Blackmailed Into a Fake Engagement / Tempted Into the Tycoon's Trap: Blackmailed Into a Fake Engagement. Emily McKay
you avoid making yours?”
“I don’t run from the truth when it smacks me in the face,” he said, his own face hard with cynicism. “I don’t run from much of anything.”
She could see that his strength was more than skindeep. The knowledge gave her a shiver of awareness she hadn’t felt in a long, long time. He aroused her curiosity and made her aware of herself as a woman.
“So, how did the ‘almost’ part happen?” she asked, taking a bite of her sandwich and sipping her soup.
“My brothers say I suffer from rescuing-damsel-in-distress syndrome.”
She smiled. “Pregnant horses included?”
He gave a rough chuckle and met her gaze. She felt something sizzle and hum between them and glanced away. Where was this breathless feeling coming from?
“I met a woman whose car had broken down. One thing led to another. We started seeing each other. She was a part-time actress. I introduced her to some people. I was going to propose,” he said. “Until I found out she’d gotten involved on the sly with a producer I’d introduced to her at a party.”
Gwen grimaced. “Sorry. At least you found out before you got married. That’s more than I can say. I was so young and naive, and Peter gave me the big rush. I was pretty unfocused at that point. I’d done a few commercials and some small parts. He was the exact opposite. He knew exactly what he was going to do and how to get there. He seemed to know exactly what I should do, too.”
“You eventually disagreed.”
Gwen thought of her pregnancy and nodded. “He was willing to sacrifice something I couldn’t.”
“Must have been pretty big to turn you off acting, L.A. and men.”
“It was,” she said, but her discomfort drove her to her feet even though she hadn’t finished eating. “Um, do you want some more soup? Another sandwich?”
He circled her wrist with his fingers as she tried to step away from the table, compelling her to look at him. “I’m good, but you need to eat more. Sit down and finish.”
Gwen took a deep breath, exasperated with herself. During her acting days, she had kissed major movie stars. Why did Luc Hudson bother her so much? She sank into her seat and sipped her soup and ate her sandwich, determined to finish as soon as possible.
“When we took Nicki to rehab, she told us not to call her parents. She said to call you instead,” Luc said.
Gwen stopped midbite then swallowed and nodded. “My father moved to Arizona and hasn’t been in touch. My mother remarried and lives in Malibu. She would be upset by the negative publicity. If it isn’t good news, she doesn’t want to hear it.”
“Life doesn’t always give you roses,” he said.
“Even though you can spin it that way,” she said.
“Right,” he said. “Part of the reason I can spin it is because I face the hard facts head on. Our family has dealt with some tragedy. The death of my grandfather is still difficult. He was the heart, breath and soul of Hudson Pictures. We all want to live up to what he created.”
“Tall order?”
“In more than business,” Luc said. “He was the kind of man who could fill up a room with his personality. He had a huge passion for the business, but he also had a huge passion for my grandmother, and it never seemed to wane. He met and secretly married her during World War II in France. He founded the studio to bring her talents to the big screen. In a strange way, I think all of us are striving to find a love that matches what he and my grandmother had. Hell,” he said, “he may be gone, but my grandmother still loves him.”
“That’s an amazing story,” she said.
“Yeah, and if I weren’t so damn cynical, I might believe the same kind of thing could happen to me. Lightning that lasts.”
She nodded, understanding. “Lightning that lasts,” she echoed. “Maybe it’s harder to be cynical when you see someone who actually had that. Then it’s not a myth.”
He reached his hand toward her hair and pushed a strand away from her face. “Yeah.” He gazed into her eyes for a few seconds, which made her lose her breath.
“You have any cards?” he finally asked.
She glanced away so she could think. “Uh, yes, I do.”
“Let’s play,” he said.
“What?”
“Poker. Strip poker if you’re inclined,” he joked in a deep voice.
“In your dreams,” she said, but she had this terrifying but exhilarating sense that Luc Hudson just might have the ability to talk her out of her clothes. “I need to keep an eye on the mare via the camera.”
“The same way you did last night?” he asked, raising a dark eyebrow.
Nice of him to remind her that she’d fallen asleep so soundly that she hadn’t remembered his carrying her to bed. “I’m not as exhausted tonight.”
“You don’t really plan to stay up all night, do you?”
“No, but—”
“We can play in your office. It’ll make the time pass more quickly.”
He made a good point and Gwen liked card games. She had since she was a child. “Okay, but my clothes are staying on.”
“Does that mean you want me to take mine off?”
The mix of humor and sensuality slipped past her defenses and sent a shimmer of awareness all the way through her body. “No,” she said, although an image of Luc, naked, immediately shot through her mind, making her feel singed. “I’ll get the cards.”
“I’ll bring the wine.”
“I’ll fix some coffee,” she countered, thinking the combination of wine and Luc Hudson could be dangerous. She grabbed the cards and led the way into the small office. She looked at the monitor and saw the mare moving around the stall.
“She’s getting stronger,” Luc said from behind her.
“Yes. That means we’ll probably have to let her out into the paddock soon.” Gwen shuffled the cards and dealt them.
Distracted by the sight of his hands cradling his hand of cards and his long legs stretched out across from hers, she tried to concentrate on her own cards.
“Maximum bet is twenty-five cents. Maximum raise fifty cents. I bet fifteen cents. What’s your favorite color?” he asked, drawing a card from the pile.
“Um, periwinkle. Why do you ask?” She looked at her cards and tried not to reveal her disappointment. “I’ll see your fifteen cents.”
“Because the media showing up tomorrow have decided it would be cute to give each of us a quiz about the other.”
Gwen glanced away from her cards. “Media tomorrow? We just did that today. I thought the other interviews would be over the phone.”
He shook his head, discarded two cards and drew two from the pile. “I need to know everything about you, and you need to know everything about me. I’ll bet twenty-five cents.”
She sighed in frustration. “Okay, so blue is your favorite color,” she began.
“What makes you say that?”
“When asked to name his favorite color, almost every man on the planet will say blue.”
“Mine is green,” he said.
“You’re just being contrary,” she said.
“Romantic,” he countered. “Your eyes are green.”
“Borderline