she's got everything straightened out over there, would you?" he asked, gifting her with his most sincere and sweetly persuasive smile, the one that never failed to get him what he wanted from most women. "Think what it could do to the bottom line."
He'd forgotten that Claire wasn't most women. She was his sister, comfortably familiar with his devastating charm. And she'd been an actress herself not so many years ago—one of the most accomplished child stars in the business before she'd decided she preferred working behind the cameras. She sat down next to her brother and put her hand on his arm.
"Do you really think the bottom line is more important to Mom—to me—than your safety?" she asked softly, lifting her gaze to his as she spoke. Her eyes were the same piercing blue as his own, the irises large and jewel bright beneath a film of unshed tears.
"Aw, jeez, Claire. That's not fair."
His sister's lower lip quivered pathetically.
"You're unscrupulous, you know that?" He threw her hand off his arm, pretending disgust. "Totally unscrupulous."
She blinked, allowing a single tear to well up over her bottom eyelid. It hung, suspended like a tiny diamond, in the web of her dark lashes.
"You might as well give up, Pierce," Gage advised, grinning as he watched his siblings try to outact each other. "She's got you."
"But I don't want a damn bodygu—"
Claire blinked again, dislodging the tear.
"Oh, all right. All right." Pierce threw his hands up, knowing he was beaten. He'd never been able to sit by and watch his baby sister cry. Even when he knew she was faking it. "I surrender. You win. I'll do whatever you want. I'll let this GI Jane of yours follow me around. Hell, I'll let a whole battalion of them follow me around if it'll make you happy. Just stop looking at me like I've dismembered your favorite doll."
The threatened tears dried up as if by magic. "I'm just asking you to meet her," she said, gracious in victory. "Just talk to her. If you don't like her we'll get someone else."
"Yeah, right," Pierce said, knowing his sister better than that. He reached out and lifted her chin with his index finger. "You've still got the touch, kid," he said admiringly, using his thumb to wipe away the single tear that had rolled down her ivory cheek.
2
NIKKI MARTINELLIstood in front of the mirror that hung on the back of her bedroom door and decided that, no, the faded blue jeans and meticulously polished Bass loafers weren't going to do it, after all. Even dressed up with a tailored white blouse and the boxy red linen jacket from her one and only suit, they still looked woefully unprofessional. Too casual and breezy. Too...
She tilted her head, studying her reflection with the critical eye of a woman who'd learned that appearances counted in La La Land. Usually a lot more than they should.
Too unremittingly preppy, she finally decided. She looked like an overindulged U.C.L.A. coed out to spend as much of her daddy's money as possible in the ritzy stores on Rodeo Drive.
Not exactly the image she'd been aiming for.
Nor one Claire Kingston would likely be willing to pay for.
According to Bill Bender, Hollywood's most beautiful producer had made it abundantly clear she was intent on hiring some serious muscle to protect her pretty-boy movie-star brother from a crazy letter-writing fan.
And serious muscle, Nikki knew, demanded seriously muscular clothes. Especially in Hollywood, where people were frequently judged by how closely they resembled the overwrought fantasies brought to life on movie screens all over the world.
Unfortunately, the only thing the least bit serious about the outfit she had on was the 9mm Baretta automatic tucked, out of sight beneath the red jacket, in the shoulder holster under her left arm.
She glanced into her open closet, wondering if showing up at Pierce Kingston's Beverly Hills estate in full military regalia, complete with combat boots, helmet, sidearm and nightstick would be considered
He'd forgotten that Claire wasn't most women. She was his sister, comfortably familiar with his devastating charm. And she'd been an actress herself not so many years ago—one of the most accomplished child stars in the business before she'd decided she preferred working behind the cameras. She sat down next to her brother and put her hand on his arm.
"Do you really think the bottom line is more important to Mom—to me—than your safety?" she asked softly, lifting her gaze to his as she spoke. Her eyes were the same piercing blue as his own, the irises large and jewel bright beneath a film of unshed tears.
"Aw, jeez, Claire. That's not fair."
His sister's lower lip quivered pathetically.
"You're unscrupulous, you know that?" He threw her hand off his arm, pretending disgust. "Totally unscrupulous."
She blinked, allowing a single tear to well up over her bottom eyelid. It hung, suspended like a tiny diamond, in the web of her dark lashes.
"You might as well give up, Pierce," Gage advised, grinning as he watched his siblings try to outact each other. "She's got you."
"But I don't want a damn bodygu—"
Claire blinked again, dislodging the tear.
"Oh, all right. All right." Pierce threw his hands up, knowing he was beaten. He'd never been able to sit by and watch his baby sister cry. Even when he knew she was faking it. "I surrender. You win. I'll do whatever you want. I'll let this GI Jane of yours follow me around. Hell, I'll let a whole battalion of them follow me around if it'll make you happy. Just stop looking at me like I've dismembered your favorite doll."
The threatened tears dried up as if by magic. "I'm just asking you to meet her," she said, gracious in victory. "Just talk to her. If you don't like her we'll get someone else."
"Yeah, right," Pierce said, knowing his sister better than that. He reached out and lifted her chin with his index finger. "You've still got the touch, kid," he said admiringly, using his thumb to wipe away the single tear that had rolled down her ivory cheek.
2
NIKKI MARTINELLIstood in front of the mirror that hung on the back of her bedroom door and decided that, no, the faded blue jeans and meticulously polished Bass loafers weren't going to do it, after all. Even dressed up with a tailored white blouse and the boxy red linen jacket from her one and only suit, they still looked woefully unprofessional. Too casual and breezy. Too...
She tilted her head, studying her reflection with the critical eye of a woman who'd learned that appearances counted in La La Land. Usually a lot more than they should.
Too unremittingly preppy, she finally decided. She looked like an overindulged U.C.L.A. coed out to spend as much of her daddy's money as possible in the ritzy stores on Rodeo Drive.
Not exactly the image she'd been aiming for.
Nor one Claire Kingston would likely be willing to pay for.
According to Bill Bender, Hollywood's most beautiful producer had made it abundantly clear she was intent on hiring some serious muscle to protect her pretty-boy movie-star brother from a crazy letter-writing fan.
And serious muscle, Nikki knew, demanded seriously muscular clothes. Especially in Hollywood, where people were frequently judged by how closely they resembled the overwrought fantasies brought to life on movie screens all over the world.
Unfortunately, the only thing the least bit serious about the outfit she had on was the 9mm Baretta automatic tucked, out of sight beneath the red jacket, in the shoulder holster under her left arm.
She glanced into her open closet, wondering if showing up at Pierce Kingston's Beverly Hills estate in full military regalia, complete with combat boots, helmet, sidearm and nightstick would be considered
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