“Not when you’re on a shoestring budget.” She tips her glass at me before taking another seductive sip, and my good intentions sink to gutter level.
What the hell were we talking about? “Are you okay financially? If you need any help with the fees, let me know. It’s—”
Alice chokes and presses the back of her fingers against her mouth while she stares at me as though I’ve just grown two heads. “Harry.” It comes out like a strangled squawk as a delicate blush stains her cheeks. “I don’t need any help. Everything’s fine.” She hitches in a sharp breath. “Thanks, anyway.”
It’s hard to drag my attention back to our conversation when all I want to do is kiss her. Stop thinking about kissing her. “The offer’s there if you ever need it. Call it a loan, if you want. Thing is, Caleb and I would’ve drowned months ago if you hadn’t been there to keep our feet on the ground and heads above water.” I grin at my appalling choice of clichés, and after a couple of seconds she lets out a long breath and her shoulders relax.
“It’s been fun, though. I wouldn’t have missed this year with you and Caleb for anything.”
“I’ll drink to that.” I clink her glass again and finish off my drink. The urge is strong to have another, but while I can down beer all night without it affecting my coordination, the champagne is an unknown quantity. The last thing I need is to turn up to this ceremony half cut, when my every move might be scrutinized by the gutter press.
As much as his fans idolize him, Lucas often gets ripped to shreds by the paparazzi, and I’m sure they’d love the additional fresh meat of dissecting his brother, should I do something fucked up due to alcohol.
No way am I going to screw up this evening. Alice will never come out with me again.
Chapter Seven
Alice
I sneak a sideways glance at Harry as I take another sip of champagne. He’s hot in jeans, but in his tux he’s freaking combustible. Although I still want to deck Hannah for calling him my prince in front of him, I can’t blame her. He looks like he’s just strolled off a movie set for a blockbuster fantasy fairy-tale retelling.
My silent sigh flutters through my chest and ends up in the region of my stomach, where it mutates into warm waves of unrequited desire. I take another large sip of champagne to cool me down, but the bubbles have other ideas.
It’s so like him to offer to help pay my university fees without giving it a second thought. He and Caleb are generous to a fault when it comes to the people who work for them, but not in an irresponsible way. They’re both great with numbers and have a brilliant accountant, but I can’t see how even she could wrangle it so that my degree was somehow indispensable to Blitz and therefore the fees counted as a tax deductible.
“More?” Harry lifts the bottle, and I’m so tempted to say yes. I’ve had sparkling wine in the past, but Hannah’s and my budgets have never stretched to the real thing before.
The problem is, even though I’ve only consumed half a glass, I can already feel the effects. And while the buzz is kind of awesome, I don’t want to make an idiot of myself in front of Harry. Which will definitely happen if I drink any more on an empty stomach.
“I’m good.” I take another sip to underline my point. Slow down, Alice. Otherwise, he’ll have to carry me out of the car when we arrive. Although the vision of Harry carrying me anywhere is the stuff of dreams, when there’s a red carpet and cameras involved it’d be nothing short of a nightmare.
He puts the bottle back in the ice bucket, and I manage to drag my besotted gaze from him before he notices. “This limo is pretty cool.”
“State of the art sound system, as well. Do you want to try it out? There’s a laser light display, too.”
The only music I want right now is something sappy and romantic but no way am I going to suggest it. Just because we’re drinking champagne in the back of a stretch limo and I’m dressed like a princess doesn’t mean Harry sees me any differently than he did twenty-four hours ago.
Well, apart from the fact I’m taller and my hair’s different. I suppose he gets brownie points for that, but it’s hardly the reaction I was not-so-secretly hoping for. Not when Sherri spent ages gluing eyelash extensions on me and doing miraculous things with makeup. By the time she finished I looked almost pretty, but obviously that’s all wishful thinking, despite everything Hannah and Sherri said.
Since snogging my oblivious boss is clearly out of the question, we might as well listen to some music.
“I don’t mind.”
He flips a switch, and a console slides out from beneath the armrest. “Lucas said playlists are already programmed in.” His brow furrows as though he doesn’t much trust his brother’s taste, and a second later heavy rock fills the car, along with a psychedelic laser display. In a club it’d be great, but in the confines of a car it’s way too much.
“Fuck,” Harry mutters, not that I can hear him, but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to read his lips.
I smother a giggle, and when he frowns at me I shake my head and mouth, “No way.”
He mimes an exaggerated sigh of relief before changing the playlist. A sultry ballad pours from the speakers, and the lights dim to a romantic glow. It’s sexy and evocative and Harry looks as though he wants to leap from the nearest window to safety.
Do I look as though I’m about to jump his bones? I smooth down my dress so I don’t have to look at him and witness his genuine relief when he realizes I’m about to do no such thing.
The music grinds to a halt. “Sorry about that.” He sounds horrified and I treat my lap to a tight little smile. “I should’ve checked it out before leaving home.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I spread my fingers over my thigh and pretend to admire my glittery nails.
“Who’s your favorite artist?”
I glance up, and he’s got his phone out. “What’re you doing?”
“I’ll download your faves and feed them through the speakers.”
My silly hurt feelings turn warm and gooey. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Don’t make me beg.” His dimples flash, and there’s no way I can resist.
“Well,” I hesitate. Although I enjoy listening to music and have fave tracks, I’ve never followed pop or rock groups the way Hannah has. Maybe I should just mention a couple of hers? Except I don’t want to. “To be honest, I don’t really have any.”
“Really? Okay.”
That was unexpected. I thought he’d at least ask why. Everyone else does. “I was always more into books. And I find it hard to concentrate on my work with background music.”
“Same. When Lucas and I lived at home, he’d turn everything up full blast. He’d never wear earphones, the bastard. It was the major reason I moved all my crap into Caleb’s parents’ basement, so we could hear ourselves think.”
“I wondered why you worked from there.” Well, kind of. It’s such a cliché and I’d always thought it was sort of adorable. But Harry comes from money, and his family home is one of those large, detached houses where I imagine every bedroom has its own en suite. More than enough room for him to have his own work space, even if it was in the attic.
Yes, I might’ve hunted down his family home on the Net, but that doesn’t make me a stalker…
“Two months after we set everything up, my brother moved out.” Harry rolls his eyes. “Typical Lucas. But it turned out okay. Caleb doesn’t have any sisters.”
That’s obscure, even for Harry. “What?”
“You’ve met my younger sister, Mackenzie?”
Only briefly, the times she turned up for various parties at Blitz. She seems nice enough. “Sure.”
“The house was always full of her friends. They just didn’t understand”—he pauses for a second, and a pained expression crosses his face—“personal space. It’s always freaked me out if someone tries watching me work over my shoulder.”
“Oh God, yes. Me, too. It’s like spiders are running up and down my spine.” I shudder. “And how
do some people sit with their back to the door? That’s just wrong.”
“Or a window.”
“Exactly.” Funny how I hadn’t known this about him before.
We stare at each other before he gives me his bone-melting smile. “For some reason, I don’t mind the glass walls at Blitz.”
Now that I think about it, neither do I. “That’s because your back’s against a brick wall, and you can see anyone approaching from a mile off.” Slight exaggeration, but whatever.
“It’s going to be really strange with someone else in your office.”
“You should immortalize me as a character in your next expansion.” Did I say that out loud? Bloody champagne. My face burns, and I don’t even have the self-preservation to tear my gaze from his.
Instead of laughing, he cocks his head. “Maybe I should.”
Heat sweeps through me. Is he serious? Before I can think better of it, my alcohol-infused tongue takes over. Again. “As long as I’m not a zombie.”
His magnetic blue gaze lingers on my face before slowly raking over my bare shoulders and gorgeous dress. The heat intensifies, burning beneath my skin and pooling between my thighs.
I’m never drinking again.
His eyes mesh with mine, and the oxygen evaporates from my lungs. The blue is all but obliterated, and his eyes are dark and sexy, as though he’s finally noticed I’m more than Alice the miracle maker.
“You definitely won’t be a zombie.”
Did I imagine that husky note in his voice? Are we having A Moment? My breath hitches, my dress feels too tight, and just as he leans toward me his bloody phone rings.
For a second neither of us moves, and only when he mutters a curse under his breath and pulls out his phone do I realize I’m hanging over the leather armrest slash table between us, as though I’m some kind of desperado.
Gingerly I edge back into my own space. Maybe he didn’t notice.
And pigs will fly.
“Lucas.” Harry sounds pissed off. Because his brother intercepted our very first kiss? Keep dreaming, Alice. “Too late.” His frown intensifies as he listens to his brother. “No, it was six thirty.” Another pause. “Yes, she is.” His glance meets mine before we both hastily break eye contact. “Yeah, right,” he growls into his phone before disconnecting and shoving it into his pocket.
The only sound is the low purr of the limo, and I chance giving him another glance. He’s frowning at his black shoes, and for a second I’m distracted, since he usually wears scuffed trainers.
Focus. I’m not letting his brother put a damper on the evening. “Problem?”
“Nah.” He throws a heart-stopping smile my way. “Lucas thought I was picking you up later. He called to give me a last-minute run down on his playlist, but I think we’ve moved past that now.”
“Just slightly.” I’m dying to know why Harry responded with yeah, right, since I have a strong suspicion it has something to do with me, but there’s no way I can ask him. “We’re better off making our own music.”
The silence is electric after my unintentionally suggestive comment thuds between us, and I desperately wish it was possible to sink through the leather seat and vanish. Before I can die a thousand deaths or, better yet, come up with something clever to distract him, the limo glides to a halt outside the hotel.
Harry glances through the window and a strange expression crosses his face, almost as though he wishes we hadn’t arrived yet. What am I thinking? Even I’m relieved we can get out of the car and forget about my stupid comment.
The chauffeur opens my door, and I unclip my seat belt without glancing at Harry again. I step outside, wrapping my flimsy white shawl across my chest as nerves attack me, and stare at the billboard that announces the Sexiest Geek of the Year Awards Night by the door.
Harry’s by my side a second later, so close his arm’s touching mine, and his body heat sinks into me, causing another hot wave of nerves to roll through me.
He leans toward me, and the subtle hint of his cologne weaves into my mind and the world spins. Going on a fake date with Harry on an empty stomach was one of my worst ideas ever.
“Sorry there’s no red carpet.” His whisper tickles my ear, and I can’t stop the little shiver that races through me. Stop acting like a moron.
“I didn’t even notice.” I glance at the pavement. “How rude. Don’t they know who you are?”
“I promised you the red-carpet treatment. Although I can’t say I’m disappointed by the lack of the paparazzi.”
“Don’t worry. They’ll all be inside waiting for you. Did you remember to bring your speech?” He gave it to me to read through a couple of days ago, with instructions to be brutal, but it was awesome just the way he’d written it.
He pats his pocket and shoots me a grimace. “Here’s hoping I don’t need it. Are you ready to face the salivating masses?” He offers me his arm, and my stupid heart flips over as I take up his unspoken offer.
Whoa. Breathe, Alice. It’s only his arm, but even through the tux and shirt his muscles are rock hard, and a million tiny tornadoes take up residence inside my chest.
My mind is floating and I’d like to blame it all on the champagne, but I’m not that good a liar.
“Sure.” I respond to his question before he thinks I’ve become a mute, and we stroll through the entrance of the hotel as though we’re a regular couple and have done this a hundred times before.
For a moment, I drink in the pure luxuriance of the gray-and-black marble floors, the soaring ceiling, and modern artwork on the walls. It’s sad but true; I’ve never been in a posh five-star hotel before. Mum and I always hire a caravan for our annual week’s holiday in Hastings.
“Still no red carpet,” he says under his breath and moves a little closer to me. I didn’t just imagine that, did I?
“No, but it looks like you have a reception committee.” I surreptitiously check out the two women and guys who are scrutinizing their phones and tablets, before making a beeline for Harry, and send telepathic grateful thanks to Hannah for making me spend a fortune on my hair and dress. Even so, I can’t help tensing as they surround us in a cloud of expensive perfume and abundant confidence.
“Harry Carter,” says the ebony-haired girl. “I’m Essie, the publicist for Steele.” She zooms in for a couple of air kisses, her hand grasping his shoulder like purple talons. She pulls back and introduces everyone, but I can’t tear my gaze away from Harry’s face. He has his get me out of here expression on, and instinctively I snuggle up to him and loop my free hand over his arm for good measure.
A purely professional move, since the reason I’m here is to get him through the night without a hitch.
Since when did that involve rubbing my boobs all over him?
Shit. I freeze, as everyone’s attention zeroes in on me. I daren’t look at Harry, so I give Essie a smile and just hope like hell it doesn’t look as petrified as I feel.
“This is Alice.” Harry wraps his other hand over mine, pinning me in place and destroying any chance of me unobtrusively disengaging boob contact with his bicep.
“Alice Wentworth.” She beams at me and gives me a superficial hug and requisite air kisses. Not an easy feat when I’m plastered against Harry, but she’s clearly far more professional than me. I bite the inside of my mouth to stop myself from a bout of nervous giggles. Hannah’s going to love all this when I tell her tomorrow.
“Please wear these for security purposes,” says the other girl, who has neon green and ultraviolet spiky hair and makeup to match. She hands us a couple of lanyards with our names in a plastic slip before running a critical glance over me. Probably wondering what on earth a gorgeous guy like Harry is doing with someone as ordinary as me. She keeps up a running commentary as she leads us into a secondary foyer, where there’s a red carpet. Beautiful people are milling about, and hanging along the wall are loads of banners displaying all the sponsors for tonight.
I glance at Harry and we grin at each other.
Red carpet. His hand tightens over mine, and that definitely wasn’t my imagination.
“Just wait here for a sec,” the girl says, before rushing off to speak to a photographer.
Wait. Shit. In my excitement over the red carpet, and Harry holding my hand, I totally missed the hordes of photographers. It’s like a celebrity event that you see on TV or something, and my stomach churns.
“You okay?” Harry whispers, his warm breath dusting my cheek. My stomach does another somersault, but this time it has little to do with the photographers.
“Yes.” My voice croaks, and I quickly clear my throat. “Well, I wasn’t really expecting all of this.” What a dumb thing to say. We’re only here for the PR ops, after all.
“Sorry.” His brow creases adorably, and I almost forget my panic. “Look, if it’s any help, I feel the same way. But all you have to do is smile and pose.”
“Pose?” I practically choke on the word. I can’t think of anything scarier.
His frown intensifies. “Lucas gave me some tips. Smile and pose. Crap tips, aren’t they?”
“I suppose they work if you’re an exhibitionist.” Oops, that sounds like I’m calling Lucas Carter an exhibitionist. Which, let’s face it, seems to sum him up pretty well, but I don’t want Harry to think I’m dissing his brother.
He grins, clearly not offended by my thoughtless remark. “It definitely works for Lucas. Tell you what, just hang onto my hand and follow my lead.”
Now that I can do, especially the hand-holding part.
“This way, please,” says Neon Girl, ushering us toward the red carpet. Apparently, we have to walk along it, then smile and pose. Good job I went to the loo before leaving home tonight.
Photographers wave us into position, and my smile is agonized as they take their shots. I’ve always hated having my photo taken, and having it taken standing next to a living god like Harry isn’t helping with my confidence.
Although he’s holding my hand so tightly I couldn’t run away and hide even if I tried.
Finally, the torture ends, and we head into a large room with a stage at one end. There are dozens of round tables with black tablecloths. Most of them are occupied, and Neon Girl leads us to a table where six others are already seated. I’ve no idea whether any of them are together or not, as none of them are clinging onto each other the way I am with Harry.
Cinderella and the Geek (British Bad Boys) Page 6