up out of her chest and escaped.
With urgency approaching panic, Jackson grabbed her elbow and bodily dragged her out of the motel room. A fog descended over her brain, dulling sound and sensation as he led her back to his Harley and installed her on it. He slid onto the bike in front of her and the engine roared to life.
“There’s a hotel at the beach. If you could take me there, I’ll grab a room until I head back to Los Angeles,” she yelled over the engine.
“Negative. You’re coming to my place,” he called back.
“I’m not shacking up with you, Jackson.”
“I didn’t ask for your opinion on the topic. I’ve got plenty of room.” She started to object, but he interrupted. “Someone has to keep an eye on you for a day or two after your concussion.”
The doctor at the hospital had given her some sort of industrial-strength painkiller, and she’d actually momentarily forgotten her pounding headache from before.
“Besides,” Jackson continued firmly, “I’m worried about you. Until we figure out who trashed your place, I want you close by where I can protect you.”
She subsided, speechless. Other people didn’t protect her, particularly big hunky movie stars whom she had giant crushes on. But she had to admit it felt kind of nice to let somebody else worry about things for once. She was wiped out by today’s events. And it wasn’t like she could actually afford to pay for a decent hotel room. That was why she’d been at the crappy motel outside town in the first place. Still, she’d imposed on him too much. If she wasn’t mistaken, he had already paid her hospital bill.
His rich, soothing voice echoed inside the helmet. “Relax, Ana, and let me do the worrying.”
She hadn’t slowed down enough to get around to worrying about herself until he mentioned it. Who had attacked her? Did it have to do with the attack at the studio, or was it just a terrible coincidence that she had been attacked twice in the same day? What the heck was wrong with her? Did she have a giant V for victim on her forehead or something? All of a sudden, mountains of worry crowded in on her, crushing her beneath their weight.
She wrapped her arms around Jackson’s waist and huddled against his back, letting him be her bulwark against all of it for a few minutes. His muscular contours felt solid, real, safe. For just a minute, she lost herself in him. She let him be the only real thing in her universe, which had otherwise been knocked completely off its axis.
His next words came to her as if spoken across a long distance. “I’ve got you, Ana. Everything’s going to be all right. I promise.”
If only.
Ana tried to relax as Jackson wasted no time whisking her across all six blocks of downtown Serendipity, but she failed. Had her mugger returned to the motel and trashed her room after the fact? Why go to all that trouble and then not take anything? Sure, she didn’t have much, but there’d still been a television and a few personal items the intruder could have stolen.
Jackson guided the Harley north along the coast for a few gloriously beautiful miles. Even the magnificent view of the ocean under the emerging stars couldn’t soothe her jangling nerves. Normally she could sit and stare at the waves for hours on end.
The bike slowed and turned off the Coast Highway into a gated drive. Jackson stopped to punch in a security code on a number pad, and the automatic gate slid back to reveal possibly the most gorgeous house she’d ever seen. It was huge and stately. Elegant. Venerable.
“Whoa. You live here?” she asked over the rumble of his bike rolling up the drive.
“It’s my grandmother’s place. She’s lived here since the seventies. I renovated it for her and built on an addition after my first big movie. She had a health scare last year and I moved back in to look after her. I stay here when I’m not on location.”
“Talk about a sweet crash pad,” she muttered.
He grinned over his shoulder at her as he climbed off the bike in the circular drive in front of the stately double doors. “First time here, you get the grand entrance.”
“Please don’t fuss over me. It makes me uncomfortable.”
The front doors opened and a woman fully as elegant at the house stepped onto the broad porch. “Who’ve we got here, Jackson?” She sounded surprised. Did he not bring women here often, then?
Ana was startled when he looped his arm over her shoulder to lead her forward. “Ana, this is my grandmother, Minerva Prescott. Gran, this is Ana Izzolo. She’s going to be working on the film with me.”
Going to? No “maybe” or “probably”? No “after we check out her screen test we might make her an offer”? No explanation to his grandmother that her room had been vandalized and that was the only reason she was here?
Stunned, she barely heard Jackson’s grandmother say, “I’m so pleased to meet you, dear.” The woman held slender hands out and grasped Ana’s hand warmly. “Do come in. It will be lovely to have company. Welcome.”
Minerva glanced over at Jackson. “Is this the young lady you were so anxious to go have dinner with?”
Anxious, huh? Jackson’s mouth tightened in visible chagrin, and Ana’s mouth twitched in answering amusement. Family had a way of stripping your dignity at the most inconvenient moment.
“Ana was mugged and her place was broken into before she could meet me at the restaurant. She could use some basic toiletries and maybe some clean clothes until she has a chance to go shopping. I’d like her to stay here a few days while we sort out what happened.”
His grandmother exclaimed in alarm, “Goodness! Of course, we’ll take care of her. Don’t you worry about a thing, dear.” Her expression lightened and she clapped her hands together. “Actually, it’s perfect! It’ll give us a chance to get to know each other.”
What a warmhearted woman. Her kindness was really infectious. Perhaps this was where Jackson got some of his famous charm. Minerva never let go of her hand as she drew Ana into a front hallway filled with beautiful woodwork—elaborate crown moldings, dark wood door frames, and the stairs— Oh, my. The staircases, there were two of them, each had to be twelve feet wide and swept upward in arcs, starting on each side of the foyer, to meet in the middle at the top.
“Wow,” Ana breathed. “I’m feeling a little underdressed.”
Minerva laughed gaily. “Never fear. We dress casually here at the beach. You’re about my size. I’m sure we can find something that will fit you.”
Except, of course, that Minerva was a foot taller than she was. Well, half a foot. She was five foot two, and Jackson’s grandmother looked at least five foot eight.
Minerva continued gaily, “I run around in a bathing suit and flip-flops half the time.”
She had a hard time envisioning the elegant woman in anything other than a designer dress as tailored and classy as the one she was wearing now.
“Jackson,
