make herself heard over the din of the thumping music. The live band had started up again, and the crowd of young and beautiful people gyrated on the dance floor. The exclusive and newly opened club was spread over two floors and was heaving tonight. Sublime promised ultimate exclusiveness to its rich clientele. From the glass interior to the exotic plants and secluded VIP booths to the free champagne included with your overpriced ticket, the place reeked of overindulgence.

  “I can’t let it go, Sylvia. This is my chance. You must see that.” Kathy’s obvious desperation increased Sylvia’s unease. This was supposed to be a much needed night out, financed by Whisper, the gossip rag Kathy had sold her soul to. Instead, the arrival of Kathy’s boss Evelyn—a bleached blonde with impeccable styling, who was completely ruthless in her pursuit of the latest story—had turned this into another work night for Sylvia’s oldest friend. And, fool that she was, Sylvia was stuck in the middle.

  “Kathy, I’m a mum of three, not some sex kitten out to seduce Sweden’s answer to Brad Pitt.”

  “Exactly, that’s why it’ll work. He’ll never suspect you, and, as for sex kitten, you give a good impression of one.”

  An hour later, Sylvia groaned to herself as she remembered that ridiculous conversation. But, damn it, she did owe Kathy, and she'd reluctantly agreed to find the great Sven Larsson, or rather to be found by him. In the process, she drank far too much of the free champagne and had been manhandled by God only knows how many sleaze balls on the dance floor. And had the man shown up? Of course not. Why would he? Now, her feet hurt like hell in the heels she wasn't used to wearing, and she’d lost count of how many times she had to pull the hemline of her clingy sheath dress down to maintain some form of dignity. Sex kitten, my ass! The god-awful music had given her the mother of all headaches, and, to top it all, her latest dance partner was far too persistent with his wandering hands. Pleading the need to powder her nose, she managed to slip away. If only she could find her way out of this dump. It was a maze back here in the Employees Only area of the club. Evelyn's shrill laughter warned her of the woman’s approach. Gah, Kathy’s boss was the last person Sylvia wanted to see. She had to find somewhere to hide—now. Sylvia scrambled through a door marked “private” and almost broke her nose on an inconveniently placed wall of muscle.

  Oh, of all the blasted things to happen. What now?

  She was marginally grateful for the strong male arm round her waist, which stopped her from teetering over in the damned high-heeled torture objects that masqueraded as her shoes. Until she looked up into a pair of ice-cold, blue eyes, shamelessly assessing her from head to toe. The nerve of the man. And why in hell was she not more annoyed by the blatant male interest evident in that lazy smile?

  "You do know this area is off limits?" The man's deep, gravelly voice washed over Sylvia, and her breathing hitched against her will as her heart fell into her stomach. That slight accent had to be the sexiest sound ever.

  Shit! Had she walked into one of the bouncers? Her nose still stung from the contact with his chest, and the arm, which held her far too close to that muscular body, seemed made from steel. Her efforts to step away from him achieved absolutely nothing. The impossibly tall male simply tightened his hold on her until she was so close to him, she was sure the heat of his skin scorched hers through the thin layer of her sorry excuse of a dress.

  "I-I didn't mean any harm, so, if you'll just let go of me, I'll be off again."

  "I don't think so, lady. So, what are you doing here?"

  His deep, male chuckle made Sylvia look up. Oh, bother, he was gorgeous when he smiled, whoever he was. Slightly too long, blond hair fell over one eye. The barely-there stubble on his chiseled chin drew her gaze to his full, sensuous mouth, and her heart missed a few beats. Oh God, what the hell are you doing, girl, ogling him as though he was candy on a plate? How much champagne had she had? Talk about jumping from the frying pan into the fire.


  "So, you burst through that door, and fell into my arms for no reason whatsoever?"

  His chuckle deepened as heat crept into her cheeks, and she inwardly cursed at her tendency to blush.

  "I did not fall into your arms. It's just these damn shoes."

  Oh, shit, why had she said that, and what was wrong with her voice? Did that husky, breathy squeak really come from her? At least he released her slightly after she spoke, even if his next words made her tummy flip over and her toes curl in the cherry-red sling backs she'd borrowed from her eldest daughter

  "Mmm, how could you blame those sexy things? Especially when they make your legs look this fantastic?"

  As the heat of his gaze traveled over her skin like a slow, physical caress, she drew in a sharp breath when he reached her abdomen. His visual inspection skimmed over her embarrassingly erect nipples before he finally settled back on her face with the most sinful smile she'd ever seen on a man.

  "How dare you? Let me go, and I will be out of your hair, before I scream and—"

  "And what? Have you forgotten that you're the one trespassing here? I could have you arrested."

  At the sound of Evelyn's voice just outside the door, the man swore in a foreign language, and the grip on her arm grew painful. He settled one large hand over her mouth, his voice an angry whisper in her ear.

  "Friends of yours?"

  Sylvia shook her head, her shriek muffled under his hand as he lifted her cleanly off the floor. He pinned her against the wall, effectively hiding them from view behind the thick curtain of the alcove, as Evelyn stepped into the room with one of the bouncers.

  "Damn, he's not here, Pete. You said he would be."

  "He should be, sugar. Knowing Sven, he's skipped off with some hot lady. Not my fault, now what about my payment?"

  The male growl in her ear made Sylvia shiver, and she risked a peek at his strong profile. The unmistakable sounds of sex reached them through the curtains, and his lips turned down in disgust.

  Oh. My. God.

  Was there nothing that Evelyn would not do for a story? It seemed Whisper’s top investigative reporter was indeed as ruthless as her reputation suggested. The sounds grew more urgent, and Sylvia rolled her eyes. Mr. Sex-on-Legs's frown changed into a smile, as he looked down on her. He slowly withdrew his hand, and raised one long finger to his mouth instead.

  Oh, this was just great. She was hiding out like some schoolgirl, afraid to be dragged to the headmaster, with a man who sent all her female instincts into hyper-drive whilst, mere feet away from them, Kathy's boss was having wild monkey sex with the bouncer from the sounds of it. She screwed her eyes shut, and wished like hell she could do the same with her ears, as her body responded to the unmistakable sounds and smells of sex in the room in a purely animalistic way. Nothing at all to do with the man stood next to her. His harsh breaths in her ear skimmed across the sensitive skin of her neck, and he pulled her closer into his long frame.

  Yeah, keep fooling yourself.

  Oh, bother, judging by the tense way he held her, Mr. Far-Too-Sure-Of-Himself was as affected as she was by the unexpected position of voyeur they'd been forced into. Who'd have thought it could be so erotic?

  “Really, does Evelyn think she's Meg Ryan, acting out an orgasm, for pity's sake?”

  Sylvia registered her companion's low chuckle into her shoulder, and opened her eyes in horror. Had she said that out loud? One quick peek at his amused eyes and the raised eyebrow confirmed that she had.

  Fortunately, Evelyn's scream, as she hit the peak of her climax, had joined the male groans of her partner in crime and drowned out Sylvia's comment. She couldn't help but roll her eyes again at the insane noise levels. Seriously? She shook her head in disgust. The man’s large hand under her chin forced her to look up into intense, blue eyes that held an unmistakable challenge.

  "Think she's faking it? Maybe he's some hot stuff, and she can't help it…"

  Heat flooded her cheeks at the tone of that whisper, which started an answering heat low in her abdomen, and she clamped her thighs together in a vain effort to stop herself from reacting. Blast it all to hell and back. Her long forgotten libido had to choose now to make its reappearance?

  "Of course she's faking it." Sylvia hissed her reply through clenched teeth, furious with her own body's traitorous reaction to the sexy stranger and grateful beyond relief for the muffled sounds of clothing being rearranged. Good. The sooner they left, the sooner she could get out of here.

  A short-lived relief, as Evelyn and her consort appeared to settle down to having a conversation. A match was struck, the immediate smell of smoke making Sylvia feel nauseous. Oh, for crying out loud!

  The whisper in her ear made her forget all about what might be happening on the other side of that curtain, however.

  "Not a screamer yourself then, or have you simply not met the man to make it happen?"

  Who the hell did the man think he was? Of all the arrogant things to say. Come on, girl. Find some backbone from somewhere.

  "I suppose this is where you're telling me your women scream in ecstasy like some stuffed pig? Fancy yourself—much?"

  Something hot and dangerous flashed in those ice blue eyes at the same time as the click of the door signaled they were alone once again. Sylvia barely managed to stifle an involuntary moan when he pulled her flush into his length. His hands cupped her backside and brought her tummy in direct contact with his groin and his very obvious arousal.

  Oh shoot! Now look where your big mouth got you!

  "Only one way to find out, lady. I'm game if you are."

  Moist heat pooled between Sylvia's thighs at the growled suggestion and the wicked smile that accompanied the words.

  "My, I'm surprised you can walk straight with an ego that size, Mister. And, for the record, I'm not interested in becoming another notch on your bedpost. Now, let me go."

  Her shove to his broad chest resulted only in another chuckle. He cupped her chin and forced her to look up into far too knowing eyes.

  "Liar! And it's not my ego stopping me from walking straight, honey. That would be all your fault."

  The way he ground his lean hips suggestively made Sylvia gasp, and, before she could think of one sensible reply, that sinful mouth swooped down. His tongue slipped into her moan, and she stopped thinking all together. Every stroke, nip, and suckle increased the fire in her veins to flashpoint, until she couldn't help but kiss him back, long forgotten needs driving her on. When his hands once again roamed to her backside, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to lock her legs round his hips. A dark thrill of feminine power shot through Sylvia at the very male groan in response, and his hands tightened on her butt cheeks as he took the kiss deeper. His hips mirrored every thrust of his tongue, pushing his hard cock further into her already drenched thong. The thin barrier of their clothing added to the friction setting her alight.

  They both froze at the shrill sound of a phone, and, with another groan, he released Sylvia gently. Her jelly-like knees would not have been able to hold her upright, had it not been for his body holding her up against the wall. With a muffled curse and a rueful smile in her direction, his breathing as heavy as her own, he flipped the phone open. Sylvia did not understand a word of the rapid conversation that ended in a curt, "Tack, George."

  "That was my driver. Let's get you out of here and somewhere more comfortable and finish this, shall we, älskling?"

  He grabbed her with one hand and propelled her along and out of the door along the narrow corridor. It led them further backstage in the elusive club before she even realized what was happening.

  "Hang on, stop, will you? I'm not going anywhere with you. I don't even know your name."

  He stopped so abruptly she would have fallen over, had he not steadied her. She couldn't read his expression at all.

  "You really have no idea who I am, have you?"

  He mumbled something under his breath, and his features softened slightly before they turned
grim at the commotion behind them.

  "Here come the vultures; no time to explain. Just trust me, will you?"

  Sylvia stared at the outstretched hand. A horrible suspicion dawned on her at what she heard behind them, but she grabbed his hand with a feeble nod. He pulled her through the approaching fire exit. The fresh air hit her like a sledgehammer, and she stumbled, barely aware of his muffled curse and the flashlights exploding around them. As bodies closed in around her, she struggled for breath. Strong arms came round her waist to hold her up, and a worried voice rumbled in her ear.

  "Are you okay?"

  Blissful darkness claimed her before she could make sense of any of it.

  Chapter Two

  Sven woke up with a smile with a warm female body nestled into his side. Her by-now familiar scent wrapped itself around his senses like a warm cocoon. Well, that had been interesting—at least until she'd so spectacularly fainted in his arms. He propped himself up on one elbow, and carefully moved the long, blonde strands of hair that covered her face, mindful to not wake her. Even with the faint smudges of eye makeup, his companion was beautiful in a classic sense and looked very young and peaceful in her sleep. His smile deepened, as he recalled the way she'd fallen into his arms all flustered. Her long hair had tumbled down her back, and the clingy sheath dress she'd been barely wearing, had showed her spectacular curves off to perfection. He'd noticed her earlier across the crowded club. Perched on a barstool, she'd looked as though she'd wanted to be anywhere else. She'd clutched her gin &tonic as though her life depended on it, completely ignoring the man next to her, who'd been trying to draw her into a conversation whilst he'd stared down her cleavage. But it had been the deliberate way she'd poured her drink into the sleaze bag's groin when his hand had wandered to her breast that had really made him chuckle—before the sight of the reporter bitch had forced him underground.