What drove her to sacrifice everything, to worry herself sick over her sister? Nothing he’d seen explained it, and he doubted she’d offer it up.
But Lucy might.
With both sisters in Italy, he could unravel the mystery. Satisfy his curiosity about the maddening Maddie.
Meanwhile, Caesar salad was her favorite lunch. She’d eat it or he’d know the reason why.
IN THE END, though, Maddie didn’t eat it, and Adam didn’t know why.
She’d refused—without explanation—to sit at the table and share a civilized meal. If not for John Doe, he would have resorted to raising his voice, the woman was that frustrating.
Now Raquel was threatening to walk out.
“She’s a bitch, Adam. And so short.” Coming from Raquel at five-foot-ten, the latter was the greater insult.
“She’s difficult, I know. And not as tall—”
“Or as built.” Raquel cupped her own double Ds. “You usually go for the tits. This chick’s got nothing.” She wrinkled her nose as much as Botox allowed. “I don’t get it.”
And he certainly couldn’t explain it. “You showed her the gowns?”
“Sure I did. The little squirt turned her nose up at everything. She’s shrimpy, but she’s got a shitload of attitude.”
She tossed a mile of blond waves over one shapely shoulder. “You better talk to her, Adam. If she gets shitty with me again, I’m outta here. She’s not exactly a poster child for my designs anyway.”
That was going too far. Maddie could be a pain in the ass, but she was beautiful, and no one, even Raquel, a friend who went back to the old days, would say differently.
She kept up her rant. “I hope this isn’t some phase you’re going through. Razor-tongued pipsqueaks—”
“Raquel.” His chilly tone brought her up short. “Madeline is dear to me.”
That put surprise on her face. She blinked a few times. “I didn’t mean anything.”
“I’ll speak to her.” He could smile now that she’d gotten the message. “Why don’t you ring for Henry? He’ll bring you something while you wait.”
Riding down in the elevator, Adam rolled his shoulders like a boxer waiting for the bell. He’d lead with diplomacy, but if it came to a fight, he was ready.
Maddie answered his knock, locked and loaded.
“Keep her away from me. She’s a psycho.”
He lifted a brow. “Bridget?”
“Har har.” She stepped back and he followed her inside, amused when she plunked down on the arm of the sofa, arms crossed, jaw set.
“Raquel’s a talented designer. She dresses all of my dates.”
“Yeah, I heard about them. Brandi and Sylvie and Wendi and Allie and this-y and that-y.” She rolled her eyes. “Don’t any of them have real names?”
“Like Maddie?”
She bounced to her feet. “Shut up. Just shut up and get out.” She pointed to the door. “Take Raquel to the gala, she’s got all the right assets. Nobody’ll make fun of her.”
Startled, he bit off the ultimatum simmering on his tongue.
This was more than sensitivity about her height. She was insecure about her figure too.
Well, he could ease her mind about that.
He curved his lips, went for sensual, not mocking. “Madeline, darling. Your assets”—he walked his eyes down her perfectly proportioned body—“are delightful. You needn’t worry about them.”
She reddened fiercely. “I’m not worried, dickhead. But I don’t want Lucy getting upset that her sister’s an international joke.”
That stymied him. “A joke? Why in God’s name would you be a joke?”
“Oh please. Can’t you see the headlines? ‘From Pitbull to Lapdog.’” She did air quotes. “‘LeCroix Keeps Pitbull on a Short Leash.’ With hooks like that, FOX News can flog the story for weeks. I can’t wait to see the graphic they come up with. My face on a dog’s body? Studded collar with a leather leash?”
She paced the floor. “Whatever. I can live with the professional bullshit. It’s the personal stuff, the way they’ll gloat about you lowering your standards. Developing a taste for shrimp.” She jabbed a finger in his direction. “Give me ten bucks for every ‘Tinker Bell’ and I’ll be as rich as you are.”
He bit down on a smile. He loved her humor, even her gallows humor. But now wasn’t the time to tell her.
And sadly, she wasn’t wrong. The press dissected every woman connected to him. Madeline wouldn’t be spared. Add their history, and the vultures would pick her apart like carrion.
Once again, he regretted not thinking things through beforehand. But even if he had, he wouldn’t have focused on her stature. Who knew she was so touchy about it, particularly when he found it increasingly appealing himself. She wasn’t his usual type, that much was true. But tossing her lithe body around his bed had quickly become an obsession.
In any case, it was too late for second thoughts. CNN had already broken the story. The best thing he could do for Maddie now was take her to the damn gala and show everyone in the room that he found her the most alluring woman there.
Ditching flattery since it didn’t impress her, he tweaked her pride instead. “I had no idea you’re so sensitive.”
That stiffened her spine. “I’m not sensitive. I just happen to care about my sister’s feelings. She’s sensitive. In a good way. She’ll hate seeing me ridiculed.”
“Won’t she hate it all the more if she thinks you’re miserable to boot?”
“I am miserable!”
Maybe he was too sensitive, because that stung like a slap. He dropped the act, gave in to frustration.
“Why, Madeline? Why are you miserable?” He spread his arms wide. “This is hardly a prison. You have the run of it all—the gym, the pools. Ask for anything and you’ll have it. Food or drink? Only name it.”
He dragged a hand through his hair. “Is it such a trial to come with me tonight? We might even enjoy it. We can dance. I like dancing. I thought you liked it too.”
He ran out of steam, feeling like an ass. Maddie’s eyes were round, questioning his sanity. Well, fuck it all, he was losing his mind.
Furious with himself, he made for the door with his last remnants of pride.
“You’re going,” he shot over his shoulder. “You can suck it up and cooperate with Raquel, or I’ll bloody well dress you myself.”
HOW THE HELL did LeCroix know she liked to dance?
Pacing the suite from hearth to Jacuzzi, Maddie weighed the evidence. It added up to a lot more than a standard background check. He’d identified her friends, her favorite foods, her interests. He probably knew more about her finances than she did.
And he knew enough about Lucy to push Maddie’s buttons.
But he didn’t know her family’s ugly secrets. She’d be able to tell if he did, by the disgust on his face.
A bird streaked past the window, catching her eye, making her shiver. Why did people insist on living up so high, with all that space out there, empty and ominous, and utterly useless? It wasn’t like you could step out and walk around on the clouds.
She averted her eyes but didn’t draw the drapes. That would raise too many questions. The last thing she needed was LeCroix gloating about her fear of heights.
Especially since she’d soon be up in his plane, floating in space above the deep blue sea.
Talk about empty, ominous air.
A rap on her door brought her back to earth. Raquel poked her head in. “Um, Ms. St. Clair, are you ready to try on the gowns?”
Ms. St. Clair? What happened to “gremlin” and “munchkin” and her parting shot, “hobbit”?
Maddie narrowed her eyes. “Whatever.”
Raquel slunk through the parlor and into the bedroom. Maddie followed in her own sweet time.
She had to admit, she was curious about the dresses. She loved beautiful clothes—Fashion Week, anyone?—but she’d been too busy trading insults to spare a glance for the gowns.
“I can alter any of these to fit your slim build,” said Raquel, politely. “The sapphire”—her fingers stroked lovingly over the beaded bodice—“would make the most of your figure, and also complement Adam’s eyes.”
“Why would I give a rat’s skinny ass about Adam’s eyes?”
The reformed queen of snark let it pass as rhetorical. “The onyx, of course, suits any occasion.” She touched the chiffon skirt; it drifted like smoke. “But Adam prefers the emerald.” Her eyes flickered to Maddie’s. “He mentioned . . . yes, it brings out the green.”
Startled, Maddie blanked on a snotty reply. Most people didn’t notice her changeable eyes, at least not right away. She glanced back into the bedroom. The emerald suite.
Huh.
“I agree with Adam. The emerald suits you.”
“Hold on.” Maddie found her voice. “I can choose my own dress.”
Feeling like a midget next to Raquel, she approached the gowns, toyed with the fabrics. The black chiffon was so light the slightest breeze made it flutter. The sapphire was regal; classic movie-star wear.
But the emerald. Oh my. She ran a hand over the bodice. The fabric was textured, with a faint metallic sheen.
“Dupioni silk,” Raquel said helpfully. “The silkworms are reared by hand, and the fabric is handspun and woven in the traditional methods. The gown is one of a kind, of course.”
“Of course,” Maddie murmured. She couldn’t fathom the cost.
She wanted, desperately, to reject it on principle.
But even more desperately, she wanted to wear it. To feel, for one night, as beautiful as any woman. Beautiful enough to be on Adam LeCroix’s arm.
It was foolish, for sure. He was a criminal and she shouldn’t care if he thought she was a hobbit.
But she did, Lord she did. And though it stung to admit it, she wanted him to see her in that dress, and be awed.
CHAPTER NINE
Vicky: I promise to stand with you against adversity of all kinds, be it enemies or illness or poverty or loss.
I will be at your side.
Maddie: Unless it’s zombies.
Then I’m outta there.
HENRY WAS WAITING for Maddie in the foyer. “If you’ll come with me, madame, Mr. LeCroix will meet you downstairs.”
So much for making her grand entrance. Adam hadn’t even bothered to wait for her. Disappointment drizzled on her parade.
Well, it was his loss. She lifted her chin, gave Henry a phony confident smile, and stepped into the waiting elevator.
Henry followed, pressing the button for the lobby. “May I say, Ms. St. Clair, you look absolutely stunning.”
“Yes, you may.” Her grin was genuine now. “But only if you call me Maddie.”
He returned her smile. “You’ll shine as brightly as any star at the gala.”
Her smile vanished. “Star? Like movie stars?”
“Dozens. They all band together for this cause.”
Great. A herd of long-legged gazelles trying not to trip over the Chihuahua in their midst.
“Um, what cause would that be?” She should’ve asked before now.
“Raising funds for disabled actors. It draws all the big names.”
She clutched her beaded bag with all ten fingers, made herself focus on the farce, spending zillions on a fancy party so a few pennies could trickle down to the poor slobs at the bottom of the Actors’ Guild pecking order.
It was a joke. A photo op. How did she let herself get sucked into it?
The elevator pinged, the door slid open. “Madame.” Henry stepped out, ushered with his arm.
Maddie didn’t move, just stared out into the lobby, so grand and elegant and far from home, feeling exactly how Cinderella must have felt when the carriage turned into a pumpkin and she realized she was still just a servant girl after all.
As always, Maddie reacted to helplessness with a sharp burst of anger. To hell with LeCroix. He can pound sand. And then he can pound some starlet all night. It’s not my problem. I’m out of here.
She punched the button for the penthouse. The door started to close. Henry put out a hand to stop it.
And Adam walked through the front door and into the lobby.
She blinked like the sun had come out from behind a cloud.
The tuxedo, it seemed, was designed with Adam in mind. Six-foot-two was the ideal height, one-ninety the perfect weight. And confidence the ultimate accessory.
And his face, God, his face. The old masters would have wept to paint it on Apollo, with that sweep of glossy hair and those lips, wide and full.
His spontaneous grin when he saw her tilted her world on its axis.
Before she knew what she was doing, she was standing before him, the elevator closing behind her. He took her hands, held them wide. His gaze swept up from her four-inch heels to lock on her eyes.
“You’re dazzling,” he said.
Heart beating like a crow’s wing, she mustered a shrug. “You clean up pretty good yourself.”
He laughed, a lighthearted sound. Keeping hold of one hand, he led her across the grand lobby and out onto the sidewalk. “Thank you, Peter,” he said, handing the doorman a bill as they passed.
“No problem, Mr. LeCroix,” he called after them. “That’s some sweet ride.”
Maddie swiveled her head, expecting the limo to stream up to the curb. But Adam kept her moving toward an altogether different vehicle. A metallic blue—
“Ohmygod!” Maddie clutched her chest. “A Bugatti Veyron!” She gaped at the car. Gaped at Adam. “Is it . . . are we . . . ?”
He was grinning. “It is, and we are.”
She crept up on the two-million-dollar sports car like it might spook and take flight. She stroked the gleaming metal with a tentative hand.
He came up behind her, touched her back lightly. “I thought you might like it.”
So he knew she subscribed to Car and Driver. So what?
He opened the passenger door and she slid into the seat, admiring the recessed gauges, the compact controls. “It’s a cockpit,” she said as he took the wheel. “It feels like an airplane.”
“And it flies.”
He hit the gas and the Bugatti jumped away from the curb. He shifted smoothly, zipping around traffic, and the city rushed past in a smear of colored lights.
“I’d open it up”—he flashed her a smile as hot as the car—“but I wouldn’t want to get arrested.”
She laughed, and the wind caught the sound, swirling it around them. The top was open to the twilit air. Tipping her head back against the seat, she gazed up at the skyscrapers, their lights climbing all the way to the stars.
In the face of such unearthly beauty, her troubles shrank to pinpricks.
Sweet heaven, she was in a Bugatti Veyron with the hottest, most thrilling man on the planet.
She really was Cinderella.
IT MADE ADAM feel like a king, the rapture on her face, knowing he’d put it there.
Her hand stroked over the seat, the power of twelve hundred horses pulsing through supple Italian leather.
“You’ve got some nice toys, Adam, I’ll say that for you.”
Oh, but she’d said so much more, hadn’t she, just by using his given name at last?
“We’ll fly it out to Texas sometime,” he said offhandedly. “They don’t take speed limits so seriously out there.”
She laughed again, a surprisingly addictive sound. “Even Texans might get pissy at two hundred and fifty miles an hour.”
“They’d have to catch us first, wouldn’t they?”
He braked at a stoplight, Times Square’s multicolored neon refracting like a firestorm off the gleaming hood. Maddie peered around as if she’d lost her bearings, seemed surprised to find herself on Forty-second Street.
“Where are we going, anyway?
”
“Cipriani’s.”
She sighed. “Wouldn’t you rather just drive around all night?”
She looked bedazzled, cheeks glowing, hair tousled, like a woman who’d just had great sex and wanted more. When her eyes met his, they glittered so green and gorgeous that he gripped the wheel to keep from reaching for her.
He made himself look away. “Later. First we knock them dead. Then I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”
He only hoped that would be to bed.
Outside Cipriani’s, the sidewalk was abuzz with arrivals, limos disgorging beautiful people by twos and threes.
Adam tossed his keys to a goggle-eyed valet. Maddie grasped his arm. “Are you nuts?” she hissed up at him. “You’re letting him drive the Bugatti? What if he steals it? Or dings it?” She glared at the teenager sliding in behind the wheel.
Adam smiled down at her. “Darling, it’s just a car.”
“A two-million-dollar car! The fastest street-legal car in the world, for Christ’s sake. What if he takes it for a joyride? Hits one-fifty on the JFK?”
“Then he’ll spend an uncomfortable night as a guest of the NYPD. And he’ll have a whopping story to tell his grandchildren.”
“How can you be so casual about it?”
Her jaw thrust out indignantly. He couldn’t resist cupping it in his palm. She was so fierce. So desirable. And as fine as bone china.
His thumb stroked her cheek. His other hand drifted up her arm, sliding over silk until it reached the silkier skin of her throat. He held her like that.
And then he kissed her.
OH, HOW HE kissed her. Gently, no tongue, just warm lips closing over hers. His strong hands cupped her face, a delicate touch, as if she were a flower that could be carelessly crushed.
Some way-back part of Maddie’s brain howled, Push him away! She flattened her palms on his chest to do just that.
But then he angled his head. His tongue, hot and wet, licked the seam of her lips. Like Eve, she opened to taste him, delicious, forbidden. The best thing she’d ever had in her mouth. And instead of pushing him away, she fisted his lapels and yanked him in.
In a finger snap, their pent-up desire went nuclear. His spectacular arms seized her, dragging her up on her toes. She mashed herself to his chest, fused her hips to his hard-on as if they had no history and she could fuck him with impunity. Only their clothes kept her off his cock, or they’d have been doing it right there on the sidewalk.
The Wedding Vow Page 9