HOT SET: Playing with Fidelity (A romantic suspense novel) (4 page)

Six—
months later, they married in a park overlooking Sydney Harbour.

Mark quit
his job as a lecturer to start a home architectural business and soon had more work than he could handle. They moved from Mark’s bachelor flat into a trendy semi on the north side of the harbour. Within three-months of moving, he’d hired another architect and a graduate and had leased a small office two-blocks from their home.

The only glitch in their
contentment was trying for children. She’d been off the pill since before they married and it was now over two years and nothing. Her cycles had always been sporadic with long breaks between menstruations. The fertility specialist she wanted to see was in high demand and had an eleven-month waiting list. She’d booked in the week before so it would be a long wait. At least she could have the joy of cancelling if she did fall pregnant.

Overall,
Kate was happy with her life. She still missed New Zealand and the homesickness was a heavy ache in her chest, and she wanted a baby even more, but tried not to think about those points. Mark wanted to stay in Sydney but perhaps one day she’d convince him New Zealand would be a great place to raise their hoped-for family.

Rhys
Bradford stared calmly at the statuesque blonde woman across the dining table with slightly narrowed, forest green eyes and a lilt to his lips. She eyed him back with no expression; her flawless skin a smooth camouflage to her thoughts.

“
Five hundred thousand,” she said, her low voice causing one of Rhys’s eyebrows to rise mockingly. He paused and leant back in the outdoor restaurant chair, the afternoon sun lighting up his thick, long-cut brown hair, picking up natural, sun bleached streaks of blonde. He steepled his fingers in front of his face, pressing the tips just under his mouth, causing his lips to pucker slightly.

“
Five hundred thousand? You know as well as I the artifact is worth one point two mil.” Amelia Rhein carefully smiled, her perfectly made up face hardly moving.

“
It doesn’t matter what I think. Mr Smith is adamant it’s worth five hundred thousand and that’s all he’s prepared to pay.”

“
Nine hundred,” Rhys returned, his voice slightly rough with both invitation and excitement at the negotiations.

Amelia registered a hint of arousal at his low voice and she looked at his relaxed form, his long legs spread out from the curved chair, his handsome face watching her carefully and those
bedroom eyes… oh those eyes.

“
Six hundred and fifty thousand” she said and she leant forward over the table so he caught a glimpse of black bra underneath her dark grey suit jacket.

“
You play a tough game, Ms Tobin.”

“
Always, Mr Campbell.”

Rhys
dropped his relaxed pose and leant forward so their faces were only inches apart, mirroring her stance. He held her gaze for a moment, his green eyes glinting and not shifting. Then, he moved forward and whispered in her ear, “Seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

Amelia
shivered, now definitely aroused, her senses tuning up as his hot breath tickled her ear. She didn’t let him see any change in poise or expression and into his ear she whispered, “done.”

Rhys
pulled back just enough to take her mouth in a sumptuous kiss, his mouth controlling hers over the remains of the dinner they’d just eaten. He reached for her jacket lapel and pulled her forward to deepen the kiss. Despite herself, Amelia’s breasts tingled, her head swam and her skin tightened at the tantalising caress of those famous lips.
Sweet God
, she thought.

“
CUT!” called the voice over the loud speaker. Rhys broke the kiss and seeing Amelia’s slightly glazed expression, grinned. He got up from the table and wandered off set where his Executive Assistant, Mira, handed him a bottle of Evian which he sculled in one go.

This movie wasn’t going to be one of his best; a typical Hollywood blockbuster with a poor script disguised with end-to-end action sequences
. But it paid well. It was set around the ruthless world of artifact collection where he extracted priceless artifacts from one thief and sold it to another for profit. He played the womanising, totally arrogant Alex Campbell, who, despite his questionable choice of career and reputation with women, was totally delicious. The script was predictable, set mainly in San Francisco, but it was guaranteed to be a hit with lots of car chases, priceless treasures and gorgeous people.

Mira was giving him the run down on the day’s production schedule when Amelia spoke up behind him.

“You could have given me some warning, Rhys.” Rhys turned and dropped his gaze down her tightly fitted, low-buttoned grey jacket that sat snugly on a straight knee-length skirt and high, silver stilettos. He could see the edge of the expensive-looking lacy bra peeking lasciviously from behind the lapel. A dark grey stain with flecks of red tomato was smeared across her right breast and lapel and two long rivulets of grease had reached the waist pocket. The jacket was ruined. Mira walked away, allowing them to talk.

“
That kiss pushed my cleavage into the plate. The script said, ‘small kiss with promise’.”

“
You didn’t seem to mind.”

She raised an eyebrow at him
, put her hands on her hips and boldly said. “Well then, you can take me to dinner as compensation for ruining this suit.”

Rhys
gave a snort, “that suit belongs to Wardrobe.”

“
Still, what do you say?”

Rhys
blinked mutely at her. His brows dropped into a trademark ‘W’ shape of contemplation. He didn’t usually date co-stars, it got in the way of business. Rhys was, if anything, a professional, and on-set dalliances he had studiously avoided. However, the movie was a fortnight from completion, Amelia was striking and sassy and they seemed to have a connection. Besides, he had nothing on that night and so decided to agree, “why not?”

Amelia smiled widely at
him. “I’ll meet you in the hotel lobby at eight o’clock,” she said, turning on her heel and walking away sharply on long legs. Rhys felt a tiny flash of irritation at her presumption to dictate the details.

Mira returned and he told her of the
tonight’s date; she just nodded and made a note in her phone calendar.

“
You’re finished for the day,” Mira said, consulting the production sheet she was given every morning by the Assistant Director. Rhys nodded and said goodbye to the Director then walked the two blocks to the hotel with Mira scurrying along beside him, her neat figure only just keeping up, neither noticing the gaping, elbow-nudging stares from passers-by.

They walked
briskly through the modern green lobby, Rhys’s six-foot-four, broad shouldered frame causing heads to turn even before they registered his celebrity. He was used to people whispering around him and had blocked it out. He stepped into the silver lift at the opposite side of the foyer with Mira, where she swiped his hotel card and pressed the ‘P’ button and it hummed smoothly to the penthouse level, opening on lubricated rails. They walked across the rich, chocolate and grey carpeted foyer area and opened his grey suite door. His agent, Sal, was in the room talking on his ever present blue-tooth head set, words spewing from him at a hundred-miles an hour as he negotiated what sounded like the conditions for Rhys’s next movie.

Rhys
acknowledged Sal with a wave and while Mira went to the study, he wandered into the bathroom, stripped off and stepped into the hot shower jet, washing off the make-up and grime; typical accruements of an outdoor film set. He showered quickly; a habit after living in a country with constant water restrictions. He threw on his Calvin Klein boy leg underwear, a pair of Diesel jeans (both free from a promotional shoot) and wandered topless out to where Sal was still gesticulating wildly as though the caller could see him.

Sal briefly glanced at the movie star has he sauntered into the room and rolled his eyes
before pointedly turning away. Rhys was in peak form, his tall body sculptured into solid muscle from the regular running, surfing and cycling. He was broad shouldered and tanned with a narrow waist and a fine trail of dark hair ran across his chest to disappear below his jeans. Rhys’s hair was cut for the movie in a long-top-short-sided do which at that moment was plastered wetly in a Lurch-from-the-Adams-Family style straight down his forehead, stopping just above his eyebrows. His dark green trademark eyes looked bemusedly at Sal’s antics before moving off to the kitchen where he grabbed a red apple and munching on it, wandered back into the lounge area where Sal was finally finishing up his phone call.

“
Can you put a shirt on? You’re disgusting.” Sal was five foot eight, paunchy, balding and openly critical of Rhys. He was also one of the smartest and ruthless agents in the business and Rhys was glad to have him.

Rhys
grinned, “No.”

“
Bastard”.

“
So, what has the call about?”

“
None of your business.”

“
Bastard.” Rhys grinned and took another bite of the apple.

Sal sighed and slopped down in a
chocolate leather lounge chair. “Media Pictures Australia is doing an independent film in Sydney and Central Australia and they were hoping to get you on board for the movie, due to your background, stardom etcetera.”

“
Etcetera, hey?”

“
Yeah”

“
Keep talking’.”

“
An archaeologist person, I think, hears about some sort of special paintings in Central Australia and along with his frumpy female assistant, they trek into the desert with lots of things happening at the end. It’s supposed to be a great script.”

Rhys
paused for a moment then shrugged, “get them to send it through.”

Sal
harrumphed his assent, pressed a button on his phone and restarted his expansive monologue from the chair, his legs now joining his arms as he conducted his conversation.

Rhys
and his half-eaten apple walked to the study to see what Mira was doing. She was typing furiously into a laptop.

Mira was in her late 50s. She’d been a high-end Executive Assistant her entire working career and looked the part with her carefully maintained ash blond shoulder-length hair, sharp chocolate brown pant suit, pink blouse and brown low-heeled shoes. Large pearls adorned her ears and on her left wrist was a small gold Tag
Heuer watch which had been a gift from Rhys a few Christmases ago. A classy pair of bronze-coloured glasses sat on her small nose, which, combined with her indoor-job fair complexion, made her look at least ten years younger.

Rhys
had found her when he first moved to L.A. after he couldn’t manage his schedule any more. The agency had included her in their list of potential candidates and he’d warmed to her immediately, hiring her 20-minutes later. He’d earned his trust a hundred times over since then and he couldn’t do without her. He paid Mira exceptionally well and gave her great working conditions, including working the hours of 9:00-5:30 and weekends off, even when travelling with him. After a series of irrational, demanding bosses, Rhys was a dream to work for and Mira repaid him with loyalty, discretion and an exceptionally organised life. She’d have several tempting offers from other celebrities over the years but had refused each one, treating Rhys like an adopted son, in addition to her two grown children.

“
You don’t need to hang around.”

“
Okay, I’ll just finish up your itinerary and will be off.”

Rhys
logged into his laptop and he checked his emails. He had several from his family in Australia, one from his best mate Dean who was filming in Canada, one from an old school friend and the usual notifications selling Viagra and weight loss. He sent an email to Dean telling him he had an ‘appointment’ with Amelia that night knowing Dean would get a kick out of it. He started writing a short email to his mum in response to her customary warnings about drinking too much and not brushing his teeth. He was 31, an established movie star commanding more than $5 million per movie and yet his mum still treated him like a kid. Rhys smirked tenderly at the thought.

But he didn’t mind, he missed her
.

A lot, actually.

Without warning, long dormant homesickness and loneliness washed his superstar façade away.

He had hundreds of acquaintances, even had a girlfriend or three and he was
very successful, but apart from his best mates Dean and Michael, there wasn’t anyone in Hollywood he really connected with. He missed his family, his hometown of Brisbane, the feeling of belonging and acceptance, not for his money or his powerful position in Hollywood, but just for him. He was tired of moving around from city to country, always being someone else, all the hotels, planes and fans…

Rhys
suddenly decided that unless the script for Sydney was completely defunct, he’d go home for a while, even if they weren’t paying much. He felt better with that decision, opened an Australian news web page and began surfing. Mira called a hearty “goodbye” just as Sal let him know the script was being emailed. Rhys browsed for a few more minutes before checking into his emails to find it in the inbox. He opened it and began to read.

It took a furious and constant buzzing on the door before he dragged his eyes away from the screen
. He looked at the time on the computer: 8:30! Amelia!

Shit.

Rhys hollered for Sal and realising he’d gone, hurried to the front door and threw it open. There stood a very angry Amelia, hands on hips. She was wearing a dark blue, knee-length halter dress that was moulded to her long body like a second skin. Her blonde hair was pulled back tightly in a high bun, pulling her blue eyes into a cat-like shape which glared at him beneath long, mascara-blackened lashes. Her creamy complexion was pink with anger.

“
I don’t like being stood up.”

Rhys
had the sense to blush. “Sorry, was reading a fantastic script and lost track of the time. You should see it…”

“
Don’t give excuses Rhys.”