KEEP ME WARM AT
CHRISTMAS
Author: Brenda Novak
ISBN: 9780778311256
Publication Date:
September 28, 2021
Publisher: MIRA Books
Buy Links:
Book Summary:
Maybe
this Christmas can thaw his frozen heart—and heal hers.
Hollywood starlet Tia Beckett knows one
moment can change your life. Her career had been on the fast track before a
near-fatal accident left her with a debilitating facial scar. Certain her
A-lister dreams are over, she agrees to house-sit at her producer’s secluded
estate in Silver Springs. It’s the escape from the limelight Tia’s been
craving, until she discovers she’s not the only houseguest for the holidays.
And her handsome new roomie is impossible to ignore.
Thursday,
December 11
Tia Beckett ran a finger along the jagged scar
on her cheek as she gazed into the mirror above the contemporary console on the
living room wall. She’d taken down almost every mirror in her own house as soon
as she came home from the hospital— broken them all and tossed them out. But
she couldn’t do the same here. This wasn’t her home, and there seemed to be
mirrors everywhere, each one projecting the same tragic image.
She leaned closer. It
must’ve been the windshield that nearly destroyed her face.
She dropped her hand.
After a month, her cheek was still tender, but she continued to examine her
reflection. The woman in the mirror was a complete stranger. If she turned her
head to the left, she could find herself again. The shiny black hair that
framed an oval face. The smooth and creamy olive-colored skin. The bottle-green
eyes with long, thick eyelashes. The full lips, which were her own, not a
product of Botox injections. All the beauty that’d helped her land the leading
role in Hollywood’s latest blockbuster was still there.
But when she turned
her head to the right…
Her stomach soured as
she studied the raised, pink flesh that slanted in a zigzag fashion from the
edge of her eye almost to her mouth. The doctor had had to piece that side of
her face back together like a quilt. He’d said there was a possibility that
cosmetic surgery could improve the scars later, but that wasn’t an option right
now. After what she’d been through already, she couldn’t even contemplate
another surgery. It’d be too late to save her career by then, anyway.
Who was this poor,
unfortunate creature? Her agent, her fellow cast members for Expect the Worst,
the romantic comedy in which she costarred with box-office hit Christian Allen,
and the friends she’d made since moving to LA said she was lucky to have
survived the accident. And maybe that was true. But it was difficult to feel
lucky when she’d lost all hope of maintaining her career just as it was
beginning to skyrocket.
A knock at the front
door startled her. Who could that be? She didn’t want to see anyone, not even
her friends—and especially not the press. They’d been hounding her since the
accident, trying to snap a picture of her damaged face and demanding an answer
as to whether she would quit acting. That was part of the reason she’d readily
accepted when Maxi Cohen, the producer of her one and only film, offered to let
her stay at his massive estate in Silver Springs, ninety minutes northwest of
LA. He and his family would be in Israel for the holidays, so he needed someone
to house-sit. That was what he’d said. What she’d heard was that she could hide
out for a month and be completely alone.
And she wouldn’t even have to pay for the privilege. She just had to care for
the houseplants, feed and play with Kiki, the parrot, occasionally drive each
of the six vehicles parked in the airplane-hangar-sized garage and make sure
nothing went wrong.
She also turned on
the lights in the main house at night—Maxi didn’t yet have them set up on a
timer, like those in his yard—so that it looked occupied since she was staying
in the guesthouse, which was smaller and more comfortable. But that was
probably unnecessary. There wasn’t a lot of crime in Silver Springs. Known for
its boutique hotels, recreational opportunities and local, organic produce, it
was sort of like Santa Barbara, only forty minutes away and closer to the
coast, in that there were plenty of movie moguls and the like who had second
homes here.
Still, he couldn’t
have left Kiki without a caretaker. And safe was always better than sorry. He
also owned an extensive art collection that could never be replaced, so she
figured he was wise to have someone watch over it, just in case
Whoever was at the
door rapped again, more insistently. Maxi had given the housekeeper and other
staff a paid holiday. Even the gardeners were off, since the yard didn’t grow
much during the cold, rainy season. The entire estate was essentially in
mothballs until Maxi returned. And no one Tia knew could say exactly where she
was. So why was someone at her door? How had whoever it was gotten onto the
property? The front gate required a code.
“Hello? Anyone home?”
A man’s strident voice came through the panel. “Maxi said you’d be in the
guesthouse.”
Damn. Those words suggested whoever it was had
a right to be here, or at least permission. She was going to have to answer the
door.
“Coming,” she called.
“Just…give me a minute.” She hurried into the bedroom, where her suitcase lay
open on the floor. She’d arrived in Silver Springs two days ago but hadn’t
bothered to unpack. There hadn’t seemed to be much point. There didn’t seem to
be much point in doing anything anymore. She hadn’t bothered to shower or dress
this morning, either, and she was wearing the same sweat bottoms, T-shirt and
socks she’d had on yesterday.
Yanking off her
clothes, she pulled on a robe so that there’d be no expectation of hospitality
as she scurried back through the living room. Still reluctant to speak to
anyone, she peered through the peephole.
A tall, slender
man—six-two, maybe taller—stood on the stoop. His dark hair had outgrown its
last haircut and stuck out beneath a red beanie, he had a marked five-o’clock
shadow, suggesting he hadn’t shaved for a couple of days, and a cleft chin
almost as pronounced as that of Henry Cavill. He was a total stranger to her,
but he had to be one of Maxi’s friends or associates, and she should treat him
as such.
Bracing herself—human
interaction was something she now avoided whenever possible—she took a deep
breath. Please, God, don’t let him
recognize me or have anything to do with the media.
The blinds were
already pulled, so she turned off the lights and cracked the door barely wide
enough to be able to peek out with her good side. “What can I do for you?”
His scowl darkened as
his gaze swept over what he could see of her. He must’ve realized she was
wearing a robe, because he said, “I hate to drag you out of bed at—” he checked
his watch “—two in the afternoon. But could you let me into the main house
before I freeze my—” catching himself, he cleared his throat and finished with
“—before I freeze out here?”
Assuming he was a
worker of some sort—she couldn’t imagine why he’d be here, bothering her,
otherwise—she couldn’t help retorting, “Sure. As long as you tell me why I
should care whether you freeze or not.”
The widening of his
eyes gave her the distinct impression that he wasn’t used to having someone
snap back at him. So… maybe he wasn’t a worker.
“Because Maxi has
offered to let me stay in his home,
and he indicated you’d let me in,” he responded with exaggerated patience. “He
didn’t text you?”
“No, I haven’t heard
from him.” And surely, what this man said couldn’t be right. Maxi had told her
that she’d have the run of the place. She’d thought she’d be able to stay here
without fear of bumping into anyone. She’d been counting on it.
“He was just getting
on a plane,” he explained. “Maybe he had to turn off his phone.”
“Okay. If you want to
give me your number, I’ll text you as soon as I hear from him.” He cocked his
head.
“You’ll…what?”
“I’m afraid you’ll
have to come back later.”
“I don’t want to come
back,” he said. “I just drove six hours, all the way from the Bay Area, after
working through the night. I’m exhausted, and I’d like to get some sleep. Can
you help me out here?”
His impatience
irritated her. But since the accident, she’d been so filled with rage she was
almost relieved he was willing to give her a target. “No, I’m afraid I can’t.”
He stiffened. “Excuse
me?”
“I can’t let some
stranger into the house, not unless Maxi specifically asks me to.” Even if this
guy was telling the truth, forcing him to leave would not only bring her great
pleasure, it would give her a chance to feed Maxi’s parrot before hiding the
key under the mat. Then there would be no need for further interaction. He
wouldn’t see her, and she wouldn’t have to watch the shock, recognition and
pity cross his face.
Pity was by far the
worst, but none of it was fun.
“If I have the code
to the gate, I must’ve gotten it from somewhere, right?” he argued. “Isn’t it
logical to assume that Maxi is the one who gave it to me?”
“That’s a
possibility, but there are other possibilities.”
“Like…”
“Maybe you hopped the
fence or got it from one of the staff?” His chest lifted in an obvious effort
to gather what little patience he had left. “I assure you, if I was a thief, I
would not present myself at your door.”
“I can appreciate
why. But I’m responsible for what goes on here right now, which means I can’t
take any chances.”
“You won’t be taking
any chances!” he argued in exasperation. “If anything goes missing or gets
damaged, I’ll replace it.”
What was there to
guarantee that? “The art Maxi owns can’t be replaced,” she said and thought she
had him. Maxi had told her so himself. But this stranger said the only thing
that could trump her statement. “Except by me, since I’m the one who created most
of it in the first place,” he said drily.
“You’re an artist?”
she asked but only to buy a second or two while she came to grips with a few
other things that had just become apparent. If he was one of the artists Maxi
collected, he wasn’t some obscure talent. Yet…he couldn’t be more than thirty.
And he certainly didn’t look too important shivering in a stretched-out
T-shirt, on which the word Perspective was
inverted, and jeans that had holes down the front.
“I am,” he replied.
“And you are…the house sitter, I presume?”
She heard his
disparaging tone. He wondered who the hell she was to tell him what to do. He
thought he mattered more than she did. But that came as no surprise: she’d
already pegged him as arrogant. She was more concerned about the fact that Maxi
might’ve referred to her as a menial laborer. Is that the way her former
producer thought of her now? It was only a few months ago that she’d been the
most promising actress in Hollywood. Certainly she’d attained more fame than
this snooty artist—when it came to having her name recognized by the general
public, anyway.
But what did it
matter how high she’d climbed? She’d fallen back to earth so hard she felt as
though she’d broken every bone in her body, even though the damage to her face
was the only lingering injury she’d sustained in the accident. “I’m
house-sitting, yes. But, like you, I’m a friend of Maxi’s,” she said vaguely.
Fortunately, he
didn’t seem interested enough to press her for more detailed information. She
was glad of that.
“Fine. Look, friend.” He produced his phone. “I have
proof. This is the text exchange I had with Maxi just before his plane took
off. As you can see, he says he has someone—you—staying in the guesthouse, but
the main house is available, and I’m welcome to it. If you’ll notice the time,
you’ll see that these texts took place just this morning.”
Her heart sank as she
read what he showed her: I have someone in
the guesthouse. Just get the key from her.
“How long are you
planning on being here?” she asked.
“Does it matter?” he
replied.
It did matter. But this was Maxi’s estate, and they were both his guests, so she had an obligation to treat him as well as he was accustomed to being treated. “Just a minute,” she said and muttered a curse after she closed the door. There goes all my privacy.
Excerpted from Keep Me Warm at
Christmas by Brenda Novak, Copyright © 2021 by Brenda Novak, Inc.
Published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
Author Bio:
New York Times bestselling
author Brenda Novak has written over
60 novels. An eight-time Rita nominee, she's won The National Reader's Choice,
The Bookseller's Best and other awards. She runs Brenda Novak for the Cure, a
charity that has raised more than $2.5 million for diabetes research (her
youngest son has this disease). She considers herself lucky to be a mother of
five and married to the love of her life.
Social Links:
Twitter: @Brenda_Novak
Instagram: @authorbrendanovak
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