“Follow me,” he demanded, steering her toward the front of the store.
Grateful, Stephanie made for the door. Even on sale, the few garments she had priced cost more than her three summer paychecks combined. Nothing would give her more pleasure than to leave the gaping salesclerk alone in the shop to lament an enormous lost commission.
“Stand still,” Alex said, directing Stephanie to the racks where the latest and most expensive fashions were displayed.
He studied her figure. That was no small task considering the oversize sweater she so effectively used to hide it. To his surprise, beneath all that excessive material was a lovely feminine shape.
“Bring her a size nine in that,” he told the saleslady, gesturing to a mannequin dressed in a sumptuous dress of indigo silk.
Its flowing lines were classic in design. To Stephanie, it looked better suited to a runway model than a simple working woman. When she started to protest, Alexander placed a hand on the middle of her back and nudged her gently but firmly toward the changing room.
“Now, honey bear,” he crooned. “You just let me pick out a few things for your trousseau without worrying your pretty little head about what it costs.”
Stephanie groaned inwardly. His chauvinistic attitude wasn’t the only thing rankling her. As much as she wanted to remind Alex that she was not the typical fashion plate he was used to dating, she could think of no way to politely point that out to her fiancé without raising both of the salesclerk’s plucked eyebrows. So rather than make a fuss, she accepted the silk garment with a bright smile.
Alexander noted how Stephanie carefully draped the silken garment over her arm as if fearing she might crease it. The way she let her gaze linger upon it with undisguised longing stirred something inside him. Having witnessed other women toss upon the floor the designer clothes he bought for them as if the garments were nothing more than rags, Alexander found Stephanie’s precautions endearing. He was struck by the fact that she didn’t seem particularly thrilled at the prospect of spending someone else’s money on herself. Such frugality in light of the unlimited budget at her disposal made Alexander all the more determined to buy this woman whatever her heart desired.
“Now, don’t be shy,” he called through the flimsy curtains of the changing room. “Hurry on out and let me have a look at you, sweetheart.”
The endearment felt as slick as the fabric Stephanie held in her hands—and as soft to the touch. As realistic as she was about her feminine shortcomings, the woman in her couldn’t help responding to the sweet nothings that rolled off his tongue. How many times in her daydreams had she imagined a man calling out to her in just such a tender tone? She didn’t suppose someone as worldly as Alexander Kent could possibly understand how his attempt at credible playacting might trigger aspirations of such a modest nature. Stephanie had no doubt that he would scoff at them if she dared put them into words. Not one to ask for the moon and the stars, she longed only for a good man to love her for who she was—not what he could shape her into becoming.
Alexander’s insistence that she model for him left little wiggle room to pretend that she had tried on the dress and found it somehow lacking.
“Do you need help with the zipper?”
Alex’s voice conjured up images of his hands resting upon the small of her back, searching for the device the seamstress had so expertly hidden in a fold of bright satin and locating instead the clasp to her bra. A vision of one of his hands slipping beneath the opening of the frock to caress her breasts had Stephanie breathing rapidly. In her mind’s eye, she could see him standing behind her in the mirror, nuzzling her neck and whispering some suggestive proposition as clearly as she could see her own reflection.
“If so, I’d be glad to help.”
Startled out of her erotic daydream by that offer, Stephanie slipped the dress over her head and employed the voice she used when a child misbehaved in the library. “Don’t even think about it, mister.”
A moment later she emerged from behind the curtain as if she were stepping in front of a firing squad. Still, she couldn’t help noticing with pleasure the way Alexander’s eyes widened in appreciation as she finished cinching her belt.
“Very nice.”
Alex was not referring to the dress at all. His gaze lingered upon the way the garment hugged her curves possessively. Why so many of the women he dated were obsessed with looking like sticks was beyond him. The female shape was never designed to be angular and bony. He was amazed that Stephanie went to such lengths to cover up her voluptuous body with such baggy, understated clothes.
“How about a pair of shoes to match?” he suggested.
The clerk scuttled off to do his bidding without so much as asking Stephanie what size she wore. She returned in a moment clutching an assortment of boxes to her chest. The woman’s deference to Alexander was, in its own way, as irritating as her earlier hostility to Stephanie. Having little to say in the matter, Stephanie suddenly found herself caught in a cyclone of clothing. Colors swirled about her as Alexander pitched designer fashions at her faster than she could try them on.
“This is way too much,” she said each time she materialized from behind the curtain to secure his opinion.
“And those are way too little,” she gasped, spying the sexy undergarments he was directing the saleslady to include with his purchases.
Apparently not satisfied with buying her a paltry week’s clothing for their mission, Alexander seemed intent upon replacing Stephanie’s entire wardrobe with a year’s supply of the most sumptuous fashions she had ever seen. When the pile of clothes upon the sales counter grew so high it looked as if it might topple over, the clerk began another. And another. And another.
Alarmed by the excess, Stephanie waited until the saleslady went off on yet another of Alexander’s errands before pointing out the obvious to her overly generous benefactor.
“This is beautiful,” she said, gesturing to an elegant outfit. “But pray tell where will I ever wear it once our mission is over?”
Alexander looked at her as if he couldn’t believe she had broached the subject. Never before had a woman questioned his largesse.
“To school,” he told her. “Or the country club or a bake sale, for all I care. As my wife it is important that you look the part.”
To that end he pulled out a cell phone and booked an “emergency” appointment with the most sought-after hairstylist in town. Satisfied that the role of Pygmalion suited him well, he turned to her with an expectant smile. He was surprised that Stephanie did not return his smile.
The fact that he had her prancing around in front of him in such exquisite styles left her feeling like one of her Barbie dolls. As a child she used to spend hours dressing them up and marching them through impossible happy-ever-laughter plots derived from what her mother coined an “overactive” imagination. If only her staid, protective mother could see her now! Even in her wildest flights of childhood fancy, Stephanie could not have envisioned such a scenario.
They left the shop a short while later with a staggering number of bags and boxes filling the trunk of Alex’s black Jaguar. Several found a temporary home upon the leather back seat. Before Stephanie could see the sales receipt, Alex had deposited it in a trash can and settled her into the passenger seat of his sports car.
In the privacy of the vehicle, she took a deep breath and voiced her growing concern.
“Costuming is one thing, but I draw the line at letting anyone mess with my hair, Alex.”
Long and straight and luxurious, it was Stephanie’s secret vanity. Though she often pulled it back into a ponytail or a bun for work, she loved the way it felt at night when she combed it out and let it fall down around her shoulders, transforming her from a sensible being to a sensual one.
Alexander refused to listen to her qualms, maintaining that any other woman would be ecstatic at the opportunity to have Mr. Karol give them a personal makeover. It was very likely that the popular hairstylist had r
isked the ire of some wealthy matriarch in making room for Stephanie at Alex’s request.
“You of all people should know just how important this is in setting the proper effect. You wouldn’t let Juliet come out onstage wearing some ultrachic bob any more than I would allow you to enter into this marriage looking anything less than fabulous.”
While Alexander’s taste in clothing might be impeccable, a vision of herself sporting an extreme runway haircut flashed though Stephanie’s mind. She might not be a beauty queen, but was nevertheless hurt by the fact that this man didn’t appreciate what she considered to be her best feature.
“What’s wrong with my hair?” she demanded to know.
“Absolutely nothing.”
Leaning across the front seat, Alex freed a strand tucked behind her ear. It felt as soft as one of the silk dresses that he had just purchased for her. The color of perfectly aged whiskey, it matched her brown eyes in hue and mellowness. Fascinated how Stephanie’s hair caught the sunshine streaming in through the windows and held both the light and his attention captive, Alex felt a shiver run through him. His eyes met hers. The vulnerability in their depths coaxed a purely masculine reaction from him over which he had no control.
Clearing his throat, he attempted to assume the dispassionate air of a seasoned FBI agent preparing for duty.
“Absolutely nothing that anyone except the very wealthy could discern. The last thing I want to do is hurt your feelings, but the difference between a good cut and what a first-rate stylist like Mr. Karol can do with such beautiful hair as yours is the difference between the clothes we just bought and the ones you wore into the boutique that I asked the salesclerk to dispose of for you.”
“You had no right! Those clothes were perfectly serviceable,” she protested, cheeks flushing.
Stephanie’s anger at his throwing away her possessions was nothing compared to her fury at the heavy-handed way he was trying to make her over in the image of something she could never be—one of his former girlfriends.
“Serviceable is the operative word,” Alex retorted, running a hand through his thick hair again. “Look, if we can’t even agree on something as simple as this, how do you think we’re going to manage convincing anyone that we love each other and deserve the chance to raise a child? Why is it so hard for you to let me treat you to something special? Can’t you just trust me that things like this really do make a tremendous difference in certain social circles? We don’t want to give the crooks we’re after any reason to doubt the authenticity of our marriage—and our ability to pay any exorbitant price they set for a stolen baby.”
In the breath of Alexander’s tirade, Stephanie went from feeling attractive to awkward and out of place in her new cashmere sweater and soft suede slacks.
“My father always said that only a fool would try to make a thoroughbred racer out of an old plow horse, but if you’re intent on trying, far be it from me to try and stop you.”
“That’s hardly the issue,” Alex protested.
It pained him to see the sparkle in Stephanie’s eyes snuffed out. He hated being the one responsible for extinguishing it and seeing it replaced with such naked pain. Unused to feeling like a cad for simply offering to help a lady look her best, Alexander was at a loss. His attempt at making pleasant small talk as he drove to Mr. Karol’s Beauty Boutique salon was miserable. He suspected the reason that Stephanie turned her head to gaze out the window was to avoid letting him see her tears. A man known for his charm, he suddenly felt all thumbs when it came to handling this enigmatic librarian/drama coach/changeling.
Silence filled the space between them. It was as vast as Stephanie imagined the gulf separating their social spheres. A new wardrobe and haircut weren’t going to breach that distance any more than trading in her old glasses for contact lenses had changed her into Cinderella overnight. A few short blocks later, she allowed herself to be led into the inner sanctum of Mr. Karol’s salon. She did so with all the enthusiasm of a lamb being led to the slaughter.
Doing his best to maintain the image of a doting fiancé, Alex called after her, “Have fun, sweetheart.”
Grateful to have a little time to himself, Alex watched her go and then headed to the Texas Cattleman’s Club for a stiff drink and the information he would need in Vegas if they were going to track down the criminals who had stolen Natalie’s baby. That was, if they could actually manage to book an appointment while they were in the area. If they could actually convince anyone he and Stephanie were more suited for one another than vinegar and oil. If he could convince his partner to lighten up a little and have some fun with this portion of their mission before it turned dangerous.
If…
Alexander thought it odd that such a small word should carry so much weight. The thought of putting Stephanie near more peril than Mr. Karol’s scissors made his stomach do an unexpected turn. He couldn’t help but worry that for all her bravado, this particular lady would be utterly defenseless in a world inhabited by criminals not confined between the pages of one of the books shelved in the library. This fierce sense of protectiveness was the reason Alex had felt compelled to join the ranks of the Cattlemen in the first place.
“Anything special you want for your bachelor party, you just let me know,” kidded Ryan Evans.
Clint Andover, CEO of a large security company, couldn’t resist chiming in. “Wonder how many ways crow can be served?” he asked, referring to his old friend’s claim he would never marry. Ever since Clint had remarried, his associates at the Texas Cattleman’s Club had seen a lighter side of him.
Ryan grinned, a wicked light in his eyes. “I hear librarians do it between the covers.”
One beer and innumerable jabs later by his friends concerning his state of impending matrimony, Alex had safely tucked in his pocket a list that Natalie had provided. Each pair of names on it represented a child who died at birth and another child who was adopted within a very short time. According to her research, these babies were one and the same. It was damn little to go on, but Alex had solved cases with less in the past. By the time he left the venerable site of the Texas Cattleman’s Club, he was feeling renewed conviction about the part he was to play in the group’s latest quest.
And a renewed sense of duty to the sweet thing that had so bravely volunteered to work with him regardless of her own well-being. Only this afternoon he had heard the news that the real Doctor Belden had been found dead, murder suspected. Alex had every reason to believe the apparent homicide was related to the adoption ring the Club was trying to infiltrate. Although the man impersonating Belden, Dr. Roman Birkenfeld himself, was in the hands of the authorities, there were others out there that needed to be caught.
The beautiful creature waiting for him in the lobby of the upscale salon upon his return was almost unrecognizable. She hardly resembled the woman who had scowled at him the whole night of the school fund-raiser for which he had found himself volunteered by his fellow Cattlemen. Had Alex not bought the clothes Stephanie was wearing or put her in Mr. Karol’s capable hands himself, he might not have believed his own eyes. The transformation was astonishing. The thirty-one-year-old woman trapped in the guise and mind-set of a middle-aged spinster emerged from her cocoon an exquisite butterfly, trembling with the anticipation of spreading her newfound wings.
Much to Stephanie’s relief, Mr. Karol had not advanced upon her with an array of scissors and a tub of styling gel. Instead, he trimmed a couple of inches off the ends, gave her a soft body perm and shaped wisps around her face in a timeless style that emphasized her best features. Alexander had been right. Though not a drastic change in length, the difference between her old hairstyle and new one was amazing. When Mr. Karol turned Stephanie around in the chair to look at herself in the mirror, she’d hardly recognized herself. The woman looking back at her could have graced the pages of a fashion magazine.
She was secretly delighted at Alexander’s reaction when he saw her. He did everything but whistle at her appear
ance. As much as the feminist in her resented the need for any man’s approval, the little girl in her felt like twirling around in glee.
Not wanting to give her true feelings away, she gave her husband-to-be a discriminating look.
“They tell me I clean up nice,” she said dryly.
Four
“Isn’t that Stephanie Firth?” asked one incredulous voice after another.
“It couldn’t possibly be!”
Stephanie heard the whispers as she and Alex followed the maître d’ to the best table in the best restaurant in town. Famous across state lines for its French cuisine, Claire’s boasted an elegant atmosphere that was far different from the Royal Diner where Stephanie usually grabbed a bite to eat. A single long-stemmed rose positioned in the center of each spotless white-linen tablecloth surely matched the red spots on her cheeks. Feeling as self-conscious and out of place as Cinderella at her first ball, she tipped her chin up in defiance at the loose-jawed looks that tracked her to the chair that Alex pulled out for her in true gentleman fashion.
“How could you possibly confuse that drab-looking librarian with the gorgeous creature with Alexander Kent?”
“That is Alex, isn’t it?”
“I heard he was available again. Who is that with him?”
Stephanie pretended not to hear the unkind remarks from a nearby table. Just as she pretended that they didn’t hurt either. It seemed as good a time as any to convince Alex that she had the necessary performance skills to make her a worthy partner on this case.
She did not see the killing look he gave the two women seated next to them. Instantly their snide laughter subsided. Alex ordered a bottle of Claire’s most expensive champagne and proceeded to engage in witty repartee that Stephanie assumed was intended to familiarize their audience with the idea that they were a couple. It was, in fact, intended to put her at ease. A glass of champagne did more to that end than any clever remark Alex could make.
The Millionaires’ Club: Ryan, Alex & Darin Page 16