He was looming like a human elephant on the big screen when Maggie clutched tightly at his sleeve. A sideways glance in the darkness confirmed that all was not well. While one hand tugged at his arm, she clasped the other firmly over her mouth.
“Maggie? Are you going to throw up? I didn’t think my performance was that bad.”
Maggie nodded frantically and dragged him to his feet. They squeezed out of the row of seats past Nick and Ella and headed for the exit as fast as Maggie’s feet in her stilettos would allow them.
As she made a dash for the restroom one high heel caught in a hot-air heating grid in the floor and snapped. Disastrously, as she stumbled to keep her balance, the other heel tangled in her excessively long dress. There was a horrendous rip and a tear wrenched up the seam, exposing one shapely leg.
She ploughed on in her state of disarray. When she burst through the door of the Ladies he followed right along, watching in dismay as she leant over a washbasin and vomited.
Great!
She remained doubled over the sink and ran the water. Less than useless, he stepped forward and touched her soft, bare shoulders lightly. He massaged the nape of her neck while she washed her face. He passed her a paper towel.
Maggie stood up straight. She was pale and wide-eyed and her fancy up-styled hair resembled a disheveled bird’s nest. “Sorry.”
“I’d have thought if anyone was going to throw up it would be me. I’m the one who should be sick with nerves.”
“As if!” Her eyes glinted. A faint smile played on her lips. “Morning sickness, I’m afraid.”
“It’s half past nine at night.”
“It’s a figure of speech. I read up about it. First-trimester nausea can happen any time of the day. I guess I’m a night-sickness person.” She shrugged.
“Okay now?” He stopped rubbing her neck, wrapped his arms round her and pulled her close. She rested her head on his shoulder. He rested his chin on the top of her head. She felt more like a waif than the glamorous woman he’d walked into the cinema with earlier that evening.
“Uh-huh,” she said. “Shall we go back in? I’m fine now.”
“Nah.” There was a lightness about being with Maggie. He felt like a student bunking off from a lecture. “Let’s not bother.”
“I want to see what happens.”
Her eye make-up had smudged, making her eyes bigger than ever. Bare-shouldered, she looked pale and vulnerable, and he didn’t want to stop holding her. A loose wisp of hair fell across her face. He pushed it behind her ear. His fingers brushed her cheek as he did so. A tiny diamond earring glimmered in her earlobe. “I’ll send you the DVD when it comes out.” He’d been selfish expecting her to be his plus one at this event. He’d been thinking about himself when he’d struck this bargain with her. Some friend. He released her from his arms. Reluctantly.
“Come on. Let’s get out of here. The hotel’s only a couple of blocks. And you could use some fresh air. We can walk.”
Maggie gathered two fistfuls of scarlet fabric and lifted the hem of her dress, revealing two slender ankles and feet with toes painted in the same shade as her fingernails, in shoes that, even with one broken heel, made his pulse race. He was quite sure this wasn’t the effect she’d intended.
She slipped out of the shoes and picked them up. “I can’t walk anywhere in these.” Without the help of the heels, the ripped dress created an even bigger pool of fabric on the floor. “The designer will be apoplectic when she finds out what I’ve done to his dress.” She gave a dismal sigh. “I’ll never work again.”
“There’s no need to be so melodramatic.” He held up a finger. “Wait right here.”
Deflated, Maggie looked around the Ladies. There was nothing to sit on. In a place like this she’d have expected a velvet-covered chaise longue at the very least. She went into one of the cubicles, lowered the toilet lid and sat on it. This was a far cry from the way the evening had begun, arriving in a stretch limo to the adulation of the press.
She felt ropey, and out of her depth making a fool of herself in Alex’s A-list world, but deep down she was certain of one thing. Starting a brand-new family was the right way to go. Her friends were holding out for the fairy tale. That was fine for them. She wished them luck. Maggie knew that there was no point. She’d given it a go; it hadn’t worked out. Alex was wrong. There was no guy out there in the world just waiting for her to find him. That’s why she was getting on with having a baby. With a dad who wasn’t there when the baby was conceived. It was a top solution. She wouldn’t have to deal with any more Marcus-style rubbish.
After a wait that felt like an eternity, a forthright knock on the restroom door made her jump, “Alex?”
He marched in. “Here.” He handed her a plastic bag with the name of a souvenir store on it. “Change into these.”
She pulled out an I Heart NY t-shirt and some leggings emblazoned with stars and stripes. “It’s all they had,” he said, completely unapologetic. “I’ll wait outside.”
“Wait. What about shoes?”
“You’ll have to go barefoot.”
She began to protest “How am I supposed to walk without …?”
He cut her off. “Hurry up. I’ve got us some transport.”
The tee was extra extra-large. What was he thinking? She studied herself in a full-length mirror and pulled out the excess material, trying to imagine how she would look when she was nine months pregnant. Perhaps he’d been thinking ahead with the size choice. She eyed herself with displeasure.
Harrumphing with annoyance, she left the restroom and went to join Alex in the red and gold lobby. Barefoot, in stars and stripes leggings, she felt like such a letdown until she saw Alex and her heart cartwheeled. He was wearing a matching I Heart NY tee over his dress shirt. He cloaked his jacket around her shoulders, took her by the hand, laced his fingers into hers, and together they walked out of the movie theater to stand in the full glare of the canopy lighting.
A photographer appeared out of nowhere and pop, they’d been papped.
Maggie groaned. “See what you’ve done?” She splayed her arms in exasperation. Her balled-up designer dress dangled in the plastic souvenir store bag and the shoes that would make many women green with envy swung nonchalantly on the end of one of Alex’s long fingers. Apart from the broken heel, they looked quite attractive there. “If anyone’s crazy enough to publish that, it’ll do wonders for my reputation.”
Alex laughed.
The cheek. When she’d accepted Alex’s invitation, she’d been hoping that any publicity that came out of this weekend might raise her profile, get her noticed, and help her land a TV styling job she had her eye on back in the UK. It was one of her new projects, something she hardly dared pin her hopes on. When she’d said yes to Alex she’d been counting on a side order of glamorous press photos.
“Where’s the taxi?” There was a noticeable absence of yellow cabs, but a Central Park horse and carriage stood at the curb. Alex scooped her up into his arms. Caught by surprise, she had no alternative but to twist her arms around his neck. Held against his chest, his strong biceps tensed, she felt as light as a bag of popcorn.
“Your carriage awaits.” He carried her to the curbside and hoisted her into the horse-drawn carriage. Her eyes must have looked like they’d popped out on stalks. Dressed like a twenty-first century Cinderella after midnight, she ruefully imagined that any minute the carriage would revert to being a pumpkin, the driver would become a frog and the white horse would turn into a rat. She shivered.
A flash popped relentlessly. The rogue paparazzo was still lurking somewhere in the vicinity.
“Where’s security when you need them?” Alex grumbled ironically.
“Gone to call the police department, I shouldn’t wonder. What possessed you? You’ll get us arrested.”
Alex chuckled. Maggie’s mind churned. So much for her trademark fashion-conscious, but unremarkable, image.
“Magenta Plumtree – who styled yo
u this evening?” She mimicked the voice of the presenter who’d interviewed them earlier. “Who designed your tacky leggings and the fabulous outsize t-shirt?”
“It’ll probably be on the internet by the time we get back to the hotel.”
“That’s not helping.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s no big deal.”
The carriage driver made a clicking noise with his tongue, snapped the reins and the horse clip-clopped forward. The sudden movement unbalanced her. She wobbled. Alex’s arm slipped around her. The electric sensation of his warm body next to hers was enough to make her delirious. She ignored the pool of sweet heat at her core. She opted to argue with him. It was safer ground than facing how hot all that hard muscle and handsomeness was. And how overwhelmingly attractive she found him.
“That’s easy for you to say. I’m a stylist, for flip’s sake. Fashion’s what I do. Why do you think I work so hard to stick with a neutral image? It’s not an accident, you know. It’s to keep my image low-profile. That way I can concentrate on giving clients my full fashion focus.”
“Relax. There’s nothing wrong with your fashion focus. Everyone loves what you do.” His eyes glittered. “We’re having an I Heart New York moment.”
“You don’t get it. I’ve just been photographed on a red carpet with a big-name celebrity looking like a tourist who just happened to be passing by and fancied getting a photo souvenir. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, now, for the icing on the cake, you’ve got us trotting around Manhattan in a horse and carriage making a spectacle of ourselves. I’m going to look ridiculous if this goes up on the net. Is hi-jacking a horse and carriage from Central Park even legal? We’ll more than likely end up spending the night locked in a police cell. You’ll not be splitting your sides laughing then.”
“I thought you could use some air and I wanted you to feel comfortable. That’s not exactly a crime.” Her heart fluttered. He’d done the best he could to be considerate – even if the I Heart NY t-shirt and hallucinogenic leggings did fall well short of the mark. “It didn’t occur to me that anyone would notice. Let alone a pap. I thought they’d all gone.”
She’d made a complete shambles of the night. An uncontrollable urge to giggle bubbled up inside her. She squashed it. “I guess I’m not cut out for this red-carpet stuff.”
Maggie shut Alex out. Had saying yes to this New York extravaganza been a huge mistake? The sounds, the lights, the non-stop pace of the city viewed from a hi-jacked horse-drawn carriage felt exciting and lovely – and bizarre. Never mind I Heart New York. She was having a Cinderella-gone-horribly-wrong moment.
Chapter Eleven
Prince Charming does not exist.
Maggie’s grandmother had drummed into her that no matter how scintillatingly wonderful the Mr. Perfects of this world might seem, she should make no mistake – The One was a myth. Like aliens, unicorns, vampires, and every other fantasy out there. In the end, it turned out that she’d have loved to have been proved wrong. The thought made Maggie smile.
Safe in the cossetted luxury of Alex’s hotel suite, she went directly to the bathroom to brush her teeth and freshen up, sorry that she’d ruined the evening, the dress, the mood. She should stick to creating images for other people. She’d stepped out of her comfort zone and things had gone pear-shaped.
She joined Alex in the living room. Hands in pockets, he stood at the window glowering at the dark treeline below, the planes of his face reflected in the glass, spookily distant. His broad shoulders and the long lines of his athletic body made her fizz.
This friends thing wasn’t working.
When Mercy of the Vampires had taken off, she used to wonder if she’d ever meet Alex again. She’d imagined scenarios – bumping into him at a party or in a pub. And more fanciful ones like walking on an empty beach and finding him by the sea. He’d hurt her. She’d been falling in love with him and he hadn’t bothered to say goodbye.
Her heart swelled, filling up her chest and tightening her throat. She wasn’t over that will-we-won’t-we thing they’d had. Why couldn’t the attraction she felt for Alex in the here and now be the same shallow variety that made Jago fans the world over sigh wistfully and move right along to the next thing on their real-life agenda?
Maybe a fling with Alex would be mind-blowingly amazing. She’d love to know.
Okay, so in the Plumtree world there’d been a distinct lack of Prince Charmings. She couldn’t have Alex forever, but more than anything she didn’t want to go through life wondering what if? It was time to stop hanging on to the fact that once upon a time they’d been friends and let him be her fantasy man.
Alex unknotted his bow tie and sank onto a squashy sofa.
“Let’s order room service.”
She didn’t need to think about it. The empty space in her stomach reminded her of the hole in the middle of a donut.
“Oh yes puh-leeese. I’m ravenous.”
He passed her the menu and she pretended to think about it, but she knew exactly what she wanted. Needed, even.
“I’ll have a cheeseburger with fries and ketchup and those little green things. What d’you call them?”
“Pickles?” Alex prompted.
“No, not pickles. Whatd’youmacallits? Like the London skyscraper? She snapped the menu closed. “Gherkins!”
“Really?” He sent her a questioning look.
“Yes, really.” She bit her bottom lip.
“You hate pic … gherkins. You always used to pick them out and leave them.”
“Well tonight I want gherkins.”
“Gherkins it is!” There was a big, super-sexy grin on Alex’s face. A flame of deep heat uncurled inside her. She wished she could put it down to dodgy pregnancy hormones. His smile and her fizz all but killed off her hunger pangs.
There were three big comfy sofas in the room. She could have had one all to herself. Instead, she plonked herself next to Alex. Their eyes locked and held in almost telepathic stillness.
Alex coughed. He got up, walked to the polished wood desk and switched on the lamp. The light cast shadows through the fine petals of three giant hydrangea blooms arranged in a glass vase. The flowers with their green leaves were three times the size of the ones that grew in her cottage garden in Cornwall. Alex, distancing himself, triggered a pang of uncertainty that shivered through Maggie.
“I don’t eat burgers much – normally.” She started to babble. “Hardly ever – actually. I can’t even remember when I last had one. But tonight, for some reason …” She twisted a wave of hair around one finger. “I think I’ll die if I don’t get a burger.”
“With gherkins.” Alex lifted the phone. “Get me the emergency services.” His lovely deep voice rumbled theatrically into the receiver. “We need a burger and we need it fast.”
He dialed room service for real and placed the order. “Oh, and don’t forget the gherkins,” he reminded the person on the other end of the line. There was a pause. “Sorry … pickles. It’s a matter of life and death.”
Maggie curled up on the plush gold sofa island. Emptiness that wasn’t hunger struck her. Her baby plan lacked a vital ingredient. Someone to share stuff. The highs. The lows. By default, Alex had taken on the role. He’d been there when she did the pregnancy test. He’d held her when she was sick. He’d made fun of her craving. It felt good. Too good.
He had hired the adjoining room to his suite for her. A communicating door linked the two. A knot of jealously clenched her gut. With other women – the ones that were lovers not friends – a second bedroom would not be necessary. She tortured herself a little wondering how many nights of passion he’d spent in hotel suites like this one.
A practically mute, robotic waiter arrived. He went quick-smart into the separate dining room and placed a bowl of delicate cream roses in the center of the solid mahogany dining table. Polished to such a shine, Maggie caught him admiring his reflection in the wood as he set down the burgers, which sat grandly under silver domes waiting f
or them to tuck in. She stopped worrying about being out of her comfort zone. Sitting opposite Alex on a posh dining chair she gazed across the expanse of shiny wood. “I think we’ve just invented the most upmarket burger joint in Manhattan.”
She lifted the silver dome and realized that she didn’t fancy the pickled green things after all. She picked them out of her roll.
“I thought your life wouldn’t be worth living if you didn’t get whatd’youmacallits.”
“I changed my mind.” Her voice wobbled ruefully.
“You always were a bit contrary.” His dark hair had fallen across his eyes. He tossed his head, supremely masculine.
“Alex?” she blurted. What she was about to say was totally contrary, but there was more in the air between them than the celebrity crush factor. “Can I get an upgrade?”
Alex glanced around the room with a puzzled expression. “I don’t think so, Maggie. This is the best suite they’ve got.”
She held back a giggle. “Not the room. Us.” She looked down at her red nails. Resisting the urge to pick at the color, she looked up again. This wasn’t about what-might-have-been. He could leave his barriers intact, hide behind Jago if he liked. “I want to upgrade from friends to fling.”
Alex stiffened as if his spine had turned to solid steel. His eyes glinted, the blue irises practically turning storm grey in the half-light. “That’s out of the question.”
He pushed his plate away and stood up, made a move to walk off, changed direction, jerkily ploughed a hand into his thick hair. He frowned, his dark brows knitted. “Not every woman I’m photographed with finds her way into my bed.” He shot her a scornful look. “Believe it or not, the playboy image isn’t everything it’s cracked up to be.”
He rounded the table, pulled out the chair next to her and sat on it. “Look.” His voice softened to a husky murmur. Something she couldn’t read flickered on his face. “We should stick to friends. A fling would be a bad idea.”
The Little Shop of Afternoon Delights Page 13
