by Robyn Thomas
Sam stopped Jake as he followed Ken into the hall. “What was in the note to Riley?”
“Old stuff. From before you joined the band. It’s not important.”
Sam’s jaw clenched at the brush off. “Your father’s secret’s safe with me.”
He knew?
“But you should know that Leanna’s single again and shopping for husband number three. She’s not going to be a problem, is she?”
Of course she’s going to be a damned problem.
He clapped his hand over Sam’s shoulder. “She’s no longer married and my father’s not here. How much of a problem can she be?”
…
Evening approached and Beth cradled what had to be her tenth coffee of the day. Jake’s staff had organized for an elite wedding planner to stand by, and if Beth wanted her to, she’d take over the final preparations for Brad and Skyla’s wedding.
One phone call would lift responsibility right off her shoulders, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to make the call. It felt wrong.
So wrong. If she moved out, there’d be no need to outsource the remaining duties. She could give Jake and his followers the run of her house while staying close—in a hotel maybe. It would make things simpler all around.
Simpler, but not better. At least not for her.
“Is it too much to ask to stay here and live my life too?”
Her coffee didn’t answer so she pushed it aside and slumped forward, resting her forehead on her father’s desk. Up till now, she’d heeded Christophe’s warning to avoid the Internet, but he’d never know if she took a quick look. Her jaw dropped as the list of search results blew her mind, but when she chose a random story and clicked on it the world as she knew it flipped on its head and plunged straight down. She and Jake had allegedly hosted a wild, weeklong party on his yacht off the coast of Portofino last month.
Judging by the photographs, clothing and monogamy were both optional extras that they’d decided to forgo. Was that blurry close-up supposed to be of her?
“Jake!” She was on her feet and calling his name even before she’d thought it through. She yanked open the door into thehall and yelled again. “Jake? Jake?” She used his body to steady herself after she plowed right into him. “Oh, oo mph, there you are. I need to speak with you, and after what I just read on the Internet, I think I might need a lawyer too.”
“The Emperors’ lawyer is very good, but he’s expensive.” He watched her, an indulgent smile curving his lips as he waited for her to lose her temper. When she held it, he brushed her hands off his chest and turned away. “I’ll call him and see if he’s willing to take on another client.”
She expelled her breath through closed lips in a slow hiss and her hands itched to roam over his back, since it was still within reach. “Fine, play the famous card, draw attention to the difference in our circumstances. Pretending to be a regular guy must’ve been exhausting. We’re obviously on opposing sides of the us-and-them line now that you’ve got reinforcements.”
He turned back and stepped so close she could feel the heat coming off his body. “Us”—he brushed his lips over her cheek before tilting his head to indicate the rest of the house—“and them. Whatever you need, consider it yours.”
She stood in stunned silence as his fingers made short work of the elastic around her ponytail, his solemn eyes fixed on hers as he threaded his fingers through the long lengths of her hair. “The Cinderella thing, it was a lucky guess on my part. I didn’t know Christophe would pursue that same concept.”
She believed him, and her need to discuss it had been replaced by the need to kiss him. Her head tipped to a favorable angle as he lifted her feet off the floor and walked the few steps into her den. He pushed the door closed with his foot and kissed her as though he’d been starved for her taste. The hours they’d spent apart melted away, and the closed door between them and the rest of her houseguests put a million possibilities at their disposal.
Twice he would’ve pulled away if she’d let him, but what she’d read about them on the Internet was emblazoned across her closed eyelids. She saw no reason why they shouldn’t indulge in a private scaled-down version of the oh-so-public fun they’d reportedly had on their recent trip to Portofino. He pressed her against the wall, and the hot thrust of his tongue in her mouth combined with the imprint of his body on hers made the lies fade to a manageable level. His hands supported her breasts as if they’d been fashioned for that purpose alone, and she begrudged the thin layers of fabric that disguised the texture of his fingers.
Desperate for more contact, she flicked open the front clasp on her bra and moaned into his mouth as he grabbed the hem of her sweater.
“I’ve missed you,” she said, dimly aware that she’d just revealed more than she should have.
He tossed her sweater and bra aside, his low growl of appreciation conveying more than any words could have. His hands curled around her breasts and he lifted one to his mouth, his lips fastening over the tip so slowly that she protested the delay.
“I like to hear you.”
Her laughter was muffled against the top of his head. “Keep doing that, then.” She unzipped her skirt and sighed as the soft fabric skimmed down her legs. Her fingers fumbled with his shirt buttons, but he pushed her hands away and lightly snapped the elastic of her underwear against her side.
“These next?”
He nodded and she struggled out of them. His mouth refused to give up her breast even for a moment, although he’d swapped from one to the other at some stage. Hmm. He was an equal opportunity man. That was something in his favor. She clutched his head to her breast as he slid his hands down her torso. She wanted him to go slow, needed him to hurry, voicing every desire the moment it occurred to her.
A sharp rap on the door beside them almost made her leap out of her skin. “You ready for congratulations yet?”
Liam. Again!
Jake’s hand shot sideways to ensure the door stayed closed.
“Not quite. Bugger off.”
Unfamiliar laughter mocked her through the door. Her face flamed as she hauled her clothes back on. Anger simmered beneath the surface and once her armor was back in place, she let Jake have it.
“He’d better not have been here to congratulate you on—”
“The congrats will be for both of us.” His dark look stopped the retort she’d planned and she watched in confusion as he bent to retrieve her violet hair elastic from the floor. Instead of offering it to her, he tossed it up and down in his palm before tucking it into his jeans pocket as if it held some special value. The urge to delve into his pocket and snatch it back was strong, but she couldn’t explain why.
“That’s mine. I want it back.” Great, she’d been reduced to petulance over a worthless hair tie. She forced a reasonable tone.
“You’ve got control over everything else. I think you can afford to let me have one insignificant piece of elastic.” She put her hand out and waited for him to return it. “I want to put my hair up.”
The nearly imperceptible shake of his head caught her by surprise, but when he dipped down onto one knee, she nearly had a coronary on the spot. Even though she knew this proposal wasn’t genuine, she had a sudden and very real urge to cry. He stared up at her with an expression bordering on awe.
That made it even worse.
“Bethany Louise Carlisle,” he said in his fancy English accent.
Everything from his callused hands to his ruffled hair and bare feet was wonderful, but she shook her head in silent entreaty. If he actually went through with this, she’d never forgive him.
“I’m going to give you a piece of advice,” she said shakily.
Amusement crinkled his eyes, and he jiggled her hand as if daring her to continue. For what felt like an eternity she squeezed her eyes shut, but when she opened them he was still there. “It’s quite simple. Don’t propose marriage unless you mean it.”
“I do.”
She shook her head a
nd a little whimper of protest squeezed past her lips. “Taking something that should be life-alteringly— special and making it into a farce will be unforgivable. Please don’t do it.”
His voice was suspiciously thick with emotion when he finished his dreaded proposal. “Will you wear my ring for the cameras?”
It wasn’t what he’d intended saying. She knew it. And yet it was spot-on. He’d asked for the bare minimum and she’d give the same in return.
She slipped her mother’s eternity ring to another finger and offered her left hand to Jake. Despite her attempts to minimize its importance, the ring sharing was deeply significant. The elaborate setting of the diamond-and-opal ring set off a veritable host of Jake Olsen fantasies in her mind—everything from a hot fling to a lifelong love affair producing children and grandchildren.
Her breathing become shallow as time-lapse images tripped her pulse… Standing alone in the center of the room she could feel Jake’s lips parting beneath hers, his arm around her shoulders, their eyes making promises across a crowded room and his hands splayed across her pregnant belly. A squeak of distress slipped through her lips because, for a moment, she’d had all those things and now they floated out of reach. His bypassed proposal had given her the right to project forward in every possible direction to see what their lives could have held, but she should’ve had more sense than to window shop at a store that only contained beautiful illusions.
“Beth? You okay?”
The note of uncertainty in Jake’s voice dumped reality on her head with a sickening thud.
“Sure.”
“Since you won’t have to wear it for long, I figured it was safe to choose for you.”
“Absolutely.” The lie rolled off her tongue and she ran with it. “A normal engagement ring would need to signify a shared future, the promise of love and loyalty and blissful contentment.
This one’s just a pretty bauble.”
A champagne cork popped against the door and she laughed as they said “Liam” in unison.
Letting him in and accepting a hug was easy, but the idea of toasting to a fake engagement stuck in her craw. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to pass on the bubbly. I’ve still got a million wedding details to attend to before Skyla arrives on Wednesday.
“I promised her I’d have her wedding so well-organized that all she’ll have to do is turn up on the day. Since I’m trapped here, I’ll have to keep a clear head and stay on top of things or else there’ll be chaos instead of delight when she arrives.”
Jake and Liam shared a look.
“Don’t you have a wedding planner now?” Liam asked.
“Christophe arranged a wedding planner,” Jake said.
“I know! But I don’t want it arranged. I want— I need—to do it myself. Brad’s been my best friend since primary school. This is going to sound ridiculous, but until he actually marries Skyla, he’s my responsibility. I can’t wait for them to say I do. Then I can walk away knowing I’ve held up my end, and passed the mantle.”
Their puzzled faces made her elaborate. Talking to Liam was no different than talking to Jake, and she figured he’d leave if he heard anything he’d rather not. “I’ll get control of my life back once Brad remarries, because he took his marriage vows to me very seriously. We’ve been divorced for a year and a half yet he still intimidates every man who shows a passing interest in me.”
Jake and Liam rubbed their jaws like twin monkeys and stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. And then slowly, very slowly, Jake’s features relaxed and he smiled. “You can’t help yourself, can you? There’s no off switch.”
No off switch for what? Tension gripped her as the question exploded through her head. She was sure she didn’t want to know.
She had to know. “Are you suggesting I’m still in love with Brad?”
“I’ve met Brad. Several times.” His smile grew. “Enough to know you’ll never turn your back on someone you care about. And you still care about Brad.”
“So what? I care about you, too.” She’d meant that to sound glib, to downplay her natural tendency to take everyone to heart and look after them. But instead of deflecting his comment, she’d gone ahead and confirmed it by admitting that he already mattered. All in a single breath.
Liam slipped out of the room with a minimum of fuss, leaving her alone with Jake. He watched her way too closely. Panic sped her heart rate up as she searched for a graceful way out of the hole she’d dug for herself. “Is that what you think? That I’m such a softie I get attached to every stray that wanders in?”
“I don’t know. Would you plan my wedding?”
Considering the demands of his career, Jake would probably never get married. But she knew she could never plan his wedding. The mere thought of him marrying someone else turned her stomach and made her regret every sip of the coffee she’d downed all day.
“Would you?” he pressed. “You’re planning Brad’s. It’s no different.”
The hell it wasn’t.
“The only way I’d ever plan your wedding is if I was in it,” she snapped as she got to her feet and turned away.
He stepped close behind her and slid one hand beneath the heavy fall of her hair, and his blunt fingers worked the taut muscles of her nape. “That was unfair,” he murmured, so low she barely made out the words. “I’ve been married to the band for eight years. It’s my job, my life, and it consumes every waking moment and demands more. I couldn’t change it if I wanted to.”
He hesitated and her throat closed because she knew what was coming. “I don’t want to.”
Her instincts screamed for caution but there was a question she needed answered ahead of tomorrow’s interview. “Hypothetically, if you weren’t married to the band?”
“In a second.” His arms captured her in a fierce embrace and she knew he spoke the truth. The confirmation should’ve come asa relief. Instead it fractured something inside her. Purely by chance she’d found her prince ch arming. But he was already married.
…
After a restless night and several hours of preening, Beth studied her reflection in the full-length mirror that Jake’s minions had supplied. Their color consultant, hair stylists, makeup artists, and personal groomer had pulled off a miracle. The image that greeted her showed no trace of her usual self, but she knew somewhere way down deep beneath her upswept hair, dramatic makeup, and fancy clothes, she was there. She had about forty seconds to find her core strength, or else this ridiculous live-to-air interview was going to be a flop.
She closed her eyes and tried to remember that this was a positive step. Legitimizing their engagement would take away the aura of mystery that had the press so intrigued, and because Christophe had preapproved the interview questions, it was a simple matter of smiling nicely and reciting the correct responses on cue.
She definitely wanted to get rid of the massive media presence outside her gates. This, apparently, was the way to do it.
A friendly rap on her bedroom door set off thousands of tipsy butterflies in her stomach, and it was all she could do to walk forward as they collided en masse. It was too late to back out now, but she’d never felt less prepared for anything in her entire life.
Jake was waiting in the hall, and his stunned double take brought an instant grin to her face. “Who were you expecting?” she asked.
In an impeccably cut suit and a bright white shirt, he looked far too respectable to be a rock star, but his trademark smile gave him away. “You’re like a chameleon,” he said. “The first time I saw you, you looked like a chorus girl with that transparent robe and feather boa.”
Laughter exploded out of her.
One of the film crew appeared to usher them into the dining room. It’d been years since the pivoting wall between it and the study next door had been opened, but space was at a premium and the Kens had been eager to try it out as soon as she’d described it. Christophe had deemed the new open-plan room a perfect interview location, and it’d been a reli
ef to earn his approval.
She and Christophe had had several heated discussions the previous evening, and he was lucky she hadn’t asked him to leave.
She’d finally given up arguing her point about what constituted suitable clothing for the interview and allowed him to dictate what she’d wear. He’d called in a favor and had a designer friend of his deliver a selection of gowns from his upcoming collection. Her stylists chose a vibrant aquamarine gown with a full skirt, heavily beaded bodice and oversized collar. No doubt the cameras would love it, but it was far too flashy for her taste. And walking in these spindly heels was next to impossible.
Taking pains to avoid Christophe’s gaze, Beth tried to keep her
shoulders back, her chin up, and a serene smile in place while she and Jake were fitted with microphones. Jake teased her on and off as they were given a final run-through of the interview format and what would be expected of them, but she felt as wooden as a fence post. Her heart pounded at a frantic rate and she’d begun to feel queasy. A chic, slightly older woman joined in their conversation partway along, and Beth couldn’t help but notice how friendly she was with Jake. Too friendly.
Trying to give the appearance of concentration as a cameraman droned on about hand signals, Beth strained to catch the gist of Jake’s conversation with the woman, who was getting on her nerves for some reason. Perhaps it was simply that she was whispering and she hadn’t even bothered to introduce herself.
“Do you ever think about what might’ve happened that night in Prague?” the woman asked Jake in a low, sultry voice that couldn’t possibly be misinterpreted.
Before Jake could reply, preferably with a resounding no, one of the crew tapped the woman’s shoulder and raised his clipboard imperiously. “You need to be seated, Leanna.”
Leanna? She was the magnificent Leanna Lexington that Christophe had been going on about last night? Terrific. Her confidence leaked out of her pores, making her feel like she should go and take a shower and forget all about this ridiculous interview.