The Housewife and the Film Star (2 page)

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.

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 vic
ious 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 know 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."