Tightrope (Burning Cove #3)(31)

“Yes, sir.”

Vincent heaved a world-weary sigh and finally turned around to face Jasper.

“It’s a damned shame that I am obliged to put up here at this ridiculous excuse for an inn. I should be relaxing in a poolside lounge chair at the Burning Cove, not sipping insipid tea at this place.”

“Yes, sir,” Jasper said.

“You may go now.” Vincent made a shooing motion with one long-fingered, well-manicured hand. “I’ve got some time to kill. I might as well go over my lines. I still can’t believe that an actor of my caliber is obliged to have to do a screen test for a stupid vampire film. That director should be on his knees, begging me to take the lead. Instead, what does he do? He graciously offers me the opportunity to try out for the role. He has the nerve to act like he’s doing me a favor. Fucking idiot.”

Jasper wasn’t sure of the correct response to that comment so he kept his mouth shut. Working for a fading star required a certain amount of discretion. Vincent Hyde was still a legendary horror actor as far as the public was concerned but in Hollywood it was no secret that his career had careened off a cliff in the wake of the box office fiasco of A Garden in Winter.

Hyde had played a tycoon trying to keep his business and marriage together while confronting financial disaster. He had been convinced that the role would catapult him from low-budget horror movies into the kind of well-respected films that got nominated for Academy Awards. It turned out that the people who bought tickets to movies did not want to see creepy Mad Doctor X in the role of a depressed, conflicted businessman.

Hyde was now fully engaged in the challenging task of salvaging his career as a horror actor. He did not have a lot of time. Very few things went downhill faster than the declining career of an aging actor.

Jasper moved out into the hall and closed the door. He paused to savor the faint hint of something warm and delicious wafting up from the kitchen. It had been a long time since he had tasted home cooking. Hyde employed a cook at his Los Angeles mansion, but with the exception of breakfast he rarely ate at home. Hyde’s evenings were spent at fashionable restaurants and nightclubs, places where he could be sure he would be seen with other celebrities.

The result was that Jasper usually ended up packing a lunch box for himself or grabbing coffee and a meatloaf sandwich at a diner.

He looked at the door of his room. He didn’t have much to unpack. His old grip could wait. He decided to go downstairs and see what was happening in the kitchen.

The scent of freshly baked goodies was so intense that by the time he got to the door of the kitchen his mouth was watering. But the sight of the blond angel bending over the hot oven to remove a tray of what looked like shortbread almost made him forget about food.

Amalie Vaughn was at the counter, cutting the crusts off dainty little sandwiches. She saw him in the doorway and smiled.

“Tea will be ready at three,” she said.

“Thanks, but I won’t be having tea,” he said. “Mr. Hyde wouldn’t think it was right for the help to eat in the same dining room as the boss.”

“I see,” Amalie said. “In that case you can have tea in here with Willa and me.”

The blond angel straightened, a baking sheet clasped in two mitten-covered hands. She turned to look at him.

He tensed, bracing for one of the two reactions he had learned to expect from women. In his experience, they were either repelled or fascinated by the leather and the tattoos. He was not particularly enamored of the costume himself, but Vincent Hyde wanted a chauffeur and a bodyguard who looked like the human equivalent of a vicious guard dog.

Amalie Vaughn’s gracious welcome that afternoon had caught him off guard precisely because he was not accustomed to having women look at him the way she did, as if he looked like a normal man. The expression in her eyes had told him that she was used to being in the company of people who did not fit the standard definition of normal.

He saw the same easy acceptance of the leather-and-steel outfit in the blonde’s eyes now.

“Willa, this is Jasper Calloway,” Amalie said. “He works for Mr. Hyde, one of our guests. Jasper, this is Willa Platt.”

Jasper ducked his head. “Miss Platt.”

“Nice to meet you, Jasper,” Willa said. She surveyed him from head to toe and nodded approvingly. “I like the outfit. Did you design it yourself?”

That stopped him cold for a beat.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “Is it that bad?”

“No, it’s perfect,” Willa said. “It suits you. Very impressive.”

Jasper relaxed. “I used to lift weights on Venice Beach. Always hoped some studio executive would notice me. Figured the outfit might help attract attention.”

“Did you ever catch the eye of a director?” Willa asked.

“I never got discovered,” Jasper said. “But over the years I picked up some stuntman work. I’m getting too old for jumping out of burning windows, though. Figured a chauffeur’s job would be a safer way to make a living.”

Willa laughed. “You were probably right about that.”

“Whatever is in that pan sure smells good,” he said, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say. It also happened to be the truth.

“Shortbread,” Willa said.

“I love shortbread cookies,” Jasper said. “Haven’t had any in years. My mother used to make them.”