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The Hudsons: Max, Bella and Devlin
Bargained Into Her Boss’s Bed
Emilie Rose
Propositioned Into A Foreign Affair
Catherine Mann
Seduced Into A Paper Marriage
Maureen Child

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Bargained Into Her Boss’s Bed

About the Author

Bestselling Desire^™ author and RITA^® Award finalist EMILIE ROSE lives in her native North Carolina with her four sons and two adopted mutts. Writing is her third (and hopefully her last) career. She’s managed a medical office and run a home day care, neither of which offers half as much satisfaction as plotting happy endings. Her hobbies include gardening and cooking (especially cheesecake). She’s a rabid country music fan because she can find an entire book in almost any song. She is currently working her way through her own “bucket list” which includes learning to ride a Harley. Visit her website at www.emilierose.com or e-mail EmilieRoseC@aol. com. Letters can be mailed to PO Box 20145, Raleigh, NC 27619, USA.

To LaShawn, a woman who truly embodies the phrase

“dance like nobody’s watching.” You go girl!

One

“What is this?”

Dana Fallon flinched at the irritation and impatience in Max Hudson’s voice. She couldn’t blame him. Hudson Pictures was up against an immovable deadline in shooting their current project, and her leaving now wasn’t the nicest thing she could do to them.

But she had her reasons. Good ones.

Stand by your decision. Execute your plan. Her big brother’s booming “coach” voice echoed in her head even though he was on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean.

She reined in her retreating courage, brushed the dark curtain of overgrown bangs out of her lashes and tucked the ends behind her ear. Her gaze bounced off the disbelief in Max’s vivid blue eyes and focused instead on the V of tanned, muscled chest revealed by the three unfastened buttons of his white Joseph Abboud shirt. Dangerous territory.

“It’s my resignation. I’m quitting, Max. You’ll need to advertise for my replacement as soon as we return to the States. I’ve already drafted the ad for your approval.”

“You can’t quit.” He wadded the paper one-handed and pitched it toward the trash can in the corner of the hotel suite he’d been using as a temporary office for the past several months. He missed. In the five years she’d worked for him, Dana didn’t think he’d ever managed to hit a wastebasket with a paper ball regardless of which continent they were on. Max might be a creatively brilliant producer and film editor, but despite his killer body he had no athletic talents of the team sports variety.

She loved him anyway, and didn’t that make her an idiot since her attachment was completely one-sided and unlikely to ever be returned? It was time she admitted Max would love his deceased wife until he joined her in the grave and move on.

He went back to shuffling papers as if his pronouncement settled everything, and she was tempted to scuffle back to her hotel room with her metaphorical tail between her legs. But she couldn’t. Not this time.

When a job offer from a friend had coincided with the anniversary of her brother’s accident, Dana had realized she was no closer to attaining her goals today than she’d been when she’d taken this job. Her brother had never quit pursuing his dream despite setbacks and staggering odds, and she owed it to him to find the same courage.

That morning she’d promised herself that as soon as she left France behind and returned to California with the rest of Hudson Pictures’ cast and crew she’d seize control of her life and go after the career and family she wanted.

“I have to go, Max. I want to produce my own films, and you’re never going to let me do that here at Hudson. Like my letter says, I have an opportunity with an indie film company—”

“You misunderstood me. You can’t quit—not to work for another filmmaker.” His inflexible tone warned her not to argue.

She’d known this wouldn’t be easy. That was the main reason it had taken her weeks—until the day before her departure from France—to work up the courage for this conversation. “I’m not asking your opinion.”

“Because you already know what I’ll say. It’s a stupid decision and a step backward to leave a major player like Hudson to go to a fly-by-night independent studio. That aside, read your contract. You’re forbidden to work for another film company for two years after you leave us.”

Surprise snapped her shoulders back. She didn’t remember signing a noncompete clause, but she’d been so thrilled to be offered a position at Hudson that she hadn’t read the contract as carefully as she should have. The document in question was in her file cabinet at home. She couldn’t verify or disprove his words. “Two years?”

“Yes. It’s a standard clause in Hudson contracts. It keeps people from taking proprietary information with them when they go.”

He stabbed his fingers through his short dark hair and moved a pile of papers on his desk as if he were looking for something and was irritated at not being able to find it. She fought the urge to spring forward and locate the missing item for him the way she always had in the past.

Helping him and taking care of him wasn’t just her job, it had become something of an addiction—one she needed to kick.

“The timing of your tantrum sucks,” he added without looking up.

She gasped and tried to put a lid on her anger. Hasty words and emotional outbursts never solved anything, and it wasn’t like him to be rude. But then he wasn’t often under this much pressure. The film had to be wrapped and ready before his grandmother Lillian Hudson died from the cancer consuming her body. They were getting close to completion since they’d already begun the postproduction phase, but the clock was ticking. Time was short and Lillian’s remaining days were limited. Everyone involved was working around the clock and tense enough to crack.

Still, anger flushed any lingering reservations Dana might have had about hurting Max’s feelings from her system. When she’d taken this job five years ago she’d intended only to get her foot in the door, gain a little experience and then move onward and upward in a year or two. She was overqualified to be the executive assistant to a producer and film editor—even one as acclaimed as Max Hudson. She had credentials—even if they were of the East Coast variety instead of the West Coast.

She’d always dreamed of producing her own films. But then Max had turned out to be an amazing boss. She’d found herself learning more from him than her years at university and her internships back home had taught her.

And then like a dummy, she’d fallen for him, which made leaving impossible. Until now. After watching him waltz off with yet another blonde last week, she’d realized that if the romantic setting of Chateau Montcalm in Provence, France, couldn’t make Max see her as a woman instead of just an office accessory, then he never would.

She had put her life on hold to be near him for too long. She had to move on. Her brother often said that treading water did nothing but maintain the status quo, and she’d been treading and going nowhere. That had to end. Now.

She struggled to get control of her emotions so she wouldn’t end up shrieking at him, and when she thought she had, she took a deep breath. “This is not a tantrum, Max. This is my career.”

He looked up from his desk, his blue eyes glacial. “You’ll have no career if you try to find work elsewhere in the film industry.”

Shock slipped beneath her ribs like a sharp sword. Shock, hurt and betrayal. Max had a reputation for being ruthless in pursuit of his vision for a film, but he’d never been that way with her. “After all I’ve done for you, you’d blackball me?”

“In a heartbeat. Your leaving now would destroy our chance of finishing before—” He bit off the words and turned his head toward the storyboard hanging on the wall. But she didn’t think he was focusing on the graphic depictions of each scene from the movie.

His jaw muscles bunched and his lips flattened. Watching him struggle with his feelings gripped her in a choke hold. She knew he was crazy about Lillian. They all adored the Hudson matriarch. And the knowledge that they would soon lose her was difficult to handle. But Dana knew Max was wrong about one thing. He could finish this film without her.

He visibly pulled himself together and his eyes found hers again. This time they were hard with determination and devoid of emotion. This was the face of the man she’d seen reduce misbehaving cast or crew members to Jell-O with a few terse lines. She locked her knees to prevent the same thing from happening to her.

“Dana, I won’t let you make me fall behind schedule. My grandmother wants to see the story of her romance with my grandfather on the screen. I will not disappoint her. And I will do whatever it takes to prevent you from sabotaging this project.”

“Sabotaging!” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She’d known he wasn’t going to take this well, but to threaten her? When she’d started working for him five years ago he’d still been reeling from his wife’s death. She’d done everything except breathe for him until he’d surfaced from his grief. And she’d continued to be his right hand ever since.

This was the thanks she got?

Fury simmered inside her. If she stayed in this suite one more minute she was going to say something she’d regret.

“I am going back to my room.” It had taken everything she had to work up the nerve for this confrontation, and she’d crashed and burned because he was being an idiot. She needed to regroup, to replan. Because she couldn’t go on. Not like this.

She pivoted on her boot heel and stomped out of his suite. A stream of Max’s muttered curses followed in her wake. He called her back, but she didn’t stop and she didn’t go to her room. She couldn’t. A sense of claustrophobia engulfed her. She bypassed the elevator, jogged down the emergency stairs and slammed out the side exit of the hotel. Her long stride covered the parking lot as she headed…somewhere—she didn’t know where, but anywhere away from the infuriating, selfish bastard in the hotel was preferable to here.

“Dana,” Max called from behind her. She ignored him and lengthened her stride. “Dana. Wait.”

She heard his footsteps quicken as if he’d broken into a jog and then he caught her elbow as she reached a corner, pulled her to a standstill and swung her around to face him. “Give me a couple of months. Let me get Honor in the can. And then we’ll talk.”

“There’s nothing left to talk about, Max. I’ve asked you for a bigger role and been refused so many times I’ve quit wasting my breath. I didn’t spend all those years and all that money getting a degree in filmmaking to be an executive assistant.”

“I’ll give you a raise.”

She tilted her head back and glared at him. He could be so obtuse sometimes she wanted to scream. “It’s not about the money or even the project. I believe in this movie with all my heart, and I want to help you finish it. But the chance to produce the indie film won’t wait for me. My friend’s company needs me now. The only reason I have this opportunity is because their last producer died unexpectedly. I’ve already made her wait three weeks for a decision. If I turn them down or try to stall them any longer they’ll find someone else. If anyone understands budget and time constraints as a producer, you should, Max. You know I have to move now.”

She could practically see the wheels turning in his brain. His hand slid from her elbow to her bicep to her shoulder, his long, warm fingers infusing her flesh with heat that seeped through the fabric of her blouse and straight into her bones. It wasn’t a sexual thing on his part. But it was on hers. She felt the noncaress deep inside.

She had a love-hate reaction to his touches. She loved how each caress made her feel all excited and jittery and breathless, but she hated how a simple brush of his fingers could weaken her knees—and her willpower—and turn her into putty in his hands.

And he didn’t even notice.

Talk about adding insult to injury.

“Stay, Dana. I’ll give you associate producer credits on Honor. That will give you better credentials whenever you decide to move on. Not that I intend to make it easy for you to leave. You’re the best assistant I’ve ever had.”

His praise filled her with a warm glow, and then reality hit her with a cold, sobering shower. He was talking about her work, not her personally. He’d never see her as anything more than a coworker. And she wanted more—so, so much more. But right now, with his fingertips gently massaging her shoulder, she was too addled to make a decision.

She shrugged off his hand. “I’ll think about it and get back to you before we touch down in L.A.”

“I won’t be returning with you tomorrow. I need another week here, maybe two or three. I want your decision now.”

Frustration and a sense of entrapment made it difficult for her to breathe. He knew if she agreed she wouldn’t go back on her word. Unlike most of the inhabitants of Hollywood, her word was her bond. But if she stayed with him…how would she ever get over him and move on with her life? And if she couldn’t do that, how would she ever have the family or the career she craved?

James, her older brother, her idol, would be so disappointed in her for waffling.

“We both know ‘associate producer’ is a pretty useless title, often no more than a boon given because someone did somebody a favor. I want more than credits, Max. I want hands-on skills. And I know you. There’s enough control freak in you that you’d give me the title but none of the producer’s responsibilities. I’d come away with a slightly better-looking résumé, but without any new abilities.”

A nerve in his upper lip twitched, drawing her attention to the mouth that had monopolized so many of her dreams—a mouth she had yet to feel against hers in her waking hours. A September breeze cooled her skin and stirred his thick hair. She fisted her fingers against the need to smooth those dark glossy strands back into place.

“With the deadline we’re facing, you’ll be working around the clock if you take this position, and I promise you, this won’t be a meaningless title. You’ll get your new skills.” And you’ll regret it, his challenging tone implied.

She could feel herself slipping toward acquiescence and tried to pull back from the ledge to weigh the positives and negatives. As he’d said, any Hudson Pictures product carried clout and a guaranteed cinematic release. An indie film did not. The best she could hope for was acclaim at the Sundance or Toronto film festivals and possible success if that happened and the movie got picked up. But the market for independent films was exceptionally tight right now. Few were selling without big name stars. Her friend’s flick had no box office draws in the cast.

Slim-to-none chances versus a sure thing. Some choice.

Focus on the outcome, her brother always said. In this case, the outcome was a chance to get named credit for working on a major feature film, one she truly believed in, and a credential for her résumé.

She sighed in defeat. She was only twenty-eight. Her dream of a family, of someone to come home to and a career she could be proud of, could stand a few months’ delay.

Although she’d probably live to regret it, this was a chance she just had to take.

“I’ll do it.”

Friday evening Dana palmed the key to Max’s Mulholland Drive house in her damp and unsteady hand, but she hesitated to slot the key into the frosted-glass-and-iron front door.

It was stupid to be nervous. She’d been to Max’s house dozens of times since he bought the place four years ago, but never while he was here. He usually sent her to pick up or drop off something while he was tied up at his office, on a set or away on location. She’d been here several times since the day two and a half weeks ago when she’d left him in France. But tonight felt different.

Should she let herself in or ring the bell? He had to know she’d arrived. Not only had he summoned her the moment his plane landed and told her to drop everything and get over here, but she’d had to stop at the end of the driveway and punch in the security code to open the electronic gates. Whenever the gates were activated a chime sounded in the house. Had he slept through the summons? Or was he working? Either way, she didn’t want to disturb him. She lifted the key.

The door opened before she could shove it in the slot and her heart tripped. Max, with a dark beard-stubbled jaw, a faded blue T-shirt and a pair of snug, worn jeans, stood barefoot in front of her. She’d never seen him dressed this casually before. He tended to dress for success at work, and he’d always demanded the same of his staff. Today’s sleepy-eyed, just-out-of-bed look made her want to drag him right back to the rumpled and possibly still-warm sheets.

Don’t go there.

She dragged her brain back from taboo terrain and studied his pale, drawn face and mussed hair. His body was probably still nine hours ahead on French time and thought it was the middle of the night. After several months in France it had taken her a few days to adjust. “Jet lag?”

“I’m fine. Come in. We have a lot to do.”

Typical male. Refusing to admit weakness and stupidly ignoring the fact that he needed rest. “I take it you didn’t sleep on the plane or nap when you got home?”

“No time. I could use a pot of coffee.”

“You don’t drink coffee, Max.”

“I will tonight.”

“I’ll make it.” She instantly wanted to kick herself. Taking care of him was her past role, not her current one. If she wanted him to give her new duties, then she had to stop doing the old ones.

“Thank you.” He turned and headed back into the house, leaving a subtle trail of his cologne, Versace Eau Fraîche. She knew because she’d had to buy a bottle when he’d forgotten to pack his for a previous trip, and she loved the lemon, cedar and herb notes.

Her gaze traced the tired set of his broad shoulders. When she caught her eyes taking the old, familiar journey down his straight spine to his tight butt, which looked totally yummy in the jeans, she abruptly averted her eyes, tightened her grip on her briefcase handle and mentally shook herself.

Get over this obsession already. He’s not yours. He never will be yours. Move on.

The two-story marble foyer echoed her footsteps as she followed him toward the elevator with her gaze firmly fastened on the back of his head. The doors enclosed them into the paneled space. She focused on the numbered panel until he leaned against the wall—another testament to his exhaustion. Max never leaned on anything. He was too dynamic for slouching.

“Max, you’d think more clearly if you slept a few hours.”

“Later.”

The doors opened onto the second floor. His multilevel house clung to the side of a hill. She knew the layout from her previous visits. The kitchen, living and dining rooms were on this level. His office, the screening room and his private den occupied the third. His massive bedroom and two others sprawled across the fourth floor.

She’d had a few brief stints in his bedroom, but sadly only to pack his suitcase or retrieve a file or a forgotten PDA. She’d never even dared to sit on his king-size bed, let alone crawl between the sheets the way she did in her dreams. And she knew from being asked to pack for him in the past that he didn’t own any pajamas. Did he sleep nude or in his boxer briefs?

Not a journey her mind needed to take.

When she reached the sunlit kitchen she headed straight for the high end stainless-steel coffeepot sitting on the black-marble countertop. She’d overheard Max tell one of his brothers that he’d bought the appliance because most of the women who slept over couldn’t wake up enough to leave without their caffeine. She didn’t want to think about the parade of anorexic blondes through his life. Or his bed. They were a reminder that with her dark hair and eyes and olive skin she could never be what he desired.

“Where’s the coffee?” she asked.

“Freezer.” He sat in a chair at the glass-topped table with his back to the extraordinary view of the city, the distant ocean and the heated pool and spa below the window. Most of the rooms in his house overlooked the same spectacular vista. He dropped his head into his hands, exhaustion dragging his frame downward. The evening light streaming through the glass highlighted every tired crease in his handsome face.

She squashed the sympathy rising within her. He was the one who’d chosen not to sleep. But honestly, sometimes he reminded her of her two-year-old nephew who pushed himself harder when he started to tire rather than risk collapsing if he stopped moving. “The filters?”

He pointed to a dark wood cabinet above the machine and massaged the back of his neck. She yearned to step behind him and do that job for him, to tangle her fingers in his short dark hair and massage the warm skin of his neck. But she didn’t dare. She’d done a lot of personal stuff for him as his assistant, but nothing that personal.

Instead, she retrieved the coffee and then opened the cabinet and located the paper filters. Within moments the energizing aroma of coffee filled the air. She heard the rumble of his stomach from across the room over the gurgling pot.

“Have you eaten, Max?”

“On the plane.”

Apparently, even first-class food hadn’t sated his hunger. “Can I fix you something?”

Old habits died hard. She’d have to work on breaking them after he recovered from his trip. Better yet, she’d hand those duties over to her replacement, if personnel ever found someone who could meet Max’s exacting standards, and then she wouldn’t have to worry about him anymore. That thought made her stomach twinge in an odd way. Who was she trying to fool? She’d always worry about Max.

“There should be some food in the fridge,” his deep voice rumbled without its usual resonance.

“Max, we’ve been out of the country for months. I canceled your catering service, remember?And when I left you in France, you weren’t sure when you’d be home. Since you didn’t let me know you were returning until your plane touched down today, I haven’t reinstated the caterers.”

She checked the Sub-Zero refrigerator even though she knew she’d find none of the precooked meals she used to have delivered on a biweekly basis. As expected, the unit was empty except for condiments and a few bottles of beer. Nothing edible occupied the shelves or bins. The cleaning crew would have followed her instructions to remove any perishables the day after the film team left for France.

She’d have to take care of reinstating the caterers and the maid first thing in the morning. For money, which Max had in abundance, anything could be had—even on a weekend.

“Let me see what I can whip up.” She raided his freezer and found only old chocolate ice cream, which she tossed in the trash, and a bag of meatballs. The meatballs held possibilities. Turning to the cabinets she searched and discovered a box of whole wheat pasta and a jar of marinara sauce. It wasn’t the gourmet fare Max was used to, but it would have to do.

She located a pot for the pasta and another for the sauce and wondered who’d bought the items. One of his women? He didn’t usually date the domesticated variety. He went for the leggy, actress wannabes who had banned carbohydrates from their vocabularies and their diets. Not that he practiced the old clichéd casting couch—she’d learned from observation that sleeping with him pretty much guaranteed a woman would never work with him. That didn’t stop them from lining up.

She shoved the pot under the faucet and turned on the water. “Do you think you have everything you need to complete postproduction?”

“If I don’t, then the second unit will deal with it once I make a list of my requirements.”

The second unit filmed establishing shots that didn’t require the principal actors. They’d make clips of the chateau or the landscape or distance pieces in which less expensive doubles could fill in for the actors.

With Max’s editing talents and the magic of colored filters and computer software, those clips could be cut in between closeups and no one would ever know the scenes hadn’t been filmed in sequence, in the same month or even on the same continent.

Dana had never been around for the second-unit shooting, since, like this time, she was usually sent home to clean up what had accumulated while they were away and to prepare for his return. She’d love to see how the second unit worked.

As producer, Max was usually the first on the scene and the last to leave. But with Honor, because he was also the film editor and the family wanted him to assure quality by doing the postproduction himself, he’d left the location before the second unit came in.

She loved the way Max gathered all the pieces of the movie puzzle together to make the final product seem like a seamless picture, and she’d learned a lot watching his process.

“Max, I know you like to be there till the last clip is filmed, but the rush job on the editing is forcing you to be here. I could go back to France to oversee the second unit filming for you.”

“You’re needed here. What’s the status on the sound stages?”

From practice, she followed his jump in topic and poured the jar of sauce into the smaller pot. “They’re ready for anything you might need. I checked and the sets look exactly like the photographs of the interior rooms of the chateau.”

It always amazed her to see how the prop master and set dressers could identically re-create any place by using film, photographs and measurements. If she hadn’t driven herself to the studio yesterday and fought the obscene Burbank traffic, she would have sworn she was still thousands of miles away in France when she’d toured the sound stages. But the real rooms of the chateau didn’t have the soundproofed panels that the imitation sets on the movie lot had. Audio recorded here would be much clearer and have fewer outside interferences like airplanes flying overhead.

“Good. Have you eaten?”

His question surprised her. “No, Max. I jumped and came running the moment you called.”

Like she always had. It was not as if she had a Friday night date to cancel or anything. Her feelings for Max had killed her dating life for the most part. She tried every now and then, but what was the point in dating a man who could never measure up to her boss? That was going to change. As soon as this movie was finished she would date again—lost cause or not.

“Make sure to fix enough food for two.”

His consideration made her heart squeeze up into her throat. He was a nice guy, charismatic and confident…when he wasn’t being a demanding perfectionist.

“You’ll need your energy,” he continued. “We’ll probably be up all night. And keep the coffee coming.”

Her hopes and optimism crashed. She turned away to hide her disappointment. She should have known Max’s concern for her wasn’t personal. All he cared about was work—the only mistress, other than his late wife, to whom he’d ever been faithful as far as she knew.

Would she never learn?

She couldn’t bend over backward to please him at every turn the way she used to. That wasn’t her job anymore. She had to find a way to remind him—to remind both of them—of the boundaries of her new role as associate producer.

And then once Honor was completed she would tender her resignation. Again. This time she wouldn’t let him talk her out of it. She had more important things to accomplish in her life than being someone’s invisible assistant, and wasting her time pining for her boss was not going to get those items checked off her list.

She squared her shoulders and stared at the man who’d played the starring role in her fantasies for the past few years. Beginning now, her actions were going to be all about her. Her life. Her dreams. Her success. She was going to go after the family and career she craved.

And no one was going to stand in her way. Not even Maximillian Hudson.

Two

Max fought the sensation of being trussed up in an invisible straitjacket Sunday morning. Having a woman move into his house even temporarily broke his twenty-four-hour rule, and he had that rule for a reason. Never again would he allow a woman to be more than a one-night stand.

But when Dana had fallen asleep sitting in the spare chair in his study just before sunrise yesterday he’d realized he couldn’t ask her to work eighteen-hour days and then make the drive home. It wasn’t safe. Instead of waking her and sending her on her way he’d let her sleep and left for the office so he wouldn’t be around when she awoke. He’d barricaded himself in his office at Hudson Pictures all day Saturday.

He would not be responsible for another woman falling asleep at the wheel and ending up dead. His gut clenched as the memories rained down on him. His wife was gone, and he knew from experience that rehashing and regretting that night would not bring Karen back. Nothing would. He slammed the floodgates on the past the way he always did.

Reminding himself that his cohabitation with Dana was a temporary measure and nothing more than a way to squeeze more working hours out of each day, he brushed aside his disquiet. He wasn’t doing this for Dana’s benefit. It was a purely selfish action. If something happened to her, it would be close to impossible to finish editing Honor on time.

He shoved open the door to the first-floor guest suite, entered and dropped the small suitcase he carried beside the bed. “Leave your stuff in here.”

Dana rolled her shoulders stiffly and yawned as she followed him into the room. She covered her mouth and the muscles in her arms shifted, revealing her excellent physical condition. He’d heard that she, like several of the employees, often made use of the personal trainers Hudson Pictures had on location for the lead actors. It showed.

Why had he never noticed that before?

He yanked his gaze back to her face. She looked tired. Not surprising since he’d called and woken her far earlier than most people got up on Sunday morning and demanded she pack a bag and get over here.

He should be exhausted, too, but he was charged by adrenaline, too much caffeine and too much to do. He’d snatched a couple hours sleep here and there, but he’d have to wait to catch up once he had the first cut of the film put together.

There were a lot of pieces to this project that would normally be farmed out to others, but the family wanted tight control on the finished project. That meant he had more responsibilities than usual. But thanks to digital nonlinear filming he could do most of the work here on his computer instead of in the office where constant interruptions would slow him down.

He caught his gaze wandering over Dana again. Her usual work wardrobe was professional, conservative. Today’s snug, ribbed orange tank top clung to her breasts, and she’d cinched her low-rider jeans with a wide leather belt, drawing attention to her rounded hips. She’d dressed too casually for the office, but they weren’t going leave his house today, so he wouldn’t waste time complaining or waiting for her to change.

She usually wore her long, dark hair up in a neat, no-frills style, but this time she’d clipped the strands up in one of those messy, I’m-getting-ready-to-shower styles that left her neck dusted with loose tendrils—the kind a cameraman loved when shooting a love scene or any other scene requiring a shot of a woman’s vulnerable nape.

She hadn’t bothered with makeup, but her smooth olive skin and thickly lashed dark eyes made cosmetics unnecessary. A makeup artist would love her, and if the male crew members saw her like this they’d be salivating over her. She looked approachable instead of her usual cool as ice.

Despite her skills in the office, Dana could easily be in front of the camera instead of behind it. Another thing he’d missed.

The fact that she had never used her womanly shape, big chocolate-brown eyes and lush red lips to wheedle her way out of hard work was a point in her favor. He’d experienced enough vain, demanding actresses to lose patience with high-maintenance attitudes long ago. The last thing he needed was more behind-the-scenes melodrama. Movie sets were always full of drama of the unscripted and unwanted variety. The Honor set had been no exception.

During the winter his younger brother Luc had become engaged, knocked up his fiancée and decided to leave Hudson Pictures for a horse ranch in Montana. In the spring his cousin Jack had discovered a son he didn’t know he had and married the kid’s mother. About the same time the family had learned of their grandmother’s cancer after she’d had a frightening collapse. And then this summer his cousin Charlotte had become pregnant by the owner of the chateau where they’d been filming Honor.

If Max had his way, autumn would not yield any more real-life drama for the cast and crew and definitely not for him.

He shook off the past and focused on Dana. “I want you staying here until we finish the locked cut.”

Her eyes widened and then her teeth pinched her bottom lip. “But the final cut could take months.”

“We don’t have months and you asked for this position. I warned you that you’d be working around the clock.” He regretted letting her back him into a corner. But he hadn’t had a choice. He needed an assistant to pull this off, and he didn’t have time to train someone new on his methods. Dana knew how he worked. “If you can’t handle it, speak up.”

Her chin rose at his challenge and her cheeks flushed peach. “I can handle it. But when you said pack a bag I only packed enough clothing for a couple of days. I’ll have to swing by my apartment and pick up more later.”

“Fine. Let’s get started.” He headed for the stairs, hoping the climb would chase away his grogginess.

“Max, I need coffee first. It’s not even six yet. And in case you don’t know it, I stayed here until ten last night.”

Thanks to his security system’s ability to text his cell phone he knew how late she’d stayed. He’d deliberately avoided coming home until after she’d left, and then he’d rolled in around midnight. The pile of completed work she’d left on his desk proved she hadn’t been sleeping on the job all day. But then Dana had never been one to shirk even the dirtiest assignments.

“You know where the coffeepot is.”

“I left messages with the caterers and the housekeeper and asked them to resume services immediately,” she said from close behind him. “They should return first thing Monday morning. Hudson’s personnel director is trying to hire my replacement. In the meantime, unless you quit being so critical of every résumé you receive, you might have to work with a temp.”

He stopped and turned on the stairs. From the tread above her he looked down at her upturned face, and against his will the swell of her cleavage drew his gaze. The sight hit him with an unexpected punch of arousal.

What the heck?

Dana worked for him. That made her off limits. He ripped his attention from her smooth skin. Only then did he notice she carried several canvas bags looped over her wrists in addition to her ever-present briefcase. “Is there a reason why you’re telling me this?”

“Yes. I’ve run your office without a glitch for five years, Max. You need to know the effort that goes into that because you’re going to notice some rough spots during the transition. I’ll do my best to smooth them out, but you might just have to suck it up and deal with a few irritations.”

The fire in her eyes and voice surprised him. Had Dana ever talked back to him before? He didn’t think so. In fact, she’d almost been invisible in getting things done without drawing attention to herself. More than once he’d almost run into her because she was by his side before he even called for her.

“Nothing can slow us down.”

“Max, I can’t guarantee that, but I’ll try to make sure nothing does. Let me unload the groceries and then we can get started. You may be able to work without breakfast, but I can’t.”

A subtle floral fragrance reached his nose. Dana’s perfume? Why had it never registered before? And why was it intruding now? Not intruding, just distracting. She smelled good. He shook off the unnecessary awareness. He didn’t have time for distractions.

“Give me those.” He pulled the bags from her arms, carried them to the kitchen and set them on the counter. She immediately withdrew a covered rectangular dish from one and popped it into the microwave.

“What is that?”

“A breakfast casserole. I made it last night.” She methodically unpacked the remainder of the bags while the microwave hummed, and she stored each item in the cupboards or fridge—fruits and vegetables, juice, milk, bread, eggs, a wedge of the cheese he preferred, two thick T-bone steaks, his favorite cut of meat.

The other night he’d had to escape to the balcony while Dana cooked the spaghetti. The domestic scene had brought back too many memories. Karen had loved to cook. During their brief marriage they’d spent many hours together in the kitchen of their old house laughing, loving and eventually eating whatever she’d whipped up. That was back in the day when sharing a meal with his bride had been one of the highlights of his day, second only to making love with her.

Damn.

Karen had never set foot in this house, but he felt her presence everywhere he went these days. He blamed the disturbance on the script. Shooting the story of his grandparents falling in love reminded him of falling for his wife and the despair of losing her. He’d known he wanted to spend the rest of his life with his red-haired beauty within three days of meeting her, but he’d had only three years—years that had passed faster than a blink.

And now she was gone.

And it was his fault.

“When was the last time you ate?” Dana’s voice plunged into the depths of his dark memories and yanked him to the surface.

He drew air into his tight lungs and searched his mind. “I don’t know. Your spaghetti, I guess.”

She scowled at him. “Max, that was thirty-six hours ago.”

He shrugged. “I was working.”

She rolled her eyes and made a disgusted sound. “And you always forget to eat when you’re working.”

Did he? Was that why she was always shoving food in front of him?

She filled a tall glass with ice and some of the pineapple juice she’d brought with her and set it on the counter in front of him. He sipped the sweet liquid while she bustled around. Moments later the scent of coffee brewing filled the kitchen.

“You don’t need a new executive assistant. You need a keeper,” she muttered under her breath as she banged more items into cabinets.

The quiet anger in her tone raised his hackles. “What did you say?”

She turned, brown eyes flashing with temper, and parked her hands on her hips. “I said you need a keeper. I have your food and dry cleaning delivered and your house cleaned. I run your office, pay your bills and schedule your car maintenance and even your dentist and doctor appointments. You’re a brilliant producer and film editor, Max. You can schedule a multibillion dollar project down to the dime and edit it down to the second, and heaven knows, you can work miracles with film and the cast and make sure everyone else’s needs are met. But you can’t manage your own life.”

“What?” Karen had often said the same thing. That without her he’d be lost. She was right. That’s why he had Dana.

Dana pushed her bangs off her forehead and sighed. “That’s not your fault. You’ve never had to. You had your family and an army of servants and then your wife and now me to do all that for you. But you’re going to have to learn. Your next executive assistant may not be willing to manage your personal life, and I won’t be around forever.”

“We’ve been over that. You can’t quit.”

Her gaze met his dead on, steady and determined, dark brown and serious. “I promised to see you through the end of Honor. And I am leaving Hudson Pictures once we’re done. I negotiated the noncompete clause out of my new contract. You can’t give me what I need, and I’m not going to let you hold me back anymore.”

Her comment took him aback. Man, she was full of surprises today. None of them good. “I’m not holding you back.”

“Yes, you are.”

The sadness in her voice caught him at a loss. He didn’t understand all this emotional crap, and he was too tired to try to figure it out. Was she PMSing or what? “What exactly is it you want, Dana? I gave you the promotion you demanded.”

She glanced toward the doorway and shifted on her feet. “I need a life.”

“You have a life and a job most people would kill for. You travel the globe and frequent five-star hotels and restaurants. You wear designer clothing to premieres and work with movie stars others only dream of meeting. The films we create make history, damn it.”

“No, Max. You make history. I just watch from the sidelines.” She dug in her briefcase, extracted her PDA, a pen and a pad of paper and then rapidly filled the page with her neat script. When she finished she pushed the sheet toward him.

“What is this?” Whatever it was, he knew from her expression that he wasn’t going to like it.

“This is a list of people who make your world turn. Your caterer, dry cleaner, housekeeper, dentist, doctor, barber and the like. Until your new executive assistant is hired, you’ll be dealing with these people yourself.”

“Why won’t you?”

“Because it’s not my job anymore.”

Speechless, he stared. Where was the efficient, quiet woman who’d worked for him for the past few years? “What in God’s name happened to you in France?”

“I had a wake up call from my brother. He made me realize that my life was passing me by while I ran yours.”

“You have a brother?” How could he not have known that? Come to think of it, did he know anything about Dana’s personal life? He searched his mind and came up with a blank slate. She didn’t share; he didn’t ask. He liked it that way.

But then he realized he didn’t even know where she lived or where she was from originally. Going by the slight accent that slipped out now and then he’d guess she’d come from a southern state. He’d have to have personnel fax over a copy of her résumé.

“My brother, James, is two years older than me. He’s a football coach at the university back home. Coaching was his dream, and he didn’t let anything stop him from attaining it.”

She pulled out a manila folder and slid it across the countertop. “Here’s the schedule of your current appointments and a selection of the caterer’s sample menus. Mark your choices, add anything else you want and then fax the sheets to the number on the top of the page. They’ll coordinate the delivery times with Annette.”

Confused, he frowned. “Who is Annette?”

She sighed as if she’d lost patience with him. “Your housekeeper. She’s worked for you for four years.”

He should have known that. But when was he ever home during the day? “What in the hell is going on, Dana?”

“I’m your associate producer now, Max. I won’t be your caretaker anymore.”

Caretaker.

He stiffened at the insult. “I’m thirty-three years old, not a child who needs a nanny. I can take care of my own damned needs.”

A daring sparkle glinted her eyes and the edges of her mouth slowly curved in a mischievous smile. One dark eyebrow rose. “Really? Care to wager on that, Hudson?”

Something inside him did a queer little twist. He’d never seen this side of Dana before, and he wasn’t sure what to make of the change or if he liked it. “Oh, yes, I’ll bet on it. Put your money where your mouth is, Fallon.”

She shook her head. “Money means nothing to you.”

Drumming his fingers on the folder, he ticked through the possible stakes. What did she have that he wanted? The answer was obvious. “If I handle all my personal junk without asking for your help, then you’ll stay on as my assistant after we wrap Honor.”

She bit her lip and shifted on her feet. “Your executive assistant, not an associate producer?”

“That’s right. After this project you return to your old duties.”

“And if I win?”

“I’ll give you the best damned reference you’ve ever seen. I’ll even make a few calls to help you get your next job.”

Her lips parted and her chest rose as she took one deep breath and then another. Her bright orange top kept drawing his attention to her breasts. Her sedate, conservative clothing had never had that effect on him. He forced his gaze back to her face. Should he insist she go back to her professional clothing? No. That would be a sign of weakness.

“Be sure you want to wager this, Max. Because you won’t win.”

He was sure he didn’t want to have to train someone new. Dana might have been around for a long time, but he remembered how many assistants he’d hired and fired before finding her. As she’d pointed out, she made his life run smoothly. She’d fit in from the first day she stepped into his office.

“I’m sure you won’t win. Do we have a deal?”

He’d give her the responsibility she wanted with this picture, and if he played his cards right and showed her the harsh reality of an associate producer position, she’d see her job as his executive assistant involve a hell of a lot less work and stress. She’d beg to have her old job and her old hours back. Then his life would run smoothly once more.

She held up one finger. “If you win, I’ll stay on for one year. That’s the most I’ll promise. Not that it’s going to happen.”

His competitive spirit kicked in. She ought to know better than to back him into a corner. He thrived on working under pressure. And he would do his best to change her mind about the one-year stipulation. “You have yourself a deal, Dana.”

He held out his hand and she put hers in it. The contact of her warm, soft palm and long slender fingers against his sent a surge of electricity up his arm. He’d felt that jolt only once before.

The first time he’d kissed his wife.

He yanked his hand free.

Man, the Honor script was messing with his head.

He didn’t have those kinds of feelings for Dana. Or anyone. And he never would again. Because the last time he’d let himself care about a woman she’d ended up dead.

Three

Max pulled away from Dana so abruptly he yanked her off-balance. “I’m going for a swim.”

“What about work? You’re the one who called me before sunrise and said we needed to get started. And what about breakfast?”

The microwave dinged as if to reinforce her point. Glad to have a distraction from the residual tingle in her palm, Dana wiped her hand on her jeans and then opened the door. The delicious smell of the ham, zucchini and mushroom strata filled the air.

“Later.”

New job. New rules. No more passivity. She was part of his team now—not his support staff—not his gopher.

She grabbed his forearm before he could escape. His muscles knotted beneath her fingers. Heat seeped from his skin to hers. How would she ever get over him if she couldn’t stop this instant awareness? She’d have to find a way. Somehow.

“Listen, Max, if you want to starve yourself and go without sleep when you’re alone, that’s fine. But hunger and tiredness make you cranky, and that makes dealing with you less than pleasant. When I’m around, you need to eat and sleep.”

The stunned expression on his face made her want to take the words back. She’d jumped so far across the line of proper boss-employee conduct that she’d be lucky if he didn’t fire her. But something her brother had said in his pep talk about putting up with the garbage you had to endure and eliminating the annoyances you could had struck a chord with her.

If she couldn’t leave Max, then she had to make an effort to make her remaining time with him bearable. What did she have to lose? She’d already given up on winning his heart. “You can swim after breakfast.”

He pulled his arm from her grip. “That’s not safe. It causes cramps.”

“Oh, please. That’s an old wives’ tale, and you know it. Stop making excuses. Sit down. I’ll get you a plate.”

She watched him mentally debate his reply and then, surprisingly, he nodded. “Let’s eat outside.”

A victory of sorts. She’d take it. She grabbed a tray and piled on the dishes, flatware, coffeepot and casserole. Max took the tray from her and headed outside to the wide patio.

After taking a moment to admire the flex of his thick biceps, she raced ahead to open the sliding-glass door and then closed it behind them. Today he looked more like the smartly dressed, composed boss she was used to seeing in his crisply pressed Pal Zileri trousers and a short-sleeved shirt. Thanks to dealing with his dry cleaning, she knew more about his favorite designers than she needed to.

A steady breeze blew her bangs into her eyes. She impatiently brushed them aside. Now that she was home she needed to make time for a trim. “You should probably find time to visit your grandmother today. She’s asked about you.”

He set the tray on the table and shot her a questioning look. “You’ve talked to her?”

The cool morning air smelled fresh instead of smoggy. She caught a whiff of his cologne and inhaled deeply before she could stop herself. “Of course. I’ve visited Lillian twice since we’ve been back. She’s a bit frail, but her attitude is good, and she’s as sharp and witty as ever.”

He gave her a strange look. Dana shrugged and sat. “My family is on the other side of the continent and I miss them. So excuse me if I’ve adopted some of yours.”

“Where?”

She blinked in surprise. “Where is what?”

“Your family.”

How unusual. Max didn’t ask personal questions. He kept the lines between business life and personal life very clearly drawn. “North Carolina. My father teaches filmmaking at the university in Wilmington and my brother coaches there.”

“That’s where you caught the movie bug.”

“From my father? Yes. He always talked about coming to California and making movies, but family obligations kept him on the East Coast.” Why was she blabbering this stuff? Max hated useless chitchat.

“So you’re doing this for him.”

“No, I’m doing it for me. He and I used to edit our old family movies together. It was a hobby we loved and shared. During high school and college I used to write screenplays, but—”

Shut up, Dana. You’re blabbering again.

“But what?”

“Screenwriting’s not exactly a secure occupation.”

“Nothing in the entertainment industry is.”

“No.” That was why she’d been so thrilled to land a job with a heavyweight like Hudson Pictures.

She lifted the serving spoon to dish up the food, but hesitated when she realized she was about to fill Max’s plate. It was a bad habit—one she had to break. How many times had she fixed his lunch when she prepared hers? In fact, if she knew he was going to be working at his desk instead of out schmoozing for lunch, then she usually spent the evening before preparing something special and then packed enough for two the next day. No more of that.

She served herself and set the spoon back in the casserole dish, letting him get his own.

He did so. “You’ll have to send your family tickets to the Honor premiere.”

Her fork stopped short of her lips. Who was this man? Usually exhaustion made Max grumpy. It never made him likeable and approachable. “They’d like that.”

“I didn’t know you and my grandmother kept in touch.”

A chuckle escaped before she could stop it. Lillian had been a regular contact since the first day Dana set foot on Hudson property as Max’s executive assistant. The eighty-nine-year-old might be subtle, but she was effective.

“Are you kidding me? I run your world and she checks to make sure I’m doing it correctly and to her standards. She has a soft spot for you. Don’t tell her I said so, but I think you might be her favorite grandson.”

A tender smile curved Max’s lips and the love in his eyes made Dana’s breath hitch. If he ever looked at her like that, her new resolution to get over him would crumble.

No, it won’t. You’re past that. Remember?

Right. She’d promised to say yes to the next guy who asked her out. She might even sleep with him because it had been…forever since she’d had sex. Well, a couple of years anyway.

Step one in her twelve-step guide to getting over Max Hudson was to immerse herself in another man…or three.

Yeah, right. You never learned to juggle men.

Maybe it was time she tried. At least her heart would be safe that way.

Except for one fizzled relationship, she hadn’t dated all that much since taking the Hudson position. Luckily she lived in an apartment building populated by attractive actors waiting for their big break. When she had to attend a Hudson Pictures function she asked one of her neighbors to accompany her. That way she always had a good-looking guy on her arm, and she did them the favor of giving them exposure and introducing them to a few powerful people in the biz. A win-win situation.

She pulled herself back to her present. “In all the years I’ve worked with you, you’ve never worked with an associate producer. What will my duties be?”

He seemed to ponder as he ate. “You’ll liaison with the cast and crew.”

“I’ve done that before.”

“You’ll be responsible for checking location details, making sure each of the cast has what he or she requires and you’ll be troubleshooting.”

Not what she had in mind. “This is beginning to sound like my old job.”

“And until I have a new executive assistant it’s my job. I’m delegating.”

“Max—”

“Don’t ‘Max’ me. You asked for this, Dana.”

“If you’d look at the résumés piled on your desk, you might find a new E.A.”

“I have looked and none of the applicants has your qualifications.”

“That’s because I was overqualified.”

He frowned. “I don’t have time to train anyone right now, and neither do you.”

“But—”

“I’ll also need you to check the log sheet.”

She blinked at his change of subject and nearly groaned. Writing down each scene as it was filmed was mind-numbing. Checking it against the film was doubly so. She sighed. “What else?”

“Make an edit script.”

Boring desk work. But, okay, she knew that was part of the process. She forced herself to keep eating although he was killing her appetite.

“Capture the footage and back it up. You do know how to work the editing software, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

She’d spent a lot of her nonwork hours learning the computer program that stored the dailies digitally on a hard disk. A good producer knew how to get his hands dirty in every phase of production. Putting the clips in order was busywork, but at least she’d get to see the raw footage and get a feel for how the film might come together. That part was exciting.

Max’s vision for the story would determine the final product. His editing would set the pace, tone and emotional impact of the film and a million other things simply by the clips, shots and angles he chose to include or cut. Even the sound he chose would affect the final product. While editors might not get much of the credit, the editor could make or break a film.

And then something struck her. “Wait a minute. This is beginning to sound more like editing than producing. And why are you giving me the tedious jobs?”

Max didn’t even blink at her accusation, nor did he deny it. “Because right now that’s what I need you to do. The producer’s primary job is to keep everyone happy, on schedule and under budget. Someone has to do the grunt work, and you need to learn from the bottom up.”

She sat back, her appetite and her enthusiasm gone. “I have a degree in filmmaking, and I served several internships with Screen Gems at the Wilmington studios.”

“You haven’t used any of that knowledge since you graduated, and the technology has completely changed in what? Six, seven years?”

“About that. But I’ve done my best to keep up.”

“Good. Then maybe you won’t slow me down. We’ll move faster if I don’t have to stop and explain things every step of the way.” Max took a few bites of his breakfast. “I’ll also want you checking for continuity errors, specifically the clocks, candles, setting, cigarettes or anything else that might be an issue. Make sure they haven’t changed from shot to shot. No short candles that suddenly get tall.”

“That should have been done during filming.”

“Right. And yet slipups make it into even megabudget films—even the ones that aren’t rushed through postproduction. But I won’t have them in mine.”

He finished his breakfast and rose. “Time for that swim.”

She watched him climb the outdoor, circular iron staircase in the corner of the patio to the master suite and exhaled a pent-up breath when he disappeared inside.

He’d finally given her the job she wanted. But he wasn’t going to make it easy. But if he thought he was going to force her back into her old job he was going to be sorely disappointed.

Because like her brother, she was no quitter. She might have gotten sidetracked from her goals for a while, but once she set her mind to something she stuck to it.

Like saving Max. Or saving herself.

Dana turned away from the sight of Max’s tanned, muscular shoulders and arms cutting laps through the long pool below the window. No way could her brain function with that kind of distraction.

She was determined not to let Max or herself down, but when she stared at the overwhelming mountain of work on her desk and the long list she’d made of her assigned duties, she had to wonder if she was up to the task. Sure, she’d asked for the responsibilities, but Max had piled them on. His pointing out that she was a bit…rusty in her production skills hadn’t helped her confidence any.