a conversation in French that sounded as if she’d been living in France her whole life.
“I forgot you were fluent in French,” he told her, taking a champagne flute as a waiter walked by. He handed her the glass and an embossed napkin. “Mother told me you have an ear for languages.” Not to mention he’d seen it on her background reports.
“I speak French, Spanish and Italian.” She took a sip of champagne, leaving her plump pink lips moist, inviting.
“You even had the sexy accent down. You sure you’re not an actress?” He only half joked.
Not once at the Marché du Film opening night film earlier or since they’d entered the Icon Picture party had she acted shy or uncomfortable. She’d lit up the red carpet with her smile and sultry gaze into the cameras, and Bronson knew without a doubt that when he saw their pictures in a tabloid, his eyes would be glued to this Italian beauty. There wasn’t a man drawing breath who would blame him for being infatuated with her.
How many times over the past few years had she escorted Anthony Price to events? He’d never seen her, but then he hadn’t been looking and didn’t care who Anthony entertained. At least not at that point.
“Not an actress,” she assured him with a smile. “I just find speaking another language romantic and mysterious.”
“Romantic and mysterious?” Bronson leaned in so only she could hear. “The perfect description of my date tonight, wouldn’t you say? Makes me want to uncover more of you.”
Bronson leaned back, eager to see her eyes, even more eager to hear her response. But Mia’s dark gaze darted over his shoulder. Bronson turned to see what she was looking at, and the moment was gone.
“Oh, there’s your mother.” Mia waved, standing on her tiptoes.
“Darling!” Olivia closed the gap and kissed Mia’s cheek. “So sorry I’ve been scarce since the showing. I’ve been catching up with old friends. There’s quite a buzz about the beauty on my son’s arm. There’s not a man who can keep his eyes off you, my dear.”
Mia laughed. “Oh, please. Every woman here is stunning.”
Not like you. God, the words nearly came out of his mouth. But it was true. There wasn’t a woman in Cannes right this minute who compared to Mia.
Focus. He wasn’t here to get played by this woman—he was here to see what the hell she truly wanted from his family. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that Anthony had some kind of agenda behind Mia’s career move. But he didn’t have to worry about his mother saying anything to her personal assistant about the script they’d been working on. It was just as important to her that nothing be revealed until they were both ready.
And, if Mia turned out to be as clean and innocent as her background check indicated, then he would let her be. But if he found out she was indeed working for Anthony, they both would rue the day they decided to cross the Danes.
Bronson kissed his mother’s cheek. “It’s a shame Victoria couldn’t join us this year.”
Olivia smiled. “Working hard on a big celebrity wedding trumps us, darling. That girl does work herself to death.”
Bronson laughed. “Says the pot about the kettle.”
Olivia wrapped an arm around Bronson’s waist in a half hug. “I’m proud of all my children for their hard work.”
Bronson was about to say something else, but his thought was lost as he looked to Mia. A flash of pain darted through her eyes.
“You’re all very lucky to have each other.” Mia took a sip of champagne. “Does Victoria usually attend, as well?”
“Almost always,” Olivia said. “She designed many of the dresses you see here tonight, and she loves nothing more than to admire her work up close.”
Bronson didn’t know about the other clients, but he was sure as hell happy with the dress she’d chosen for Mia. And he couldn’t help but wonder what other taunting designs would adorn Mia during their trip. What dress he would ultimately unwrap her from.
God help him. This was only night one.
“It’s getting late.” Olivia lifted her face, placing a kiss on Bronson’s cheek. “See you tomorrow. Mia, I’ll see you first thing in the morning.”
Mia smiled and nodded. “I’ll be at your suite by eight.”
As his mother disappeared beneath sparkling chandeliers into the sea of glitz, glamour and overflowing champagne fountains, Bronson turned back to Mia, who was placing her empty flute on the tray of a passing waiter.
Mia smothered a yawn. “I’m still a bit jet-lagged.”
He hated that the evening was drawing to a close, but it was late and he had an early meeting. “Then I’ll escort you to your room.”
With a warm smile that threatened to lure him in, Mia placed a slender hand on his arm. “No need to leave because I am, Bronson. I’m sure you have many more associates who’d love to chat with you.”
He shrugged. “It’s well after midnight as it is. You’re not the only one who needs to be well rested.”
Taking her soft hand, he laced her arm through his and escorted her through the party. He didn’t miss the fact that men seemed to keep their gaze on Mia a little longer than necessary … he knew the feeling of wanting to capture a mental picture of this beauty.
Mia, on the other hand, seemed oblivious to the attention.
“And here I thought all you Hollywood hotshots never slept,” she went on, smiling up at him.
Those dark-as-night eyes could make a man forget any scruples he had. The sweet floral scent radiating off all that bare skin made his mouth water. If the woman was this potent after one evening, how would he survive the rest of the trip?
Dammit. He hated being vulnerable, and Mia was working her way fast and hard under his skin.
“I won’t lie,” he told her. “We do burn the midnight oil quite often. Which is why we need to sleep when we can.”
As they stepped out into the warm night air, Bronson tasted the saltiness of the sea on his lips. He couldn’t help but wonder if Mia would taste the same.
Yachts lined the docks and bobbed gently with the subtle ripples of the Mediterranean. Thousands of twinkling lights glistened off the black water, setting a romantic ambiance seen in movies.
Obviously, a realistic effect.
“This place is amazing.” Mia snuggled closer to him as she looked out over the water. “I could live here and just stare at that gentle rolling tide all day.”
“We have coastline at home, as well.”
She looked back at him and tilted her head. “True, but there’s something romantic and glamorous about Cannes. I love Hollywood, but it’s all so … fake.”
Bronson laughed. “Fake? You’ve never faked anything?”
“No,”
