King's Ransom. Amelia Autin
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Dirk was a man’s man, too, despite his movie star looks. His appeal was universal. Men wanted to be like him on the silver screen—brave, strong, heroic and utterly irresistible to women. Women just wanted him. But at thirty-four, five years Juliana’s senior, he was quietly, steadfastly faithful to his wife of twelve years, Sabrina, the lovely blonde who sat in the window seat next to him, gazing down with interested eyes at her first glimpse of Zakhar.
Dirk was one of Juliana’s few male friends in Hollywood. He was also one among the tiny handful of men who’d never tried to seduce her. Probably the only man who really saw the vulnerable woman behind the glamorous facade. Dirk and Sabrina were the only people besides Marty who knew Juliana was dreading the return to Zakhar. But even they didn’t know why. There were secrets in Zakhar she wanted to keep, even from her best friends.
“Did you sleep at all?” Dirk asked her, his knowing gaze sweeping over the faint shadows beneath her eyes.
“Not much.” She’d finally dozed off shortly after dawn, but then she’d woken with a start, her heart pounding, hearing words she’d heard in her head many times over the years. Come to me, Juliana. Come to me. Loving words. Lying words.
“Didn’t think so. And that’s not you. You can usually sleep anywhere. Remember when we were on location in Death Valley two years ago? No one else could sleep in that searing oven...except you.”
Dirk knows me too well, she told herself. Which wasn’t surprising. She’d starred opposite him three times before in the past ten years, the last being the action-adventure flick set in Death Valley, San Francisco and Hong Kong—another hit for both of them. Such a resounding commercial success the studio was begging for a sequel, although so far Dirk had refused. “No way,” he’d told Juliana in private. “There’s nothing new that can be revealed about those characters.” And on his sage advice Juliana had refused, too.
Dirk had never steered her wrong. He’d been responsible for her big break in Hollywood right from the beginning, convincing the producers of her first movie to take a chance on an unknown. He’d already been a major star then—the marquee name that could sell a movie all on his own, so the producers had acceded to his wishes. Dirk had seen Juliana’s screen test, had seen something in her that he knew would click with him on-screen, and after they’d talked in person he’d picked her over already established stars to play the heartbreakingly fragile Tessa opposite his Terry O’Dare in the movie adaptation of the runaway bestseller Jetsam.
Dirk’s instincts hadn’t played him false. They had sizzled on the screen for a variety of reasons, not the least of which was Juliana’s petite stature next to his robust frame, which emphasized her fragile femininity and his uncompromising masculinity.
Now they were being paired up again for King’s Ransom, and she knew why the producer had wanted both of them. Their on-screen chemistry ranked right up there with Tracy and Hepburn, Bogart and Bacall. Only more intense. And since movies had become more explicit since the heyday of those couples, even more sizzling.
Juliana had been excited by the script for King’s Ransom when the part of Eleonora had been offered to her, and eager to work with Dirk again. Costume dramas in this day and age were always a risk for a movie studio. But the King’s Ransom script contained thrilling battle scenes, not to mention incredibly romantic love scenes, and—as far as Juliana could tell—was almost religiously accurate in all the major details.
Great script, great director, a supporting cast she respected and Dirk DeWinter to star opposite her. Not to mention a studio willing to give the film the financial backing it needed. What more could an actress ask for? She had been excited about the role of Eleonora, as excited as Dirk still was about playing the first king of Zakhar...until she’d learned the movie was being shot on location. In Zakhar. In Drago. In and around the royal palace. Where—inevitably—she would encounter Andre again.
Juliana shut down that train of thought ruthlessly. You will not remember, she ordered herself forcefully, but she knew it was in vain. The memories already haunted her. They’d haunted her for eleven years. It was long past time for her to put those memories to rest where they belonged—in the graveyard of might-have-beens.
She wouldn’t allow herself to care. Not anymore. If you don’t care, why did you bring that dress with you to wear to the reception tonight? she asked herself derisively. What are you trying to prove? And to whom? It was a daring gown, designed to be worn with absolutely nothing beneath it. Designed to be worn by a woman who knew herself irresistible. Well, that’s true, isn’t it? she asked herself even more cynically. Millions of men lusted after her on the silver screen, the way women lusted after Dirk.
Millions of men...but not one in real life. Not one man who saw the plain girl she’d once been inside the beautiful woman she was now. Not one man who saw her need to be loved for who she was—her inner character—not the way she looked. Not one man who could ignite the fires of passion in a body that was ice-cold. Frigid. Doomed.
That’s another thing to blame Andre for, she realized. He killed that part of me. He ruined me for other men. How he would laugh to know that!
* * *
The man presented his card of invitation to get into the reception—hiding behind a facile smile his resentment that he had to prove his right to be in attendance at this royal function. Then was forced to walk through the portable metal detector set up at the entrance to the Great Hall with all the other guests—again inducing resentment he refused to display to the king’s men on duty there, even though their deferential attitude should have mollified him. No one would know from his expression that inside he was fuming. My blood is as royal as the king’s—I should be exempt, just as he is. I should not have to submit to this insult.
The metal detector had been installed in the palace years ago by the current king’s father. When the king had ascended the throne three years earlier he’d wanted it removed, but his objections had been overridden at the insistence of the Privy Council and the king’s own bodyguards—the metal detector had stayed in place. Not that a metal detector could detect any and all weapons, but it had definitely thinned the potential dangers the king’s bodyguards had to be on the lookout for during public occasions like this.
He glanced around the vast room, already filling up even though it was early in the evening. He saw one of the stars of the movie—Dirk DeWinter—standing head and shoulders above the circle of adoring female fans surrounding him. But Juliana Richardson—the other star—was nowhere in sight. He didn’t place much reliance on his being able to distract Juliana’s attention from Andre—she’d never had eyes for anyone except Andre when he’d known her eleven years ago. But he would try. If he wasn’t successful...there was always the alternative.
Knowing Juliana—and it was unlikely she’d changed that much in the past eleven years despite her international fame—there would be opportunities to silence her forever should it become necessary...and make it appear an accident.
* * *
Juliana hadn’t intended to make a dramatic entrance at the reception. But she hadn’t been able to resist the oversize marble tub in the lavishly appointed bathroom in her suite, and she’d indulged herself for almost an hour. She’d washed her hair and let it air dry, thankful she’d never had to do much with it—just brush it out and let her natural wave do its thing.
Then she’d lain down on the large, incredibly comfortable bed, intending to just rest her eyes before the reception. But the lack of sleep on the plane had done her in. Not just on the plane, she’d sleepily acknowledged as she dozed off. She hadn’t slept well ever since she’d known she would be returning to Zakhar.
She’d slept dreamlessly for the first time in weeks, her body too exhausted to do anything else. She never heard the rapping on her door, never roused until Maddie crept into the suite and then into her bedroom and shook her arm with a hushed, “Juliana! You’re late! Everyone’s asking about you!”
Juliana leaped into action and sent Maddie down to make her apologies.