trust that the truth wouldn’t somehow be revealed, destroying him and everything he’d plotted and planned for the past three years.
If he believed in God—which he didn’t—he would almost have said God held the king in the palm of his hand, foiling the two covert attempts he’d made to remove the king from his path to greatness. But although he didn’t believe in God, he did believe in the devil. And his two previous failures had recently prompted him to cut a deal with the devil himself—Aleksandrov Vishenko. The head of a particularly vicious branch of the Bratva—the Russian Mafia.
But now that Juliana Richardson was returning to Zakhar, it was no longer just the king he had to worry about. Unless he could find some way to keep Juliana away from Andre, or keep Andre away from Juliana, Juliana—sweet, beautiful Juliana—would have to die. There was really no other option.
* * *
Juliana put away the script she’d been studying and buckled her seat belt at the flight attendant’s announcement. She glanced at Maddie Treister, her administrative assistant, sleeping peacefully in the first-class seat next to her, but since her seat belt was already fastened Juliana didn’t feel the need to waken her yet. Her gaze slid across the aisle and she saw Dirk DeWinter buckling up. He’d already let his hair grow out into the shaggy length worn by men in the sixteenth century, and he’d dyed it several shades lighter than his usual brown pelt to match the paintings of the man he’d be playing in King’s Ransom.
He wasn’t wearing the green-tinted contact lenses yet, but she knew he would. He was a stickler for authenticity, just as she was, and he would have worn them even if they hadn’t been required because it would help make him “feel the part.” Like him, she would wear colored contact lenses, in her case to change her eye color from violet to pale blue, but at least she hadn’t had to dye her hair—the two paintings of Queen Eleonora that had survived through the years showed her with long raven tresses similar to Juliana’s own.
She smiled at Dirk and got his brilliant smile in return, the heart-stopping smile that had won him millions of female fans the world over. But Dirk was a man’s man, too, despite his movie star looks. His appeal was universal. Men wanted to be like him on the silver screen—brave, strong, heroic and utterly irresistible to women. Women just wanted him. But at thirty-four, five years Juliana’s senior, he was quietly, steadfastly faithful to his wife of twelve years, Sabrina, the lovely blonde who sat in the window seat next to him, gazing down with interested eyes at her first glimpse of Zakhar.
Dirk was one of Juliana’s few male friends in Hollywood. He was also one among the tiny handful of men who’d never tried to seduce her. Probably the only man who really saw the vulnerable woman behind the glamorous facade. Dirk and Sabrina were the only people besides Marty who knew Juliana was dreading the return to Zakhar. But even they didn’t know why. There were secrets in Zakhar she wanted to keep, even from her best friends.
“Did you sleep at all?” Dirk asked her, his knowing gaze sweeping over the faint shadows beneath her eyes.
“Not much.” She’d finally dozed off shortly after dawn, but then she’d woken with a start, her heart pounding, hearing words she’d heard in her head many times over the years. Come to me, Juliana. Come to me. Loving words. Lying words.
“Didn’t think so. And that’s not you. You can usually sleep anywhere. Remember when we were on location in Death Valley two years ago? No one else could sleep in that searing oven...except you.”
Dirk knows me too well, she told herself. Which wasn’t surprising. She’d starred opposite him three times before in the past ten years, the last being the action-adventure flick set in Death Valley, San Francisco and Hong Kong—another hit for both of them. Such a resounding commercial success the studio was begging for a sequel, although so far Dirk had refused. “No way,” he’d told Juliana in private. “There’s nothing new that can be revealed about those characters.” And on his sage advice Juliana had refused, too.
Dirk had never steered her wrong. He’d been responsible for her big break in Hollywood right from the beginning, convincing the producers of her first movie to take a chance on an unknown. He’d already been a major star then—the marquee name that could sell a movie all on his own, so the producers had acceded to his wishes. Dirk had seen Juliana’s screen test, had seen something in her that he knew would click with him on-screen, and after they’d talked in person he’d picked her over already established stars to play the heartbreakingly fragile Tessa opposite his Terry O’Dare in the movie adaptation of the runaway bestseller Jetsam.
Dirk’s instincts hadn’t played him false. They had sizzled on the screen for a variety of reasons, not the least of which was Juliana’s petite stature next to his robust frame, which emphasized her fragile femininity and his uncompromising masculinity.
Now they were being paired up again for King’s Ransom, and she knew why the producer had wanted both of them. Their on-screen chemistry ranked right up there with Tracy and Hepburn, Bogart and Bacall. Only more intense. And since movies had become more explicit since the heyday of those couples, even more sizzling.
Juliana had been excited by the script for King’s Ransom when the part of Eleonora had been offered to her, and eager to work with Dirk again. Costume dramas in this day and age were always a risk for a movie studio. But the King’s Ransom script contained thrilling battle scenes, not to mention incredibly romantic love scenes, and—as far as Juliana could tell—was almost religiously accurate in all the major details.
Great script, great director, a supporting cast she respected and Dirk DeWinter to star opposite her. Not to mention a studio willing to give the film the financial backing it needed. What more could an actress ask for? She had been excited about the role of Eleonora, as excited as Dirk still was about playing the first king of Zakhar...until she’d learned the movie was being shot on location. In Zakhar. In Drago. In and around the royal palace. Where—inevitably—she would encounter Andre again.
Juliana shut down that train of thought ruthlessly. You will not remember, she ordered herself forcefully, but she knew it was in vain. The memories already haunted her. They’d haunted her for eleven years. It was long past time for her to put those memories to rest where they belonged—in the graveyard of might-have-beens.
She wouldn’t allow herself to care. Not anymore. If you don’t care, why did you bring that dress with you to wear to the reception tonight? she asked herself derisively. What are you trying to prove? And to whom? It was a daring gown, designed to be worn with absolutely nothing beneath it. Designed to be worn by a woman who knew herself irresistible. Well, that’s true, isn’t it? she asked herself even more cynically. Millions of men lusted after her on the silver screen, the way women lusted after Dirk.
Millions of men...but not one in real life. Not one man who saw the plain girl she’d once been inside the beautiful woman she was now. Not one man who saw her need to be loved for who she was—her inner character—not the way she looked. Not one man who could ignite the fires of passion in a body that was ice-cold. Frigid. Doomed.
That’s another thing to blame Andre for, she realized. He killed that part of me. He ruined me for other men. How he would laugh to know that!
* * *
The man presented his card of invitation to get into the reception—hiding behind a facile smile his resentment that he had to prove his right to be in attendance at this royal function. Then was forced to walk through the portable metal detector set up at the entrance to the Great Hall with all the other guests—again inducing resentment he refused to display to the king’s men on duty there,
