Cindy Dees - High-Stakes Bachelor

She wished the woman luck but held out no real hope of Minerva succeeding. After all, Jackson had been a superstar for nearly five years and could have had pretty much any woman on the planet in that time. But he’d never shown the slightest inclination to get married. There was no reason to think things would change at this late date.

Still, she gave the neckline one last downward tug before heading downstairs. Next to the library was a music room with a grand piano dominating the space. On a shelf behind it, she spotted...

Oh, my God. Is that an Oscar? She moved into the room and stopped before the famous statue on the mantle over a huge fireplace.

“I won that for being a coproducer on a documentary last year. I’d like to win another one with the new production company,” a male voice said from behind her.

She whipped around to face Jackson, the skirt swirling around her hips.

His eyes went wide as he stared at her. “Ana, what happened to you?”

Alarm slammed through her. She reached for her hair, her face. “What? What’s wrong?” She hadn’t seen any major bruising when she’d checked herself in the mirror before she came downstairs. Most of her scrapes and scratches were on her arms and hands. Amazing really, considering what she’d been through.

“You’ve got—” He broke off. “You’re—”

Her alarm escalated to panic. “What the hell’s wrong, Jackson? I’ve got what?”

“Uh. Breasts.”

She stared back at him. “I know. But what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he mumbled. “You just look...”

She strode over to him and stared up at him. “You’re scaring me. Tell me what’s going on, right now.”

“Jesus, Ana. Nothing’s wrong. You just look like...a...a woman. A hot one. With great...well...cleavage. That dress... You in it... Christ...” he mumbled.

Oh. She stood down from threat mode, letting out the breath she’d been holding. He’d scared the hell out her for a minute there. A little irked, she said, “I’ve been a woman all day, you know.”

“Well, yeah. But you weren’t wearing stuff like that when we were fighting.”

“The operative word being fighting, ” she retorted. “Kinda hard to do that in heels and a French manicure.”

He cleared his throat and finally managed to tear his gaze away from her chest. She owed Minerva a big thanks later. At least the guy had finally figured out she was not only a girl, but a marginally attractive one. For him, that was apparently a big breakthrough.

“How about that tour of the rest of the house now?” she asked.

“Uh, yeah. Sure.”

He guided her through the mansion. It was a fairly simple layout, actually. A series of spacious rooms opened off the original central hall that ran from front to back. She gathered a kitchen was beyond the dining room he showed her and servant quarters were off in another direction. The entire back of the house was new and boasted big picture windows looking out on the ocean. The blend of old and modern was seamless and comfortable.

“There’s Gran on the veranda. Looks like Rosie’s got dinner ready.”

“Rosie?”

“Gran’s housekeeper, cook, companion and second-in-command around here. Be warned, she runs a tight ship. Don’t cross her.”

A tiny, gray-haired woman stepped into the family room just then. “Jackson Prescott. What lies are you telling your lady friend about me?”

“Rosie, this is Ana. And this is the infamous Rosie McKay.”

Wow. She was used to being the shortest person in a room, but Rosie barely reached her nose. The woman must not top four foot ten. But her eyes sparkled brighter than a sparrow’s and she looked ready to take on the world.

“Don’t listen to a thing that boy says about me,” Rosie declared. “Lies. All of it.”

Ana grinned. “I won’t listen to what he says about you if you won’t listen to what he says about me.”

“Agreed. Now head on outside. Supper’s served, and don’t you dare let my famous fried chicken get cold.”

She shooed them out through the French doors. Ana sank into the wrought-iron chair Jackson held for her, acutely aware that from his vantage point he was getting a great look down the front of her dress. She hoped he liked what he saw.

The moon rose as they dug into the platter of chicken and fruit salad. The simple meal settled her stomach and made her feel better. There was just something comforting about home cooking. There hadn’t been a lot of it in her house growing up. She’d mostly fended for herself by the time she was in school full days.

A chill crept into the air, and Ana was chagrined to feel her nipples puckering beneath the thin fabric of the dress and the thinner lace of the bra. God, did she have to go and starting nipping now?

Darned if Jackson hadn’t noticed it, too. He took in the view unabashedly, and darned if Minerva didn’t take in him taking it in, as well. Ana couldn’t be sure, but she thought she caught a hint of a smirk in the older woman’s expression. Schemer.

“So, dear. Do you feel like talking about today or would you rather not?”

She shrugged at Minerva. “There’s not much to tell. I walked out to my car to meet Jackson for dinner and some guy jumped me from behind. I didn’t see his face. I fought and screamed, but he hit me in the side of the head and apparently knocked me out. Someone called the police and... I was lucky. Then Jackson came and rescued me from all those medical people and their needles in the emergency room.”

“I did not—”

She threw him a withering look. “We’ve already been over this. You rescued me. I’m grateful, and you can just get over it.”

Minerva chuckled in delight. “Oh, I like her, Jackson.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Stay here as long as you’d like, dear. It’s entirely too much house for one person to rattle around in.”

“What about me?” Jackson complained.

“You’re always haring off to who knows where, and when you’re home you practically live over at that studio of yours. You’re gone more than you’re here.”

Ana grinned. Salty, the woman was. She officially liked Minerva back. They finished the meal with Jackson glaring at his grandmother, Minerva smiling smugly and Ana privately enjoying his discomfort. He struck her as the type who was used to always being in control, always in charge, always self-contained. It was refreshing to know he was a real man with real feelings and not some kind of robot under all that movie-star perfection.

Rosie came out to clear the dishes and Jackson jumped up to help her. He hauled in the heavy stuff while Minerva topped off Ana’s water and refilled her own wineglass.

As Jackson disappeared inside the house, Minerva asked, “How long have you and Jackson been together?”

“Uh, we’re not together. We just met today at an audition.”

Minerva looked visibly startled. Not his style to bring home his casual conquests, huh? Ana added by way of explanation, and in defense of her own morals, “I don’t think he even noticed that I’m a girl until he saw me in this awesome dress.”

“Oh, I noticed,” Jackson groused from the doorway. “Just because I was too professional to make a pass at you when I was lying on top of you in your audition doesn’t mean I didn’t notice.”

Ana gulped as Minerva smiled archly. “She does wear that dress rather well, doesn’t she?”

“Yes. She does.” Jackson’s voice was low and deep. Sexy. Slid across her skin like velvet. “Would you like to see the beach, Ana?”

“There’s a beach around here?”

“I blasted one out of the rocks a while back.” He moved over beside her chair and held a hand down to her. “Let me show you.”