Chapter 1
Chapter One
S etting the stage
“You need to get up, Bambi. This isn’t the way to win a part in my movie.”
“But you haven’t let me show you how talented am I,” whined the buxom blonde Pamela Anderson wannabe.
“Oh I have no doubt you’re talented, but this isn’t the time or place. I’m waiting for some?—”
“The windows in this limo are tinted black. No one will see.”
Ty swatted away the woman’s hands each time she attempted to grasp his family jewels, wondering how in the hell he got into messes like this.
“That’s not the point. I’m at the airport to pick someone up and the flight has already landed.”
“So your friend can join us when he arrives. There’s plenty of me to go around.” Bambi thrust out her barely covered breasts. Those babies must have cost her a pretty penny.
“I’m picking up a woman.” He hoped that fact would deter the so-called actress.
“Man or woman. I’m not fussy. She won’t be disappointed either.”
Ty tried not to growl in frustration at the woman’s relentlessness. He’d asked the temp agency to send over a secretary and he’d expressly stated No actresses . Miss Bambi Starr was quickly pushing him to the brink of losing what the tabloids liked to refer to as his infamous Ransome temper.
“I’m going to tell you one more time to get up, Bambi.”
His words fell on deaf ears as the woman finally managed to get a hold on the zipper tab of his suit slacks. Of course, her death grip on his balls had distracted him a bit. Her head began to lower toward his lap, and he hastily put his hands in her hair to push her back.
Unfortunately, at that exact moment, the door to the limousine opened and Gwen Preston was ushered in, unaware of what was happening until she sat down and his driver slammed the door behind her.
“Oh.” Gwen’s eyes widened at the racy image he and Bambi were presenting. “I’m sorry. Shit. I-I?—”
She quickly turned her face away from them, and Ty could see from her reflection in the window that she’d closed her eyes tightly. The loveliest blush crept up her slender neck. Jesus, an innocent woman. He’d lived in Hollywood so long he’d forgotten such a creature existed.
As Gwen’s hand crept to the door handle, he quickly reached out to grip her wrist. “Wait.”
She turned to look at him, her face a mixture of anger and surprise.
“Bambi.” He pushed the silly actress away from him and then opened his car door quickly—all with one hand. He refused to release Gwen. “I want you to go sit up front with my driver.”
When she looked as if she intended to argue, he let the reins of his temper go. “Now!” He shouted loud enough that both women in the car jumped. His yell also attracted the unwanted attention of a dozen or so people milling around the outside of the airport.
“It’s Ty Ransome,” someone screamed. He pushed Bambi out of the car and slammed the door. Bob, his driver, slid down the glass partition, no doubt realizing a mob of fans were about to descend on the car.
“Sir?” Bob asked, awaiting instructions.
“Give Bambi one minute to join you up there. If she isn’t in this car by then, leave without her.”
Bob nodded and slid the glass back up.
Ty glanced over and noticed Gwen quietly taking in everything with a scowl on her face. From her perspective, he must look like the world’s most heartless bastard—getting his jollies from some bimbo before kicking her to the curb.
Dammit.
This was not the way he’d planned for this meeting to go. He desperately wanted—oh hell, he needed Gwen to work with him on the project he’d invited her to California to discuss.
“You can let go of me now,” she said tersely.
“I can explain.” He heard the front passenger door slam, and the car took off with enough speed that he and Gwen were thrown back against their seats just as cameras began to flash around them.
With the car in motion, he released her wrist.
“You don’t owe me any explanations. I’m a big girl, and I’m perfectly aware of what was going on. Perhaps you should ask your driver to pull over so Bambi—was that her name?”
He nodded once and struggled to regain control of his increasing ire. “Gwen?—”
She ignored him. “So that Bambi and I can switch places. Clearly she wasn’t done, and as I have no intention of finishing what she started, I’d hate for you to die of an acute case of blue balls.”
He took several deep breaths, hoping it would calm him down, but clearly nothing was going to make today better. It had started its downhill spiral when his personal assistant quit first thing this morning.
Then his chef had inadvertently set a small fire in the kitchen because Ty’s insane ex-girlfriend had decided to sneak into the house and put his favorite pair of Gucci leather dress shoes in the oven. As a result, he’d asked his manager to change all the locks in his house to prevent the woman from enacting any other petty acts of revenge.
Then the co-producer for his current project threatened to walk over some minuscule plot point, and the studio bitched about the amount of money he’d spent on the film he’d just completed. The fact they stood to make a killing on the movie didn’t matter. Greedy bastards always wanted more.
Between the temp agency siccing Bambi on him and Gwen’s refusal to listen to his explanation, he felt as if his head was going to explode.
“I can only imagine how it must feel for a man with your legendary sex drive to?—”
“You may want to reconsider finishing that statement,” he barked. “Not one more word, Ms. Preston. I mean it.”
“Tell your driver to drop me off at the nearest hotel. I think our negotiations have ended.”
He shook his head, unsure where his anger toward Gwen had come from, but the fact of the matter was his cock had been soft as a down pillow when Bambi had been trying to blow him. That state had changed rapidly the second Gwen entered the limo.
She looked different in real person, but considering he’d only ever seen her once on a television interview, that wasn’t surprising. She was a petite, willowy blonde with porcelain skin, unusual in sunny California. Her bright blue eyes flashed sparks of anger at him, yet despite her ire, he was assailed with an instant attraction.
He was used to beautiful women. Hell, he was surrounded by them twenty-four seven. Gwen wasn’t beautiful by Hollywood standards, yet she was certainly striking, even alluring.
“Oh no, Gwen. Our negotiations haven’t even started yet.”
“I thought that you were different, but you really are as arrogant and chauvinistic as the tabloids say. I don’t usually believe those rags, but I think they were dead-on where you’re concerned. I’m going to tell you one more time to let me out of this car, Mr. Ransome, or I swear to God, I’ll slap you with a kidnapping charge so fast it’ll make your head spin.”
He grinned at her, aware the look only fueled her anger further. They’d corresponded through email and phone calls regularly during the past few weeks, and he had felt they were striking up a friendship. He regretted his harsh words, but he couldn’t shake the image of her on her knees in front of him. He’d have to make amends, because he wasn’t about to let her get away, regardless of her paltry threats.
“Gwen, I apologize for my rudeness. I can assure you I am the man from the phone calls. Today, well, my only excuse is that it has been a rather long, painful day.”
“It’s only ten a.m.”
He nodded and sighed heavily. “Nonetheless, I am sorry. How was your flight? Pleasant, I hope?”
She narrowed her eyes at his abrupt about-face and quick change of topic. “Mr. Ransome?—”
“Ty,” he corrected her. She’d been calling him Ty on the phone for weeks, and he loved the sound of his name spoken in her sultry voice.
She shook her head and started to refuse, but he reached over and placed a gentle finger against her lips.
“Call me Ty.”
He could tell by her erratic breathing she wasn’t as unaffected by him as she seemed. Perhaps she was also feeling the overwhelming heat that was making it difficult for him to concentrate despite the cool air-conditioning blowing over them.
“Mr. R—” He pressed his finger harder against her lips. For a moment, he considered silencing her another way—by placing his lips against hers. He could just imagine using his tongue to caress her mouth, to slowly study the contours of her warm, sweet lips.
“Say Ty, Gwen. Say it right now.”
“Ty,” she whispered.
Blown away by her capitulation and the sexy, husky nature of her voice, he shook his head, trying to regain his wits.
What the hell was he thinking?
Christ, he knew what he was thinking—he had a hard-on that could drive nails into concrete, and that lack of blood to the brain was driving him to say stupid shit.
Dominant by nature, he was usually able to keep his darker side under wraps, especially around strangers. However, Gwen didn’t feel like a stranger. She felt like someone he’d known forever, and he could tell by the flush on her face and soft panting that she wasn’t immune to his commands.
However, she was looking at him with suspicious eyes.
Anxious to recover lost ground, he cleared his throat. “Now that we’ve gotten the issue of names out of the way, I think we should discuss a timeline for writing the script. Figure out a schedule and draft a rough outline of the story. I’ve taken the liberty of setting you up in my guest house for the duration of your stay.”
“I haven’t agreed to write anything and I’d prefer to stay in a hotel. I believe I mentioned that on the phone.”
Her voice was calmer and he was pleased to see her earlier anger had abated. Her confidence was reemerging. It was that self-assurance that led him to issue his offer. He’d seen an interview she’d done several months ago on a local cable channel. Her poise and quiet intelligence had spoken to him so deeply he’d gone out and purchased everything she’d ever written.
When he’d read a collection of short stories she’d co-authored entitled Evening Songs , his attention had fallen from her to her co-author on the book, Michael Haynes. It was Haynes’ story “The Darkest Night” that had sparked his serious interest and planted the seed of turning the stories into a screenplay.
For weeks, he’d attempted to find the elusive writer and had almost given up hope. Then one night, he’d met a producer friend and his wife in New York for drinks. The wife worked in the publishing business, so he’d casually mentioned Haynes. She’d told him that Michael Haynes was actually a pseudonym for Gwen Preston. Gwen had written all the stories in Evening Songs , including “The Darkest Night”.
“I think you’ll discover I didn’t get where I am today because I accept the word no easily. Why don’t you save both of us a lot of time and wasted energy by merely agreeing? You said yourself in our last email communication that you were fascinated by the idea of seeing one of your stories on the silver screen. I’m offering you that opportunity,” he said.
“I’m still not sure why you’re offering me that chance. I’ve never written a screenplay. Isn’t it standard Hollywood procedure for someone else to buy the rights and write the script?”
“I have experience with scriptwriting. I hope that by collaborating, you and I will bring to the screen the same emotion, the same powerful characters and stimulating plot that you incorporate so flawlessly in your fiction. I truly suspect that between the two of us we can make one of the hottest movies of the year.”
What he didn’t say was that he was damn tired of being one of Hollywood’s action stars. It was an image he was finding harder and harder to maintain as he got older.
It was time he focused on the future. He was desperate to establish himself as a serious actor and a talented producer. Gwen’s story had the potential to help him break free of the macho-man image he hated.
“You still haven’t told me which of my books you intend to use. I’m not sure I understand your secrecy on that point or why you insisted I meet you in person.”
“I would like to make a movie using the stories in Evening Songs .” His words jarred her more than he would have imagined, and he immediately noticed her slight discomfiture when he mentioned which book he was interested in.
Her face paled and her eyes drifted downward. “Well, then you’ve wasted my time and yours. As you know, I wasn’t the only author of that book. I only wrote two of the four stories.”
Ty grinned as her cheeks lost all color. She was a horrible liar.
“You and I both know you wrote all the stories in that collection. Please don’t insult me by continuing to deny it.”
“Well done, Sherlock. How much did that information cost you?” she asked.
“Four martinis.”
“Nice to know my privacy comes so cheap. Tell you what. Skip the hotel. Tell your driver to take me back to the airport.”
“You won’t even consider the idea of making these stories into a movie?”
“Three words, Mr. Ransome. Three words that should explain to you why this project will never work. ‘The Darkest Night’.”
He leaned back against his seat and pondered her concern. “It’s a terrific story, Gwen. I’m interested in making a movie with the four vignettes combining to form the larger work. There seems to be a trend on these kinds of multiple plot movies and I think the stories in Evening Songs would make a marvelous film. Academy Award material. I’m afraid I’m not sure what your concerns about ‘The Darkest Night’ have to do with making a film adaptation of the entire book.”
“It’s rather hardcore for Hollywood, isn’t it? I mean, how do you expect to make a movie that dabbles in sadomasochism and bondage without crossing the line into pornography?”
“It can be done. I see this movie as more of an artistic endeavor, an in-depth character study of the couples in each story. Of course, there’s no reason to worry about the how-to of the filming until we actually get the script written.”
She shrugged, worried lines forming on her brow as she glanced toward the front of the limo. Clearly she hadn’t forgotten about the Bambi incident. “I’d rather stay in a hotel while I consider your offer.”
She leaned back and crossed her arms under her breasts. He knew she meant the gesture to be standoffish and perhaps a bit protective, but he was staggered by the abundance of all-natural flesh beneath her shirt.
Christ, he hated breast implants and was delighted to see that under her clothing, Gwen wasn’t carrying around anything she wasn’t born with.
“ And as I said, that seems a waste of money. Come stay at my place, take a few days to decide, let me show you around Hollywood. If you agree to my proposal, the guest house will be yours while we work on the script. I should warn you, my schedule isn’t exactly what you call normal. My days are typically quite busy due to public appearances, meetings, work at the set. However, when we decide to start writing this script?—”
“If we start writing this script?—”
He grinned. “When we start, I really believe it would be better if you were close by while we’re working, so that neither of us is traveling during the wee hours to or from a hotel. With you ensconced in the guest house, we can work whenever we like.”
She sighed and turned her head to glance out at the passing scenery.
“Gwen, I know this may sound strange, but I feel as if I know you, even though our acquaintance has only been through email and phone conversations.”
She smiled and nodded. “I feel the same way but, Ty, I’m going to tell you right now, I’m not some movie star groupie and I don’t want to be surrounded by orgies or whatever other depraved things you may do in your house.”
He smiled, flashing his million-dollar dimples at her. “I’ll reschedule all my orgies until after you leave.”
She fought back a smile at his joke. “I mean it. If we’re going to work together, I insist that we keep things professional.”
He forced his head to nod in accord, even though his body was reading him the riot act for agreeing to such a thing. He had absolutely no intention of maintaining a professional distance from her. Something about her called to him, and he would be damned if he denied himself a taste of her sweetness.
He decided he really did owe her a decent explanation for Bambi. He prayed his words would set her mind at ease about him as a person.
“I hired Bambi this morning as a temporary replacement for my personal assistant. Apparently she thought a blowjob would make me inclined to hire her for a role in one of my upcoming movies. I know what it must have looked like to you, but I was pushing her away when you got into the limo.”
She looked over at him and he could tell by the look in her eyes that she believed him. A genuine smile crossed her face, and he was amazed by the transformation as she burst into peals of laughter.
He reconsidered his previous thought—she was beautiful.
“You poor man,” she said between gasps. “You must have been terrified.”
He let her have fun at his expense, relieved to see she wasn’t still thinking of him as a male chauvinist pig. He soaked in the sound of her laughter and grinned.
“Well, there’s some good news for you,” she teased. “If we actually write this script, you have your leading lady all lined up and ready to go.”
“Hell will freeze over before Bambi Starr lands a part in any movie I make.”
Mention of Bambi’s full name sent her into fits of laughter again. “Gee, I wonder if that’s her given name.”
The car pulled into the driveway of his house and her giggles ended on a sharp intake of breath.
“Oh my God,” she whispered.
He was used to seeing people’s expressions when they pulled up to his mansion. It was decadent in the extreme, and he thought perhaps he should feel guilty for the ungodly amount of money he’d pumped into the house.
Some small insecure part of him had never gotten over the feeling of growing up in a tiny one-room apartment, constantly worrying about the bills and where the next meal was coming from. He was determined he’d never let welfare checks feed him again, nor would he sleep in a cold, drafty room, wishing for the slightest bit of warmth.
His greatest regret in life was that his mother hadn’t lived long enough for him to set her up in a mansion of her own. She’d struggled throughout his entire childhood to care for him alone, and he’d never had the opportunity to reward her as he’d wanted to for her unending love and care.
“Holy shit,” she murmured. “Your house is as big as a hotel.”
“So now you see why I insist that you stay here. We could wander around for weeks and never run into each other.”
She nodded her head, still smiling. “You’re right about that.”
“Will you promise to give some serious thought to this project? I really do believe your book will make an amazing film.”
“My agent mentioned yesterday that the publisher wants to sell the story rights to you, so it will be a movie whether I want it or not. I have to admit I was a bit miffed at the publisher’s secrecy about which book you wanted to use.”
“The secrecy is my fault. One of the conditions of the contract was that I would reveal the title of the book to you. Another was that you agree to cowrite the screenplay or the offer will be rescinded.”
She paused and he sensed he surprised her with his words. “So if I say no?”
“The movie won’t be made.”
“I suppose your lawyer has contracts drawn up?”
His heart leapt at her question. “Absolutely.”
“Give them to me. I’ll take a look at them and then fax them to my agent. I’m not saying that’s a definite yes, but since I’ve come all this way, I guess I should at least take a peek at what’s in it for me.”
He laughed at her mercenary jest. She was a woman after his own heart. Perhaps the day hadn’t turned out so badly after all.
“Come on. Let’s get you settled in the guest house and then we can have some lunch out on the terrace. We’ll talk about the script.”