Flash.
“Ms. Landon. Mr. Littrell. Over here.”
Flash.
“How about a kiss for the camera?”
Smiling at the devastatingly handsome man who stood at her side with his arm around her, Genae Landon hissed between her teeth, “Kiss me for these clowns’ benefit and you’ll end up with bloody lips.”
“Darling,” he murmured, a glimmer of laughter in his midnight-blue eyes, “you know how it turns me on when you whisper sweet nothings in my ear.”
A growl rumbled in her throat, but she managed somehow to keep her forced smile in place. For Raylene, she reminded herself. This was all for Raylene.
Another bright flash nearly blinded her and then, to her immense relief, she and Brian reached the limo where a driver waited beside an open door. The paparazzi had already turned their frenetic attentions to the next prominent couple who had just emerged from the theatre.
“Good,” Brian muttered with a glance over his shoulder, “they’ve spotted the Gates. Now Bill can deal with them for a while.”
Gathering her long skirt in both hands, Genae ducked into the limo. She almost whimpered in gratitude when the driver closed the door, and she and Brian were alone in the welcome silence of the vehicle’s luxurious interior. Her fake smile immediately faded, letting her aching cheeks rest.
“I hated that pretentious event. And I think I hate you,” she added, glowering at her escort.
He laughed, showing a flash of white teeth, “You’ve made that clear since the day we met. But you do love your sister.”
She sighed, unable to argue with that. Only her love for her twin could have brought her to this glittering charity even, or involved her in this ridiculous charade she and Brian had been orchestrating for the past two weeks.
She pushed a hand through her spray-stiffened hair, dislodging a crystal-encrusted clip that had been holding a sweep of brown hair from her face. The heavy lock fell onto her cheek, curving below her chin to rest on her shoulder in a semblance of her usual casual layers. Tugging at the low top of her strapless black gown, she nudged off the tortuous high heels she had suffered all evening.
The heavy diamond earrings that had been pinching her earlobes were the next to go; she stuffed them into her evening bag and tossed it aside.
Still immaculate in his crisp tuxedo, Brian watched her shed the sophisticated façade she had grudgingly donned several hours earlier, “Need help unzipping?”
Since she wore nothing beneath the gown but a few scraps of lace, she merely glared at him in response. She thought longingly of jeans, t-shirts and well-worn sneakers--none of which she had on hand at the moment, unfortunately.
“Would you like some champagne?” he asked, motioning toward the built-in bar, “Wine?”
“Got a Pepsi in there?”
“I’ll check.”
A minute later she had a cold can in her hand, having refused a glass. Popping the top, she poured the caffeine-laced, artificially sweetened liquid down her throat. Through the glass partition ahead of her, she could see the back of the driver’s head as he navigated the crowded streets away from the theatre.
After watching her unwind for a moment, Brian asked, “Did you really hate the opera that much? The event was for a good cause.”
“The fund-raiser was certainly worthwhile. Of course, most of the overdressed, anorexic guests preening for the paparazzi could have donated more than the price of a ticket if they’d just tossed in one of the glittering baubles decorating their malnourished bodies--and that was just the men.”
Brian made a funny sound in the back of his throat, but his expression didn’t change, “And the program itself?”
“Opera really isn’t my type of music. I’m sure the performers were very good at what they do, but I can’t say I enjoyed it. Since I didn’t understand the words. I found the story hard to follow--and what I did understand seemed awfully depressing. It just got sadder and sadder and then everyone died.”
“That pretty much sums up the plot,” He murmured, though she suspected he had enjoyed the performance more than she had.
She sighed, “Okay. I’m being ungracious. It’s just that I hate this whole thing. The way everyone watches us and speculates. The catty tittering about Raylene and Jonathan. The security. I really hate the security. Couldn’t we--”
His smiling eyes hardened, “We’ve discussed this. The security is not negotiable. I’m not willing to risk your safety.”
“You don’t really think someone else will decide to try a kidnapping scheme. Do you? Especially since it failed so badly last time, with all three kidnappers now in custody and the mastermind behind the plan still on the run after jumping his bail.”
“I’m relatively confident that Donovan has left the country. I’ve received reports that he was spotted in Mexico and probably has moved to South America. But until I know for sure where he’s hiding, I won’t be entirely satisfied--and neither will Jonathan. And I’m not willing to bet your safety that someone else won’t get the stupid idea of tapping into my money by grabbing someone I care about. So long as we’re together--even if it’s only for the benefit of gossip columnists--you’ll tolerate the security.”
She reminded herself that Brian was a man accustomed to being in command...who wielded a great deal of power in his business and an almost equal amount of influence socially. He was used to giving orders and having them followed without question, so she should get so irritated every time he took that officious tone with her.
It still hacked her off.
“I’ll tolerate the security until after Raylene’s wedding,” she conceded, her voice frosty, “but I don’t have to like it.”
“No,” his smile had returned now, “You don’t have to like it. Or me, for that matter--as long as we keep those feelings just between us.”
The limo hit a bump in the road, causing Genae so slide on the leather seat. Brian reached out quickly to steady her, his hand warm on her bare arm. The strength she sensed in him each time he touched her always surprised her. It belied his appearance of lazy elegance--a façade she suspected he cultivated deliberately so his opponents would underestimate him.
It wasn’t a mistake most people made more than once.
The drive to the Manhattan hotel where they would be spending the night didn’t take long. Genae sighed as the limo glided to a stop at the door. Somehow she was going to have to wedge her feet back into those God-awful heels again.
She groped with her right foot, then scowled when her abused toes throbbed in protest.
“Hell with it,” she muttered, and reached down to scoop up the shoes by their delicate ankle straps, “I’ll carry them.”
Brian’s smile deepened just perceptibly at the corners, irritating her even more. Someday she was going to wipe that smirk right off his face. She was not here to amuse him.
The driver opened the door and extended a hand to her. Ignoring it, she climbed out, clutching her shoes in one hand and the top of her dress with the other. The lock of hair that had escaped the clip tumbled into her face. She blew it back.
She glanced at her perfectly pressed companion, who had moved to her side. Even holding the delicate evening bag she’d forgotten, he looked impeccably masculine--and amused again.
“Now what are you grinning about?”
There was a wicked gleam in his eyes when he gave her a leisurely survey, “You look as though we had quite an...interesting ride,” he said lowly.
Her cheeks flamed as she pictured herself standing there barefoot, her hair and dress in suspicious disarray. The blush probably only reinforced the image of a woman who’d just played tease-and-tickle in the back of a limo. Accidentally catching the eye of a rotund man across the lobby, she saw him raise an eyebrow--apparently in recognition of her escort--and then smile in a way that confirmed her suspicion of the impression her mussed appearance conveyed, “Dammit.”
Even though it was exactly the image they were trying to portray, it still galled her to think that everyone around them was engaged in salacious speculation about what had gone on between her and Brian in the limo--and what would go on between them in the luxury penthouse suite he’d booked for the night. She might have stalked brusquely toward the elevators right then, sending off-putting glares toward anyone who dared catch her eyes, had Brian not slipped one arm around her waist and pulled her firmly to his side.
“We don’t want to give the appearance that we’ve had a spat,” he reminded her, his mouth very close to her ear. Anyone watching them would probably have imagined that he was murmuring suggestions of what he would like to do to her when he got her upstairs, “Play your part,” he added.
She agreed to do this, and she wasn’t going to have anyone--especially Brian--say she hadn’t been good at it. Turning her head just enough so that her lips brushed his jaw as she spoke, she muttered back, “What do you suppose they would think if I ram my elbow into your abdomen right now?”
He chuckled, the sound just a bit husky, “Maybe I’m into the dominatrix scene?”
“Not something I’ve been interested in, myself.” She nuzzled lightly just beneath his ear, “But with you, I just might enjoy wielding the whip.”
He took her completely off guard by planting a firm kiss directly on her mouth, “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said when he finally released her.
He caught her fist an inch from his stomach and, lifting it to his lips, drew her into an empty elevator. He made his moves so swiftly that she was sure no one realized he’d just missed having the breath knocked out of him. But they’d certainly put on a show, anyway, she thought with a stifled sigh.
The moment the elevator doors closed completely, she broke away from him and moved across the small car. Since she couldn’t physically injure him--the darned male was just too fast for her--she contented herself with stabbing him with angry glares.
“Must you look at me that way?” he inquired, “I feel my eyebrows starting to singe…”
“That kiss was completely unnecessary.”
“I thought it added a nice touch.” He actually looked smug as he brushed a nonexistent smudge from his jacket, “I imagine we gave the gossips enough to chew on for a few days.”
“Good. Can we go home now?”
“You wound me with your eagerness to be rid of my company.”
She gave a low snort of exasperation, “And would you please stop talking like a character in a Regency romance novel?”
He laughed and motioned toward the opening elevator doors, “Sorry. Guess I got carried away with the role of devoted suitor.”
“You think?” Holding her chin high--and her shoes tightly--she swept ahead of him off the elevator.
The overall effect was probably diminished somewhat when she stumbled over her long skirt, but she righted herself almost immediately, ignoring the steadying hand Brian held out to her.
Brian had booked a two-bedroom suite. Genae would have insisted on that, of course, but he had done so without asking. She didn’t particularly care what the gossips made of their arrangements, and neither did Brian, apparently. She turned immediately toward the bedroom she had claimed earlier. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“No goodnight kiss?”
She threw a shoe at him.
Catching the strappy sandal in one hand, he grinned, “Sleep well, Gen.”
More as a defiant gesture than a belief that the precaution was necessary, she locked her bedroom door after closing it in Brian’s face.
Only after changing into an oversized t-shirt and plaid pajama pants, her face scrubbed clean and every trace of hairspray brushed from her hair, did Genae feel more like herself. Now if only she were home...
Glancing at the clock on the nightstand, she noted that it was past midnight. Yet it was an hour earlier back home. Maybe Raylene would still be awake. She was suddenly almost overcome with the urge to hear her sister’s voice--if for no other reason than to remind herself why she was here.
Sounding wide-awake, Raylene answered on the second ring, “Hello?”
“Hi. I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“No, I’ve been going over some paperwork from the store. Jonathan’s helping me.”
Genae imagined that Jonathan’s “help” had only made the task twice as long, but she kept that opinion to herself, “We just got back from that charity opera thing.”
“How was it?”
Dozens of complaints hovered on her tongue, but she settled for just one, “People kept staring at us.”
“Get used to it. Whenever you’re with Brian, people will stare. Even when you’re in a place where no one recognizes him--rare as those places are--there’s something about him that somehow commands attention.”
Genae was well aware of that, of course. She’d often wondered if people stared at Brian because of his extraordinary good looks, or that air of quiet power that surrounded him like a royal mantle. Whatever the reason, it was still unnerving.
“How was the evening other than that? Did you see lots of celebrities in beautiful dresses? Did you enjoy the opera?”
Because the whole point of this charade was to make Raylene happy, Genae had vowed not to complain to her sister. She would save all her gripes for Brian, who deserved them because this whole crazy scheme had been his idea--and just because he was Brian.
“It was fine. And yes, I saw tons of celebrities. I’m sure you would have enjoyed the evening--though I’m not certain Jonathan would have.”
“Probably not. Though he would have gone if he thought I really wanted to be there.”
Genae had no doubt of that. Jonathan Lawver spoiled her sister shamelessly. A battered warrior who didn’t express his feelings easily, Jonathan seemed determined to make a success of this relationship--the first that had truly mattered to him, apparently. Jonathan was almost fanatically loyal to those he cared most about--a very short list topped by Raylene and Brian, his employer and best friend since high school.
Since Raylene’s happiness was paramount to her, too, Genae fully approved of her sister’s choice in men. This time, at least. She hadn’t felt at all the same way when Raylene had been considering marriage to Brian.
The sisters talked a few more minutes and then Genae brought the call to an end. Wandering to a window to gaze out at the colorfully lit city so far and so different from her hometown, she thought about the quiet contentment that was always present in Raylene’s voice these says. Knowing that she was contributing to that happiness, if only in a minor way, gave her mixed feelings. She was glad to be able to help, but now she felt even more trapped in this ridiculous scam.
“Trapped” was a feeling she had grown to know all too well during the past couple of years.
So maybe it hadn’t been the brightest idea he’d ever had. Convincing Genae to pretend to be romantically involved with him had been difficult enough--following through with the improbable scheme was proving even more complicated. It didn’t help, of course, that Genae couldn’t stand him.
Sprawled out on his hotel room bed with the TV remote in one hand and a glass of orange juice in the other, Brian mentally replayed the number of close calls he had averted that evening--most notably, the moment when he’d narrowly avoided being drilled in the stomach by her first. She’d packed quite a punch, too. If he hadn’t managed to catch her hand and pull it away, she’d have doubled him over. And wouldn’t that have caught some attention in tomorrow’s gossip columns?
He probably shouldn’t have given in to that impulse to kiss her. But he hadn’t tried very hard to resist. Kissing Genae Landon was something he’d been tempted to do for several weeks now, to his own surprise and her obvious dismay.
After knowing her for nearly six months, he still wasn’t quite sure what it was about him that aroused so much antagonism in her. Her twin had liked him from the moment of their chance meeting last winter when he’d wandered into Mirror Images, the decorating shop Raylene and Genae owned and operated in Little Rock’s River Market district. He and Raylene had struck up a conversation that had continued over coffee and then into several dinner dates.
Less than four months into their relationship, he’d brought up the subject of marriage.
He hadn’t even pretended to be in love with Raylene. He had liked her very much, admired and respected her a great deal. He’d found her attractive, but he knew the difference between simple affection and the passionate love hyped in literature and song. But after carefully observing and studying the few successful marriages among his many acquaintances, he had come to the conclusion that the most enduring basis for a lifelong partnership was genuine friendship.
He’d tried the more popular methods of courtship, letting himself be led by his heart--and other, more primitive body parts. He’d ended up involved in several volatile relationships with beautiful, talented, famous--and usually completely self-centered--actresses and models. He’d thought women already accustomed to fame and fortune would have been more likely to value him for himself rather than what he could give them. He’d been wrong.
Those high-profile disasters had led to embarrassment, disillusion, and the unwelcome attentions of tabloid writers, who had been as intrigued by his dating adventures as they were fascinated by his innate flair for making fortunes.
“I’ve been going about this romance thing the wrong way,” he had concluded to Jonathan during the last Thanksgiving holidays. “I’d never invest in business venture on impulse or emotions. I choose my investments based on rational and carefully determined criteria, all focused on the probability of success. That’s the way I need to select love interests, I guess...someone I like and respect and who feels the same way about me. Someone with similar values and interests, with compatible goals and dreams. Someone who wants a family as much as I do, and who’ll put the welfare of the family ahead of everything else--as I plan to do.”
“What about love?” Jonathan had asked doubtfully, “Passion? All those things that the romantics say should be part of getting married? Not that I ever intend to try it myself...”
That, of course, had been before Jonathan had met Raylene--back when he’d been convinced that he would remain a bachelor for the rest of his life. Brian was the one who had decided he wanted to get married. Who had wanted a family. A home. And when he’d met Raylene, he believed he’d found a perfect potential life mate.
Raylene met nearly every qualification on his carefully thought-out lit--and she had admitted that she, too, had been disappointed with traditional dating rituals. Though only 25, just short of 4 years younger than Brian, she had begun to wonder if she would ever have the children she’d always wanted.
It had seemed like a match made in marriage-of-convenience heaven. According to Brian’s calculations, an alliance between them had better than 80% odds of success--much better than the typical marriage, which stood only a 50/50 chance of lasting.
What he couldn’t have predicted was that Raylene would tumble head-over-heels in love with his second in command--and vice versa--making all Brian’s logical, practical planning worth nothing.
A sudden crash from the other room made him jump to his feet, muscles tensed, senses on full alert. Crossing the room in three long strides, he threw open the bathroom door, poised for a battle if necessary.
