CHAPTER EIGHT – BECKETT
I’ll get dressed when you’re gone. The words played through my mind. I found it hard to concentrate during the conference. No matter how hard I tried to focus on the words my executives were saying, my mind kept going downstairs to her bedroom. I kept imagining her in her underwear.
“…and shares are up, so something’s going right…”
The words of my executives in Tokyo washed over me, and I narrowed my eyes, trying to make sense of them. I shook myself, clearing images of curves and lacy panties from my mind.
“Fine. And the advertising campaign? Any results to show me?” I asked, trying to sound as if I was present and concentrating.
“Oh yes! We have some exciting things to show…”
When it finally finished at four o’ clock, my nerves were shredded. I leaned back and looked at the ceiling. At least I had two hours before meeting my new house-guest. I could work out and calm down for a bit.
I headed to the gym and jogged for a while, then did some basic exercises on the mat. By the time five pm arrived, I was sweating, panting and relaxing at last. I went upstairs, showered, and dressed hastily. I grabbed my black Calvin Klein suit and stood before the mirror, feeling a new sensation.
I was shy. I grinned at myself. The tall, lean man in the mirror grinned back. Was my hair okay? I paused, reaching for a comb. It had curled a little in the shower, and I wasn’t sure if that was a good look on me.
Stop it, Beckett.
I decided I could overdo things a bit, and reached for my Dior cologne, then went down.
I was pacing in the dining-room, waiting for her to arrive, when I heard shoes on the tiled floor beyond the doorway. High-heeled shoes.
Oh boy.
When she walked in, my blood left my brain and flooded unmentionable places of my body.
Leggy, despite her short height, those fabulous curves clad in soft satiny fabric, she was a vision to inspire wanting. And I did want her. An alluring fragrance swept across the gap between us, and she looked up at me coyly from below a fall of dark hair.
“Ready to go?”
I nodded. My mouth wouldn’t make words, so I coughed to clear my throat. “When you are,” I said.
She laughed. “I’m ready as I’ll be anytime in the future.”
I chuckled, then stood back for her to go through the door ahead. “After you,” I said.
She laughed, looking back at me with those shining eyes. “Gallant too. Impressive.”
I blushed. “Thank you.” It was the first time she had said anything so intimate—anything beyond the purely businesslike or polite. That, and that moment in the guest-suite, when she had thanked me for the place, were the moments when our agreement blurred around the edges, going a little hazy on me.
I can’t keep blurring the boundaries like this. This is a pretense. Miss Morris is employed by me to pose as a wife. She’s not actually dating me. Not really.
I sighed. Closing my eyes a moment to let my body get a grip on itself, refusing to watch her swaying hips as she descended the staircase, I followed.
We reached the hallway and went outside to where Stafford, my driver, waited with the Merc. I slid in and she slid in beside me. Then we sped off into town.
“You like theater?” I asked, trying to make conversation. I could see a pale thigh as the dress rode up a little as she sat, and I was trying not to focus, to resist the temptation to run my hand along it.
She grimaced. “I was in it, remember? It’s hard to watch as anything but a participant.”
“Oh?” I was interested. “I wish I’d seen you onstage,” I added.
“If you were at Broadway from twenty-twelve to fifteen, you probably did,” she commented drily. I laughed.
“I would have noticed you.”
“You might have,” she said frankly, raising a brow. “But you’d not have recognized me. Stage makeup does weird things to your face.”
I laughed again. She was wearing makeup now. I’d hired an esthetician for the evening, and the result was natural but highly stylized at once. She was always beautiful, but the added artifice gave a polished, sophisticated twist to the look.
“Really?” I asked, drawing my focus away from her full lips, glistening with lip-gloss.
“Yeah,” she nodded. “I don’t really know if I’d recognize myself on the photos, actually: brown-haired dancer third from the left in the back row…one of many brown-haired dancers in the cast. Could be anyone.”
I shook my head. “I’d recognize you,” I insisted. “You’d stand out.”
She blushed. Very delicate and pink, but a blush. Seeing it sent a jolt through my groin that actually hurt. I winced.
“You would?” she asked, sounding amazed.
“Try me.”
“You’re on!” she laughed. “I bet you won’t, and the winner gets…a Starbucks coffee.”
I rolled my eyes, though I couldn’t help a guffaw escaping me. “We can do better than that,” I promised her.
“You bet what you want,” she said firmly. “I’m betting a coffee. That way, if I’m wrong, I don’t owe you something I can’t afford.”
I smiled. She was remarkable, like no-one I’d met before. She was honest. I really, really liked it.
“You’re on.”
She leaned back in the seat, though I noticed she was watching the scenery as it drew past with a little smile on her face. She seemed interested in everything and I felt excited about sharing everything in Pasadena and elsewhere, with her.
We got out at the theater. I had expected the press to be there, but when our car rolled up, even I felt intimidated by the clamor of people at the door. The place was lined with photographers, and the flash of the flashes and the shouts of the reporters wore on me. I saw Hayley stop, rooted to the spot. I squeezed her had.
“I bet you everything’ll be okay. A proper coffee, though.”
She licked her lips, clearly nervous, then smiled at me. “You’re on.”
Together we walked up the carpet and into the reception area.
The show went on a little longer than I would have liked, though every time I risked a glance at Hayley, she was leaning forward in her seat, seeming to sway with the music, sometimes frowning, sometimes nodding appreciatively. She clearly loved the theater and I reminded myself that we should have many evenings like this. She enjoyed it so much, and it was a way to get publicity. I needed people to know about us. My plan hinged on that.
“Isn’t it exciting?” she said to me, when the curtain came down for interval.
“Yes,” I nodded. “I suppose it is.”
Not so much the play: my neck had frozen in place ages ago and my ears rang with the singing. But sitting with her was exciting.
Several times I had to restrain myself from touching her leg and I knew it was only a matter of time before I forgot myself and actually did so. We had to get moving.
“The cafe downstairs?” I suggested lightly. “I owe you coffee.”
She laughed, that lovely noise again. “You do, mister!”
Smiling, we headed to the cafe.
In the lobby, the place was crowded with celebrity faces. Even I found it a bit intimidating, though I tried to pretend this was all old hat. I saw Hayley wince and she drew closer to me, her hand bumping against mine. I squeezed her hand.
“I think they don’t bite,” I whispered. “Not unless you provoke them.”
She laughed. “Oh, Beckett!”
I felt a small glow in my chest. That was the second time she’d spontaneously used my first-name. With any luck, it would become a habit, I thought, smiling.
I saw a flash go off as we leaned into each other. I was glad. That was yet another picture of us together. I looked down at her moist lips and considered kissing her. She turned away.
“Is that the cafe?” she asked, looking across at the tables where people were sitting to discuss the first half of the action, or just to have a quick chat before the play resumed.
“Sure,” I said. “Let’s go.”
We had coffee. I enjoyed it. The scalding coffee and her quick banter combined to make my head fizz. I’d never enjoyed the theater this much before. She brought a new pleasure to it, since she knew so much about it.
The event resumed. I was starting to get tired, and regretted those hours in the gym before we came out. We hadn’t had supper yet, and I was hungry too. I glanced at my watch. Only half an hour more.
When the play finally ended, and we stood for an ovation, I squeezed her hand. She looked up at me, startled. Her eyes were wide.
“Shall we go?” I whispered.
She nodded.
We slipped out through the throngs of the well-dressed and the famous, onto the red-carpet again. This was it. The moment I had been preparing myself for mentally.
We had to kiss. For the press photographers. It was as good as making an announcement in all the tabloids of the nation.
I looked down at her. She was flushed and excited, her long hair falling over one shoulder, swept up elegantly on the other side. Her shoulders were covered by the wide straps of the gown, though it showed her delicious breasts, held up by a push-up bra. I looked at those wide eyes, those glistening lips.
I kissed her.
She gasped, and that little motion of her lips opening sent fire through me. I kissed her with my tongue, pressing it through that tiny gap to fill her sweet lips.
She leaned against me and involuntarily we were hugged close together.
As I closed my eyes, the taste of her filling me and her soft body pressed on mine, I realized that this was a real kiss. My nerves were overloading, my heart aching.
I was starting to fall for Hayley Morris.
My contract-only wife.
I was subdued and quiet in the car on the way to the restaurant. She was too. I looked at her but her face was blank, and I wondered if I had offended her. She was pale and still, and I didn’t want to say anything to disrupt her thoughts.
Probably trying to recover from the publicity and all those cameras. This is hard for her.
I felt like a brute. She had confided in me her anxieties and I had disregarded them. Not that I could do anything else, mind you: the publicity was the main reason I had hired her and she knew that. I couldn’t do things differently.
I glanced at her, all pale and lovely in the gown, brown hair soft against her long neck.
I wished I could do things differently, just then. Very differently. That this was a proper date, and it was just the two of us, and we were heading home together for a private night in. But this was work, and I needed her to be seen with me, very publicly. It could quite literally be a matter of life or death. I shivered. This was not a matter for my feelings to get the better of me. This was serious and I should start acting like it.