Misbehaving Under the Mistletoe (Mills & Boon M&B): On the First Night of Christmas... / Secrets of the Rich & Famous / Truth-Or-Date.com (Mb)

by Heidi Rice

  ‘Morning,’ she said, without looking round. Flatmates, that was all they were. ‘Coffee?’

  Alex realised he was staring at her with his mouth open and snapped his gaze away.

  ‘Please,’ he said automatically, not caring one way or the other about coffee. Watching the lithe way she moved around the kitchen was making him wonder what it might feel like to have those long, long legs wrapped around him.

  For the hundredth time since yesterday he wondered just who would end up getting the benefit of her transformation. Who would she be targeting on her next madcap trip out? The thought caused a burning sensation deep in his chest. She might look like a super-confident socialite, but underneath all that gloss she was a kid with big aspirations. He felt an irrational angry aversion to this whole project that was so damned important to her.

  ‘Can’t you just write your article based on research?’ he said suddenly. ‘You know—do a few interviews, surf the net a bit?’

  She turned from the coffee to stare at him, a bemused expression on her face.

  ‘Well, I could, if I wanted to be like every other writer out there,’ she said. She ran a hand distractedly through the perfectly undone hair. ‘The whole point is that I live the experiment. Doesn’t matter whether or not the plan works. It’s the process that provides the background for the article. It’s meant to be light-hearted, remember?’

  ‘You mean it doesn’t make any difference whether or not you actually manage to score a date with a guy?’

  ‘Not to my article, no. I could write about where I went wrong and why it didn’t work. But it would be great if it did work, because it would give me more material to play with. Why are you suddenly so interested?’

  That was a good question. Why the hell was the idea of her throwing herself at some rich Lothario bothering him so hideously? Staring at these four walls was obviously making him lose the plot. He needed to get outside, get some perspective.

  He didn’t answer. Instead he looked back down at his laptop and forced himself actually to digest the e-mail from his PR manager, which he’d read now three times without actually taking in.

  ‘… stay home as much as possible. Do not allow yourself to be photographed, except at events expressly cleared by us first. Any outings that may bring you into contact with members of the press should be approved by a member of the team …’

  He stared at the words, anger finally tipping over the edge. Enough was enough. Right now he didn’t care how many people had a stake in this film’s success. He just wanted to live his own life again.

  He logged out and shut the laptop, glancing up at Jen as she handed him a mug of coffee.

  ‘What are you doing today?’ he asked on impulse.

  She took a sip of her drink, shrugged.

  ‘Getting out and about,’ she said. ‘Testing out my new look.’

  With a supreme effort he managed to stop himself looking down at her legs again.

  ‘I’m going stir crazy here,’ he said. ‘Want some company?’

  She stared at him, mouth open in surprise.

  ‘Aren’t you meant to be under house arrest?’

  He stood up.

  ‘A couple of hours won’t hurt. I need to get out of here.’

  ‘What if you get recognised?’

  He crossed the kitchen and put the coffee down on the counter next to her. She was looking up at him dubiously, as if they were at school and he’d suggested they play some prank on a teacher. There was something irresistibly unspoiled about her. Before he could stop himself he’d slipped an arm around her shoulders and given her a squeeze.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a few places up my sleeve. And, anyway, what are they going to do? Give me detention?’

  ‘Kensington Gardens?’ she said.

  He’d brought her to the smaller entrance to the gardens on the Bayswater Road—a low-key gate in black wrought-iron that was less attractive to tourists. So he wasn’t completely throwing caution to the wind, then, no matter how stir-crazy he claimed to be feeling. She’d returned his baseball cap and he was wearing it himself today. With that partially obscuring his face, and a jacket with turned-up collar, he didn’t seem to be drawing any second glances from passers-by.

  He glanced sideways at her.

  ‘You sound surprised.’

  ‘That’s because I am. You don’t strike me as the kind of person who likes the great outdoors.’

  They began walking down one of the elegant tree-lined avenues. The air was crisp but there was a hazy glow of winter sunshine tempering it. The trees were completely bare, dusted icy white. Their breath puffed out in soft clouds.

  ‘Well, that just goes to show how little you know me,’ he said. ‘Sometimes a bit of open space is just the thing.’

  ‘This is lovely. I’ve never been before.’

  ‘You should do the sights. You’ve missed out.’

  They began walking again down the avenue of trees. Frost clung to the grass. It felt as if they were walking through a Christmas card.

  ‘Except for the Science Museum,’ she added.

  ‘The Science Museum?’

  ‘School trip.’

  He grinned down at her.

  ‘London can be a fantastic place for kids,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll expect you to relocate back here, then, shall I? In a few years, maybe, when you meet the right film star?’

  ‘Very funny.’

  ‘I’m being serious.’ She kept her face straight. ‘I’ll probably be a senior editor by then, maybe on one of those glossy celebrity mags.’ She looked up at the sky dreamily. ‘I could do a fantastic photo spread. Alex Hammond and family at their London home.’

  He didn’t smile.

  ‘That’s never going to happen.’

  ‘I’m a gifted journalist, you know! And I’m aiming high. The cheek!’

  He still only cracked a faint ghost of a smile.

  ‘I don’t mean your ambitions. I wouldn’t put it past you to end up editing Vogue. I mean me.’ He paused. ‘I’m not family material.’

  She’d obviously touched a nerve. Her curiosity flared.

  ‘Everyone is family material. Some people just don’t know it yet. You’re not exactly over the hill.’

  ‘Not me.’

  ‘I thought you had a happy family background? You told me you were close to your parents.’

  She deliberately didn’t mention his wife.

  ‘I did. I had a good childhood. Hardly any money, but a happy home. Parents who loved me, not to mention each other. Brother who was also a good friend. I’m a psychologist’s nightmare—there’s nothing they could pin on my upbringing.’

  ‘Don’t you want to replicate that, then?’ She was genuinely puzzled. ‘With your financial position, you could do an even better job than your parents.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I used to think that, too. But look at my life—the public scrutiny, the constant demands. Hell, my own ambition. How does all of that fit with having a family? We were always there for each other. That’s how I was brought up. That’s why they weren’t crazy about my big career ideas. We were encouraged to be happy with what we had. My parents put us and each other first.’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t be a father and make films at the level I want to. Not if I don’t want to do one or both of those things substandard.’

  The sound of children playing grew louder as they neared a playground. She dug her hands in her pockets to warm her fingers.

  ‘Coffee?’ he asked as they approached a café. The play area was bathed in hazy sunshine, with tepees and a huge pirate boat climbing frame with kids hanging off it.

  ‘Hot chocolate,’ she countered. ‘I’ll buy.’

  He watched her queue for drinks. The place was full of families enjoying the winter sunshine. A long-discarded desire of his own had resurfaced and he crushed it down again. Family life or work success? That same old dilemma. To have both just wasn’t an option. He knew that. His choice was long sin
ce made—Susan’s betrayal had certainly hammered the last nail in the coffin of any desire for a wife and kids—and he never discussed it. So why the hell was he revisiting it now?

  She returned with the drinks and they carried on walking. Her cheeks and the tip of her nose were pink from the cold, frost sparkled on her eyelashes, and he fixed his gaze straight ahead to avoid watching her slowly sip the hot chocolate. As if he needed any more attention drawn to that soft pink mouth.

  ‘There are lots of ways to crack a nut, you know,’ she said, wrapping both her hands around her cup. ‘My father wasn’t there at all and I never felt neglected. It doesn’t have to be all or nothing.’

  She only vaguely registered two women approaching on the opposite side of the path—until one of them did a sharp double-take as they passed.

  ‘Excuse me?’ the dark-haired woman called out.

  Jen stopped and turned, was aware of Alex doing the same. The woman was staring at Alex intently.

  ‘Alex Hammond? It is you, isn’t it?’ She elbowed her companion. ‘I told you I was right!’

  Jen sensed rather than felt Alex tense next to her and squashed her own irritation at the interruption. She had felt for the first time that she was seeing beyond the exterior he showed everyone else. His being recognised now was the last thing he needed. She acted on impulse.

  ‘Hah! He wishes!’ she said, loudly enough to talk over any admission Alex might be thinking about making. ‘I wish, too, come to that. Wouldn’t mind Alex Hammond’s money.’

  Both women looked uncertainly towards her. Jen crossed her arms and looked appraisingly at Alex. He stared back at her, eyebrows raised.

  ‘Can’t say you’re the first to say it, though,’ she added.

  ‘Really?’ The woman eyed Alex with a frown. ‘It’s a remarkable resemblance.’

  ‘You think so?’ Jen said. ‘That Alex bloke is far better looking, in my opinion. Roland’s eyes are too close together.’ She gave Alex a friendly punch on the arm. He was looking at her as if she were completely insane. ‘No offence, honey.’

  The woman took a couple of steps back, clearly disappointed.

  ‘I was going to get my photo taken with him, post it online. I’m a mad fan. I’ve got loads of press cuttings about him.’

  She saw a look of horror cross Alex’s face, could see the unspoken word in his eyes. Stalker!

  ‘You can have your picture taken with Roland if you like,’ Jen offered. ‘Better be quick, though, we’re pitching for the management contract on the toilet servicing for the park. On our way to do a quick survey.’

  That seemed to do the trick. The women drifted away.

  Alex looked down at her, a grin lifting the corner of his mouth.

  ‘Roland?’ He said. ‘That’s the name that springs to mind when you look at me?’

  ‘I was trying to put you as far away from reality as possible,’ she protested.

  ‘And my eyes are too close together?’

  He fixed them on her and her belly gave an excited little flip in response.

  ‘Nobody’s perfect,’ she said.

  As they began walking again Jen tucked her arm through his. He was sharply aware of it, of the closeness of her. She probably walked arm-in-arm like that with all her friends, but it didn’t stop his body reading more into it. Heat zipped up his spine and simmered on his skin just at the touch of her.

  ‘Maybe we should make a move before she realises that actually your eyes aren’t too close together,’ Jen said, glancing over her shoulder. The women seemed to be lingering, still in sight.

  He felt an unexpected pang of regret at the thought of ending the outing. He hadn’t realised how much he enjoyed her ability to make him laugh, to put a light-hearted spin on every situation. The deep heat in his abdomen warned him that friendship was not the limit of his wanting and he crushed it. He wasn’t about to lose control of his feelings just because she happened to make him smile.

  ‘Let’s find somewhere and grab something to eat. I know just the place,’ he said.

  On their way back, just a few turnings away from the apartment, was a small restaurant, smart but relaxed, with dark wood tables and a select menu. Coloured fairy lights were strung around the walls. The sky had darkened as they left the park and a thin veil of icy rain now coated the windows. Jen didn’t mind. It felt intimate and cosy. They sat at a corner table and ordered steaks with caramelised onions, thin-cut crispy fries and hot coffee.

  ‘You’re not worried about being mobbed? I’d have thought you’d want to go home, not go to another public place,’ she said as soon as the waiter had brought their food.

  He sliced into his steak.

  ‘I’ve yet to be mobbed in here,’ he said. ‘It’s off the beaten track so it doesn’t get touristy. Plus it’s nearly two o’clock. The lunchtime rush is over.’

  There were only two other tables occupied besides theirs. No one gave them a second glance. She forked up some fries.

  ‘So your father left when you were small?’ he asked.

  Jen felt the age-old defiance kick in. Do not feel sorry for me. ‘Before I was born,’ she corrected, and flashed back an I’m-not-bothered smile.

  ‘That can’t have been easy.’

  She shrugged.

  ‘You’re assuming that he would have been someone worth knowing.’

  ‘You don’t know who he is?’

  ‘Oh, I know,’ she said, attacking her steak and slicing it into minuscule pieces. ‘I just don’t care.’

  He looked questioningly at her and she put her knife and fork down, sat back for a moment, knowing she should just kill the conversation right there and then. She didn’t have to tell him anything about her background. She found she wanted to. Maybe just a little.

  ‘I was the result of a relationship my mother had with him,’ she said. ‘Well, I say relationship. It was a few nights, nothing more. He was her boss. He was married.’

  She looked down at her meal, pushed the steak around a little with her fork, remembering.

  ‘When she found she was expecting me, you can imagine it went down like a rat sandwich.’ She grinned up at him ruefully but he only looked at her. ‘As far as he was concerned he already had a family and a career. He didn’t want to complicate any of that. My mother refused to have a termination so he dealt with it his way. Withdrew from her completely, never acknowledged me, went back to his comfortable life as if I never existed.’

  ‘Your mum didn’t spill the beans at all, then? To his family?’

  She shook her head. ‘She wanted to bring me up herself, without worrying about his intervention, so she never stirred things up.’

  She felt a pang of love as she thought of her mother. How dignified she was. She’d accepted a one-off payment and that was an end to it as far as she was concerned. But Jen didn’t want to go into that with Alex.

  ‘And he’s never tried to get in touch?’

  She took a sip of her coffee and thought about the question for a moment, ran her mind back down the years when she’d struggled with that lack of interest from her father.

  ‘No,’ she said, and considered how she felt about that. ‘It probably bothered me most when I was school age. Only because you don’t want anything then that makes you stand out from the crowd. And I wondered if I might hear from him when I hit eighteen.’

  ‘Bit of a milestone?’

  She smiled bitterly.

  ‘Also the age when you stop needing maintenance payments. I thought he might show his face. But nothing. So when I hit twenty-one I didn’t expect anything, and it turned out I was right.’

  ‘And if he turned up out of the blue now?’

  ‘I couldn’t be less interested.’

  She forked up some steak and onions and carried on eating her meal, not looking at him.

  He watched her. All bravado. No wonder she was so set on proving herself, so desperate for personal success, to show herself as worthwhile. Despite the impression of indifference she g
ave, it must hurt terribly that her father had never even been intrigued enough about her to get in touch. Not even once.

  ‘Back to the grindstone after this, then?’ he said, groping for matter-of-fact conversation, wanting to lighten things up for her. And to distract himself from the compelling need to ask more, dig deeper behind the façade to find the true Jen Brown.

  She sighed. ‘Yes. Shame, really. I could have spent all day in the park.’

  ‘What’s next up on your mad agenda, then? Now you’re done with sorting out the clothes and hair?’

  ‘Next I put it all into practice. Get myself into the same room as the target. I’m still on a budget, so I’ve thought up some ways of throwing myself into the path of eligible men without having to bankrupt myself on gallery tickets.’

  Her voice became animated as she talked about her project. Alarm bells began ringing. What the hell was she cooking up now?

  ‘What ways are you talking about?’

  ‘There’s a nightclub I thought I might try tonight. Christmas cocktails—that kind of thing. The younger royals hang out there sometimes. It’s at the cutting edge of nightlife for the rich.’

  He felt as if a bucket of sleet had been sloshed over him. The thought of her putting herself out there in some cattle market nightclub by herself, looking the way she did, filled him with cold horror. No man in his right mind would pass up the chance to spend time with her.

  ‘You are not going out on your own to some nightclub,’ he said before he could stop himself. ‘I don’t care if the Queen herself is a patron. You’ll end up dead in a ditch somewhere.’

  ‘There aren’t any ditches that I’m aware of in Chelsea,’ she said. Her excitement seemed to have slipped into obstinacy. ‘And what’s it to you where I go, anyway? I’d have thought you’d be pleased your part of the deal is finished. I’ve had the makeover, you’ve given me free rein to look through your wardrobe, and you’ve given me some pointers. I’m really grateful for all your input but I can manage on my own now. I’ve honed my skills and I’m confident I won’t be throwing myself at any man worth less than a million.’