who risked their lives for an eight-second ride on some bucking bull named Diablo. The guy was all brawn. He didn’t have a brain cell in that handsome head of his.
No wonder his costars slept with him. They probably couldn’t find anything to talk about with him and figured sex was an easy way to fill the time between scenes.
Thank goodness Adam was riding the wave to shore. The sooner she could get him to the villa, the sooner she would be able to get back to the studio.
Megan might be a lowly intern with only more errands to run, but she had better things to do than stand around and wait for a self-indulgent, stupid movie star like Adam Noble.
As Adam walked to the beach with his board tucked under his arm, waves lapped around his calves. Water dripped off his hair and ran down his lite three/two full suit. He couldn’t wait until summer, his favorite season of the year, when he wouldn’t need protection from the cold water.
He smiled at the small crowd watching him. Being a star meant putting up with fans wherever he went. He didn’t mind. Fans were the ones who paid to see his movies. Without them, he’d still be doing stunts and going home with sore muscles and bruises.
He’d gotten used to the invasion of privacy except for the paparazzi. Those vultures lurked everywhere with their digital cameras and high-powered lenses, waiting for a chance to capture him looking or doing something stupid. He always had to be on guard and make everything he did appear effortless.
Like surfing.
Even if he thought he would wipe out. Twice.
Adam would hate to see a picture like that plastered over the internet and tabloid covers with a “shocking” headline blaming alcohol or drugs or some mysterious woman for his fall. The tabloids exaggerated and blew everything he did out of proportion. But not this time.
He’d stayed on his feet. Once again. And gotten a much needed rush. He loved surfing on the Fish, a light and maneuverable surfboard. Few things in this world beat taking a risk, whether it was with surfing or acting, and succeeding.
As he hit the sand, three women thrust out their chests barely covered by bikini tops and sucked in their stomachs.
His gaze ran along the line; the blonde had a pretty smile, the brunette had exotic looks and the auburn winked at him.
One thing he could say … his job didn’t suck. But he wondered if any of the three women didn’t use the word like in every other sentence and could have a conversation that lasted more than five minutes.
Men extended their arms to shake his hand. Other women said breathy hellos, tilted their heads coyly and touched his arm.
He continued through the crowd, acknowledging each person. Okay, the women. He preferred more of a challenge than many female fans offered, but he was still a man.
Nothing wrong with looking.
He could invite a couple women to Chas’s villa, but he doubted the producer would want the meeting turned into a party. It had been delayed long enough due to the costume designs not being here. He should get back and see if they’d arrived.
His gaze left a zebra-striped bikini-clad Sports Illustrated–swimsuit-issue-worthy body and saw pink. He jerked to a stop so hard he thought he might get whiplash. Instead of soft skin and delectable cleavage, he saw a baggy pink T-shirt hiding every feminine curve he might want to check out. Jeans? baggy, as well?covered her legs except for white calves. Not the hint of a tan—or even a fake one—on her legs or arms.
Allergic to the sun? Unless she was one of those vampire types.
She looked to be in her early twenties. Her shoulders hunched, as if she were trying to hide or maybe had bad posture. Light brown unruly hair was clipped haphazardly on the top of her head. Corkscrew curly strands stuck out every which way. Unglossed lips pressed together in a thin line. But her eyes drew his attention.
Dark, thick lashes surrounded pretty brown eyes. The color reminded him of a cup of espresso. Dark and rich with subtle hints of something more, something deeper, spicier.
A funny feeling took root in his stomach.
He stared, captivated.
Warm, expressive … and not happy to see him.
He did a double take.
Disdain filled her eyes, making him feel like a piece of trash washed onto the sand by the tide. He knew the feeling all too well and didn’t like it one bit.
Adam forced his feet to move and walked past her.
At least she wasn’t one of those rabid stalker fans who stared at him in awe, saw his movies at least three times on opening weekends, slept on a pillowcase bearing his image and believed he was truly the character Neptune, his most successful role to date, and wanted him to impregnate her with a half human, half deity fetus. Those women scared him.
“Mr. Noble.” A feminine voice with a slight twang called his name.
Adam stopped. People rarely called him mister. He kind of liked it. He wondered which of the scantily dressed beauties the Southern accent belonged to. He wouldn’t mind playing Rhett Butler to a Scarlett O’Hara, especially one who showed the same strength as the Georgia belle. He turned.
The girl with the messy hair and pink T-shirt took a step toward him.
Her? He was usually luckier than that, except she did have beautiful eyes.
On second look, she wasn’t as plain as he originally thought. She reminded him of a Midwestern tourist or one of those nerd types who attended schools like Cal Tech or MIT and recited lines from The Lord of the Rings without a moment’s hesitation. Kind of cute if you liked geeks. “Yes?”
She looked at the sand, as if meeting his gaze would turn her into a block of stone. “The meeting is about to start. They would like you to come back to the, er, house.”
Funny, but he would have never expected her to be in the business. She didn’t look like any personal assistant he’d seen running around a lot or set. Someone’s daughter or niece? Maybe the housekeeper or nanny. “You were sent to get me?”
As she nodded, hair fell out of the clip. Curly strands framed her face. Her high cheekbones, a nice straight nose and full lips were attractive. But she wore no mascara, eyeliner or foundation. Not a hint of lipstick. He was used to women wearing makeup and going to great lengths to play up their assets and look their best. This girl seemed to have missed that memo. Or maybe she didn’t care what people thought about her. He found that idea very attractive.
“Duty calls, ladies,” he said to the women in bikinis.
As they walked away with promising smiles, the girl before him shook her head. She’d yet to smile.
Her attitude amused him. He wondered what it would take to turn her disapproval into acceptance.
“Who are you? A PA?” Adam asked her.
She tilted her chin. “I’m Megan Calhoun. An intern.”
Aha. So she was at the bottom of the food chain. But that didn’t explain the way she was acting.
