He hadn’t felt this way in years. He’d only had this feeling two other times in his life and both times had led to disaster, so why was he allowing these feelings to come back into his life, into his heart? An image of Paris’s beautiful smile flashed into his consciousness and he smiled. He began to ease his body into a slow down, preparing to end his run and head for the shower. He glanced at the clock on the wall and grinned. His internal clock never failed him and he was right on schedule. He had a date with destiny that he didn’t intend to miss.
Chapter Fourteen
Paris finally managed to get some sleep on the plane by moving away from the three men and taking another seat. She took two of the soft plush flight blankets stored on the plane and cocooned herself, drifting into a deep slumber almost immediately. She enjoyed a deep, dreamless sleep for the duration of the flight, undisturbed by the laughter of Danny and company in the back of the plane, or the conversation of her crew seated around her. She would have continued to sleep if Twyla hadn’t wakened her.
“C’mon, Paris, we’re landing in about forty-five minutes and you need to pull yourself together,” she crooned. “Wake up, Paris, you can take a nap at the hotel, but you can’t get off the plane looking like that.”
Danny had made his way up to her seat and was much less gentle in his rousing. He reached down and palmed her head like a basketball, rocking it back and forth. “Get up, you hag, or I’ll let you crawl off this plane looking like the Phantom of the Opera. You better be glad somebody’s looking out for you, ya lazy heifer.”
Paris grumped her way to consciousness, frowning and rubbing her eyes. “Who cares what I look like? I don’t look that bad, do I?” She looked down at her charcoal gray velour track suit. It wasn’t wrinkled and it was stylish, a nice fitting hooded jacket and properly fitting pants were timeless. She had on an expensive pair of Nikes and some good jewelry so she didn’t see what the big deal was.
Danny looked at her with disgust. “Do you want to end up on the front page of some tabloid looking like Fanny Frump? Or worse yet,” he threatened, “as a fashion disaster in InStyle? You better get your butt in the bathroom and get changed if you know what’s good for you. Unless, of course, you want to shame your friend Billy by looking like a hick. If that’s the case, keep snoring until we land and crawl off this crate looking like a sea hag, see if I care.”
Shamefaced, Paris scrambled out of her seat and hurried into the lavatory. She was surprised to find a pretty dress hanging there, complete with accessories. It was one of her favorite outfits, a V-necked merino wool jersey dress with long sleeves. It was the exact color of an American Beauty rose, a color she always favored. The dress was knee-length with a slit in the back and it accentuated her figure beautifully, she always felt she was looking her best when she wore it. She stepped out of the lavatory to put on the shoes she normally wore with it; they were the same shade of rose in suede with snakeskin accents. Their three-inch heel made her legs look longer and even sexier and the rose color of the dress did fantastic things for her skin. She knew better than to ask Danny to comb her hair, but it was still full of waves and the ends were still curled so she was going to settle for brushing it away from her face when Danny surprised her completely by demanding that she sit down. She did so at once and he quickly fashioned a loose chignon at the nape of her neck and secured it with two big tortoiseshell picks.
“There. Now when you step off the plane you won’t look like a Georgia bumpkin come to the big city,” he said smugly.
“Excuse you; I am not a Georgia bumpkin. I’m a Louisiana swamp rat,” she corrected him haughtily. She thanked him profusely before starting to touch up her face. Twyla came to her rescue, handing her the makeup bag Paris could have sworn was in her luggage.
“Twyla, bless your heart, I know you made sure I’d have something decent to wear,” Paris said gratefully.
“Hey, it’s what I do,” she replied airily. “Isn’t that why you pay me the big bucks?”
Suddenly Twyla’s face paled and she grabbed the armrest. The lane was beginning its descent to LAX and it was evident that the young woman wasn’t thrilled about it. Paris smiled sympathetically and put her hand over Twyla’s. “Honey, you know what will cure you of that? Get your Aunt Regina to take you for a plane ride or two. You’ll feel much more comfortable, you really will.”
Twyla got even paler at the thought. “I love my Aunt Regina with all my heart but I’m never getting in a plane with her. The big planes are bad enough, but a little one like the ones she flies? Oh, no, not me. Eww,” she moaned as the jet cut through the clouds and neared the landing strip.
It wasn’t too long before the deplaning began and Twyla was able to put her feet on precious ground again. Billy Watanabe saw how wan she looked and put his hand to the small of her back to guide her off the plane. “You’re fine, sweetheart, just lean on me a little,” he said solicitously.
Paris strolled into the airport looking like a movie star, completely unaware that she was attracting attention. With every step she took more men were watching her with admiration and desire in their eyes. She was oblivious to their leering, as usual, talking to her field producer Jamaal and his assistant, Maury. She would have walked straight past the tall man with the placard if Jamaal hadn’t nudged her.
“Umm, I think that’s for you,” he said with a smile.
She stared at Jamaal for a moment, and then looked in the direction he was pointing. There, dressed in a beautifully made suit and very expensive dark glasses, stood Titus with the rest of the hired drivers greeting passengers. Like the rest of them he held a cardboard sign, but his was in fancy script and read “Deveraux”. Paris’s cheeks turned almost as rosy as her dress and she just stared up at him. He removed his glasses and let the warmth of his gaze cares her for almost a full minute before saying “Your chariot awaits.”
***
No matter what happened to her for the rest of her life, Paris knew she would always remember the night of the Oscars with extreme pleasure. Everything about the weekend was wonderful and exciting, but nothing was going to top the night of the Academy Awards. She and Billy had been to pre-award dinners and parties and had a ball. She’d interviewed celebrities and movers and shakers, and enjoyed herself tremendously as she taped her show each day. It was wonderful being with Billy; she’d always adored him. They had been as close as siblings in college and their friendship had lasted all these year, something she assured Twyla of several times. Twyla was trying to be cool about it, but her interest in Billy was difficult to hide, especially from a die-hard romantic and matchmaker like Paris. They were in Paris’s hotel suite finishing brunch. It was almost time for Paris to get ready to leave for the main event. It seemed incongruous, but the actual red carpet walk took place in the afternoon so she’d be in her fantastic dress for hours and hours.
She welcomed Twyla’s questions about Billy and answered them all directly and honestly, laughing when Twyla asked her point blank if anything was going on between her and Billy.
“No, absolutely not. We were never a couple, we were always best friends,” Paris assured her.
“So how does he know that you snore? And exactly what does he do in his sleep and how would you know that anyway?” Twyla persisted.
Paris laughed out loud. “First of all, that is a rumor, we do not know if I actually snore. I highly doubt it, being the perfect lady that I am. And I certainly don’t drool,” she said indignantly. “And we know about each other’s sleep habits from taking road trips together, late night studying, you know. We went to different colleges in the same city but we managed to hang out quite a bit. That’s why you shouldn’t eavesdrop, you get misinformation that way,” Paris teased.
Twyla grinned unrepentantly. “You still haven’t said what he does in his sleep,” she reminded Paris.
“Oh, that. Let’s just say no Mexican food after seven o’clock. In fact, make that no Mexican food on a date night, period, and just leave it at that.�
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A tap on the door sounded and Twyla went to answer it, coming back with both Danny and Perry. They looked at Paris lounging around in her robe and rollers and both of them began issuing directions to her and Twyla.
“Baby, we’ve got to make haste if we’re going to get you ready in time. Get your makeup on so we can get going,” Perry said in his deep, cultured voice.
Danny was more to the point. “Haul out that spackle and slap on a coat so I can get that hair done or you’ll be going just like you are. And I know you don’t want your “chauffeur” seeing you like you’re looking now, so put some foot in it, woman.”
Aja, her makeup artist, had traveled with her, so she took over; making sure Paris would look her very best that afternoon and evening. Paris was too busy getting her makeup on to return Danny’s sniping, but she had to contemplate what he’d said. She still couldn’t get over the fact that Titus was waiting for her at the airport. She’d actually been feeling a little put out about him sending two of his agents with her instead of coming himself; it was just another indication that she was just another job to him. And when she was completely off guard, there he was with no warning whatsoever. It was a good thing Twyla had insisted on her changing clothes before… Paris’s eyes widened in the mirror of the bathroom, them narrowed in suspicion. She called Twyla’s name sweetly and gave her an equally sweet smile when Twyla came to her side.
“Sugar, why do I have the feeling that someone in this room knew I was going to be met at the airport? And since it wasn’t me and it wasn’t Aja that leaves you, I think. Do you have anything to tell me, sweetie?” Paris cooed in a saccharine voice that fooled no one.
Twyla stared at the ceiling for a moment, and then looked down at the toes she was polishing in scarlet. Finally she came clean, sort of. Looking Paris in the eye with an innocent expression she said, “Okay, see, what had happened was…” only to collapse in laughter when Paris rolled her eyes and held up her hand.
Aja, who was normally quietly serene in demeanor, informed Paris that if she did that again she’d go out of there looking like Rocky Raccoon, so Paris went still at once, although she vowed to get revenge on Twyla at her earliest opportunity. Her makeup was finished and she looked utterly astounding, like a Creole china doll. Danny began the process of combing out her hair, but he didn’t finish, he was waiting until the dress was donned. Finally it was time for her to put on the dress that had been so beautifully and skillfully designed and fitted by Perry. He made Paris stand on a white sheet procured from the housekeeping department and he slipped the dress over her head, and then began fastening it onto her body. It was by far the best fitting dress she’d ever had on in her life, and she’d worn some truly expensive designer gowns.
The dress was made of silk duppioni and was completely lined with china silk in the same shade as the dress, which was an astounding shade of red. It was a red beyond all reds with a blue saturation that enhanced the depth of the coloring. Perry grinned when he told her the name of the color. “It’s called Parisian Red; I thought it seemed appropriate for you.” She couldn’t answer him, she was too taken with what she saw reflected in the mirrored close doors of the suite. Even to her own highly critical eye, she looked good. Better than good, actually, better than she’d ever looked in her life and it was all due to the dress. Perry had truly created something special, something no one would forget.
The neckline of the long sleeved dress was a deep V, as was the back. The deep, wide neckline allowed her remarkable collarbones to show and opened up her face and neck, two of her most appealing features. The swell of her bosom was also visible, but not in a vulgar way. The focus of the dress went from the right shoulder to a point on the left side of her waistline. A medium sized button in the same fabric fastened it in place, and directed the view diagonally down to the right knee. The dress fit snugly but not tightly through the bodice and waistline, and clung lovingly to the hips where it wrapped around her thighs until it flared out gently at the knee. Thanks to Perry’s intricate and masterful fitting, the dress caressed Paris’s body like a lover, but it was easily the most comfortable thing she’d ever worn. The design was simple and elegant with just enough detailing to make it memorable. All the edges of the dress, including the hems of the sleeves, were scalloped and the scallops were hand beaded with Swarovski crystals. Even the button at the waist was beaded, as was the small purse Perry had made as a finishing touch. When she put on her matching silk pumps and Danny finished combing out her hair into a cascade of shining black waves, Paris personified the kind of glamour that wasn’t seen often these days.
“You do look good if I have to say so myself,” Danny admitted. “If Rita Hayworth and Dorothy Dandridge had a child it would look just like you.”
Paris was too busy trying to get rid of a necklace to pay attention to his nonsense. “Perry, I know you said this is the finishing touch, but I don’t think so. I want people to see my neckline, not my necklace.” She took off the offending piece and he promptly put it back on her, insisting that she needed more sparkle. Paris touched her ruby and diamond earrings, inherited from her grandmother, and said she was sparkling enough. The controversy might have gone on for some time but Billy came to the rescue by knocking on the door.
“Come on, woman, it’s getting late and we need to…” Billy’s voice died in his throat as he looked at Paris. He tried several times to speak but his ability to verbalize just deserted him. He was reduced to staring with his mouth hanging open helplessly and his eyes glazed over.
Perry was tickled to death at Billy’s reaction.
“I guess my work here is done,” he said, slapping palms with Danny. Everyone agreed that Paris looked nothing short of amazing. Even she had to admit she looked quite lovely and it was all thanks to Aja, Danny and especially Perry. Twyla clicked her tongue impatiently. “You might want to take a little of the credit yourself, Paris. You’re a beautiful woman, in case you hadn’t noticed. Billy, you need to take her out of here before she starts working my nerves. We’ll see you all after the festivities, I guess.”
By the time they got to the lobby, discreetly accompanied by Titus’s agents, Billy recovered his tongue. “Paris, honest to God I’ve never been this close to anyone as beautiful as you in my life. If I wasn’t afraid of losing my life I’d do what I’ve always wanted to do with you,” he said honestly.
Her eyes, enhanced by the subtle and smoky makeup applied by Aja, were full of laughter as she gave him a sideways glance. “So who’s stopping you,” she said in an I-dare-you voice as the elevator reached the lobby.
At that precise second the elevator doors opened and there stood Titus. He took one look at Paris and his eyes seemed to glow with the fire of a pair of London blue topazes. Everything dropped out of her view except the man standing directly in front of her, looking at her like she held the mortgage on his soul.
***
The fact that Titus got through the afternoon and evening was a testament to his years of Special Forces training and the deep well of discipline from which he drew. From the moment the elevator doors opened Paris held him captive. He wanted nothing more than to take her away to a place where it was just the two of them and nothing between them but the scent of her incredible skin. The red dress made her complexion even more luscious than usual, her hair more lustrous and the way it fit her body was amazing. He could almost forgive Perry putting his hands on her to make the dress fit the way it did. He would have been content to stare at her for several lifetimes, but they had to get in the limousine and proceed to the theater where the awards were being held. Titus reluctantly took his eyes away from Paris and stepped aside so she and Billy could exit the elevator. He nodded to his two agents and they all walked out of the hotel to the car waiting for them outside. Titus didn’t really speak on the way to the theater, he limited his remarks to his two agents and even then he spoke to them via the discreet earpieces of their state of the art communication devices. He had to suppress an urg
e to smack the crap out of Billy when he took Paris’s necklace off and fastened it around her wrist as she asked him to. It just seemed too personal, too intimate. If anyone was going to be doing things like that it should be him, no one else. Trying to keep his jealousy off his face was difficult, but he managed.
His stony mask almost slipped at one point, though. Paris was looking at Billy with great affection as he fastened the necklace around her wrist and she asked him a question that caused Titus’s guts to knot in a fist of pain. “So what is it that you always wanted to do with me and why did you never do it?” she asked in a cheery voice as though Titus was invisible. Billy laughed in a self-deprecating way before answering.
“I was in love with you, Paris. I was crazy about you,” he admitted. “I wanted to hit on you so bad I could taste it.”
Her eyes got huge and her mouth fell open. “But…but you never said a word to me,” she protested.
“Ha! That’s because your brothers came to visit you one weekend and they took one look at me and I guess they knew I was up to something because they pulled me to the side and told me that if I laid a hand one you they would take my bony biracial ass and mail it back to my momma in Tokyo.”
Titus almost choked trying not to laugh, but the look on Paris’s face was priceless. “Billy, no they didn’t! They didn’t really say that, did they?”
Billy grinned and grabbed her hand. “The younger ones, the twins, they said that. Your oldest brother, the quiet one, he was the scariest. He told me he had a shotgun and twenty-five acres of swampland and he said I looked like nobody would miss me. Him, I believed. I kept my hands in my pockets, baby, as much as I wanted you.”
The Closer I Get to You (Cochran/Deveraux Series Book 8) Page 14