The Talk of Hollywood. Carole Mortimer

she was sure there was amusement, at her expense, glittering in those mercurial grey eyes every time he so much as glanced her in her direction!

      By the time they reached the coffee stage of the meal Stazy could cheerfully have screamed at the underlying tension in the air that surrounded them.

      ‘So.’ Her grandfather finally sat back in his chair at the head of the table. ‘Did the two of you manage to come to any sort of compromise in my absence?’

      Jaxon gave a derisive smile as he saw the way Stazy’s mouth had thinned into stubbornness. ‘I believe my conclusion is that all the talking in the world between the two of us won’t make the slightest bit of difference when you are the one to have the final say in the matter!’

      ‘Indeed?’ the older man drawled. ‘Is that what you believe, too, Stazy?’

      She shrugged slender shoulders. ‘You know that I will go along with whatever you decide, Gramps.’

      ‘I would rather have your co-operation, darling,’ Geoffrey prompted gently.

      Jaxon watched Stazy from beneath lowered lids as he took a sip of his brandy, knowing her initial antagonism towards him hadn’t lessened at all over the hours. That if anything Stazy seemed even more wary of him now than she had been earlier—to the point where she had avoided even looking at him for the past half an hour or so, let alone making conversation with him.

      Could that possibly be because she was as physically aware of him as Jaxon was of her …?

      Doubtful!

      She grimaced before answering her grandfather. ‘Mr Wilder has very kindly pointed out to me that he isn’t the only film director interested in making a film about Granny.’ The coldness of Stazy’s tone implied she considered Jaxon anything but kind.

      ‘So I believe, yes.’ Geoffrey nodded.

      Stazy’s eyes widened. ‘You knew that?’

      ‘Of course I knew, darling,’ her grandfather dismissed briskly. ‘I may not be in the thick of things nowadays, but I still make it my business to know of anything of concern to my family or myself.’

      Jaxon frowned. ‘In my defence, I would like you to know that I have every intention of giving a fair and truthful version of the events of seventy years ago.’

      ‘You wouldn’t be here at all if I wasn’t already well aware of that fact, Jaxon.’ Steely-blue eyes met his unblinkingly. ‘If I had believed you were anything less than a man of integrity I would never have spoken to you on the telephone, let alone invited you into my home.’

      His respect and liking for the older man deepened. ‘Thank you.’

      ‘Oh, don’t thank me too soon.’ Sir Geoffrey smiled. ‘I assure you, you’ve yet to convince my granddaughter!’ he drawled, with an affectionate glance at Stazy’s less than encouraging expression.

      Jaxon grimaced. ‘Perhaps the situation might change once we’ve worked together …?’

      ‘Stazy …?’ Geoffrey said softly.

      Stazy was totally aware of being the focus of both men’s gazes as they waited for her to answer—her grandfather’s encouraging, Jaxon Wilder’s much more guarded as he watched her through narrowed lids.

      But what choice did she have, really …?

      Her own feelings aside, her grandfather might have said he would have to accept Jaxon’s film and ‘be damned’, but Stazy wasn’t fooled for a moment. She knew of her grandfather’s deep and abiding love for her grandmother, and of how much it would hurt him—perhaps fatally—if the film about Anastasia were to be in any way defamatory. And the only way to guarantee that didn’t happen was if she agreed to work with Jaxon Wilder.

      ‘Okay,’ Stazy agreed heavily. ‘I can give you precisely one week of my time at the beginning of my summer break.’ She glared across at Jaxon as she recognised

      the triumphant gleam that had flared in his gaze at her capitulation. ‘But only on the condition.’

      ‘Another condition?’ Jaxon grimaced.

      She nodded. ‘My grandfather has to give his full approval of the screenplay once it’s been written,’ she added firmly.

      Working here with the prickly Stazy Bromley for a week was far from ideal as far as Jaxon was concerned. But not impossible when he considered the alternative …

      ‘Fine.’ He nodded abrupt agreement.

      The tension visibly left Sir Geoffrey’s shoulders, and Stazy saw this as evidence that he hadn’t been as relaxed about this situation as he wished to appear. ‘In that case, shall we expect to see you back here the first week of July, Jaxon?’

      ‘Yes.’ Even if that would involve reshuffling his schedule in order to fit in with Stazy Bromley’s.

      She still looked far from happy about the arrangement.

      Her next comment only confirmed it. ‘A word of warning, though, Jaxon—if anything happens to my grandfather because of this film then I am going to hold you totally responsible!’

      Great.

      Just great!

      CHAPTER THREE

      ‘WHAT’S with all the extra security at the front gates?’

      Much as six weeks previously, Stazy had been prowling restlessly up and down in the drawing room of Bromley House as she waited for Jaxon Wilder. Her stomach had tightened into knots when she’d finally seen their visitor had arrived. Not in the expensive black sports car she had been expecting, but on a powerful black and chrome motorbike instead.

      Convinced Jaxon Wilder couldn’t possibly be the person riding that purring black machine, and confused as to why the guards had let a biker through the front gates at all, Stazy had continued to frown out of the window as the rider had brought the bike to a halt outside the drawing room window, before swinging off the seat and straightening to his full, impressive height.

      The man was completely dressed in black—black helmet with smoky-black visor, black leathers that fitted snugly to muscled shoulders and back, narrowed waist and taut backside, and long, powerful legs. Black leather gloves. And heavy black biker boots.

      He—it was definitely a he, with that height and those wide and muscled shoulders—had had his back turned towards her as he’d removed his gloves, before unfastening and removing the helmet and shaking back his almost shoulder-length dark hair as he placed the helmet on top of the black leather seat.

      Stazy had felt the colour drain from her cheeks as the rider had turned and she had instantly recognised him. Jaxon Wilder. Almost instantly he had looked straight up into the window where she stood staring down at him, leaving her in absolutely no doubt as to his knowing he was being watched.

      Staring?

      Gaping at him was probably a more apt description!

      All her defences had gone—crumbled—with the disappearance of the sophisticated man she had met six weeks ago, wearing a discreetly tailored suit, silk shirt and tie, with his dark hair slightly long but nevertheless neatly styled. In his place was a rugged and dangerous-looking man who looked as if he would be completely at home at a Hell’s Angels reunion!

      Stazy had left all the details of Jaxon’s visit to her grandfather, knowing from conversations with Geoffrey that the two men had been in contact by telephone on several occasions during the last six weeks, and that the date for Jaxon to arrive at Bromley House had been fixed for today—the day after Stazy had driven herself down from London.

      That initial meeting with Jaxon, the sizzling awareness she had felt, had seemed like something of a dream once Stazy had been back in London. So much so that she hadn’t even mentioned her encounter to any of her friends at the university. Besides, she very much doubted that her work colleagues would