Читать книгу What If He’s the One - Kathy Jay - Страница 9

I. Am. Actually. With. Him.

Alex took control at the airport. He heaved Maggie’s bags off the carousel. “Good grief. You’ve got a lot of baggage.” She really did. Literally – because she’d brought things with her for the shoot. And figuratively. She trembled inside, wondering if her procedure at the clinic had worked, and if today would be too soon to test.

He queued with her in the passport check lines, placing a hand in the small of her back and ushering her forward in a way that made her feel like she wasn’t just with him by accident. The pressure of his hand meant more than it should. He’d branded her with his delicious heat.

Turning heads every step they took, he towered over Maggie. His stop-you-in-your-tracks eyes were masked with dark sunglasses, but people recognized him anyway; and even if they didn’t they still looked. Recognition didn’t fizz on Alex. But awkwardness prickled through Maggie. She noted the stares, the admiring glances, the nudgings and finger pointings. Not to mention the phone-photo moments.

In the arrivals hall a young woman thrust a camera into Maggie’s hands. She and her mother draped themselves either side of a stony-faced Alex.

“Take a photo! Would you mind?”

Maggie raised an eyebrow. “Do you mind?”

“Be my guest.” He hooked his sunglasses into the top pocket of his jacket and looked into the camera, suppressing a scintilla of a smile. It was the look he was famous for. The fans expected it. Maggie’s legs turned to jelly. She took the picture and handed the camera back.

“Thank you so much,” the women chorused. “You’ve made our day.” They raced off, dragging their cases with nippy little wheels behind them, ready to waylay Nick and repeat the photo opportunity.

Through the flurry of attention Alex located his driver and whisked Maggie out of the airport. He held the car door for her while the driver dealt with the bags.

“Nick and I have different drivers. In theory we attract less attention that way.”

“If all the drooling damsels and general purpose nut-jobs back there are anything to go by, different cars isn’t going to do it. What you guys need is separate planets!”

Lips set in an unflinching line, a muscle twitched in his cheek. “We’re working on it.”

His body brushed hers when he slid into the car. Being around Alex over the next few days would be so much easier to cope with if he came with a button and an instruction manual telling her how to turn his infernal sex appeal off.

She couldn’t afford to indulge in swoony fan moments. She had a job to do. This Boston shoot was nothing more than a slot blocked off in her diary. Styling Alex would be easy. He’d rock any look she threw at him.

Maggie tugged at her seatbelt. It had jammed. She tugged again.

“Need a hand?” Alex leaned across. Mmm… Spiced man. His unshaven jawline was so close she wondered how it would feel against her skin. Any more of these moments, or – heaven forbid – incidents like the one on the plane and she would melt like microwaved chocolate. She needed to come up with a self-preservation plan, something to keep her one step ahead of Hot Vampire Guy.

One deft movement unjammed the seatbelt and he passed it into her hands, his fingers brushing hers as he did so. There was a knowing quirk of an almost-smile on his lips when he pulled back and settled into his half of the back seat to snap on his own seatbelt.

Her heart fluttered, hormones sky-high. If she could roll back time she’d make sure her one not-so-stellar night with television’s dreamiest man played out very differently. That Christmas, before Alex went off and got famous, Layla had teased her about her missed opportunity and bought her a pack of fluorescent, glow-in-the-dark condoms to keep handy just in case she ever got so lucky again. She didn’t. She’d been wearing blinkers when she met Marcus, moved in with him, started making long-term plans. What a mistake. The words “man” and “plan” might rhyme, but they were otherwise utterly incompatible.

The car pulled away from the terminal. Boston didn’t look very welcoming. A misty rain was falling, wrapping the whole place in gloom; the streets, the sea, the sky and everything in between looked grey.

Now that he wasn’t being scrutinized by any members of the public, a flirty smile lit up Alex’s features. His much-too-blue eyes twinkled, the corners creased.

“When do you start ripping my clothes off, Maggie? Tomorrow, is it?”

His deep voice did things to her that a girl in the back of a chauffeur-driven car should be ashamed of. How in heaven’s name was she going to get through the next few days if she couldn’t get her berserk hormones under control? She fidgeted, smoothing the grey fabric of her skirt under her palms. To stop herself, she locked her hands, as if she was praying, only to end up rubbing one thumb over the blue varnish on the other as if doing so might erase the color.

“The day after,” she replied primly. “And the general idea is to get you in clothes, not out of them. If it was a naked photo shoot you’d hardly need a fashion stylist.”

Alex laughed. He ploughed the fingers of one big hand into his jet-black hair. There was silence and then he hit her with a bombshell. “For the record, I’m sorry I didn’t call you.”

She gulped. Her throat felt tight as if she’d tried to swallow a peach stone. “Oh, it’s no biggie.” She whooshed a hand through the air, as if sweeping his words away. Her heart thudded as if it had been surgically removed and replaced with a piece of rock. She wanted to kick herself. Not a biggie? Of course it was a biggie. It was the biggest biggie of all time. She’d been crushed.

“I should have called,” he insisted.

“I really truly didn’t expect you to.” She babbled out the brush-off. “I mean, I rang your mobile a couple of times.” Six – at least. “You had things to do.” She’d got voice mail and hadn’t known what to say. When she’d tried him that final time, Nick had answered Alex’s phone. She’d told him to give Alex her love and wish him luck. He’d promised he would.

A shiver ran through her as though someone was trailing icy fingers along her spine. When he hadn’t called back, she shouldn’t have been surprised. Her grandmother had warned her to keep her expectations of the male species extra low. It was safer than having shattered hopes. She hadn’t believed her. She’d gone into the adult world with an open heart. And she’d been hurt. Twice.

Although she was controlled on the surface, her mind was paddling like a duck’s feet underneath. She’d thought she and Alex shared something special. They almost had. Only he’d kept his feelings locked away. Maybe allowing her to get that close had been a step too far. He’d always been out of reach.

After the holidays everyone was buzzing with the news that he’d dropped out to make Mercy of the Vampires. At the time she’d ached, knowing that he wasn’t coming back to London. The disappointment had been excruciating, but she’d clung on to a thread of consolation. He hadn’t just dropped her. He’d dropped his entire life.

“It’s ancient history.” She gave a nonchalant shrug and a bright smile. She’d had an airy- fairy notion that, in spite of her grandma’s professed wisdom on the non-existence of soul mates, she might prove her wrong. She and Alex simply weren’t meant to be.

Then along came Marcus and she’d had the stuffing knocked out of her. She’d come back a day early from working away, turned the key in the lock, and walked into her home to discover her fiancé getting down and dirty with someone he’d picked up at the pub. She wasn’t even that attractive and she was at least ten years older than Maggie. Maybe twelve. The gut-wrenching shock had turned her cold.

“Anyway, I called you, remember? You were busy and Nick answered. I told him to wish you all the luck in the world, and … well, anyway … c’est la vie, as they say.”

One hand on his perfectly hewn-in-granite chin, an inscrutable shadow darkened his gaze.

“I apologize,” he rumbled. “It was inconsiderate.”

“It’s okay.”

She’d been miserable. She’d felt cut off and abandoned, but she’d understood. Like she’d understood why her dad had left her mum pregnant, and why her mum had left for Spain without her when she was only eight years old. Understanding why people left each other behind was what she did. It was practically a talent. And one that had come in handy when she’d walked away from Marcus. Bouncing back from the heartache was another matter, but she’d become quite good at that too. She’d dreamed up a foolproof method for guaranteeing that she’d never have to bounce back again.

The car sped towards downtown Boston. She turned away, feigning interest in the grey city they’d landed in, all the while scraping at one nail with another so that some of the blue peeled away revealing a pale streak. It was high time they put this clearing the air of Alex’s behind them. She decided to steer the conversation onto safer ground.

“I gather Mercy of the Vampires is going out with a bang.”

“About time too. The show has been running my life for a decade.”

“Tell me about it. I’ve caught episodes in hotels all over place. I’ve watched Jarvis and Jago wreak havoc in German, French, Italian, and Spanish.”

“You’re a fan of the show?”

“It’s kind of impossible to avoid it, frankly.”

“Well, it all ends in hellfire just before Christmas, you’ll be glad to know.” Maggie refused to let herself look at him. She kept on staring out of the car window.

“Rumor has it you go out in the sunlight with a string of garlic wrapped around your neck and Nick, I mean Jarvis, strangles you and then rams a stake through your heart, just to be sure he’s finished you off.”

“It could happen,” he joked. “And I don’t mean in the TV world. Nick’s not best pleased with me at the moment. In fact, that’s an understatement. He’s furious. We’ve got a day of back-to-back promo here in Boston tomorrow. And the same again in New York next week. If he can find a string of garlic that’s long enough, I think he’d happily throttle me.”

Maggie knew she’d detected an atmosphere between the brothers. “Best strike Paris off your promo tour list. They use a lot of garlic there.”

“Nick had better watch it. It might turn out that Jago’s the one who can’t be trusted with a string of garlic.”

The deep rumble of his laugh gave her tingles. When she’d agree to style Alex and Nick, she’d been fascinated, and a smidge nostalgic. Part of her had wanted to prove that he was just someone she used to know. Only he was turning out to be a whole heap of fantasticness more than that, and she wasn’t at all sure how to deal with that.

Play. It. Cool.

She splayed her fingers and looked at her hands. She’d paint her nails sunshine yellow next.

Alex steeled himself the minute the car pulled up in front of the hotel. The driver opened the car door and he stepped out, throwing a quick glance about to see if Nick had arrived yet. Knowing him, he’d probably taken a spur-of-the-moment detour. Loyalty to his family came first, but the conversation he’d just had tugged at the frayed edges of his stoicism. He’d gone to LA for Nick, put his own life on hold, and forgotten all about Maggie. Something inside him sparked the moment she stepped onto the plane. She was lovely – with hints of the bubbly, colorful girl who stood out from the crowd he used to know. She’d changed, though. He couldn’t put his finger on it, exactly, but she’d become sort of buttoned-up.

He automatically glued on his sunglasses, despite a heavy sky and grey pavements slick with rain. He summoned a bellhop to take care of the luggage and stood back to play the gentleman, guiding Maggie into the all-mirrors-and-marble lobby with his palm placed protectively in the curve at the base of her spine. Despite the long flight he crackled with energy at her scent of wild flowers. A wicked knot tightened his gut. It would be tempting to see if he could unbutton her, prove that he could have the exact opposite of the soporific effect he’d had on her ten years ago.

The hotel was old and elegant with a smooth, marble floor, a grand carpeted staircase, and a glittering chandelier, which cast a welcoming glow over the lobby, where a clutch of smart Japanese tourists had gathered on bygone chic sofas and chairs, chatting animatedly over their cameras and shopping bags.

Ignoring Maggie completely, the immaculately groomed receptionist went to check Alex in. He took off his sunglasses and slid a glance in Maggie’s direction, gesturing with one hand. “You can take care of the lady first.” He only slightly growled. The receptionist’s face reddened.

“I’m sorry, sir. I thought you were together.” Recognizing what she’d just implied, her face burned some more.

She tore her eyes away from him and checked Maggie in, tapping manically at her computer keyboard, in case her colleague, who was answering the phone, finished talking and got to deal with him before she finished with Maggie. Normally he’d have been amused, tempted to play the game.

He was so ready to drop the whole Jago and Jarvis thing, couldn’t wait for the promo to be over. And right now he was more interested in Project Magenta. Shamefully, when he’d learned that Maggie was the highly rated stylist who’d been booked to work with him in Boston his first reaction had been “Magenta Who?” It hadn’t taken him long to figure out exactly who she was and curiosity kicked in. Regretful curiosity that he’d left things unfinished with Maggie.

When it was Alex’s turn to check in the receptionist switched from ultra-speedy to incredibly slow. She finally gave him his cardkey and he turned to speak to Maggie, but she was already attempting to push the big gold trolley laden with her baggage in the direction of the elevators. She was having trouble. One of the wheels was spinning in useless circles and instead of going in a straight line the trolley kept veering off to the left. A smile that started somewhere in his chest burst onto Alex’s face and cracked his superficial mask.

He strode across the lobby with purpose and caught her up.

“Where’s your bellhop?”

“Gone for a tea break, or something.”

She gave a shove. The dodgy wheel wobbled and the trolley didn’t budge.

“This is all I need,” she gasped. “To get stuck with no bellhop and the trolley-from-hell with a doolally wheel and a mind of its own.” She rolled her eyes. “Yay.”

“Don’t be such a drama queen. There are enough of them in my world already.” The comment earned him a withering look.

“What do you suggest?”

“Chill out, Maggie.” Since there was absolutely no sign of the bellhop, he hauled her small mountain of baggage off the less-than-useless trolley. “I’ll bring your stuff to your room.”

He picked up a heavy bag in each hand and headed for the elevators.

Maggie grabbed the handle of his compact case and wheeled it off, hurrying ahead to press the button.

“Haven’t you ever heard of travelling light?” He stepped into the elevator and dumped her bags on the floor.

“Not when I’ve got handmade bespoke tweed jackets to tote across the Atlantic because the Wells brothers can’t fit a UK photo shoot into their busy schedules and only have a two-day window in Boston that will work for them.”

She fixed him with her doe-eyed gaze. He always had been a sucker for the appeal of those come-to-bed eyes of hers. It was amazing he’d resisted her for so long when they were friends.

“Point taken.” The doors slid closed. “Which floor?”

“Two.” His fingers collided with hers as they both made to press the button. She pulled back as if he’d given her a static shock.

Was this what they called a blast from the past? She was certainly a temptation. Perhaps he should add something more watertight than “no flirting” to his action plan, like a temporary celibacy clause, for example. Technically, it should be a “no action” plan. What he should be doing over the next few days was getting to know her again, not weighing up her fling-potential. She wasn’t fling material. He looked down at the big bags at his feet.

“Strictly speaking I guess some of this is my baggage,” he mused.

A puzzled smile twisted her rosy lips. Her eyes sparkled. Even after seven hours on a plane, she looked very kissable.

“I guess,” she agreed, crossing her arms defensively.

Back when he’d landed Mercy, he’d wanted to call her. Badly. But he’d been afraid that if he did, he might turn down a golden opportunity and disappoint his mother and Nick. Maggie might have been the girl who’d rather sleep than have sex with him, but she’d also been the friend who could read him like a play script. He couldn’t talk to her, because if he had done, he’d have risked convincing himself to fly back to London, finish drama school, and audition for serious roles; something that met with his father’s approval.

That would have been out of the question, no matter how badly he wanted to do it. Their mother pulling strings only got them so far. The studio required both Wells twins, and the publicity mileage that came with them thanks to their parents’ celebrity. Without Alex, there’d have been no contract for Nick. No way would Alex have let his brother down, but with each new series, each new contract signed, he’d become more entrenched in a role he’d been lukewarm about at the outset.

Now that he was standing next to Maggie, his blinkers were off. His crassness ate at him. He should have said goodbye. Saying sorry, like it was only last week and he’d just forgotten to call, seemed inadequate. Leaving everything behind to follow his brother’s dreams had been tough, so he’d confined her to a compartment labeled ‘past’, along with all the other stuff he’d failed to deal with.

The elevator stopped and the doors opened with a ping. Maggie stepped quickly into the corridor, looking down the line of numbered doors. Alex strode out after her, carrying the baggage.

“Which room?”

She glanced at her key. “It’s right here.” She pointed to the door in front of her. “This one. You can go, I can manage now.” She tilted her head and smiled up at him. “Thanks.”

Did she have to have such a sexy smile?

“Open up and I’ll lift this lot in for you. I don’t want you rupturing something and failing to turn up to the shoots. I need you.”

Maggie huffed out a breath and did as she was told. She was loaded with the irresistibility factor.

“You’ve gone all chivalrous knight,” she laughed. There was a smoky glint in her hazel eyes and curls of amusement tweaked the corners of her mouth.

“What were you expecting? I haven’t turned into my TV character. Jago might be mysterious and moody, but that isn’t me.” He hesitated. He wanted to add, “I shouldn’t need to tell you that”, except he thought better of it. The way he’d treated her was distinctly unchivalrous.

Maggie waved a dismissive hand. “I know that,” she said. “Please promise me you won’t forget to channel a smattering of mean and menacing for the shoots, though, because I’m quite sure the magazine isn’t expecting me to stick you in a suit of armor.”

“Vampires in shining armor?” he chuckled.

“That’s what I’d call a drastic makeover,” she laughed, “And one guaranteed not to get me any follow-up calls. I’d like to raise my profile, not bury it without trace. Anyway, you needn’t worry, the looks I’ve got planned are very cool.”

He captured her gaze and the urge to play with her reeled him in. “I’m yours to do with as you please.”

The devil in him wanted to feel her blue-nailed fingers tear his clothes off, and make stupid, crazy love to her with the finesse their last encounter had lacked. These rogue thoughts weren’t helping his no-action plan.

She looked him up and down slowly. “Now there’s an offer I bet not many stylists would refuse,” she joked. “I just might have to take you up on it and give you a revamp!”

“Funny one! I like what you did there.”

She smirked and he grinned back, itching to press his mouth to her smile. He wanted to crush her lips, feel her mouth open beneath his, their bodies meld like molten metal. Forget the tea party. Boston could turn out to be Party Central. She was a whole decade more attractive right now than ever. Perhaps she’d turn out to be his party girl after all.

His? Where had that come from?

Arms crossed, she chewed her bottom lip, measuring him up. Was it wishful thinking to imagine she was mentally undressing him?

Reason set in and he grasped his case. “I’d better go. See you anon.”

Outside, on the safe side of Maggie’s door, Alex stepped quickly back into the elevator. He needed to find his room, and then he’d find the gym. Every muscle in his body had tensed. He hadn’t expected to have feelings for Maggie, good, bad or indifferent. He’d been hoping to make sure their almost-sex-disaster-fest incident was all in the past. There was more than enough animosity between him and Nick without adding awkwardness with the stylist into the mix. The attraction that had flared up between him and Maggie was infernally inconvenient.