Chapter One
“Catch me, Daddy!”
“Hey, no running, young ma—”
Stark Bradford tried to stop his seven-year-old son, but it was useless. Blaise sprinted down the diving board and sprang high into the air, levitating for the briefest moment before hurtling toward the clear blue water of the pool. Stark experienced that heart-stopping moment of tension every parent endured when their kid careened too close to danger. Just like always, his instincts kicked in almost at the same time as his heartbeat stuttered.
Reaching up as if his arms were a magnet to the kid-shaped meteor headed for him, he caught Blaise, letting him crash into the water with a satisfying splash. They both laughed as Stark shook the chlorine-rich water from his wavy blond hair. Still holding Blaise under the arms, he dragged the boy’s legs through the water and tossed him up into the air again, smiling widely with his child’s utter delight.
Spending time with Blaise was Stark’s happy place. His fans would probably never believe it, considering he was a household name. Actors were soulless heathens who didn’t deserve an iota of privacy. And those were the ones who liked him. But the truth was he found so much more joy in fatherhood than acting that it surprised him. And why wouldn’t it? Ten years ago, that would have been unheard of.
Ten years ago, he’d been a very different man.
Stark tossed his son back a few feet, watching him squeal and squirm in the air before splashing into the water. When he bobbed to the top for oxygen, Stark swam over to him and pulled him into his arms.
“Is this how you do it in your movie, Daddy?” Blaise’s intelligent eyes held genuine curiosity.
Stark laughed softly as he hugged his son and swam with him toward the shallow end so he could relax and take his eyes off the boy for more than a few seconds at a time.
“Absolutely,” Stark lied good-naturedly, grinning. “You could play my part in the remake in a few years, I bet.”
That gave Blaise endless satisfaction. The moment Stark set him on the edge of the pool, he promptly jumped back in like an action hero taking a bullet meant for someone else, legs and arms splayed. Stark couldn’t help encouraging the kid when he wanted to be like his dad. He’d never seen himself as the kind of guy who’d have a kid to begin with, much less be so obsessed with him. There wasn’t a father on earth who didn’t want their boy to at least want to follow in his footsteps, even if Stark wouldn’t wish the film industry on his worst enemy, much less his son. But he couldn’t lie to himself that he felt proud that his son admired him.
The industry was brutal and competitive and totally unforgiving. Sure, he had riches and fame beyond compare now, but the early days had been harder than he’d ever imagined. Picking up paying work where he could—usually as a waiter, construction work, or security guard—and auditioning his ass off had led him to an incredible career. That and a truckload of luck. He was an outlier and he knew it, which made lazing around the pool with his kid on a rare day off from filming even better.
Getting a running start, he performed a perfect cannonball next to Blaise, drawing peals of laughter. He dreaded having to leave his son to go back to the set of his latest film the next day, so he wanted to enjoy his day off as much as possible. He had a full day planned, and none of it involved leaving their Malibu mansion. Tomorrow he could be the womanizing, combat-trained, stunt-double-free action hero whose smile lit up movie screens around the world. Today, he was just a dad who loved his kid more than life itself.
Blaise swam toward him underwater, no doubt pretending to be an action hero swimming through underground lakes to avoid the bullets of a criminal kingpin during a firefight, and then burst out of the water next to him.
“Boo!” he cried.
Stark raised his hands and gasped dramatically. “I surrender!” Then he scooped a squirming Blaise into his arm and peppered his face with dripping wet kisses. They finally settled into floating on their backs, arms linked like sea otters as they drifted across the surface and stared into the rich blue Southern California sky.
“Did Mommy like swimming as much as you, Daddy?” Blaise asked softly.
Stark’s heart clenched for a split second, but he’d grown used to fielding his son’s questions about his late mother. He’d had a long time to work through the special brand of grief of losing a spouse, but the pain never really left him.
“It was her idea to have this pool put in. I couldn’t keep her out of the water. Just like you. In fact, she taught you to swim when you were just a baby.”
Blaise smiled at him, warming his heart while simultaneously filling him with sadness. Their son looked more like her than him, though his red-brown hair was darker than her fiery mane. His brown eyes were identical to hers, though, and sometimes Stark thought he was looking at her when their gazes met. Unfortunately, with a human father and a half-fox shifter, half-human for a mom, the poor kid probably would never learn to fully shift. The best he could manage to was to make his nose turn dark when he concentrated really hard. Even so, the other kids at Benningford Preparatory Academy—the elite shifter school Blaise attended—didn’t bother him too much about it. He was well-liked and got good grades, which was all Stark could ask for.
The faint sound of the doorbell echoed through the house and filtered out to them in the pool. Stark ignored it at first but then remembered he’d given his housekeeper the day off so he could hang with Blaise uninterrupted.
“Oops, Hilde’s off today, sport,” he said, dragging Blaise toward the steps. “Gotta go answer the door, which means—”
“I know, I know,” the kid groaned. “I gotta sit on the sidelines till you come back.”
Stark unceremoniously deposited his son onto a lounge chair in the shade. “Smart kid. Be right back.”
Hurrying into the house, he shouted, “Coming!” to whomever was bothering him on his day off. The tile floors were slippery under his dripping wet feet and he suddenly regretted not grabbing a towel. By some minor miracle, he made it to the front doors without falling and breaking his damn neck.
“Can I help…” He trailed off once the door opened fully and he got a good look at the woman standing on his doorstep.
She was simply stunning. She was on the taller side—maybe five-eight in bare feet—though still several inches shorter than his six feet, with a voluptuous figure that reminded him of Marilyn Monroe. Her long blonde hair was perfectly styled and framed her heart-shaped face, which was made up better than his co-star’s when they were filming. She was dressed in a cream-colored sleeveless cashmere sweater cut in a deep vee that showed off her assets and form-hugging dusty pink pants with matching heels. A cream leather Louis Vuitton handbag swung from her crooked arm as her pink-tipped fingers slid her Ray-Bans from her face. The greyest eyes Stark had ever seen stared back at him.
Her profound beauty nearly made his knees buckle out from under him, and that was saying something. Stark had worked with the most beautiful women in the world, and none of them compared to the vision on his doorstep. Swallowing hard, he pulled himself together and gave her his patented megawatt smile.
“Well, good morning,” he growled, raising a curious eyebrow. “I wasn’t expecting company today, but what’s life without a few surprises? How can I help you?”