Читать книгу His Bride by Design - Teresa Hill, Teresa Hill - Страница 8

Chloe had no idea how long she slept, waking, if possible, even more disoriented than before. She’d barely turned over in her bed to squint at the clock, when her bedroom door opened slowly, quietly.

Addie and Robbie peeked in, whispering furiously to each other.

“I’m awake,” she said.

They nearly tripped over each other getting inside, then just stared at her like she might have dropped in from a spaceship or something. She looked down at herself in the bed. She was in her favorite sleep attire, cotton spaghetti-strap camisole and pajama bottoms, nothing out of the ordinary about that.

“What?” she finally asked.

“She’s dressed in her PJs,” Robbie said. “He wouldn’t … you know … and then dress her again afterward.”

“Maybe he didn’t take the time to undress her at all,” Addie argued. “It’s not like it’s completely necessary. Maybe he’s that kind of guy. You know. In. Out. Done. Over. Outta here.”

“I bet he’s better than that. You know. You can tell—”

“I can’t tell. How do you tell just from looking that a guy will take the time to undress you completely first?”

And then it was all starting to come back to Chloe.

The crazy brides with the bouquets, but really with garment bags, probably with shoes in them, because they were heavy. Especially when people were swinging them at her. And then … then …

“Oh, my God! He was here?” she cried.

Addie and Robbie fell silent and solemn, just looking at her.

She started gasping for breath. “I think I might hyperventilate. He was really here?”

They nodded.

“He saved me from the rioting brides?”

“He did,” Robbie confirmed. “It was like something out of Gone with the Wind. Rhett and Scarlett on the stairs and all.”

“James Elliott was here, and he carried me up the stairs? To my room? This room?” She tried breathing faster and faster, conscious but in that fuzzy-headed way of one who’s slept too long and can’t really wake up.

“We followed as soon as we could,” Robbie said.

James must have been here for a while. She vaguely remembered him touching her softly, sweetly, his body pressing hers down into the mattress, his mouth on hers, just as hot and sexy as ever.

Chloe lifted up the covers and peeked beneath them at herself. Yes, she was completely dressed, and he was definitely a man to completely undress a woman in those kinds of situations, though she wasn’t confirming or denying any of that to Addie or Robbie.

So, he’d just kissed her? And held her? And then left?

“How long was he in my room with me?” she asked finally.

“Thirty-seven and a half minutes,” Robbie said.

They’d timed the visit? Of course.

“We were thinking of breaking in—”

“Because we thought … I don’t know, maybe you’d lost your mind or something, and we should try to save you from yourself,” Addie finished. “Should we have been saving you from yourself?”

“Probably. Yes.” Then she had a new, even more horrible thought. “He knew why those crazy brides were here?”

“Oh, yeah.”

She looked up into their equally worried faces and felt anew the sinking feeling of complete humiliation. Not just the rest of the known world, but James, too, knew her ex No. 3 had a thing for men, and he’d been here to witness the aftermath of her latest disastrous relationship.

“What in the world was he doing here?” she asked finally.

“He said he was having a business meeting with Adam Landrey when they heard about the riot. Adam was here, too,” Addie told her.

“I still can’t believe it. It doesn’t make any sense.”

He was here? Yes, she could still smell him in her bed. That fresh, clean, citrusy smell of him. She thought she could feel his arms around her, her body snuggled up to his, could remember feeling safe and cherished and so turned on. Why would he charge in, rescue her from the crazy brides and then carry her up here and kiss her? Then leave without a word?

Addie frowned at her. “He thought you might have been hit in the head, that you were a little out of it, a little confused.”

Oh, perfect. At least she had an excuse for whatever she’d done.

“Do you need a doctor?” Robbie asked.

“A mental-health professional. We should probably keep one on call.”

James was whistling as he approached the newsstand the next morning, then saw that Vince was waiting for him, tabloid in hand.

Uh-oh. Did they have photos of the mob scene from Chloe’s?

But as he got closer, he saw that Vince was beaming at him. “Today, it’s on the house! This and your Wall Street Journal.”

This, it turned out, was a tabloid with a cover shot of him saving Chloe from the mob!

“You’re the first one of my regulars to make the cover of a periodical I carry!” Vince said. “How ’bout that? I’ve been telling everybody this morning that I know you, that I see you here every day!”

James groaned and looked again. Could anyone—except maybe people who saw him every day—tell that was him? In the photo, his head was bent down toward Chloe’s as he carried her through a sea of rioting brides. She looked like a waif, a beautiful, fragile, helpless waif. And he was mostly just a dark suit with dark hair, he thought.

“So, you and that designer get back together?” Vince asked.

“Not exactly.”

“Hey, come ’ere.” Vince motioned for James to lean over the counter, closer to Vince, who’d pulled out his cell phone and held it out in front of them.

“No!” James pulled away as the flash went off. He could only hope he’d gotten out of the way in time. “No pictures. Not today.”

Vince looked mightily disappointed. “I was gonna put it up on the newsstand. You know, to show people that I really know you.”

“Yeah. I’m just not ready for that, Vince. And I really hate having my picture taken,” he said.

“You date that crazy girl, you’re gonna get your picture taken.”

He hadn’t thought of that when he’d charged to her rescue, but he couldn’t really say he regretted it, either. Because he’d gotten to see her again, to hold her again, to kiss her. He’d gotten into her bed again. He grinned at that thought. Not in the way he’d really like to be back in her bed, but it was certainly better than not being anywhere near her bed.

“I gotta ask you,” Vince said, grinning wickedly. “Once you carried her off like that, what did you do to her then?”

“Nothing,” James claimed. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Yeah, right,” Vince said.

A gentleman didn’t kiss and tell, after all, and he prided himself on being a gentleman.

He got to his office to see Marcy waiting for him, looking as freaked out as he’d ever seen her and carrying a rolled-up copy of a tabloid.

“Let me guess.” James went into his office, Marcy following. “You’ve never worked with anyone who made the cover of a tabloid before?”

Her mouth fell open. “You’ve seen it?”

“If it’s the one I’m thinking of, I have. Please tell me I didn’t make the cover of more than one?”

“No, just the one.” She laid it down in front of him on his desk. “We’re probably going to start getting calls—”

“From the tabloids? They know who I am?”

“Suspect, at least. The Bride Blog piece yesterday did mention you by name in connection with Ms. Allen, and if we’re going to get calls, I need to know what to say.”

She waited, looking so eager and excited.

“You mean, you want me to tell you what happened yesterday?”

“Only so I can do my job,” she claimed.

Yeah, right. She was practically salivating at the thought of getting the tabloid news before anyone else.

“There is something seriously wrong with you, Marcy,” he said.

“I know. Believe me, I do. I’m so sorry. Everyone has a weakness, a dirty little secret, and this is mine.”

And Chloe was his.

His weakness, but not his secret. Not anymore. He didn’t think he’d left any room for doubt about how he felt about her.

“She was in trouble, and I helped her out. That’s it. End of story. I’m not going to stand by and watch anyone I know get attacked.” He made it sound perfectly reasonable, he thought, like he was some sort of freelance do-gooder.

Marcy didn’t look like she was buying a word of it. She’d seen him charge out of the restaurant like a crazy man to get to Chloe yesterday, after all.

“So, that Bride Blog thing yesterday … I never actually saw it.”

“You’re not going to like it,” Marcy warned, handing him a printout with the pertinent parts highlighted in yellow.

He scanned the article. It referred to him as Fiancé No. 2 and mentioned that stupid eligible bachelor list he’d been on, then got to the she-just-wanted-him-for-his-money part.

Well, that hurt.

Still.

He’d hurled that particular accusation at her after they broke up. Sometimes he believed it, sometimes he didn’t, but it still had the power to make him seriously annoyed.

“Well, I’ve never been happy being No. 2 in anything,” he said, handing that piece of trash back to Marcy. “And please tell me they’re wrong about that stupid bachelor list. I can’t be on that thing again!”

Marcy looked a little nervous. “The Single Woman’s Guide to Bachelor Hunting in New York? I called. I’m afraid you’re going to be on it again.”

James cringed. He’d made New York Woman’s annual bachelor list for the first time a few weeks before he and Chloe had gotten engaged. Truly rotten timing, because women could be so aggressive these days. They’d been all over him. It had been a constant annoyance and a major source of tension between him and Chloe. So once again, this was the worst possible timing.

“What do I have to do to get off that stupid list?” he asked.

“Lose all your money or get married,” she said, demonstrating that logical Marcy was still in there somewhere. “Or I guess you could leave New York.”

No good options there. “Maybe we could just buy the stupid magazine and do away with the list.”

Marcy paused, pen and pad in hand, like she wasn’t sure whether she should write that down or not.

“I’m not that desperate yet. Still, there has to be something we can do.”

“Well, it seems obvious. You need a girlfriend,” Marcy advised.

“No, I don’t.” He was still smarting from the last one. Chloe.

“A very public girlfriend,” Marcy insisted. “Take her out, smile for the photographers, just as that stupid list comes out. That way, women will think you’re taken and leave you alone.”

No, they wouldn’t. He was painfully aware of that. Of course, it might be even worse, even more women, more aggressive, if he appeared to be completely available.

“I guess that would be less of a hassle than buying the damned magazine. When does the issue come out?”

“Next week. You’ll have to date fast.”

A very public girlfriend?

One of those women who needed three hours to pull herself together to walk out the door, who wanted every moment of her life gossiped about, speculated about and, best of all, captured on film.

Which made him think about Chloe. Vince had said that morning, Date her, you’re going to get your picture taken.

Chloe as his very public, fake girlfriend.

As if reading his mind, Marcy continued. “You’ve already got a good start on it. Your rescue of Ms. Allen was like something out of a fairy tale.” She sighed heavily. “It played very well in the blogs today, the way you took her in your arms and fought to get her to safety. People already want to know about the two of you.”

Marcy got a particularly dreamy look on her face. James didn’t want to admit that Chloe’s behavior might be attributable to a slight blow to the head that left her disoriented. It would ruin the whole fantasy–fairy tale element, and he’d seldom seen Marcy look so happy—and maybe a little goofy.

He feared he’d looked the same way when he’d finally seen Chloe the day before—just plain goofy-giddy-stupid with happiness. Hopefully Chloe was too confused to remember.

“Marcy, come back to me,” he said.

“Sorry. I was just thinking, from that photo, you might be able to convince people you and Ms. Allen have been seeing each other for a while, and that maybe she wasn’t engaged to that secretly gay photographer.”

Okay, James couldn’t deny that would be useful, if his purpose was truly to keep Chloe’s business from going under and maybe … to get to spend some time with Chloe while doing it. And he wanted some time with her. No lying to himself about that anymore. Or he was just nuts right now. Chloe Derangement Syndrome. He’d had it before.

“If anyone asks about Chloe and me, don’t deny it,” he told Marcy.

Marcy brightened instantly. “That you and Ms. Allen are involved?”

“Right. Tell them that we have been for a while.”

Marcy was positively rapturous now. James wouldn’t be surprised if Marcy had suggested this whole scheme because he and Chloe would end up in the tabloids some more. Marcy would love every moment of that.

“I want a full briefing on how the riot played in the blogs, the gossip sites…. You know, all that stuff.”

“Of course.” It was a dream-come-true assignment for Marcy.

“I have to go. Cancel my morning meetings. I’ll call you later about what to do with my afternoon schedule.”

He had to pitch the plan to Chloe. The one to save her business. She’d do anything to save her business, wouldn’t she?

Even pretend to be dating him again?

“He’s coming!” Addie whispered furiously to Chloe soon after they unlocked the salon doors that morning, happy to find no rioting brides and only a few tabloid photographers outside.

But now he was coming, and there was only one he, as far as she was concerned.

“How do I look?” Chloe asked, because she couldn’t help herself.

She was still seriously annoyed at how she’d just crawled out of bed, her hair a mess, still wearing her PJs, when he’d seen her yesterday. Every woman had fantasies of how great she’d look the next time a man who broke her heart saw her again, and in all the fantasies, she looked fabulous. He would be shocked at how good she looked, sad he ever lost her, and beg her to take him back. It was a universal female fantasy, and Chloe feared she didn’t look good enough for him this time, either.

“You’re good. You’re very good,” Addie said. “Just pinch your cheeks a little bit. You could use some more color. And wet your lips. That’s it. You want to look kissable. Very kissable.”

“I do?” Chloe wasn’t sure she could stand it if he kissed her.

“You’re right. It’s James. You don’t.”

Chloe sighed. “Why do you think he’s here?”

“I have no idea, but he photographs well, especially in rescue mode. So I think, despite everything else, we should be nice to him.”

“Okay. I can do that.”

“But not too nice,” Addie said. “I don’t want him to hurt you again.”

“Right. Me, either.” She was such a wimp where he was concerned. “Addie, I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Of course you can. You just had your whole career and your love life land in the toilet, and half the world saw photos and video of it, but you survived. You can handle seeing this man again.”

“You’re right.” He couldn’t possibly humiliate her as much as she’d already been humiliated. She had that going for her.

He walked in looking characteristically gorgeous and uncharacteristically unsure of himself. Or maybe he was afraid some disaster might strike at any moment, like the riot he’d been in the midst of the day before. Even Chloe was scared of walking into her own shop right now, so she could understand how he would be, too.

Addie gave her a smile and disappeared, probably just to the other side of the door of the showroom, if Chloe knew her sister. She’d be close if Chloe needed her—and she’d want to hear what James had to say.

Chloe summoned up every bit of courage and confidence she had and put a smile on her face as he slowly walked up to her. Hands stuffed into his pockets, he stood and smiled, just looking at her for a moment.

“Feeling better today, I hope?” he said finally.

She nodded, thinking she really didn’t have to speak just yet.

“Good. I was worried about you. You were kind of out of it last night.”

“Oh … well … the whole thing was pretty surreal.” The mob attack, seeing him again, having him lift her into his arms, carry her up the stairs, put her gently on her bed, kiss her so sweetly, let her fall asleep in his arms ….

“I imagine it must have been,” he agreed. “I mean, how many people get attacked by angry brides?”

“Even for me, that’s weird.” She’d always been a different sort of girl, and he knew it, even seemed to enjoy it at times.

“So, things are better today?” he asked. “No mad brides so far?”

“Not this morning.”

“Good. I was hoping some good would come of us making the cover of one of the tabloids.”

Chloe winced. “I am so sorry about that. I know how much you hate that sort of thing.”

He shrugged as if it meant nothing at all to him, when she knew it did. He was a man who liked his privacy, liked peace and quiet in order to be able to concentrate on what he truly enjoyed—his work. He was as much of a workaholic as she was. It had been one thing that worked for them—that devotion and understanding of ambition and long hours.

“I was afraid they were going to hurt you,” he said. “And I would never stand by and let someone hurt you, Chloe.”

She looked him in the eye then, surprised and terribly pleased.

“I mean…” He shrugged once again and smiled. “I wouldn’t just stand by and watch anyone get attacked like that.”

“Of course. I knew that. I knew … what you meant,” she lied. So all it had been was good manners and being in the right place at the right time?

“So,” he said finally. “Marcy says you and I are all over the internet gossip sites today. They liked the photo of us.”

“Marcy?” He had a girlfriend looking up everything she could find about him and Chloe on the net?

“My assistant. Brilliant woman. Wharton grad. Well-organized, efficient, careful. She just has a bad habit, embarrassing, really. She loves the tabloids. Please don’t tell her I told you so. She’d be horrified that anyone knew.”

Chloe laughed, trying to imagine anyone working for him and having a secret tabloid addiction.

“I know. It’s ridiculous, but there it is. I guess we all have our secret … weaknesses.”

Chloe wanted to hide. Was he talking about her? Did he know that he might be her most guilty secret of all? That her heart still did that crazy little jittery dance just seeing him again? And she was perfectly clearheaded today. She had no excuses.

“So, anyway,” he said, “Marcy says the photo of us seems to have stopped the worst of … you know? The stuff about you being cursed in love and your dresses being cursed.”

Okay, this was getting worse by the minute. “Well, I appreciate that. That the photograph did that. Thank you.”

He nodded, still looking uncomfortable.

What did he have to be uncomfortable about? His life seemed to be going along just fine, no scandals, no business on the verge of collapse, no humiliation.

“So … remember that silly … magazine list I made back when we were together?”

She frowned. “Up-and-Coming Young Businessmen of Manhattan?”

“No, the bachelor list.”

“The Single Woman’s Guide to Bachelor Hunting in New York?” He’d been outraged by the whole thing, and soon she’d hated it, too. All those women, so pretty, so polished, with money and breeding, seemingly so much more suited to a romance with him than she ever would be.

“Yeah. That.” He looked like it truly pained him. “It’s coming out again any day now, and … I’m afraid I’m going to be on it again.”

“Oh.” Of course he was. He was likely even more successful now than he had been before and still single, as far as she knew.

“So I’m probably going to have some photographers hounding me for a few weeks, like they did the last time.”