Читать книгу The Little Shop of Afternoon Delights: 6 Book Romance Collection - Jane Linfoot, Zara Stoneley - Страница 21

Alex knocked on the door of Maggie’s bedroom carrying a tray laden with a breakfast: orange juice, coffee, and buttery croissants so flaky and delicious they could have been teleported in straight from a boulangerie in France.

“Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. I’ve got an action-packed day planned for you.” Maggie sat up in the king-sized bed and plumped one of the fat pillows. He was wearing his solemn celebrity face, but by the sound of things her impetuous moment of madness had been forgotten. Her stomach churned. Embarrassment washed through her. She’d got carried away. Alex thought a fling was a terrible idea, but no one could blame a girl for trying.

“That sounds intriguing.” She looked at him from beneath lowered lashes, pulled the corner off her croissant and popped it into her mouth, being careful not to drop crumbs on the bed linen.

“Have you ever taken time out to be a tourist in New York?”

“No.” She met his eyes. “Never.” She’d worked in the city lots, but her schedule had been too frenetic to take in the sights.

“Me neither.” Alex grabbed a croissant and lolled on the end of her bed. Fresh from the shower, hair damp, his uber-masculine body made her pulse stutter. His spiced man smell knocked her sideways. Mmm. Yum. The hotel bathrobe gaped across his chest, revealing an expanse of bronze skin. “I’ve lost count how many times I’ve been in New York and not done the tourist stuff.”

A coppery flake the size of a British two-pence coin fell onto the white duvet. Maggie picked it up between two red nails and put it back on the plate. She couldn’t wait to change her nail color, start afresh.

“What’s the plan?”

Alex suppressed a teasing half-smile. “It’s a mystery tour. I’m not telling you what the plan is. You’ll have to trust me.”

First stop, the Statue of Liberty. They waited in line to take the ferry with the other tourists. With his dark glasses and upturned collar Alex remained incognito. Just before leaving the hotel, Maggie had stuffed Hamlet in her handbag and was flicking through the pages.

“So fill me in. Who’s Polonius?” Maggie asked. She’d done Hamlet for A level, but that was a long time ago. “I’ve mostly forgotten it.” She peered at the script. “And what’s an arras?”

“It’s a curtain and Polonius is Ophelia’s father. He’s eavesdropping behind the arras and Hamlet stabs him with his sword not knowing who it is.”

“So Hamlet kills off his girlfriend’s dad? That’s not good.”

“It’s a tragedy.”

Maggie nodded earnestly. “It certainly is.”

They climbed the three hundred and fifty-four steps into Lady Liberty’s crown, took photos of the Manhattan skyline, and talked more about Hamlet while they were up there.

In the afternoon they walked between the trees in Central Park, wandering aimlessly, along paths, over arches, and under bridges. Sometimes they stopped to run through a scene or two of the script. Maggie loved the splatters of color amongst the green where the leaves were just beginning to turn. By the Conservatory Water her heart twinged watching a little girl launch a sailboat with her dad. At the Alice in Wonderland sculpture, she let out a gasp of delight as kids clambered over the toadstools and clung to the White Rabbit’s ears. A proud father hoisted his tiny tot onto the big toadstool. Maggie sucked in a breath. She couldn’t miss what she’d never had. Her heart squeezed. Was she wrong to deprive her child of a father’s love, right from the off? Because she’d grown up knowing she’d never meet her dad she hadn’t had any qualms about it – until now.

Alex picked up on her preoccupation. “Is something wrong?” he asked. “Are you tired? Would you like to go back to the hotel?”

“It’s not that.” She shook her head. Suddenly dads were everywhere. “Dadless is all I’ve ever known. I guess that’s why I’m okay with the idea of a family that’s a dad-free zone. Mine’s not on my birth certificate. He might as well have been a sperm donor.”

“You’ve taken a negative and turned it into a positive. I wish I could have half your optimism. The San Andreas fault would be hard-pushed to do more damage than my father.”

Maggie’s heart went out to him. When she’d known him before he wouldn’t talk about his dad. Still, he had to be exaggerating. The name Drake Wells was revered. “I know you hated the things that got written in the tabloids, but he can’t have been all bad. Surely?”

A muscle flickered in his face. “It’s a waste of breath discussing my father. I don’t measure up. I never have. I never will.”

“My mum’s the one I couldn’t measure up for,” she admitted. “If I’d been more like her, I don’t think she’d have left. When she went to work in Spain my grandma overcompensated. She filled my days with fun stuff, like she was on a mission to make sure that I didn’t feel unloved.”

It had sort of worked. Despite her mum’s rejection, she’d had no sense of being unwanted. There’d been postcards and presents, and although her mother refused to come home to Cornwall, her grandma had saved up for budget flights and taken her to Spain for holidays. But did she feel loved? What she’d felt in bucketfuls was gratitude, so she’d returned her grandmother’s care by behaving impeccably, helping around the house, never being a nuisance. It wasn’t until uni that she’d been free to be her real self. She’d stopped trying to match the wallpaper for a while. She’d started blending again since Marcus. At the heart of things she’d lost a vital part of her self-worth.

Maggie let go of Alex’s hand. She loved the warmth of his touch, but she couldn’t process being this close without wanting more. “Basically,” she blurted, “What you call my optimism is nothing more than a refusal to be beaten by rejection.”

“You don’t have to do this solo, you know.” He reached out with both hands and gently pushed her hair behind her ears. “You can count on me. When we get back to London, if you need anything, anything at all, promise me you’ll call. I’m going to be in the UK for a while. I’ll do whatever I can.”

“That’s very sweet.” She sounded like she was accepting an invitation to coffee. “Thanks.”

“You shouldn’t have to be on your own.”

“I don’t have to be. I chose this,” she insisted, a touch too vehemently. She took a step back, reluctantly moving out of range of the hands that had been smooth heat against her skin. She didn’t want to push Alex away. Nothing tempted her more than the urge to kiss the sincerity right off his lovely lips. Instead she tested his offer to do anything at all for her. “Is my every wish your command?” she asked.

“Within reason.” A hint of a smile flitted across his serious face.

“In that case. I’d like to go to the zoo.”

Alex’s electric laughter cracked through the tension. “Then the zoo it is.”

Alex and Maggie were like a couple of big kids on their whirlwind tour of Central Park Zoo. They ate hot-dogs and cotton candy, and saw penguins and polar bears. In the gift shop Alex spotted a three-foot-high penguin. Part of the display for a range of books stuffed with animal facts, it wasn’t for sale, but Alex turned on the charm, signed autographs, and negotiated with the sales assistants to acquire it in exchange for a donation to wildlife conservation.

“What do you want that for?”

Alex held the penguin at arm’s length next to Maggie, comparing the two of them. “It’s your perfect accessory. Black and white with just a hint of yellow.” He handed it to her. “It’s for you. For the baby.”

“Don’t be daft. I can’t take this back to London. It’s huge. It’ll need its own seat on the plane.”

“He’ll have to make do with being stuffed into the overhead locker.”

Holding a flipper each, they were admiring a beautiful snow leopard when a woman tapped Alex on the shoulder. She held out a camera and said something incomprehensible in French or Spanish. Alex did a double-take.

“You want me to take a picture of you?”

Maggie stifled a giggle. “It’s usually the other way around,” she explained unhelpfully to the woman and her blank-faced entourage. “They’re obviously not fans.”

Alex organized the photo and butterflies skittered in Maggie’s stomach. They were the full-package family – yummy mummy, baby in a ditsy flower dress, too-cute toddler in a dinosaur t-shirt, a grumpy older kid with sneakers and a kid-sized back-pack. And a dad to complete their picture.

Maggie hugged the penguin and watched as Alex took charge of the first photo shoot in a week that wasn’t of him.

“Say cheese,” he coaxed smiles out of the family. “Fromage? Queso?”

“Cheese,” they chorused, with the exception of the sullen boy in sneakers, who could give Jago a run for his money, and the baby, who blew dribble bubbles winsomely.

The photo shoot done, Alex surprised Maggie, and everyone else for that matter, when he transformed from temporary photographer into impromptu magician. With sleight of hand he produced first one quarter, then another, out of thin air, and two more from behind Sneaker Boy’s ears, finally eliciting a reluctant smile.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Maggie asked, delighted.

“My dad taught me.” Alex frowned. “Right before he left. It took me two years to master it. I practiced on Nick.” He looked abashed. He laughed. “I never got the chance to show him that I’d got the hang of it.”

Maggie smiled. “Well, it’s coming in handy now.”

Recognition suddenly dawned on the faces of the parents.

“Are you?”

“Is he?”

“Alex Wells? Yes – he is,” Maggie confirmed.

The woman clapped her hands excitedly and together the couple exclaimed, “Jago!”

By the time they all parted, after another quick photo call to include the yummy mummy’s favorite vampire, everyone was smiling – even Alex.

Towards the end of the afternoon Alex hailed a yellow taxi and took Maggie and the giant penguin to Bloomingdales.

“What are we doing here?”

“We’ve got shopping to do.”

“Shopping’s what I do best. It’s practically my career.” She frowned, puzzled. “Frankly, it’s a bit of a busman’s holiday in my time off.”

“It’s my mother’s charity gala tonight. You need something to wear to the ball, Cinderella.”

Maggie stopped in her tracks. New York’s pedestrians diverted around her, as if she, Alex, and the penguin were rocks in a stream.

“After last night’s fiasco I think I’d prefer to stay holed up at the hotel in front of the TV with my friend here.” She jabbed a finger at the penguin. “I don’t think I’m cut out for all this red-carpet palaver.”

“I’d like you to come.” He pulled off his sunglasses and spiked a hand through his dark hair. “The event’s being held at the Empire State Building. It’s an excellent place to end our day in New York. The dinner guests get access to the observatory.” Maggie didn’t budge. “Come on, Maggie. Work with me here. What can I say to tempt you?”

Despite her reservations, Maggie was tempted. Ve-ry tempted.

“On your own head be it. Don’t blame me if I jinx another high-profile occasion.”

“Excuse me for thinking that you’d like to come. That you might actually – heaven forbid – enjoy it.”

“There’s no need to be snarky.” Truthfully, it sounded like a lovely evening. She’d get a second chance to prove to herself that she could be the perfect date, and to the world in general that she could do that front-of-camera stuff as well as the next person. After last night’s mishaps it was a wonder he hadn’t stuck her on the first flight out of here already. But Alex styling her for the second night in a row was a step too far. She couldn’t risk appearing in red again. Or pink.

“I’ll come with you on one condition.”

“Name it.”

“I style myself.”

He put his shades back on. “It’s a deal. Lead on, Macduff.” Maggie smiled at the much- misquoted line from Macbeth. Alex was going to make an awesome Hamlet. In a few weeks’ time the London theater reviews would be raving about him. Alex Wells would be the hottest ticket in town. And not just for his versatility as an actor. “Just one thing, though … I think I should mention … It’s a kind of tradition … A little matter of a color coordination thing that Cassandra insists on …”

Maggie was off. She wasn’t even listening. She waved a dismissive hand. She’d had all the color coordination she could take. She couldn’t face another red-on-the-red-carpet situation.

“I’m wearing black. It’s what I do.”

Inside the store Maggie shopped like a fashion missile. She targeted a shimmering black sequined sheath dress with a demure neckline and a back scooped seductively low. It came from the collection of a stylist turned designer. It was exactly right with a shadowy graphite and black zebra print that she loved. Both sexy and subtle. She’d no idea if she could pull it off, but she was flipping well going to try.

Next she went in search of shoes. She found a gorgeous pair of black-satin stilettos that she could actually walk in. They were fab, with a lovely ribbon detail at the ankles.

Last thing, she headed to the lingerie department. Not convinced by the adhesive options for backless dresses, she opted for braless. She was done inside of an hour and most of that was spent waiting for one sales assistant to meticulously pack the dress while another one provided a chair for the penguin and made a production of processing Alex’s credit card. Judging by the moony looks on their faces Maggie suspected that they were taking their time just to keep him from leaving.

She mentally pinched herself. All day Alex had been doing a convincingly good impression of the perfect man. She’d do well to remember that perfect men didn’t exist. He wasn’t into her. He wanted a stylist. Not that he needed one. For tonight, she’d be concentrating her efforts on her own style. There would be no more Cinderella-gone-wrong scenes on the streets of New York, not if she could help it. She couldn’t make any more of a fool of herself than she already had. Was there a chance that this time she could actually get it right? There was only one way to find out.