Ignoring Maggie completely, the immaculately groomed receptionist went to check Alex in. He took off his sunglasses and slid a glance in Maggie’s direction, gesturing with one hand. “You can take care of the lady first.” He only slightly growled. The receptionist’s face reddened.
“I’m sorry, sir. I thought you were together.” Recognizing what she’d just implied, her face burned some more.
She tore her eyes away from him and checked Maggie in, tapping manically at her computer keyboard, in case her colleague, who was answering the phone, finished talking and got to deal with him before she finished with Maggie. Normally he’d have been amused, tempted to play the game.
He was so ready to drop the whole Jago and Jarvis thing, couldn’t wait for the promo to be over. And right now he was more interested in Project Magenta. Shamefully, when he’d learned that Maggie was the highly rated stylist who’d been booked to work with him in Boston his first reaction had been “Magenta Who?” It hadn’t taken him long to figure out exactly who she was and curiosity kicked in. Regretful curiosity that he’d left things unfinished with Maggie.
When it was Alex’s turn to check in the receptionist switched from ultra-speedy to incredibly slow. She finally gave him his cardkey and he turned to speak to Maggie, but she was already attempting to push the big gold trolley laden with her baggage in the direction of the elevators. She was having trouble. One of the wheels was spinning in useless circles and instead of going in a straight line the trolley kept veering off to the left. A smile that started somewhere in his chest burst onto Alex’s face and cracked his superficial mask.
He strode across the lobby with purpose and caught her up.
“Where’s your bellhop?”
“Gone for a tea break, or something.”
She gave a shove. The dodgy wheel wobbled and the trolley didn’t budge.
“This is all I need,” she gasped. “To get stuck with no bellhop and the trolley-from-hell with a doolally wheel and a mind of its own.” She rolled her eyes. “Yay.”
“Don’t be such a drama queen. There are enough of them in my world already.” The comment earned him a withering look.
“What do you suggest?”
“Chill out, Maggie.” Since there was absolutely no sign of the bellhop, he hauled her small mountain of baggage off the less-than-useless trolley. “I’ll bring your stuff to your room.”
He picked up a heavy bag in each hand and headed for the elevators.
Maggie grabbed the handle of his compact case and wheeled it off, hurrying ahead to press the button.
“Haven’t you ever heard of travelling light?” He stepped into the elevator and dumped her bags on the floor.
“Not when I’ve got handmade bespoke tweed jackets to tote across the Atlantic because the Wells brothers can’t fit a UK photo shoot into their busy schedules and only have a two-day window in Boston that will work for them.”
She fixed him with her doe-eyed gaze. He always had been a sucker for the appeal of those come-to-bed eyes of hers. It was amazing he’d resisted her for so long when they were friends.
“Point taken.” The doors slid closed. “Which floor?”
“Two.” His fingers collided with hers as they both made to press the button. She pulled back as if he’d given her a static shock.
Was this what they called a blast from the past? She was certainly a temptation. Perhaps he should add something more watertight than “no flirting” to his action plan, like a temporary celibacy clause, for example. Technically, it should be a “no action” plan. What he should be doing over the next few days was getting to know her again, not weighing up her fling-potential. She wasn’t fling material. He looked down at the big bags at his feet.
“Strictly speaking I guess some of this is my baggage,” he mused.
A puzzled smile twisted her rosy lips. Her eyes sparkled. Even after seven hours on a plane, she looked very kissable.
“I guess,” she agreed, crossing her arms defensively.
Back when he’d landed Mercy, he’d wanted to call her. Badly. But he’d been afraid that if he did, he might turn down a golden opportunity and disappoint his mother and Nick. Maggie might have been the girl who’d rather sleep than have sex with him, but she’d also been the friend who could read him like a play script. He couldn’t talk to her, because if he had done, he’d have risked convincing himself to fly back to London, finish drama school, and audition for serious roles; something that met with his father’s approval.
That would have been out of the question, no matter how badly he wanted to do it. Their mother pulling strings only got them so far. The studio required both Wells twins, and the publicity mileage that came with them thanks to their parents’ celebrity. Without Alex, there’d have been no contract for Nick. No way would Alex have let his brother down, but with each new series, each new contract signed, he’d become more entrenched in a role he’d been lukewarm about at the outset.
Now that he was standing next to Maggie, his blinkers were off. His crassness ate at him. He should have said goodbye. Saying sorry, like it was only last week and he’d just forgotten to call, seemed inadequate. Leaving everything behind to follow his brother’s dreams had been tough, so he’d confined her to a compartment labeled ‘past’, along with all the other stuff he’d failed to deal with.
The elevator stopped and the doors opened with a ping. Maggie stepped quickly into the corridor, looking down the line of numbered doors. Alex strode out after her, carrying the baggage.
“Which room?”
She glanced at her key. “It’s right here.” She pointed to the door in front of her. “This one. You can go, I can manage now.” She tilted her head and smiled up at him. “Thanks.”
Did she have to have such a sexy smile?
“Open up and I’ll lift this lot in for you. I don’t want you rupturing something and failing to turn up to the shoots. I need you.”
Maggie huffed out a breath and did as she was told. She was loaded with the irresistibility factor.
“You’ve gone all chivalrous knight,” she laughed. There was a smoky glint in her hazel eyes and curls of amusement tweaked the corners of her mouth.
“What were you expecting? I haven’t turned into my TV character. Jago might be mysterious and moody, but that isn’t me.” He hesitated. He wanted to add, “I shouldn’t need to tell you that”, except he thought better of it. The way he’d treated her was distinctly unchivalrous.
Maggie waved a dismissive hand. “I know that,” she said. “Please promise me you won’t forget to channel a smattering of mean and menacing for the shoots, though, because I’m quite sure the magazine isn’t expecting me to stick you in a suit of armor.”
“Vampires in shining armor?” he chuckled.
“That’s what I’d call a drastic makeover,” she laughed, “And one guaranteed not to get me any follow-up calls. I’d like to raise my profile, not bury it without trace. Anyway, you needn’t worry, the looks I’ve got planned are very cool.”
He captured her gaze and the urge to play with her reeled him in. “I’m yours to do with as you please.”
The devil in him wanted to feel her blue-nailed fingers tear his clothes off, and make stupid, crazy love to her with the finesse their last encounter had lacked. These rogue thoughts weren’t helping his no-action plan.
She looked him up and down slowly. “Now there’s an offer I bet not many stylists would refuse,” she joked. “I just might have to take you up on it and give you a revamp!”
“Funny one! I like what you did there.”
She smirked and he grinned back, itching to press his mouth to her smile. He wanted to crush her lips, feel her mouth open beneath his, their bodies meld like molten metal. Forget the tea party. Boston could turn out to be Party Central. She was a whole decade more attractive right now than ever. Perhaps she’d turn out to be his party girl after all.
His? Where had that come from?
Arms crossed, she c
hewed her bottom lip, measuring him up. Was it wishful thinking to imagine she was mentally undressing him?
Reason set in and he grasped his case. “I’d better go. See you anon.”
Outside, on the safe side of Maggie’s door, Alex stepped quickly back into the elevator. He needed to find his room, and then he’d find the gym. Every muscle in his body had tensed. He hadn’t expected to have feelings for Maggie, good, bad or indifferent. He’d been hoping to make sure their almost-sex-disaster-fest incident was all in the past. There was more than enough animosity between him and Nick without adding awkwardness with the stylist into the mix. The attraction that had flared up between him and Maggie was infernally inconvenient.
Chapter Four
“Madly busy” summed up Maggie’s first day in Boston, which was just as well because it took her mind off Alex. Far from clearing things up and proving that they were both entirely different people at different places in their lives, meeting him again had given her an uneasy feeling that he wasn’t out of her system. She could fight it all she liked, but she’d been craving a little bit of Alex’s amazing sexual energy ever since he’d arranged her upgrade on the plane. That was ridiculous. She needed to focus on making him look great. Not that it would be a stretch. He was altogether too dreamy.
At noon she met Hannah, the photographer, at her converted warehouse studio, which was the base for the city shoot. After they’d discussed the brief, she put together the outfits, took Polaroid photos of them, and left everything ready on hanging rails.
She spent the rest of the day dashing around Boston picking up last-minute bits and bobs. Finally, she had a meeting with Natalie, the make-up artist, for a coffee and a quick chat about the looks she and Hannah were aiming for.
Anchored in a leather tub chair in a downtown coffee shop Maggie fought the buzz in her head planted there by Alex. The low hum of chatter filled her ears, and fresh aromas of newly ground beans swirled in the air. Normally she loved the smell, but she felt queasy. The prospect of working with the Wells brothers had turned into a witch’s brew of craziness that had set her nerves jangling.
“The magazine wants something dark and mysterious in keeping with the actors’ TV characters.” She took a quick sip of her decaf skinny latte. It tasted yuck, like she’d been chewing copper pennies. “It needs to be subtle,” she advised, setting down her cup and pushing it away. “Nothing too over-the-top.”
“Aw,” the make-up artist objected. “Let’s make ’em real spooky.”
“If you mean a trickle of fake blood dribbling from the corner of Alex Wells’ mouth, then no, I’m afraid not.” Maggie and Natalie laughed. “Pale and interesting is good, though. I have to warn you, it might be a bit of a challenge. I’ve met them already and they were both looking very tanned.”
Natalie was bursting with curiosity. “So what are they like? Have you worked with them before? I can’t wait.”
“I – um. No, I haven’t worked with them.” Natalie was so sweet and friendly that Maggie was tempted to tell her everything – all about how she knew Alex in a previous life.
Before he became famous.
Before she got a career as a fashion stylist.
Before she came to the conclusion that falling in love was much too risky, and that if she wanted a happy family, she was going to have to go it alone.
A sparkly, curvy twenty-something with flawless skin and a halo of dark corkscrew curls, Natalie popped a spoonful of froth from her cappuccino into her mouth. “Which one’s your favorite? Nick or Alex? I mean they’re both hot as hell, right? But if you had to choose?”
Maggie’s stomach did a somersault. Since this spur-of-the-moment styling job had come up she’d been preoccupied with work. So much so she’d lost track of days. It was over two weeks since she’d been to the clinic for the medical procedure that could change her life. She’d had artificial insemination with donor sperm. She had half a dozen pregnancy tests in her handbag and she hadn’t had the courage yet to do one. She was itching to find out the result. Was she pregnant, or wasn’t she? She had more important things to think about than discussing which of the Wells twins was the hotter.
“Oh I don’t know, Nick, I guess.” She mentally crossed her fingers against the white lie.
“No way!” Natalie picked up her coffee cup. She’d left a red lipstick print on the porcelain. “It’s Alex any day of the week for me. I’m dying to meet him.”
Maggie bit her tongue. Hitting the make-up artist with the details of her past connection with Alex would be ill-advised. She clearly had a bit of a crush on him. And as for announcing, “Excuse me, I just need to pop off and do a pregnancy test”? Well, that would be unprofessional in the extreme, and probably a bit off-putting.
Maggie steered the conversation back on topic, discussed colors, the clothes, the models, and the theme for the first shoot. Then she headed back to the hotel, feeling inappropriately light-hearted at the prospect of possibly running into Alex in the lobby.
Alex was nowhere to be seen. Maggie ended the day ordering room service and crashing out ready for an early start the next morning. She had a night of fractured sleep. Three times she woke up sprawled in the king-size bed thinking she should get up and do the pregnancy test. She didn’t. She had a mental block so strong it was as if something physical was preventing her from doing what she needed to do.
If the insemination was a success, it was because her donor had knowingly made a decision to create a life without being there. Her father hadn’t made that choice. He’d been a summer romance. Her mum was sixteen when she’d fallen in love with the golden-haired surfer boy from Australia. By the time she realized she was pregnant he’d left, and by the time she tried to tell him he was a dad, it was too late.
Her mother’s pregnancy had been a minor scandal in their seaside village. By the time her grandmother had got over the embarrassment, got used to the idea of her daughter being a teen mum, and decided that they should track down surf-boy Sam, he was dead. A seventeen- year-old adrenaline junkie, happy-go-lucky Sam had surfed a notorious point break two days after he arrived home. Taken out by a freak wave, he’d drowned on the reef. His parents sent a clipping from their local newspaper reporting his death. Maggie’s mum kept it in a shoebox under her bed with a load of photos and a heart-shaped pebble he’d given her. When she went to work in Spain she left the box behind, along with Maggie.
Technically, her father had been a sperm donor. So why shouldn’t a donor-sperm baby grow up to be as strong and independent as she’d learned to be?
Finally she fell into deep sleep. She always dreamed when she was jet-lagged, but usually she had a vague sense that she was asleep and only dreaming. This time the dream was so real that she woke up all spaced-out and it took a minute or so to register that the blissful scenario she’d been so immersed in hadn’t actually happened.
And she thanked her lucky stars it hadn’t. Because in her dream she’d slept with Alex, and her heart thudded, wondering if that embarrassing little gem was going to be written on her face the minute she set eyes on him. He’d stirred up a mess of emotions. She hadn’t just been a little bit in love with him, she’d been head over heels, and right when she’d not been able to resist him a second longer, he’d upped and gone and vanished from her world. She’d thought she was oh-so-over him, but the deep down, buried truth was that she’d gone on being hooked on him for much too long after he’d left. No one measured up to him. The guys she’d dated never stood a chance by comparison, because she didn’t allow them to. When she got anywhere near starting a relationship she let it fizzle out. Fearing rejection somewhere down the line, she pushed men away. Until Marcus. Marcus had taken her over, organized her, a self-appointed personal drill sergeant. She’d trusted him completely.
She felt raw. It didn’t help that her hormones had begun to whoosh around uncontrollably like fallen leaves being whizzed into the air on a gust of autumn wind. She wasn’t just as susceptible to the charms of Alex W
ells as every other fan of the show, she was more so. She’d known him before he shot to fame – that was the trouble.
Awkwardness set in the moment Alex arrived at the studio. Hannah popped out for some takeout coffees, leaving Maggie to dress Alex ahead of Nick and the two models who hadn’t shown up yet.
The dream memory returned. It seared her mind’s eye with an image of hot, tangled bodies, obliterating reasonable thought processes. A sensuous picture of soft, warm skin and hard muscles filled her imagination; her lips seeking his, his mouth devouring hers, hands clasped, bodies entwined.
Trapped in tongue-tied silence, Maggie forced herself to focus on the brick walls and wood floors of Hannah’s warehouse studio. They helped ground her. Samples of photographic work dotted about the place gave her something more appropriate to visualize. She picked out a photo of white sailboats afloat on glassy water against the Back Bay skyline with powder-puff clouds in an azure sky, and honed in on that.
Outside, Boston basked under just such a perfect blue sky.
“Great day for it.” He oozed confidence. His drawl set off those hopping hormones again. He could make reading aloud from the telephone directory sexy without even trying.
“Couldn’t be better.” She ignored the fact that he was attempting to snare her gaze. She resolved to avoid looking him in the eye, if at all possible. If she did, he’d be bound to see all the things she’d dreamed in the night swimming in her head. Utter torture.
“Good day yesterday?”
“Um. Busy. Getting this lot ready.” She turned her back to him and stood at the hanging rail shuffling the clothes about a bit on their hangers, pretending to be absorbed in her work. “You?”
“The usual. Interviews. The final series airs here next week. And the big question on everyone’s lips is “How does Jago die?”.”
“What did you say?” Maggie grabbed a pencil and over-acted the need to score off a couple of items on her to-do list.
The Little Shop of Afternoon Delights Page 5
