"What?"
She nervously chewed on the end of her hair. "This might be a really stupid idea, and I can't even believe I'm saying this out loud, but . . . Maybe we should just pretend that we're engaged."
Pres had to turn away. Pretend they were engaged. Oh, my God.
"You know," she continued with a crooked smile, uncertain as to his response. "Appear together in public. Let the press take lots of pictures of us together. Kill the mystique and intrigue and ..." She watched him uncertainly. "Bad idea?"
For Pres and Molly to appear together in public as an engaged, loving couple was so utterly not a bad idea. Pres could barely contain himself, imagining the possibilities. Whether or not it would work to defuse the situation was a different story.
He kept his voice matter-of-fact, even managing to sound a little skeptical. "Maybe it's worth a try." Yes, yes, yes, yes, it was definitely worth a try.
"Do you think?"
Molly was looking at him with her blue eyes wide and hopeful. She was doing this for Zander, he realized. For Zander's sake, she would appear with Pres in public. She would share romantic, candlelit dinners, she would walk hand in hand with him on the beach, she would probably even kiss him. God, he hoped so.
And then something flickered in Molly's eyes. Something tiny and nearly unnoticeable that made him wonder if just maybe a part of her was doing this because she wanted to.
Last night she'd told him that she wanted to kiss him, but she didn't want to kiss him. This would take all decision making out of her hands. She would have to kiss him. For Zander's sake. Pres didn't care what her reasons were. He just wanted her in his arms again.
"Let's try it," he said.
"Let me see if I got this straight. You want me to spend my Saturday night baby-sitting" Dom said. "The resort is filled with more excruciatingly beautiful women than it ever has been before, and you want me to spend the evening having burgers and root beer and playing video games in the arcade with a ten-year-old kid."
"Yes," Pres said. "Please?"
Dom crossed the plush carpeting of Pres's private suite and sat down on the sofa, watching through the door as Pres slipped on his jacket and adjusted his tie in the bedroom mirror. He raised his voice to be heard in the other room. "Just promise me that the kid's not a brat."
"The kid's not a brat. I swear. He's the sweetest kid I've ever met. You're gonna love him."
"Let's not go that far. I'll endure him. Because I know how badly you want this." Dom untied his bow tie with a single accomplished pull and unfastened the top few buttons of his shirt. "Hey—are you sure this isn't illegal? Me distracting the kid while you try to seduce the mother?"
Pres came out of the bedroom. "It's called baby-sitting, Dom. It's legal. And my goal tonight isn't to seduce Molly." He paused. "At least not exactly."
"Oh, good, then you'll be back before eleven?"
Pres ignored his friend. "I've booked them a room. Suite 314."
"Oh, so it is going to be a slumber party. . . ."
"Molly'll tell you what time Zander should be in bed. Until then, knock yourself out. Let him order room service, whatever he wants. . . ."
"What if it's pizza and beer?"
"Whatever he wants within reason."
"I know," Dom said, a grin lighting his craggy face. "I'm just jerking you around."
Pres gave himself one last look in the foyer mirror. He'd suffered long over what to wear to this dinner date with Molly. He didn't want to wear a suit and be too formal. But shorts and a polo shirt were definitely not enough. He'd finally settled on a softly faded pair of stonewashed blue jeans, a crisp white shirt, lightweight sport jacket, and low-key tie. "How do I look?"
"Like the most eligible bachelor of the year," Dom told him. "Hearts are going to break tonight, my friend."
Pres nodded. "Keep your fingers crossed that mine's not one of them."
The elevator door was going to open in a matter of seconds. In a matter of seconds Molly and Preston were going to walk out of that elevator and into the resort lobby, where a dozen or more photographers were waiting to snap their picture.
"It'll be still photographers only," Pres reminded her, giving her a reassuring smile. "No TV cameras, no questions. Just smile and . . . look like you like me."
Molly lunged forward and pulled the elevator stop button. "I'm not sure I can do this."
Lord, she was so nervous, she was nearly hyperventilating. Pres, on the other hand, looked so calm and cool. And gorgeous. The elevator light glinted off his golden hair, bringing out the hint of red. His eyes were a perfect mix of brown and green.
"It's not too late to back out," he said quietly.
"Yes, it is." Molly took a deep breath and looked at her reflection in the mirrored walls.
She looked . . . okay. Not half as good as Preston, but not as awful as she'd thought she'd look while she was pawing through her closet, searching desperately for something to wear. She'd finally found this blue sundress. It was simple, with a basic sleeveless bodice and a long, graceful skirt. With her hair up off her neck, she thought she looked vaguely elegant.
"We'll go out there," Pres told her, "stand for a moment while they take our picture, and then we'll go into the dining room. We'll order drinks and appetizers, and then we'll get up to dance. We don't have to do it for long—just long enough to let the photographers get more pictures. Our dinner order will take priority over everything else coming out of the kitchen tonight, so we'll get our food quickly. We'll eat as much or as little of it as you like, and then we'll leave." He smiled at her. "Okay?"
Molly had to smile back at him. "I feel like I've just been briefed to go fight a crucial battle in a war. Are you sure we shouldn't synchronize watches?"
"You're not wearing a watch."
"Good point."
"This is going to be okay," Pres said.
Molly nodded and reached for the button to restart the elevator. But she didn't press it in. She pulled her hand away and turned to face him again.
"One more thing I'm a little nervous about that you didn't touch on in your briefing . . ."
Pres nodded. "Yes, I'm going to kiss you again."
"When? I mean, not to sound as if I need to know exactly when, but ... If I did know exactly when, it might help me be a little bit less nervous and—"
"When we're dancing."
"Ah."
"And maybe when we're not dancing."
"Well, that just about covers it, doesn't it?"
"Maybe if I kiss you now, it'll relax you—"
Molly pushed in the button and the elevator started moving. "No, thanks. I'd like to arrive in the lobby with all my clothes on, please."
This time Pres leaned forward and pulled the stop button. "I almost forgot. . . ." He took a small box from his pocket. "We have to make this look official." He handed the box to Molly.
It was a jeweler's box, small and hard and covered with the softest black velvet. Molly opened it slowly, afraid to look inside. It was a ring, just as she'd expected. But not just any ring.
"Good Lord, it's the Hope Diamond."
Pres laughed. "No, it's not."
It was awful. Molly had never seen such a gaudily decorated ring in her life. "It's . . . certainly something, isn't it?" She glanced up at him.
"It's a Seaholm family heirloom," Pres told her. "My grandmother wore it, and my mother after her."
It was enormous. It looked like one of those disgusting ring lollipops that Zander liked to eat.
"Don't you like it?"
"It's much too big," Molly said, trying hard to be diplomatic. "It'll catch on everything, and . . . what if I lose it?"
"It's big enough—it should be easy to find."
"It's big enough to use teeing off on the country-club golf course," Molly told him. "Besides, what if your mother wants it back?"
"She won't," Pres said. "She's not a Seaholm anymore. She remarried a few years ago, after my father died." He looked down at the ring. "So
you don't like it?" He was trying hard not to smile, and Molly suddenly realized as he took another box from his pocket that he had been teasing her. "You were remarkably tactful." He took the box with the gaudy ring from her hands and replaced it with the other.
"So that wasn't a Seaholm family heirloom?"
"Actually, it was," he said with a smile. "But I figure as long as I was going to break family tradition by becoming engaged without getting married, I can ignore the family-heirloom engagement ring too."
Molly looked at the box in her hands. "I'm afraid to look inside this one."
Preston reached forward and opened it for her.
It was a sapphire. It was big, but not too big, and it sparkled and gleamed with a blue fire. The setting was simple, with only one small diamond adorning it.
Molly swallowed the lump in her throat. "Oh, wow . . ."
"I knew you'd like this one."
She glanced up at him. "What if I'd liked the other one?"
"Then I would have actually had to marry you," Pres said, his eyes dancing with amusement. "Because where else would I find a woman who honestly likes that ring—"
"There are probably a few hundred of them here at the resort right now."
"You didn't let me finish," he pointed out. "What I was going to say was, where else would I find a woman who likes that ring, and yet still maintains a sense of humor and some degree of good taste?" He motioned to the sapphire ring. "Try it on."
Molly took the ring from the box, then realized she still wore her wedding ring on her left hand. She was going to have to take that off.
She'd never taken it off. Ever. But she'd wanted to. After Chuck had died, when she read all those letters he'd written to someone else . . . Still, she'd kept the ring on. Out of what? A sense of loyalty? Or as a reminder to her of her poor judgment when it came to men and marriage?
She tugged at her ring, but it stuck on her knuckle.
"May I help?" Pres took her hand and eased the ring off. His hands were warm and so gentle. He took the sapphire ring from her, and slid it onto her finger.
It somehow seemed a far too intimate act and Molly gazed up at him, for a moment unable to breathe.
He put her wedding band into the ring box. "I'll hold this for you," he said quietly.
She nodded.
He seemed as aware of the intimacy of the moment as she was, and he forced a smile, trying to break the mood. "I feel like I should get down on my knees and beg you not to marry me."
"Don't worry—I would accept. I have no intention of marrying you."
"Promise?" he asked.
Molly felt her lips curve up into a smile, and they both laughed.
"With all my heart. Do you promise?"
"I do. Although I remain hopeful that we can celebrate our engagement with an early version of the honeymoon."
Molly started the elevator, pulling away from the heat in his eyes. He may have been teasing, but he was also dead serious. "Like I said before, dream on, Seaholm."
"And like I said, I will. I'm a big believer in dream and wish fulfillment."
The doors slid open.
Molly turned and looked at Pres, her eyes wide. This was it. Time to go. He held out his hand to her, and she grasped his fingers tightly.
Together they stepped out of the elevator.
TEN
A wall of flashbulbs went off, blinding Molly. Pres dropped her hand and put his arm around her shoulders.
"Smile," he breathed into her ear.
To her surprise, she could smile. In fact, she started to laugh. "This is crazy," she told him as the volley of flashes kept going.
"Hold up your left hand," he said into her ear. "Show 'em that ring."
She did, and another huge volley of pictures were taken.
Pres held her tightly, and she suddenly became aware that she was pressed up against him, from her shoulders all the way down to her thighs. He stood slightly behind her, his chest against her back, her bottom nestled quite securely against his leg. She was going to dance with Pres tonight, and he was going to hold her this close. Except when he did, they would be face-to-face, body to body, heart to heart.
And then he was going to kiss her. He'd told her as much.
Molly tried to squelch the sudden feeling of anticipation that filled her. But she couldn't make it go away. She wanted Pres to kiss her. She wanted to taste the powerful heat of his desire again.
He touched her lightly, running his fingers down her bare arm, and she couldn't breathe. Lord, she was in big trouble here.
Pres felt Molly tremble and he held her tighter. "We're almost done," he said into her ear, trying to sound reassuring, trying not to let her hear how completely the softness of her body against his was throwing him.
"How many pictures are they going to take?" she wondered aloud.
"As many as we let them." Pres took her hand, gently pulling her with him away from the photographers and toward the resort dining room.
"Are they going to follow us?" she asked.
"Most of them probably already have tables reserved," Pres told her. "Of course, they can't use flash attachments in the restaurant."
Molly glanced around, and Pres knew she was looking at the elegant restaurant for the very first time. "This is lovely," she murmured, and he had to agree.
It looked particularly good tonight, all gleaming white linen tablecloths and candlelight. The big glass windows that filled the entire westward-facing wall captured the last streaks of the sunset, presenting a softly faded red-orange panorama of sky and clouds and ocean.
Dave Zigfield was the Saturday night maitre d', and he was quietly elegant in his black tuxedo as he showed them to their table by the dance floor. Pres held out Molly's chair, then sat down next to her.
"Champagne, please," Pres commanded. "The best in the house." Zig quickly and quietly disappeared.
"The best champagne in the house," Molly mused. "I should remember to become engaged to celebrity billionaires more often."
Zig appeared almost instantly with a champagne bot-de cooling in a wine bucket, silently setting two paper-thin, tulip-shaped glasses in front of Pres and then nearly as quietly popping the cork.
Pres could hear the sound of a dozen camera shutters closing as he and Molly lifted their glasses in a silent toast.
"I feel like a fish in a fishbowl," she murmured, letting the sapphire ring catch the candlelight.
Pres let himself look at her. At first glance, her dress was rather plain. But on closer examination, it was clear that the pale blue color suited Molly, and the simple style proved the old adage that less is often more. The soft cotton nestled modestly around her curves, giving only a hint that the body underneath was utterly feminine. In some ways, it was far sexier than a tight-fitting, more revealing dress.
She glanced away from him, pink tingeing her cheeks. "Don't look at me like that."
He couldn't help himself. Her silky brown hair was drawn up in a sophisticated tangle on top of her head. Several tendrils escaped the clamplike device that was holding it all together, making her look even younger than she was. The effect was thoroughly charming. She wore but a trace of makeup, a bit of something on her eyes, some lipstick on her beautifully shaped lips. Mother of God, he wanted to kiss those lips again. . . .
Pres pushed back his chair. "Let's dance."
"But we were going to order first—"
"Change in plans." He held out his hand. "Come on."
"But the band's not even playing. . . ." Before she finished her sentence, the conductor lifted his baton, and a sixteen-piece swing band began a slow, familiar melody. She stared up at Pres. "They're playing 'Stardust.' That's my favorite song."
He smiled. "I know. Zander told me."
Molly had to laugh as she let him pull her up out of her chair. "You've gone to an awful lot of trouble for a charade. Finding out my favorite song, picking out this incredible ring ... It seems almost a shame. All that effort wasted on a game of ma
ke-believe."
"It's not entirely make-believe. In case you haven't noticed, I'm trying to seduce you."
"You know, come to think of it, I have kind of noticed."
"How'm I doing?"
Molly shook her head. "I don't suppose you'd give up if I told you that you didn't stand a chance?"
"Give up? No way."
Sunrise Key 3 - Otherwise Engaged Page 10
