Good. He deserved it.
Tension crackled through her as she eased herself up of the bed and padded across the polished wood floor to the closet.
She slid a blue spaghetti strap dress off the hanger, spread it on the bed and removed her clothes. She could still sense Con’s eyes on her as she stripped
His silence was creeping her out. Was he really so afraid to go back where he came from? What was the big deal?
As she unhooked her bra, she felt his hard stare soften.
Men. They’ll drool over anything. Don’t take it personally.
She ignored the way her skin tingled under his appraisal. She fastened her new strapless bra and slid into the dark blue silk. Arranged the shoulder straps over her newly rediscovered collarbone.
“You look pretty.”
He wasn’t smiling. Still tense, on edge, no doubt dreading tomorrow’s little homecoming. That should give her a thrill of victory, but somehow it didn’t.
“I’m going to Raoul to get my face painted on. I’ll see you later.”
Raoul applied eyeliner to her lower lid, then surveyed her through narrowed almond-shaped eyes. He had razor edge bone structure like Miles Davis, black hair shaved almost to the dark skin of his skull. An aura of masculine menace offset by feminine grace that boldly announced his sexuality.
“Girl, your man is fine.” He spoke with slow deliberation.
“Thanks, I guess.” She blushed.
Raoul chuckled. A low, rather threatening sound. He set her nerves on edge. Too cool. She’d never met anyone like him and he knew it.
“So you’re a Hathaway, huh?”
Lizzie flushed darker under the thick layer of foundation and powder he’d applied. “Yes.”
“No need to blush. I’m honored to be in the presence of a member of high society.” He penciled an arch into her brow. Surveyed his handiwork, then looked into her eyes. “But your lover isn’t high society, is he?”
“Um, not really, no.”
Ugh, why was she getting so flustered? Partly because it was so damn hot that sweat was slithering down her spine, but mostly because she had a feeling those sharp eyes could see right through her.
He caught her eye in the mirror again. Spoke slowly. “I think that’s just beautiful.”
She swallowed.
He fluffed more blush on her cheek with a huge brush. “Romantic, you know? Two people who love each other, not getting hung up on the rules of society.” He brushed a knuckle against her now flaming cheek. “You are burning up. Let me get you some water.”
She gasped with relief as he turned away to pour some out of a jug. Did he know she was a fraud?
He handed her a glass of iced water and she gulped some down. “Thanks.”
“Most people spend their lives conforming to what everyone else wants of them, and they don’t follow their heart, you know?” He drew a line around her lips, and she had to wait until he was done before she could croak a yes.
“Hold your lips still there, no pouting. Not until I’m done anyway. Then you can pout and kiss all you like. Mess it all up.” He winked at her and her stomach tightened.
He’d know if she’d kissed Con or not. She’d have to smear it on the back of her hand or something.
Raoul brushed lipstick on with a tiny brush. She couldn’t even glance at herself in the mirror, afraid her nose was growing longer by the second. The discomfort of his close scrutiny made her skin crawl.
And the thought of kissing Con for the cameras made her chest burn in the most uncomfortable way.
“Love,” he said, as he dotted some shimmering stuff in the middle of her upper lip, “is a powerful force in the world. Don’t fight it, don’t ever fight it.”
She nodded, trying to look like she believed this was sage advice. Something about Raoul told her not to get on his bad side.
“You’re done, and if I may say so, you look ravishing.”
She risked a look in the mirror. Gasped.
“Oh, my gosh, is that me?” He’d gone for a completely different look than the cheery young makeup artist at Las Gordas. Total va-va-voom, complete with heavily lined eyes, high arched brows and full pouty lips. Like she’d escaped from a fifties B-movie.
“Wow. Lizzie, is that you?” Gia rushed up behind her. “You look unbelievable. Raoul, you are truly a magician.” Lizzie flushed darker than ever. Had she been such a toad before?
“The hairdresser hasn’t made it yet. I can’t get him on his cell.”
“That boy is…” Raoul rolled his eyes.
“He’s very talented.”
“I’ll give you that. But I’d make other plans if I were you.”
“It looks kind of funky the way it is.” Gia picked up a curly piece of Lizzie’s giant frizzed-out bush of hair.
“No! Please, it must be straightened. I have a flatiron in my room. I can do it myself.”
Raoul picked up a hair-dryer and blew the end of it, like a six-gun he’d just fired. “Have no fear. Raoul is here. Master of all trades and jack of none.”
“Oh, Raoul, you’re a savior,” Gia breathed.
Lizzie shrank back into the chair, dreading more meditations on True Love.
“What have you done to my Lizzie?” Con’s voice startled her.
“Made her a knockout.” Raoul admired his handiwork.
“She was already a knockout. She doesn’t need a lot of paint and stuff.”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart, she’ll take it off in the bedroom. It’s for the cameras. The lights can really flatten you out. Why don’t you sit down here, homeboy, and I’ll punch you up too.”
“I’ll sit down, but keep your hands off me.” Con settled into a chair with an easy grin. There probably wasn’t a person on earth who made him uncomfortable. “Raoul tell you him and me were gym buddies?”
What? She managed to keep a straight face.
Raoul made a sucking sound with his tongue. “I can’t believe you’re still going to that trashy place.”
“Hey, the equipment works.”
“The clientele is strictly low-rent. But then maybe that’s why you fit right in.” He winked at Lizzie.
“You’re probably right,” Con said cheerily. “But don’t knock it. They got a StairMaster.”
“That must be why your buns look so tight. Or are you still a weights-only man?”
“Weights and running.”
“Ah, running. Now if I’d taken that up, maybe I could have caught you before Miss Hathaway here.” He raised an eyebrow. “But I bet she appreciates you keeping yourself in such fine condition.”
Lizzie wished she had more hair to hide behind. This must be the gym Con had always left for in the morning before heading to work. Anyone working out next to him probably knew more about him than she did back then. Probably still did.
“Don’t get nervous now,” said Raoul, holding up a hank of her hair. “Conroy is not one to kiss and tell. You won’t catch him bragging about his conquests over the Nautilus machines. Not that that dump has any.” He shot a glance at Con. “Keeps his thoughts to himself, this boy,” he murmured. “More’s the pity. I’d love to know what’s going on under those still waters.”
You’re not the only one.
Con didn’t bat an eye. “Nothing more to me than meets the eye, right, Lizzie?”
“Yes, sweetie,” she said stiffly.
Con leaned in and kissed her on the lips. Gave her a shot of warm tongue that made her toes tingle, then pulled back leaving her glossy lipstick smudged and her dander sky-high.
“Sorry, Raoul, I couldn’t help myself.”
“Get your bad-boy ass out of here.”
With her hair ironed into a gleaming mahogany sheet, Lizzie wilted under the glare of the cameras as they sat at the dinner table.
Huge lights on metal stands blasted the large dining room with an intense blue-white glare. Fat cables trailed over the floor, ready to trip the unwary and the fine antiques and ornate plaster moldings s
hrank into the shadows.
The table glittered with crystal, with the fleur-de-lis plates she’d chosen. A Lalique bowl bulged with lush tropical fruit, glasses sparkled with wine already poured and heating under the lights. Soup shimmered in the bowls, souring and congealing in the heat. The illusion of a delicious meal to be shared by lovers.
When the reality was anything but.
Dino adjusted something on a monitor. “Can you put another scrim on the backlight? I’m getting some glare.”
Lizzie rested her aching cheek muscles while the camera was off. Con tugged at his too-tight collar. Winked at her. She glared at him.
Neither of them had managed to eat the congealed soup. Starving, she’d grabbed a red delicious apple from the Lalique bowl. Wax.
“Let’s see if we can make it more real this time,” chirped Gia. “More natural. Maybe you could hold hands over the table or something?”
Lizzie managed not to grimace. She picked up her hand and flung it down on the table like a rubber chicken she’d been hiding under the tablecloth.
Con took hold of her fingers. His hand looked rather brown and rough against the sheen of the white damask tablecloth. His fingers closed around hers and Lizzie took a deep breath. Sweat trickled down her back underneath her blue dress.
“You okay?” he mouthed.
“Or course,” she mouthed back. Why did he have to look so freakin’ sensitive and caring? Shame she couldn’t snark at him here in front of everyone. She shot him a warm smile. “Your hand is sweaty.”
“So’s yours.”
“I’m surprised my dress isn’t soaked through,” she murmured. “It must be a hundred and fifty degrees right here. I think my wine is about to boil.”
“I know, I know. I’m terribly sorry.” Gia picked her way to the table over the trailing cables. “I’ve told Maisie and she’s ordered a slew of portable air-conditioning units to be delivered tomorrow. Honestly, we’d stop shooting, but we really need to get some establishing shots, just stuff to work into the story, or we won’t have time. We’re on such a tight schedule. Dino, darling, are you nearly ready? Our stars are wilting.”
Dino mumbled something while pushing an array of buttons on a deck of whirring machines. “Alright, just make some natural conversation, it doesn’t matter what you say as it’ll probably just be used for cutaways and that kind of thing.”
A tense silence followed. Lizzie could feel about ten pairs of eyes on her.
“The house is lovely, isn’t it,” she said with a pained smile.
“I think you said that when we arrived.” Con’s eyes gleamed with humor.
Irritation streaked up her spine. “Why don’t you say something then?”
“It’s surprisingly difficult to chitchat when there’s a camera and a crowd staring at you.”
“It’s good practice for our wedding.” She stared right at him, wishing she’d paid more attention in speech and drama class. “I’m so looking forward to it, aren’t you?”
“Oh, yes, I can’t wait until we’re man and wife.”
He spoke slowly, voice low and dark, and as he said it she felt something on her leg.
His bare foot.
What had he done with his shoe? She twitched her leg back and grabbed her soup spoon. Dipped it into the congealed mess in her bowl, prickling with annoyance.
Then she felt it again. This time on her crotch. She tried to snap her knees together, but his leg was already blocking the way and she bumped against the hard muscle of his calf. His toes rested gently against the thin layer of her satin panties.
It was too hot for pantyhose.
She gasped, trying to keep a straight face. Con just sat there staring at her. His toes wriggled.
I will not be aroused.
“Warm in here, isn’t it?” He winked.
Bastard.
The gentle movement of his toes, and now the ball of his foot, stirred up sensations she didn’t want to feel. Heat swelled in her groin as fury stirred in her heart. She shifted in her chair, trying to pull back without letting the crew know what was happening under the neatly pressed white tablecloth.
Con massaged her crotch gently with his foot. His face and upper body remained motionless, only the twinkle in his eyes was active. Her nipples sprung to attention, pushing into the satin of her bra, and her breath got shallow.
“It is terribly hot,” she hissed. “And I can see you’re uncomfortable in that rather formal suit. There’s no need to get all dressed up for me, you know. We’re going to be married, so you can just relax and be yourself.”
Con’s eyes narrowed.
She faked a “natural” looking sip of her hot wine.
“I’m quite comfortable.” He wiggled his toes. Her clit throbbed.
“Really, darling, I know I’m burning up all over and I’m barely wearing anything at all.” She indicated her expansive uncovered cleavage.
Con blinked, fought a smile. It was good to feel that she still had some power over him, even while his damn toes were revving her engines without permission.
She leaned forward, pushing into him. Challenging him. “Heatstroke can be dangerous.”
“I’m used to the heat. I’m from these parts, remember?” He raised an eyebrow. She held his gaze. He picked up his warm wine and sipped it. A mistake, from the pained expression that flitted across his face.
She had the upper hand now.
“Sweetheart, give me your jacket.” She pulled her hand from his grasp and extended it. “Now.”
Her heart pumped loudly as she waited to see if he’d comply. His toes still rested against the moist satin of her crotch. He’d promised to do this her way. Was he a man of his word?
She enjoyed a flush of triumph as he pulled his foot back, regret in his eyes. He shrugged his shoulders out of the jacket. Held her gaze with a dark stare that made her stomach quiver. He handed her the jacket, lifting it high over the table.
“Your tie.” Sweet smile. “Come on, sweetie, we can all see your collar is tight.”
Without blinking or breaking eye contact, Con slid a sinewy finger into the knot of his silk tie and loosened it. Pulled it off and handed it to her.
She dropped it on the floor, right on top of his expensive jacket. She wasn’t going to look away first.
She could feel the crew’s excitement. Everyone was deathly quiet, totally still, the only sound in the room was the hum of the lights.
“Go on, unbutton your collar.”
Con obeyed, still staring her down, his eyes black and fuming. The surge of power she felt scared her a little. What could she make him do?
He undid the button below his collar. Then the one below that, and the cuffs.
Still holding her gaze he untucked his shirt and pulled it over his head in one swift movement.
Lizzie held her breath, blood pounding, as he balled it up—still without blinking—and handed it to her.
She took it, looked away, gasping for air as she dropped it on the floor and accidentally tipped her plate, spilling soup on the table cloth.
Con settled back in his chair, shirtless. Then turned to the stone faced waiter standing out of view of the camera. “Could you bring me some ice, please?”
Lizzie gulped.
At the urging of someone off screen, a uniformed waitress silently approached and removed their bowls of uneaten soup. Lizzie nodded her thanks. Con didn’t nod or move at all. Just sat there, totally relaxed, as if he ate a bare-chested banquet every day of his life.
The satin sheen on his tanned skin looked positively ornamental, unlike the sweat rolling down her back and soaking her dress. Her antiperspirant had failed miserably, and her whole face probably shone with thick droplets. Her skin hummed, still aroused, even without his touch still on it.
She’d called Con’s bluff and he’d raised her.
His perfect six-pack mocked her, along with the full curve of those gym-pumped biceps.
“Your chest is so tanned. I guess tha
t’s from working out in the hot sun fixing all those cars.” She wanted to remind everyone that he wasn’t really the lord of the manor. Somehow removing his shirt had made him look more regal and imposing, not less.
Con tilted his head, gave her a long, sensual look with those narrowed black eyes. “I guess so, babe, but the last car I fixed up you did most of the work, remember?”
Lizzie’s mouth fell open.
“You’re a hard worker, and very talented.”
“I… I…”
His toes were on her ankle now. Sliding up her calf very lightly. Her whole body tingled with a scary mixture of rage and arousal that left her speechless.
“We’re a great team, you and me.” He reached across the table, holding his hand out for hers.
Her face heated as she realized—cameras on— she had no choice but to take it. He’s my true love.
He squeezed her hand in a way that made her belly quiver.
“I think that once the world finds out about what you can do with a spray gun, you’ll be well on your way to getting rich again.”
He squeezed her hand again. Like he was giving her a signal. Had kind of a serious expression on his face. Was this his crude way of trying to boost her artistic career on camera?
“Painting is just a hobby,” she hissed.
“It shouldn’t be. I’ve never seen anything like the work you did on that Corvette.”
Pride shimmered through her for a split second before she realized Maisie was going to see this and laugh herself into a coma. She kicked Con under the table with the spiked toe of her shoe.
He flinched, surprised.
Just then the waitress put a glass of ice next to his wineglass.
Con picked up the glass, which looked ridiculously delicate in his big hands. In fact, all of him looked bigger now, without the civilizing veneer of clothing. He pulled a cube from the glass and rubbed it over his skin, on the back of his neck and down between his pecs. Then he held it out to her. “Here, babe.”
She blinked. She could feel the crew’s ears pricking up. She had to take it. He was her true love, right?
She cupped her palm, and Con pushed the melting ice cube in to it.
Dropped his eyes to her cleavage.
A Bad Boy is Good to Find Page 13