Just who was the real Lulu Flannery? he wondered, not for the first time. Was she the one in the flesh, all buttoned up and battened down? Or was she the one underneath, off-center and on fire? His money was on the latter—hell, the woman wielded a blowtorch for a living; the heat had to come from somewhere—but for the life of him, he had no idea how to draw her out. Hiring her to be his buffer brought her closer—at least physically—but how could he coax her inner Delilah to the surface?
He set the photo back on the nightstand, but his gaze remained on Lulu as he wrapped a gold watch around his wrist and fastened it. He tried to picture her in the white string bikini. Didn’t happen. He tried to imagine her in the pale lace lavender. Couldn’t do it. He tried to visualize her in the gypsy apparel of the closet. Never came close.
The problem, he realized when he knocked at Bree’s front door a half hour later, was that he just hadn’t pictured Lulu in the right thing. When she opened the door and offered him a less-than-breezy, “Hey,” he realized he should have instead wrapped her in some shimmery, jewel-toned fabric that hugged her body like a lover’s embrace. Although Cole had noticed before that Lulu had some decent curves, what her dress did to them now made them positively indecent, which any man would tell you was really the way to go.
The garment had slipped off her shoulders—though he was pretty sure it was supposed to do that—showing off the elegant lines of her collarbones and riding just low enough to reveal the top swells of her breasts. When he skimmed his gaze lower, he saw that the hemline stopped well above her knees, offering him a view of extremely nice legs. He’d never really thought of himself as a leg man—he was infinitely more interested in what a woman carried on top—but Lulu Flannery’s legs certainly gave a man pause. He dropped his gaze lower still to see that she’d slipped her feet into gold high-heeled shoes that were more high heel than they were shoe, and then, then, his heart nearly stopped.
There, on Lulu’s toes, was glittery nail polish the color of a summer sunset. It was replicated on her short fingernails, he noted as he drew his gaze upward once more, and again on her mouth. And suddenly, all Cole could think about was what he’d have to do to get some of that glitter on his mouth, too. And then on other body parts that probably shouldn’t be wearing glitter, either, if they were male, but if the glitter got on there the way he was thinking it would get on there, no man in his right mind would refuse.
“Wow,” he said before he could stop himself. “You look…wow.”
She’d rendered him speechless, Cole thought. It took a lot to do that. But then, she looked…wow. So that explained it.
“Wow yourself,” she said with a smile. But it was a shaky smile. A none-too-confident smile. A smile that said she was in no way comfortable with the way she was dressed. Cole wasn’t comfortable with it, either. But he was pretty sure his discomfort was way different from hers.
But that was okay. He had all evening to get them on the same page. And then, if he was lucky, he’d have all night to keep them there.
He’d worried a little since hiring Lulu to do what he’d hired her to do, about the wisdom of having done it. Not just because any other man would have killed to have Cole’s problem—too many beautiful women coming on to him—but because the press might get wind of the arrangement somehow. He’d hoped like hell he didn’t wake up the morning after the Derby to find his face splashed on the cover of People and Us Weekly with a headline that screamed, “King Cole Didn’t Call for His Pipe or Bowl! He Called for a Girl! And Bought One!”
He wasn’t worried anymore. There was no way anyone would look at Lulu and think anything other than that she was a dazzling woman he’d met while in town and fallen for. Because that was exactly what Lulu was.
“Hello,” he finally managed to greet her.
Then, impulsively, he leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. When he pulled back, he could tell she was surprised by the gesture. But she couldn’t have been more surprised than he was. He didn’t think he’d kissed a woman on the cheek since he was ten years old. And then, it had been his great-aunt Rhea, not a woman like Lulu who should inspire way more than a kiss on the cheek.
“You look beautiful,” he told her.
The look she gave him in response told him she didn’t believe him, but she smiled a little more and said, “Thanks.”
A moment followed where neither of them seemed to know what to say, then Lulu mumbled something about getting her purse. She blew an air kiss to Bree, who, Cole noted, was giving him a funny kind of assessing look, and told her friend she wouldn’t be out late. Hah. Then she made her way back to Cole with surprising grace for a woman he was reasonably certain usually sported shoes with heels no higher than a compact disc.
“I’ll get the door,” Bree said as she followed Lulu. Before she closed it behind them, though, she had a word of advice for Cole. Literally a word. As in one. “Behave,” she told him. Then she gave him a curiously intent look and pushed the door shut.
Behave, he echoed to himself. Hell, that could mean anything. Behave well. Behave badly. Behave like a brother. Behave like a lover. Just what was Bree trying to tell him, anyway?
When they reached the foot of the steps, he glanced back over his shoulder, as if Bree might be standing up there giving him a clue. But the door was still closed. The landing was empty. The building was silent. No answer was forthcoming. So he would have to interpret the admonition himself and behave like a…
Something. Well, he’d figure it out. Eventually.
It finally came to him as he and Lulu were crossing the lobby of the Brown Hotel and, without even thinking about it, Cole took her hand in his and tucked it into the crook of his arm. Gentleman, that was the word he’d been looking for. Okay, actually, it wasn’t, because his feelings for Lulu tonight were anything but gentlemanly. But that was the word that came to him as they neared the reception. That was what Bree had been telling him to behave like. Probably because she’d known what he was thinking about. The way Cole had looked at Lulu was doubtless a look Bree had fielded herself on more than one occasion. Of course, it was a look Bree courted and counted on, one she knew exactly how to react to. It was a look to which Lulu would be oblivious and one she would have no idea how to handle.
That was hammered home harder when she stiffened beside him as he tried to curve her hand over his arm, her fingers flattening out like they were all fused together.
He leaned in close to her ear and whispered, “I don’t bite, Lulu. You’re safe with me.”
She said nothing for a moment, but relaxed her hand until her fingers almost curled over his arm. Then, very softly, she asked, “Am I?”
The reply puzzled him. Mostly because she seemed to be talking more to herself than to him. At least, she wasn’t looking at him when she replied. She was looking past him, at three couples around Cole’s age, all about as dressed up for a function as people could be. The men were attired in dark suits, dress shirts, and ties, but the women absolutely dazzled. Slender and tanned, coiffed and manicured, they all wore beaded, sequined gowns and were dripping in gems that caught the light overhead and threw it back in a spectacular display of light and color. Somehow, Cole knew it was the female members of the party Lulu was watching, in spite of her being every bit as spectacular as they were—hell, even more so.
He understood, though. He knew what it felt like to be on the outside looking in, even when you looked like you fit in. It hadn’t been that long ago that he was standing where Lulu was, thinking exactly what he knew she was thinking just then. That she wasn’t like them. That she didn’t belong here. That she was the common clay people trod upon every day, and they were a higher breed, wrought from fine marble by an artisan’s hand.
In some ways, she was right. The rich were different from the poor and middle class. But life and fate had a way of equalizing things, and it was true that money couldn’t buy happiness. Not for everyone. Lulu had gifts the other women would envy, and she mattered in ways the
y didn’t. Yeah, even if money couldn’t buy happiness, it could buy comfort and security. But money wasn’t the only thing that provided those things. And the comfort and security that wasn’t paid for was way more scarce, way more important, way more valuable.
He started to tell Lulu all that, started to say something about how he understood what she was feeling and that she shouldn’t worry about the evening ahead. He started to tell her that she was every bit as entitled to be here as they were, that she was no different from them. But he stopped himself. Not just because it would have sounded patronizing to say such things, but because he knew they weren’t true. Lulu wasn’t like them. When it came to the big karmic escalator, she was actually several steps higher than they were. He knew that because standing here next to her made him feel exhilarated, exultant, extraordinary. If he were standing next to the partygoers over there, all he’d feel was bored.
So he only covered her hand with his and told her, “Yes, Lulu. You are. Safe with me, I mean.”
She tugged her gaze away from the trio of couples and looked at Cole again. Although he could tell she still felt uncomfortable, she smiled. It wasn’t a big smile, but it wasn’t bad. It was something they could work on tonight.
“Come on,” he told her, tilting his head toward the ballroom’s entrance. “We don’t want to miss the party.”
LULU SIPPED HER CHAMPAGNE CAREFULLY AND TRIED not to feel nervous, doing her best to focus on the conversation going on around her. She’d never attended an event like this, and she told herself she should absorb as much of the experience as she could while she could, because God knew when—if—she’d ever have an opportunity like this again. There were hundreds of people here, all crushed together in the Crystal Ballroom like sardines. Extremely well-dressed sardines, but sardines nonetheless. She and Cole had been at the party for more than an hour, and she was no more relaxed now than she’d been when he took her arm and walked her in.
And what had that been about, anyway? she wondered. That and the kiss on the cheek at Bree’s. She knew she was supposed to look like a romantic interest of his, but there hadn’t been anyone watching them at Bree’s. And here at the hotel, where there were spectators to see whether or not she was a real romantic interest of his, she would have thought he would do a lot more than take her hand. Like walk up to her, bend her back over his arm, and lay a Hollywood kiss on her that lasted a solid minute.
Not that she’d wanted him to do something like that. Of course not. But the kiss on the cheek and the hand in the crook of the elbow seemed so out of character for a man like him. It seemed so…sweet. So gentlemanly. Probably, he’d only done it because she must have looked as nervous as she felt, and he’d thought it would put her at ease. But instead of calming her nerves, the innocent gestures had ratcheted them up even higher. And then, when they’d entered the room and she’d seen all these people…
Inevitably, her gaze was drawn to the ocean of partygoers again. The seemingly limitless sea of people. The Crystal Ballroom hadn’t been named that for nothing, and a dozen massive chandeliers cast sumptuous light down upon the crowd. Buffet tables draped in white linen and bedecked with silver serving pieces only made the scene that much more shimmery—and that much more intimidating. As Lulu looked at the crowd, it seemed to swell in size. The conversation seemed to move faster and the laughter seemed to be louder, and suddenly, it felt like everyone was looking at—and talking at and laughing at—her.
Oh, God. It was even worse than being on the news. She’d only had to talk to one person then, and there had been only one bright light—the one on the mobile camera. Even at that, she’d completely choked. Then she’d panicked. Then she’d become Pufferfish Girl.
How on earth could she have thought she could pull this off? Cole Early lived in the limelight. But when Lulu was pushed into the limelight, she spontaneously combusted.
“And this is my, ah…” She heard Cole’s verbal stumble from her right and turned to try and smile at whoever he was introducing her to. She was grateful for the distraction and used it to remind herself that she needed to pay closer attention to what was going on in her immediate vicinity and not get so overwhelmed by the crowd. The large crowd. The immense crowd. The crowd that seemed to go on forever. The crowd that, at times, she felt closing in on her like a massive, writhing tentacle attached to an enormous, bloodsucking, brain-eating, liver-loving—
“I’m Lulu,” she said to the silver-haired man on Cole’s other side, pushing thoughts of neurosis-induced killer octopi to the very back of her brain. When the man, his apparent wife, and Cole all looked back at her with expressions of concern, she realized her voice had succumbed to the jumble of nerves tumbling through her stomach by replicating the sound of a cat hacking up a hairball. Delicately, she cleared her throat, closed her eyes so she wouldn’t see the crowd, and tried again. “I’m Lulu,” she repeated with a bit more control this time. “Lulu Flannery.” She opened her eyes and held up her champagne glass, then touched her free hand to her throat in the hope that the other couple would form some nebulous idea that the champagne had gone down wrong or didn’t agree with her. “Nice to meet you,” she added, even though she hadn’t heard a word of Cole’s introduction so, technically, she had never met these people in her life.
When she looked at Cole, he seemed to be silently asking for her help in identifying exactly what she was to him, since she hadn’t exactly finished his unfinished statement for him. So she added carefully, “I’m Cole’s…ah…best friend here in Louisville.”
She could tell by his expression that that hadn’t been the relationship he was looking for, but it seemed to satisfy the other couple just fine.
“So you’re from around here?” the woman asked.
“Born and bred,” Lulu told her.
“It’s so unusual to meet natives at these gatherings,” her husband remarked. “Except for the Festival officials and some local politicians, I don’t think I’ve met anyone tonight who was actually born in Louisville.”
“Where are you all from?” Lulu asked.
“New York.”
“Ah.”
“It’s our first time in town,” the woman added. “Our first Derby.”
Lulu nodded. She couldn’t imagine anyone being around Derby for the first time. It was a part of her heritage, a fact of her life. Every spring, her hometown went a little wacky for Thoroughbred racing. People who didn’t give a thought to horses the rest of the year suddenly bought racing forms, chose favorites, and could quote statistics and identify trainers and owners. The whole city changed in the two weeks leading up to Derby. It was more festive, more playful, more energetic. Boutiques filled with flirty, track-appropriate dresses and department stores filled with exuberant hats. White stretch limousines suddenly appeared on winding, tree-lined country roads where there would normally be tractors or pickup trucks. Lamborghinis and Ferraris belonging to wealthy out-of-towners suddenly appeared on the highways with all the mom-driven minivans and teenagers in Toyotas. Standiford Airport became a parking lot for private jets. Restaurants and bars were more crowded, downtown streets swelled with people, the nightly news carried images of parties and celebrities instead of fires and crime, and the newspaper was filled with stories about pulled-up-by-their-bootstraps, rags-to-riches, larger-than-life personalities.
Every April, Lulu saw her hometown come to life for two weeks in a way it didn’t the rest of the year, almost as if it were throwing open its doors for a big, brassy party and wanted to be at its best. Which, she supposed, was exactly what was going on. As much as she loved being able to say she was a native Louisvillian, she liked it even better this time of year. It was like being part of something special that no one outside the community could call their own. The Derby belonged to everyone, for sure, but people who’d grown up here could embrace it in a way that was theirs alone.
But since Lulu couldn’t think of any way to tell that to the couple with Cole, she only said, “I hope you have a
good time while you’re here.”
Cole chatted with them for a few minutes more in a way that let her know he’d met them somewhere before tonight, and she wondered if there would be anyone here tonight that she knew. Doubtful, she thought as she scanned the room. Louisvillians might be able to embrace Derby in a way that was theirs alone, but affairs like this one were more for Derby insiders—or people who could buy their way into the Derby insider crowd. When all was said and done, much of what went on for Derby was a rich man’s—and rich woman’s—game. Commoners like Lulu rarely saw this side of the event. If she did see someone she knew at the Brown tonight, chances were good that person would be working the event, not attending as a guest.
“Looking for someone?” Cole asked when he saw her gaze traveling around the room.
She shook her head. “Just thinking that you probably know more people here than I do, and I live here.”
He smiled. “Thoroughbred racing is an international sport. And the Kentucky Derby is the most famous Thoroughbred race. Naturally it’s going to bring people in from everywhere.”
“I know.” She smiled. “But even though it’s international, Kentucky horses are the best.”
He opened his mouth to argue, obviously realized it was pointless, so only said, “There’s a lot to be said for California horses, you know. Some people are rather partial to them.” He smiled, too. “And one’s going to win the Derby this year, so you better get used to that right now.”
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