 by Samantha Young.jpg)
Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 98965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
North Hunter has worked hard to step out of the shadows of his orphaned upbringing into the limelight of Hollywood. He never imagined a dark moment from his childhood returning to destroy everything he’d built. Devastated, he finds comfort in the isolation of an exclusive members-only club in the Scottish Highlands, even if the club comes with a prickly estate manager who sets his blood on fire.
As the eldest daughter of a Hollywood legend, Aria Howard has learned the hard way that people will use her to get to her father. When her last relationship ended badly, Aria fled to Scotland. Running Ardnoch Estate provides distance from a life that has never fit comfortably. But when defamed Scottish actor North Hunter disrupts her sanctuary, Aria is on the defense. The cocky actor is the last thing she needs, and despite their searing attraction, Aria is determined to dislike him.
But one night of drunken forced proximity with North leads Aria to share insecurities seeded by her horrible ex. When North offers to prove her ex wrong by taking Aria to his bed for a no-strings distraction, they begin an affair neither expected. However, their fiery liaison leads to a deep emotional connection that unsettles them both, and North will have to break down more than Aria’s trust issues if they’re ever to have a future together. He’ll need to protect her from a past that just doesn’t want to stay buried… or lose something far more essential to his existence than his career.
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Prologue
ARIA
Ardnoch Estate, Scotland
July
Sitting on my porch, sipping my morning coffee, I gazed out at the North Sea. Waves gently lapped at the shore below, seagulls squalled in the cloudless sky above, and I felt … content. If not happy, then content. The heat wave that hit the rest of the Western Hemisphere had found a home in the Scottish Highlands too. The early-morning sun turned the waters of the North Sea a Mediterranean turquoise along its shallow depths toward the beach. A slight breeze offered a cool caress against what was an unusually warm temperature for this time of the morning. Thank goodness my father had thought to fit the house with air conditioning, despite being advised it was pointless in this part of the world. If he’d listened to that advice, I wouldn’t have slept last night.
Last summer, my first as hospitality manager at the exclusive members-only club in the Highlands, was a roller-coaster ride of weather. This summer, the film and television professionals who paid a fortune to have access to one of the most secure estates in the world had spent much of it outdoors because of weeks filled with sunny days. I’d never seen so many members take advantage of our private beach or require security to protect them as they enjoyed guided tours of the Highlands. Not to mention, the use of the spa doubled. In fact, I’d hired extra seasonal staff this year, more than Ardnoch had ever required.
Ardnoch Castle was meant to buzz with life and energy … but, honestly, I wanted Hollywood to return to work. I longed for September to arrive so they’d hurry home or onto their next project in whichever corner of the world it took them to. As long as it wasn’t here.
The estate could never be like LA, but fill it with people from LA and it became uncomfortably close.
Glancing at the elegant Rolex my mother had given me for Christmas, I quickly threw back the last of my coffee and hurried into my house. It was technically my parents’ house, but I lived in it year-round while they (mostly my mother) visited for the summer. Spotting Mamma’s jewelry scattered over the breakfast nook, I hurried quietly through the downstairs. I didn’t want to wake her.
My mother had descended upon Ardnoch weeks ago, and even though I was busy at the castle with work, she still wore on my last nerve.
Grabbing my purse, phone, and car keys, I tiptoed toward the front door so the sound of my heels wouldn’t echo upstairs.
“Buondì, coccolona.”
My mother’s husky voice stopped me in my tracks. I’d inherited that sultry huskiness, but not the sultry Italian accent that went with it. Taking a deep breath, I turned and watched Mamma descend the staircase like she was on a photo shoot. Her silk robe billowed open, flashing her long, perfect legs. Dark hair that she’d been dyeing since she was thirty to cover premature gray was tied up in an artfully messy bun as she frowned at me. Because of the fillers she had injected into her lips every few months, it seemed as if she was perpetually pouting. To be fair, she usually was.
“Morning, Mamma,” I answered, straightening instinctually. My entire life, my mother, the supermodel, had drilled it into me to keep my shoulders and spine straight.
“No daughter of mine will have a hunchback.”
“Coffee?” she asked as she stepped down into the hallway and crossed the distance between us.
“There’s some in the kitchen.”
Her dark eyes narrowed. “You’re leaving? Again?”
I sighed inwardly. “Mamma, you know I work here.”
“All you do is work. Do you not get a break?”
“Summer is our busiest time. You know that.”
“I’ve hardly seen you.”
Biting back a response, I took a second to control my irritation. Snapping at Mamma only led to days of drama. However, I found it ironic that my mother wanted to spend time with me only after I became an adult and no longer needed her in the way I used to. As a child, I spent a lot of time with nannies and overworked personal assistants. My dad was Wesley Howard, legendary movie director, and he spent a lot of time away from home when I was a kid. My mom, a famous Italian supermodel, was always off in some exotic location shooting for a magazine or an ad campaign.
When they were home, I wouldn’t say they weren’t involved because they were. My parents did their best to show that they loved me and my sister, despite how busy they were. But the truth of the matter was, they didn’t raise me. And when Allegra unexpectedly came along when I was ten years old, I—and not our absent parents—raised my younger sister.
I’d sacrificed going to the college of my dreams and stayed home in Malibu to commute to the University of California in LA so I could be there for my little sister. After my first two years at UCLA, my mother retired from modeling. With her home, I’d suggested I transfer and head to the East Coast. Mamma had such a dramatic meltdown at the thought of me leaving that I stayed for Allegra’s sake.