The photographer glanced at Gwen. “As if you needed a reason,” he said. “Hollywood misses you, Gwen.”
Gwen smiled, amused by how glamorous she didn’t look with zero makeup, hair that hadn’t been brushed and sleepy eyes. Good thing she didn’t give a rip. “You’re too kind.” She wrapped her hand around Luc’s bicep. “There’s a diner in town if you’re hungry.”
“Okay,” the reporter said. “You promise you won’t go anywhere?”
“We’re not going anywhere,” Luc assured the man.
The reporter nodded. “This is gonna be great. So, I’m Tripp and this is Gordon.” Both men exchanged hand-shakes with her and Luc. “See you in an hour.”
“Two would be better,” Luc said.
“Okay,” Tripp said reluctantly. “Two hours, but not one minute more.”
The two men ran to their car and exchanged a high five before getting in and leaving. Disgusted, Gwen shut the front door and immediately rounded on Luc. “Why did you invite the paparazzi to hang around and shoot film? I don’t want them on the ranch.”
“They won’t be here that long,” he said. “This is perfect. They won’t be focusing their full attention on us.”
“I don’t want this ranch exploited for the almighty sake of Hudson Pictures. This is a beautiful, peaceful, safe place for the horses and—”
“And for you,” Luc interjected. “A safe place for you to hide from the rest of the world.”
Something inside her twisted. His words were like a hot poker fresh from the fire, stabbing at her most vulnerable point. “You have no right to criticize the life I’ve chosen. You have no right to invite these—” she broke off, her frustration growing by the millisecond “—these parasites onto my uncle’s property just because it serves your purpose. After years of working non-stop, my uncle is finally taking that three-week cruise he deserves. I hate to see his reaction when he returns to this mess. Have you thought about what will happen after this? How many more reporters will show up once our photos hit the rag sheets? And after this charade is over, how am I supposed to handle the reporters who keep showing up, asking for an explanation of why you and I broke up?”
Luc met her gaze with infuriating calm. “You can trust me. I’ll handle this.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’ve heard that before. Trust me are the two most deadly words in Hollywood.”
“Like you said yesterday, we’re not in Hollywood. I’ve been handling the press for years, Gwen. I can handle them this time, too. If it gets too intense, I’ll bring in some security.”
“Great,” she said, her voice full of sarcasm. “Exactly what I wanted. Security.”
“It’s temporary. And you shouldn’t knock the publicity you’ll get. You’ll get a flood of donations for horse rescue after this airs.”
She sighed, hating that he was right. “I need to get a shower. I don’t know how I ended up in my bed with my clothes still on. Last thing I remembered I was in my office watching the mare on the monitor and—” She stopped, seeing the knowing expression on his face. “Oh, don’t tell me you carried me to bed.”
“I did it for myself. Your head was cradled in your hands. You were going to end up with a helluva neck ache. You’re already difficult enough without anything else added.”
She opened her mouth to retort but couldn’t think of a suitable response. Was she supposed to thank him for his thoughtfulness or rip him to shreds for daring to touch her while she was asleep? She wasn’t accustomed to having anyone watch over her, especially a man such as Luc Hudson.
“I need to know how long this is going to last,” she said. “And don’t tell me ‘however long it takes.’ You know better. I bet you have this planned down to the minute. How long?”
“Barring complications with your sister, thirty to forty-five days,” he said.
Gwen told herself it was just another shoot. Her last shoot.
Two hours later, Luc watched Gwen engage both the reporter and the photographer as she showed them the rescued pregnant horse. “She’s still skittish and afraid, so you’ll need to keep your distance. Isn’t she a beauty?”
Tripp, the reporter, nodded. “She is. Did you know she was pregnant when you rescued her?”
Gwen shook her head. “We didn’t find out until we moved her back to the ranch. Luc stepped right up and helped the firemen with the rescue.”
“Really?” the reporter said, looking at Luc. “Never knew you were a horse lover.”
“You never asked,” Luc said in a deliberately cryptic voice and slid his arm around Gwen’s waist.
Tripp gave a knowing nod. “Trying to impress your lady.”
“It worked,” Gwen said, playing her role well. “But I was impressed before.”
“How did the two of you get involved?”
“We met at an industry function years ago and were reintroduced when Gwen made a trip to L.A. a few months ago. I wasn’t going to let her get away this time.”
“The commute is rough, though. How do you handle it?”
“I have access to a jet. I can get here just about anytime I want.”
“Any chance you’ll lure her back into the movies?” Gordon asked.
Luc immediately felt Gwen stiffen. “I’m a lot more interested in luring her down the aisle.”
“Have you set a date for the big day?” Tripp asked.
“We just got engaged,” Gwen chided, nestling against Luc and looking up at him with such adoration he could understand every one of her nominations. The woman was damn convincing. “We’ve waited a long time to find each other, and we want to enjoy every minute.” She paused a half beat. “Speaking of minutes, I have that appointment in town this afternoon,” she said. “So, you’ll have to excuse us. I really need to be going.”
The photographer began to click photographs at a machine-gun speed. Gwen rose on tiptoe and skimmed her lush lips over his cheek then slid her mouth next to his ear. “Please get rid of them,” she whispered, then nuzzled him again.
“That will be all,” he said to the reporter and photographer. “Gwen and I have other things we need to do.” He slid his hand down Gwen’s arm to catch her hand. “I know you appreciate getting this exclusive scoop.”
“More than you know, man. More than you know,” Tripp said and extended his hand. “Thanks for working with us. You won’t be sorry. And good luck with the horse, Gwen. What are you going to name her?”
“I hadn’t—”
“Pyrrha,” Luc said, looking at Gwen as she whipped around to meet his gaze.
“Pyrrha?” she echoed.
“Greek mythology. She was a queen.”
“A survivor of the great flood,” she said, her lips curving in a slow but genuine smile as she nodded. He felt a sizzle of connection resonate between them. “I like that.”
Luc heard the rapid-fire click of the camera and felt a surge of annoyance. The media had worn out their welcome. He shook hands with Tripp. “Have a safe trip back to L.A.,” he said and ushered everyone outdoors. He walked Gwen to the cabin.
“Did you manufacture the appointment to get rid of the reporters, or is it real?” he asked.
“It’s real,” she said over her shoulder as she climbed the stairs. “But I was ready for them to leave.