Mr Hollywood Heart Throb

By Annette Hawkins

Todd is an award-winning Hollywood film producer. Laure is a location scout used to working on her own. So when Todd turns up in a remote village in the South of France to determine whether her first choice of location is suitable for his latest film, a World War 2 epic about the French Maquis, temperaments clash.

Especially as Todd suspects that Laure knows more about his personal connections to the citadel village, high in the mountains, than she's letting on. To further test their feisty relationship, they are kidnapped on leaving the village and are forced to trust each other in order to escape. Contains descriptions of spicy sex scenes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Annette Hawkins
• Release date: Oct 12, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301280728

Annette Hawkins

Author, living in South-West France, whose passions include reading and writing sexy romances, and sunflowers. I started writing seriously when my husband and I moved to the South West of France in 2005. We bought our “rural escape from the rat-race” - a traditional Gascogne farmhouse - in 2000 but it wasn’t until visiting the region on holiday over the following five years, and falling in love with the countryside and our French neighbours, that we decided to move here permanently. Opting for a complete career change, I started designing and selling dichroic glass jewellery, mainly at the local craft fairs and weekly French markets in the region, and was fortunate to meet an eclectic range of interesting people. To while away the time between customers, I kept an A4 notebook at hand to scribble down concepts for my stories which I set in some of my favourite exotic locations around the world. Especially those I had the chance to visit during my career pre-France. The fact that I was dreaming up erotic romance novels while working on a market stall amused my French and English clients no end, and I had the great fortune to receive support and encouragement from a couple of published authors, to whom I am eternally grateful. Since my first attempt to get published, I have written several other romances which I intend to publish soon. In my spare time, I teach English to adults at debutant and intermediate level.

Book preview

MR HOLLYWOOD HEART THROB

Annette Hawkins

Published by Annette Hawkins at Smashwords

Copyright 2013 Annette Hawkins

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Discover other titles by Annette Hawkins published on Smashwords

Lessons in Love

On a business flight from Hong Kong to San Francisco, Gail finds herself seated next to the infamous Carver Heath, serial entrepreneur, multi-millionaire, and the sexiest thing on two legs she's seen in her lifetime. She's terrified of flying, and when he invites her to spend a no-strings attached weekend with him in the Napa Valley, to divert her mind from her fear, Gail is not sure whether he's being serious or not. Because, if he is, the promise of a red-hot, sexy weekend with a renown and dominant sex-god is certainly tempting. Contains descriptions of spicy sex scenes and graphic language.

Reviews for Lessons in Love

***** This story gives the SOG a run for its money in the most sex in a book category! This story sizzles and sometimes leaps off the page! Totally loved it. hrhsophia - Smashwords Reader

***** Totally hot and possible. A good blend of erotica and love in bloom. Nickel Mann - Smashwords Reader

Chapter 1

Laure stamped her feet on the cobble-stoned street and flapped her arms around her chest in a vain attempt to pump some warmth into her frozen bones. The early start, coupled with the late arrival of her contact, had caused her blood sugar to sink to an all time low. Her temper was fast beginning to fray. She pulled her woollen hat down hard over her hair to protect her ears and face from the biting-cold morning air that whistled through the village ramparts and scanned the road below for signs of approaching vehicles.

F-f-f-fuck you, St. Vignes, she shivered. I’ve been w-w-w-waiting for over an hour and I’m f-f-f-fucking f-f-f-freezing.

Hardly the welcome I expected, Ms. Parker. I’m sorry you’ve had to wait.

The harsh, heavily-accented, masculine voice came from behind her. Laure swung round with a start. He’d come from the village. Not the direction she’d expected him to come from. Struck dumb, she stared at the famous Hollywood director before her.

In another life, he would have been heart-stopping gorgeous. Tall, athletic-built, and dressed in lean jeans that moulded his muscular thighs and hips, and a rumpled jacket with thick, woollen scarf draped carelessly yet so stylishly around his neck, he looked like a mature university student. His shoulder-length hair was just starting to grey at the temples. In this life, the face that should have been devastating attractive was marred by a deep-set scowl. It was hard to distinguish his age, but Laure guessed mid-thirties. That was a surprise. From reading his bio, she’d presumed he was older.

Mr. St. Vignes. She held out a woollen-gloved hand in greeting. Damned if she was going to apologise for her outburst. Perhaps I was wrong. I thought we said six-thirty this morning.

We did. Todd St. Vignes ignored both her outstretched hand and her comment. She watched him scan the steep, cobbled slope leading down to the car park, pondering, as she had done many times since receiving his call two weeks earlier, why the hottest, new director to be feted in Tinseltown had arranged to meet her in person to scout the village. Normally the job of reviewing potential film locations was left to the assistant director. The only possible reason she could think of was that St. Vignes was either a control freak or an absolute perfectionist. Judging by the hard-set look on his face he was both.

He turned back to face her. If you are quite ready, Ms. Parker, we have work to do and I’m short on time, he snapped. You could start by telling me why you think this particular village should be used as the principle setting for the film.

He strode past her leaving Laure staring open-mouthed at his back.

A French accent? St. Vignes was full of surprises. She had presumed, like most people, he was American. He obviously wasn’t - unless he was in character. One thing was sure though. Mr. Hollywood Hot-Shot had gotten out of bed the wrong side that morning. The question that came to Laure’s mind was Whose?.

Rumours rife within the film world had linked Todd St. Vignes romantically with several of his leading actresses, some at the same time. According to the latest gossip, his most recent conquest was Heather Dunstone, a beautiful, blonde, silicon-enhanced model-cum-actress, who had been photographed clinging to his arm at a number of Hollywood gala evenings. Not that Laure was remotely interested in film-set gossip, of course, she reminded herself as she rushed to catch him up.

Of course, Mr. St. Vignes. If we take a walk through the village I can show you some of the buildings and locations I think would be perfect for the film, she offered, trying to take back the initiative.

Three months ago, when Laure received the assignment to scout for locations for a new historical-action film about the Maquis, a faction of the French Resistance active during the Second World War, she was thrilled yet surprised to discover that she would be working for Todd St. Vignes. He had a reputation as a director of gritty, hard-action films. To work for someone of his stature would guarantee work on big-league, large-budget films in future, something Laure had slogged hard at to achieve over the last ten years.

Falling into step by his side, she lengthened her pace to keep up with him. She was anxious to see his expression as she guided him through the narrow archway of the village wall and down the narrow cobbled street towards the leafy central square. It was a matter of personal pride that he agreed with her choice of location.

As you will see, Mr St. Vignes, the village has retained a lot of its original charm. I’ve already spoken to the local Maire and he is keen to help us smooth over any official red tape that we need to negotiate …that is of course, if you decide to go ahead with this location.

One look at Todd’s face told Laure his mood hadn’t improved. His head was down and a storm was brewing behind those strange, luminous-grey eyes.

He pulled up abruptly in his tracks. I don’t care about red tape, Ms. Parker, he snapped. I just need to be convinced that this is the right location for the film. He threw a furtive glance over his shoulder before proceeding towards the square.

Curious to see what he was searching for, Laure followed his eye-line. There was nothing but an empty street behind them yet she had the distinct impression he thought they were being followed. If his lateness had annoyed her, now his strange behaviour put her on edge.

Tell me, Ms. Parker, why did you choose this village in particular?

That was easy. From the moment she’d discovered the remote village of La Tourettes, perched high on a steep mountainside in the Hérault region of Southern France, she knew instinctively that she had found the perfect setting for Todd St. Vignes’ new film. The village, with its charming narrow, cobbled streets and shady square, framed on all four sides by medieval archways, was just as Laure had imagined from reading the film script, and captured the spirit of the Maquis village portrayed by the author of the original book to perfection. But it wasn’t just that. She was proud of her work and her reputation as a film location scout, being one of only a handful of women to succeed in the male-dominated profession.

She stepped in front of him, keen to engage him in eye contact. I read the script and your instructions several times to make sure I had a solid picture in my mind, she explained. There are a number of other villages in the area that, with some special effects work, might fit the bill, but this one, La Tourettes, is exactly how I imaged the Maquis village to be. I find it uncanny. Look!

Her natural exuberance returned as she led him around a sharp corner into the main square. The leafy centre, lined with picturesque columbine archways, took Laure’s breath away just as it had the first time she saw it, as though she had stepped back in time to another era. She hoped St. Vignes would be sensitive to the historic atmosphere too.

Look, she gestured with a wave of her arm. There’s the boulangerie… and the bar… and over there, …that’s where the old men play boules in the late afternoon. It even has the water fountain, and the old stone laundry tubs where the Maquis hid their weapons. Can’t you see Michel, the main character, sitting outside the bar, under the arches, putting the world to rights over a pastis?

Ricard... he corrected.

Warming to her theme, Laure spun round to face him; her eyes bright with enthusiasm. Er, yes. Ricard... And over there. There’s the tabac where Michel first meets and falls in love with Aurelie. If we go inside you’ll see exactly what I mean. It’s just as the author described! Such a romantic setting!

OK, so the sub-plot, the romance between Michel and Aurelie, had hooked her more than the war and action scenes. She couldn’t help it. The author had painted such a tender against all odds love story amidst the vivid horrors and devastation of war.

Holding up an open palm, Todd halted her mid-flow. You are painting a very pretty picture, Ms. Parker, but do I have to remind you this is a film about the bravery of the Maquis, not a romance? I’m more concerned with being able to recreate the harsh social conditions and the rugged terrain which allowed the Maquis to hole up and avoid capture from the Germans for so long. I don’t want a picture-postcard village.

As though to emphasis his point, a window shutter slammed shut on the other side of the square. The noise ricocheted off the arcades like a volley of rapid, gunfire. Laure ducked, earning a huff of contempt from St. Vignes.

Embarrassed to be spooked so easily, Laure began to lose her cool. His gruff behaviour wasn’t helping her tattered nerves any. Clearly Mr. Hollywood Hot-Shot was going to be difficult to please.

Of course, she backtracked immediately. I didn’t mean to focus solely on the relationship between Michel and Aurelie. She glanced around for inspiration, her enthusiasm waning fast. Would you like to continue the tour of the village, Mr St. Vignes?

He didn’t even bother to look at her. He just nodded curtly, his eyes fixed straight ahead of him.

Admonishing herself with a silent reminder to remain objective, Laure led him across the square to the north-east edge of the ramparts, pointing out several buildings and locations along the way she thought might be suitable for key scenes in the film. Compared to her previous visits, the village seemed strangely empty yet the tingles up her spine told her that every move they made was being watched from behind faded lace curtains. Whether Todd St. Vignes sensed it too she couldn’t tell because each comment or suggestion she gave was met with derision or worse still, a sarcastic grunt.

After trying for thirty minutes to win him over, Laure gave up. In his current mood it was best to leave him to discover the village for himself, she figured.

Perhaps you like to look around on your own, Mr. St. Vignes? she suggested, shrugging her shoulders. His demeanour made her feel like a ten year old who had been caught doing something wrong. She needed to put some distance between them so that she could rethink her strategy.

It’s your film, and ultimately your decision as to whether you use this location or not. Perhaps I should leave you to wander around yourself and get a feel for the location. I’ll head back to the car and wait for you there. I have a couple of other sites we can look at, if you wish.

You’re right, it is my film and I have seen enough. At last, he turned to face her, his luminous-grey eyes burning into her soul.

Todd stared at her hard, taking in the slightly-upturned nose, red with cold, the full lips, and intelligent green eyes that regarded him from underneath a ridiculous beanie hat that barely contained a mop of wild, auburn hair. To his expert, director’s eye, she had the kind of looks that the camera would not love. Too many tiny faults. Yet she had something. Something that made up a stunning whole. And she moved with an effortless grace. Perhaps a dancer in her childhood, or a gymnast.

The sudden awareness of her sensuality was unexpected. He felt his cock stir in his jeans. Irritated to feel lust for a woman he should detest, he forced himself to think of the job in hand. Tell me, Ms. Parker. What really made you choose La Tourettes as the film location? As you’ve already said, there are plenty of other villages in the region that we could use. Why this one in particular?

Laure backed up. His overbearing attitude was beginning to grate yet, niggling at the back of her mind was the oddest feeling he had an ulterior motive for asking the question. A motive she couldn’t fathom, except maybe it was the fact that she was a woman. Or maybe he preferred to work with someone a little older. She removed her beanie hat and shook out a halo of almost waist-length curls. Perhaps he would take her more seriously if she looked more professional.

As I explained earlier, she started. The effort to swallow her frustration made her words staccato’d. I researched a number of villages across the South-West of France and had a gut instinct with this one. I can’t exactly explain it, except that, as soon as I saw this village I knew it would work. It’s just as I imagined from the book. It was true. Why couldn’t he see that the village was perfect for his film?

Is that the only reason, Ms. Parker? His eyes continued to dissect her.

Laure held her ground. Quite sure, Mr. St. Vignes. What other reason do you think I would have?

Todd looked her up and down. With her long auburn hair flowing untamed around her face and shoulders she looked younger than her twenty-eight years, and completely different from the woman he had imagined from the personal profile compiled by his executive assistant.

In his mind he’d created a picture of someone more worldly-wise; someone more hardened to the stresses and cynicism of the film business; not the vibrant woman who stood before him. Young, fresh, and brimming with enthusiasm, she evoked images of ancient legends with brave, reckless heroines. And, from the way her cat-like, green eyes danced, she was clearly passionate about her work.

Those eyes could bewitch the coldest heart. Thank god his was made of stone. He weighed her up for a moment longer. Was it a coincidence she had suggested La Tourettes for the film? Or did she know that he had been brought up here, on this very street, and that the non-descript building facing them across the square was the house where his five year-old son still lived? La Tourettes was barely a speck on the map. It would have required a significant amount of in-depth research to locate the village. Somehow, she must have found out and was planning to blackmail him.

He turned away. Too many strange, inexplicable things had happened around him recently that he’d begun to harbour suspicions about all but his closest friends. Laure Parker, with her cute nose, amazing green eyes, and a curvaceous body which no amount of bulky winter clothing could hide, was no exception.

Go and wait for me back at the car! I’ll talk to you later. He strode across the square without bothering to see whether she would comply. He expected nothing less.

Once again, Laure found herself staring at his back but this time her humiliated pride rose to the fore. How dare he be so dismissive? Who the hell did he think he was? She clenched her fists to her sides, fighting the urge to confront him. What did she have to lose?

She unclenched her fists. Everything. Her career, her reputation, her future. After years of working on low-budget films and documentaries, this project was the big break into mainstream films she’d been waiting for. She would be crazy to screw it up just because he was a perfectionist and an ass-hole. She would just have to work harder to find whatever it was he was looking for.

With her long hair bouncing across her back in pent-up frustration, Laure retraced her steps across the square towards the main exit, counting to twenty under her breath. Just as she reached the shade of the covered arches, the excited cry of a child made her stop in her tracks.

Papa!

Laure glanced back over her shoulder. A small boy, no more than five years-old, bolted from a doorway and ran headlong towards Todd St. Vignes. It was the first sign of life she had seen or heard in the village all morning, and the child seemed strangely out of place with the ancient buildings and the sense of a previous era that the village evoked.

Intrigued to see if anyone else would appear, Laure sunk back into the dark recesses of the arcades, fully expecting St, Vignes to side-step or brush the excited child away. She was struck dumb, for the second time that morning, when he scooped up the child into his arms and kissed him on both cheeks before ruffling his hair with obvious affection. The next moment, a young woman with long, ebony-coloured hair emerged from the same doorway to greet him. Laure watched them embrace warmly, the child enveloped in the midst of their caress. The woman’s wedding ring caught the dawn sunlight.

He was married?

Stunned, Laure held her breath for fear of alerting them to her presence. Nothing she’d read about the famous director, either in the press or on the internet, had mentioned that he had a wife nor, for that fact, a child. Surprise and a sharp pang of guilt squeezed her rib cage. She felt as though she was intruding on a private scene, one that she had no right to observe. Perhaps he’d brought his family along to assess the village as the