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He laughed and motioned toward the opening elevator doors. “Sorry. I guess I got carried away with the role of devoted suitor.”
“You think?” Holding her chin high—and her shoes tightly—she swept ahead of him out of the elevator. The overall effect was probably diminished somewhat when she stumbled over her long skirt, but she righted herself almost immediately, ignoring the steadying hand Bryan held out to her.
Bryan had booked a two-bedroom suite. Grace would have insisted on that, of course, but he had done so without asking. She didn’t particularly care what the gossips made of their arrangements, and neither did Bryan, apparently. She turned immediately toward the bedroom she had claimed earlier. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“No good-night kiss?”
She threw a shoe at him.
Catching the strappy sandal in one hand, he grinned. “Sleep well, Grace.”
Sleep well? Fat chance.
More as a defiant gesture than a belief that the precaution was necessary, she locked her bedroom door after closing it in Bryan’s face.
Only after changing into an oversized T-shirt and plaid pajama pants, her face scrubbed clean and every trace of hairspray brushed from her hair, did Grace feel more like herself. Now if only she were home…
Glancing at the clock on the nightstand, she noted that it was past midnight. Yet it was an hour earlier back home. Maybe Chloe would still be awake. She was suddenly almost overcome with the urge to hear her sister’s voice—if for no other reason than to remind herself why she was here.
Sounding wide-awake, Chloe answered on the second ring. “Hello?”
“Hi, it’s Grace. I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“No, I’ve been going over some paperwork from the store. Donovan’s helping me.”
Grace imagined that Donovan’s “help” had only made the task take twice as long, but she kept that opinion to herself. “We’ve just gotten back from that charity opera thing.”
“How was it?”
Dozens of complaints hovered on her tongue, but she settled for just one. “People kept staring at us.”
“Get used to it. Whenever you’re with Bryan Falcon, people will stare. Even when you’re in a place where no one recognizes him—rare as those places are—there’s something about him that somehow commands attention.”
Grace was well aware of that, of course. She’d often wondered if people stared at Bryan because of his extraordinary good looks, or that air of quiet power that surrounded him like a royal mantle. Whatever the reason, it was still unnerving.
“How was the evening other than that? Did you see lots of celebrities in beautiful dresses? Did you enjoy the program?”
Because the whole point of this charade was to make Chloe happy, Grace had vowed not to complain to her sister. She would save all her gripes for Bryan, who deserved them because this whole crazy scheme had been his idea—and just because he was Bryan. “It was fine. And yes, I saw tons of celebrities. I’m sure you would have enjoyed the evening—though I’m not so certain Donovan would have.”
“Probably not. Though he would have gone if he thought I really wanted to be there.”
Grace had no doubt of that. Donovan Chance spoiled her sister shamelessly. A battered warrior who didn’t express his feelings easily, Donovan seemed determined to make a success of this relationship—the first that had truly mattered to him, apparently. Donovan was almost fanatically loyal to those he cared most about—a very short list topped by Chloe and Bryan, his employer and best friend since high school.
Since Chloe’s happiness was paramount to her, too, Grace fully approved of her sister’s choice of a mate. This time, at least. She hadn’t felt at all the same way when Chloe had been considering marriage to Bryan Falcon.
The sisters talked a few more minutes and then Grace brought the call to an end. Wandering to a window to gaze out at the colorfully lit city so far and so different from her hometown, she thought about the quiet contentment that was always present in Chloe’s voice these days. Knowing that she was contributing to that happiness, if only in a minor way, gave her mixed feelings. She was glad to be able to help, but now she felt even more trapped in this ridiculous scam.
“Trapped” was a feeling she had grown to know all too well during the past couple of years.
So maybe it hadn’t been the brightest idea he’d ever had. Convincing Grace to pretend to be romantically involved with him had been difficult enough—following through with the improbable scheme was proving to be even more complicated. It didn’t help, of course, that Grace couldn’t stand him.
Sprawled on his hotel-room bed with the TV remote in one hand and a glass of orange juice in the other, Bryan mentally replayed the number of close calls he had averted that evening—most notably, the moment when he’d narrowly avoided being drilled in the stomach by her fist. She’d packed quite a punch, too. If he hadn’t managed to catch her hand and pull it away, she’d have doubled him over. And wouldn’t that have caught some attention in tomorrow’s gossip columns?
He probably shouldn’t have given in to that impulse to kiss her. But he hadn’t tried very hard to resist. Kissing Grace Pennington was something he’d been tempted to do for several weeks now, to his own surprise and her obvious dismay.
After knowing her for nearly six months, he still wasn’t quite sure what it was about him that aroused so much antagonism in her. Her twin had liked him from the moment of their chance meeting last winter when he’d wandered into Mirror Images, the decorating shop Chloe and Grace owned and operated in Little Rock’s River Market district. He and Chloe had struck up a conversation that had continued over coffee and then into several dinner dates.
Less than a month into their friendship, he’d brought up the subject of marriage.
He hadn’t even pretended to be in love with Chloe. He had liked her very much, admired and respected her a great deal. He’d found her attractive, but he knew the difference between simple affection and the passionate love hyped in literature and song. But after carefully observing and studying the few successful marriages among his many acquaintances, he had come to the conclusion that the most enduring basis for a lifelong partnership was genuine friendship.
He’d tried the more popular methods of courtship, letting himself be led by his heart—and other, more primitive body parts. He’d ended up involved in several volatile relationships with beautiful, talented, famous—and usually completely self-centered—actresses and models. He’d thought women already accustomed to fame and fortune would have been more likely to value him for himself rather than what he could give them. He’d been wrong.
Those high-profile disasters had led to embarrassment, disillusion, and the unwelcome attentions of the tabloid writers, who had been as intrigued by his dating adventures as they were fascinated by his innate flair for making fortunes.
“I’ve been going about this courtship thing the wrong way,” he had concluded to Donovan during the last Thanksgiving holidays. “I’d never invest in a business venture on impulse or emotion. I choose my investments based on rational and carefully determined criteria, all focused on the probability of success. That’s the way I need to select a wife. Someone I like and respect and who feels the same way about me. Someone with similar values and interests, with compatible goals and dreams. Someone who wants a family as much as I do, and who’ll put the welfare of the family ahead of everything else—as I plan to do.”
“What about love?” Donovan had asked doubtfully. “Passion? All those other things the romantics say should be part of getting married? Not that I ever intend to try it myself, but…”
That, of course, had been before Donovan met Chloe—back when he’d been convinced that he would remain a bachelor for the rest of his life. Bryan was the one who, facing his thirty-ninth birthday, had decided he wanted to get married. Who had wanted a family. A home. And when he’d met Chloe, he believed he’d found a perfect potential mate.
Chloe met nearly every qualification on his carefully thought-out list—and she had admitted that she, too, had been disappointed with traditional dating rituals. Though nearly ten years younger than Bryan, she had begun to wonder if she would ever have the children she’d always wanted.
It had seemed like a match made in marriage-of-convenience heaven. According to Bryan’s calculations, an alliance between them had better than eighty percent odds of success—much better probability than the typical marriage, which stood only a fifty-fifty chance of lasting.
What he couldn’t have predicted was that Chloe would tumble head-over-heels in love with his second in command—and vice versa—making all Bryan’s logical, practical planning moot.
A sudden crash from the other room made him jump to his feet, muscles tensed, senses on full alert. Crossing the room in three long strides, he threw open the bedroom door, poised for battle if necessary.
Chapter Two
G race was crouched on the floor beside the sitting room wet bar, plucking pieces of glass from the thick cream-colored carpet, when Bryan burst through his bedroom door. Had she not seen this aspect of him before, she might have been surprised that her rather lazily graceful, studiedly charming companion of earlier had been transformed into this tightly wound, almost dangerous-looking man. Bryan had looked just this way when Chloe and Donovan were kidnapped, scaring the con artist behind the plot so badly that he’d literally feared for his life.
“I dropped a glass,” she said quickly, realizing what had precipitated his tumultuous entrance. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“I wasn’t asleep.” Moving more slowly now, he crossed the room, his bare feet making no sound on the plush carpeting. “Are you okay? Did you cut yourself?”
“I’m fine.” She rose and dropped the shards into a plastic-lined metal wastebasket. They landed with a tinkling, almost cheerfully musical sound. Though her fuzzy blue slippers protected her own feet, she felt obligated to warn him, “I think I found all the pieces, but be careful walking around over here with bare feet.”
He’d changed from his tuxedo into a white V-necked T-shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants. His formerly neatly brushed hair was now tousled around his face. And he looked just as gorgeous as he had in the tailored tuxedo earlier.
She had long since grown accustomed to the unwelcome flutter she felt every time she saw him. No matter how he was dressed, Bryan Falcon was undeniably the best-looking man Grace had ever met. Usually she could ignore the sensations, but it was a bit harder in the late-night intimacy of this private suite, with both of them dressed in their ultracasual lounging clothes.
He leaned against one end of the bar. “Having a little trouble unwinding?”
She shrugged and took another glass from the cabinet beside the bar. “I’m just thirsty.”
“There’s a pitcher of fresh-squeezed orange juice in the fridge. I like to have a glass before bedtime.”
“Another one of your special requests?” she asked as she opened the door to the small refrigerator built discreetly into the custom woodwork.
“Yes.”
“It must be nice to have everything you want at your fingertips.”
“It is,” he agreed equably. Apparently he wasn’t going to let her push any of his buttons tonight.
He nodded when she motioned with the pitcher, silently asking him if he wanted a glass. She filled an extra one and handed it to him.
He carried the glass to the sofa and sat on one end. After hesitating a moment, she perched on a chair arranged in conversation-group fashion nearby. She thought their casual clothing looked incongruous against the very formal gold-and-cream upholstery, but Bryan was obviously accustomed to making himself comfortable in such rooms. He lounged back against the cushions and crossed his bare feet on the low mahogany table in front of him.
“Are we still on for our high-profile lunch tomorrow?” he asked. “Or would you rather bail out and go home early?”
She wondered if he suspected how tempted she was to accept that escape, but she shook her head. “You said being seen around town together would strengthen the impression that we’re a couple. That’s what we came here to do.”
“You think you can get through an entire meal without dumping a plate of food in my lap?”
“You think you can get through an entire meal without making me mad enough to dump a plate of food in your lap?” she countered.
He grinned. “I can try.”
Her lips tilted into an answered smile. “Then so will I.”
It was so rare for them to smile at each other that the moment caught her off guard. When she realized that he was suddenly staring at her mouth, her smile faded.
Lifting his gaze to her eyes, he asked, “What is it about me, exactly, that annoys you so much? Just so I don’t end up with food in my lap tomorrow.”
She looked down into her orange juice. “I promise I won’t throw food in your lap tomorrow. I know how important it is for us to divert the gossips’ attention away from Chloe and Donovan so they can plan their wedding in peace.”
“Actually, throwing food at me would be a very effective way of diverting attention to us.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Not the right type of attention, perhaps.”
He shrugged, keeping his gaze on her face. “I’m serious, Grace. What is it about me that you dislike so much? I know you didn’t approve of me as a potential suitor for your sister, but that’s over. So…is it something I said? Something I did? You don’t like the way I walk? Talk? Smell?”
She couldn’t help smiling again. “You smell quite nice, actually. Very expensive.”
His left eyebrow rose in an expression that some might call sardonic. “Old Spice. My housekeeper picks it up for me at Wal-Mart when she buys groceries and cleaning supplies. It was the scent my grandfather wore, and I’ve always been rather fond of it.”
She blinked. “Oh.”
“That surprises you.”
“I’m not surprised that you have a housekeeper. Probably one for every house you own.”
“So it’s my money that bothers you.”
She squirmed uncomfortably on the chair. “Let’s just say I’m not accustomed to the kind of wealth and power you command.”
“Would you like me better if I gave it all away?”
Frowning, she shook her head. “No. I mean—”
“So it isn’t entirely the money. It’s me you don’t like.”
She sighed gustily. “I never said I don’t like you.”
“Actually I believe you said you hated me.”
She gave him a reproachful look. “You know I didn’t mean that. I was just blowing off steam after that awkward evening.”
“So you do like me?”
Making a faint sound of frustration, she set her half-empty glass on the coffee table with a thump. “I barely know you, Bryan. You swept into my sister’s life, and almost convinced her to enter into a very businesslike marriage with you. I didn’t approve of that scheme because I know Chloe deserves better than that—she deserves the happiness she’s found with Donovan.”
“She met Donovan because of me,” he reminded her.
“She was also kidnapped and put through four days of hell because of you,” she retorted, making him wince. “And now the gossip columnists are titillated by the possibility that Chloe jilted you, one of the richest, most influential men in the country—a man who made the news a year or so ago for breaking up with one of the most beautiful and famous starlets in the world. And now Chloe’s marrying your best friend and business associate, instead. That vicious prattle has mortified Donovan—who’s so obsessively loyal to you that he almost broke Chloe’s heart rather than risk betraying you with her. And knowing that Donovan is upset bothers Chloe so badly that it was affecting her joy in planning her wedding.”
“I’m aware that her association with me has caused problems for Chloe,” he acknowledged stiffly. “That’s why I wanted to take some of the pressure off her by leading the gossips away. Since she and I only dated a short time before the press found out about her—so briefly and discreetly that they were never quite sure which Pennington twin I was courting—this seemed like the ideal scheme. Now that Chloe’s engaged to Donovan and you and I are acting like an established couple, the gossips are beginning to wonder if they had it wrong at the start. If Chloe and Donovan met and fell in love because you and I were already seeing each other, rather than the other way around.”
“I hope that’s what they believe, anyway,” Grace muttered, thinking that all this trouble would be wasted if they hadn’t fooled anyone.
“Several are already beginning to speculate in print that the natural confusion that results when two best friends date identical twins is what led to Chloe and Donovan being kidnapped. They believe Wallace Childers had them snatched because he thought I would pay any amount of money to ensure the safety of my best friend and my fiancée.”
“Which was pretty much what he was thinking. He underestimated you, of course, as well as Donovan. He didn’t realize that Donovan would escape so quickly with Chloe, or that you had so many resources at your fingertips to track down the identity of the kidnappers.”
“I learned a long time ago that having a lot of money means being targeted occasionally by people who want to help themselves to some of it. That’s why I’ve made security such a priority in my organization.”
“I’m well aware of that,” she muttered, thinking of the discreet, but ever-present bodyguards who had shadowed her so frequently during the past few weeks.
“Cheer up. The wedding’s only a month away. After that, we can cut back on the number of public appearances, and eventually stop them altogether. We’ll simply imply that we’ve drifted apart—though we will, of course, decide to remain friends, since we’ll be seeing each other often through Donovan and Chloe.”
“Once we’ve ended this ridiculous playacting, there’s no reason at all we shouldn’t be friendly with each other.”
“No reason at all,” he parroted gravely.
She’d amused him again. She supposed she should be used to it by now.
She pushed herself off the chair. “It’s getting late. We’d better get some sleep.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” Following her lead, he removed his feet from the table and stood. He carried his empty glass to the wet bar, stopping to take hers on the way. “I’ll just put these in the sink….”
She had just reached her bedroom doorway when Bryan made an odd sound behind her. She glanced over her shoulder, then grimaced when she saw his expression. She knew immediately what must have happened. “You’ve stepped on a piece of glass, haven’t you?”
He lifted his right foot, leaving a smear of bright red on the cream-colored carpet. “I’m afraid so.”
Bryan half expected Grace to chew him out for being careless enough to step on a piece of glass. Instead she hurried toward him, a frown of concern on her face. “Let me see.”
