Superstar (2 page)

There,
at last, the enormity of her situation dawned upon her. She was
alone in a strange country. What was she to do now? Mark Lord had
sent her no address, not even a phone number. Was he meeting her at
the airport? Surely not. Droves of paparazzi would hound him, and,
if he came in disguise, how would she recognise him? A man pushed
past her, almost knocking her over, and she glared at him as he was
engulfed in the arms of a waiting woman with three children.
Scanning the crowd, she spotted a group of formal looking men
holding up name boards. Her gaze lighted upon one with her name on
it, and she hurried over to the pleasant looking young man who held
it. He was tall, and a little on the chubby side, with short sandy
hair and a blunt-featured face, and his dark brown eyes shone with
amity. When she arrived before him, he lowered the sign.

"Miss
York?"

Carrin nodded,
then staggered as someone pushed past.

The young man
put out a hand to steady her. "Mr Lord sent me to collect you. I'm
his chauffeur."

Relief washed
through Carrin, and she smiled up at him. "I'm really glad to see
you. I was feeling rather lost."

The chauffeur
nodded. "You looked it. My name's John."

Carrin
experienced a resurgence of confidence as John took her bag and led
her through the luxurious airport. At the sliding doors, a sleek
grey limousine waited, an airport security guard watching over it.
John opened the door, and she slid into the cool,
leather-upholstered interior with a mixture of awe and intense
pleasure. She gazed out through the tinted windows while John put
her suitcase in the boot. Running her hand over the silky leather
seat, Carrin looked around at the sumptuous deep grey carpet and
the gleaming wood inlay on the doors and console before her. When
she glanced out of the window again, she was surprised to find that
the car was moving. With a soft whine, the window separating her
from the driver sank down, and John's eyes met hers in the
rear-view mirror.

"If you want
something to drink, there's a bar in front of you. There are some
snacks in the fridge too. It's a long drive, so relax, Miss
York."

Carrin nodded,
studying the console with renewed interest. It took only a moment
to figure it out, and she sat back with an ice-cold glass of orange
juice. As the car whispered along, she gazed at the passing
scenery. Curious stares from other motorists made her shrink back
into the soft seat, and a glance at John caught him grinning. He
cleared his throat in embarrassment.

"Don't worry,
they can't see through the tinted glass."

Carrin smiled.
"They'd be awfully disappointed if they could."

John's eyes
twinkled. "Mr Lord likes his privacy."

"Do they know
that this is his car?"

"No, but only
important people drive around in cars like this. Mostly they're
just rich business tycoons, not movie stars."

Carrin relaxed
as they left the city and glided onto a freeway. "Where are we
going?"

"To his house
in Beverly Hills. He's at a meeting with a producer at the moment.
As soon as I've dropped you off I'll be going to fetch him, so
you'll have time to settle in and freshen up."

Carrin nodded,
her heart pounding at the prospect of meeting Mark Lord. She
watched the passing scenery, sipped her drink and nibbled on chips
and pâté. Leaving the freeway, they drove through broad, tree-lined
avenues. High walls and hedges guarded the privacy of those who
lived in the mansions that lined the road. It was not until they
pulled up before a set of enormous steel gates that her heart
started to flip-flop again.

The
gates clicked and swung open to admit the car into a secluded
garden of clipped hedges, flowering trees and gay floral boarders.
Gravel crunched under the tyres as they drove up to a double-storey
house. The imposing mansion had a pleasant air of a home about it.
Creepers adorned the walls and hung over the windows. The limousine
halted, and John opened her door. As she stepped out into the cool
garden, filled with sweet scents and birdsong, Carrin became all
too aware of her wrinkled jeans and cheap T-shirt. John extracted
her suitcase from the boot, then mounted the shallow steps to the
polished wooden door and rang the bell. Within moments, a uniformed
maid opened it, and John returned to his limousine. The girl's cold
eyes raked Carrin's cheap outfit, her lip curled.

"Welcome, Miss
York." The maid's tone did not match her words, and contempt filled
her eyes. "I'm Helen."

Helen
picked up Carrin's suitcase and turned away before she could reply.
As she followed the girl up a curving flight of marble stairs,
Carrin wondered why such a lovely girl worked as a maid. Helen's
raven hair gleamed in its upswept coiffure, and her creamy skin
glowed in the subdued lighting. Her pale green eyes gleamed like
jewels between thick black lashes lavishly coated with mascara, and
her tight uniform revealed luscious curves and long tanned
legs.

Carrin
followed Helen through the gracious white marble halls without
really noticing their beauty. Rare paintings graced the walls and
subdued, recessed lighting bathed potted palms in pools of warm
light. What chance did she have of impressing Mark Lord when even
his maid was so lovely? Helen showed her into a bright, spacious
bedroom furnished elegantly in pale salmon pink and white with
hints of light grey. Everything looked brand new, from the soft
grey carpet to the spotless pink and white linen on the four-poster
bed. Lacy curtains fluttered in the breeze that blew in through the
glass doors that opened onto a balcony.

Carrin went
over to it and gazed out. Below, a second manicured garden
surrounded a marble pool filled with sparkling blue water. Carrin
turned to find Helen opening her suitcase.

"Oh, don't
worry about that, I'll unpack it later."

The maid
straightened and raked Carrin with a contemptuous glance. "Very
well."

As she
turned to leave, Carrin asked, "Would Mr Lord mind if I use the
pool?"

Helen stopped
at the door. "I'm sure he wouldn't, Miss York. You are, after all,
his guest."

Carrin
nodded, aware that she had made herself look even more of a hick.
After Helen left, she sat on the bed and contemplated her well-worn
shoes. Her nervous euphoria had turned to despair, and she longed
to burst into tears. Her sense of inadequacy rankled, and
resentment replaced it. So, she was poor, so what? So her wardrobe
consisted of jeans and T-shirts with two faded dresses.

Her
family laughed at her dreams, the chauffeur condescended and the
maid outranked her in beauty and poise. So what? She was here to do
business with Mark Lord, not worry about what he thought. Her
romantic dreams had to take a back seat to reality now, and she
would look like a complete idiot if she revealed the slightest hint
of her feelings for him. She rose and changed into her costume and
sarong. Undoubtedly Mark Lord would be several more hours at his
meeting.

Barefoot, she padded down the hall and found a door onto
the pool area. A professionally landscaped garden surrounded it,
complete with rare tree ferns in ceramic pots and a gazebo in the
distance smothered with climbing roses. Hedges bordered bright,
freshly planted flowerbeds, and spreading trees shaded the expanse
of lush lawn mowed to putting-green perfection, complete with
dead-straight stripes of light and dark green. The clipped grass
tickled her feet as she trotted to the pool's deep, inviting
coolness. She dropped the sarong on a reclining pool chair and
enjoyed the breeze. Her swimming costume was almost new; she had
bought it a few years ago for a trip to the coast and only worn it
for the few days that she had spent at the seaside. The bright
blue, silky material of the sleek one-piece suit matched her
eyes.

Determined to enjoy herself, she crossed the last few steps
to the pool at a run and hurled herself into the water. The splash
was rewarding, but she surfaced gasping in shock. Instead of a cool
dip, the
warm water did nothing to refresh her. Swimming to the
side, she pulled herself out and sat on the edge to mop water from
her face and shake it from her hair.

"Of all the
damn stupid ideas," she muttered. "Is he so rich he can't even have
cold water in his pool?"

"I like it
warm, and since I usually swim at night, when it's cooler, it suits
me."

Carrin
gasped and spun around. There he was. Mark Lord: superstar. His
eyes flicked over her and came to rest on her face.

"Welcome to my
home, Miss York. I hope the rest of it comes up to your
standards."

Carrin
realised that her mouth was open and closed it with a snick of
teeth. Her eyes remained riveted to his. She could not tear them
from his piercing gaze. His crooked brows, which she had seen so
many times on the big screen, rose. He glanced at the pool,
breaking the spell. Carrin tried to swallow her pounding heart,
which was doing a fandango in her mouth, and wiped water from her
face. Rising to her feet, she snatched up her sarong and wrapped it
around herself before turning to face him again, feeling slightly
less exposed. A slight, seductive smile tugged at one corner of his
sensual mouth. Oh yes, she had seen that little smile many times
before, and drawn it, too. She raised her chin and met his gaze
again.

"You startled
me, Mr Lord. I thought I was alone."

"Or you
wouldn't have been making rude comments about my pool."

Carrin's
hackles rose. "It is rather warm. On a hot day it's nice to swim in
cool water."

"Then you
should have used the other pool."

"Other
pool?"

He pushed his
hands into his pockets and sauntered closer. "Yes, the one on the
side of the house, which I use for daytime parties and such. This
one is for my nightly dip."

Carrin
folded her arms. "I didn't realise you had so many. Most people are
content with one."

Mark Lord
shrugged. "I have five; another at my ranch in Louisiana, one at my
holiday home in Spain, and one at my house in England. That one's
also heated."

Carrin noticed
his distinct lack of accent. He had hardly any of the nasal
American twang. He stopped near her and turned to contemplate the
garden, allowing her to study his famous profile. She looked away,
not wanting to be caught gaping at him.

"Well, if you
don't mind, I'll go and dress."

"Why?" Mark
Lord swung back to face her, looking surprised. "You wanted a cool
swim, go and have one."

"I came here
to do business, Mr Lord, not for a holiday."

He almost
smiled. The wish to was obviously there, but she had never seen him
smile. "My dear Miss York, I invited you to stay here for a week,
and while you're in my home, you must feel free to amuse yourself
any way you wish. Our business will be taken care of; there's no
rush."

She
smiled. "Thank you, but I feel refreshed enough, and it's
getting late."

He glanced at
the setting sun and shrugged. "As you wish. Oh, I'm having a little
dinner party tonight, just a few close friends."

Carrin's eyes
widened. She had barely enough clothes to wear during the day, and
definitely nothing to wear to a dinner party.

He
cocked a brow. "What's wrong?"

"Er, I don't
think I'm feeling up to a dinner party tonight, actually. Jet lag,
you know."

"I expect you
to attend, Miss York. My friends want to meet you. You can retire
early if you wish."

Carrin's
mind boggled. She was a failed writer of no note whatsoever from
the backwoods of South Africa. Why would he want his friends to
meet her? Was she to be the freak on show? Did they expect her to
wear a springbok-skin skirt and walk around with a pot on her head?
She was not ashamed of who she was, and if her lack of smart attire
embarrassed him, that was his problem. He was not as tall as she
had expected. He looked tall in films, yet he was no more than four
inches taller than her, and she was only five foot seven. His black
silk shirt was open at the neck to reveal an expanse of smooth
tanned chest. Well-cut matching trousers, a gold watch and grey
shoes completed his tasteful outfit. Becoming aware that he was
still waiting for an answer, she inclined her head.

"I'll see you
later then."

"Around seven.
Helen will show you where we are."

Carrin
re-entered the house, aware of his eyes on her back and wanting to
run. In her room, she changed into dry clothes and sat in front of
the mirror. Her hair was damp and wild, and she dragged a brush
through it, but it just curled back into its former state. Compared
to Helen, she looked like a waif dragged in from the rain, or
backwards through a hedge. To make matters worse, there would
undoubtedly be beautiful women at the dinner tonight. Carrin
shrugged and pulled a face.

"You know you
don't have a hope in hell anyway, stupid. Why even bother to
try?"

Well,
she had met him. Any romantic notions were unrealistic anyway. A
lot of things about him had surprised her, too. He was not only
shorter than she had expected, but slender, though well built.
Without the benefit of film make up, his face was not as striking,
yet nothing could detract from the perfection of his features.
Sighing, she dragged herself from her dream and went to
shower.

Carrin
glared at the contents of her suitcase, now spread all over the
bed, in despair. How the hell was she going to dress for dinner?
She picked up her best pair of black jeans and hurled them across
the room. She couldn't wear jeans to dinner. That left a floral
skirt and a doubtful collection of blouses. She picked up the skirt
and held it against herself. The material was so thin it was almost
see-through. Usually she wore a petticoat with it, but of course,
she had neglected to pack one.