Romy Sommer - To Catch a Star

“Should I be worried?” though Stefan didn’t sound in the least worried. Another of the things she loved about him. His faith in her. And she trusted him. He was steady, dependable, rock-solid. They were going to make a good team.

“I don’t know. Should I be worried about what you’re up to in the Big Apple?” she teased back.

“Never.” There was a smile in his voice. “It’s just back-to-back meetings. I can’t wait to get home. And I promise when I return I’ll have something from Tiffany’s for you. It can be your something new for the wedding.”

She smiled. If there was one thing she knew about Stefan it was that when he made a promise, he stuck with it. He was noble down to the core. He would never let her down. He would never abandon her.

“I look forward to it,” she said. “Take care.”

Christian was so not a morning person. It usually took a cold shower and two espressos before he could even think straight. So it was a surprise when his alarm sounded and he opened his eyes without swearing.

For the entire decade and a half he’d been in the movie business, even when he’d still loved what he did, every morning had been a battle to get up and ready for set.

It was getting harder these days. What had Teresa said to him the night they met? When you’ve seen one action movie, you’ve seen them all . Her words had cut deeper than Dominic’s sword blade because he’d begun to feel the same.

All the movies he’d made had begun to merge together into an indistinguishable mass. He needed a new challenge. He just didn’t know yet what it was.

He rolled his legs off the bed and sat up. Maybe the fact that he’d gone to sleep stone-cold sober made the difference. He and Dominic had gone out clubbing, but his heart hadn’t been in it. He’d left the club before midnight. Alone. Something else his heart hadn’t been into.

He must be getting old.

He stood up and padded over to the windows, flinging open the heavy curtains. Beneath him, the gardens lay dark and silent. This city had more green space than any European city he’d visited before.

He looked up. The sky was still dark but clear, with the crisp, wintry feel he so loved about Europe. And he could see stars. That was the one thing missing in LA – the kind of stars you had to look up to see.

The night sky was the only thing he remembered fondly about Los Pajaros – that vast, empty sky with the entire Milky Way on display. How many times had he looked up at that sky and wished for another life? He’d got it, too.

He hadn’t been home to the Caribbean since he’d left as an angry kid. Had it changed as much as he had? In four short weeks he would find out.

He turned away from the window and headed to the bathroom, resisting the urge to dive back into the warmth and comfort of the vast hotel bed.

Once he’d showered, he dressed in jeans and a rumpled sweatshirt, stuck a beanie on his head, grabbed his coat, and headed downstairs.

He was early.

Teresa was earlier still.

She sat at one of the tables in the elegant dining room, sipping tea from a porcelain cup. There were no other hotel guests in sight.

And on the table before her stood the double espresso he’d instructed her to have ready and waiting. He should have been pleased. But instead, the unusually good mood he’d woken with evaporated at the sight of her.

She looked as immaculate and poised as ever, her hair neatly pinned back and her make-up flawless. This morning she wore a grey, calf-length skirt, heeled boots, a turtleneck sweater that didn’t need a label to have designer written all over it, with a cashmere scarf artfully knotted around her throat.

One elegant eyebrow arched as she took in the crumpled sweatshirt and beanie.

She made him feel rough and uncouth, as if he was still just some island boy carrying suitcases and fetching drinks for the rich out-of-towners. A girl like her wouldn’t have given him the time of day then.

These days he didn’t give girls like her the time of day.

Why the hell had he said “yes” to hiring her? He should have insisted on the kind of woman he preferred – confident, sassy. The kind of woman who wasn’t afraid to show a little skin or live on the wild side. At least then he might have had a little fun alongside his espresso.

The repressed virginal types just brought out his dark side. He wanted to muss up her hair and wipe the satisfaction off her face. He wanted to see her hungry for something she couldn’t have.

Which wasn’t a good way to start the day.

He slid into the seat across the table from her and tasted the espresso. Exactly the way he liked it.

“Good morning,” she said brightly. “I have your new shirt.” She patted the wrapped parcel on the table beside her. The stores would have been closed by the time she left the hotel yesterday. How in all that was holy had she managed to go shopping between then and now?

And not just any shirt.

He looked closer at the brown-paper package wrapped in black ribbon with the name of the designer on the attached card. Anton Martens, one of Westerwald’s most famous exports, designer to the rich and famous.

Christian flipped the card over. There was even a personal message from Anton himself hand written on the back.

No assistant he’d ever had would have been able to pull that off overnight.

Tessa sipped her tea. “I’ve spoken to Robbie, the Second Assistant Director. He says they’re ahead of schedule this morning and would like you to join them as soon as possible. Your driver will be out front in ten minutes.”

“You’d make a good boot-camp drill sergeant,” he grumbled.

Teresa arched an elegant eyebrow. “Your thanks are overwhelming. Are you always this pleasant in the mornings?”

“No, I’m usually grumpier.”

“I’ll remember that.” She sipped her tea and silence fell.

He downed his first espresso and Teresa waved for the waiter to bring another. With caffeine in his bloodstream, he felt a little less like a barbarian. Not that the urge to throw her over his shoulder and carry her up to his room abated any.

The waiter also delivered a platter of croissants with preserves, cold meats and local cheese, but Christian couldn’t stomach food this early.

“You hungry?” He asked.

She shook her head. “I already ate. You should eat something. Coffee is not a breakfast.”

“Wanna bet?”

Silence fell again. The caffeine worked its way through his system, and he started to feel a little less off balance. A little more rational.

“You’re early. Does that mean your date wasn’t a great success?”

“It was a lovely evening, thank you.” And she smiled.

He leaned back in his seat and contemplated her. Smiling, she looked less stuck-up. Less like the brats he’d had to say “yes, sir” and “no, sir” to all that last summer in Los Pajaros.

“You should do that more often.”

“Do what?” Her face smoothed out into the calm, unemotional mask he’d already learned was her default setting. She unconsciously tucked back a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

He reached across the table and worked it loose again. She froze at his touch. “You should smile more often.”

He wouldn’t have believed it possible if he hadn’t seen it. She blushed as she turned her face away, revealing just how porcelain-thin her skin really was.

God, even her neck was perfect. For a wild moment he imagined himself nipping that delicate skin at her throat with his teeth. His body pulled tight in response.

“I’ll wait outside for the car to arrive.” She began to rise, but he grabbed her hand.