hand. “None of your business. You’ve exploited me enough.”
Her accusation jabbed him. He shot out his hand to catch her arm and pulled her back toward him. “Have you forgotten why we’re doing this in the first place?”
She took a deep breath and bit her lip. “Nicki.”
“Yes, Nicki. Do you want the press to crucify her?”
She closed her eyes and shook her head. “No. The more I think about it, the more I agree with you. I just find the whole paparazzi thing vile.”
“So, it’s not personal,” he said in a wry voice.
“No,” she said. “It’s not personal. You’re actually—” She broke off and shrugged. “Maybe we should start over. Hi, I’m Gwen McCord. It’s nice to meet you.”
He closed his hand over hers. “My pleasure,” he said, playing along. “I’m Luc Hudson. You’re even more enchanting in person than on the big screen.”
She smiled. “Thank you. You’re more helpful than I would have expected one of the Hudsons to be. I realize neither of us is thrilled with our assignment, but starting now I’ll try not to make it more difficult than it already is. Who knows? By the end of this, we may even be friends.”
Nodding, he lifted her hand to his lips, seeing in her eyes a spark of surprise mixed with something else. “To friendship,” he said, but at that moment he decided they would be more than friends.
Four
Whenever Gwen returned from working with the after-school program in drama therapy, she struggled with a clashing sense of satisfaction and grief. If things had turned out differently, her own child would be in preschool now. Peter had demanded, however, that she finish filming before her pregnancy was visible. He’d been unhappy when she’d told him she was pregnant, even going so far as to suggest that she get an abortion so it wouldn’t interrupt the shooting of his movie.
Gwen remembered that moment as if it had happened yesterday. That was when she’d no longer been able to deny that her relationship with Peter was crumbling.
Standing in the foyer of the cabin, she felt her keys slip through her trembling fingers to the floor. She glanced down at her shaking hands, spotting the engagement ring, and took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Food, she needed food. That was the reason she had the shakes, she told herself. She hadn’t eaten anything since morning.
The sound of Luc’s voice was muffled by the closed guest bedroom door. Relieved he wouldn’t see her in her current state, she picked up her keys, shrugged out of her jacket, hung it in the hall closet and went to the kitchen to scrounge up something to eat.
Soup, she decided, pulling a can from the shelves. And peanut butter and honey sandwiches. Not exactly gourmet, but it would fill her up. She would have to toast the bread because it was frozen.
Trying to think about anything except the baby she’d lost years ago, she heated the soup and made two sandwiches just in case Luc was desperate for nourishment.
Her mind flashed back to that day on the set when she’d fallen. The private emergency room, emergency surgery, Peter insisting on complete privacy and secrecy regarding the loss of her pregnancy. Waking up and feeling empty.
“Smells good,” Luc said just steps behind her.
His voice startled her, and she accidentally touched the hot pan with her fingers. Scalding pain singed her fingers, and she drew back, gasping. “Oh, no,” she said.
Luc swore under his breath. “Put your hand under the water,” he said, pulling her to the sink and plunging her hand under cool running water. “Damn, I didn’t mean to surprise you that much,” he said.
Overwhelmed by the combination of pain from her hand and the comfort of his chest at her back, she shook her head. “It’s not your fault. I was thinking about too many things at once. It’s just a little accident.”
“Does this happen often? Burning yourself while cooking?”
“Why?” she asked. “It’s usually food I burn, not myself.”
He nodded. “You get distracted.”
“Yes. There are more important things than food.”
“That’s why you have so many frozen meals ready for the microwave.”
She grimaced. “Okay, you know my secret. Well, one of them,” she amended. She started to pull her hand away from the faucet. “I think I’m better—”
He shook his head. “No. Keep it submerged for another few minutes. I’ll take care of the soup.”
Gwen glanced over her shoulder at Luc as he removed the pot from the burner and poured soup into the two bowls she’d set on the counter. There was a total sense of unreality to this picture. She would have never imagined seeing one of the powerful Hudsons in her kitchen serving soup.
Luc looked up and met her gaze. “You’re staring. Why?”
She shook her head. “It wasn’t on my calendar to have Luc Hudson in my kitchen this week, or any other week.”
His lips curved in a half grin. “Just lucky, I guess.”
“Which one of us is lucky?” she shot back. “You or me?”
“Excellent point. On the surface, most men would give an arm or leg or both to be in my position.”
“I hear a but coming.”
“Who wouldn’t want to be stuck in a cabin with the sexiest woman of 2004?”
She groaned. “Don’t remind me.”
“Just curious,” he said, his gaze sliding over her sweater. “Do you still have that shirt?”
Feeling his gaze like a touch, she bit her lip. “No, it was just a man’s shirt. Nothing special.”
“Do you know how many men had fantasies about that shirt?”
She felt her cheeks heat. “No, and I don’t want to know.”
“Of course, the fantasies were about removing the shirt,” he continued.
“Which didn’t happen. So you can put that in the unfulfilled-fantasy column.” She turned off the faucet.
“A lot of reality is about unfulfilled fantasy,” he said.
“It can be,” she agreed and glanced at him. “How did you learn that?”
“My position. My brothers call me a PR wizard, but I know the truth. It’s all spin and semantics.” He moved the bowls to the small dining room table and gestured for her to sit.
“Just a minute,” she said and impulsively grabbed a bottle of wine from the refrigerator and scooped a couple of wineglasses from the cabinet. After pulling a corkscrew from a drawer, she brought the sandwiches to the table. She
