by Lissa Manley
THE BRIDAL CHRONICLES
Lissa Manley
HEIRESS IN DISGUISE!
Socialite Anna Sinclair was a budding bridal dress designer, but her love life was a cocktail-party joke. Disguising herself, she went west and vowed to avoid romance! Then handsome businessman Ryan Cavanaugh appeared as her pretend groom for an important photo opportunity, and Anna fell hard for his kindness. Would Ryan still want her if he knew who she really was?
No one took Ryan Cavanaugh for a ride. While an adorable dress designer left him dreamy-eyed, he hoped she was as honest as she seemed. He'd never considered marriage, but now he ached to make Anna his. After Ryan's battle to trust in true love, would discovering her secret identity ruin their powerful connection?
Chapter One
Anna Sinclair looked across the Rose Garden Park through her veil and raised a shaky hand to her throat. She watched the tall, incredibly handsome hunk stride confidently toward her.
Smiling, he paused to talk to the pretty, female photographer’s assistant, and his dark blond hair glinted like gold in the midmoming June sun. Dark green, leafy foliage, framed by the cloudless blue summer sky, provided the perfect backdrop for his stunning male beauty. His black tuxedo, hugging his wide-shouldered, athletic body like a glove, made him look like every bride’s dream come true.
But not Anna’s. Designing wedding dresses was as close as she would ever get to that romantic nonsense.
Wondering if she was an utter fool for getting anywhere near a camera, or a gorgeous man like that, she looked to Colleen Stewart, the tall, blond reporter assigned to “The Bridal Chronicles,” a newspaper special feature. “Please tell me that male model is not my groom.” Anna gestured to the god across the lawn, his head bent in thoughtful discussion, one hand casually shoved into the pocket of his tuxedo pants.
Colleen fluffed the train on Anna’s dress and looked in the direction she had gestured. Colleen whistled under her breath and her blue eyes gleamed. “He’s not a male model, Anna, even though he looks like one. His name is Ryan Cavanaugh and he’s the wealthy owner of a local chain of coffee houses, Java Joint. The Bachelor Chronicles was so successful featuring Jared Warfield, who owns a competing chain of coffee stores, that we decided to feature another coffee guy.” She put a hand on Anna’s arm. “Don’t tell me you have a problem posing with good-looking men.”
Anna spun around, inadvertently ruining the billowing train Colleen had taken so long to arrange. “Yes, I do.” Good-looking men always made her do foolish things. “I only agreed to pose because the woman originally scheduled to wear my gown didn’t show up.”
“So, what’s the problem?” Colleen asked. “You want your gown in the spread, right?”
“Of course I do. I’m hoping that my gown being in ‘The Bridal Chronicles’ will help me land that account I’ve come to Portland to acquire.” Landing the Perfect Bridal account was her last chance to fulfill the terms of her father’s deal.
She took a deep breath, telling herself to calm down. “But when I agreed to pose at the last minute, I didn’t anticipate that my groom would be so… so gorgeous. What if we win Best Wedding Couple?”
“Then you pose for more pictures and your gown gets more publicity.”
More pictures. Concealing her real identity with a veil for one picture was going to be risky enough, even though she’d dyed her dark brown hair auburn and by some miracle Colleen hadn’t recognized her. “More pictures would be very bad,” Anna said under her breath. “Very, very bad.”
“Actually, with a hunk like Ryan around, I imagine it’ll be very, very good.”
“Yes, indeed.” Anna fluffed her dress, needing air circulation. “It’ll be too good, and we’ll be a shoo-in for Best Wedding Couple.” She fanned herself with her hand, convinced the warm June sun was getting to her. Would anyone notice a woman in a pristine white wedding gown, her face fully covered by a fluffy veil, sneaking off before any pictures could be taken?
She should have never agreed to this. She certainly didn’t want to end up where well-known heiresses often did—on the front page of a tacky tabloid, the subject of an unflattering picture for all the world to see. “I assumed I’d be posing for one picture. Nothing more.”
“Just relax,” Colleen soothed. “You have no way of knowing who’s going to be voted Best Wedding Couple.”
“No way of knowing? Look at him.” Anna followed her own instructions and looked back to this Ryan guy. He’d left the fluttery-eyed assistant, who looked like she was about to melt into a pool of water on the lush, rolling lawn of the Rose Garden, and he was again striding confidently toward Anna and Colleen. With smooth male grace, he casually unbuttoned his tux jacket, staring at Anna. Even through her veil, his gaze pinned her in place like an electric-blue laser.
Her heart missed a beat.
He reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a cell phone. He stopped to talk, his riveting eyes never leaving her.
She ripped her gaze from him and leaned in close to Colleen, fighting off panic. “He’s the perfect male,” she whispered, her voice shaky. “Every woman in the city will be wiping away drool as they cast their vote for him.” She shook her head. “I’m not sure this is a good idea.” Yes, she wanted her gown in the photo spread. But not if it would reveal her real identity. She was simply humble working girl Anna Simpson, designer of the Anastasia line of wedding dresses for the time being. She didn’t want anyone to know she was really Anna Sinclair, the daughter of one of the richest bankers in the country. How would she know if she were a true success if the Sinclair name followed her around?
Colleen pressed a hand to Anna’s arm. “Please don’t leave me in the lurch. I’ll never find another model on such short notice.”
A shaft of familiar guilt poked Anna. Her father always made her feel like she was letting him down, too. Before she could reply, her “groom” stepped closer, cell phone in hand. His well over six-foot frame towered above both her and Colleen.
“Well, well,” he drawled, giving Anna an intense once-over. “You must be my bride.” He extended his hand. “Ryan Cavanaugh.”
She took his hand. “Anna… Si… mpson,” she managed to say, using the fake last name she’d come up with because it was similar to Sinclair and she’d be less likely to make mistakes.
He shook her hand and flashed a blinding smile.
The skin at the corners of his astoundingly blue eyes crinkled. Deep dimples formed on both sides of his mouth. He peered closer to her veil. “You look pretty good under there. Lucky me, I guess.”
She pulled her hand away. In all of her twenty-four years, she had never seen such a stunning man. His brilliant smile almost made her knees buckle.
Her earlier misgivings exploded into a ball of pure dread. Ryan obviously possessed the kind of innate male charm and incredible good looks that she’d sworn to avoid since a similarly handsome, seemingly charming man—Giorgio The Italian Scumbag—had taken off with a chunk of her heart a year ago.
She fell back a step, needing air and space and to think, and stumbled on her gown thanks to her shaky legs. Ryan quickly reached out and grasped her upper arm, steadying her with his warm, very large hand. Arrows of fire darted from his hand into her body and she barely managed to pull her arm from his hot touch.
Ryan moved closer and the scent of his aftershave washed over her. “Hey, are you all right?”
No, I’m not. She’d never been able to keep her distance from handsome men, and, unfortunately had a history of making bad choices regarding them.
History being the key word.
Fighting the thoroughly ridiculous urge to lean closer and inhale more of his wonderful smell into her nose, Anna looked for an escape. She h
ad no intention of exposing her real identity by posing for a fake wedding photo with a gorgeous man like Ryan. It was time to follow her instincts and do what she should have done when Colleen had suggested Anna fill in for the missing model an hour ago—run for her life, wedding dress and all. Thank goodness she hadn’t signed the required photo release waiver yet.
She pointedly ignored Ryan and looked at Colleen. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do this.” She put herself into motion and marched across the grass in the general direction of the temporary dressing area on the upper level of the Rose Garden Park.
“Hey!” Ryan shouted. “Where are you going?”
“Anna!” Colleen called. “Wait…”
Anna ignored their calls, not wanting to deal with either of them. She didn’t want anyone suspecting she wasn’t simply Anna Simpson, humble bridal designer, struggling to make it on her own—without the benefit of the Sinclair name.
Before she had walked ten feet, she was jerked backward. Regaining her footing, she spun around. Ryan had placed a foot on the very edge of her dress’s lacy train.
Pushy man. “Remove your foot, please,” she said, her lips barely moving. “Do you have any idea how many hours went into the creation of this dress?” She’d spent months on this design, and had put blood, sweat and tears into the deceptively simple lace, satin, and pearl design. The beaded neckline alone had taken a professional seamstress three days to complete.
He shoved his cell phone into his pants pocket. “Look,” he said, a shadow of contrition in his eyes. He bent and gently took the fragile Brussels lace of her train in his hand and pulled up the slack, effectively holding her in place while he pretended to brush it off. “I’m sorry for stepping on your dress. I just want to know why you’re leaving. I thought we were supposed to have some pictures taken together.”
He smiled again, showing teeth that looked as white as snow next to his lightly tanned face. “We’d make a great couple, don’t you think?”
Her stomach flip-flopped at his smile.
Oh, no, not again.
She took a deep breath and tried to calm her racing nerves. She had no desire to be part of a couple with him, not even a pretend couple. After Giorgio, the last in a short but illustrious line of cheating, lying, beyond-handsome men, she didn’t do “couple” anymore. She’d learned that what was on the inside of men was never as good as the outside looked. “Obviously I’ve changed my mind, Mr. Cavanaugh. Now would you please let go of my dress?”
“Oh, come on,” he said softly, his face pulled into an appropriately serious expression. “Can’t you just stay for one picture?”
Strangely, he seemed sincere, and his gentle tone caught her off guard. She slanted a glance up at him, reminding herself of how easy it would be for him to simply pretend to be sincere. “Look, I know I agreed to pose for these pictures, but I’ve changed my mind. I… uh, I didn’t realize you were going to be my groom.”
He swung his free arm wide with what looked like a forced smile on his lips. “What? I’m not good enough?”
You’re too good. She managed a tremulous smile. “That’s not it.”
“Then what’s the problem?” He leaned in close. “You did agree to this, didn’t you?”
She stepped back, out of his scent’s reach, and crossed her arms over her midriff, pressing the gown’s delicate beading into her skin. He had a point.
She didn’t want to leave Colleen without a bride any more than she wanted to sacrifice the media exposure and possible contract a photo of her dress in “The Bridal Chronicles” might bring.
But the extra media exposure that Ryan’s good looks might bring frightened her for several reasons. Though it was silly, she detested having her picture taken; she’d been a gawky, unattractive child and had had too many unflattering pictures of her land on the front page of numerous publications. Also, she wanted to succeed as modest dress designer Anna Simpson, not heiress Anna Sinclair. Concealing her real identity was central to her plan.
And to succeed, she had to land the Perfect Bridal exclusive and make a profit. Then she would meet the requirements of the deal she and her father had made almost a year ago, within the time frame he’d decreed, which expired in less than a week. Then, she’d be able to follow her dream instead of working for her father at Sinclair Banking.
Wishing she possessed no sense of duty or fair play, she asked Ryan, “Why do you want me to do this shoot so badly?” She tried not to admire the absolute perfection of his chiseled face, heart-stopping sky-blue eyes, and full, sensual lips. And those dimples…
He lifted one broad shoulder. “Simple. I’m involved with a local charity’s fund-raising campaign, and I’d like to raise awareness with as much publicity as I can.”
A charity. Sounded like a worthwhile cause, one she wished she could help him with. But she couldn’t. Hiding her face in one photo was feasible. More than one—she sincerely doubted it. There had to be another way. “Then why don’t you just find another woman to be your bride?”
He bent close to her ear. “Oh, the answer to that is obvious,” he whispered, his warm breath tickling her ear. “With a woman as beautiful as I’m certain you are, I bet we’d win Best Couple for sure. As a bonus, my charity is almost guaranteed lots of publicity.”
A ribbon of hot excitement unfurled inside of her, joining a hard lump of guilt for letting him down. But she ignored the unsettling sensation and focused on what was important—her business, the one thing she could call her own, the one way she could show her true worth to the world—and her father. She didn’t want to win Best Couple and be faced with more pictures.
Then again, she wasn’t a heartless witch, either. She didn’t want to be responsible for keeping his fund-raising efforts from garnering publicity. A giant arrow of guilt poked her.
She tried to move away from him, unable to think clearly with his big body looming over her, scrambling her senses and judgment like a banana in a blender.
Why did she always let attractive men keep her from thinking clearly? Had her sheltered childhood, spent at exclusive, all-girl boarding schools and under the close supervision of her autocratic, ultraconservative father warped her judgment? Had her lack of experience made her into a woman who perpetually made bad choices in the man department?
Maybe in the past. Not anymore.
Drawing a deep, cleansing breath, she wished she had the luxury of lapsing into a soothing session of meditation to calm her nerves. But she didn’t. She would have to deal with Ryan without the benefit of her daily mantra.
“So,” he said, letting out her train just enough to allow her to put some space between them. “How about being my bride?”
His “proposal” brought forth a familiar yearning. She had once dreamed of happily ever after with the man of her dreams. But now she had to be wary of men. She’d played the he-really-loves-me fool before and had fallen for attractive, charming men like him and had paid the price in heartache and tears. She didn’t intend to make the same mistake one more time.
She’d finally acquired some sense.
She looked at Ryan again, liking the slightly humble expression on his face, even though she doubted it was real; charismatic men like Ryan usually got what they wanted without the need for humility. Even so, when Ryan threw her a small, hopeful smile, the foolish, appreciative, female side almost made her relent. And to her everlasting surprise, she found herself on the verge of giving him whatever he wanted.
On the verge, but not over the edge. Despite how guilty he was making her feel, probably deliberately, she just couldn’t go through with this photo shoot. She had belatedly realized that being in the public eye wasn’t someplace she could risk being. She might as well announce her true identity on the evening news, thereby sacrificing her “anonymous” identity.
Even though she still felt incredibly guilty that she couldn’t help his charity, she said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Cavanaugh, but I’ve made up my mind. I have no intention of signing the photo-r
elease waiver and allowing this photo to go to print.” She looked pointedly down at the part of her dress he had in his arms, then clasped her hands together at her waist and gave him an imperious look. “Now please put my dress down. This photo shoot is over.”
She’d have to find a way to live with her guilt and with disappointing him and Colleen, just as she would have to sacrifice the exposure “The Bridal Chronicles” would have given her design business. Not exactly what she’d planned.
But not appearing in the paper did have its upside. At least she wouldn’t have to risk having her identity publicly unveiled, so to speak, and she certainly wouldn’t have to live through some awful, unflattering picture gracing the cover of the newspaper.
Not much of an upside. The guilt alone would probably choke her. But it was the best she could do given the circumstances.
Fighting frustration, Ryan gripped Anna’s dress, vaguely wondering what she looked like under that veil and why she was wearing the darn thing at all. Standing there, her hands clasped in front of her, the form-fitting, lacy dress she wore showing off her jaw-dropping curves, it was obvious she had a body for sin but was holding it like a schoolmarm.
Trying to ignore that sinful body, he focused instead on the question on his mind. Why was she so damned determined to run away from the shoot? Wouldn’t it be good for her business?
Whatever the reason, there was no way he was going to let her walk out on their stint as pretend bride and groom. Keeping other kids from going through what he went through as a child, with nobody who gave a damn about them, was a long-standing goal. He wanted the publicity for the Mentor A Child Foundation and he wanted the media exposure to improve his tarnished reputation. He wasn’t about to give up yet. He had to convince her to sign the release.
Time to appeal to her sensitive side.
“Can’t you help me out here?” he asked. “It’s just one photo, and you obviously intended to be part of this whole thing. It’s no big deal, right?”