And her reality right now was preparing an acceptable dinner. For someone who spent very little time in the kitchen because of a constant string of diets, she was pretty pleased with the appearance of dinner. Even Jackson couldn’t complain. She hoped...
She glanced down at his tray to make sure she hadn’t missed anything. There was a freshly warmed bowl of chili straight out of the can. A spoon and napkin. A glass of water because she didn’t know what he liked to drink. But there was something missing. A man his size that had been through so much that day would have a big appetite. Should she add a salad? Nah, it would take too long. And then she decided to add some buttered bread.
When it was all arranged on the tray, she turned toward the door. She just hoped he still had his leg propped up on a pillow. If she could get him moved to the bedroom, she wouldn’t have to trip over him in the living room. And maybe then she’d be able to get back to the quiet time so she could do some more work on her screenplay.
Since she’d arrived in Austria, the words had been flowing. Well, maybe not flowing, but they’d been coming in spurts. Sometimes those spurts consisted of an entire scene or two. But other times, she struggled to write a sentence, much less a paragraph. She wondered if that was how it worked for all writers or if it was just because this was her first script.
Serena paused at the doorway. Recalling her monthly indulgence of visiting the local drive-through for a bowl of chili, she realized they would top the bowl with diced onion and cheese. Perhaps she should do the same. The chili did look a little blah. Serena returned to the kitchen island.
By the time she chopped up the onion, her eyes were misty. Maybe the onion wasn’t the best idea, but she wasn’t wasting it, so she tossed it on. And then she topped it off with a handful of sharp cheddar. She returned the remaining onion and cheese to the fridge. It was then she noticed some fresh parsley.
Gizmo strolled into the kitchen. He came right up to her. He still had a sleepy look on his face.
She knelt down to fuss over him. Her fingers ran over his downy soft fur. “Hey, sleepyhead, you finally woke up.”
“Arff!”
She loved the fact that he spoke to her as though he actually understood what she was saying to him. Sometimes she wondered if he understood more than they said dogs could understand. It was almost as though he could read her mind.
Serena washed her hands before rinsing off the parsley. Then she began to chop it up. She glanced over to find Gizmo lying in front of the stove with his head tilted to the side and staring at her.
“What are you looking at?”
“Arff! Arff!”
“I’m not making a big deal out of this. I would do this for anyone who was injured and needed my help.” It didn’t matter that Jackson was drop-dead gorgeous and when he laughed, he made her stomach dip like she was on a roller coaster.
She assured herself that she wasn’t going out of her way to impress Jackson. She wouldn’t do that. After all, she was Serena Winston. Daughter of two Hollywood legends. Heiress to the Winston fortune and an award-winning actress. She didn’t need to work to impress any man.
Except that Jackson didn’t have a clue who she was. That should be a relief, but it made her wonder if she wasn’t pretty without her normal layer of makeup. Or perhaps the strawberry blonde hair didn’t work for her. Maybe it was true what they said about blondes having more fun.
What was she doing? She yanked her thoughts to a stop.
Now, because she liked the looks of the parsley and not because she was trying to impress the influential reporter, she sprinkled it over the bowl.
She caught Gizmo continuing to stare at her with those dark brown eyes. “Would you stop looking at me like that?”
Gizmo whined, stretched out on the rug and put his head down. That was better.
Serena again grabbed the tray and headed for the door. Time to go wait on Jackson. She assured herself that no matter if he smiled at her or not, she would drop off the food and leave. After all, he was enemy number one—the press.
CHAPTER SIX
HE WAS SO COMFORTABLE—so relaxed.
And, best of all, he was no longer alone.
Mae was right there, next to him. So close. So temptingly close that he could smell her sexy and flirty perfume. It was the perfect mix of spice and floral scents. As though it had cast a spell over him, he gazed deep into her eyes.
He reached out, pulling her toward him. He ached to feel her lips pressed to his. There was just something about her—about her strawberry blonde hair that turned him on.
“Jackson,” she called out to him.
He loved the way she said his name. It was all soft and sultry. He moaned in eager anticipation of where this evening was going to go.
“Jackson.”
“Mae.” He couldn’t bring himself to say more. Why waste time on words when he could show her exactly how he was feeling—