He turns back to her, putting his mouth close to her ear. Anna shivers. He murmurs, “You aremyguest. All of these,” his arm circles, “were invited by my agent, by the PR company, by my assistant. The only person I invited is you.”
The most curious sensation burns down Anna’s spine. Whether it is the heat of his breath on her neck, the whisper of the words intended for her ears alone, or the implication of the words themselves, the effect is enchanting.
“My tour?” She just about croaks out the words. And Tolly gives a panty-dropping grin.
“Come.” This time, there is no mistaking the touch of his hand on the base of her spine. It burns. She quickens her pace until it drops away. She is not ready for his touch yet. Not steeled to withstand it.
Tolly’s house is not dissimilar to some she saw earlier today. The architecture is modern, with clean geometric lines. The roof is flat, slightly angled, with large overhangs to combat the sun. The walls are white, the windows run floor to ceiling on both storeys. He points to the room in front of them. “The lounge,” he says. “And my bedroom above.”
She raises her eyes to the dark mass above. “You’ve got a balcony,” she remarks.
“A must for every romantic,” he quips.
“Shame I left my boombox behind.” Her tone is dry.
“I was thinkingRomeo and Juliet, but we’ll go with yours.”
Anna wrinkles her nose. “At least no one dies, whereas we’ve already established Shakespeare was uncommonly fond of killing off his protagonists.”
“True …” Tolly smiles and guides her inside the house through the open glass doors. The room is remarkably spacious given the price tag attached to each square foot of Los Angeles real estate. The floor is white oak, and a huge granite hearth complete with a ribbon fire dominates the room. Anna doubts whether it is ever cold enough to light it. A long cream sectional sofa curves around the centre fireplace. There’s no sign of a screen. Perhaps it is hidden away, ready to slide out at the touch of a button. Or maybe screen time has its own room. No one interrupts them as they move along. Tolly must be giving off “I’m busy” vibes because there are people everywhere. They briefly look into the kitchen. White oak cabinets and a stone worktop lead on to one of the biggest dining tables Anna has ever seen – and she was raised in a stately home. It is a hive of industry as black-clad waitstaff load up trays and a team of chefs chop and prepare dozens of delicate canapes.
They withdraw. As they pass the staircase, Anna notices the guard standing at the base. “What’s that about?” she asks.
“I once found a naked woman in my bed.”
Anna’s brows shoot up. “I take it you didn’t put her there?”
“No. Now there’s a guard to stop people going upstairs and there’s another outside the door to my bedroom.”
Anna once found a couple in her bed going hell for nirvana during a student party. But that was in her med school days. She has long since decided her dislike of clearing up after a party far outweighs any possible enjoyment. She wonders about this party. While Tolly doesn’t have to worry about cleaning up, there must always be the consideration that some of his adoring fans may be unhealthily obsessive. Why let strangers into your home?
“Why have the party here?” she asks. “Why not hire a venue?”
“It wasn’t really my decision. My agent and my PR guru planned it. An intimate celebration for a select few. Especially as the reason for it had to stay secret until this morning. The production company’s holding a big party on Saturday.”
Anna looks at the throng of bodies on the patio and in the lounge. A select few? Her mother loves nothing more than a social gathering, but even she would balk at the number of people here. Tolly skips a room, merely saying, “My office”, as they pass the door. She itches to enter it. It is probably the most personal room on this storey. Everywhere else is for public use; the study is for him. The next room has a U-shaped modular sofa in pale grey arranged around an enormous screen. The tour ends in an enormous gym – treadmill, weights, benches, training bike, rowing machine are arranged opposite a wall of mirrors. Another wall holds a bank of large screens. She raises an eyebrow and turns towards him. “A sign of the times,” he says with a rueful grin. “My personal trainer comes every morning bright and early. Even the nerdiest hero has to sport a full set of deltoids these days. The men get bulkier and the women tinier.”
“Mm. Some of those heroines look like they should be on bed-rest,” Anna comments.
Unsurprisingly, the gym is empty. It is not an inviting place. Anna has yet to find a gym that doesn’t look like a rehab station, utility always winning out over style.
“Unless you want to see the boiler room or the laundry, that concludes my tour,” Tolly says and waves his arm grandly.
Although Anna would not at all object to seeing both, she recollects Tolly has probably ignored his guests long enough. And the thought of being closeted with him in a small space such as a boiler room is too tempting for her own good. She notes he has left off the entire upstairs from his tour. She understands his need for privacy when his home is being invaded and, truth to tell, she is relieved. If the thought of him in the close confines ofthe boiler closet is enough to bring on a hot flush, what would standing in his bedroom produce?
“Maybe next time,” she says and walks out of the gym.
Shall We Dance?
A matter of moments after they return to the lounge, Tolly is approached by another man in a suit and tie. This one is younger than the governor, less polished around the edges, but he oozes similar amounts of suavity.
“There you are, Tolly. I’ve got some people you need to see. May I borrow you for a moment?” It’s phrased as a question, but the guy has enough self-assurance that it comes out more as an expectation. For that reason alone, Anna realises he is someone noteworthy, even if she has never seen his face on a television screen. Except long hours at work mean she watches less television than most and has not seen the inside of a cinema in years, so perhaps that is not significant. His accent is non-regional but generally American. His hair is coifed, his chin clean-shaven. Everything about him says he is not here to party; he is here to work.
Tolly’s reaction to him is a brief nod. Acceptance. He turns to her and Anna can see the apology even before his words. “Anna, this is my agent, Ryan. Ryan, this is my friend Anna from London. I’m very sorry. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Ryan gives Anna a brief once-over and the courtesy of a “Pleased to meet you”, even as his eyes dismiss her.
“Likewise.” Anna returns a gracious smile of her own, but she need not have bothered because Ryan’s attention is all on Tolly. It gives her a little spark of satisfaction that Tolly’s attention is all on her, waiting for her permission to leave. “Of course,” she says, ignoring the twinge of disappointment at hisabandonment. He is a big star. What did she expect? She has been lucky to have so much of his time this evening, no matter his claim she is his personal guest. “It’s a party. I’m sure I can find something to amuse me.”
