The Housewife and the Film Star Read online

  Damn it, he should have left then, but he hadn't wanted to be on his own with the anniversary of his brother's death this close, and he needed to get laid, simple as. He hadn't realized how badly until this mystery lady had ended up in his arms and the instant chemistry had sprung up between them.

  He did like his women bratty, and she'd not disappointed when he'd finally caught up with her. If her passionate responses in that alcove were anything to go by, they were going to have themselves a shitload of fun, if he had anything to say about it. That's if she didn't kill him when she woke up. Admittedly, he'd had no choice but to take her with him, after she'd passed out on him, but he got the distinct feeling she wouldn't see it that way. He didn't even know her name.

  Best haul your ass out of bed then, man.

  With one last lingering look at the sleeping beauty, he headed for the shower and ignored his flashing phone. So much for keeping a low profile whilst in London. No doubt the pictures of the two of them would be all over the papers by now. Skit, he was supposed to tidy up his image, not add to the womanizing rumors, no matter how hot the woman in question was, or how much he looked forward to making her blush again. Not to mention how much his fingers itched to redden her ass, and that urge he hadn't indulged in for far too long.

  ****

  Sylvia woke up slowly. Late morning sunlight streamed into her eyes. Darn it, had Timmy opened her curtains again? The silk sheets that slid across her bare skin wrenched a content moan from her. Silk? Before her still sleep-befuddled brain could process that information, the sight of Mr. Sex-on-Legs strolling into the bedroom completely naked made her dive back under the sheet with a shriek.

  Oh. My. God. Don't look down. Do not look down.

  In fact, screwing her eyes tight shut seemed to be by far the safest option right now. His amused chuckle caused heat to rise in her cheeks. When would she learn to control that annoying habit, damn it?

  "Why so shy, mystery lady? You certainly weren't last night."

  No. Oh, no. We didn't, did we?

  She risked a peep in the general direction of that sinful drawl and was rewarded with another deep laugh as her eyes settled on the man's broad chest located right in front of her. A light dusting of chest hair caressed pectorals to die for, narrowing down over a six pack toward—oh my.

  "Like what you see, mystery lady?"

  Oh, hell, how had she gotten herself into this mess?

  "Stop calling me that. I have a name, for pity's sake, and would it kill you to put some clothes on?"

  The amused snort she heard as the bed dipped next to her sent her heartbeat into overdrive. He tugged one strand of her hair and pulled her closer into his warmth, and his clean, just-showered male scent enveloped her.

  "Being this is my hotel suite and you're naked in my bed, getting dressed now would surely be a complete waste of time, älskling."

  Oh, fucking hell.

  Sylvia scooted as far away as the scant cover of her sheet would allow. She cursed her blinking hormones. They made her want nothing more but to take the man up on the blatant invitation in those ever darkening eyes smiling down on her, but this just wasn't her. And, please God, they hadn't done anything last night. Surely she'd remember that?

  "What time is it?"

  "I've no idea. Why? Got a husband you need to rush back to?"

  "What? No. I mean, that's none of your business. I just need to get home."

  Oh, fuck, she must not cry, not here, not now. What the hell was up with her this morning? The suddenly heavy silence between them was shattered by a vicious curse, and she winced at the menacing glare he threw toward her before he mercifully pulled on faded jeans and stalked from the room.

  "Shower is yours. I suggest you use it. You'll find your clothes in the bathroom. I'll be next door."

  He slammed the door with such force, Sylvia jumped.

  What the hell had she said to make him that angry?

  ****

  Fuck, he needed a drink. How the fuck was he going to get out of this? Sven gulped the ice cold bottle of beer down in one go. Thank God for well-stocked mini-bars. His flashing phone caught his attention. He winced seeing six messages from Vera, his PR lady, and long-term friend. His blood reached boiling point during the enlightening phone call that followed. To think she was married had been bad enough, but this…

  Sven paced the length of the living area of his suite like a caged panther. He was such a goddamned fool. This whole thing had setup written all over it, hadn't it? Not knowing who he was … damn it. That had been such a turn on. She'd played her act well—he had to give her that.

  How he’d managed to stop himself from grabbing her cute ass out of the shower and throwing her out of his suite he would never know.

  Think, man, think. Damage limitation. That's what was needed now, according to Vera, and he needed to keep his wits about him when she finally reappeared out of that shower. What was taking her so long?

  Another vicious curse in Swedish almost drowned out the soft female gasp behind him, and his gut clenched when he saw her stood in the doorway. Hair still wet from her shower, her teeth worried that full bottom lip, and she stared up at him with huge, blue eyes. Fuck, she looked damned hot, trying to tuck the skirt of that sinful dress lower down her thighs. The action only served to give him a better view of her fabulous cleavage, and he groaned under his breath as all his blood shot south. Damn it, he was not going to be ruled by his cock, no matter how neatly packaged the bait. By God, he hoped she was paid well! She bloody deserved an Oscar.

  "Is everything all right?"

  Her wobbly, breathy voice made him clench his teeth. He schooled his features into indifference, grabbed the damning newspaper, and threw it toward her.

  "Everything is just fine and dandy, Sylvia. I'm assuming that is your real name?"

  The newspaper fluttered to the floor in front of her, and, if anything, her eyes grew wider. One hand went to her mouth—and damn it if she wasn't swaying. She wasn't going to faint again, was she? And what do you care if she does, man? This is all an act, Remember?

  Nonetheless, he took a step toward her, relieved to see some color come back into her cheeks, and he grabbed her round the waist to steady her. She leant into him for just a second, before she pushed against his chest, and he let her go.

  "Oh God, you're Sven Larsson, and we're all over the papers. I'm going to kill her!"

  What the hell was the woman going on about now?

  ****

  Sylvia's heart beat so fast the blood rushed in her ears. What had she done? Not only was she plastered all over the newspapers, she had spent the night with Sven Larsson for God's sake. The man had a reputation a mile long, none of it good, and the bloody cow had named her—named her for fuck's sake! God, she had to get home. With a bit of luck, this would turn out to be just a particularly bad dream, brought on by too much champagne. Surely she would wake up in a minute back in her own bed with Timmy jumping all over her as usual.

  The disdain in the male voice washing over her robbed her of that hopeful illusion. His accent was thicker now. How the hell had she not noticed last night? She might not go to the movies a lot, but Larsson was a household name. His height alone should have made her realize it was him, and, damn it, hadn't it been her mission to find him?

  Congrats, girl, you more than succeeded. You fucking excelled!

  "You're going to kill who exactly? Do enlighten me. I would love some insight into that deceitful little head of yours."

  "I'm deceitful? Says the man who dragged me back to his hotel suite to do goodness only know what. Why the hell did you not tell me who you were? I'd never have gone with you, had I known."

  "Oh, cut the bull, lady. Of course you knew who I was, but I've got to give it to you. You should go into acting. You certainly had this mug fooled. But what could I expect from the likes of you?"

  The scathing once over he gave her body hit Sylvia like a physical slap. How dare he?

  "I don't kno
w who you think I am, but if you think for one minute that I'd choose to be associated with a man like you, then your ego is even more inflated than I first thought."

  His sneering laughter just annoyed her more. He turned his back on her, and she swallowed. The faded denim of his jeans showcased his tight butt to perfection. Unwanted heat coiled low in her belly. She remembered that he hadn't bothered with underwear, and the equally tight black vest top he now wore only emphasized his broad shoulders. The muscles in his biceps flexed as he raised another beer bottle and swallowed its contents in one long gulp. God, the man really was sex on legs, and she had to get home and away from him. The best sex in the world wasn't worth this, and, besides, she couldn't remember a thing about last night, damn it. You'd think she would at least remember something for God's sake. What was the point of all this public humiliation and the tongue lashing she knew would be waiting for her at home, if she couldn't even remember sleeping with the man?

  "If you just call me a cab, I'll be out of your hair."

  "I don't think so, lady. Vera is working on a gag order right now, and, until I hear from her, you're staying right here. There will be no kiss-and-tell story. So sorry to disappoint you, but your neat little plan backfired. No pound of flesh today, other than the filth already spread by your reporter friend."

  That did it!

  "Who the hell do you think you are to talk to me like that? I can assure you Evelyn Jones is no friend of mine, and why on earth would I want to broadcast a kiss-and-tell story about you? Haven't there been enough already? Perhaps you should try acting for a change, instead of forcing yourself on unconscious women."

  The furious snarl her shouted words elicited from him made her jump. She backed away as he advanced toward her, a murderous expression on his face. Oh, hell, he looked ready to kill her.

  Good going, see what your big mouth has gone and done now.

  Larsson's temper was as legendary as his womanizing, and, right now, it was all directed toward her. He backed her up against a wall, and one hand braced on either side of her head, he caged her in. His deep breaths were as heavy as hers, and, heaven help her if his glaring down on her wasn't the sexiest thing ever. Sylvia clamped her thighs together and bit into her bottom lip to stop herself from reacting. But there was nothing at all she could do about the moisture between her legs and the way her nipples strained against the confines of her bra. His suddenly heated gaze travelled over her, and his mouth hovered over hers. God, he smelled so good. The faint woodsy scent of his aftershave mixed with his own pure male arousal. She shut her eyes to at least cut out one of her senses that threatened to lead her astray.

  His low whisper against the fevered skin of her neck made her moan, even as his words both appalled and aroused her.

  "I've never taken a woman against her will, and you can't tell me that you aren't wet for me right now!"

  Oh God!

  "I'm not!"

  The rasp of morning stubble against her neck sent a renewed burst of moisture into her already slick pussy lips, and his knowing chuckle made her groan as he kissed his way along her jaw line.

  "Open your eyes, and look at me, if you want to convince me of that, but your body gives you away, my sweet. I can smell you want me."

  Sylvia did force her eyes open then, only to lose herself in the depths of the ice blue gaze that held her captive.

  "That's as may be, but it doesn't mean I have to act on it." With strength she didn't know she had, she pushed him away from her and ducked under his arms, only for one strong hand to clamp against her arm and yank her back into his hard frame. Damn, there wasn't an ounce of fat anywhere on that torso, and the bulge in his jeans left her in no doubt that he wanted her as badly as she did him.

  If only he wasn't this big star and she was free to just let herself go for once, but she couldn't afford to. She just couldn't.

  "Please, just let me go. I need to go home. You won't need any gag order. I won't say anything. Please, I'm sorry about the pictures, but the bitch pulled me over the hot coals, too. I never wanted any of this. And regardless of what it says in there, I do not work for Whisper."

  Damn, she was not going to cry. She was stronger than this.

  "You expect me to believe that?"

  His tone was cynical, but his bruising grip on her arm lessened slightly. He used one thumb to wipe away the single tear that managed to escape down her cheek.

  "Quit the waterworks, lady. It doesn't wash."

  He gentled his grip on her further, however, and Sylvia found herself pulled into his frame once again as the tears started in earnest. She clung to his chest, grateful for his strength.

  ****

  Fucking hell, why did she have to start to bawl? He never knew what to do with a crying woman. And, not only that, but all the fight had gone out of her as she clung to him. It almost made him believe her. Almost. But he would be a fool to let her go. He knew nothing about her other than what was written about her in Jones's column, which wasn't much. So why was she getting so hell-bent out of shape at having been named in the paper? Okay, the pictures left little to the imagination. With her curves almost spilling out of her dress, she was draped all over him, and she looked as though she'd had a good seeing to, but, fuck, they could have gotten much more explicit ones, considering what they had almost done in that alcove. Skit, had there been cameras? He would have to get Vera on the case, before Jones's gossip mag got hold of any possible tapes, if they hadn't already. That was all he needed.

  Fortunately, she seemed to have stopped crying. She tensed in his arms, and he reluctantly let her go.

  "Are you going to tell me what that outburst was all about?"

  She looked up at him with tear-stained eyes, and the hopeless expression pulled at his protective instincts. Skit, what was it about this woman that got to him and had him acting so out of character?

  "I'm sorry. It won't happen again. I just really need to get home, please."

  "Why? What's so damn important at home?"

  She straightened her shoulders and wrapped her arms around herself. Sven couldn't help but admire how the action pushed her breasts up even more. His body reacted in typical fashion. If it was a deliberate move on her part, he couldn't tell, but he doubted it, the way she was staring far away lost in thought. Had he got her all wrong? Was she as much of a victim in this as he was? After all, Mamma always accused him of being far too cynical. But she was a hopeless romantic and saw only the good in everyone. Years in the business had taught him otherwise. The enticing bundle of curves in front of him had been in the club last night, dressed to kill, and she'd as good as admitted that she knew about Jones's plans. If they had somehow backfired on her, too, well, that was just too fucking bad.

  "Are you going to tell me? Or do you need more time to get your lies straight?"

  The fire in her eyes made him smile. That was better. Sassy he could deal with. The tears and vulnerability she'd displayed moments before just made him nervous.

  "I. Do. Not. Lie! Not that I expect you, arrogant oaf, to believe me. I need to get home to my son. He'll be wondering where I am."

  Sven whistled under his breath. Heck, he hadn't been expecting that. But, then, the faint marks on her belly should have given him a clue. It's not as though he didn't know about babies. Sven pushed the uncomfortable thought back. He'd have to ring home later anyway, and this woman's private life was none of his business.

  "How convenient to remember him now. What the fuck were you doing at the cattle market last night if you've a son to take care of?"

  Two high spots of color on her cheeks and her rapid breaths gave her away. She turned on him, fists raised. Her steely gaze bored into him, as she pummeled his chest.

  "How dare you? This coming from playboy-extraordinaire Larsson, who never had to think of anyone other than himself all his goddamned life! How dare you make assumptions about me? Not that it's any of your business, but that was the first time I've been out in ages, and, thanks to you
, I'm in no hurry to repeat the experience. Ever. For fuck's sake, I don't even like clubs, but Kathy insisted, and then … oh, what's the use, you'd never understand."

  As quickly as her outburst had started, it subsided again, and she defiantly stared him down.

  "Who's Kathy?"

  "My soon to be ex-friend! Not that you'll believe this, but I'm going to tell you anyway. Kathy is Evelyn’s assistant and desperate for a promotion. This whole girl's night out was her idea. Jones decided to tag along at the last minute, insisted that we had to get to this club, so she could get the latest goss and, well, apparently she spotted you and wanted her story, and you know the rest."

  "So, you decided to sell your soul for a quick buck?"

  Her exasperated female growl was the sexiest sound he'd heard in a long time, and he found himself smiling down at the agitated woman in front of him. No matter what happened, he had to have her and soon, and damn the consequences.

  "I did not sell anything. I owed Kathy a favor, but I was trying to hide and get home when you, fool, decided to hold me hostage. Why the hell didn't you let me go? But, no, you have to take me back to your hotel, for God's sake. Talk about giving the bitch yet more ammunition at my expense."

  "So, this is all my fault now, is it, lady?"

  Christ, trust a woman to turn this all round on him.

  "It is your fault. If you weren't you, then you wouldn't have all the paparazzi after you, and folks like Jones desperate for a story. You played right into their hands. What were you doing at the club last night, if not looking for an easy fuck?"

  Amusement bubbled up at him at the horrified look in her eyes as she clamped one hand on her mouth, shocked at what she'd just said.

  "If I was looking for an easy fuck, as you so succinctly put it, then I screwed up royally picking you, wouldn't you say?"

  "Yeah, and don't you forget it, Mister!"

  He still chuckled to himself a little while later when he handed his little spitfire over to his driver George with instructions to take her home. His life had just got damned complicated, and he was fucked if he knew what to do about it, other than screw her senseless to get her out of his system. And, damn it, if he didn't look forward to sparring with her again.