High-Stakes Bachelor Read online

  More than hearts are at stake for a legendary family in Cindy Dees’s new miniseries, The Prescott Bachelors!

  Wannabe stuntwoman Ana Izzolo can’t believe she’s landed a starring role in actor-producer Jackson Prescott’s new film. A plain-Jane nobody and a megastar? Their on-screen chemistry is electric, burning up the celluloid…but offscreen, Ana is stalked by danger.

  Like a true Hollywood hero, Jackson whisks her to his oceanfront mansion, practicing love scenes while keeping her safe. But when their real-life relationship starts mirroring the movie’s leading couple, the confirmed bachelor fears he may fall for the doe-eyed ingenue. If the stalker doesn’t get her first…

  Something akin to a magnetic field emanated from him.

  It enshrouded her, energizing her from head to toe. What was it? Charisma? Raw, animal sex appeal? Whatever it was, she could see why he’d become a movie star.

  He stared at her, his eyes black pools in the shadows of his face. Even wreathed in darkness like this, he was beautiful.

  The zinging between them built until she thought she would explode.

  “Say something,” she whispered. “You’re making me nervous.” Not nervous in the way he was going to think, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

  “My grandmother likes you.”

  “I like her, too. I bet you I could convince her we’re dating.”

  He exhaled a gust of laughter. “You could convince me without too much trouble.”

  Ana blinked up at him in shock. Her and a movie star? The notion of the two of them as a couple knocked words completely out of her brain.

  She blurted the first thing that came to mind. “Kiss me.”

  Dear Reader,

  It’s always exciting to start a new series—exciting and scary. There’s the thrill of discovery, but there’s also a great yawning unknown that has to be filled in. It all started with a tour of a movie stunt set, which was one of the most energetic and chaotic places I have ever seen, second only perhaps to actual combat.

  And that’s what got me thinking. It made perfect sense that military men and women would be right at home in the high-speed, high-intensity, high-risk environment of movie stunt work. It didn’t hurt that the movie industry also boasts young, beautiful people and abundant sex and danger. All of a sudden, I had a whole cast of characters and a bunch of stories swirling around in my imagination.

  It has been a long journey sorting out all the chaos into some semblance of order. Several of my main characters have completely refused to cooperate with what I originally had planned for them and have written their own stories. But at the end of the day, I’m delighted to share this new group of dangerous men and smart, sexy women with you. It truly has been a high-stakes adventure.

  Happy reading!

  Warmly,

  Cindy Dees

  HIGH-STAKES

  BACHELOR

  Cindy Dees

  Books by Cindy Dees

  Harlequin Romantic Suspense

  ^Soldier’s Last Stand #1665

  The Spy’s Secret Family #1673

  Captain’s Call of Duty #1684

  ^Soldier’s Rescue Mission #1689

  ^Her Hero After Dark #1703

  ‡Breathless Encounter #1716

  ‡Flash of Death #1726

  ‡Deadly Sight #1737

  A Billionaire’s Redemption #1744

  %High-Stakes Bachelor #1824

  Harlequin HQN

  Close Pursuit

  Hot Intent

  Silhouette Romantic Suspense

  Behind Enemy Lines #1176

  Line of Fire #1253

  A Gentleman and a Soldier #1307

  *Her Secret Agent Man #1353

  *Her Enemy Protector #1417

  The Lost Prince #1441

  †The Medusa Affair #1477

  †The Medusa Seduction #1494

  ^The Dark Side of Night #1509

  Killer Affair #1524

  ^Night Rescuer #1561

  The 9-Month Bodyguard #1564

  ^Medusa’s Master #1570

  The Soldier’s Secret Daughter #1588

  †The Medusa Proposition #1608

  ^The Longest Night #1617

  Dr. Colton’s High-Stakes Fiancée #1628

  †Medusa’s Sheik #1633

  Deadly Valentine #1645

  “The February 14th Secret”

  ^Soldier’s Night Mission #1649

  Harlequin Nocturne

  Time Raiders: The Slayer #71

  *Charlie Squad

  †The Medusa Project

  ^H.O.T. Watch

  ‡Code X

  %The Prescott Bachelors

  Other titles by this author available in ebook format.

  CINDY DEES

  started flying airplanes while sitting in her dad’s lap at the age of three and got a pilot’s license before she got a driver’s license. At age fifteen, she dropped out of high school and left the horse farm in Michigan, where she grew up, to attend the University of Michigan. After earning a degree in Russian and East European studies, she joined the U.S. Air Force and became the youngest female pilot in its history. She flew supersonic jets, VIP airlift and the C-5 Galaxy, the world’s largest airplane. During her military career, she traveled to forty countries on five continents, was detained by the KGB and East German secret police, got shot at, flew in the first Gulf War and amassed a lifetime’s worth of war stories.

  Her hobbies include medieval reenacting, professional Middle Eastern dancing and Japanese gardening.

  This RITA® Award-winning author’s first book was published in 2002 and since then she has published more than twenty-five bestselling and award-winning novels. She loves to hear from readers and can be contacted at www.cindydees.com.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Excerpt

  Chapter 1

  Anabelle Izzolo looked around at the gorgeous young women waiting their turn to go out on the mat and wrestle with a stuntman. At barely five foot two, she noticed how her eyes were at chest height to the mob of leggy, boobtacular, Hollywood-starlet-wannabes who’d shown up for this audition. Crud. She had no business being there. It had seemed like a good idea when she’d signed up for it. But now that the moment was upon her, she felt a giant humiliation coming on.

  Thing was, the write-up on the open casting call had been specific in saying that a fight sequence would be auditioned. She was trying to break into the business as a stuntwoman, so a fight was right up her alley. Of course, she wasn’t going to get the acting part, but she was hoping to catch the casting director’s eye and nab a bit part for some stunt work.

  Yet another blonde bombshell went out onto the green gym mats and prissied her way through the fight sequence. God, none of the girls could even make a proper fist, let alone throw a decent punch. You had to drive through the elbow and down the a
rm into the knuckles. Put your weight behind it. Of course, this fight sequence was more about grappling and falling than throwing punches. Still, Ana was embarrassed on behalf of all women to watch the other girls muff their way through fake fighting.

  The stuntman and casting director looked bored out of their minds. Whenever a superhot blonde with impressive cleavage came along, they perked up a little. But that was the extent of it.

  “Next!” an assistant with a clipboard called.

  “Hold up,” the stuntman complained. “I need to piss.”

  The casting director huffed. “Make it fast.”

  A male voice, familiar to her from movie theaters, piped up. “I’ll take over fighting until he gets back.”

  Ana turned, gaping. OMG. Jackson Prescott in the flesh. The star of the movie being cast stepped out of the shadows beyond the stage lights. He was a muscular, bronzed god of a man with sun-bleached hair and golden-hazel eyes that leaped off a movie screen and melted hearts all over the movie-going world. And in person...well, he was even hotter. Squeals, followed by an audible series of sighs, went up from the crowd of starlets. Ana was a little ashamed to realize she’d contributed to the collective swoon.

  “Who’s next?” Jackson asked the clipboard girl.

  “That would be Number 127.”

  Oh. Crap. That was her. Ana lurched forward. She caught her foot on the edge of the raised stage and narrowly avoided face-planting as she stumbled into the wash of down lighting.

  “You sure you want to try fighting?” Jackson joked. “Maybe you should master walking first?”

  A titter of laughter went up from the Barbie doll brigade, and her face erupted in heat. She opened her mouth to make a clever quip back, but no sound came out. Instead, she raised her hands defensively in front of her and settled into a fighting stance.

  “Okay, then,” Jackson murmured. He stepped up to her, and she was abruptly struck by how much taller and more muscular than her he was. The guy had to be pushing six foot four. And he was so pretty she had trouble tearing her stare away from his face. The combination of boyish charm and masculine confidence was mesmerizing, and his eyes were a warm golden-green that almost seemed lit from within.

  “Let’s do this,” he rumbled low and sexy.

  Her insides twisted with shocking lust that distracted her just as he pounced. She barely dodged in time as his fist flew at her face. Wow, he was fast. The swiftness of the leg that swept her feet to the side caught her by surprise, too, and she slammed to the ground on her back as he jumped on top of her.

  Her breath whooshed out on a grunt of shock and pain as she fought to draw the next one. Jackson straddled her stomach, pinning her down with his superior weight.

  A brief look of disappointment crossed his face. She was supposed to have swung back at him with her fists and rolled aside before he could land on top of her, but she’d blown the move and let him pin her arms. He looked like he’d already mentally checked her off the list and moved on to the next starlet in the audition. In fact, seeming supremely bored, he went off script and reached down to wrap his hands around her neck as if to punctuate her failure.

  But as his fingers tightened around her larynx, panic roared to the fore. Black night closed in on her, and she gasped for air as other big hands tightened around her neck. Dying. She was dying. Helplessness washed over her. She had to find a way to fight off her would-be killer. Had to live—

  Fight, Ana. Live. She kicked her right leg up frantically, jamming her toes into the back of his head sharply enough to make him turn her neck loose and block her next kick with his forearm. She dragged in a rasping breath.

  Get. Off. Me.

  She fought like a tiger, twisting and turning violently between his knees, wrenching an arm free. She threw a punch at his face and connected solidly with his jaw. He lurched back and she tore her other arm loose. She flailed at him like a wildcat, unreasoning rage joining her panic.

  He blocked her blows, which flew at him thick and fast, until he managed to catch her left wrist in his right hand. He yanked it over her head. She got in one last body blow with her right fist before he snagged that wrist, as well. He yanked it up, stretching her out flat beneath him. He sprawled on top of her, using his superior weight to physically subdue her.

  Not that she went down without a fight. She wriggled and writhed beneath him, seeking a weakness, desperate to throw him off.

  A chuckle vibrated in her ear. “Fiery little thing, aren’t you?”

  Startled, she froze beneath her attacker—no, wait. Beneath Jackson Prescott. Audition. Movie. Fake fight. Not trying to kill her.

  She went limp beneath him, and his big body pressed down on her, overwhelming in its hard planes and bulging muscles. One of his thighs pressed intimately between hers, and his chest crushed her breasts until she couldn’t draw a full breath. His face was about eight inches from hers. And the bastard was grinning down at her.

  If sparks could actually fly from a person’s eyes, then they were crackling forth from his, all gold and green and smoking hot, snapping back and forth between the two of them as she glared back at him. She registered disbelief as something deep and unwilling inside her responded instinctively and powerfully to the man’s raw sex appeal.

  “Thank you, Number 127,” the casting director called.

  With a quick flex of muscular arms, Jackson did a push-up over her and jumped to his feet. “Nice fight.”

  Vague shock at having survived the attack washed over her...no, not an attack. Just pretend. She sagged against the mat, emotionally exhausted. She’d made it. She was still alive. “Thank you, Mr. Prescott.”

  Memory of that horrible night retreated back into its dark little cave in her mind. The lime color of the green screen set replaced the impersonal blackness of a cold night sky.

  “Call me Jackson.” His gaze slid down her body as she lay between his feet, taking in every detail of her appearance with disconcerting thoroughness. He held a friendly hand down to her. Embarrassed, she skipped his hand and jumped to her feet, shooting him a patently fake, everything’s-peachy-keen grin.

  “You’re not what I expected,” he commented thoughtfully.

  “Um, neither are you. I thought I’d be fighting one of the stunt coordinators. I was hoping to pick up some stunt work.”

  “I think you may be destined for more than that,” Jackson replied, his voice a purring caress down her spine.

  Ho. Lee. Cow. Was he flirting with her? With a soundstage full of Playboy Bunny blondes to choose from?

  “I’ll put in a good word with the producers for you,” he remarked drolly as if it was some kind of inside joke.

  She frowned, not sure how to take that. Confused, she dusted off her rear end and headed offstage. The other stuntman returned from the restroom and took Jackson’s place on the mat as the other actresses closed in around Ana aggressively, demanding to know what it was like to roll around with Jackson Prescott.

  One especially gorgeous girl hissed, “You think you’re so special getting to audition with Jackson Prescott. This job’s mine and no one’s going to steal it from me.”

  Wow. Venom much? Ana sidled away from the nasty woman and slung her cheap nylon gym bag over her shoulder. She turned for the exit, but clipboard girl was right behind her. Ana drew up, startled.

  “Is the phone number on your head shot the one Mr. Prescott should use to call you?”

  Ana blinked, stunned. “Yes. That’s my cell phone.”

  “Keep it turned on,” the assistant murmured under the background noise of the last audition finishing and the mob of auditionees dissolving into chatter.

  She nodded at the assistant, uncomfortable. She had no desire to be the flavor du jour for a megastar who would use her and throw her away like a soiled tissue.

  “Oh, good. You�
��re still here.” She looked up to see a handsome man. Early thirties if she had to guess. Shaved head. Nice physique under a tight T-shirt. Was he talking to her? “Hi, Miss...”

  “Izzolo,” clipboard girl supplied.

  “Miss Izzolo,” he said. Apparently, he was talking to her. “I’m Adrian Turnow. I’ll be directing the movie—”

  The rest of what he said faded out as shock rendered her numb. Adrian Turnow in the flesh? He was one of the hottest directors in the business. Every film he worked on was movie gold. Dang. When Jackson Prescott said he would put in a good word for her, he wasn’t kidding!

  “—time this afternoon for a test shot? We’d like to see you on camera.”

  Her? They wanted a test shot with her? She was just looking for some stunt work. “Um, sure,” she mumbled.

  Cameramen were moving around the set, shifting a boom camera out over the green mat and setting up two big cameras on rolling rails along two sides of it. The last of the blondes were filing out. Lighting guys were talking about technical stuff that might as well be Greek to her, and a half dozen people were running around with rolls of extension cord over their shoulders and tablet computers in hand. In short, it was chaos.

  A tall, lean, African-American man stepped up to her. “Number 127?”

  “That’s me. Although I usually go by Ana,” she replied, flummoxed.

  “I’m Tyrone. Makeup. Let’s get you over to my chair and make you smashing for your screen test.”

  “Can you tell me what’s going on?” she asked in a small voice as he stared critically at her.

  “Callback, sweetie. You blew Jackson’s socks off in your audition.”

  “Callback? Me?” The notion refused to compute.

  Tyrone smiled warmly as he dabbed her face with bronzing powder. “Great skin. Too pale for the camera, but we can fix that. You’re whiter than Wonder Bread, girlfriend. I bet you blush beet-red at the drop of a hat.”

  “Sometimes I blotch, too,” she confessed.

  He tsked and instructed her to look up and not blink as he deftly applied eyeliner and mascara. “Your bones and coloring could take a full glamor face and heavy color, but I’ll let you in on a little secret. Adrian and Jackson both go for the natural look. I’m going no makeup with your look.”