Page 13 of California Dreaming

“If you’re really averse to such a good proposition, Tessa,” Nina said, all the warmth vanishing from her voice, “then I can’t imagine what better opportunity we’d be able to offer you here at Helping Hands.”

Tessa understood. Her fate had already been sealed by the agency. If she wanted to feed her passion, she would have to follow the money. “Of course. I’m happy to accept the position.”

Nina was all smiles again. “Excellent. I’ll just get you to sign the paperwork, and you’ll start with Mr. Davenport this afternoon.”

So soon?

Then again, what was the point in putting off the inevitable? Fate, a horse, and Margaret Percy had somehow conspired to put her in Archer Davenport’s home. What could she do but follow the path she’d been shoved onto?

She shook Nina’s hand and told her she’d head back to Margaret’s house to pack her few possessions. She’d traveled around so much these past few years that she was a pro at packing. All it took was one suitcase with clothes and toiletries and a backpack full of art supplies. She’d managed to keep her painting from Margaret’s beady eyes and would have to find a suitable spot to hide her easel at Archer’s place on Scenic Drive, though she didn’t think that would be a problem in a movie star’s spacious home.

What was a problem—a huge problem—was how her heart thudded as she thought about his blue eyes and wide grin.

No question about it, she would have to keep a tight rein on her feelings if she was going to survive living with the heartthrob of her dreams.

Chapter Seven

Tessa parked her twenty-year-old SUV in the driveway and switched off the engine. She didn’t move. She couldn’t.

A stone’s throw from the beach, Archer Davenport’s house was even more fabulous than she’d imagined. In the years she’d been a caregiver, Tessa had been used to visiting, and living in, all kinds of houses, from modest to grand. Her job had taken her far and wide, and she’d thought she’d lost her greenness when it came to spectacular homes. And yet, coming from Margaret’s historic fairy-tale cottage, this place was a modern masterpiece of glass and sharp angles. Its crisp white paint practically sparkled in the sun.

She recalled Margaret saying it had its own screening room and was one of the few houses in town that had a gym and indoor swimming pool in the basement. The kind of luxury Tessa still had a hard time imagining. She took several deep breaths, trying to convince herself that this was just a job like any other.

She got out of the car, still trying to slow her racing heart, and took her two bags from the back. The front door was built like Fort Knox, an intimidating dark gray with a series of security cameras around the buzzer that immediately made her feel self-conscious, and an electronic keypad.

She smoothed back tendrils of her long hair, which was tied in its usual ponytail. She wore jeans and her white uniform shirt and jacket, her name stitched across the breast in royal blue. Should she have dressed smarter? But no, if Archer Davenport wanted her to be his caregiver, then he was going to have to take her as she was.

She swallowed again, avoiding the eye of the camera. It was to be expected, she supposed, that a movie star would place a premium on privacy. She thought back to their first meeting on the beach, when she’d been out walking with Margaret. It had taken, what, two or three minutes before their conversation had been interrupted by those young fans? She couldn’t imagine what it must be like to lose your anonymity so completely.

Setting her bags on the step, she took another deep breath and pressed the buzzer.

To her surprise, the door swung open seemingly of its own accord.

And up there was Archer Davenport, a sheepish expression on his face, sitting in the middle of a grand staircase, his crutches in a heap on the tiled floor below.

Tessa gasped and raced over to the stairs. “What happened?”

Archer’s cheeks turned slightly red. It was totally unexpected, and completely adorable. “Looks like you arrived just in time,” he said, half grinning, half grimacing. “I needed something upstairs, but lost my balance.”

She gave him her most reassuring smile in return, trying not to gaze too intently into his deep-blue eyes. Archer tried to stand, but she stopped him. “No, hold on to me. Don’t put any weight on that leg.” She gestured at his cast.

Archer scratched at his sun-streaked hair. “I don’t want to sound patronizing,” he said carefully, “but are you going to be able to take my weight?”

Tessa reached for him. “If I couldn’t, you would have made a real mistake in hiring me. Fortunately for both of us, I’m stronger than I look.”

She slipped easily into caregiver mode, carefully maneuvering Archer until he reached the bottom of the stairs. She handed him his crutches, and he made his way to a big leather recliner in front of the bay window.

As soon as she’d seen him stuck on the staircase, it was amazing how quickly she’d forgotten that she’d seen every film Archer Davenport had ever made. Then again, since her heart was still racing, maybe she was just fooling herself that she was ready to deal with him as anything but a massive movie star.

“Glad you got here when you did,” he said. “I guess I need help more than I thought.”

With relief, she noted how good-humored he was. Or maybe, after weeks of living with Margaret, she was just used to more resistance.

Tessa couldn’t help but notice how strong he was and how good he smelled. He smelled like summers in Italy… or at least what she imagined summer in Italy would smell like, given that she had never been abroad.

The view of the ocean took her breath away. The blue sky seemed endless, and the beach begged to be walked on. The furniture was minimal and expensive looking. Lots of leather and steel, but comfortable cushions and throws. Several huge, leafy, potted plants softened what could otherwise have been stark. She hoped she’d get a chance to spend time studying the paintings on the walls.

Archer’s taste—or his decorator’s—was exceptional, and she longed to study each of the priceless artworks that felt as though they’d been chosen for their beauty rather than their investment value. At the same time, his home was definitely straight out of a magazine spread.

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