by Lizzie Shane
Their fingers linked together, pressing her palm against his palm, the back of her hand resting against his thigh, and Bree closed her eyes to focus on the feeling of his skin. Breathing in the reminder that she wasn’t alone.
Cross was in this with her.
CHAPTER SIX
“She’s here!”
Cross had a feeling they weren’t supposed to hear the excited gasp from the assembled staff when the golf carts carrying them from the helipad pulled up in front of the massive villa. The exclusive Luxe Resort prided itself on ensuring the privacy of its high profile guests with VIP villas separated from the resort’s main compound by a dozen acres and several layers of security—but within the restricted VIP enclave everything was open and airy in true tropical style, so there were no walls to stop the breathless exclamation from carrying easily above the whispersoft engines of their golf cart caravan.
A tall woman with a blue-on-blue skirt and blazer combo setting her apart from the white-and-khaki line-up shushed the speaker and stepped forward as the first golf cart came to a stop. Her black hair was tugged into an elegant poof on the crown of her head and an engraved silver name tag read “Dominique, Personal Concierge.” She beamed as she approached, her smile poised and professional, as if she worked with movie stars every day, though the dazed sparkle in her eyes when she clapped eyes on the Great Maggie Tate gave her away.
“Welcome to the Belle Mer at Luxe Villas, Ms. Tate,” she said, a soft accent touching the words as a small battalion of bellboys swarmed the second cart to collect their bags. “My name is Dominique, and I’ll be your personal concierge while you’re staying with us. Anything you need, at any time, day or night, simply say the word and it’s yours.”
“Thank you,” the celebrity in the giant hat and sunglasses purred, cuddling her spaniel close to her chest as she climbed out of the golf cart. Cecil B. DeMille hadn’t enjoyed the helicopter ride any more than his mistress had and he’d refused to stop yelping hysterically until Bree had removed him from his carrier and tucked him beneath her chin. He now curled passively against her neck, periodically releasing little post-traumatic whimpers.
Looking at Bree now, as she smiled her breezy Maggie smile, he would never have guessed she’d gone white as a sheet in the helicopter and grabbed his leg hard enough he’d probably have a bruise in the shape of her hand.
She’d clung to his hand like a lifeline until the chopper touched down, but now she was back to being Maggie, looking past him like he was part of the scenery.
Not that he minded being part of the scenery. That was his job. And it was pretty damn fantastic scenery.
Lush tropical fronds wafted in the breeze, waters of exquisite turquoise blue surrounded them on three sides, and the villa sat in the midst of it all like a pearl. Cross had familiarized himself with the security set up, but even the pictures he’d studied hadn’t prepared him for the effect of the place. Luxury and indulgence seemed to saturate the humid air.
And the villa itself…damn.
He should have been expecting it, but he still couldn’t quite seem to wrap his head around the scale of Maggie Tate’s life.
“Is this my villa?” Maggie-Bree asked. “It’s just darling. I love all the little balconies.”
Cross almost snorted at the idea of calling anything that size darling—it had to be four thousand square feet if it was an inch—but managed to keep his reaction to himself as Dominique launched into a description of the property.
“There are five king suites, in addition to the grand master—each with its own private balcony with an ocean view. As you can see, we’re out on our own little peninsula here, so there are full ocean views on three sides. You also have three-hundred meters of private sandy beach cove in addition to the two hot tubs and of course the three swimming pools—the garden grotto pool with a waterfall feature, the saltwater infinity pool overlooking the ocean, and the courtyard lap pool. The property also features a private fitness studio, a screening room, and a gourmet kitchen, though of course we have a private chef on call for you at all times. You also have two private butlers, three housekeepers, and a personal recreation director should you decide you’d like to take advantage of any of the resort’s many amenities—from spa treatments to flyboarding.”
The swarming bellhops had already surged ahead, their baggage disappearing into the house as Dominique guided them toward another path lined by mosaic tiles.
Mel inserted herself between Bree and Dominique with the deftness of years of practice at keeping the staff from fawning directly over Maggie without being obvious about the buffer she provided. “Mel Walters. We spoke on the phone. I understand you’ll also be helping us with the planning of our special event.” She gave Dominique a meaningful look—and the slim Caribbean woman beamed.
“I will! And may I just say you have chosen the perfect venue for your special event. I can assure you that your time at Luxe will be unforgettable.”
If he hadn’t been watching, he wouldn’t have noticed it, but a flicker of a frown passed across Bree’s Maggie Face. It vanished quickly as she adjusted Cecil in her arms, managing to flash her replica engagement ring at the same time. “I can’t wait to get started, but right now I just want to get my sweet baby settled. He didn’t like the trip. Did you, Cecil? No, you didn’t, did you, baby?”
“Of course!” Dominique exclaimed. “We have everything prepared for Cecil, just as you specified.”
The concierge led the way into the air-conditioned interior where everything was white and bright and open.
“This is the formal living room,” Dominique explained, as they stepped into a room with a white sectional that could easily hold twenty, a white baby grand piano, and a chandelier that looked like a pink glass sculpture hanging from the center of the ceiling. “There’s also a family living room upstairs and the outdoor living room on the covered beachside patio. You’ll notice we’ve placed a dog bed in every room so Cecil can be comfortable, no matter where you are. To your left is the formal dining room and beyond that the kitchen, screening room and fitness studio, but the suites are just up these stairs to afford them the best ocean views.”
Mel stepped in then, collecting the keys from Dominique and ushering the staff out with a series of “Maggie’s” instructions as the star attraction stood off to one side and cuddled her dog. Dominique left only after promising profusely to be at their beck and call should they require anything, anything at all.
Once the door clicked shut behind the concierge, Mel moved to where Bree was gazing out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the sunset view and scooped Cecil B. DeMille from her arms. “Kaydee, would you take Cecil for a walk and unpack his things? I know Maggie won’t rest easy until he’s settled.”
“Of course!” Kaydee had been trailing behind, taking everything in, but now she rushed forward to take the pooch from Mel.
“Make sure they know about his dietary restrictions!” Bree-Maggie called as her assistant hurried toward the gardens with the dog.
When Kaydee was out of sight, Bree turned to Mel and tugged off her sunglasses, her Maggie persona falling away. She still had Maggie Tate’s face and Maggie Tate’s body—but suddenly someone else was looking out of Maggie Tate’s turquoise eyes. A little uncertain. No longer queen of everything and used to having her every whim indulged. “What now?”
Mel shot a deliberate glance toward the doorway which Dominique had said led to the kitchen. “Now you rest up after your trip. I know how travel always exhausts you. I’ll arrange for dinner to be brought in so we won’t have the chef underfoot tonight while you’re recovering,” Mel said pointedly and Bree pursed her lips, chastened by the reminder to stay in character. “Tomorrow is early enough to start thinking about planning your big day.” Bree opened her mouth, as if to argue and Mel gave her an unblinking stare. “There’s no need for you to worry about anything outside this villa.”
Bree grimaced—a definite Bree face. It was amazing how quickly he’d become able to tell t
hem apart—or maybe it was just amazing how easy it was to tell them apart when Bree let the mask fall. She’d have to be careful of that. Once the paparazzi found them, their long-range cameras wouldn’t care that she was inside the villa.
“I guess I’ll go check out this grand master suite,” Bree said without enthusiasm, trudging up the stairs like a toddler being sent to her room.
Mel watched Bree go, then turned to Cross when she was out of earshot. “She’ll feel better after she’s rested.”
Cross had his doubts about the effectiveness of trying to operate Bree using Maggie’s manual, but running Maggie was Mel’s job. His was to keep her safe—and to that end, he had work to do.
The resort had an excellent reputation, but Cross was responsible for Bree and he wasn’t going to assume everyone else had done their job.
He needed to check in with the local security team. Set up the additional motion sensors and cameras that Candy had sent along with him. Touch base with Max at EP and text Candy to make sure there hadn’t been any developments on the Fijian end. Sweep the entire villa for recording devices—Luxe may have an excellent reputation for ensuring their guests’ privacy, but that didn’t mean an enterprising maid hadn’t dropped a camera in a palm tree when she found out who was going to be occupying the villa.
Not that he’d be able to remove them if he found them. He had to keep reminding himself that they were trying to be found. Hoping to be caught. Though only in a highly controlled way.
The games of celebrity.
Still, he would search. He wanted to know what they were up against.
And then, once he got through all of that, he had three missed calls from Mayor Mike—probably reminding him that his mother still hadn’t RSVPed, or asking for more money. He needed to call his mother, and to go through the package she’d sent him with the latest round of bills for the field house.
He’d told all the vendors to send the bills to his California address, but Harris was a small town and several of the local vendors seemed to think the best way to bill him was to send the invoices to his childhood home. His mother had gotten in the habit of dumping all his mail into a manila envelope once a month and sending the bills to him so he could keep on top of things.
Just one more headache that he wouldn’t have to deal with when the field house was done.
He had the latest envelope in his luggage, but he couldn’t get to it until Bree was secure.
“Do you need me for anything?” he asked Mel. “I’d like to do a full security run down and touch base with the resort crew.”
“We’re good. I’ll manage things here. You do your thing.”
Cross nodded, leaving Mel to quietly rule the world, and went to collect his gear from the luggage the bellmen had left neatly stacked in the foyer.
With all the balconies and patios, the house had clearly been designed for indoor/outdoor living—a luxury for many celebrities who were targets for telephoto lenses as soon as they stepped outside the walls of their homes. The resort was banking on their isolation and the security on the island, which he knew had been designed to be as invisible as possible, blending into the landscaping.
And here they were, banking on the fact that the paparazzi would be determined enough to break through that security to get to Maggie.
For the first time, Cross felt a flicker of remorse—if their plan worked, they would ruin Luxe’s perfectly secure reputation. But they would also keep Maggie’s real wedding safe and private, which was what they were being paid to do. Luxe would recover. They might even benefit from the publicity of having the fake Maggie camp out there for a few weeks.
The games of celebrity.
*
Bree had never been much of a napper.
Restless excess energy was more her style—especially when she was nervous, as she was now. Simply walking into the master suite made her feel miles out of her league, reminding her exactly how out of her depth she was.
It had its own sitting room, two walk-in closets, a giant bathroom with the biggest shower she’d ever seen, a soaker tub, a polished marble double vanity and a fluffy bathrobe hanging on a hook with orchids tucked into the lapel. And if that wasn’t enough, there were three sets of French doors leading out onto a private wrap-around balcony the size of her apartment, with views of an ocean so blue it could make you cry.
She was in heaven. And it was terrifying.
After sleeping for hours on the plane, the last thing she needed was another nap. Especially when she was afraid to lie down on the bed. Afraid of disturbing the artistically arranged pillows.
Her entire body was humming with too much energy, nervous agitation making her feel caged. Trapped. She wanted to do something—anything, it didn’t even matter what—but that wasn’t Maggie.
Maggie was a napper. She was self-indulgent and languorous and loved having things done for her. She would never unpack her own suitcase or cook her own dinner—which meant if Bree was going to pass herself off as Maggie for three weeks there was nothing for her to do.
She actually felt jealous of Kaydee for having a task—she wanted to walk Cecil. She wanted to explore the island and sink her toes into the sand. She craved useful activity and watching Kaydee walk off with Cecil she’d felt like an alcoholic watching someone else pour herself a drink.
Bree had never done well with forced inactivity. She needed to move, to burn off her agitation, to use the energy that felt like it was consuming her from the inside out. But she couldn’t without blowing her cover.
Maggie may work out fanatically to maintain her movie star bod, but Bree couldn’t even go for a run because Maggie didn’t believe in letting people see her looking anything less than flawless and never ever sweated where anyone might see her.
Though she thought someone had said the villa had a fitness studio. Maybe she could run her jitters into exhaustion.
Provided Mel ever let her out of napping time out.
A soft knock sounded at the main door of the suite and Bree barely stopped herself from lunging toward the sound. What would Maggie do? Go to answer it? Lounge in bed and call enter? She needed to know these things. She was going to screw up all the details.
Or give herself a nervous breakdown.
She settled for staying on the big, comfy reading chair in the sitting area where she’d been rewatching her Maggie primer and calling, “Come in.”
The door opened and Cross paused on the threshold, a small electronic device in one hand. “Will I disturb you if I sweep in here for recording devices?”
“No, come in,” she urged, ready to beg him to disturb if it gave her something to focus on besides her own panic, but when he stepped into the room and let the door fall shut behind him the reality of what he’d asked hit. “Do you think there are really recording devices in here?”
He grimaced. “Better safe than sorry.”
Bree’s heart sank. She’d wanted him to say no, of course not, this is just an excess of caution. But that was only her wishful thinking. In Maggie’s world, the walls had ears.
Which only drove home the fact that there was nowhere she could be herself. For three weeks.
She glanced toward the balcony. Everything was glass and blue water—it was gorgeous—but suddenly she felt exposed looking at it. Her gaze went to Cross’s shoulder holster, visible now that he’d taken off his sport coat.
“Should I be worried?”
He looked up from his task, his dark eyes serious. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
The vow sent a little shiver down to her most primal self. He would protect her—on some instinctive, animalistic level, she’d known that, but that wasn’t what she’d meant to ask. She’d wanted to know if there was anywhere she could go where she wouldn’t be watched…but she was afraid to ask again. Afraid she wouldn’t like the answer.
“Is this going to be a regular occurrence?” she asked instead, as he ran the device in his hand over the bedside lamp.
Bree felt herself wilting at the prospect, but forced herself to nod. “Right. Thanks.”
Always be Maggie. For three weeks straight. She could do this. For sixty thousand dollars, she could play the pampered movie star. Lots of people in the world had much harder jobs. Nearly everyone. Talk about your first world problems. She just needed to suck it up and be Maggie. Easy.
So what if she didn’t know what the hell she was doing? Lots of people were faking their way through life.
“Do you think this is crazy?” she heard herself asking, her mouth, as usual, forming the words before her brain caught up.
Cross paused, meeting her eyes, and she had the sense that he knew exactly what she was trying to ask. Can I do this? Will it do any good?
“I think…” He paused, giving her question genuine thought. “I think privacy is a luxury that’s worth the effort.”
His eyes were dark and steady and something deep inside her throbbed as her breath went short.
He really was unfairly gorgeous. A square-jawed golden god.
They’d worked together in the past—she’d even flirted with him, but she’d always been playing Maggie and Maggie was blithe and flirty. But when she was herself with him, even if it could only be for a few minutes, it felt different. More real.
He was the one person in this entire situation that felt real.
Cross turned his attention back to the device in his hands, his concentration complete, and she watched him while trying to pretend she wasn’t, trying to ignore her hyperawareness of his every move—and blaming Andi for even planting the idea in her head that he might be fling-worthy.