Читать книгу The Playboy Takes a Wife - Crystal Green, Crystal Green - Страница 6
ОглавлениеChapter One
The minute Lucas Chandler stepped out of his limousine and onto the hard-packed earth of Rosarito, Mexico, he was swarmed.
Flashbulbs assaulted him, and so did the questions—most of them encouraged by an introduction to this press gathering from David, his half brother and the CEO of The Chandler Organization, otherwise known as TCO.
“How much money did you donate altogether to get Refugio Salvo running, Mr. Chandler?”
Flash.
“Why the sudden interest in an orphanage, Mr. Chandler?”
Flash.
“Can you comment on what happened in Rome with Cecilia DuPont and the police, Mr. Chandler?”
Yeah, there it was—the kind of query into Lucas’s party-hearty lifestyle David had been attempting to circumvent.
Lucas forced a smile for the next photo, already sick of today’s charade. What he wanted to do was get inside the orphanage and leave the cameras in the dust. And, no doubt about it, there was plenty of that covering the dilapidated buildings around them.
But one glance at stone-faced David told him that this was only the beginning of Lucas’s new life: the turning over of a fresh public-relations leaf.
Why the hell had he agreed to this again?
Oh, yeah. To be a decent person. And then there was also the small matter of saving TCO.
Slipping into his most comfortable disguise—the charming act—Lucas shot his brother a brief glance, then dived in to answer questions. David, for his part, stood back, hands folded behind him, as cool and smooth as the Italian designer suit he was wearing.
Lucas ignored the confinement of his own suave wardrobe, all but boiling under the many layers of material. It was warm for December down here.
“Ladies and gentlemen…” Strategically he flashed his dimples, making the lone female reporter light up with a blush. “Thanks for being here. And, when I tell you that I won’t be divulging dollar amounts, I’m sure you’ll understand. Suffice it to say, that we gave a lot to the Angeles Foundation here in Mexico to buy the land, construct the orphanage and supply them with everything they’d need to keep the children in safe comfort. You can be assured that Refugio Salvo will be well taken care of in the future, too. There’re also plans for more sites farther south, but that’s still on the drawing board.”
One of the male journalists raised his hand. “Rumor is that you’ll be cliff diving in Acapulco after you visit the orphanage. You gonna take some orphans with you, or what?”
Ah, the Funny Guy. There was one in every crowd and one in every backside.
As Lucas reined in his temper, most of the other reporters lowered their cameras and notebooks, laughing. Even David, whom Lucas believed was made mostly of granite, smiled. But the gesture was more rueful than amused.
The female journalist answered for him. “That’s great, Denham. Why don’t you give Mr. Chandler a little credit, huh? He’s got enough sense to keep the kids away from all that ‘daredevil playboy’ stuff.” She glanced at Lucas hopefully.
Did they think he was some out-of-control idiot? Obviously. Maybe it was good that he’d promised David that he would lay off all his notorious thrill-seeking for a while.
Still, even the female reporter—Jo, that was her name—didn’t look as though she truly believed he could behave himself.
“Thank you, Jo,” he said, knowing he could use her as an ally. She was from one of TCO’s media outlets, a newspaper that consistently tried to balance out the tabloids and the other entertainment sources that covered Lucas’s colorful adventures.
At the reporter’s modest shrug, Lucas turned to the others. “This is a time to find some serious answers for the troubles these orphaned boys are having. That’s why I’m here—to check up on the progress and make plans for even more.”
It wasn’t the entire truth. He was also trying to show off the “new and improved” Lucas Chandler. TCO required it and so did—
Lucas tensed. Don’t think about the old man, he told himself. You’re doing this for business and business only.
Riding a crest of deep-seated frustration, he added, “I’m here to provide aid for these kids who might otherwise end up on the street without any education or vocational skills.”
Censured, the reporters subjected Lucas to more pictures, and he tolerated it like the man his family had always expected him to be. The man he really wasn’t.
Flash. Pop. Each burst of illumination needled into him.
Finally, a pleased David made his way over, putting a hand near his mouth so the reporters couldn’t see what he was privately saying to his brother.
“Good start. Just so you know, they’re running late in the orphanage because of a greeting the children have put together for you. They’ll be ready in about twenty minutes.”
Lucas presented the journalists with his back. “In twenty minutes, I’ll need five shots of tequila.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw some nuns wearing wimples and stark long skirts with white blouses. They disappeared behind a stucco wall of the orphanage.
Disappear, Lucas thought. What he’d give to be able to take a breather behind that wall, too.
David cleared his throat to regain Lucas’s attention. When he had it, he fixed his ice-blue eyes on him. Funny how a twenty-eight-year-old genius could put a man who was three years older in his place with just a condescending reminder.
“Don’t tell me,” Lucas said, “that I should be used to this kind of attention. I can handle the paparazzi, but this is different. This is business.”
“Yes, I know it’s not your thing, but we agreed.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Agreement, sha-mee-ment.
“Mr. Chandler?” called an impatient reporter.
Something snapped in Lucas. No more questions, dammit. No more apologies for his recently abandoned lifestyle or justifications for “the playboy’s trip to the orphanage.”
“You take over,” he muttered to David while walking away.
“Luke—”
“Buddy, you’re the brains of this outfit, so dazzle the crowd with ’em.” Lucas winked, just to convince David—and himself—that he had his position as the “face” of TCO under control, that he was still the pretty boy who fetched publicity while David actually ran the place.
But it was about good publicity this time, Lucas thought.
Too much of his PR had been negative. Especially lately, with all those nonfamily-friendly wild-romance-in-the-streets-of-Rome scenarios he’d been enjoying with Cecilia DuPont, this month’s starlet. Impulsive scenarios that shed a red light on TCO.
As he left the media circus and headed toward the spot where the nuns had disappeared, he heard David assuming control of the press. Good man. He knew how much of this crap Lucas could handle before blowing.
Shortly after arriving at the wall, he ducked behind it, finding a cast-iron gate. In back of that, there was a flagstone path strewn with vivid pink flowers. A fountain burbled in the near distance. Sure sounded peaceful to him.
Opening the gate, he slid behind it before he could be spotted by anyone, then walked over the path toward the running water.
The fountain was in a side courtyard where red bricks and iron benches hinted at a mellowness Lucas had been craving. Like a collapsing wall, he crumbled onto one of those benches, loosening his tie and rolling his head around to work the cricks out of his neck.
Now this was more like it. No damned cameras, no pressure. Just for a second—
A soft giggle hit the fragrant air.
He cocked an eyebrow and glanced around at the thick foliage surrounding the courtyard.
“Peekaboos,” said a child’s voice from one of the bushes.
An orphan? Lucas couldn’t help grinning. Hell, as long as the kid didn’t have a lens aimed at him, he could deal.
A devilish titter followed. It reminded Lucas of how he used to laugh when he was younger. Everything had been a joke to be told, a riddle to be solved, a game to be played. He still sort of subscribed to that theory, even if it got him into trouble more often than not.
Suddenly a woman’s voice came from behind the bushes. “Gabriel? Dónde está?”
The foliage rattled as Lucas spotted a few strands of black hair spiking out from the leaves.
Two nuns scuttled into the courtyard. They chattered in Spanish, seemingly panicked.
“Gabriel!”
They stopped as they saw Lucas rising to a stand, hands in his pants pockets. He merely grinned and shrugged, hating to give the kid’s position away.
One exasperated nun addressed him in English. “A guest? You are to come in the front door, sir! Not the back.”
Thrilled that she hadn’t recognized him, Lucas eased her a grin. “Sorry.”
The nun raised a finger to say more, then stopped, reconsidered and sent him her own sheepish smile. “It is okay, sir.”
It worked every time, Lucas thought. The Dimples.
Meanwhile, the other nun—a woman with chubby cheeks and a lively gaze—had caught sight of the little boy’s hair. She parted the bushes, only to jump back when a golden-skinned child with wide brown eyes exploded out of the leaves, squealing. His hair splayed away from his head, wild and free, just as playfully ornery as Lucas suspected the rest of him was.
Much to the nuns’ horror, Gabriel climbed into the fountain and proceeded to splash around, sending waves of water at them while they tried to approach. The boy’s defense worked wonderfully, because it seemed that the nuns thought they would melt if they got water on their clothing.
Finally he took pity on the ladies. They were, after all, of good quality, even if they didn’t appreciate the fine art of child’s play.
Approaching Gabriel from the back, Lucas scooped him up, putting a stop to all the shenanigans. Water dripped from the child’s clothes, but Lucas didn’t mind. His suit would dry.
“Hey, little guy,” he said, “time to stop being a squirrel.”
The child looked up at him, and Lucas blinked back. In those dark eyes he saw the same troublemaking, misunderstood expression that stared back at him from the mirror each morning, the glint of rebellion in a confused gaze.
Another female voice rang through the air. “Gabriel?”
“Now she comes,” the first nun said, checking her skirt for water damage.
The chubby-cheeked nun merely caught her breath and flapped a hand in front of her face.
Gabriel squirmed, but Lucas wasn’t dumb. He kept a hold of him, spinning him around to stand on one of the benches.
The boy held up his hands and laughed. “Mucho gusto!” He had mile-long eyelashes, chubby, round, smudged cheeks and a secondhand shirt splashed with water and old dirt.
A tweak of sympathy—that’s what it was—forced Lucas to reach out and ruffle the kid’s hair. Cute bugger.
“Gabriel,” said the more exasperated nun, “please speak your English. And you are soaking and dirty. How will you be ready for the show?”
The boy stubbornly shook his head, turning to Lucas. “No show,” he said, repeating the nun’s word.
English. Suddenly Lucas remembered David’s preparatory briefing: part of the orphanage’s educational program included ESOL—English for Speakers of Other Languages.
A sound investment of the company’s money, David had said, because it would allow bilingual children more opportunity and make TCO heroic.
Lucas liked the sound of that. It was a solid deal, even if a boy as young as Gabriel might not have learned that much since Refugio Salvo had only been running for about nine months.
His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of that third woman. She was out of breath, her head bare, black hair curled in disarray down to her shoulders. Her light brown skin was flushed, her dark gold eyes wide.
She dressed like a nun but…no wimple. Maybe she was one of those novices or whatever they called them.
As they locked gazes, she held a hand to her chest, as if surprised by something.
Lucas’s blood zinged and swerved through his veins. Instinctively, he took things up a notch and offered what the papers called “the smile to end all smiles,” the ultimate way to charm any woman who caught his fancy.
Even a wannabe nun? he wondered. Say it ain’t so.
Her stark clothing couldn’t conceal the lush curves of her body. Around her wrist a charm-laden bracelet gleamed. Maybe this order wasn’t traditional, choosing to forgo dressing in regular habits and accessories.
At any rate, Lucas thought, she’s off-limits. David, Dad and the board of directors would go ballistic if you outdid yourself and big-bad-wolfed a future nun, of all people.
In welcome, she broke into her own smile, blushing while she allowed her hand to fall to her side as she gathered her composure. The color of her cheeks brought even more animation to her delicate, innocent features: a gently tipped nose, full pink lips and dark angel-wing lashes.
“I see you’ve met Gabe,” she said breathlessly. Her English was very good, with barely the trace of an accent.
The cranky nun interjected. “Lord, help the man now.”
“Sister Maria-Rosa…” said the chubby-cheeked one. Then she turned to the newcomer. “We were all playing ‘Splash the Authority Figure,’ and Gabriel was the winner.”
The woman nodded. “It seems you put up a good contest, Sister Elisabeth.”
“I always do.” The nun looked like some kind of cherub as she rolled her eyes in resignation.
The new woman walked toward Gabriel. The boy was fairly hopping with excitement at her presence.
“You having fun with your friend?” she asked, frowning slightly at the boy’s drenched clothing.
Gabriel reached out for a hug. The woman freely gave it to him, not seeming to mind that she would be dampened, too. When she pulled away, Lucas tried to keep his eyes off a wet blouse that was now hinting at the lines of a simple slip underneath.
Future nun, nun, nun, he told himself.
After she helped Gabriel down from the bench, it took her only a few seconds to realize that she was less than fully covered and she awkwardly crossed her arms over her chest. Good thing, too, because Lucas had been dreading having to embarrass her by pointing it out. It’d been tough enough to keep his gaze averted.
“Gabriel,” the nun named Sister Maria-Rosa said, “we need to change your clothing now.” She sighed. “What are we going to do with you?”
The novice stepped forward, arms still protecting her front. “I can—”
“No, Alicia—” Sister Elisabeth said, gently taking Gabriel by the hand and leading him away “—You already have many responsibilities. Don’t worry about Gabriel.”
They hadn’t addressed her as “Sister,” but maybe that was typical for a wannabe.
The nuns nodded at this woman named Alicia—a four-syllable name as opposed to three, Lucas noted—as they left. The little boy turned around and waved back at them.
“Adiós, Miss Alicia. Bye-bye, man.”
Lucas waved, too, along with four-syllable Alicia.
“He’s really a good boy.” She looked at him, blushing an even deeper red, then glanced away. “Most of the time.”
Lucas didn’t know what to say, because if Gabriel was anything like him, as he suspected, she was dead wrong.
“But you were handling him very well,” she said, raising a brow and grinning.
Damn.
He laughed, just to set himself back to balance again, to send away the thrust of a taboo attraction. “But I don’t have to control him twenty-four hours a day.”
Her face fell, and he realized that maybe she’d been sizing him up for a possible adoption.
Right. Him. That was a funny one.
He shrugged off his coat and offered it to her. With a grateful nod, Alicia took it.
“You don’t mind?” she asked. “I don’t have an extra change of clothes here and—”
“I don’t mind a bit.” Well, yeah, actually, the hound in him did mind, but Lucas wasn’t about to admit to any carnal thoughts around someone bound for the church.
“Thank you.” She put it on, bringing an end to the best thing that had happened to Lucas all day.
She tilted her head, gauging him again. Then, as if he’d passed some kind of test, she stuck her hand out.
“I’m Alicia Sanchez and I’ll be your group’s guide and hostess. We’re so pleased to have you at Refugio Salvo, sir.”
As he took her hand in his for a greeting, his skin tingled, sizzled.
Attracted to an angel, he thought. It was definitely something new, even for him.
* * *
As the stranger’s hand enclosed hers, Alicia’s heart kicked at her chest. It’d been doing that since the first instant she’d seen him, and she still hadn’t recovered.
Unable to get enough of looking at him, she noted every detail: Fancy tie, shirt, shoes. Well groomed. His jacket smelled good, too, like spicy soap, clean and heady.
He was a lot taller, so much that she was forced to lift her chin to meet his gaze. The color of his eyes startled her—a deep violet, just like the flowers that had grown in the small garden of her abuelita’s house back in San Diego. His light brown hair was a little long and ruffled, carefree in the breeze. His body…
Alicia tried not to look, but she couldn’t help noticing that he was strong, wide-shouldered and muscled like an athlete.
His grip tightened, and she realized that she’d been staring, her skin goose-bumped and flushed from the inside out.
Quickly, she let go of him, gaze trained on the ground. She shoved the hand that had been holding his, into a jacket pocket, wishing it would stop blazing with heat.
Then, donning a civil expression, she distanced herself from the visitor. Right away she saw the glimmer in his eyes fade a little, as if he were second-guessing something. Then he also took a step backward.
“You’re with the billionaire?” she asked, making conversation. Easy enough, with his affable personality.
It was obvious that he was here with Lucas Chandler. She knew the reporters were out in front now, taking pictures and asking questions before they all came inside Refugio Salvo. But why wasn’t he with the rest of the crowd?
He gave her an odd glance, then sent her a high-wattage smile in answer. She just about pooled into herself right then and there. What was happening? Dizziness, flushed skin, a giddiness she couldn’t explain…
“I’m looking forward to meeting him,” she said, ignoring the blasts of heightened awareness shooting through her.
“Because he’s so handsome?” He was teasing.
“Well, that’s what the female cooks here say, among other things.”
Cocking an eyebrow, he sat on a bench, looking pretty entertained with her comment. “They say that, do they?”
“It’s not all that important. I’m not one for TV or tabloid nonsense, anyway. But still…” She blushed, laughing at her all-too-human curiosity. “I am wondering about him.”
Especially because he had money. Wait—that sounded wrong. It wasn’t that she wanted any of it. If Mr. Chandler were in another charitable mood, the orphanage itself would be much better off after another donation.
He was smiling at her again. Dimples. My, my.
They were such nice, deep dimples. Semitrucks could park in them.
Yet…was this man sort of flirting with her? Alicia wasn’t sure, but she should put a stop to it. Now. No, really, now. She wasn’t a nun, but she might as well have been with all the promises she’d made to herself. No sex before marriage—never again. As a volunteer who worked side by side with the women of Our Lady of the Lost Souls at the orphanage, she did her best to be a good role model for the children.
And then there was also a very personal need to remain chaste….
“So the nuns volunteer at the orphanage, too?” he added, interrupting her musings.
Press time. She put on her best PR voice. “Yes, the order teaches academics and sees to the boys’ spiritual needs. Regular workers—” like her “—run the facility and oversee the ranch work since each boy, whether he’s just old enough to start chores or mature enough to work with the horses, has scheduled responsibilities and training.”
“You’re all a very caring group of people.”
Why did he suddenly seem so…sad? Or did he look guilty? Alicia couldn’t be sure.
The splashing of the fountain became the only sound. She rushed to cover the tension, wanting everything to run smoothly.
“It’s our pleasure,” Alicia said. “We’re really happy to love and be around these children.”
Months ago, she had volunteered to work here, renting a small house off the profits from the impetuous sale of her deceased grandparents’ home. She had pleaded with the orphanage’s director to be the one who played hostess to the billionaire, to be the one who secured a bundle of money for their needs.
She had to succeed in her goal for the orphanage today, to do whatever she could to be a decent person and fight for their requirements. Had to. The more money she raised, the more she could forget about the stain on her soul left by her abuelo’s dying words.
“So you’ve met him?” she said to the visitor, testing the waters. “Lucas Chandler? Do you think he’s a kindhearted sort of guy?”
The man seemed taken aback, but then he fought a smile, clearly knowing something Alicia didn’t. “Kindhearted? I suppose that depends on when you catch him.”
“Oh.” Heaviness settled on her shoulders.
“What?”
He leaned forward, encouraging her. From just his smallest movement, Alicia’s pulse kicked, sending a swirl of scrambled yearning to her chest. But passion wasn’t on her daily schedule. Not when it was so important for her to wait for a respectable marriage; it was the only way to experience what came between a man and woman. Marriage made sex pure and right.
She drew the jacket closer around her body. “Truthfully? We were hoping that he’s one to part easily with his money.”
Well, that had come out wrong. Maybe she was just too flustered around this man; Lord knew she was more articulate than this. She’d meant to say that she hoped he would be generous to the children, that’s all.
And she could tell that she’d surprised him with her words—her greedy-sounding, awful words. Well done, muchacha, well done.
His shoulders had stiffened. She rushed to correct herself but was interrupted.
“Alicia!”
She turned around to find Guillermo Ramos, head of the orphanage, rushing toward her. His crown of salt-and-pepper hair fluttered with the speed of his gait and his slender mustache twitched. Someone was in a snit.
“It’s not quite time to start the greeting,” she said in English, not wanting to leave their visitor out of the loop. “The children should be ready in a few more minutes.” “No, we are clearly starting now.” Guillermo stopped suddenly, hand to heart. “Mr. Chandler, I am Guillermo Ramos. We have talked on the phone.”
Alicia glanced at the stranger, who had gotten to his feet, hand outstretched toward Guillermo.
Mr. Chandler?
Good heavens, she was crushing on the billionaire?
“Good to see you, Señor Ramos,” he said.
Gulp.
Alicia anxiously fiddled with the charm bracelet she always wore, but Guillermo was all smiles.
“I see Senorita Sanchez has been entertaining you during our delay—which I apologize for profusely,” he said.
“Our future Sister Alicia’s been doing an exceptional job.” The stranger—no, Lucas Chandler, the billionaire—turned to her. Now, with the title and money, he seemed…different. More imposing and definitely even more off-limits. “We were just small talking.”
Yes, she thought. Due to her ill-chosen words at the end of their conversation, she had obviously gotten smaller and smaller in his estimation.
And…future Sister Alicia? Who did he think she was?
“I am glad to hear it,” Guillermo said. “But you must know that Senorita Sanchez is not with Our Lady of the Lost Souls.” Here he laughed a little. “She is not even a Catholic, but we are fortunate that she is working in our company.”
At those words Lucas Chandler’s eyes lit up, changing him from an average visitor to everything the other orphanage employees had been whispering about.
Playboy. Ultimate bachelor. Devil in disguise.
“Excellent.” He leveled that lethal dimple-edged smile at Alicia once again. “That’s some excellent information to know.”
She swallowed hard, feeling as if he’d whipped the jacket right off her.
Exposing everything she’d been covering up.
