From L.A. with Love

By Cassie Rocca

For fans of Lucy Vine and Sophie Ranald, a sparkling new romance set in the City of Angels...

Since leaving her home and family to move to Los Angeles, Heaven Taylor has had one goal: to become a successful journalist. But competition is fierce and Heaven's already struggling to keep her job at a gossip magazine. If she wants to succeed she'll need to beat everyone to the scoop of the day: snapping the paparazzi's favourite supermodel with her mysterious lover.

Ignoring the forecasts of a terrible storm, a determined Heaven snaps the glamorous pair aboard a yacht. But then the storm breaks and poor Heaven ends up in the ocean, putting her dreams of glory – and her life – at risk. She's saved from drowning by David Cooper, who arrives aboard a white boat like a prince on his steed. Too bad, though, that despite his statuesque beauty, David is no prince – and the one person Heaven hoped she would never meet again...

Cassie Rocca is a writer of Sicilian origin who has lived in Genoa since the age of three. In everyday life she is a child-minder, a job which gives her plenty of inspiration for her modern fairy tales.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
• Release date: Jan 9, 2020
• ISBN: 9781838932923

Cassie Rocca

Cassie Rocca is a writer of Sicilian origin who has lived in Genoa since the age of three. In everyday life she is a child-minder, a job which gives her plenty of ideas for her modern fairy tales.

Book preview

Prologue

August, near Malibu, Los Angeles County

Looks like some very bad weather is about to hit the California coast – forecasts are talking about violent storms and say that fifteen foot breakers will be crashing down on our beaches. Bulldozers are already at work putting up breakwaters to safeguard homes by the sea, but the storm front that has formed off the Los Angeles coast seems to be self-regenerating and it keeps moving towards the city. The mayor has warned Angelinos not to travel and to keep away from the beaches.

"But some of us are planning on not keeping away from beaches," muttered Heaven, turning off the radio with an annoyed gesture. Since that morning, the TV and radio had been going on at terrifying length about the coming storm: lightning bolts, force nine winds, waterspouts... they were making it sound like the day of judgement!

Even though she knew full well that the forecasts often went over the top, she was a worrier and that afternoon she would have preferred to stay at home to work on her stupid article about celebrities and their plastic surgery rather than take her chances with the weather, but just as the sky had turned grey and threatening and she’d been about to head off home to her apartment, she had stumbled upon her goose that laid the golden egg.

And she hadn’t been able to avoid setting off in pursuit of it.

With a sigh, she continued to scan the street with watchful eyes.

Her job at L.A. Rumours depended on the outcome of what she was doing. If she got her scoop, her life would become way easier: her boss Cal Parker had promised a promotion to anyone who served him up some pictures of Tori Scott and her mysterious lover on a silver platter. It was an opportunity she could not pass up.

God, how pathetic, muttered the voice of her conscience, making her grimace bitterly. Your whole career depends on someone who flashes their boobs for a living.

Her dreams about being a journalist had turned out to be very different from what she had actually found herself doing, which was writing about whatever showbiz nonsense they told her to. It had always been her dream to work for some respected magazine... Something like Star’s, for example, the most popular arts and entertainment magazine of the moment. There, working with real professionals in a vibrant, youthful environment, she could have written her own column, previewed shows, books, exhibitions, film premieres and concerts and interviewed celebs...

And instead of working towards that, you’re stuck here playing at peeping tom, her unconscious snorted derisively.

And it was right. Being a paparazzo didn’t give her any satisfaction or make her feel like a real journalist. Her job was mediocre and L.A. Rumors was just about good enough for wrapping up fish in, but for her it was just a job, a springboard that would give her the training and experience she needed to prepare to jump to the next level. And to guarantee her, in the meantime, the money she needed to live.

Snorting with annoyance, she dodged a large branch that blocked part of the road. She was sick and tired of living like that – of always waiting for things to get better, of always depending on others to achieve her goals. She wanted a full, satisfying existence, she wanted to feel special, to feel something intense...

Well it doesn’t get much more intense than getting struck by lightning in the middle of a storm, so you’re off to a good start!

I’m not going to get struck by lightning! she snapped, annoyed by her own fears. Once I get my hands on this scoop, I’ll be swimming in cash. It’ll make my name as a journalist and open the doors to the most important newsrooms!

You’ve always got to believe it can happen, that’s the most important thing.

The wind shook the car violently, but she ignored it and remained focused on the road: there was nothing to worry about. She had a clear target in her sights and nothing was going to make her stop.

Twigs and leaves rained down on the windshield as though to try and frighten her away. Stubbornly, Heaven turned on the windshield wipers, hoping to sweep away her growing doubts along with the foliage.

There isn’t going to be a storm, she repeated to herself for the umpteenth time. "It’s just a shower is all.’

She swallowed and gripped the steering wheel harder. The sky, usually so blue, was leaden and, threatening-looking clouds were gathering rapidly on the horizon.

She forced herself to keep calm and breathe slowly. After all, all she had to do was get to that damn beach, find herself a secluded spot where she wouldn’t attract too much attention and then wait for the model to make a false move.

And what if you were wrong? What if it wasn’t Scott that you saw climbing into that black limo that was headed this way? her conscience whispered. Your boss will fire you, but you won’t be around to notice, because you’ll have been swept away by a 15-foot wave...

Jeez, would you shut up?

Heaven increased her pace, anxious to get to her destination, finish the job and go home.

She couldn’t afford to panic, not now: she needed that scoop. Her pride was at stake.

Finally she found the parking lot and sighed with relief. Dark and anonymous, another car was parked in a corner. Exactly the same car she had seen the fiery-haired model climbing into.

She’d been right. It was in the bag.

Scoop, here I come! she thought as she climbed out of the car. A sudden gust of wind slammed her against the hood and blew sand in her eyes but Heaven, implacable, grabbed her bag and camera and set off towards the beach.

Where are you hiding, dear Tori? she muttered as she peered around her. With the waves crashing onto the rocks and the sky full of black clouds, the scene was wild and unsettling. It certainly wasn’t the ideal time for a fiery tryst with a mysterious lover... or was it? Personally speaking she would have preferred somewhere a little more intimate and a little less wet, but she didn’t know much about men and even less about fiery trysts. Tori Scott, on the other hand, the model who was the most highly paid, lusted after and harshly criticized member of the whole American jet-set, had accumulated considerable experience in them, and probably felt the need to constantly keep upping the ante: meeting in a hotel room would be terribly boring for someone like that, but a deserted beach, with the stormy sea in the background might feel like an exciting risk. And the heroines of the novels Heaven loved reading would have totally agreed with her.

Real life was totally different from books, though, and no one knew better than her how complicated it was to follow your desires and find true love, so who was she to be judging the choices of a stranger? If Tori Scott had decided to cheat on her husband right after marrying him and seek diversions in the arms of a mysterious young man, perhaps she had her reasons.

Always assuming that was actually why she was there.

Public interest in the story had reached such a fever pitch that some cynics actually thought it was all a hoax to boost Tori Scott’s popularity. In fact, after her hasty marriage to upstanding oil tycoon Gerard Williamson, Tori had toned down the sexy bombshell image until she’d almost started looking boring... At least until an anonymous caller to a daytime talk show had publicly accused her of having an affair with another man.

Was it all a set-up to get her back on the front covers or was there some truth in that poisonous call?

It was a mystery that she would solve and she was going to solve it that afternoon, storm or no storm. When she had seen Tori Scott wandering along Hollywood Boulevard, she hadn’t hesitated for a minute. She had rushed out of the shop she’d been browsing in and set off in hot pursuit, following the model’s car for a long time at a safe distance until she had realized where it was headed: to Malibu, more precisely to the El Matador beach, a little corner of paradise: it was full of jagged rocks but it was lovely, and almost always deserted. The bad weather had slowed her down but she had finally reached her destination and was ready for her mission. Except that now, on that beach, there didn’t seem to be a living soul. Where the hell had she gotten to? Heaven looked around her in confusion until she spotted some boats anchored offshore. Had there been a launch waiting on the shore for Tori to ferry her over to one of them? It seemed to be the only explanation.

Okay, the going is getting tough so the tough need to get going, she muttered to herself as she headed towards the rocks.

She was wearing shorts and the water was cold on her bare legs, but Heaven took no notice of that, and ignored the increasingly powerful waves that crashed down on the rocks around her. No one would see her behind those protruding boulders, and with the powerful zoom lens of her camera she could get some good shots even from that distance without being disturbed. It was her only chance, and she wasn’t going to let a little water wasn’t going to stop her.

It wasn’t easy to climb up, as her sneakers kept slipping on the slimy rocks, but her motivation was more powerful than gravity. Gripping her camera in her hands, she sat down and began to scan the boats through the viewfinder.

Three motor boats, a sailing boat and a yacht. She instinctively pointed her camera at the latter and waited, hoping to see Scott’s flaming red hair appear on deck.

‘Come on you dumb model, come on... Stick your head out, dance naked in the rain, give me something crazy and hot so I can take a couple of pictures and then get the hell out of here,’ she said between gritted teeth, her eye glued to the lens.

In the meantime it had begun to thunder, and every peal made the air vibrate and her heart jump. Storms made her anxious – just like a thousand other things, for that matter – and so she was hoping to get this over with as quickly as possible and return to the shelter of her car. She didn’t have the right stuff to be a paparazzo: she wasn’t brave or patient enough, much less willing to do whatever it took to get a dubious scoop like a model’s fleeting affair, but if the only way she could prove that she was worth something and achieve her goals was to cling to a rock like a limpet and spy on a canoodling couple... well, then she would do it. She wasn’t the submissive, fearful little girl who was scared of her own shadow anymore. She had made a clean break with the past – or at least she tried to – and had grown up, and she had every intention of fighting to get what she wanted and to become a person she could be proud of. At any cost.

Huddled there on the rocks she started losing track of time, as well as losing feeling in her arms and legs. The warm and sticky wind was getting up and sending the waves crashing against the shore, splashing her again and again with salty water, and not long afterwards, the rain arrived. At first it was only a mild drizzle that was almost pleasant after the oppressive humidity that had reigned over the city for several days, but it soon turned into a full-on downpour, forcing Heaven to try and shield the camera as much as possible with her body and the hem of her sleeveless top.

Soaking wet and with her view often blocked by the wall of water that repeatedly broke on the rocks in front of her, she was on the verge of giving up when she saw them.

Tori Scott emerged from the cabin of the yacht with a tall, muscular man who was clad only in a pair of Bermudas, a blue and white baseball cap and a pair of dark glasses. Tori’s red hair shone in the rain, making her perfectly recognizable, but the man was hard to make out: the sunglasses masked part of his features and the shadow of the visor of the cap completed the camouflage.

In any case, he certainly wasn’t Tori’s husband Gerard Williamson, that was for sure. He was in the Middle East.

Here we go, she said to herself, zooming in as far as her camera would let her. She stayed focused on the couple even when the rain increased in intensity, and finally her determination was rewarded: believing themselves alone and safe from prying eyes, Tori and the mysterious man put their arms around each other and kissed.

In the bag! she exclaimed as the two separated. She would have started dancing on the spot if she hadn’t been surrounded by pounding waves.

Talking of pounding waves... Was it her imagination or had the sea level risen dramatically over those last few minutes?

She could hardly see the beach any more and the lower rocks, which a short time before she had used to get there, were now submerged. Only a few rocks, including the one upon which she had climbed, still poked out from the foamy grey expanse, but they wouldn’t be poking out for much longer to judge from the huge waves that were rolling in from the ocean.

It was time to get out of there.

She briefly trained the viewfinder on the couple again to make sure that they weren’t engaged in any more canoodling, but she had just time to realize that the two of them were quickly returning to the cabin. Had they seen her? No, they couldn’t have from that distance. Most likely the two lovebirds were just eager to indulge in their clandestine passion somewhere a bit less wet...

Or to escape the storm of the century, she was thinking, when a bolt of lightning struck the water a hundred yards away from her.

‘Oh. My. God," she whispered.

Dark and threatening, the sky was illuminated by continuous flashes of lightning, the sea had turned into an intimidating wall of brine and, frightening yet bewitching in its terrifying beauty, a waterspout was rapidly forming. The scene looked like something out of a sci-fi movie!

Taken by surprise by the sudden change of the weather, the boats were hastily returning to the coast... Or...

A frightening idea suddenly struck her.

Were they just satisfied with their scoops?

Maybe she wasn’t the only photographer lurking nearby. Those other boats might have been rented out by the competition!

She had to get the hell out of there, and not just to escape the fury of the elements. Only one of them would get the exclusive on Tori Scott, and that someone had to be her.

As she hurried back towards the mainland, she slipped on the wet stones and swayed dangerously. Sea and sky seemed to have become a single threatening mass and high waves crashed around her, drenching her to the bone. Her fear and haste made her clumsy and one foot slipped on the boulder she was trying to climb. An excruciating pain shot through her ankle, and as her hands were busy trying to safeguard her camera, she wasn’t able to use them to keep her balance.

The result was disastrous.

She splashed down into the water, banging her left side on the jagged edge of the rock and sending all of her plans up in smoke: the photos, the camera and her dreams of glory.

Spluttering and on the verge of tears, she emerged and looked in horror at her camera: paid for with a thousand sacrifices, it was now hanging from her neck under the salty water.

God she was a loser – a total failure!

She beat her fists on the surface of the water while a sob formed in her throat. Her ankle was throbbing painfully and so was her hip, but that was a minor problem compared to the fact that she had just thrown away her only chance at a decent career.

Your problem’s your job? Not the fact that you’re stranded in the middle of the ocean, or that you narrowly avoided getting your head split open like a coconut on a rock?

She didn’t even dare to reply.

She tried to climb up one of the rocks, but her ankle hurt too much and climbing was impossible. Luckily it wasn’t far to the shore and she could swim up to it.

Gritting her teeth every time she felt the zoom lens of her camera bump against her bruised hip, she almost thought of getting rid of it, but the faint hope that the photos could still be recovered prevented her from slipping it off her neck and abandoning it in the ocean.

She swam hard for a long time until she realized to her extreme consternation that she was now even further away from the shore because of the powerful currents in the sea. At that point, the possibility of drowning was starting to look pretty plausible.

As though in confirmation of that pessimistic thought popped into her head, a wave crashed down on top of her. Gasping for air, she pulled her head out of the water and began to tremble. The wind and the ocean were just too strong, and she was really, really tired.

Maybe it was time to give up.

While the waves tossed her from side to side, she thought of the life she had lived up to that moment – of her miserable childhood, of the adolescence suffocated by the anxiety to seem mature and responsible, of the severity of her father and of the home she had left in search of independence.

It was funny. She had thought that she would be free and happy once she said goodbye to the old decent, naive and boring Heaven, but unfortunately moving to the big city hadn’t been enough. She was certainly smarter and a lot more self-sufficient, but she was still alone, still scared and she still hadn’t realised her dreams.

What would she be leaving behind her? What had she achieved over the course of her twenty-seven years? She had no home of her own, just a rented apartment so small that it was practically a closet; she had no close friends, no money, no career, no love. Nothing at all. Her name would be forgotten just as quickly as the sea would go back to being calm, and to hell with her dreams of making her mark on the world.

She stopped fighting the currents and looked at the dark sky above her. The rain splattered on her face like bullets from a machine gun, the strap of her camera tightened around her throat, almost suffocating her, and the salt water burned her eyes and throat. A thought popped into her head that almost made her laugh.

What a shitty way to go...

Hey, you! Hold on! shouted a muffled voice, almost drowned out by the deafening roaring of the sea, and then a large presence approached her.

A boat was coming to a stop near her.

The immobility to which she had abandoned herself vanished and, struggling back into an upright position, Heaven began to fight against the furious waves that were trying to drag her away.

She had never liked boats but suddenly the white hull with the name Fairytale on the side was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. It was like Prince Charming arriving on a white charger!

A human figure, undoubtedly male, leaned over the side of the boat with the intention of grabbing her. Soaking wet and visibly terrified, Heaven raised her arms and face to her saviour. Her lungs were burning, making it difficult for her to breathe, and she was so tired that she wasn’t sure she could grasp the hands that were being held out to her. She tried to focus: she wanted to see the face of the hero who had delayed his return to the pier to save her.

But when she did, she realised that fate was playing a cruel joke on her.

No, this wasn’t possible. She’d never seen him again in all those four years, except once in passing in a magazine. And yet here he was...

‘Heaven?’

The stunned look on the man’s face removed any residual doubt.

You? she exclaimed, incredulous.

Dumbfounded, they stared at each other while around them the ever-higher waves crashed and the lightning flashed on the horizon. He leaned closer.

Grab my hands! he shouted.

Jeez, God, you really have a great sense of humour, snapped Heaven before a wave dragged her under water for a moment, forcing her to use the last remnants of her strength to re-emerge.

Grab hold of me, come on! the man in the boat shouted.

‘I’m trying!’

You’re not trying hard enough! You used to swim better than that, Little Mermaid...

That nickname bothered her. It brought back details of a night she had been trying to forget for years.

This really isn’t the time or place to bring up unpleasant memories, she shouted, clinging to the hull to catch her breath.

The man withdrew his arms. Oh really? I’m almost tempted to leave you where you are.

Heaven looked at the man and his boat, then at the distant shore and the and the crashing waves. She would never manage to get to the beach, she was exhausted. But if it meant not having to be grateful to him...

The decision was made for her when two hands grabbed her by the hair and then by her arms and lifted her with incredible strength until they both collapsed onto the wooden deck of the boat. Everything was swaying and they were breathing so hard that they were almost louder than the howling of the wind.

You almost pulled my scalp off, groaned Heaven, raising a hand to her head, a grimace of pain on her face.

Please, you’re welcome, the man snapped, getting up and leaving her lying there on the deck.

Lightning struck the sea a short distance from the boat, followed by a terrible roar.

It was the last thing Heaven heard before she passed out.

Chapter 1

Four years earlier

I bet he manages it.

I bet he doesn’t. He might have managed it once upon a time, maybe, but not now.

You’re wrong! He used to be too much of a nice guy. But after what he’s been through, he can do it.

I’m telling you, he’s still suffering.

The whispered voices were trying to be kind, but the enormous amount of alcohol the three of them had running through their veins nullified their efforts.

A bottle of beer in his hand and a bored expression on his face, David Cooper leaned against the back of the chair. Will you guys quit talking about me like I’m not here?

Sorry man, we didn’t mean to make you angry.

You’re too dumb to make me angry. Tell me what you’re plotting.

Dark-haired and elegant but with an aggressive attitude, Robert Harris leaned toward him. We have a humanitarian mission to accomplish, he said, nudging him, a drunken grin on his face. To try to get a girl into the sack. It’s a challenge, so we were just trying to work out which of us would carry it off!

"You haven’t got a chance, she’d smell the booze on you from a