handed Stazy the blanket before taking the picnic basket himself, all the time retaining that firm grasp on Stazy’s hand as he kept her at his side. He strode out of the front doorway of the house and down the steps onto the driveway.
The warm and strong hand totally dwarfed Stazy’s, and at the same time she was tinglingly aware of that warmth and strength. The same strength that had enabled him to ride an elephant, go bareback on a horse, to handle the controls of a Spitfire and captain a fishing boat, and do all of those other stunts in his films that Stazy had assumed were performed by someone else.
Making Jaxon far less that ‘pretty face’ image she had previously taken such pleasure in attributing to him.
If she were completely honest with herself Jaxon was so much more than she had wanted him to be before meeting him, and as such had earned—albeit grudgingly!—her respect. It would have been far easier to simply dismiss the pretty-faced Hollywood actor of her imaginings; but the real Jaxon Wilder was nothing at all as Stazy had thought—hoped—he would be. Instead, he had a depth and intelligence she found it impossible to ignore.
Add those things to the way he looked—to the way he had kissed her and made her feel the previous evening—and Stazy was seriously in danger of fighting a losing battle against this unwanted attraction.
That was why it really wasn’t a good idea to go on a picnic with him!
He turned to look down at her from beneath hooded lids. ‘Beach or woody glade?’
‘Neither.’ Stazy impatiently pulled her hand free of his. ‘I really don’t have time for this, Jaxon—’
‘Make time.’
She eyed him derisively. ‘Did you need to practise that masterful tone or does it just come naturally?’
Jaxon grinned unconcernedly. ‘Just getting into character for next week, when I become captain of a pirate ship and need to keep my female captive in line.’
‘Seriously?’
The look of total disbelief on Stazy’s face was enough to make him chuckle out loud. ‘Seriously.’ He grinned. ‘That’s before I have my wicked way with her about halfway through the movie, of course.’
She winced. ‘After which she no doubt keeps you in line?’
‘I seem to recall I then become her willing slave in the captain’s cabin, yes,’ Jaxon allowed dryly, enjoying the delicate blush that immediately coloured Stazy’s cheeks; for a twenty-nine-year-old woman she was incredibly easy to shock. ‘So, Stazy—beach or woody glade?’ He returned to their original conversation.
Stazy’s thoughts had briefly wandered off to images of herself as Jaxon’s captive on his pirate ship, where he swept her up in his arms. Her hair was loose and windswept, and she was wearing a green velvet gown that revealed more than it covered as he lowered his head and his mouth plundered hers.
Just imagining it was enough to cause her body to heat and her nipples to tingle and harden inside her bra as the warm feeling between her thighs returned.
Good grief …!
She gave a self-disgusted shake of her head as she dismissed those images. ‘I think you’ll find that my grandfather’s security guards might have something to say about where we’re allowed to go for our picnic.’ She grimaced as she recalled how her ride this morning had been decided by one of those attentive guards.
‘Let’s walk down to the beach and see if anyone tries to stop us.’ Once again Jaxon took a firm hold of her hand, before walking towards the back of the house and the pathway down to the beach.
Dragging a reluctant Stazy along with him.
NO ONE tried to stop them, but Jaxon noted the presence of the two black-clothed men who moved to stand at either end of the coved beach that stretched beyond the walled gardens of Bromley House, positioning themselves so that they faced outwards rather than watching the two of them as he and Stazy spread the blanket on the warmth of the sand.
The sun was shining brightly and a breeze blew lightly off the sea.
‘Little seems to have thought of everything,’ Jaxon murmured appreciatively as he uncorked a bottle of chilled white wine before pouring it into the two crystal glasses he had unwrapped from tissue paper.
‘Years of practice, I expect.’ There was a wistful note in Stazy’s voice as she knelt on the blanket, arranging the chicken and salad onto plates.
His expression was thoughtful as he sipped his wine. ‘You used to come here with your grandparents.’ It was a statement rather than a question.
She nodded abruptly. ‘And my parents when they were still alive.’
‘I hadn’t realised that.’ He winced. ‘Would you rather have gone somewhere else?’
‘Not at all,’ she dismissed briskly. ‘I’m sure you know me well enough by now, Jaxon, to have realised I have no time for sentimentality,’ she added dryly.
No, Jaxon couldn’t say he had ‘realised’ that about her at all. Oh, there was no doubting that Stazy liked to give the impression of brisk practicality rather than warmth and emotion; but even in the short time Jaxon had spent in her company he had come to realise that was exactly what it was—an impression. Even if she hadn’t responded to him so passionately—so wildly—the evening before he would still have known that about her. Her defence of her grandparents, everything she said and did in regard to them, revealed that she loved them deeply. And as she had no doubt loved her parents just as deeply.
‘Where were you when your parents died …?’ He held out the second glass of chilled wine to her.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she took the glass from him. ‘At boarding school.’ Her throat moved convulsively as she swallowed. ‘My father was flying the two of them to Paris to celebrate their twentieth wedding anniversary.’
‘Do you know what went wrong …?’
Her eyes were pained as she looked up at him. ‘Are you really interested, Jaxon, or are these questions just out of a need for accuracy in your screenplay—’
‘I’m really interested,’ he cut in firmly, more than a little irritated that she could ask him such a question. Admittedly they had only met at all because of the film he wanted to make about her grandmother, but after their closeness last night he didn’t appreciate having Stazy still view his every question with suspicion. ‘I’ve already decided that neither you nor your parents will feature in the film, Stazy.’
She raised red-gold brows. ‘Why not?’
Jaxon shook his head. ‘There’s only so much I can cover in a film that plays for a couple of hours without rushing it, so I’ve more or less decided to concentrate on the escape of Anastasia’s family from Russia, her growing up in England, and then the earlier years of the love story between Anastasia and Geoffrey.’
Her expression softened. ‘It really was a love story, wasn’t it?’
Again there was that wistful note in Stazy’s voice. Jaxon was pretty sure she was completely unaware of it. An unacknowledged yearning, perhaps, for that same enduring love herself …? Yet at the same time Stazy was so determined to give every outward appearance of not needing those softer emotions in her life.
She seemed to recognise and shake off that wistfulness as she answered him with her usual briskness. ‘There’s no mystery about my parents’ deaths, Jaxon. The enquiry found evidence that the plane crashed due to engine failure—possibly after a bird flew into it. One of those one in a million chances that occasionally happen.’ She shrugged dismissively.
It was a one in a million chance, Jaxon knew, and it