Leslie Kelly - Six Hot Summer Nights

Oh, well. More than likely if it wasn’t Olivia herself, then she’d sent one of the staff to check on her. Mia loved that Olivia cared for her in that motherly way … a way her own mother never had the chance to. She only prayed the cook hadn’t brought food, as Olivia had suggested. The thought sent her stomach revolting—again.

The cool tile beneath her feet as she crossed the foyer felt refreshing, considering she was getting a bit lightheaded again. Maybe she needed to crank up the AC or get a cool cloth for her head.

Mia twisted the lock and opened her door to see Bronson in all his gorgeous glory bathed in the sunlight falling over his shoulder. With his California tan, styled “messy” hair, green polo and dark designer jeans, he looked every bit of perfect. So opposite her. Oh, wait, she had the messy hair, just not in the stylish way he sported it. No, hers was more of the get-out-of-my-face-because-I’m-going-to-be-sick mess in a topknot with stray pieces hanging down.

“I called up to the house. Mom told me you were sick,” Bronson said, leaning against her doorjamb. “Is there anything you need?”

Really? He’d rushed here after not a word in weeks? A phone call would’ve proved just fine and then she wouldn’t have to worry about how deathly she looked while he, as usual, looked drop-dead sexy. If he hadn’t put their sexual encounter out of his mind already, one look at her would surely have him running for the next starlet.

“Mia. Do you need anything?” he asked again.

Yeah, for him to leave and only return when her makeup was on, her hair was done and her breath couldn’t be used as a weapon.

“I’m good.” She smiled. “Did you come over just to see how I was?”

Bronson shrugged. “I just got back into town a couple days ago and I was going to stop by to see you anyway.”

“Really?” Considering the six-week gap since they last saw each other, she was a little skeptical. “Why?”

“Honestly?”

Mia grabbed the edge of the door for some stability and lifted a brow. Yeah, she wouldn’t mind a little honesty from the man she’d slept with and couldn’t get out of her mind.

Bronson threw her that billion-dollar, white-tooth smile. “I wanted to see you again. I was hoping for dinner at my place, but if you’re sick, we can postpone.”

If she’d had the energy to jump up and down, she probably would have. Even the giddy girl inside her was wiped out this morning.

“I haven’t even agreed to see you again and you’re already making plans to postpone?” she asked. “My, my. Awfully full of yourself.”

Reaching into his back pocket, he whipped out a well-worn, folded-up tabloid.

Mia took it, unfolded it and saw the cover. A cover with the two of them in a heated embrace, kissing. Their first kiss that some paparazzo schmuck had captured and exploited. Not only was that picture blown up as the main feature, but there were also smaller pictures surrounding the perimeter. Snapshots from the red carpet, one picture of the two of them when they’d been waiting to meet with his mother for lunch—but, of course, Olivia wasn’t in the photo.

The headline read, “DANE’S NEW LEADING LADY?” She’d seen these images and more intrusive headlines on the internet, but they’d only popped up for a few days. More Hollywood drama had unfolded since then, and their little week in Cannes had been pushed aside.

Mia’s eyes darted to Bronson. “Why would this make you so confident I’d want to see you again? Aren’t you the one who wanted to keep things to that one night?”

Bronson’s bright baby blues roamed over her, heating her and making her feel just a wee bit better. “I do prefer simple, but after I saw these pictures, I knew I needed to see you again. The way you’re looking at me, the way we look kissing—it’s hard to deny that there’s some real chemistry between us, Mia. And the camera picks up everything.”

Shivers rippled one after another through her body as she slapped the the tabloid down onto the small table by the door. “In most of these we’re looking at each other. I’d say the chemistry isn’t completely one-sided.”

“As I said, the camera picks up everything.” One corner of his kissable mouth tilted. “Which is why I’d like to see you again.”

And today she was not feeling, or looking, her best. Was this fate’s way of telling her to take the night she had and move on without getting too involved with this man? She did know a secret that would crumble the solid foundation his world was built upon. On the other hand, she wanted to see this charming, sexy man again, away from the romantic, alluring ambiance of Cannes. She wanted to see if this chemistry was real.

“I’ll call later to check on you,” he told her. “If you’re feeling up to it, I’ve got a great dinner planned.”

Mia’s eyes widened. “You’re going to cook?”

“I’ve been banned from my own kitchen because I’m so terrible at cooking. But I assure you my chef will prepare a feast you’ll never forget.” His eyes grew dark, and a smile curved at his lips. “But my staff will have the night off when you’re there. I promise you my undivided attention. If you’re not feeling well, we can reschedule. Tomorrow?”

“No, I’ll be fine. I’m sure I just need to rest.”

Bronson stepped over the threshold, forcing her to take a step back. His finger trailed down her cheek, as if she needed a reminder of how spine-tingling his touches were. Those touches had driven her mad in Cannes, and she couldn’t wait for an encore. Please, God, let her feel better after a nap and some Pepto.

“You look a bit pale.” His brows drew together. “We’ll do it tomorrow.”

Great, here she’d been thinking of the last time he’d touched her with those talented hands and he was commenting on how deathly she looked. Didn’t she just reek sex appeal?

His hand came back to her forehead and she swatted him away, but not before his palm rested over her head and cheek.

“Really, Bronson, I’m not in the mood to play doctor-patient. Tomorrow I’ll feel better and we can have that dinner at your place. Maybe I’ll bring my stethoscope.”

A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I’d like nothing more than to see your bedside manner again, but let’s get you feeling better. Okay?”

“Fine,” she agreed. “Tomorrow. I’ll be there.”

“I’ll pick you up,” he told her. “Five o’clock.”

He turned and strolled back to his sleek, black sports car, leaving her standing in her doorway. That man had whipped back into her life as fast as he’d left and here she was panting after him just like the last time.

Oh, well. She didn’t care what she looked like, she only cared about being with Bronson again because that man held more arousing power in his lips and fingertips than most men held in their entire bodies.

She was not going to let Anthony’s secret or this stupid virus keep her from seeing him tomorrow. Because there was no way she would miss a repeat of the Cannes event. If Bronson had thought of her since then—and he obviously had or he wouldn’t be carrying around that tabloid—then he wanted her just as much as she wanted him.

Dinner invite to his place? That just screamed for her to wear her best lingerie.

Bronson dove headfirst into his Olympic-size pool. Getting his laps in not only kept him in great shape, but allowed him to unwind after a long day. One of his favorite places in this Beverly Hills home was the pool. And each time he came home from business, he spent his evenings here. Even when the sun set and the stars came out twinkling, he found the water refreshing and could reflect on the happenings in his life.

And right now Mia Spinelli was happening in a big way.