A Film Star, A Baby, And A Proposal Read online

  Now that his mind wasn't filled with the circus of promoting his action movie 'Dangerous and Deadly' and dodging the third degree from journalists about his personal life, that night came back to haunt him.

  Part of his tremendous success as an actor was Matt's ability to compartmentalise his life. He had a box for his work, a box for his friends and acquaintances, a box for special people like Nico, and a box where he kept the things he was most ashamed of. The contents of the last box wasn't a particularly large one. But Eve featured pretty heavily in that box of shame. And once he'd opened the lid the memories just kept on rolling.

  They'd met in Japan during an advertising shoot for a luxury car manufacturer. Eve was a model, famous in her own right. And no air head either. She was smart and clever and gorgeous and they'd hit it off. He had to admit that right from the start he'd done all the chasing. In the beginning, she hadn't been eager to have a relationship with a famous actor because of the notoriety and the tabloid press. She'd insisted on a no-strings fling, which had suited him at the time. He'd been more than happy to go along with her demands. But things between them had got too hot too fast.

  Looking back, and hindsight was a bitch, he should have known right from the get go that the sex was phenomenal because it wasn't simply sex with them and never had been. Just thinking of it now made blood drain south and his dick reach for the sky.

  The way her body clenched and released around his had blown him away. Actually, she'd been pretty good at that, too. The memory of her mouth on him made him go rock hard. The sting of it had him hiss in a breath. The sound of her soft cries as he'd buried himself again and again in her slick, wet heat made him groan out loud. She was like his drug of choice, he could never get enough of her. Then the memory of the look in big eyes the colour of malt whisky, all hazy with satisfaction as she lay naked in her big bed hit him. He had no problem imagining running his fingers through slippery hair the colour of copper spread across a white pillow. She was all legs with soft as silk skin and perfect breasts just made for his hands. And what a face. A face created by God's angels. It was her face as he'd kissed her goodbye seven weeks ago that haunted him still because he'd recognised something in those fabulous eyes that terrified him.

  Need.

  Hurt.

  And most terrifying of all, love.

  Annoyed, he started to argue with himself.

  He hadn't asked her to fall in love with him, had he?

  He didn't want to be needed and she'd be the last person in the world he'd hurt. Banging his forehead on the shower wall Matt accepted the simple truth that he had hurt her. He'd promised faithfully to call her. And he'd broken that promise. The hundred and one excuses he'd made to himself disgusted him now. He'd been too busy. Too tired. Too attracted. And the worst of the lot, he'd used the passing of time as an excuse that it was too late.

  Now he'd jumped off the relentless treadmill of hotels, premiers, parties, and wall to wall promotion, he had the luxury of time to think.

  Shame for the way he'd handled things sliced into his heart. He knew his behaviour towards Eve, right from the beginning, had been an absolute disgrace.

  For nine months he'd dropped in and out of her life. She was a strong woman with her own super successful modelling career. She was ballsy and stubborn and determined and didn't take shit from anyone. And yet, she'd let him do it to her. Without complaint or pressure she'd let him come and go. His mouth twisted with self disgust, more coming than going if the truth be told. He'd known at the time he was getting in too deep with her and knew he should have nipped the relationship in the bud. He didn't do relationships.

  Worse, he'd ignored the many voicemails and numerous text messages from her over the last six weeks. And that was appalling behaviour. She deserved more than that. A lot more. The steel between his legs ached so bad he wanted to stroke it to relieve the endless sting. But he'd be damned if he was going to jack-off in the shower like a teenager suffering from hormone overload.

  Dammit.

  He should have told her he was back.

  To be honest, he should have told her a lot of things.

  He wasn't a stupid man, usually.

  But he'd made an absolute mess of his relationship with her.

  And he was going to have to fix it.

  The question was where to start and how to explain himself to her.

  Christ, he missed her.

  His hand slapped off the water and he whipped a warm towel off the heated rail, wound it around his waist, then grabbed another to scrub his hair. Hair that one besotted columnist called a sexy inky black. The way it fell to just above his shoulders had had the ladies of the gossip press getting their panties in a twist for weeks. And that he had to admit was the downside of fame. The unwanted attention might annoy the hell out of him, but when a man had come from nothing he never, ever, took the money, the success and even the negatives for granted. He was one lucky son-of-a-bitch and he never forgot it. Mathias Carter, formerly Matt Jones, had learned the hard way that the only person he could rely on was himself because every single person he'd ever loved in his life had left him.

  Just like the way he'd walked away and left Eve, a little voice reminded him.

  Dressed in his favourite comfy jeans and a soft sweater of black cashmere, Matt strolled into the sitting room on bare feet. He noticed the food trolley and brunch had been tidied away. And he could smell Christmas. In the centre of the table sat a huge clear glass vase brimming over with a festive floral arrangement, waxy flowers in creams and winter green foliage. A gas fire flickered lazily in an enormous stone fire-place. And somebody had lit up the big candles inside clear globes on the mantelpiece. Scented candles he realised as the festive aroma of vanilla and cinnamon slid through the room.

  On arrival he hadn't had much chance to get his bearings before he'd crashed. Now he admired the three over-stuffed sofas in forest green and gold velvet. The fat chairs with matching footstools looked comfortable tucked in next to the fire. The slim antique serving tables stood against the wall on either side of the fireplace with their stone urns crammed with winter foliage and berries, above which tall mirrors reflected a skinny winter sun. Slap bang in the middle of a wide bay of three arched windows sat a perfect Christmas tree at least twelve feet tall. He inhaled the scent of Norwegian pine, decorated with hundreds of twinkling ivory lights and a variety of clear glass baubles. And what appeared to be hundreds of small birds in lime green and gold. The whole effect was one of understated luxury and elegant design.

  He had to give Nico his due, his pal knew how to ensure his guest's every comfort. All Matt needed was a warm and willing Eve, happy yo-ho-ho holiday music and the Christmas scene would be complete.

  Not much chance of a warm and willing Eve, not now.

  He checked the time on the big brass carriage clock in the centre of the mantelpiece. Two o'clock in the afternoon. Too early for a whisky?

  The decision was taken out of his hands by a brisk couple of knocks on the door.

  What the hell was it now? he grumbled under his breath. This place was busier than Piccadilly fucking Circus.

  He opened the door.

  Annoyance drained away to be replaced by strange mix of utter joy and sheer bloody terror.

  Chapter Three

  Matt blinked and for a moment wondered if his imagination had conjured up Eve out of thin air.

  Fiery hair of gleaming copper was piled in a messy knot on top of her head.

  Eyes the colour of whisky slammed, hard, into his.

  All he could think was, Christ, she looked fabulous.

  She wore a beautifully tailored military style coat of black cashmere that fell to her knees. Flat over-the-knee boots of black suede, black leggings and shirt of ivory silk.

  The part of his brain that was still functioning realised she was carrying an expensive looking holdall of soft black leather.

  Without saying a single word Eve Langan walked passed him into the room. He took
a breath and inhaled the scent of her shampoo and warm woman. Her signature scent seemed to capture him and pull his body towards her like steel shavings attracted to magnet.

  The overwhelming need to touch her made him feel dizzy as he closed the door.

  Turning to look at him, Eve dropped the bag on the floor and fisted her hands on her hips.

  Those amazing eyes bored holes in him.

  Shit.

  Okay, so he was in trouble and knew it. She had every right to be angry with him. Every right, so he'd just need to suck it up, let her get in her big licks and he'd take it like a man.

  His heart might be attempting to escape through his ribs but Matt leaned back against the door and folded his arms and tried to look very cool.

  He was an award winning actor for Chrissake, he could do cool.

  A perfect brow rose in a way that told him she was not fooled.

  Shit.

  Silence.

  He couldn't stop his hungry gaze from soaking up the sight of her. There was something different about her but he couldn't put his finger on it. Her stunning mouth with the full bottom lip was naked, exactly how he liked it. That mouth was made for sin. And God knew it had done plenty of sinning on him. As if reading his dirty mind those fabulous cat eyes glittered with temper as they narrowed into his and the nostrils of that fine nose flared.

  And just like that every single blood cell in his body rushed to his groin.

  Those narrowed eyes slid from his eyes, to his chest and south to that part of him pressing hard against his zipper and the pink tip of her tongue licked her lips before her eyes flew back to his.

  Matt wasn't sure, but he thought he might have whimpered.

  He couldn't remember a time when his legs had ever trembled. But Jesus, they were trembling now. The errant thought that maybe he should drop to his knees spun into his brain. Perhaps he could save them both time and get it all over with. He was quite prepared to beg her to forgive him for running from a relationship that had got totally out of hand, for ignoring her calls, to say that he was sorry.

  He opened his mouth but all that came out was a pitiful, "Eve?"

  Perfectly arched brows shot into her hairline.

  "It's very cool that you remember my name," she said, and he saw no love in her heart for him. None. Her usual honey-poured-over-fresh-cream tones now solid ice. And his heart kicked in his chest because she was standing there like a warrior ready for battle and he knew, he absolutely knew without a shadow of a doubt, that he was a dead man. Those eyes lasered into his as she continued, "For a while there I wondered if you'd had some sort of memory lapse, maybe a brain seizure. But no, I see you all over the news wittering on about the movie and giving the appearance of a man who is fully compos mentis."

  The wittering on part of the statement dinged his ego. He was an award winning actor, he never wittered. He resented her use of the words.

  Before he could object to the way she'd cast an aspersion on his ability to string more than two words together, she'd shrugged off her coat and tossed it on a chair next to the fireplace.

  Then those endless legs took her on a tour of the room.

  Fascinated by the way his system was on a state of high alert around her, he struggled against an overwhelming need to grab her, strip her and take her right on the floor. Dear God he wanted her so much. But although he knew sex might slake a raging thirst in the short term, it wasn't the answer. Instead he watched her slide fingertips over the low slung couches, sniff at the fresh flowers and take her own sweet time studying the Christmas tree.

  Then she turned to him, moved to place her hands on the back of a couch and took a very deep breath.

  And all the while those cool eyes stayed on his.

  "Why didn't you respond to my messages?"

  It was a good question.

  A reasonable question.

  "Because," he said, and something in those too serious eyes told him to tell her nothing but the honest truth. She deserved it and he might be able to let go of a little of the guilt. "We... I mean I... was getting in too deep, with you. I don't do commitment or relationships. I'm no good at them. If you remember we talked about it right at the beginning and said no strings?"

  He puffed out a breath. That hadn't been too bad, he'd managed to tell her the truth, so why did he feel like someone had slugged in him the gut with a baseball bat?

  Her response was to tuck her chin onto her chest and he noticed her knuckles had gone bone white as they gripped the couch. After an endless moment during which she appeared to be thinking very hard, her head lifted and her eyes searched his.

  "We haven't done a lot of talking since we met, have we?"

  That was very true, he admitted.

  Their careers were demanding and so full-on that any time they'd had together had been precious hours, maybe a couple of days if they were lucky, in hotel rooms or in her London apartment. And they'd been too busy getting naked to talk. So far, the press hadn't got wind of their little fling. And Matt wanted to keep it that way. He was also honest enough to admit he was a selfish bastard who wanted Eve to stay here with him for the festive season at Ludlow Hall. Originally he'd booked in for two weeks. Maybe, if he got lucky and she forgave him he could stretch it to three. Privacy was a big part of the pull for celebrities who stayed at Ludlow Hall. Security was the best.

  Matt frowned now as he wondered how she'd found him.

  As if reading his mind her beautiful mouth twisted.

  "Tobin told me where you'd gone to ground." With that announcement his eyes went wide with the shock of betrayal by his agent and close friend. So Eve was the surprise Tobin was referring to? Still eerily reading his mind, she continued, "Don't blame him. I told him it was an emergency."

  Emergency?

  Now he studied her carefully and realised that heat had flared in her face and now drained away leaving her too pale. Her hands were trembling a little before she'd the tucked them under her armpits.

  His brows met as he realised she was nervous, of him.

  Eve didn't do nervous.

  Alarm unfurled in his gut.

  "What sort of emergency?"

  Instead of answering her whisky coloured eyes flicked between his and then her smooth brow creased. "Remember the weekend in Paris?"

  Man, did he ever? Three months ago he'd taken her against the door, on the floor, in the bed, out of the bed, in the shower. She'd been like an animal and he'd loved it.

  Matt grinned.

  In response her chin lifted and very quickly he realised his mistake as her arms were now held too stiff at her sides, her hands bunched into fists.

  Shit.

  Chapter Four

  How the hell was it possible, Eve wondered, for a woman to want to get her hands on that fabulous body, to feel the heat of smooth skin under his sweater, and want to kill him at the same time?

  When she'd walked past him the scent of his signature shower gel and pure Matt had made her close her eyes and take a deep breath. The irresistible impulse to touch him was so strong she fisted both hands.

  What had made her think she could just walk back into his life and remain unaffected by his face? A face that had stopped her heart the first time she'd seen it in real life and a face that broke her heart as she looked at him now. Those fantastic blue eyes looked wary as he stood there, all long and lean with those amazingly wide shoulders. His black hair was a mess and it appeared he hadn't shaved in days. It should have turned her off since she liked her men neat and tidy. Nothing neat and tidy about Mathias Carter, never had been. And there was nothing neat and tidy about why she was here either. Thanks to him her life was a shambles. Bastard.

  Now she glared at him.

  Matt wiped the grin from his face and cleared his throat.

  "Sorry."

  "Not as sorry as I am," she muttered under her breath but his eyes went wide as he caught it.

  Those blue eyes were staring at her with an intensity that made the nerves i
n her belly quiver with an arousal that just floored her. And made her hate him for it. She should hate him. Hadn't he walked away and ignored her calls? He'd tossed her aside. Discarded her like a used grocery bag. There must be something fundamentally lacking in her as a woman, as a person, that the men she loved more than life simply tossed her away when they were done with her. How could she have made such a huge mistake? Again. Then she reminded herself that she wasn't here to get him back. She didn't want him back. No, today wasn't about her.

  Battling a toxic mix of anger, disappointment and a horrible arousal, Eve had no idea where to begin, what to say.

  Silence.

  Tension now rose in the room so thick Matt could taste it on his tongue, coating the back of his throat.

  Something was going on and he hated the feeling that he was somehow in the dark.

  "Look, Eve..." he began.

  "I'm pregnant."

  Shock made his brain stutter to a halt.

  His stomach fell as if it had dropped down a lift shaft.

  "You're what?"

  She flinched, went white, and he knew he shouldn't have yelled at her like that.

  But Christ, Jesus.

  Pregnant?

  Now those beautiful eyes filled with something like hurt, pride, and a blistering disappointment, in him.

  His heart hurt so badly in his chest it was difficult to take a breath.

  But how?

  He'd used protection.

  He always used protection.

  Then he frowned trying to remember if that had been the time when he'd been in too much of a hurry and realised after the event that the condom had burst?

  He'd told her, hadn't he?

  Maybe not.

  Holy hell.

  He'd meant to tell her.

  Scrubbing a hand over his face, in his hair, Matt desperately tried to kick-start his stunned brain.

  The fact she'd been trying to contact him and he'd deliberately ignored her hit him hard now.

  Fuck.

  She was angry and rightly so.

  Shit.