assistant. And this was who they’d hired? Just how small was this country?
He set his hands on his hips. “Over my dead body.”
Gerry ran distracted hands through his hair so it stood up at all angles. “We’ve already had this argument once today.” He turned to the delicate redhead beside Teresa. “There’s a genuine fire on Tortuga. No one’s hurt and they’ve got it under control, but we’ve lost a large portion of the set. We’re going to need to bring in more labour if we’re going to get the build done on time. You need to speak to the mayor and ask him to give us some local labourers. We just don’t have the budget to bring in more people from Florida.”
Christian’s eyes narrowed as he followed the conversation. “Good luck with that. You won’t get a single islander to set foot on Tortuga. Not now that you’ve triggered the curse.”
Every face in the room turned to him. Gerry’s expression was one of annoyed disbelief. The redhead looked intrigued. The Wardrobe Supervisor and his stylist both simply looked lost. His friend Dominic, who’d been dozing on the couch beneath an upside-down newspaper, sat up. Only Miss High and Mighty showed no emotion whatsoever.
“You’ve heard of the curse?” the redhead asked.
“Of course. Every child on Los Pajaros knows the legend. Until the pirate and his princess return to Isla Tortuga, any person who steps foot on the island is doomed to life-long grief and heartache.”
“The pirate and his princess died several hundred years ago. They won’t be coming back.” The redhead looked almost sad. “So you’re from Los Pajaros?”
He ignored the question. His past wasn’t open for discussion. He faced Gerry. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
“She’s not a babysitter, she’s your assistant. And your publicist insisted.”
Screw his publicist. Or perhaps that was the problem. He already had. This was no doubt her revenge for the fact that he’d slipped out in the middle of the night without saying goodbye. But what had she expected? She’d done enough damage control on his reputation to know what he was.
“If you don’t want her, I’ll take her.” Dominic’s voice drifted up from the sofa. He grinned at Teresa, looking her up and down. “You can assist me any time.”
Christian glared at him. “I’d like a moment alone with Teresa.” He used his most imperious tone and it worked. Everyone in the room, including the stylist, backed away. Even Dominic, though Christian had to send him another glare before he dragged himself off the sofa and followed the others, unread newspaper still in hand.
Teresa remained unmoved. He circled her, checking her out. She was as pretty as he remembered, in that Scandinavian supermodel way. An Ice Princess out of legend, with her white-blonde hair swept up into a knot at the back of her head, not a strand out of place. In the bright light of day, her complexion was pure peaches and cream, her eyebrows perfectly sculpted, her make-up professional but subtle.
She wore an elegant pants suit that hid those long legs he remembered so well, and a conservative white blouse buttoned up to the neck that was no doubt intended to conceal the swell of her breasts. It failed utterly.
What kind of a PA dressed in Ralph Lauren anyway?
Only when he stepped close did she betray herself with a startled breath.
“So you’ve come to slum it here among us philistines, have you? Or are you here to help out the less fortunate?”
Another woman might have blushed. But Teresa’s cool gaze swept over him, evaluating, unimpressed. It was last night all over again. She made him feel two feet tall, like the bastard kid he’d once been, blamed for every schoolyard prank within a mile, and made to feel like dirt for no other reason than that he had no father.
Or perhaps because the colour of his skin betrayed the fact that his father had been a white man, making him an outsider twice over.
But this was no dusty playground on Los Pajaros. They were on his turf now. And for once he had the upper hand.
“Why do you want to work for me?”
“Because I’m star-struck?” She was mocking him now. He held her gaze and waited.
She let her breath out on a sigh. “Because last night I was told I needed to walk in someone else’s shoes for a while.”
She kept her head high and held his challenging gaze. He admired a woman with spunk. She would definitely be fun to break.
“And just like that you decided to get a real job?”
“Until then I thought I’d slum it here in La-la land.”
She was either mocking him or flirting with him, but he couldn’t decide which since her face gave nothing away. Either way, she piqued his interest. There was more going on beneath the picture-perfect surface this woman portrayed to the world. As an actor, he knew one when he saw one.
“Give me one reason why I should hire you.”
She met his gaze, more like an equal than the usual deferential, sycophantic assistants he had back in LA. “Because I’m efficient, I can multi-task and I know my way around this town. I can get you a table at any restaurant at the drop of a hat and tickets to any show in town. That’s five reasons. Do you need more?”
So she was a still a smart ass. But in spite of himself he smiled. “You understand you’ll be on call to me twenty-four-seven? There’ll be no time for volunteer work.” Or a life. “And when I say jump… ”
“I ask how high?”
He grinned, enjoying himself. “No sweetheart. You don’t need to ask. You jump as high as you possibly can, with everything you have in you.”
He was sure she was going to tell him to take the job and shove it so she could go back to having her hands manicured, or whatever the idle rich did to while away the time.
And just like that he changed his mind. The idea of owning her for the next three weeks was much more appealing than watching her walk away with her pretty tail between her legs. No, he wasn’t going to send her packing. He’d give her the job. And he’d get his revenge in the most pleasurable way possible.
He wouldn’t just crack that damned composure. He’d see her completely undone.
Once again he imagined those long legs wrapped around him. Naked, unbuttoned. She wouldn’t call him a philistine when he was inside her.
He grinned, with all the charm he was famous for. “Shall we start afresh? Hi, I’m Christian Taylor.” He held out his hand.
“Teresa Adler.” She shook his hand. Her touch was as cool and impersonal as her voice. She tried to pull her hand out of his as soon as it was polite, as if the contact stung her delicate pale skin. “I am really, really sorry for the things I said last night. It was inexcusable and I apologise.”
“You had a very good excuse. It’s not every day, I’m sure, that a stranger jumps into a moving car beside you.” He could afford to be magnanimous, but he wasn’t above teasing. He gripped her hand tighter, refusing to let go. “I assume
