by Tara Pammi
To hell with the reception and the guests.
The expansive bathroom, with its perfectly placed sconces and chandeliers, the cool Turkish limestone tiles, was more than welcoming. She played with the idea of hiding out right there.
But hiding here would mean drawing Alexander’s attention to her.
Her gut flipped at the thought.
She sprinkled cold water on her wrists and face, careful not to spoil her makeup. She wanted to scrub the whole lot off. But Kim always looked perfect and she wasn’t going to quicken Alexander’s race to the truth that the wrong twin—the imperfect one—had stood next to him and uttered vows. At least Kim had promised to be back by nightfall.
She stared into the gold-edged mirror, still unable to believe how different, how polished she looked. Her wild mass of golden-brown curls had been ironed into submission and set into a stylish chignon at the back of her neck. Her neck shone with an elegant diamond choker set in white gold—which she knew was a wedding gift from Alexander Perfect King—instead of her mother’s heart-shaped locket on a black string, and her feet ached from the four-inch-heeled Christian Louboutin sandals that had already caused untold damage to her back. She scrunched her nose at Kim’s makeup bag, where the tube of pink gloss was winking at her. Olivia Stanton in shiny pink lip-gloss was never going to happen. She could only go so far, even for her twin.
She reapplied her dark red lipstick. Battle-ready.
She took a deep breath, stepped out of the luxurious suite and walked toward the huge banquet hall. Almost at the entrance, she let her gaze fell on a small veranda to her right, and before she knew it she was looking at miles of gorgeous sand, her feet itching to feel the grainy texture.
With a sigh, she took an about-turn, determined to go for a swim by the end of the day. What was the fun in getting fake married on a Caribbean island if you didn’t even dip your toes in the ocean?
She came to a standstill at the entrance to the hall, stunned by the sight. A lump lodged in her throat at the elegant beauty of the hall. Kim had prepared all this for her beautiful wedding and wasn’t even here to enjoy it. A hundred little questions pecked inside her head. By the end of this charade she was going to ensure one thing. She’d find out what was really going on with Kim.
Round tables covered with the sheerest white lace filled the decadent marble-floored hall, with a single pink orchid in a crystal vase gracing the center of each table. Lanterns designed to look like tiny fireflies hung from the roof, throwing light onto the vases, and the crystal shimmered in thousands of directions.
It all looked gloriously romantic even to someone like her, who didn’t go for the elaborate traditional wedding, the designer gown and the whole status thing that went with the society that Kim and Alexander inhabited.
She couldn’t stop her thoughts from flitting inward. Her chest felt tight, as if a fist had tightened over her heart. One more thing Kim had that she herself never would. A man who loved her. A man who...
Enough.
She wasn’t going to spend another minute thinking about things that could never be. She ran a hand over her stomach and smoothed the silk, feeling as though the hole she kept carefully covered was exposed. She headed straight to the open bar, uncaring of the curious glances thrown her way. Thankfully, the bar itself was empty. She ordered a scotch, her back to everyone. When the drink came she drank it in one swig, needing the fiery liquid to wash away the maudlin nonsense in her head.
Her skin prickled with awareness, every inch of her hypersensitive to the arrival of the man behind her.
“Here’s where you’re hiding.”
Without turning around she silently slid the tumbler back toward the bartender. Kim couldn’t stomach alcohol—much less scotch—a fact she was sure Alexander knew. Schooling her face into a pleasant expression, she turned around. The sight of him dealt her a fiercer kick than the scotch. “More like recuperating,” she replied, placing her hand in his outstretched one.
He tugged her close, his gaze devouring her. A frown creased his forehead. “Did you just have a drink?”
Managing to hold on to another curse by biting the inside of her cheek, Olivia shook her head.
His disbelief hung like a curtain between them. Instantly she tried to remedy her mistake. “I actually took some aspirin for my headache. It just seems to be getting worse.” At least that wasn’t a lie. Her head was beginning to throb as though she had spent all night at a Metallica concert. In the front row.
His brow cleared and his gaze shone with sympathy. “At least no one will find it strange if we escape the reception quickly. After all, it’s our wedding night.”
Her gaze flew to his as he ran a long, dark finger over the sensitized flesh at her neck, tracing the lacy neckline of her dress. Her soft gasp got lost between them as he bent toward her ear.
“I can’t wait to rip that dress off you.”
A shiver traveled up her spine, sparking desire in every inch of her. Locking arms with him, she tucked her head down, fighting for air. His muscled body only heightened her awareness of him. Every second that passed was twisting the hard knot in her stomach tighter. Where the hell was Kim? She didn’t want to be here for another minute, not with the way her body was reacting to his mere presence.
Not when it was another woman’s man. Dear God, he belonged to her twin—the one person who had stood by her no matter what.
Somehow Olivia held on to a semblance of composure as she smiled and talked to the guests, nodding enthusiastically as Kim and Alexander’s friends raved on and on and about how perfect they were for each other, pretending to know them. If they thought it was strange that the always intelligent and articulate Kim was mostly silent, they could put it down to the excitement of being a new bride.
She had to bite the inside of her mouth to stop thrusting her tongue out as her father praised Kim’s success to anyone who would hear... If only he knew...
She had no idea how she lived through the torturous dance with Alexander. Each sinuous, slow movement threw her against his muscled strength, with the pulsating energy between them winding her up, the scent of him seeping into her every pore. Her muscles groaned at her stiff posture by the time the dance came to an end. Only the enticing prospect of sinking into the claw-foot bathtub with numerous silver faucets she had spied back in Kim’s suite kept her standing.
Just as she released a breath of relief and untangled herself from Alexander the front man of the lively native band announced the bride’s dance with her father.
No, no, no.
Olivia froze midway on the polished lacquer floor, feeling the color leach out of her face. Fear gripped her insides in an unforgiving knot, and the corseted bodice of her gown was crushing her lungs as her father walked toward her, a genial smile on his handsome face, the very image of a loving father, his stride purposeful as ever.
She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t dance with him—not without the whole pretense blowing up in her face. She shivered, sliding into the skin of that clumsy fifteen-year-old forced to dance with her father on her birthday. Stand up tall and look me in the eye. She could still hear the caustic hiss of his disapproval when she had accidentally trod on his toe, could still feel the painful, cutting press of his fingers on the skin of her shoulders, eroding another piece of her.
The more he criticized, the more she had faltered. He would have gone on forever except Kim had intervened, claiming her turn, and proceeded to pacify him with her perfection. Always. Kim had done it to divert their father’s attention from her. Liv knew that. But in the end her twin’s perfection had only showcased Olivia’s failure even more.
The memory coursed through her like acid, eating away at the armor she had grown, exposing wounds that she had thought covered, if not healed. She gasped for breath when a guest stopped her father. She hadn’t talked to him in six
years and she couldn’t now. He would know in a nanosecond that she wasn’t Kim. And he wouldn’t even go along with it until she could explain. No, he would bring holy hell down upon her right there, until the whole world gleefully concluded that Olivia Stanton had once again screwed up—and this time her own sister’s life.
Pain sliced through her, robbing her of breath. The very intensity of it was still so raw. She wanted to be able to look him in the eye, not to flinch when she saw the corroding disappointment in his gaze. But she couldn’t, because nothing had changed. She just wasn’t good enough—not now, not ever. Not even to be a stand-in for her perfect sister.
She rubbed her forehead with trembling hands and turned toward the exit, her legs rubbery. “My head feels awful. Please apologize to my father,” she threw at Alexander.
She could feel his razor-sharp gaze drill into her back until she stepped out of the banquet hall. But she couldn’t look back. Right now, all she needed was to escape.
* * *
Picking up a champagne flute from a passing waiter, Alexander stilled and stared at Kim’s retreating form. She looked pale and intensely troubled, her hurried gait anything but graceful. And even as he watched she tottered on those heels. The doubts that had been niggling at him all evening crystallized into irrefutable truth, shock stunting his movements.
The woman running away as though the devil was on her heels was Olivia Stanton, the embodiment of everything he despised in a woman—selfish, impulsive and scandalous—who could wreck everything: his reputation, his sister’s care. With one reckless word or action.
Kim would have never run at the sight of her father. No, it was Olivia who couldn’t run fast enough. After all, the rift between Jeremiah Stanton and his younger daughter was continuing fodder for the tabloids, among other things.
Fury washed up through him in tidal waves, an incessant drumbeat drowning out the innocent chatter around him. Why had they switched? When had they switched?
The answer came to him with crushing clarity. He had slipped the wedding ring onto Olivia’s finger, his gaze snagging on her lips, fascinated by the blood-red lipstick, wondering how he had missed this side of a woman he had known for six months.
Everything he had worked for his entire life now rested in the hands of a good-for-nothing party girl who didn’t know the meaning of responsibility.
The crack of the champagne flute in his hand pulled him out of the red mist. Ignoring Jeremiah’s concern, he took a turn toward the exit.
He made his way to the suite that Kim had occupied since her arrival at his mansion a week ago, his steps unhurried in contrast to the blistering anger coursing through him.
Olivia was going to rue the day her self-centered, worthless existence had entered his life.
CHAPTER TWO
HAVING NOT FOUND her in the suite, he’d looked out at the beach view. Something white and gossamer shimmered in the moonlight, contrasting against the dark backdrop of the ocean.
His heart racing, Alexander quickened his steps over the landscaped wooden floor. The minuscule light thrown by the artistically placed lanterns along the gravel path did nothing to make his mounting fury abate. Disbelief poured through him, stalling his usually quick thought processes. He hurried past the artificial landscape, reaching the untouched strip of beach behind the mansion that was his private haven.
He came to a standstill, his heart pounding. Used to the pitch-dark of the night, he turned his head in time to see a flash of alabaster skin, a pale shoulder above the powerful waves. She was about half a mile ahead, and even in the moonlight he could see that she was struggling, her strokes not very elegant or even strong.
The wedding dress and the silver sandals lay in a pile on the sand. The rip in the lacy neckline was visible even in the limited light, a testament to the rush she had been in. The custom-made diamond necklace, his wedding gift to Kim, glittered on top of the lace.
He glanced around the beach he knew like the back of his hand. Miles of sand and ocean stretched on either side. There would be no one around except his security men at the far end of the estate. No guest was allowed to venture into this private strip. She could drown and no one would know.
His hands fisted at his sides. Olivia Stanton gave new meaning to recklessness. Undoubtedly Kim was somewhere cleaning up her mess while Olivia lazed around in the aftermath of her upheaval. Only she had messed with the wrong man this time. Someone should have taught the selfish woman a lesson a long time ago.
Alex settled down on a lounger, his anger under control and something more insidious crawling into its place. Just how far was the wild Olivia willing to take her pretense?
* * *
Olivia sucked in a greedy breath as another wave sluiced over her, pushing her back a little more. She wanted to linger in the water, but her shoulders and arms were beginning to hurt. She had never been the greatest swimmer, but the cold water had pierced through the bubble of anguish that had swathed her, choked her. The dark silence of the moonlit night had been a diversion—at least for a few minutes.
She grunted and pushed through the water at a pace that had her arms feeling like lead weights, her thighs groaning at the exertion. She was always going to be a coward when it came to her father, never daring to stand up to him. She would always run instead.
She reached the sand with a guttural groan, her limbs feeling like rubber. She lay facedown, her lungs a deadweight in her chest. Sand stuck to her wet skin and hair, chafing at her. She had narrowly missed her father’s wrath but she still had Alexander to deal with. If Kim didn’t return soon.
Mere seconds after the thought, the hair on her nape stood up, her skin prickling with a panic she couldn’t shake off.
“Are you naked?”
The question startled her, laced with a huskiness that gave her goose bumps. She tilted her head up in the direction of the voice. Alexander was sprawled on a lounger half a foot away, an arm flung behind him casually, watching her, his expression hidden by the fan of his lashes.
Yet there was nothing casual about his gleaming blue eyes, or in the calculating appraisal in them as they traveled over her. With his jacket gone and the neck of his white shirt unbuttoned, which exposed a thoroughly distracting strip of brown flesh, he wasn’t the hardheaded businessman anymore. Instead, a touch of roguish danger simmered around him.
Olivia swallowed. She had run straight to the beach as if the devil himself were after her, the only thought in her mind to flee. Now he had another point against her. The idea of slipping back into the water with the possibility of sinking like a stone held more allure than facing him.
She sat up slowly and scrunched her knees to her chest. Pretending to be brushing off the sand on her legs, she gripped them, waiting for the shaking to subside. Refusing to look at him, she stared straight ahead, the tranquility she had found earlier evaporating like a mist. Her fingers slipped on her legs as he moved closer and came to a standstill near her.
She gave up the fight and turned. His feet were coming into her view. Nothing there that would make her feel even a little better—like a lot of hair on the toes or a couple of unsightly growths. No, instead, they were large brown feet, with evenly spaced toes. “You know what they say about men with large feet, Olivia.” Her friend Amelie’s declaration skated into her head and she grinned.
Not now, Liv. “Of course I’m not naked.” Why did she sound so unsteady? Dusting away the remnants of sand, she stood up, still not meeting his eyes. “I need a shower.”
With a small movement he shifted his body to block hers. His fingers settled on her bare shoulders.
Liv shivered, the hot press of his fingers searing her skin. “Alexander—”
His finger moved to her mouth, effectively silencing her. “You robbed me of the pleasure of ripping that dress off you. At least let me look at what I would
have discovered.”
Her tummy took a roll as he took a step back. Look away, Liv. Through sheer willpower she resisted the temptation to meet his gaze. Only that was worse. With her eyes closed every other sense became hyperaware. Her ears tuned in to the sound of his fractured breathing, her nose was filled with the scent of sea and male arousal, and her skin tingled as though he’d run his hands all over her.
Alex couldn’t take his eyes off her body. Heat surged through him, tautening his lower belly. His blood was flowing hotter and faster, making a beeline to regions south. He hadn’t asked the question to be censorious. He had been genuinely curious. She had surfaced out of the water and had lain there, the whoosh of her uneven breathing puncturing the silence all around. Her alabaster skin shimmered in the moonlight. The dip of her back and the curve of her butt sent a swift kick of lust to his groin.
Now he understood. She wore nude-colored underwear. At this close distance it was quite modest, compared to the lacy underwear flaunted in every fashion magazine. But then, those lacy, gossamer bras and thongs left nothing to the man’s imagination.
She looked earthily sexy. Her wild brown hair was tinted with shades of gold. Her breasts rose and fell with her shallow breathing. The sight of her taut nipples behind the thin fabric made his throat dry up. The dip of her waist, the curve of her hips, her toned legs—every inch of her body was an invitation of pleasure, would drive even the most sensible man to distraction.
Color suffused her cheeks at his continued scrutiny. “You’re staring at me.”
He hadn’t meant to. He didn’t want to. But she had a body made for sex. Was that why men lost their minds around her? Weak men, who cracked at the first sign of temptation and then it was just a downward spiral. Like his father. The passing thought about his father was enough to cool his desire—more effective than an electric shock.
He took a step back, his senses still reeling. “You’re an awful swimmer.”
Her chin lifted. An imperceptible movement both defiant and hurt.