Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 98965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
“You’re right. It was.”
“So, we’re okay?”
Hating that I’d made him uncertain about us, I assured him, “We’re more than okay. In fact, there’s this one leaked photo that I kind of want to frame.”
North’s relieved chuckle warmed me all the way through. “Aye, I’m partial to a few myself. You’re so fucking beautiful.”
My cheeks heated. “I don’t deserve you.”
His voice was gruff with emotion when he replied, “You deserve the best, and so you make me want to be the best.”
Tears filled my eyes and I blinked rapidly, trying to hold them back. Maybe those three little words were difficult for me to say, but I needed him to know how I felt. “You are the best, North. The best man I’ve ever known.”
He exhaled sharply, his breath crackling down the line. “You would say that to me when there’s nearly a thousand miles between us.”
I grinned. “I’m cruel that way.”
“I can’t believe I have to wait a week to show you my appreciation.”
I shivered at the thought of what that might be. “I can’t wait.”
We spoke a little more and when we hung up and I turned back to the café, I marveled how just the sound of his voice could bring me back from the brink of panic and fear.
Twenty-Nine
NORTH
“North!”
I halted on my way to my trailer. Today’s shoot was a wrap, and I just wanted to grab my phone, get back to my hotel, order room service, and call Aria. Yesterday was the closest she’d ever come to pronouncing her feelings for me, and it pissed me off we were in different countries.
We’d talked again last night and exchanged several texts, but I wanted to hear her voice again.
I was impatient to hear her voice.
Instead, I turned to find my costar, Eden, hurrying toward me. We were both still in costume. She was in the glittering green evening dress her character wore in the scene where we first meet. The Gallic beauty had arrived on set yesterday, and so far, our scenes were going well. Our characters had chemistry, which was great for the movie. But I knew when a woman was giving me the come-on, and I was trying to make it clear I wasn’t interested without having to explicitly say it.
The brunette reached for me and pressed a manicured hand to my arm. Aye, she was technically beautiful, but she did nothing for me.
I was almost inured to physical perfection. I’d been around so much of it in this industry that it was nothing new. A person had to have something more to them to make me feel intense about them.
Like Aria.
She’d had me by the balls since we’d met.
The thought of her brought a small smile to my face, and Eden mistook it. Her fingers tightened on my arm.
“Let’s change and get a drink to celebrate a good day.”
“That’s a kind offer, but I’m just going to head back to my hotel room.”
Eden flashed me a predatory grin. “Why don’t you invite me to join you?”
There it was. I half admired the European forthrightness and confidence. I liked how few hang-ups the French had about sex. But right now, it made things awkward. I gently extricated my arm. “I have a girlfriend.”
Her perfect brows drew together. “Wesley Howard’s daughter?”
So she’d seen the articles online. “Aria. Aye.”
She shrugged. “D’accord. You know where to find me if you grow bored with your American.”
I gave her a thin-lipped look and promptly walked away.
By the time I got back to the hotel, all thoughts of Eden had fled. I wanted to shower, order room service, and call Aria. However, when I returned to the hotel, the manager stopped me.
“Mail arrived for you, sir,” he said before handing over the envelope.
A chill skated down my spine at the familiar font. And lack of address. “Was this hand-delivered?”
“A courier delivered it, sir.”
I murmured a thank-you and walked away, almost afraid to open the letter. Sucking it up, I ripped into it and pulled out the piece of typewritten paper. And some photographs.
I wonder if she knows who you really are. You don’t deserve her. You don’t deserve anything.
My pulse jumped at the sight of the photos. They were taken inside my London flat. Whoever had broken in had smashed my Golden Globe and BAFTA awards.
As I got into the elevator, I hit Walker’s contact on my phone. He picked up on the third ring. “Walk, I have a problem.” I explained the note and the photographs.
“That’s it,” he replied. “I’m sending you a list of recommendations for private security and you’re going to pick someone I can have flown out to you tonight.”
My gut clenched, but I knew he was right. “What about my flat?”
“We need to call the Met and have them look into it. This person might have left behind prints.”