The elevator stopped at the fourteenth floor. Just in time, thought Devin. He needed a shower. A cold one.
The bellhop led them down the narrow hallway. “Okay. Miss, you’re right here.” He opened Paris’s door, then dropped her suitcase inside the threshold. “Enjoy your stay.”
Paris rolled her eyes to the ceiling, nodded curtly at Devin, then slammed the door. The bellhop scurried back to the luggage cart. “And Mr. Alexander, you’re in the next room here.”
“It connects to the lady’s room, right?”
“Oh, yes, sir, Mr. Alexander, sir.” The boy winked as he left, and Devin was glad Paris wasn’t around to notice.
The room was simple, but comfortable. Devin eyed the double bed right away, along with the closed door to Paris’s room. He crossed to it and rapped lightly. “Paris?”
“Not now.”
Devin resisted the urge to use the key the bellhop had given him. She’d been fine when they’d left the airport, but now she was as cold as ice. Surely she wasn’t ticked off because one of the hotel staff lacked basic manners.
He knocked again.
“I’m napping.”
“You’re not napping if you’re talking.”
Muffled shuffling noises, then the click of the dead bolt being turned. The door opened a crack. “What?”
Well, that was an interesting question. Devin didn’t actually have a reason for seeing her. Not right now, anyway. He had his duffel to unpack. The shower was beckoning. And she wasn’t exactly brimming over with hospitality.
But if he let her shut that door, he might not see her for hours. And that just wasn’t acceptable.
“Devin,” she prodded. “What’s up? Other than me?”
“Practice.” It was the best he could come up with. Besides, it was true.
“Practice?”
“Right,” he pushed the door open and walked in past her. It was unlikely she was going to rip off her clothes and jump into his arms, but neither did she look as though she was about to kick him out. A minor victory, but a victory nonetheless. “Television. This evening. Interview. Any of this ringing a bell?”
“Oh.” She moved to the bed and stretched out, her back against the headboard, her chin resting in her hand. One finger tapped at her lip. “Afraid you can’t handle the spotlight?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Of course not.”
She raised one eyebrow. “So confident?”
Was she challenging him? Why? Had she lost faith in his ability to play the part? She should know better. He could be Alexander. He would be anything she wanted him to be, as long as in the end she only wanted him to be Devin.
Alexander was suave, in control. And arrogant. Devin could do that. He crossed to the window, standing straighter than he usually stood, shoulders back and rigid. He searched for the faint British lilt to color his voice.
He turned to face her. “’Confidence is the last refuge of the fool,’” he said, bending forward into a regal bow, his head up and his eyes fixed on Paris. “’And I assure you, madam, that I am a fool for you.’”
“’So confident that you will defeat me at my own game?’” Paris said.
She was playing along, and the fact that he’d managed to lure a grin from her lifted his heart. Too bad it took his Alexander persona to accomplish that little feat.
In two long strides he reached her. He took her hand in his, then traced the tips of his fingers lightly over her palm, teasing, tickling. She closed her eyes, and he saw the struggle reflected on her face. He longed to kiss those little creases between her brows, to kiss the edges of her mouth, to coax away her frown.
He lowered himself onto the bed. When she opened her eyes, he put his arms out, urging her toward him. Her smile as she slid into his arms was shy, sweet, almost grateful. He could sit that way all day, her back pressed against his chest, his fingers linked with hers, their arms intertwined and wrapped around her chest. She belonged there, next to him. He’d known it the moment he had first seen her. Now he just needed to figure out how to make her realize it, too.
“Paris,” he murmured, letting his lips dance over her shoulders, silently urging her to confide in him, to tell him her troubles and let him help.
She trembled, and pulled his arms tighter around her as she snuggled closer. He kissed the top of her head, breathing in the raspberry scent of her blond curls, then whispered, “’I assure you everything will be all right. Sometimes the most catastrophic defeat renders the sweetest of victories.’”
Her body stiffened against him, and she sat up, still in his arms, but no longer pressed against his back.
She had moved less than three inches, but now the Grand Canyon stretched between them. Devin didn’t know what had caused it, and didn’t have a clue how to bridge it.
“Paris?”
“You’re fine. You don’t need practice. Montgomery Alexander hardly needs to be coached on how to behave during an interview on the local news.”
Lightbulbs flashed, thunder crashed, trumpets blared, the soundtrack surged. All the usual indicators. Realization finally hit. She was jealous. Stupid of him not to have realized before. She was jealous, and he was a fool.
Paris didn’t want Devin. Not yet, anyway. Alexander was the one who had comforted her, who had touched her skin, kissed her hair. Paris sought refuge in Alexander’s arms, not Devin’s.
But even as she longed for Devin to transform into Alexander, warm and willing and so much more alive than her fantasies, she resented him. No, she resented the limelight that went along with his role. The very role she asked him to play.
His muscles tensed and his jaw tightened. The situation ate at his gut.
He got up from the bed and stalked to the window. Happily ever after loomed before him, big as life, on the other side of this book tour, and damned if he knew how to get there. In her mind, Devin was still just a slick street-con. She’d fight like hell before she’d give in to just Devin. But he couldn’t sneak into her heart by starting out as Alexander, either. Not if she was going to be jealous and removed.
The scope of the problem frustrated him. He’d worked hard his entire life. Nothing had slipped from his grasp if he’d worked hard enough at it. Escaping his dad’s life-style, taking night classes, opening his pub.
But he’d never wanted a woman like this before. And certainly not a woman like Paris. A diamond. Now that he did, knowing he might not be able to have her irritated the hell out of him.
With one hand, he pushed the curtain aside and looked down fourteen floors to Santa Monica Boulevard. He could see the ocean in the distance, the sun glinting off the dancing waves.
Devin wasn’t a quitter. He’d beaten the odds before. And something told him that, deep down, Paris wasn’t at odds with him. She was attainable. She just didn’t know it yet.
Deep in his soul he knew that Paris was the woman for him, and that he was the man for her. Somehow, someway, he’d make sure she realized that as well.
In the meantime, he had no choice but to play the role he was hired to play—Montgomery Alexander. He’d just have to remind her that she was the one who’d hired him to play it.
PARIS WATCHED as Devin pushed the heavy drapes aside. The California sun spilled into the room, bouncing off his hair and dancing on the gold-flecked wallpaper. Usually a cheery room and sunshine lifted her spirits. Not this time. She knew she was being difficult, but couldn’t help it. She wasn’t sure if it was nerves or lack of sleep, the obnoxious bellboy or the gorgeous man in her room, but something in her was going ballistic.
Eternity passed before he spoke again. “You’re right, Sommers, as usual. I don’t need to rehearse. I could give an interview in my sleep.” He turned away from the window and looked at his watch, his casualness irritating. “The studio’s sending a car for us at five. I think I’ll go hit a few bookstores. Sign autographs.”
“Autographs?” Paris couldn’t believe he had the gall to suggest that he should just go downstairs and star
t signing autographs. “Wait just a second.”
She kneeled at the end of the bed, putting her just about eye to eye with him. “I’m Alexander,” she said. “Maybe I should just go downstairs and announce it to everybody.”
“Maybe you should.” He opened his mouth as if to say something else, then closed it. For a second, she thought Devin was going to fight back. She almost hoped he would. Her insides felt all knotted up, and she wondered if some heavy-duty verbal sparring, followed by a crying jag, wouldn’t make her feel better. But then Devin’s face softened, and Paris knew she’d have to get through the afternoon without a tantrum. Pity.
“You’re not really mad at me, you know.” He paused, probably giving her a chance to agree or argue. He was right, but she didn’t say anything. “You’re really mad at yourself.”
“Myself—”
He didn’t let her finish. “I think you should go ahead and do the interview. Why not? Go ahead and reveal all.”
Paris took a breath to calm down. How did she manage to get so worked up about one bellboy? Montgomery Alexander had lots of fans. She’d known that for years, and it had never bothered her before. At least not very much. But none of those fans had closed an elevator door in her face.
She closed her eyes. No wonder she was cranky, what with lack of sleep and close quarters with an off-limits man who made no secret of the fact he wanted her. Who wouldn’t be stressed?
She took another deep breath, then let it out slowly. “I’m not mad. Really.” She caught his eye. “Besides, it’s just for three more books and then it’s bye-bye Alexander, hello my life.”
He spun the desk chair around and straddled it, one leg on either side, his arms crossed over the top of the back. Forget cool, suave and sophisticated Alexander. He was one hundred percent Devin, masculine and casual and hot. She couldn’t stop staring at him.
“Get rid of Montgomery Alexander and get your life? Seems to me like you’ve got a pretty good life right now.” He tilted his head, as if recalling all the things she had going for her. “Steady income, a body of work you should be proud of and you’re writing the stuff you enjoy.”
Paris opened her mouth to respond, then closed it. The man was impossible. He had no clue what he was talking about. Really. Her life would be on track when she could do what she’d always planned on doing. The fact that she enjoyed writing the Montgomery Alexander books had nothing to do with anything.
“Well,” she finally retorted, “at least bellboys won’t snub me, and I won’t have to travel the globe with racetrack happy, casino-loving con artists.” He flinched a little at that, and Paris almost apologized, but he’d started it, and technically, what she said was true. Besides, she was on a roll.
“Also, I can have a nice house and a study. Do book tours where I’m the one doing the signing and giving the interviews. I can visit my family without lying about my job, and, and…”
Paris stopped, sure that there was more, but not sure what it was. Right here, right now, none of her spiel sounded all that appealing. Certainly not as appealing as the prospect of the upcoming weeks with Devin. With his wacky sense of humor and laid-back manner, he was turning out to be a lot of fun.
Not to mention the added benefit of the way her heart skipped every time he looked at her. A perk, true, but still torture since his gaze was the only thing she intended to let caress her.
“Well, it sounds like you’ve got the whole thing worked out. I suppose you’re right. I mean, what more could you want?”
There was nothing argumentative about his words, but Paris couldn’t shake the feeling that he thought she wanted a lot more. Maybe he was right. Paris was beginning to think she didn’t know what she wanted anymore.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” she conceded. “Really. I was out of line. I hired you, and you’re doing a fabulous job.” She skimmed over every luscious inch of him and couldn’t help but smile. “Truly fabulous.” She cleared her throat. “So, are you going down to the bar?”
He flashed his killer grin. “Actually, I don’t get to stay in hotels very often. I was thinking about doing something a little wild and crazy.” In one motion, he pushed himself off the chair and held his hand out to her. “Care to join me?”
THE END CREDITS ROLLED, and Paris sniffed and wiped a couple of tears away. They were sitting next to each other on the bed, their backs against the headboard, the remains of cheesecake and apple pie littering the foot of the bed.
Devin passed her a tissue, an amused smile tugging at his mouth. “It was an action flick, not Terms of Endearment. Why are you crying?”
She shrugged. “I always cry. I cry at long-distance commercials. And those soup commercials,” she clutched her chest, “those get me every time.” She sniffled again.
“The perfect consumer.” He passed her the entire box, then slid closer.
She leaned against him. “Thanks for a perfect afternoon.” They’d done nothing except hang out in the room, but lazing around with Devin ranked as one of the best times she’d ever had.
“You’re welcome.” He urged her closer until her breasts pressed against his chest, and she realized her nipples were hard. Her body warmed as Devin’s hands drifted along her back, and she noticed with mild surprise that her hands were exploring his shoulders, his neck, his back.
Her head screamed that she shouldn’t be doing this, but she didn’t care. All she wanted was Devin, the touch of his skin against hers, his breath mingling with hers.
“Paris?”
One glance up was all it took for the flames to ignite. She knew what he was thinking. What he wanted. She could hardly believe that he could need her as much as she needed him. But the desire was there in his eyes, and she pressed her body closer, longing to be a part of him.
She moved her lips up to meet his, then tasted the fire of his mouth. His lips parted and his tongue explored the soft corners of her mouth before demanding entrance.
A slight tug, and her shirt came untucked from her jeans. His hands stroked her back and up the sides of her body until his fingers were sliding under the thin material of her bra and cupping her breasts. She moaned, and his tongue thrust deeper, warm and wild and tantalizing. She greedily returned the kiss, her fingers running through his coarse, thick hair as she pulled his head down to force his kiss deeper and deeper.
She wanted more. So much more. She wanted all the things she knew she couldn’t have with him.
Knowing she’d hate herself for it, she broke away. The hollow feeling in her stomach expanded the farther away she moved. But she needed to get away, needed to clear her head. She slid off the bed, moving to stand near the window.
“Guess we broke some ground rules, huh?”
Disappointment laced his voice, and she silently thanked him for not urging her to change her mind. “Guess so. Your hugs are lethal.”
“Registered weapons.”
But what a way to die. He was still sprawled on the bed, and she fidgeted. This was one of those moments Emily Post didn’t cover.
“Well,” he said, standing, “I guess I’ll…” He cocked his head toward the connecting door.
“Right. It’s almost five, anyway. We should get changed.”
Pushing the connecting room door open, he said, “I’ll be in here if you need me. Holler when the car comes for us.”
As soon as the door shut behind him, Paris flopped backward onto the bed and pulled her pillow over her face. Then she let out a howl of frustration that could shake the heavens. With just a little concentration, Paris was sure that she could hear Rachel laughing on the other side of the continent.
Admit it. The only thing that’s going to make you feel better is a roll in the hay with Devin.
Maybe so. But that still didn’t mean she had to act on it. He was a guy she had no business even thinking about. A guy who’d almost blackmailed her. Who wandered around the streets of New York scamming innocent grandmothers. And children. And puppies.
She rolled
onto her stomach, clutching the pillow under her. Except, she admitted, he didn’t really seem the type. He owned a pub, after all, and from what she could tell, he spent a lot of time working there. So when did he find time to pull cons on blind Girl Scout leaders?
And he did walk away from what he’d planned for you.
She glanced at the closed connecting room door. As far as she could tell, he hadn’t bothered to bolt it. Maybe…
Don’t even think about it. Frustrated and hollow, she got up and paced. A week ago, she’d been perfectly content with the way her life was panning out. She had her fantasy in one corner, complete with the man of her dreams. In the other corner, she’d kept reality. A suitable man, a solid career, respect.
But now Alexander had walked into her life. Or at least the closest thing to Alexander in a living, breathing human. And everything had changed.
She flopped back down on the bed and hugged the pillow tight against her body. He was in her blood. Coursing through her veins. He was everywhere. In her thoughts, her skin, her pores, her essence.
Like water on a rock, he kept eroding her defenses.
Rachel would tell Paris to quit torturing herself and sleep with the man. To go ahead and squeeze that Charmin.
Use him the way he’d almost used her.
Or realize he has a permanent place in your heart. The little thought wormed its way into her head, and Paris pushed it away. That was one possibility she couldn’t fathom. Not now.
But sleeping with him? Taking the proverbial bull by the horns? Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea. Her brilliant, professional-only plan had done nothing but leave her frustrated.
For three whole weeks she was going to be in close quarters with a man who’d come straight from central casting to play Alexander. He walked, talked and acted like her fantasy man, and she’d actually laid down no-touching ground rules. Was she nuts?
Most women would give up chocolate for the chance to spend three weeks traveling with the man of their dreams. Not her. Like an idiot, she’d made up rules. Rachel was right. She was acting like a martyr.
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