Taming Her Hollywood Playboy

Redeemed…

…by his fake fiancée!

Hired as the on-set paramedic on Hollywood actor Oliver Harding’s latest film, Kat Angelis finds herself equally as charmed by his off-screen persona. And when his playboy reputation threatens his hard-earned career, she’s the first person Oliver turns to—to pose as his fiancée! Kat’s warm personality and commitment to her family open Oliver up to something he’s never had. Is this girl from the outback the key to unlocking his heart?

EMILY FORBES is an award-winning author of Medical Romance for Mills & Boon. She has written over twenty-five books and has twice been a finalist in the Australian Romantic Book of the Year Award, which she won in 2013 for her novel Sydney Harbour Hospital: Bella’s Wishlist. You can get in touch with Emily at emilyforbes@internode.on.net, or visit her website at emily-forbesauthor.com.

Also by Emily Forbes

Waking Up to Dr Gorgeous

One Night That Changed Her Life

Falling for His Best Friend

Reunited with Her Brooding Surgeon

Rescued by the Single Dad

Tempted and Tamed miniseries

A Doctor by Day…

Tamed by the Renegade

A Mother to Make a Family

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Taming Her Hollywood Playboy

Emily Forbes

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09038-4

TAMING HER HOLLYWOOD PLAYBOY

© 2019 Emily Forbes

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2020-03-02

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For Deb, the most amazing big sister.

I was so lucky to have you in my life.

I miss you every day.

xx

6th October 2018

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

Extract

About the Publisher

PROLOGUE

‘TOTO… I’VE A feeling we’re not in Kansas any more.’

The familiar phrase from The Wizard of Oz popped into Oliver’s head as he sat in the all-terrain vehicle surrounded by nothing but red dirt. The heat in the vehicle was stifling but he knew it was worse outside. He could see the shimmering mirage of the heat as it rose off the baked land. A trickle of sweat made its way down his back, sliding between his shoulder blades as he looked out of the window and wondered what he was doing at the end of the earth.

He wasn’t in Kansas, and he sure as heck wasn’t in Hollywood either. Hollywood was clean and tidy, ordered and structured. A lot of the work on movie sets in today’s world was done indoors, with air-conditioning and green screens, and any dirt, gore, murders, blood and disasters were manufactured. Here the dirt and dust and heat were all too real. Too authentic. It made him wonder about everything else—the murders, blood and disasters—it was too easy to imagine all kinds of skulduggery occurring in this seemingly endless land.

He shrugged his shoulders; they were sticky under his clothing as he returned his focus to the task at hand. He’d always had an active imagination but he was sure he’d be able to handle this place—it was only for six weeks. The dirt and dust would wash off at the end of the day, he was used to a certain level of discomfort in his job, and he certainly wasn’t precious—although the heat was a little extreme, even for him. It had a thickness to it which made breathing difficult, as though the heat had sucked all the oxygen from the air. It felt like the type of heat you needed to have been born into, to have grown up in, to have any chance of coping with it. Of surviving.

It must have been well over one hundred degrees in the shade, if there was any shade. The place was baking. Hot, dry and not a blade of grass or a tree in sight to break the monotony of the red earth. The landscape was perfect for the movie but not so great for the cast and crew. Adding to Oliver’s discomfort was the fact that he was wearing a flame-retardant suit under his costume in preparation for the upcoming scene. But it was no use complaining: he asked to do his own stunt work wherever possible and he was sure his stunt double would be more than happy to sit this one out.

The sun was low in the sky but the heat of the day was still intense. He closed his eyes as he pictured himself diving into the hotel pool and emerging, cool and fresh and wet—instead of hot and sticky and dripping in sweat—to down a cold beer. He would love to think he could have the pool to himself but he knew, in this overwhelming climate, that was wishful thinking; he’d just have to do his best to avoid sharing it with any of the single women from the cast or crew. He didn’t need any more scandals attached to his name. His agent, lawyer and publicist were all working overtime as it was.

He started the engine as instructions came through his earpiece. It was time to capture the last scene for the day’s shoot.

The stunt required him to drive the ATV at speed towards the mountain range in the distance. A ramp had been disguised in the dirt and rocks that would flip the vehicle onto its side for dramatic effect. The whole scene could probably be done using CGI techniques and a green screen but the film’s director, George Murray, liked as much realism as possible and he had chosen this part of the world for filming because of its authenticity and other-worldliness. It was supposed to be representing another planet and Oliver could see how it could feel that way. He had grown up all around the world but even he’d never seen anywhere that looked as alien and hostile as this.

The setting sun was turning the burnt orange landscape a fiery red. The shadows cast by the distant hills were lengthening and turning violet. He knew the dust thrown up by his tyres would filter the light and lend a sinister aspect to the scene.

He waited for the call of ‘action’ and pressed his foot to the accelerator. The vehicle leapt forwards. He waited for the tyres to gain traction and then pushed the pedal flat to the floor. The ground was littered with tiny stones, making it difficult to maintain a straight course. He eased off the speed slightly as the vehicle skidded and slid to the left. He corrected the slide without difficulty and continued his course but, just as he thought he’d succeeded, there was a loud bang and the steering wheel shuddered in his hands.

He felt the back of the vehicle slide out to the right and he eased off the speed again as he fought to control it, but the tail had seemingly picked up speed, turning the vehicle ninety degrees to where he wanted it. To where it was supposed to be. He let the wheel spin through his fingers, waiting for the vehicle to straighten, but before he could correct the trajectory the vehicle had gone completely off course. The front tyre dropped into a trough in the dirt and Oliver felt the wheels lift off the ground.

The vehicle began to tip and he knew he had totally lost control. All four wheels were airborne and there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t fight it, he couldn’t correct it, and he couldn’t control it.

The ATV flipped sideways and bounced once. Twice. And again.

It flipped and rolled and Oliver lost count of the cycles as the horizon tumbled before him and the sun’s dying rays cast long fingers through the windshield.

Had he finally bitten off more than he could chew?

CHAPTER ONE

OLIVER MASSAGED THE lump on the side of his head. He’d taken a couple of paracetamol for the dull headache but fortunately he’d escaped serious injury yesterday. The bump on his head and some slight bruising on his shoulder were minor complaints and he had no intention of mentioning those aches and pains. The ATV had taken a battering but could be fixed. The repairs meant a change in the filming schedule but nothing that couldn’t be accommodated. A serious injury to him would have been far more disruptive.

Despite his luck, however, the incident had made George, the director, wary and Oliver had agreed to hand over some of the stunts to the professionals. The movie couldn’t afford for anything to happen to its star and he didn’t want to get a reputation as a difficult actor. George had been good to Oliver; he’d worked with him before and he’d been happy to give him another role when other directors had been reluctant, but Oliver knew that being argumentative, disruptive or inflexible wasn’t a great way to advance a career. He wasn’t stupid, he knew actors were a dime a dozen. He wasn’t irreplaceable. No one was. A reputation as a ladies’ man was one thing; a reputation as being problematic on set was another thing entirely.

He stretched his neck from side to side as he tried to rid himself of the headache that plagued him. He knew it was from the accident yesterday. He hadn’t had that cold beer and had gone to bed alone, so there were no other contributing factors. He knew exactly what had caused his pain.

The schedule change caused by his accident meant he wasn’t required for filming this morning, but now he was bored. He wandered around the site, knowing that the heat was probably compounding his headache but too restless to stay indoors.

A whole community had been established temporarily in the middle of the desert just for the movie. Transportable huts were set up as the production centre, the canteen, the first-aid centre, lounge areas for the cast and crew, and Oliver, George and the lead actress all had their own motorhome to retreat to. Marquees surrounded the vehicles and more huts provided additional, and much-needed, shade. The site was twenty miles out of the remote Australian outback town of Coober Pedy, which itself was over three thousand miles from the next major town or, as the Australians said, almost five hundred kilometres. No matter which way you said it, there was no denying that Coober Pedy was a mighty long way from anywhere else.

He’d been completely unprepared for the strangeness of this remote desert town. He’d imagined a flat, barren landscape but the town had sprung up in an area that was far hillier than he’d expected. The main street was tarred and lined with single-level shops and a few taller buildings, including his hotel, with the houses spreading out from the centre of town and into the hills. Along with regular houses there were also hundreds of dwellings dug into the hillsides. He’d heard that people lived underground to escape the merciless heat but he hadn’t thought about what that meant in terms of the town’s appearance; in effect, it made the town look far more sparsely populated than it actually was.

He knew he should hole up in his trailer and stay out of the heat but he wanted company.

Generators chugged away in the background, providing power for the film set, providing air-conditioning, refrigeration and technology. He was used to having a shower in his trailer but because of water restrictions apparently that was a no-go out here in the Australian desert.

If he moved far enough away from the generators he knew he would hear absolute silence. It should be peaceful, quiet, restful even, and he could understand how some people would find the solitude and the silence soul-restoring, relaxing, but it made him uneasy. He needed more stimulation. He wanted crowds, he wanted noise, he didn’t want a chance to be introspective. He was an extrovert, a performer, and as an extrovert he wanted company. He needed company to energise him and as a performer he needed an audience.

He wasn’t required on set but he decided he’d go and watch the filming anyway. It would kill some time and give him someone to talk to.

He turned away from the transportable huts that formed the command centre for the movie set and headed towards the vehicle compound. His boots kicked up puffs of red dust as he walked. Everything was coated in dust. It got inside your mouth, your ears, your nostrils. Everything smelt and tasted like dust. It even got inside your eyes—if the flies didn’t get there first. Which reminded him that he’d left his sunglasses in his trailer. He spun around; he’d retrieve them and then grab a four-by-four and head further out into the desert to where filming was taking place.

He slipped his glasses on as he stepped back into the heat. Rounding the corner of his trailer, he heard an engine and noticed a dust cloud billowing into the air. He stood in the shade at the corner of his trailer and watched as a car pulled to a stop beside the mess hut. It was an old four-by-four, its brown paintwork covered in red dust, like everything else out here. A haze rose from the bonnet of the car, bringing to mind the story about it being hot enough in Australia to fry an egg in the sun. He believed it.

The car door opened and he waited, his natural curiosity getting the better of him, to see who climbed out.

A woman.

That was unexpected.

She stood and straightened. She was tall, slender, lithe. Her hair was thick and dark and fell just past her shoulders. He watched as she scraped it off her neck and tied it into a loose ponytail, in deference to the heat, he presumed. Her neck was long and swan-like, her limbs long and tanned.

She was stunning and the complete antithesis of what he’d expected, judging from the car she was driving. She reminded him of a butterfly emerging from a cocoon.

He blinked, making sure it wasn’t the after-effects of the bump to his head causing his imagination to play tricks on him.

She was still there.

She wore a navy and white summer dress, which must have been lined to mid-thigh, but from there down, with the morning sun behind her, the white sections were completely see-through. He wondered if she knew but he didn’t care—her legs were incredible. Magnificent.

Oliver was literally in the middle of nowhere with absolutely nothing of interest to look at. Until now. The middle of nowhere had just become a far more attractive proposition.

He watched as she walked towards him. Graceful. Ethereal. Sunglasses protected her eyes but her skin was flawless and her lips were full and painted with bright red lipstick. The shade was striking against her olive skin and raven hair.

He’d seen plenty of beautiful woman in his thirty-two years, he was surrounded by them on a daily basis, but he didn’t think he’d ever seen a woman as naturally beautiful. The ones he worked with had all had some help—a scalpel here, an injection there—and he’d swear on his father’s grave, something he hoped he would be able to do sooner rather than later, that she hadn’t had any assistance.

He watched, not moving a muscle, scared that any movement might startle her, might make her shimmer and disappear, mirage-like, into the desert.

Maybe his headache was affecting his thought processes; maybe he’d been out in the sun for too long, or simply in the outback for too long. Other than the cast and crew he’d barely seen another person for days. The hot, dusty streets of Coober Pedy were, for the most part, empty. The locals hunkered down in their underground dwellings to escape the heat, venturing out only briefly and if absolutely necessary, scampering from one building to the subterranean comfort of the next. But perhaps many of the locals looked like this. Perhaps that was the attraction in this desolate, baked and barren desert town.

She had stopped walking as her gaze scanned the buildings, looking for something or someone. Looking lost. His curiosity was piqued. His attention captured.

Her gaze landed on him and she took another step forward. Belatedly he stepped out of the shadows and walked towards her; he’d been so transfixed he’d forgotten to move, forgotten his manners, but he wanted to be the first to offer her assistance.

‘Hello, I’m Oliver; may I help you?’

She stopped and waited as he approached her.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I’m looking for George Murray.’ Her voice was deep and slightly breathless, without the broad Australian accent that he’d heard so many of the crew speak with. She glanced down at her watch and his eyes followed. Her watch had a large face, with the numbers clearly marked and an obvious hand counting off the seconds. Her fingers were delicate by comparison, long and slender, with short nails lacquered with clear varnish. He was trained to be observant, to watch people’s mannerisms, to listen to their voices, but even so he was aware that he was soaking up everything about this woman. From the colour of her lips and the shine of her hair, to the smooth lustre of her skin and the inflection of her speech. He wanted to be able to picture her perfectly later. She lifted her head. ‘I have an interview with him at eleven.’

‘A job interview?’

She nodded. ‘Of sorts.’

‘Are you going to be working on the film? Are you an extra?’

‘No.’

‘Catering? Publicity?’

‘No and no.’ Her mouth turned up at one corner and he got a glimpse of perfect, even white teeth bordered by those red lips.

He grinned. ‘You’re not going to tell me?’

Her smile widened and he knew she was enjoying the repartee. ‘No, I don’t think I am.’

Two could play at that game. ‘All right, then,’ he shrugged, feigning disinterest, ‘George is out on set but he shouldn’t be long. Filming started early today to try to beat the heat, so they’ll be breaking for lunch soon. Let me show you to his trailer.’ He’d take her to where she needed to go but he wouldn’t leave her.

He bounced lightly up the two steps that led to George’s office and pushed open the heavy metal door. He flicked on the lights and held the door for her. She brushed past him and her breasts lightly grazed his arm but she showed no sign that she’d noticed the contact. She stopped just inside the door and removed her sunglasses, and he caught a trace of her scent—fresh, light and fruity.

He watched as she surveyed the interior. An enormous television screen dominated the wall opposite the desk, which was covered in papers. A laptop sat open amongst the mess. A large fridge with a glass door was tucked into a corner to the left, and a couch was pressed against the opposite wall with two armchairs at right angles to it and a small coffee table in between.

He wondered if this was what she’d expected to see.

‘Have a seat,’ he invited as he waved an arm towards the chairs. She sat but avoided the couch.

‘Can I get you something to drink?’

She nodded and the light bounced off her hair, making it look like silk. ‘A water would be lovely, thank you.’

He grabbed a glass and two bottles of mineral water from the fridge. He twisted the tops off and passed her the glass and a bottle.

‘I’ll be fine waiting here,’ she said as she took the drink from him. ‘You must have something you need to do?’

He shook his head as he sat on the couch. He leant back and rested one foot on his other knee, relaxed, comfortable, approachable, conveying candidness. ‘I’m not busy. The scene they’re filming doesn’t involve me.’

‘You’re an actor?’

He looked carefully at her to gauge if she was joking but her expression was serious. Her mouth looked serious, her red lips full but not moving. But was there a hint of humour in her dark eyes? He couldn’t read her yet. Perhaps she was an anomaly, someone who didn’t immediately recognise him, or maybe he just wasn’t famous out here in the middle of nowhere.

Should he tell her who he was?

No. That could wait. She still hadn’t told him what she was doing here. She’d said she wasn’t publicity but she could be a journalist. He didn’t need more reporters telling stories about him. But if that was the case, surely she would recognise him.

Unless she was a better actor than he was, he was certain she wasn’t a reporter.

He settled for vague. ‘I am,’ he said as the door opened again and George entered the trailer.

‘Kat! Welcome.’ He was beaming. Oliver was surprised; George never looked this pleased to see anyone. George was a little rotund, always in a hurry, and seemed to have a permanent scowl creasing his forehead. Seeing him so delighted to see another person was somewhat disconcerting.

He crossed the room as the woman stood. Kat or Kate, Oliver thought George had said, but he wasn’t quite sure. Oliver stood too; manners that had been instilled in him, growing up as the son of a strict military man, remained automatic.