The Hudsons: Max, Bella and Devlin: Bargained Into Her Boss's Bed / Scene 3 / Propositioned Into a Foreign Affair / Scene 4 / Seduced Into a Paper Marriage

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.