“I haven’t decided yet.” He rubbed the back of his neck and stared out his penthouse window. “I know she wanted an accent. I’ve been thinking I can sound American, and when she complains that I have a Midwestern accent, I can switch to one of the others and make it seem as though I’m an American who just happens to do accents very well.”
“Your voice coaches were good. They say you could pass for an American any day.”
“They’ve done the same for you, Jamie Campbell.” Jared grinned. It shouldn’t be difficult. They’d been passing for humans for years.
“She didn’t suspect a thing, either.” Jamie chuckled. “I spoke with the perfect American accent, and she didn’t bat an eye.”
“Was she pretty?” Jared planned to respect the rules Madame Eve had set in her email to him and not contact the woman further, but he really wanted to know if his date at least resembled the girl he had in mind. He supposed she must. It had been one of his few requirements, after all.
“You would think so.” James shrugged. It didn’t escape Jared’s notice that, as usual, Jamie had no personal opinion about a female he found attractive. They both acted as though they had some unwritten code that neither of them would consider a girl the other found appealing. Still, Jamie’s taste in women ran along the same lines as Jared’s own. “She’s in her mid-to-late forties, golden hair, and eyes the color of new blue jeans.”
“I wish you had gotten a photo.”
“I did, but it’s not a good one. I snapped it with my phone as I waved good-bye from the car. I didn’t want to make it obvious.”
“Well, show it to me, ye ass.” Jared couldn’t wait to get a glimpse of her. Even if the picture didn’t do her justice, he might be able to tell if it was her haunting his nights for the last seven months. “How can ye have a photo of the lass and not tell me as soon as ye walk through the door?”
“Calm down, Mr. Right. Your accent is showing.” James laughed outright. “I wanted you to stew about it for a bit. I’m glad I did. You should have seen your reaction.”
Jamie dug his phone from his pocket, pulled the image up, and handed it over.
“It’s difficult to tell.” He studied the screen. “The hair color is right, but her body shape seems all wrong.” He frowned. “And there’s no way to know if the hair is dyed or natural.”
His dream lover was natural all the way down to the golden curls between her legs. Was this woman the same?
“The color is her own, believe me. She has crystal-blonde eyebrows.” James stared at the picture for a moment and frowned. “I don’t know how you can make out any body shape with that huge bathrobe she’s got on.”
Jared frowned at the image and grunted. “Is that what she’s wearing?”
“Yes. That’s definitely what it is. It hung off her like a gunnysack. I’d daresay it belonged to her last lover.” He grinned. “I’m not sure, but I think I woke her up. Her mussed hair gave her away, and her eyes had that just woken-up look. Hell, she might have had a lover waiting in her bed, for all I know.”
“I don’t care to hear about her lovers.” It was bad enough he’d only have a short time with her before he went off and found himself some young, pretty thing, one he had nothing in common with, to marry.
“Uh…Jared?” James ran a finger under his collar. “As much as I’d like to see you happy, aren’t you afraid what the media will say about you seeing someone like this lass?”
Jared narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean? I don’t plan to date her. One night—one weekend, if I’m lucky, and I will be back to dating the kind of waif the media approves of.” He curled his lip. “I’m rich and I’m famous. You would think I could marry whoever the fuck I want to.”
Instead, if he wasn’t careful, he’d end up wedded to a mere slip of a girl who would fit the media’s, and everyone else’s, idea of the perfect match for him. What good came of being rich and famous if a person let the world dictate what they could and couldn’t do with their lives? What a crock of shit his life had become if he let that happen.
All he ever wanted was to find his mate and be happy. Instead, he’d set on this path of self-destruction as a celebrity. Maybe, he shouldn’t give a shit about his career and what marrying out of the Hollywood celebrity norm could do to it. Perhaps he should tell everyone to kiss his ass and marry whoever the hell he wanted. It wasn’t as though it would matter unless he got lucky and found his mate.
Like that will ever happen.
“I couldn’t care less who you fuck, as long as she makes you happy. You know that, right?” Jamie held his hands up. “I don’t mean to insult the lass. You know my tastes in the opposite sex are the same as yours, but if the media finds out you’re seeing someone like her, even for one night, they’ll have a field day tearing her down. All I’m saying is, I’m not sure it’s fair to her.”
“I’ll do whatever I can to keep her out of the limelight. I don’t want to scar her with other’s insults. I merely want to know what it’s like to spend time with the kind of girl I find attractive.” It had been years since he’d been able to do that with anyone who’d attracted him physically as well as stimulated him mentally.
Once married, he intended to be faithful to his partner. He just wanted one night to pretend he could have a life with the kind of female he found attractive. Unfortunately, James was right—the public would tear both of them apart if it got the slightest scent of any romance between him and a woman it deemed less than perfect for him. It didn’t matter what he thought. It never had.
Chapter Three
Candy climbed out of the limo and followed the driver as he carried her luggage into the hotel. She headed for the front desk and waited in line behind a group of women who were, no doubt, part of the romance convention. She glanced around the sumptuous lobby. It fell right in line with the decadent flight Madame Eve had arranged. She’d gone all out, purchasing first-class plane tickets for Candy, and now, luxury accommodations. She could only imagine what room the matchmaker had rented her for the night.
If this place has a presidential suite, it’s probably where I’ll be spending the night. What a waste, though. Because, if everything went the way she wanted, Candy wouldn’t notice any more of her room than the bed.
“Excuse me, miss?” A hand landed on her arm, gently turning her toward the masculine voice. “Are you Candy Williamson?” Tall and dark, the man wore a nice suit with a nametag identifying him as Michael S, Assistant Manager. Boy-next-door looks lit up with his smile, his brown eyes reminding her of melted dark chocolate.
“Yes. Yes I am. What can I do for you?” She frowned when he snapped his fingers at a nearby young man and pointed to her luggage. Certainly, they didn’t have bellhops. Weren’t those a thing of the past? She didn’t remember the last time anyone other than herself had carried her bags.
“We have special instructions to escort you to your room.” Michael smiled down at her. “Your friend wanted a specific suite, and it had already been reserved for the night.”
All business, he added, “We have managed to resituate the other guest and grant the request. It has a hot tub en suite, a sitting area, and two bedrooms.”
They stepped from the elevator and headed toward the room. The bellhop unlocked the door and went in ahead of her.
“Where would you like your bags?”
Ignoring him, Candy couldn’t help but stare through the doorway of the first bedroom at the suitcase her messenger had brought her the morning before, in the middle of the large bed. The only thing the letter had told her the case contained was a blindfold. Whatever other secrets it held would remain a mystery until midnight. She could ignore the case for a few hours—she’d make certain of it.
“Just leave them by the door,” she said. “I’ll take care of them myself, thank you.” She fumbled in her purse, hoping to find tip money to give to the bellhop. “Good grief. Don’t tell me I don’t have any cash.” she muttered.
“Don’t worry about
a gratuity, Ms. Williamson. They’ve been taken care of for the weekend. Just relax and enjoy yourself.” Michael handed her the keycard he had used to open the door, and, with a nod to the other man to follow him, left.
“Thank you.” Candy stared at the closed door for several moments before grabbing her bags and lugging them into the room where the mysterious suitcase sat in the middle of the bed, looking for all the world like a bomb in a subway. Her imagination ran wild with ideas of what could be in the damned thing.
She fisted her hands at her sides, her fingers itching to open it and find out what secrets it held. Instead, she managed a little willpower and moved the bags she’d brought with her to the luggage rack. Striding to the dresser, she found an envelope, addressed to her, sitting next to the TV.
Dearest Candy,
I look forward to meeting you later this evening. I trust you will follow my instructions to the letter. Please understand, I have no wish to frighten or harm you, I merely want you to experience me as myself before you fantasize I am whoever you wish me to be. Be certain, I will do the same for you.
Take your time and relax before our evening together. Feel free to help yourself to the mini-bar. All expenses will be covered.
Until tonight,
Mr. Right
“Heh. A poet and didn’t know it.” She chuckled at his two-sentence rhyme. Tossing the letter back onto the dresser, she turned toward the bed and her suitcases. “Well, if I had any doubt Mr. Right meant for this room to be mine, I guess that’s out.” She opened the closest drawer and gaped at the men’s clothing inside. Another note sat atop the neatly folded items.
Candy,
Please use the drawers on the other side. Though I plan to stay a few more days, I had hoped to share this room with you tonight. I don’t want to waste a moment of it apart.
R
I guess I’ll have no privacy this weekend.
She frowned. If he did stay here with her, where the hell did he expect her to stay after tonight? A couch in the lobby?
Sighing, she opened the drawer farthest from her. Should she bother unpacking her bag? She’d only have to move them in the morning since she’d have just the one night with him, after all. But, unpacking seemed like instructions, and she had agreed to follow his instructions for the night. With another little sigh, she neatly arranged her clothes in the drawers he’d left to her.
Her other bag held all the nice things she needed to hang. Opening the closet door, she was surprised to find a large walk-in. About a quarter of the space held men’s clothing. He’d brought much more than one guy could wear in a weekend. Did he plan to stay longer than just a few days?
Did he have more than one of these fantasies set up? She panicked a little at the thought. Had he seen her and already written their night off as a bad move?
Stop second-guessing a man you haven’t met yet. Being her own worst critic tended to be her greatest flaw. Deep down, she was certain no one had found her difficult to look at, but thoughts of her size kept rearing their ugly heads and ruining everything for her.
Glancing at the clock, she gasped. She’d taken much longer than anticipated unpacking the other case. In a hurry, she haphazardly hung her things on the other side of the closet then dragged in her overnight bag to get it out of the way.
I need a shower.
Chapter Four
Jared unlocked the door and entered the suite, not bothering to hit the light switch. He’d spent the last several hours imagining what his date looked like and didn’t know if he wanted to find out, the reason he hadn’t turned on the light. Though he’d meant what he’d said in his letter about getting to know her, he still wanted the woman he’d described to Madame Eve on his application. But what if she couldn’t measure up to his fantasy?
What if I don’t measure up to hers?
One of his main fears was disappointing her. He’d never understood why females were so attracted to him, and he’d never taken it for granted a girl would like him. Perhaps it had something to do with his werewolf pheromones.
So, he had one shot at this. As he’d said on his application to 1Night Stand, he had no intention of doing this sort of thing ever again. It was now, or never. He’d planned the evening as his last chance to live the life he’d once thought to have, before resigning himself to the life people expected him to live. Just as he didn’t want his date going into this with any preconceived notions, he refused to fall into the same trap.
The darkness would give them a fair chance. At least that’s what he hoped.
Entering the bedroom, he frowned. It’s too quiet. Had she left?
“Candy?” he whispered. If she expected him, the movie star, she would recognize his voice. He had to remember to speak with a Midwestern accent at a low level and not have his brogue give him away. Not yet, anyway. He said her name softly again.
No answer.
“Candy, are you there?” he asked a bit louder. Had his accent bled through? It didn’t matter. His instructions had probably scared her, and she’d left. Shit!
“Huh, wha…?” The sleep-filled voice came from the bed. “Who’s there?”
“It’s just me, darlin’. Your date for the evening.”
“Why are you whispering?” The sheets rustled. She’d turned off the lights as he’d instructed in his letter. With the curtains drawn, the glow from the city below couldn’t penetrate the darkness. That hadn’t been part of his conditions. Had she’d closed them to even the playing field so he couldn’t see her either?
Standing in the doorway, he breathed in her perfume. The scent of peaches wafted up from the bed and gave him a hard-on from hell. The sweet scent filled his lungs. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, the lingering scent bringing up sweet memories of his Candy. Still, it didn’t matter. The only thing he gave a damn about—they get along with each other and have the fantasy they wanted.
“Have you changed your mind?” He hoped not, and pictured the lingerie he’d packed in the case for her. Had she put it on, or was she wearing something of her own?
“No, I haven’t changed my mind. I’m wearing the flimsy nightgown you sent for me, aren’t I?” she asked, dryly.
How could he know what she wore? He could barely see the shape of his bloody hand in front of his face.
“Uh, yes. Yes, if you say so, I guess you are,” he replied, relieved she wore what he’d given her, though he couldn’t see her. He could only imagine her as his fantasy lover in the silky gown. Perhaps the darkness would serve him better. That way, she could be anything, anyone he wanted. He’d be able to touch her, and tonight, nothing else mattered.
“It fits as though someone made it for me. Did someone tell you my size?”
Uncertainty filled her voice. Most likely, she wondered if she knew him.
“I don’t know you outside of this room, if that’s what you’re asking.” He’d had no idea whether the gown would fit or not, but known it would have fit his dream lover like a glove since he knew every inch of her body better than he knew his own. “I bought the gown for a woman I think is perfect for me.”
He moved closer to the bed, removed his jacket, and yanked his shirt over his head, tossing them both toward the wall. Hitting something with a whack, they dropped to the floor, followed by his belt buckle striking the carpet with a muffled thud.
“I take it that was some article of clothing hitting the TV set,” she said. “Can you hurry this along? I’m really nervous, and I’m having a difficult time not reaching for the mask. To tell you the truth, I’m kind of scared, and the blindfold doesn’t help.”
“Then take it off. Just don’t turn on the light.” Jared kept his voice light. Unbuttoning his pants, he kicked them off, along with his trainers. Thank God for shoes that slipped off without a hitch.
“Thank you.” The sheets rustled, and he imagined her ripping the blindfold from her face. “It’s beginning to make me itch.”
Jared wanted to make her itch in another way. He also
prayed that the fact she wore the gown meant she intended to go through with the sexual side of the date. It was one of the things he’d said he wanted. He wouldn’t attempt to force the issue if she said no, though. Anything that happened between them would be up to her.
He moved closer, following her glorious scent. “I’ve fantasized about you all night. I wanted to get up here earlier, but I had a previous engagement I couldn’t get out of.
“I’m going to touch you now.” He bent toward her.
“I know.” Her breath hitched. “I can see you.”
“You can?” He paused. She couldn’t possibly see him clearly if the darkness made it impossible for him to get a glimpse of her. His kind had exceptional eyesight. Reaching out, he gently stroked her hair. It’s just as soft as I’d hoped.
“Well…I can see your silhouette. I can’t really see much other than you’re big.”
“I thought you wanted someone rather large.” He swallowed, almost afraid to continue, but he had to know where things stood. Not that he could do much about it now. Over six feet tall, he wasn’t small. That was certain. And he worked out regularly, since staying in shape helped him land the roles that had made him famous. “You know, it occurred to me, I just waltzed in here and took my clothes off as though we’d get right down to business without getting to know each other at least somewhat. Are you comfortable with this or should we wait?”
“Yes.” She fidgeted a bit. “Unless you’re asking because you’ve changed your mind.”
“Not on your life, lady.” He stroked the hair from her forehead.
“Good. Can I touch your face?”
“Of course.” He smiled slightly. She’d wanted him clean shaven, but he’d left a bit of stubble. Shaving would have uncovered the scar on his chin. The peculiar, raised, crescent-shaped scar would have given him away, if she watched his movies.
It Was Always You Page 2