Читать книгу Designed by Desire - Pamela Yaye - Страница 11

Chapter 2

As Brianna slipped through the private entrance at Bar 8, an exclusive hotspot that happened to be on the ground floor of her hotel, she felt the stress of the past two hours fade away. She could have gone upstairs to her cozy three-bedroom suite and ordered room service, but the night was still young, and she didn’t feel like being alone.

She took a seat at the circular marble bar. The sophisticated ambiance and hushed lighting made it easy for Brianna to forget the outside world. The sleek, wood walls were inlaid with crystals, creating the illusion of raindrops. Couples sat at glass tables, enjoying obscenely expensive bottles of wine, and the sound of laughter and foreign languages sweetened the air. Everyone at the bar had their eyes glued to the soccer game on the flat-screen above the bar, and their loud, boisterous cheers created a festive mood.

“Madame, what can I get you?” the waiter asked in his thick Russian accent.

“Pinot grigio ’95, please.”

As Brianna looked at the menu, memories filled her mind. The last time she’d been at this trendy spot, Bailey had attracted the attention of everyone inside the bar, and soon their quiet dinner for two had turned into an impromptu party for twenty. Patrons snapped pictures of Bailey, begged for her autograph and chatted her up about her photo shoot that morning at the Eiffel Tower. By the time they’d left the bar, the sun was peeking over the horizon and the paparazzi were staked out in the lobby, waiting to snap the perfect shot of the model on the brink of superstardom.

It’s hard to believe that was six months ago, Brianna thought, taking the glass the bartender offered and tasting her wine. My family has always been the toast of the town, but now it feels like everyone in the world is gunning for us.

Brianna closed her eyes and released a heavy sigh. It was days like this, when perfect strangers bashed her family and questioned her talent, that Brianna wanted to disappear. For once, she wished she could be a nobody. Someone no one knew or recognized. Not Brianna Hamilton, fashion designer and eldest daughter of Roger and Lila Hamilton. Just Brianna. No last name.

A clean, refreshing scent washed over her. It was aftershave, and the fragrance reminded her of home, of her father, of all the cold winter days they’d spent inside playing chess and watching Jeopardy! on TV. Brianna opened her eyes, half expecting to see her gray-haired father sitting in the stool beside her, but when she saw him—the sexy heartthrob who’d caused a stir when he’d entered the Carrousel du Louvre—she gasped.

“I’m sorry,” he said, holding up his hands in a gesture of peace, his expression one of genuine concern. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

His smile was apologetic, but Brianna eyed him warily. She wasn’t used to men approaching her at a hotel bar, or anywhere for that matter. Guys rarely asked her out, and that suited her just fine because she wasn’t interested in having a one-night stand or finding that special someone, either. Dating didn’t appeal to her, and neither did racking up more sex partners than the Material Girl. She’d much rather work or spend time with her family than sweat out her perm with a guy who was more interested in getting off than pleasing her. Brianna knew, in theory, that there were still a few good men out there, but she didn’t have the energy or patience that dating required.

And why bother when love doesn’t last, anyway?

“Do you mind me sitting here?”

“Yes—I mean, n-n-no,” she stammered, tripping over her own tongue. “It’s a free world. You can sit wherever you want.” Brianna recognized she was rambling, but she couldn’t get her lips to stop moving or her hands to quit shaking.

“I won’t bother you. I promise.” He gestured with his head to the TV. “I just want to watch the World Cup qualification match between Italy and Germany.”

Brianna flashed him a smile. He was definitely American, likely from the West Coast, and radiated a calm, laid-back vibe. His voice was deep, husky—a sound she’d love to hear more of. So why not strike up a conversation? Despite all the drama at the fashion show, she was feeling surprisingly upbeat.

Sitting at a bar with a gorgeous guy can do that to a girl, Brianna thought, shifting nervously on her swivel stool.

“I bet on the boys in blue, and I’m anxious to see how they’re doing,” he said.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but the game’s over. Germany won by two.”

His eyes widened. “Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

“How the hell did that happen?” The stranger raked a hand over his brown close-cropped hair. “The last time I checked, Italy was up by two.”

“In the second half, the Germans were the faster, more aggressive team,” Brianna explained. “They’re a talented, young squad that plays with a lot of heart, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they won it all in Brazil next year.”

He raised an eyebrow. “How do you know so much about European football?”

“I lived in Milan for a year, and it was the only thing on TV!” Brianna laughed. “Italians live and breathe football, and it wasn’t long before I fell in love with the sport, too. I don’t watch as many games as I used to, but I still follow my favorite teams.”

“Interesting.” Studying her, he stroked the length of his jaw. “Who do you like in the France versus Spain game? I was just about to place my bet.”

“That’s a no-brainer. France.”

“How can you be so sure? They haven’t been playing well as of late.”

“That’s why I’m convinced they’ll win,” she told him. “The French perform best when it matters most, and they know if they lose to Spain they’ll have to permanently relocate because their fans will never, ever forgive them!”

The stranger chuckled and offered his right hand. “I’m Collin.”

No, you’re fine-as-hell, Brianna thought.

He was, without a doubt, the best-looking man she’d ever seen in the flesh, and being in such close proximity to him was wreaking havoc on her body—and her mind. Her nipples had hardened under her dress, and she couldn’t stop picturing Collin naked in her bed. And if he looked half as good in real life as he did in her fantasy, that could spell serious trouble.

“Are you going to tell me your name, or do I have to buy you another glass of wine first?”

“I’m Brianna,” she said, reaching out and taking his hand. A flutter danced in the pit of her stomach, then spread south. Brianna sat up taller, straighter. She had to be on guard if she wanted to withstand the heat of his gaze and his devilish smile. Her body’s reaction to Collin— a dark-skinned brother with killer swag and dreamy brown eyes—momentarily stunned her, but she found her voice and said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“No, the pleasure is all mine.”

For a moment, they sat in complete silence, appraising each other.

“Did you enjoy the show?” Brianna asked, reluctantly releasing his hand.

“Yeah, I thought it was real cool, but it wasn’t as good as the RHD show I caught the day before. Roger Hamilton is one of my favorite designers, and I can’t wait to get my hands on his spring line.”

Brianna wore a proud smile but didn’t reveal who she was. Tonight, it didn’t matter. She was just a woman in Paris, enjoying a drink inside a swank bar, chatting with the sexiest man in the room. Why spoil the mood by telling him she was Roger Hamilton’s daughter? And one of the top designers at RHD?

“Your girlfriend doesn’t mind you skipping the Vanity Fair party to watch the soccer game?” she asked.

“I’m single,” he said smoothly. “And Evangeline isn’t my girlfriend. She’s doing the new ad campaign for my company, and when I heard she was in town for Fashion Week, I decided to meet up with her to finalize the deal.”

“Do you work in the industry?”

“No, I’m in the hotel business. Hardly exciting, but it pays the bills.”

Brianna gave a nod and sipped her wine. She found it hard to believe this attractive, impeccably dressed man was single. In her experience, men who looked like him didn’t have just one girlfriend, they had several. But who knew? Maybe he was telling the truth. Brianna told herself it didn’t matter—it wasn’t like she was taking Collin back to her suite tonight, or any night for that matter. They were just making small talk and sharing space at the bar, and once Brianna finished her drink, she was going upstairs, alone.

“Are you a model?”

“God, no! I’m a designer.” Brianna laughed, and he did, too. “I enjoy food too much to be on a calorie-counting diet, and I don’t have the stomach for all the backstabbing in the modeling industry. My sister is always teasing me for staying home on the weekends, but I love my quiet, drama-free life just the way it is.”

Collin nodded. “I hear you. I travel a lot for work, and when I get back to the States after a long overseas trip, all I want to do is put on some sweats and veg out on the couch.”

“And watch European football,” Brianna added, smiling at him.

Chuckling, he slipped off his coat and draped it on the back of his chair. “Are you sure it’s okay if I sit here?” he asked, glancing around the bar. “Your man isn’t going to storm in here and beat me to a pulp for talking to you, is he?”

With that body, no one could ever beat you to a pulp, she thought, unable to resist glancing at his ripped physique. “I’m not here with anyone. I’m divorced.”

A look of sadness washed over his face, but when he spoke his tone was filled with genuine disbelief. “Your ex must be an idiot because only a fool would let you go.”

“It’s complicated,” Brianna said with a shrug. “Relationships always are. That’s why I’m taking a break from the dating scene and focusing on my career.”

“Any chance of you and your ex getting back together?”

His question surprised her. The answer was a resounding no, but Brianna didn’t want to talk to Collin—a virtual stranger—about the demise of her two-year marriage. Even now, a full year after their divorce, Brianna still didn’t have the courage to tell anyone—not even her family—the real reason why she’d walked out on her ex.

“I don’t want to talk about my past,” she said. “I’m sitting in a posh bar, enjoying my wine in a vibrant, captivating city most people will never get to see, and I don’t want to take any of it for granted.”

“I love it here, too. Paris is the only city I love as much as New York.”

“You’ve been to New York?” Brianna heard the enthusiasm in her voice and told herself to simmer down. After tonight, she’d never see Collin again, so there was no use in getting worked up about him one day passing through her hometown.

“I could do without the noise, and the gridlock traffic, but New York will always be my favorite city in the world.”

Same here, Brianna thought but didn’t say. From the moment Collin had sat down beside her at the bar, they’d been talking and laughing like old friends, and it was unnerving, shocking even, how much they had in common.

“Earlier, you mentioned that you’d lived in Milan,” Collin said, picking up one of the drink menus off the bar. “What was that like? Black men get a bad rap for aggressively pursuing women, but Italian guys take flirting to a whole other level. I bet they professed their undying love to you on the street every day!”

Brianna burst out laughing. And just like that, she felt herself relax, felt her nerves calm. Collin ordered hors d’ouevres, and as they feasted on stuffed mushrooms, crabmeat and French cheeses, Brianna found herself opening up to him. She told Collin about her quirky, creative family; how she loved being a fashion designer; and the year she spent in Milan, studying and traveling around Europe. As Brianna spoke, she was struck by something remarkable. Collin did something her ex-husband, Rick Lassiter, had never done: he listened. Just...listened.

He didn’t interrupt her, didn’t try to cram his opinions down her throat. He seemed genuinely interested in what she had to say. He asked thoughtful, insightful questions and cracked jokes that made her laugh out loud. And although Bar 8 was full of scantily dressed women, he never once stole a peek at any of the beauties who sashayed past—not even the buxom redhead who winked at him.

This is a first, Brianna thought, impressed. It’s nice being with someone who’s not making eyes at every other woman in the bar.

During the course of her short, tumultuous marriage, her then-husband’s roving eye had been the cause of most of the trouble between them. They’d had countless arguments over him flirting with other women. But that wasn’t what ultimately drove them apart....

“How much longer will you be in Paris?”

Surfacing from her thoughts, she smiled and reached for her wine. “I leave tomorrow afternoon, but I really wish I didn’t have to.”

“Then stay,” Collin said with a wink.

Brianna felt a flutter in the pit of her stomach.

“I’d love to show you around the city.”

“That’s very sweet of you, but I’ve been to Paris countless times.”

“And?”

“And,” she repeated, adopting his playful tone, “there’s nowhere you can take me that I haven’t already been to a hundred times.”

“Wanna bet?”

Hiding a grin, Brianna raised her eyebrows at him. “If I were you, I’d leave gambling to the professionals,” she sassed in a singsong voice. “You’ve already lost one bet tonight, so quit while you’re ahead.”

Collin hung his head and threw a hand over his heart. “That’s cold, Brianna. Talk about kicking a man when he’s already down!”

Brianna laughed. Then she caught sight of a waiter, frantically wiping down tables, and her eyes widened. The bar was empty, and the TVs had been turned off. Brianna had been having so much fun with Collin, she hadn’t noticed that Bar 8 was about to close.

“We better get out of here. The waiters are giving us the evil eye,” he joked, signaling to the bartender. “I know a club just around the corner that has a cool VIP area and great music. It’s a mature crowd and the perfect place to chill at the end of a long day.”

“I think I’ll pass. It’s way past my bedtime.”

“But you just finished saying how much you love house music.”

“I do, but the club scene is not really my thing.”

“Come on. Live in the moment. Throw caution to the wind. Be spontaneous.”

Brianna laughed again. “You sound like a self-help tape.”

“Good! Is it working?” he asked, flashing a camera-ready smile. “I hope so because I want to hold you in my arms tonight.”

Excitement powered through Brianna’s veins. His words aroused her, making her feel warm inside. She was enjoying Collin’s company immensely and, although it was well after midnight, she didn’t want the evening to end.

“We’re in one of the most romantic and thrilling cities in the world,” he pointed out, standing. “If you can’t have fun and cut loose here, you can’t have fun anywhere.”

“Collin, we just met a few hours ago. How would it look if I left the bar with you?”

“You’re an attractive young woman who wants to have a good time. There’s nothing wrong with that.” He leaned against the side of the bar, just inches away from her face, and spoke in a tone that he probably used only in the privacy of his bedroom. The thought of it gave her chills. “You’ll be perfectly safe with me, Brianna. I’m a gentleman, and I’ll behave as such at all times.”

“Is that a promise?” The question was out of Brianna’s mouth before she could stop it.

“I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.”

Brianna hid a cheeky smile and swallowed the provocative quip on the tip of her tongue. She’d never been one to act on impulse, and she always did exactly what was expected of her. But she’d realized something about herself after Bailey’s kidnapping. Deep down, she longed for more—more spontaneity, more thrills. Life had never felt so precious, so valuable, and tonight Brianna wanted to do something wild and completely out of character.

So, why not do Collin? she thought. Spending the rest of her night cooped up in her hotel suite sketching designs didn’t appeal to her, but dancing in a Paris nightclub with a hot, dreamy brother sure did.

“We’ll go check out Le Baron, and if you’re not feeling it, we’ll leave.”

Brianna liked the sound of that and how good it felt to have Collin’s hand on the small of her back as she rose from her stool. But when she saw Evangeline sashay into Bar 8 with her enormous entourage, Brianna felt the smile slide off her face. The French pop star looked like a vixen, and she moved like one, too. In her sheer, neon-pink mini-dress, she’d fit in perfectly at a hoochie-mama convention, but there was no disputing her beauty. Evangeline was a ten—one of the most desirable women in the world and every man’s type. Brianna noticed the staff scurrying around the bar, grabbing menus, pulling up chairs and draping tables with crisp, white tablecloths.

Paying her no mind, Evangeline bumped Brianna aside with her hips and pressed herself flat against Collin’s back. His smile vanished and the look on his face said “Busted.” Evangeline lowered her mouth to his ear and purred like a kitten with a bowl of warm milk.

“Look, Collin, now you have a very eager dance partner.” Brianna opened her purse, took a hundred euros out of her wallet and tossed it down on the counter to pay her tab and Collin’s. The stunned expression on his face gave Brianna an odd sense of satisfaction. She’d one-upped him, and that felt damn good. “Enjoy the rest of your night,” she said, faking a smile.

Evangeline stroked Collin’s chest with one hand and waved absently with the other. “Don’t worry, mon cherie—we will.”

“Brianna, hold up,” Collin said. “Wait! Don’t go!”

His pleas fell on deaf ears. Without another word, Brianna strode out of Bar 8 and into the lobby of the Mandarin Oriental Hotel. Sorry she’d wasted her time with Collin, she chided herself for spending the past three hours laughing and flirting with another woman’s man. Contrary to what he’d told her, it was obvious he was screwing Evangeline and that everything he’d told her about his relationship with the pop star was a lie. Collin was a player, a man who got off on seducing women, and Brianna was glad she’d found out the truth about him before it was too late.

Before she did something stupid like sleep with him.

Collin was a jerk, a guy with no conscience, and Brianna hoped to God she never saw his lying, cheating face again.

But long after Brianna boarded the private elevator and returned to her suite, the guy at the bar with the soulful voice and the dreamy, deep-brown eyes was still heavy on her mind.