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      CHAPTER ONE

      ‘FOR pity’s sake, Travis, why do you never listen? You’ve been warned a dozen times. Stay out of sleazy nightclubs.’

      Denzil Raines, boss of the Sandora Studio in Los Angeles, snapped out the command and tried to control his temper. It was hard because Travis would try anyone’s patience.

      The studio produced several money-making television series, but none of them raked in the wealth as fast and gloriously as The Man From Heaven, starring Travis Falcon, and protecting that investment was a major operation.

      The young man enduring the lecture seemed to sum up the whole of the investment in himself. Travis’s body was lean and vigorous, his face was handsome, his air charming, his smile devastating. It spoke of eagerness to enjoy life to the full. Late nights, curiosity for new experiences, untiring energy for a vast range of pleasurable activities. They were all there in the quirk of his mouth, the gleam in his eye, and they caused much hair tearing among those who needed to keep him in check.

      Denzil reflected that he’d picked the right word. Sleazy. That was it. Sleazy nightclubs, sleazy pleasures, sleazy Travis. But he knew it was precisely the hint of a ‘bad boy’ lurking in the shadows that hit the magic spot with the public. And it would go on doing so as long as it stayed in the safety of the shadows. If it was allowed to escape … Denzil groaned.

      Travis was standing by the window, looking out over the view of Los Angeles. Clearly visible in the distance was the huge gleaming sign, HOLLYWOOD, that for ninety years had symbolised the city where glamour, entertainment and money united in brilliant supremacy. His gaze was fixed on the sign, as though to remind himself of the achievements he was fighting to keep. He stood, bathed in sunlight, apparently nonchalant, but actually alive to every threatening nuance.

      ‘I didn’t know it was sleazy,’ he said with a shrug. ‘My friend chose it for his stag night.’

      ‘Stag night?’ Denzil echoed in outrage. ‘Then you might have guessed there’d be half-naked dolly birds prancing around. What else are stag nights for? You should have got out of the place instead of … this!’

      He held out a newspaper, jamming his finger down on a picture of a man and a girl clinging to each other. He was sitting down, shirt ripped open, the half-naked girl on his lap, her arms about his neck, kissing him madly, which he showed every sign of enjoying.

      ‘You had to lay yourself out for those girls,’ Denzil groaned.

      ‘I didn’t lay myself out,’ Travis protested. ‘I was having a quiet drink when this lady … well …’

      ‘Quiet? Hah! When did you last do anything quietly? And she was no lady. She’d been hired for the night to “entertain” the male guests. She entertained you all right.’

      ‘I didn’t ask her to sit on my lap.’

      ‘You didn’t push her off, either.’

      ‘No, that would have been rude. I was just trying to be polite.’

      ‘Oh, it was politeness that made you put your arms about her waist, draw her close, nuzzle her—’

      ‘I’m only human,’ Travis protested. ‘When a half-naked girl drapes herself over a guy he’s expected to show some appreciation.’

      ‘You did that all right,’ Denzil snapped. ‘She’s not the only one who’s half-naked. Look at your shirt, open to the waist, so that she can dance her fingers over your bare chest. Did she pull it open? Did you? Or did you arrive like that, hoping something would happen?’

      Travis groaned. ‘Can we just leave this? I didn’t know the press was there, OK?’

      ‘The press is always there where you’re concerned,’ Denzil growled. ‘You should know that by now. Ever since the show became a hit they’ve been watching you, trying to find out something that makes people’s hair stand on end. And, let’s face it, there are plenty of those!’

      ‘I refuse to answer on the grounds that it may incriminate me,’ Travis said with a touch of wry humour.

      ‘Very wise. They just want to catch you out with something