Page 14 of California Dreaming

The minute she guided Archer into his leather reclining chair by the window, with his broken leg properly elevated, she shook her head at him. “Attempting the stairs without help was a foolish move. What were you thinking?”

Archer blinked at her, clearly shocked. “Nobody speaks to me like that,” he said.

Tessa’s heart plummeted to her sneakers. Of course no one scolded Archer Davenport: He was a world-famous celebrity. He was used to people asking for his autograph and telling him how good he was at his job. And now here she was, a nobody, telling him off like he was a school kid. With a flash of panic, she realized she was about to be fired from a job she’d barely started. She had no doubt whatsoever that Nina Patel would never work with her again because of all the money she’d lose the agency if Archer sent her packing right this second.

But before she could think of an appropriate apology, Archer broke into a cheeky grin. “Hey, don’t look so serious. I kind of like it.” His eyes flashed playfully with mischief.

Oh my. Margaret might have been right about that twinkle. Because if Tessa had admitted to alarm bells about this man before, now they were jangling louder than ever. And when he laughed, an infectious, joyful sound, she swore her knees actually went weak. She’d thought that was something you read about in books. But nope, here she was, doing her best to stay upright.

All because of his twinkling eyes and wonderful laughter.

She tried to calm down. This spark between them was nothing. Archer was a movie star, schooled in the art of flirtation. He probably wasn’t even aware that he’d switched on the boyish charm.

But no. The longer she held his gaze, the more she was convinced there might actually be a real connection between them. Because despite her inexperience with dating since her husband, Lewis, had passed away, the attraction was undeniable.

Tessa smiled nervously. Okay, so she wasn’t about to be fired. But if she was going to be living here for several weeks, she couldn’t let herself fall for this man. It would be bad for her on every level. Which meant she needed to come up with a strategy to keep her heart safe.

The first thing would be to look as plain as possible. Wearing her uniform was a good start, and she definitely wouldn’t wear any makeup around him—but she also made a mental note to switch from contact lenses to glasses and to sweep her hair into a practical bun each morning. She’d been told that her hair was her best feature, so it wouldn’t do to wear it in a girlish ponytail like she had today. And she certainly wouldn’t let the curls cascade down her back, as she’d done at the birthday party.

She composed herself and gave Archer her most professional smile. “No more going upstairs unsupervised. Promise?”

But he wasn’t listening—he was staring at her chest. She looked down in surprise, unable to stop the blush from spreading across her cheeks.

He raised a brow. “Why does your shirt have your name on it?”

She breathed out. He was only reading the embroidery. Of course. It was crazy to think he’d been checking out her curves.

“It looks like a nurse’s uniform,” he added.

Something inside her firmed up. She was going to have to look past his movie-star good looks and remember her position. “I am here as a professional caregiver,” she reminded him. “This is my uniform.”

Although the truth that she’d never tell him was that she’d abandoned her uniform while working with Margaret. She had allowed herself to relax and enjoy her company as if she were living with a long-lost aunt. A tough but benevolent long-lost aunt.

But Archer Davenport was no relation, even a pretend one, so Tessa cleared her throat, straightened ever so slightly, and checked her watch. “I understand you’re still on pain meds. What’s your medication schedule?”

Archer frowned ever so slightly and she wondered if her tone was a little too nurse-like. Well, he would just have to get used to it.

“No. I’m good. But do you have to wear a uniform? I feel like I’m back in the hospital.”

“A hospital that took great care of you,” she reminded him, before listing a long regime of exercises that would help to heal and rehabilitate not only his leg, but his core and back as well.

This was when she allowed herself to glance at his chest in return. She knew from several of his movies that under that black T-shirt were impressive pecs and tanned, rippling abs. When she looked up at Archer’s face, she saw a scowl at her mention of a strict routine.

How did she always end up with the most reluctant clients? Had he thought they were going to be the way they’d been at the party—relaxed—and just spending time in each other’s company?

Not on her watch.

Undeterred, she continued, “I’ll also be in charge of your nutrition, which is a vital part of your recovery. Are there foods you can’t eat due to an allergy? Or that you just don’t like?”

She imagined he was used to the Hollywood lifestyle of green juices and sashimi and grain bowls. So she was surprised when he said he wanted comfort foods. “Pizza and spaghetti and ice cream sundaes.”

Now it was her turn for her eyebrows to shoot skyward.

He laughed. “I’m supposed to be training for an action movie. They have a production nutritionist to help us prepare. She gave me a meal plan. It’s on the sideboard. And unfortunately, there isn’t a single pizza or ice cream sundae on it.” He made a move to get up to grab it for her, but she shook her head, and he stayed put. “There’s a card with the key code, too, in the bowl there.”

She went to the sideboard, noting its sleek walnut top, and found the list. As she’d suspected, it recommended a lot of green, leafy vegetables, lean meat, and fresh fish. “This is a very healthy diet.”

“Tell me about it,” he said sadly. “Like I said, not a fry or a hamburger in sight.”

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