bankable star, and Vogue had voted him the world’s sexiest. And this woman didn’t know who he was?
“Besides, when you’ve seen one of those action movies, you’ve seen them all. It’s not real acting,” she said.
The punches just kept on coming. He frowned. “So if you don’t watch movies or television, what do you do for fun?”
“I read. Or I go to the opera and the ballet.”
He rolled his eyes. Bor-ing. “People don’t do those things for fun. They do those things to impress other people.”
“Maybe in Hollywood. But here in Westerwald we’re not cultural philistines. We have brains and we use them.”
Ouch. Two hits in one perfectly enunciated sentence. She spoke better English than the Queen.
The swift sensation that accompanied her words was one he hadn’t felt in years. His hackles rose. “You wanna bet? Clearly there are a few philistines here who watch my movies. I’ve never been attacked by fans in California before.”
“They were probably Americans.”
“So now you not only have a problem with movie-goers and Hollywood, but with Americans too?”
She lifted her chin. “When were you last even inside a theatre? The kind with a proscenium arch, not a screen?”
“Do the Academy Awards count?”
Her lips pursed. No sense of humour, then.
Her gaze fixed firmly back on the road as she indicated and turned into a wider street that looked vaguely familiar to him. “You Americans place so much emphasis on entertainment and beauty. On your own immediate gratification. Nothing lasts, movies are quickly forgotten. Who will even remember your movies five or ten years from now? Audiences will have moved on to the Next Big Thing and what difference will you have made in the world?”
Forget the fact that he’d been wondering the same thing these past few months. His blood boiled, the temper he usually kept in check flaring like a Californian wildfire.
What did she know about him? He’d given nearly a third of his income to Los Pajaros over the years. Not that the people there deserved it. The happiest time in his life was after he left the islands and moved to California.
“So what difference are you making in the world?” he bit out.
He eyed her tailored coat and the diamonds on her wristwatch that twinkled as she moved. It was easy to talk about making a difference in the world when you didn’t have to fight for your place in it.
“I do volunteer work for several local charities.”
And that confirmed it. Only the idle rich had time to spare to volunteer for charities. She’d probably never had a real job in her life, had never had to make it on her own or prove her worth to anyone.
She continued, her gaze still on the road ahead: “If only half the money spent on frivolous things, like movies and actors’ lavish lifestyles, were used to help the less fortunate this world would be a much better place.”
Great, a Greenpeace Evangelist. The vision of those long legs wrapped intimately around him flickered out and died.
“Are you always this judgie about people you’ve just met?” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the window. “You think you know me, but I’ll have you know I was on my way tonight to a charity banquet to raise funds for a new children’s hospital in Los Pajaros.”
Teresa flicked him a contemptuous glance. “A society event packed with pretentious people all showing off their designer wear and eating gourmet food? That’s not helping others. That’s helping yourself.”
She was right, of course. Tonight was all about him, not about the charity. His appearance as guest speaker tonight had been arranged by his publicist. And even free publicity hadn’t been his real incentive. He’d only agreed to attend when he’d heard his latest co-star was going to be there too.
But he wasn’t going to admit that this prissy bitch was right.
He forced a crooked smile. “And what’s wrong with that?”
The look she cast him could have out-frozen the Antarctic. “Do you even care about anyone other than yourself?”
Not any more.
Teresa pulled the car to a stop. Glancing out the window, he recognised the forecourt of his hotel.
Then she turned her clear, frigid gaze on him, and every repressed childhood memory, every insult and every torture he’d endured rose up. He kept his fury in check and resisted the urge to fist his hands. He thought he’d left the past behind, but clearly it still lingered beneath the surface, waiting for a moment just like this. He wanted to lash out, to take revenge on this superior ice queen, who suddenly represented every person who’d ever slighted the outcast mixed-race child from Los Pajaros.
But he was an actor. He could control his emotions. And he would die before letting her see how she’d got to him.
He opened the door and the chill night air rushed in. “I’m a narcissist and proud of it. But before you judge another person, Miss High and Mighty, you should take a walk in their shoes.”
A slight smile tugged at the edge of her full lips. “Are you upset because I haven’t fallen at your feet?”
He stepped out the car. “Thank you for the ride, Princess.” He slammed the door shut and the trailing tail of his evening jacket caught in it, but he didn’t care. He heard the fabric rip as he stalked away, head high, shoulders back, barely seeing the doorman as he pushed past into the plush lobby.
Tessa sat for a long moment, her hands on the steering wheel, which vibrated with the engine’s purr. Now he was gone and the adrenalin rush faded, reaction set in.
Her hands began to shake.
She’d been unpardonably rude.
It wasn’t like her.
Blood thundered in her ears and she laid her forehead down on the steering wheel. She could blame it on the shock of having a strange man jump into her car, invading her personal space, but it was so much more than that.
She was angry with herself.
If Daddy found out about her lapse tonight, she’d never hear the end of it. She’d been raised better than that. Remember your manners, keep your temper, and don’t be rude. She’d broken all three tonight.
Not to mention that he’d warned her that danger could come when you least expected it and that she needed to be vigilant. But she’d been so wrapped up in her own thoughts, in herself, she hadn’t even seen Christian until he’d leapt into her car. Nor had she noticed the women chasing after him. She’d been as self-absorbed as she’d accused him of being.
If her father heard of this incident, he’d have a security detail on her in a heartbeat, and she hated having eyes and ears trained on her. How could she go about planning the biggest day of her life with a bodyguard stalking her every move?
