Blackmailed Into a Fake Engagement / Tempted Into the Tycoon's Trap: Blackmailed Into a Fake Engagement

She groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

“Just curious,” he said, his gaze sliding over her sweater. “Do you still have that shirt?”

Feeling his gaze like a touch, she bit her lip. “No, it was just a man’s shirt. Nothing special.”

“Do you know how many men had fantasies about that shirt?”

She felt her cheeks heat. “No, and I don’t want to know.”

“Of course, the fantasies were about removing the shirt,” he continued.

“Which didn’t happen. So you can put that in the unfulfilled-fantasy column.” She turned off the faucet.

“A lot of reality is about unfulfilled fantasy,” he said.

“It can be,” she agreed and glanced at him. “How did you learn that?”

“My position. My brothers call me a PR wizard, but I know the truth. It’s all spin and semantics.” He moved the bowls to the small dining room table and gestured for her to sit.

“Just a minute,” she said and impulsively grabbed a bottle of wine from the refrigerator and scooped a couple of wineglasses from the cabinet. After pulling a corkscrew from a drawer, she brought the sandwiches to the table. She sat down, thinking for a flash of a moment that his gentlemanly manners made her feel more feminine than she had in a long time. “That’s part of the reason I like living here. Not much spin at all. People say what they think. I’ve never felt more at peace.”

He nodded. “How come I haven’t seen a man around to help you enjoy your newfound peace? You must have had some contenders.”

She put the corkscrew on the wine bottle, and he took it from her hands. “Maybe that’s part of the secret to my peace. I could ask you the same question. Isn’t there a woman—” she paused and shot him a sideways glance, unable to conceal a ghost of a smile “—or women back in L.A. who will be devastated by the announcement of your engagement?”

He shot her his version of a sideways glance and shook his head, pulling off the cork and pouring the wine. “I haven’t had a serious relationship in two years. I almost made a big mistake.”

She watched him take a sip. “I bought that wine at the drugstore. The vintage is uncertain at best. But you mentioned mistakes. We all make them. How did you avoid making yours?”

“I don’t run from the truth when it smacks me in the face,” he said, his own face hard with cynicism. “I don’t run from much of anything.”

She could see that his strength was more than skindeep. The knowledge gave her a shiver of awareness she hadn’t felt in a long, long time. He aroused her curiosity and made her aware of herself as a woman.

“So, how did the ‘almost’ part happen?” she asked, taking a bite of her sandwich and sipping her soup.

“My brothers say I suffer from rescuing-damsel-in-distress syndrome.”

She smiled. “Pregnant horses included?”

He gave a rough chuckle and met her gaze. She felt something sizzle and hum between them and glanced away. Where was this breathless feeling coming from?

“I met a woman whose car had broken down. One thing led to another. We started seeing each other. She was a part-time actress. I introduced her to some people. I was going to propose,” he said. “Until I found out she’d gotten involved on the sly with a producer I’d introduced to her at a party.”

Gwen grimaced. “Sorry. At least you found out before you got married. That’s more than I can say. I was so young and naive, and Peter gave me the big rush. I was pretty unfocused at that point. I’d done a few commercials and some small parts. He was the exact opposite. He knew exactly what he was going to do and how to get there. He seemed to know exactly what I should do, too.”

“You eventually disagreed.”

Gwen thought of her pregnancy and nodded. “He was willing to sacrifice something I couldn’t.”

“Must have been pretty big to turn you off acting, L.A. and men.”

“It was,” she said, but her discomfort drove her to her feet even though she hadn’t finished eating. “Um, do you want some more soup? Another sandwich?”

He circled her wrist with his fingers as she tried to step away from the table, compelling her to look at him. “I’m good, but you need to eat more. Sit down and finish.”

Gwen took a deep breath, exasperated with herself. During her acting days, she had kissed major movie stars. Why did Luc Hudson bother her so much? She sank into her seat and sipped her soup and ate her sandwich, determined to finish as soon as possible.

“When we took Nicki to rehab, she told us not to call her parents. She said to call you instead,” Luc said.

Gwen stopped midbite then swallowed and nodded. “My father moved to Arizona and hasn’t been in touch. My mother remarried and lives in Malibu. She would be upset by the negative publicity. If it isn’t good news, she doesn’t want to hear it.”

“Life doesn’t always give you roses,” he said.

“Even though you can spin it that way,” she said.

“Right,” he said. “Part of the reason I can spin it is because I face the hard facts head on. Our family has dealt with some tragedy. The death of my grandfather is still difficult. He was the heart, breath and soul of Hudson Pictures. We all want to live up to what he created.”

“Tall order?”

“In more than business,” Luc said. “He was the kind of man who could fill up a room with his personality. He had a huge passion for the business, but he also had a huge passion for my grandmother, and it never seemed to wane. He met and secretly married her during World War II in France. He founded the studio to bring her talents to the big screen. In a strange way, I think all of us are striving to find a love that matches what he and my grandmother had. Hell,” he said, “he may be gone, but my grandmother still loves him.”

“That’s an amazing story,” she said.

“Yeah, and if I weren’t so damn cynical, I might believe the same kind of thing could happen to me. Lightning that lasts.”

She nodded, understanding. “Lightning that lasts,” she echoed. “Maybe it’s harder to be cynical when you see someone who actually had that. Then it’s not a myth.”

He reached his hand toward her hair and pushed a strand away from her face. “Yeah.” He gazed into her eyes for a few seconds, which made her lose her breath.

“You have any cards?” he finally asked.

She glanced away so she could think. “Uh, yes, I do.”

“Let’s play,” he said.

“What?”

“Poker. Strip poker if you’re inclined,” he joked in a deep voice.

“In your dreams,” she said, but she had this terrifying but exhilarating sense that Luc Hudson just might have the ability to talk her out of her clothes. “I need to keep an eye on the mare via the camera.”

“The same way you did last night?” he asked, raising a dark eyebrow.

Nice of him to remind her that she’d fallen asleep so soundly that she hadn’t remembered his carrying her to bed. “I’m not as exhausted tonight.”

“You don’t really plan to stay up all night, do you?”

“No, but—”