Hard Lines

Violet Miller never wanted to be a star, but fate conspired against her when she won the lead role in Hidden Intent, the latest experiment from acclaimed director David Jackson.

Part movie and part reality show, the production takes over Violet’s life. She’s soon battling against a jealous co-star, a horrific script, and an A-lister who thinks the world revolves around him. Then the anonymous gifts start arriving…

As the torment continues, the studio grudgingly hires bargain-basement bodyguard Dawson Masters, a man with his own secrets. Which will catch up with them first—Violet’s stalker or Dawson’s murky past?

Hard Lines is a standalone romantic suspense novel in the Blackstone House series.

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Excerpt – The Beginning…

“Cut!” the director yelled.

Cut what?

My wrists?

The thin thread tethering my sanity to my half-naked body?

Or just the cameras in this…this…soft porn movie masquerading as a thriller. Hidden Intent had passion, intrigue, and drama, or so my agent had said right before I fired him for getting me into this whole mess. If only I could click my heels together and fly right back to Kansas.

Because right now, I was lying on my back, topless, on a sweaty leather couch, with fifty people watching as I tried to moan in all the right places. Even to my own ears, it sounded less convincing than Dick Van Dyke’s cockney accent in Mary Poppins.

Kane Sanders, my co-star, removed his hand from under my skirt and stepped back. His grin wasn’t as big as his ego, but it was certainly bigger than his dick. A wardrobe assistant leapt forward with a robe for him while I staggered to my feet and fetched my own from the back of a chair, cotton to Kane’s silk, a flimsy shield between my body and the horrors around me. Kristen, my assistant, was too busy gawping at Kane’s ass to actually assist, and I couldn’t totally blame her. It was a nice ass. Just a shame about its owner.

Kane flashed me another of his trademark smiles as he strode off set, leaving me confused. Why was he happy? The whole scene had been a disaster from start to finish. Did he have a date later? Or was he merely pleased about the stern word the director would undoubtedly want to have with me?

Speaking of which… David Jackson beckoned in my direction. Too late, I realised the tie from my robe was caught around the chair, and the front gaped open, giving everyone in the vicinity another eyeful. Oh, what did it matter? Soon the whole damn world was going to see my boobs, at least, they would if the movie turned into the box-office hit David assured us it was destined to be. Well, as long as a certain member of the cast got her act together, anyway.

D minus, Violet. Must try harder.

David’s minions studiously looked away as I approached, hovering around the periphery of his aura, close enough to hear the gossip but far enough away that if he threw his clipboard again, he’d probably miss.

“You wanted to speak to me?”

He sucked on his front teeth, and I forced the image of Bugs Bunny out of my head because there was nothing even vaguely funny about the situation. Everything was up, doc.

“Violet, what the hell was that? You’re with Kane Sanders—Kane Sanders—and you look like you’re paying a visit to the gynaecologist instead of dancing the horizontal tango. Six takes, and we’ll still have to fix that scene in post-production.”

I choked at the mere mention of the word gynaecologist. My last visit to Dr. Samuelson back home in Oakwood Falls had been over a year ago, and I still remembered every moment in excruciating detail. Bad enough that I’d gone to school with his granddaughter, but as he’d fished around down below with a flashlight, he’d chuckled and cheerfully informed me that he couldn’t find the tunnel for the bushes. And did I know that Kathy at the beauty salon had a special on waxing this week? Twenty percent off, or so his wife said.

Okay, maybe the whole Kane ordeal wasn’t so bad after all, except David was still staring at me, as were the minions.

“I’m so sorry. With all the people watching us…”

And we weren’t actually horizontal. More…haphazard.

David tutted, shaking his head. “You’re an actress, Violet. People watch. That’s the whole point. And this isn’t Little League anymore. Hidden Intent might have an eighty-million-dollar budget, but we can’t afford to keep reshooting scenes.”

Probably because most of that eighty million dollars was going on Kane’s fee.

“I’ll do better, I promise.”

David draped one arm over my shoulders, a fatherly gesture when his words were anything but.

“Look, it’s simple. If Kane doesn’t do it for you, just block him out and imagine the last man to give you a rabid fucking. That way, we might get home on time tomorrow. Capisce?”

My mouth dropped open, and in the battle to close it again, I felt like a goldfish out of water, panicking as I gasped for air.

“Y-y-yes. Yes, I understand.”

Excerpt – Dawson…

“What the fuck were you playing at?” Dawson growled. “I’m gonna kill you.”

Zach popped the top on a beer and tossed another in Dawson’s direction. He caught it without looking and pulled the cap off the bottle with his teeth, just because he could.

“You asked me to teach her to surf.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t ask you to screw her on a surfboard.”

“I did it to help her. Which picture do you think everyone’s gonna look at tomorrow? Violet Miller wiping out like a klutz, or Violet Miller riding the waves with Zach Torres? I can just see the headlines now… America’s sweetheart and the king of surf.”

America’s sweetheart.

Violet Miller.

Fuck. Of all the clients in all the world, Dawson had been assigned to her. And the irony? His new job was her fault.

Until that night in The Dark, he’d been happy. Well, not happy, exactly, but as long as he hadn’t thought about anything but eating, breathing, shooting, and occasionally sleeping, he’d been able to live with himself.

Then she'd come along with all her sweetness and…no, he couldn’t say wide-eyed innocence because those soft brown eyes had been hidden away, but he’d imagined her that way. And she’d made him reevaluate. Wonder if maybe there was more to life than working as a mercenary, living out of a duffel bag in some godforsaken flea-pit while people tried to kill him. If there was more to life than merely existing.