Читать книгу Infamous - Jane Porter - Страница 9

THE WEDDING WAS NOT supposed to happen.

This was a charade, a job she’d been hired to do. But the charade was supposed to have ended long before they ever went to the altar.

Long, Alexandra Shanahan silently repeated, clenching her bouquet of lilies, blue hydrangeas, white orchids and violet freesias tighter between stiff clammy hands.

This was all such a horrible mistake she couldn’t even concentrate on the minister’s words.

My God, she didn’t even like Wolf Kerrick. Even four weeks of being squired around Hollywood as his newest love interest hadn’t endeared the man to her.

In fact, four weeks of playing his girlfriend had only made her dislike him more. He was horrible in every sense of the word.

He was too rich, too successful, too powerful. He was too much of everything, and that alone made her uncomfortable, but the fact that he didn’t respect women infuriated her. He treated women like playthings, taking what he wanted, when he wanted, and discarding without remorse when inexplicably bored.

And now she was his wife.

Alexandra swallowed, stunned, silenced, undone.

She, who could handle anything, she who never wavered in the face of danger, she who took risks and loved challenge, welcoming adversity with open arms, was now married to the world’s most famous film star.

Spots danced before Alexandra’s eyes and she gulped in air, trying to clear the fog from her head. If she didn’t know herself better, she’d think she was going to faint.

She couldn’t faint.

It was too much of a photo opportunity.

She must have inhaled too sharply, because suddenly Wolf’s hand was at her elbow.

“You better not faint,” he growled in his rough accented English, a sexy combination of Irish and Spanish vowels that left women weak at the knees. But that was Wolf’s magic.

He was the quintessential bad boy, times a thousand, and everybody’s celluloid dream.

Six feet three and impossibly broad through the shoulder while lean in the hip. He looked as good naked in love scenes as he did in a tuxedo shooting the latest James Bond thriller.

Alex’s jaw jutted and she tugged her arm from Wolf’s touch. “I won’t,” she whispered defiantly, even though she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t faint. Truth be known, she was scared, scared in a way she hadn’t been since first moving to Los Angeles four years ago.

It’d been a long four years, too.

Four years of struggle, attempting to crawl up the ladder of Hollywood fame. And now she was here. Sort of.

Wolf’s grip on her arm tightened. “Then smile. You look as though you’re dying.”

“If only I were so lucky.” Then she forced another tight smile just in case any of the guests could see her face. This was her wedding, after all.

“I’m your dream man. Remember?”

Those had been her words, too, her exact words, but they’d been uttered in a moment of panic, at the height of a crisis. She would have never claimed him otherwise.

Alex’s stomach rose, threatening to embarrass her right then and there. Oh, God. What had she done?

Biting her lower lip, Alexandra battled the second wave of nausea even as the Santa Barbara breeze lifted her veil, sending the lace and her long, artfully styled curls blowing around her face. Married to Wolf Kerrick. Mrs. Wolf Kerrick.

Alexandra Kerrick.

Her eyes squeezed closed, her hand shook where it rested on Wolf’s arm.

Why had she thought she could play his girlfriend?

How could she have ever thought she’d be able to manage him?

And why had she come to Hollywood in the first place?