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“Your place or mine?” she asked in a confident tone.
“You live here?” I enquired.
“Ever since my daddy came here to make his first movie,” she advised me.
“Your daddy?” I asked in disbelief, because I had no idea who she meant.
“Leo Moranelli, she replied, looking a little embarrassed.
“The guy with the bear and the boxer dog? You’re JoAnn Moranelli?”
She sniggered and nodded. “Yep, that’s me, and why is it out of all his movies, everyone remembers that one?” she asked, cringing and clearly embarrassed.
“Whoa, don’t knock it. I loved it. The TV scheduling wasn’t kind when they showed that movie, but it was worth it because man, that dog could sing,” I replied jovially, while I chuckled and she texted into her phone.
We wandered out into the driveway and I expected to grab a cab, so I was surprised when a sleek high-end BMW drew up in front of us.
“I take it as you didn’t answer my question, you’re either in a downtown hotel or you’re sharing a place with your bandmates.”
Before I could answer, a huge beefy guy in a crisp dark suit climbed out of the driver’s seat, came around the hood, and opened the back door for her. “Harold, this is Cole Harkin. Cole, meet my muscle come driver, Harold. Can you take us home,” she instructed and slid elegantly into the back seat. Muscle come driver? Now I know who she was texting.
For a second, he hesitated, looked at me then back to JoAnn, before he replied, “Very good.”
There was a time when no one could pass a billboard without seeing JoAnn’s father’s face plastered on it. Everyone wanted to know him, and he was still one of the most expensive actors in the business.
JoAnn’s father’s wealth was apparent from the moment we drew up to her property. Several armed guards with dogs guarded the high double walled property and CCTV traced our every move as we traveled along the tree-lined driveway, which eventually led to at an imposing Tuscany-style villa with terracotta tiles on the roof.
Harold exited the car and locked us in before he headed up some stairs to the double glass doors of the house. Seconds later he went inside and two guys with guard dogs appeared from either side of the front of the house.
“Is this thing bulletproof?” I asked in jest at what I deemed the security paranoia surrounding her home.
“Yeah, and bomb proof,” she muttered, watching the door without any hint of humor. “He’s just checking the place out before I go inside. Unfortunately, when you have a rich daddy he comes complete with a bull’s-eye T-shirt.” My attitude changed immediately when I vaguely remembered someone had tried to kidnap her once.
I’d always been a bit security conscious, and I knew our ranch-style home was vast, but it was as secure as I could make it from the accessible areas. Layla having a famous father was something I’d considered, and until now I had been happy with Stuart or Paul, my two burly cowboys, supporting Harper to transport Layla around, but since she was now at school and mingling with kids and adults we didn’t know I had already decided security had to be improved.
Harold’s return was signaled by the locks disengaging on the car and he purposefully made his way back to us. JoAnn leaned over and opened it before he reached the handle. “All clear, Jo, is there anything else?” After discussing her next day’s agenda her guy was dismissed, JoAnn smiled warmly and led me inside.
For all my wealth I’d never seen anything like JoAnn’s place. It was huge, long, and open-plan, but with three defined sections. At the far end, facing the pool, were rows of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves packed with novels and journals, ancient and new. A massive square wooden coffee table was situated between two velvet designer couches.
The rest of the space was filled by a state-of-the-art kitchen; a larger, more formal seating area, furnished with expensive bespoke sofas and real wood furniture, and a huge natural gas fireplace.
Strolling over to the kitchen area, I noted how it flowed seamlessly from the main living room. Yanking the tall fridge door, JoAnn grabbed a magnum of French champagne. Swiping two glasses from a low cupboard, she kicked both the cupboard and the fridge doors closed with her heel.
Making short work of the cork, she poured two glasses, held them both between the fingers of one hand and carried the bottle over toward the smaller, more intimate area I’d noted first.
Sitting down, I glanced up in time to see her place the bottle on the center table and turn to face me. Something in her smile as she handed me a glass held my gaze. Taking the drink from her, I leaned back against the couch and was surprised when she straddled my lap and sat down with her face inches from mine.
“Now, where were we?” she asked in a teasingly seductive tone.
“I turned you down, but I’m here, anyway.”
“Is this is where you tell me I’m not your type?”
“No. You’re gorgeous. Shit, I’m sorry, but it’s nothing to do with the way you look or that I wouldn’t… you know?” my voice tailed off as I ran my fingers through my hair. JoAnn deserved an explanation for me ruining her night.
Shrugging, JoAnn stood up, reached over and grabbed her glass. “More champagne?” she asked, waving the bottle before she poured herself another drink.
“If there’s some on offer.” I glanced at my wristwatch and saw it was 4:15 a.m.
