Public Affair, Secretly Expecting

by Heidi Rice

  ‘That’s the spirit, darlin’.’ He chuckled, the subtle scent of his soap overwhelming as he guided her down the aisle.

  She should have pulled away, but she didn’t want to let him know how much his nearness affected her. So she concentrated on remembering to breathe and making sure she didn’t fall flat on her face in her new heels.

  ‘I’ve not eaten all day and I’m half starved,’ he said casually. Too casually.

  She couldn’t control the tremble of response. Why did she get the impression Daisy and Connor’s lavish reception buffet wasn’t the only thing he intended to devour?

  The soft summer light gave the evening a golden glow as Mac’s flashy sports car turned into the chteau’s driveway behind a queue of other cars. Looking through the thicket of oak trees, Juno glimpsed the baroque French castle standing proud at the brow of the hill. Flowering vines hugged the turrets and balconies and accented a trio of tiered terraces linked by a sweeping staircase. As the powerful car inched closer the main terrace and the ballroom beyond came into view, the throng of guests being served by an army of blackclad waiters brandishing trays of canapÉs and champagne.

  Not for the first time that day, Juno thought of palaces and princes and long-ago pageantry. Daisy and Connor had turned their wedding day into a magical event. She bit back the wistful sigh. Enough with the daydreaming. It definitely was not appropriate in her current circumstances.

  She glanced across at the man beside her. In the twenty minutes it had taken them to get from the church to the reception, Mac Brody had been surprisingly subdued. There had been none of the teasing or taunts she’d expected. Probably because he’d been swamped by a crowd of people as soon as Daisy and Connor’s carriage had been waved out of sight.

  She’d had no idea he was so famous! She rarely went to the cinema—never having had much time for make-believe—and she didn’t read the gossip mags either.

  But more surprising than all the attention had been the way he’d reacted to it. He’d been patient and charming and remarkably gracious about all the requests for autographs and snapshots, but she’d still sensed how uncomfortable he was. Making her wonder what had become of the big bad movie star who had kissed her with such arrogance at Heathrow.

  The tension had eased out of his shoulders once he’d ushered her into his sleek little rented Porsche. But as soon as the chteau had appeared across the valley his hands had fisted on the steering wheel. As if he were bracing himself for what lay ahead.

  Why had he decided to come if this evening was going to be such an ordeal?

  Juno’s pulse skittered as he reversed the car into a small space under one of the leafy oak trees. Perversely, the glimpse of vulnerability behind his super-confident faÇade had given her own confidence a nice little boost.

  He wrenched up the handbrake. ‘We’ll have to walk it from here.’ His lips tilted as his gaze shifted to her feet. ‘You think you can handle all the pebbles in those shoes?’

  He was probably used to women who could run a marathon in high heels, but the comment sounded amused not disparaging so she smiled back. ‘I should be able to manage twenty yards. If not I’ll take them off. You’ll have to promise not to tell Daisy though.’

  ‘Why’s that now?’ he asked, his deep Irish voice shimmering across her bare skin.

  ‘Daisy designed my maid of honour gown. It makes a statement, apparently, which includes the high heels. Without them she’ll accuse me of ruining the effect or something.’ The babble of information petered into silence. Why had she drawn attention to the frock? It was as if she were fishing for a compliment. Which she definitely wasn’t.

  His eyes drifted over her figure and her heart skidded to a stop. ‘Daisy’s mighty talented,’ he said as his gaze met hers. ‘You look gorgeous.’

  Heat pumped into her cheeks and her heart began beating double time as the impact of the softly growled compliment sizzled right down to her toes.

  Way to go, Juno. Now you feel like you’re stark naked again.

  Chapter Four

  WHERE in God’s name had she gone?

  Mac scoured the main ballroom of the seventeenth-century chteau for the five thousandth time and took another gulp of his lukewarm orange juice. He glanced at his watch. She’d shot off well over three hours ago as soon as they’d arrived with some excuse about changing her shoes. And he’d not seen hide nor hair of her since. He’d searched the damn chteau, checking out the two ballrooms—one with an orchestra playing big band music and golden oldies, the other with a famous pop group playing live music for the younger crowd—not once but about three times each. He’d also done several circuits of the outdoor terraces festooned with fairy lights and torches, the lavish banqueting hall where a cordon bleu buffet had been laid out, and wandered aimlessly through the labyrinth of smaller salons. The reception party was in full swing now and the close to two hundred guests were letting their hair down and enjoying themselves. All except for him. He hadn’t been this wound up since facing his first opening night on Broadway.

  The place was heaving. How could one couple have so many friends and acquaintances? And not one of them seemed to be shy about approaching him and asking after his relationship to Connor. No one, that was, except the one woman he’d come all this way to see.

  Pull yourself together, man.

  He leaned back against the wall and reminded himself to relax. At least he’d finally got rid of the gaggle of teenage girls who had been stalking him for close to an hour but had been too tongue-tied to say anything.

  As he watched the dancers twisting the night away with varying degrees of grace—and waited in vain to catch a glimpse of bronze satin and blonde curls—the question that had been bugging him all evening began to bug him some more.

  What had possessed him to come here?

  Yesterday evening he’d been at the London wrap party of his latest movie getting an offer he shouldn’t have been able to refuse from his beautiful co-star Imelda Jackson. But instead of taking Imelda up on her suggestion of a ‘quick, one-night liaison to let off steam’, he’d turned her down flat.

  He scowled and drained the last of the juice. There was no doubting it any more. The blame for that bit of insanity and his mad decision to come to Connor’s wedding lay squarely at the dainty feet of the Invisible Miss Juno.

  She’d cast a spell on him and lured him here against his will like some damn siren queen. Ever since she’d kissed him at Heathrow, he’d not been able to get her out of his thoughts. When he’d woken up this morning after yet another erotic fantasy in which she was the headline attraction, he’d known it was past time to take affirmative action.

  He didn’t obsess about sex and he certainly didn’t let women he barely knew invade his dreams. So he’d taken the last in a long line of cold showers, dug out the wedding invite—which he’d somehow forgotten to toss—cancelled his first-class flight to LA that evening and booked a mid-morning one to Nice.

  It wasn’t until he’d been standing at the back of the little French chapel, though, that he’d realised he’d bitten off considerably more than he wanted to chew. Seeing his brother again had been like taking a solid right hook to the gut and that had been bad enough. But then he’d come face to face with Juno, her slim, coltish figure dressed in some gorgeous bit of fancy that stroked over her curves like a lover’s hand. He’d looked into those incredible eyes, felt the jolt of awareness thump him hard in the solar plexus, and he’d known dealing with Connor wasn’t his biggest problem—not by a long shot.

  She hadn’t looked one bit pleased to see him. But just when he’d thought he’d got a handle on her, when he’d felt that connection between them in the car and seen the attraction in her luminous blue-green eyes, she’d done her disappearing act.

  Now, after an evening of making pointless small talk with people he didn’t know but who behaved as if they knew him, of wandering around like a fool searching for someone who seemed to have vanished—and carefully avoiding his brother
and his brother’s wife—he felt tense and edgy and seriously pissed off—with himself as well as her.

  He should have left hours ago. But he hadn’t been able to make himself do it. He couldn’t walk away from Juno. Not a second time. Whatever the hell she’d done to him two weeks ago, he needed to sort it out. Tonight. He wasn’t spending a moment longer with her dogging his thoughts—especially as he now had the vision of her in that damn dress to contend with.

  He dumped his empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter and once more swept his gaze over the crowd. As she was the maid of honour, she couldn’t have just vanished. The answer had to be that the woman was trying to avoid him—which was another new experience. But all he really need do was sit her out.

  One thing was for definite, though—once he finally got his hands on Little Miss Juno Whatever-The-Hell-Her-Name-Was she wouldn’t be getting away again so easily.

  His head stilled as a glimmer of gold caught his eye on the other side of the ballroom. He squinted at the shifting shadows in the entrance lobby and his gaze locked onto the mass of curls sheened by candlelight.

  Gotcha.

  The embers smouldering in his belly leapt back to life as he wound his way across the ballroom. Oblivious to the bumps and shoves from the gyrating dancers, he kept his eyes peeled on his prey every single step of the way.

  ‘Juno, there you are, thank goodness I found you.’ Daisy brushed the wayward strands of hair off a face flushed from champagne and excitement. ‘Connor’s whisking me away to my bridal bower any minute now.’ She giggled, the bubbly sound making Juno’s heart flutter. ‘As soon as we’ve got Ronan settled. By the way, where’s Mac? Connor’s worried he might have left without saying goodbye.’

  ‘Why would he do that?’ she asked, trying to keep the guilt out of her voice.

  She’d basically abandoned him hours ago and she wasn’t too proud of herself. But when he’d given her that look, as if he could see right through her clothing, all the insecurities from their kiss had come flooding back and she’d gone into panic mode.

  She hadn’t been avoiding him. Well, not exactly.

  The plan had been to change into some shoes she could actually walk in and then find him again—after all, Daisy had asked her to look after him and she’d probably imagined the intensity of that look. But once she’d returned from her room, he’d been surrounded by a very persistent group of teenage girls, and after that she’d seen him talking to Daisy’s impossibly glamorous socialite friend Joannie. In the end, she’d decided to keep out of his way—he made her nervous and she didn’t want to make a fool of herself. So she’d chatted to Mrs Valdermeyer, danced with Jacie’s son Cal, had a long discussion with New York artist Monroe Latimer and his wife, Jessie, about modern art and made sure she kept well away from Mac Brody all evening. From what she’d observed he hadn’t been lonely, so she had nothing whatsoever to feel guilty about.

  ‘Mac looked as if he’d been hit with a brick when he first set eyes on Connor in the church,’ Daisy explained, craning her neck to scan the ballroom. ‘Poor guy, I don’t think he’s quite ready for all this yet.’ Daisy’s gaze returned to Juno and she grinned. ‘Plus, it was pretty obvious once he got a load of you in that dress, he hasn’t come all this way just to attend our wedding.’

  ‘How do you mean?’ Juno asked, her voice shaking at the shocking bubble of excitement. Mac Brody couldn’t possibly have come all this way to see her. Daisy was being absurd.

  ‘Come off it,’ Daisy scoffed. ‘The look he gave you could have powered the National Grid.’

  ‘Do you really think so?’ she said, then realised how ridiculous she sounded. What was wrong with her? She didn’t want Mac Brody to look at her like that. Did she?

  ‘Yes, I really do.’ Daisy’s gaze sharpened. ‘Which means that, as I suspected—’ she wagged her finger like an indignant schoolmarm ‘—I did not get the whole truth about that kiss. Exactly how hot was it?’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ Juno replied, her pulse rate doing the merengue as her panic button tripped again. ‘It wasn’t that big a deal.’ She should never have told Daisy about that stupid kiss. Her hopelessly romantic friend had blown it completely out of proportion—and now she was starting to do it too.

  ‘I’ll just bet it wasn’t,’ Daisy said, not sounding convinced. Huffing dramatically, she looped her arm through Juno’s and dropped her voice to a confidential whisper. ‘Ju, baby. However much you may have deluded yourself about that kiss, the point is the man is here now and he’s seriously hot and seriously interested. So why are you hiding from him?’

  ‘I’m not hiding,’ Juno said, trying to convince herself.

  ‘Yeah, right,’ Daisy replied. ‘Well, that being the case, why don’t you get yourself a glass of champagne and go jump him before someone else gets there first? Everyone’s talking about him being here—and if you heard what Joannie Marceau said about him you’d know you have some serious competition.’

  Exactly how much champagne had Daisy had?

  ‘I’m not going to go jump him. He’s not that interested…And it would be…’ She shuddered to a halt.

  Jumping Mac Brody would be what exactly?

  Insane? Petrifying? Exciting? Exhilarating? Electrifying?

  Juno frowned. How many glasses of champagne had she had? She couldn’t actually be considering Daisy’s suggestion. So far she hadn’t even had the guts to go up and talk to the man.

  ‘Don’t you dare rationalise this.’ Daisy shot her a pointed look. ‘Sometimes you just have to get back on the horse and go with the flow,’ she said, happily mangling her metaphors. ‘But one thing I guarantee you, if Mac’s anything like Connor in the sack, it’ll be a ride to remember.’

  Juno felt the flush rocket up her neck.

  Right, that was definitely a bit too much information.

  ‘Keep your voice down, Mrs Brody.’ Connor’s deep Irish accent startled them both. ‘There are babies present.’

  Juno’s cheeks flamed as Connor planted a kiss on Daisy’s temple, their baby son, decked out in his pyjamas, balanced comfortably in the crook of his arm. She supposed it was too much to hope Connor hadn’t overheard Daisy’s grossly inappropriate comment.

  Fluttering her eyelashes at her new husband, Daisy didn’t look the least bit bothered. ‘Goodness,’ she said. ‘If I’d known you were such a square, I never would have married you.’

  Connor banded his free arm around her hip and pulled her into a lopsided hug. ‘Tough. It’s too late to back out now.’ The baby chortled, snuggled between them. ‘You’ve already promised to love, honour and obey, angel. And your son and I have it in writing.’

  Daisy laughed, looking like the picture of a blushing bride. ‘Did I really say obey? Surely not.’

  Juno flushed at the flirtatious words, feeling like an interloper. Which was weird. Connor and Daisy kissed and flirted in front of her all the time. It hadn’t bothered her in months. Not since she’d got to know Connor. And anyhow this was their wedding day.

  So why was it bothering her now?

  ‘Quick, let go, Connor.’ Daisy scrambled out of her husband’s embrace and smoothed her bridal gown. ‘Don’t look now,’ she said, peering over Juno’s shoulder at the ballroom, ‘but something tall, dark and dangerous this way comes.’

  Juno knew exactly who Daisy was referring to; she could already feel the heat of Mac’s gaze burning into the back of her neck.

  Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him striding through the crowd. Six feet two of leanly muscled and devastatingly sexy male. Cool blue eyes focused on her face with the intensity of a heat-seeking missile. Her pulse rate skidded from merengue to macarena in one frantic heartbeat. He didn’t just look dangerous. He looked savage. Making her feel like a rabbit caught in the headlights of an oncoming freight train. Why was he glaring at her like that? And why was it making her feel as if she were about to spontaneously combust?

  She kept her eyes on his, unable to relinquish eye
contact. Okay, this was not good news, because that wasn’t panic making her light-headed, it was excitement.

  His steps faltered as he registered who was standing next to her. She thought she saw a flash of alarm cross his face, but by the time he drew level it was gone.

  ‘Hello.’ He nodded in greeting, but the single word sounded strained, then his eyes settled on the baby cradled in Connor’s arms and he went completely still.

  ‘Let me introduce you to your nephew, Mac.’ Connor stroked Ronan’s soft curls as the baby’s sleepy head drooped onto his shoulder. ‘This is our son, Ronan Cormac Brody.’

  Mac continued to stare at the baby. ‘Ronan, is it?’ he said at last, the words barely audible over the heavy dance beat from the ballroom. He thrust his hands into his pockets. ‘He’s a handsome lad.’

  Connor gave a heavy sigh. ‘We think so.’ The sadness and resignation in his voice made Juno’s stomach hurt again. Had Mac even noticed the baby’s middle name? And why was he being so reserved? It was almost as if he had retreated into his own world.

  ‘And he’s exhausted, because it’s about a decade past his bedtime,’ Daisy said, cutting through the tension with a bright smile. Placing a palm on her son’s back, she shot Connor a telling look. ‘We should get him to bed.’ She turned to Mac. ‘We’re so glad you came, Mac. We would have liked to see more of you tonight, but we understand if you feel uncomfortable.’

  Juno waited for Mac to deny it. Had he been avoiding Daisy and Connor all evening? And if so why? But he didn’t deny it; in fact he didn’t offer any explanation at all.

  Daisy took his hand and gave it a quick squeeze. ‘You’ll always have an open invitation to visit us in London. Whenever you’re ready.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he said at last, his eyes flicking briefly to Connor and the baby. ‘It was a pleasure to meet you both, and your lad.’