The Housewife and the Film Star (3 page)

Sylvia did force her eyes open then, only to lose herself in the depths of the ice blue gaze that held her captive.

"That's as may be, but it doesn't mean I have to act on it." With strength she didn't know she had, she pushed him away from her and ducked under his arms, only for one strong hand to clamp against her arm and yank her back into his hard frame. Damn, there wasn't an ounce of fat anywhere on that torso, and the bulge in his jeans left her in no doubt that he wanted her as badly as she did him.

If only he wasn't this big star and she was free to just let herself go for once, but she couldn't afford to
. She just couldn't.

"Please, just let me go. I need to go home. You won't need any gag order. I won't say anything. Please, I'm sorry about the pictures, but the bitch pulled me over the hot coals, too. I never wanted any of this. And regardless of what it says in there, I do not work for
Whisper.
"

Damn, she was not going to cry. She was stronger than this.

"You expect me to believe that?"

His tone was cynical, but his bruising grip on her arm lessened slightly. He used one thumb to wipe away the single tear that managed to escape down her cheek.

"Quit the waterworks, lady. It doesn't wash."

He gentled his grip on her further, however, and Sylvia found herself pulled into his frame once again as the tears started in earnest. She clung to his chest, grateful for his strength.

****

Fucking hell, why did she have to start to bawl?  He never knew what to do with a crying woman. And, not only that, but all the fight had gone out of her as she clung to him. It almost made him believe her.
Almost
. But he would be a fool to let her go. He knew nothing about her other than what was written about her in Jones's column, which wasn't much. So why was she getting so hell-bent out of shape at having been named in the paper? Okay, the pictures left little to the imagination. With her curves almost spilling out of her dress, she was draped all over him, and she looked as though she'd had a good seeing to, but, fuck, they could have gotten much more explicit ones, considering what they had almost done in that alcove.
Skit
, had there been cameras? He would have to get Vera on the case, before Jones's gossip mag got hold of any possible tapes, if they hadn't already. That was all he needed.

Fortunately
, she seemed to have stopped crying. She tensed in his arms, and he reluctantly let her go.

"Are you going to tell me what that outburst was all about?"

She looked up at him with tear-stained eyes, and the hopeless expression pulled at his protective instincts.
Skit
, what was it about this woman that got to him and had him acting so out of character?

"I'm sorry. It won't happen again. I just really need to get home, please."

"Why? What's so damn important at home?"

She straightened her shoulders and wrapped her arms around herself. Sven couldn't help but admire how the action pushed her breasts up even more. His body reacted in typical fashion. If it was a deliberate move on her part, he couldn't tell, but he doubted it, the way she was staring far away lost in thought. Had he got her all wrong? Was she as much of a victim in this as he was? After all,
Mamma
always accused him of being far too cynical. But she was a hopeless romantic and saw only the good in everyone. Years in the business had taught him otherwise. The enticing bundle of curves in front of him had been in the club last night, dressed to kill, and she'd as good as admitted that she knew about Jones's plans. If they had somehow backfired on her, too, well, that was just too fucking bad.

"Are you going to tell me? Or do you need more time to get your lies straight?"

The fire in her eyes made him smile. That was better. Sassy he could deal with. The tears and vulnerability she'd displayed moments before just made him nervous.

"I. Do. Not. Lie! Not that I expect you, arrogant oaf, to believe me. I need to get home to my son. He'll be wondering where I am."

Sven whistled under his breath. Heck, he hadn't been expecting that. But, then, the faint marks on her belly should have given him a clue. It's not as though he didn't know about babies. Sven pushed the uncomfortable thought back. He'd have to ring home later anyway, and this woman's private life was none of his business.

"How convenient to remember him now. What the fuck were you doing at the cattle market last night if you've a son to take care of?"

Two high spots of color on her cheeks and her rapid breaths gave her away.  She turned on him, fists raised. Her steely gaze bored into him, as she pummeled his chest.

"How dare you? This coming from playboy-extraordinaire Larsson, who never had to think of anyone other than himself all his goddamned life! How dare you make assumptions about me? Not that it's any of your business, but that was the first time I've been out in ages, and, thanks to you, I'm in no hurry to repeat the experience. Ever. For fuck's sake, I don't even like clubs, but Kathy insisted, and then … oh, what's the use, you'd never understand."

As quickly as her outburst had started, it subsided again, and she defiantly stared him down.

"Who's Kathy?"

"My soon to be ex-friend! Not that you'll believe this, but I'm going to tell you anyway. Kathy is Evelyn’s assistant and desperate for a promotion. This whole girl's night out was her idea. Jones decided to tag along at the last minute, insisted that we had to get to this club, so she could get the latest
goss
and, well, apparently she spotted you and wanted her story, and you know the rest."

"So, you decided to sell your soul for a quick buck?"

Her exasperated female growl was the sexiest sound he'd heard in a long time, and he found himself smiling down at the agitated woman in front of him. No matter what happened, he had to have her and soon, and damn the consequences.

"I did not sell anything. I owed Kathy a favor, but I was trying to hide and get home when you,
fool,
decided to hold me hostage. Why the hell didn't you let me go? But, no, you have to take me back to your hotel, for God's sake. Talk about giving the bitch yet more ammunition at my expense."

"So, this is all
my
fault now, is it, lady?"

Christ, trust a woman to turn this all round on him.

"It
is
your fault. If you weren't you, then you wouldn't have all the paparazzi after you, and folks like Jones desperate for a story. You played right into their hands. What were you doing at the club last night, if not looking for an easy fuck?"

Amusement bubbled up at him at the horrified look in her eyes as she clamped one hand on her mouth, shocked at what she'd just said.

"If I was looking for an easy fuck, as you so succinctly put it, then I screwed up royally picking you, wouldn't you say?"

"Yeah, and don't you forget it, Mister!"

He still chuckled to himself a little while later when he handed his little spitfire over to his driver George with instructions to take her home. His life had just got damned complicated, and he was fucked if he knew what to do about it, other than screw her senseless to get her out of his system. And, damn it, if he didn't look forward to sparring with her again.

Chapter Three

"At the bottom of the road, turn right and you have reached your destination. Turn right, turn right. You have reached your destination."

The disembodied voice of the satellite navigation system died when Sven turned the engine off. Sylvia's small house was in the corner of a quiet cul-de-sac. Trees lined the little green in the middle of the street, and white picket fences surrounded tidy lawns. It was London suburbia at its very best. Sven's lips curved into a smile at the amount of curtain twitching he'd already observed in the few minutes he'd sat here.  Every window but Sylvia's, he noticed with wry amusement. His regard for her went up another notch. With all the crap in the papers over the last week, living here couldn't have been easy. Fortunately, no reporters were lying in wait today. His restraining order had taken care of that, together with the protection of Timmy's image. He'd been livid when he'd spotted the first few pictures of a terrified-looking Sylvia trying to shield her son from view.  Yet, throughout it all, she held a dignified silence, ignoring the reporters clamoring for her story as best she could, whilst she went about her daily business with a quiet dignity he could only admire.

Sven narrowed his eyes in disgust at himself and his original assumptions, as he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.  She was as far removed from his first impression of her as you could get. But, damn it, if that didn't fuel his interest in her even more. Clad in jeans and tank tops or pretty little summer dresses with barely any makeup, her hair pulled back into a simple pony tail or just hanging free, she still looked goddamned sexy to him. Even more so than she had in the club in all her finery. He was beginning to wonder whether a man could give himself an injury from a permanent hard-on.

Her front door was open, an abandoned football on the front lawn testimony to her son's obsession with the game. A boy after his own heart. He could work with that, if he had to. One way or the other, he was going to get Sylvia where he wanted her—in his bed, screaming his name.
Skit
, those thoughts were not helping. He stepped out of his Range Rover and adjusted his jeans.

She hadn't returned any of his or Vera's phone calls, and he wasn't at all sure of the reception he was going to get, but here went nothing. He never shrank away from a challenge, and his mystery lady was certainly that and more. He ran one hand through his hair, clicked the lock of his car, and strolled up her garden path. Before he’d made it halfway to the front door, a little human missile ran headfirst into his groin.

Shit, that fucking hurt
. Sven hit the ground facedown, groin on fire and gasping for air.

****

"Mummy …
Mummy
!"

Timmy burst into the kitchen with an urgency and agitation unusual even for him, and Sylvia's heart clenched for the second it took to reassure herself he was indeed okay. So what on earth was all that screaming about then?

"Mummy, there's a strange man on the floor in our garden, and he's breathing like our goldfish. Come and see."

What in the world was Timmy going on about now? But if that was another blasted reporter, then, God help him, breathing like a fish would be the last of his worries. Sylvia grabbed her heaviest frying pan, and followed her son out of the front door. When she entered the garden, it was time for her to make her own goldfish impressions at the sight of Sven Larsson spread-eagled on her gravel path, holding his nether regions.

"See, Mummy, I told you he was breathing funny. All I did was run into him. Honest."

Sylvia's lips twitched in amusement, and she had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop the bubble of laughter that threatened to escape. Sven, in the meantime, struggled to sit up. He still clutched his groin, his voice a Mickey Mouse version of its usual deep baritone.

"Your son … hard head." He just about managed to groan the words out between gasps of breath. Sylvia couldn't help it; she did burst into laughter.

"Mummy, not angry?"

She tore her gaze away from the injured sulk in Sven's features and drew Timmy in for a hug.

"No, it's okay, but you may want to say sorry to Sven—and in future
stop
running!"

Timmy kicked at the gravel under his sandals and looked from her to Sven, his little nose screwed up in worry.

"Sorry, Sven … sorry, Mummy."

"Okay, Timmy. Now go and take your football and play in the garden whilst I talk to Sven, will you?"

"K."

Sven had managed to sit up a bit straighter by the time she turned her attention back to him, and, this time, he was definitely glaring at her.

"This is not funny, woman." His voice was beginning to return to its usual gravelly self.

"That depends on where you're standing, doesn't it? What are you doing here anyway?"

Sven shifted himself a bit more. The male groan he emitted made Sylvia clamp her hand on her mouth in an effort to stop herself from laughing. Timmy did have a hard head, so perhaps she ought to be a tad more sympathetic. On second thought,
nah
, this was divine justice. How the mighty have fallen and all that.

"Once you've stopped laughing, woman, do you think you could give me a hand, please, being that it was your son who floored me, or are you intending to finish the job with that frying pan?"

****

Sven wasn't sure he'd be able to use his cock for its intended purpose ever again. His balls still stung like crazy, and the icepack Sylvia had thrown at his head after she reluctantly helped him up and into the kitchen had done little to help.

"Only because I don't need to give the neighbors any more ammunition to gossip over, and I warn you, you try anything, and your balls will be the last of your worries. You'll be wearing this frying pan, buster."

Man, if that didn't turn him on even more. However, he valued what was left of his junk too much to voice that opinion out loud. He had no doubt whatsoever that the firecracker making him a cup of coffee right now would follow through on her threat.

"What's so damn funny, Sven?"

Sylvia studied him across her small kitchen, arms crossed, teeth worrying that bottom lip.

"That icepack working yet?"

"If you mean, do I have any feeling left in my balls, then the answer is no. Your son may have just broken me."

Sylvia rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"What a loss to womankind that would be."

"You have no idea,
älskling
."

Her groan of disgust made his smile deepen.

"I'm sure I don't want to know what that means, do I?" Sylvia said.

"I've a far too healthy respect for your frying pan to tell you, that's for sure. So, tell me, why have you not returned any of my phone calls, or Vera's for that matter?"

"I'd have thought that's obvious. I've absolutely no wish to be involved with the likes of you. Why the sudden turn about anyway? You decided I'm the good guy all of a sudden?"

How to answer that one without risking further injury?

"Let's just say I owe you an apology for some of the things I said. In my defense, I've a long history of the press raking me over hot coals, and, as you so beautifully pointed out at the time, there've been far too many kiss-and-tell stories about me as it is. Though in the words of a great man—'stories of my adventures have been greatly exaggerated.'"

"Hah, next you'll be trying to convince me you aren't a playboy at all and are really a choirboy at heart."

"I wouldn't insult your intelligence; though I
was
a Boy Scout. Does that give me some brownie points? Always prepared and all that?"

To his relief Sylvia's lips twitched in amusement. Her eyes lost some of their coldness as she stepped toward him and, with a feather light caress, ran one slim finger over the graze under his eye.

"I hadn't noticed that before. Timmy really did a number on you, didn't he? Let me go and get something to clean it with."

He managed to grab her before she moved away again and, with a small tug, pulled her on his lap. The move dislodged the ice pack.

"It doesn't need cleaning, but you can kiss it better if you like."

"Dream on, buster." Sylvia's reply was far too breathy. Her eyes widened at his body's immediate reaction.

He tightened his hold on her hips, and inhaled her very own sweet scent not masked by artificial trappings like most of the women he knew.

"It appears Timmy hasn't broken you after all. I can hear the collective sigh of relief from women the world over," she said.

"Not as relieved as I am,
älskling,
believe me. But I really need to test the theory. Want to help me out here?"

The speed with which she darted off his lap made him dizzy
, but she didn't get away before he noticed the way her breathing hitched. He was so going to enjoy the chase.

****

Oh for goodness sakes, she was such a sap where Sven was concerned. Sylvia desperately tried to get her breathing back under control. He just didn't play fair. She scrambled off his lap, and turned her back on him so he couldn't see how affected she was by his words and the heat in his eyes that sent her blood to boiling point. Seriously, one look of those blue eyes and she didn't know where to put herself. Whilst her rational brain could recite ten thousand reasons why she should keep a man like that at arm's length, her body just didn't listen. His overpowering presence called to the submissive deep inside of her. She'd thought that part of herself long since broken, but apparently it was very much alive and well, and responding to the man in question. Sylvia had no problem picturing Sven in leather, holding a flogger in his large hands. The thought should terrify her, but it had the opposite effect.

She stood transfixed, knowing what a rabbit must feel like in the headlights of an approaching car when he rose from his chair. He crossed the distance between them in two long strides until he was so close to her that she literally couldn't breathe. He tugged at the band holding her hair. It all tumbled down her back, and he wound one long strand ‘round his fingers, and inhaled the scent.

"You've such beautiful hair, Sylvia, a man could get lost in it."

"Save it. It's a great line, but it won't work on me." But, oh, my goodness, her insides went to mush as his whispered laugh skittered across her neck. One of his hands settled on the small of her back and pulled her closer into the hard wall of muscle that was his body. He must spend hours in the gym to achieve that definition.

Fortunately, before she could dissolve completely into a bag of drool, Timmy bounded into the kitchen, and demanded she play football with him. But, instead of leaving as she expected him to, the blasted man grabbed the ball off a delighted Timmy and followed him out to the back garden, where the two of them engaged in a surprisingly competitive football game. Sylvia gave up and returned to the kitchen to watch them through the window. 

Gone was the arrogant Sven, and in his place was a man who seemed to genuinely enjoy Timmy's company.  Heaven help her, the little boy lapped up the attention. The stark reminder of how much her son needed a father figure in his life sat heavy on her heart and, with it, the realization that her sister-in-law's dinner party was tomorrow. God, Harry was going to be there. She'd lost count how many phone calls she'd had from the man over the last week. It seemed the more she pulled away, the more he persisted. The thought of turning down yet another marriage proposal and enduring Peggy's narrow-eyed disapproval afterwards was more than she could handle right now. In her last conversation with her sister-in-law, Peggy had been perfectly clear about the choices she thought Sylvia should make.

"Harry is a good man, and you could do a lot worse. Not many men are willing to take on a widow with children, especially one with your past. Edward is retiring soon, and we'll not be able to support you financially anymore like we have done, you know that. With the current recession, and your years out of the work place, you'll never find a job that pays enough to support all of you. You had your mad five minutes with your film star, and Harry is willing to overlook that, so for goodness' sake, girl, do the responsible thing for once."

As though she hadn't done just that for years. If only her late husband's investments hadn't gone sour. It had left her and the children penniless and relying on the good will of Peggy and her husband. Edward was kind enough, but he was completely under Peggy's thumb and would never go against her wishes. That left Sylvia up the creek without a paddle.

The sound of Timmy's giggle, interspersed with Sven's deep male chuckle, as the two of them came in from the garden, brought her out of her reverie. She fixed a smile on her face for her son, and avoided the searching look Sven gave her. Damn her expressive face. It always gave her away.

"I'm reliably informed by Hard Head here that he's hungry, so I thought it wisest to bring him in. We thought pizza, and, as it happens, I know the perfect place. We're a bit too far for home delivery, but Gino is an old friend, so I'll have us eating in no time at all."

"I'm perfectly capable of putting a meal on the table for my son, Sven. Surely, there must be somewhere you have to be?"