Angel at Dawn by Emma Holly Page B

thoughts. “Roy tends to pack the kitchen sink when we travel.”
    “Ha,” Roy retorted, swinging two bags in. “Some of us appreciate our creature comforts.”
    Christian’s grin surprised her, not only because it was very white, but because it expressed such fondness for his companion. She wouldn’t have guessed the laconic cowboy liked anyone that much. “We’ll take whatever doesn’t fit,” put in one of the jumpsuits. “All part of FC Air’s door-to-door service.”
    “Do you have a card?” Grace asked, impressed by their professionalism. “My boss might want to hire you sometime.”
    The jumpsuits laughed as if she’d said something funny. Interestingly, their teeth were as brilliant as Christian’s. Whatever toothpaste they all were using, Grace wanted stock in it.
    “Your boss knows how to reach us,” said the taller of the men. “Whether she has what it takes to hire us remains to be seen.”
    “We should go,” Christian said, before Grace could ask what he meant by this.
    “Of course.” Grace tried to conceal her flustered state. “You must be tired from traveling.”
    Without so much as a grunt of acknowledgment, Christian claimed the front seat next to her. When he wedged his shoulders across the corner to get comfortable, his legs were a good deal longer than Miss Wei’s. Grace’s nerves twitched hotly as his knee bumped her thigh. More than a little rattled, she sent up a prayer that she wouldn’t stall the engine on the first try. Thankfully, the V-8 came through for her. Her relief sighed out as the car roared to life.
    “Miss Wei leased a bungalow for you at the Chateau Marmont,” she informed her passengers, once they were safely on the nearly empty Hollywood Freeway.
    “A bungalow?”
    The growling question in Christian’s voice ran through her in a long shiver. “It’s a little house on the hotel grounds. The Chateau is known for its discretion. Lots of big stars stay there when they want to keep what they’re up to quiet. Humphrey Bogart. Lauren Bacall. Which isn’t to suggest you have anything to hide.”
    Christian laughed through his nose and slouched lower. “The thought never crossed my mind.”
    Grace glanced at him. His long arms were stretched along the window and the back of the seat, creating a blatant come-get-me sprawl. The camera wasn’t the only thing that was going to eat him up. Grace returned her eyes to the road but not soon enough. Her temperature had taken a noticeable tick upward.
    “I think you’ll find the bungalow comfortable,” she continued, hoping her flush didn’t show. “It has two bedrooms and a kitchen. The fridge is stocked with staples, and there’s maid service. Oh, I rented a projector, too. You might want to watch the movies I left for you.” That conversational gambit exhausted, Grace’s fingers tensed on the steering wheel. When she checked the rearview mirror, Roy was staring out the side window, clearly not planning to chime in. “Miss Wei tells me you’re having someone drive your car up here.”
    “And my Harley.”
    “Good.” Grace swallowed. “That’s good. And naturally I’ll be available to drive you wherever you need till then.”
    “Jack of all trades, are you?” This time Durand didn’t growl; he purred, causing little hairs on her arms to rise.
    “That’s me,” she said too brightly, fixing her attention on the taillights in front of her. “I’ve scheduled an appointment for you at four tomorrow, with the manager of Mattson’s. I know you brought your own clothes, but we’ll want to make sure you have the right things for parties and dealing with the press. Then, at six, the hairstylist from the film will start working on your new look.”
    “You expect me to shop for clothes for two hours ?”
    “However long you like,” Grace said, her hands shifting nervously. “I’m sure the manager will make it go quickly.”
    “You’re coming,” Christian said, low and dark. “And that’s not a