A ve-ry bad idea. That was the point. She didn’t say so. Clearly, she was a lousy seductress. Mortified, she forced out a syrupy false giggle. “What was I thinking?” She rolled her eyes. “Me having a fling with TV’s Hot Vampire Guy? I need my head examining.”
“Hot? Vampire? Guy?” Alex fired her a condescending look. “Really?”
She bit her lip and nodded, squashed. So much for sizzling attraction. What was wrong with wanting a walk-away-with-no-regrets-when-it’s-over fling? She could do utterly emotionless. She couldn’t undo the fact that she’d been deluded. The chemistry had been one-way after all. Hey, the guy was a great actor.
After an awkwardly silent dinner, back in the softly lit sitting room, Alex paced. He had a copy of Hamlet in his hand and his nose buried in it, going over his lines. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Maggie, curled up on a sofa flicking through a magazine she patently wasn’t reading. No longer a vision in red, she was still sexier than sexy, even in the goofy leggings and I Heart NY tee.
He’d said the wrong thing, handled it badly. He’d made her feel unattractive when the opposite was true. She was complicated. She was a mother-to-be and every time he thought about it the hot blood flowing in his veins turned to cold porridge. Beneath that monochrome image of hers she was vulnerable. And he was getting too involved – pregnancy tests, sickness, cravings. He was out of his depth.
On automatic he retreated behind his own stony mask.
He turned his back on her and glared out the window at the skyline. Muttering under his breath he reeled off some lines. His concentration was zero.
Hot Vampire Guy. Damn it!
He was desperate to let go of that image, show people the real Alex Wells. But he’d been living with the character for so long he wasn’t sure who the “real” Alex was. He frowned at his script, read some more, straightening out the torment in his head. Playing Hamlet would be a dream come true and he was going to crash and burn. He couldn’t shake off Jago. Every move, every look, every step across the stage, every word was Jago. He stared past his cold reflection in the glass. The moon was a couple of slivers short of a round cheese in the black sky. When he stepped onto the London stage the audience was going to see the cheesy vampire guy. He threw the script across the room. Maggie let out a yelp and caught it in midair before it took out the hydrangeas.
“Sorry, Maggie. I wasn’t aiming at you.”
“What’s up?”
He’d spent meaningless nights with quite a few women for whom that question would have begged a suggestive quip. Not Maggie. The tension from his knock-back bristled between them.
“I’m murdering Hamlet. Every time I open my mouth, I hear Jago.”
“You are a bit mid-Atlantic.” Maggie shrugged. “But hey, you can fix that. It’s what you trained to do.”
An English education, followed by years based in LA had turned his accent into a hybrid. But he wasn’t talking about received pronunciation, he had a voice coach for that. The problem with Jago lay deeper.
He folded himself onto the sofa next to her. “My accent is exceeeeedingly mid-Atlantic.”
Maggie laughed at the extra dose of British oomph he added to his words, easing the atmosphere.
“It wasn’t a hindrance in Mercy,” he mused. “The reverse; it kinda helped.”
“I don’t see the problem.”
“What if I walk on stage and all anyone sees is Jago?”
“Jago in a doublet and hose. Isn’t that part of the appeal? The production’s unique selling point?”
“You mean I just have to work with it.”
“I doubt make-up will be up for giving Hamlet vampire fangs, but I don’t think your audiences will complain if you bring a smidge of Jago to the role, do you?”
Alex laughed. He pulled Maggie into his arms and hugged her. “You’re a genius.”
Awkward, his arms sprang back, letting her go like a failed turn on an arcade candy grabber.
“I can help with your lines.” She opened the script. “Okay. Let me see. It’s Act One, Scene Two, and we’re in the council chamber in the castle. There’s a flourish of trumpets.” She made a trumpety ta-da-da-da-da noise. “Enter blah, blah, blah and last of all you, Prince HAMLET. You’re dressed in black, with downcast eyes.”
Alex suppressed a chortle. Her am-dram approach was too funny.
He ran a hand over his newly stubbling jaw. “Just give me the cue, please, Maggie, or we’ll be here from now until Christmas.”
They rattled through Alex’s scene, then moved on and did the bit where Hamlet sees his father’s ghost. By the end of Act Two, Maggie was flagging and yawning. It was very late. She passed Alex the book. He paced, reading aloud, while she curled up on the sofa and plumped a cushion under her head. Concentrating on the play, he ploughed a hand into his hair. “I’m ready for Act Three. You’re Ophelia.” He held out the script to Maggie, but she was fast asleep.
The place where he was supposed to have a heart lurched. Maggie was right. Jago was a marketing ploy. He could see past it, thanks to her. Make it work. To get to Hamlet, he’d need to dig inside himself. He’d stored up a deep well of hurt. He should put it to use and channel the confusion he’d felt growing up in the drama of his parents’ real-life soap, into Hamlet’s angst. The stone in his chest knocked against his ribcage.
His mother’s television career had sky-rocketed about a year after he and Nick were born. A highbrow British actor, Drake Wells, landed a couple of great roles in LA. He won a prestigious award and for a while he got to write his own ticket. He was frequently away on location, but when he came home every day was like Christmas. Smarting from having to deal with her husband’s doesn’t-count-on-location attitude to his marriage, their mother didn’t share their euphoria. Much too little to know about the infidelities and the crushingly public humiliation that he inflicted on Cassandra, the twins lapped up his over-the-top attention, a hail of toys and trips to theme parks. When he left for good the fun stopped, and worse, she went completely off the rails. She’d been admitted to rehab and they’d been cared for by relatives. Rejected by their father and separated from their mother, Alex had felt it was his job to protect Nick. Later, when their mother was out of rehab and back in their life, every time things got tough in the media glare, he felt responsible.
Perhaps because she still craved Drake’s approval, Cassandra had decided to send them to a British boarding school. Mostly, at sports days and rugby matches, there were gaps where the Wells parents should have been. When he graced the school plays with his presence, Drake would sit looking dour in the audience, and sneer disapprovingly afterwards, belittling his sons and pointing out everything about the production he considered wrong.
Cassandra’s visits had always been scheduled to coincide with press tours in Europe. It was during an alcohol-fuelled outburst when they were thirteen that the truth about Drake had come out. She’d flown in from somewhere, having arranged for a taxi to pick them up from school and deliver them to the airport. While she’d been waiting she’d fallen off the wagon. That’s how they’d learned that the man whose name was on their birth certificates did not share their genes – in an inebriated ramble in Departures at Heathrow. “Drake’s not your real dad.” Alex got chills thinking about that day. “He might claim that you’re his sons, but he can go take a running jump off a high cliff.” She cracked some lame joke about denim genes and spilled the contents of her handbag on the concourse floor. In the scramble to wrangle lipsticks, crumpled till receipts and small change, the revelation had been brushed aside, but it was out there. Everything slid out of perspective for Alex because suddenly his father’s rejection made total sense.
He knelt down next to the sleeping Maggie and touched her shoulder. “Maggie,” he whispered. Out for the count, she didn’t stir. Deciding against leaving her to spend the night on the sofa, he got to his feet and carefully scooped her into his arms. She moaned softly and her scent hit his senses. He steeled himself against his a
ttraction. Shouldering open the door to her room, he carried her in and placed her gently on the turned-back bed. He covered her with the marshmallow-light duvet and for a moment he ached to take back his rejection, drop the mask of indifference. Touching two fingers to his lips he blew Maggie a kiss and closed the door quietly.
Shut away from her, he let out a disgruntled breath. He had to admire her confidence in starting a family on her own. He didn’t want kids. He wouldn’t know how to be a dad, although surely he couldn’t be as diabolical as Drake. His heart squeezed thinking about Maggie’s pregnancy. He needn’t worry about her. She wouldn’t go to pieces the way his mother did. No matter what life threw at her, she’d stay strong.
Being at a red-carpet event had felt miles better with Maggie. Even before she got sick he’d cared more about her than he did about the paps and the outside world. She’d given him a fresh take on making Jago work alongside Hamlet. He’d have to be careful. Maggie helping him channel Hamlet’s pain was one thing, but he couldn’t let her into his heart. Turning her down had been hard, but he’d done the right thing. Alone in his own room, he stripped off his I Heart NY tee and threw it into a corner. It landed on a chair, the red heart glaring at him.
Chapter Twelve
Alex knocked on the door of Maggie’s bedroom carrying a tray laden with a breakfast: orange juice, coffee, and buttery croissants so flaky and delicious they could have been teleported in straight from a boulangerie in France.
“Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. I’ve got an action-packed day planned for you.” Maggie sat up in the king-sized bed and plumped one of the fat pillows. He was wearing his solemn celebrity face, but by the sound of things her impetuous moment of madness had been forgotten. Her stomach churned. Embarrassment washed through her. She’d got carried away. Alex thought a fling was a terrible idea, but no one could blame a girl for trying.
“That sounds intriguing.” She looked at him from beneath lowered lashes, pulled the corner off her croissant and popped it into her mouth, being careful not to drop crumbs on the bed linen.
“Have you ever taken time out to be a tourist in New York?”
“No.” She met his eyes. “Never.” She’d worked in the city lots, but her schedule had been too frenetic to take in the sights.
“Me neither.” Alex grabbed a croissant and lolled on the end of her bed. Fresh from the shower, hair damp, his uber-masculine body made her pulse stutter. His spiced man smell knocked her sideways. Mmm. Yum. The hotel bathrobe gaped across his chest, revealing an expanse of bronze skin. “I’ve lost count how many times I’ve been in New York and not done the tourist stuff.”
A coppery flake the size of a British two-pence coin fell onto the white duvet. Maggie picked it up between two red nails and put it back on the plate. She couldn’t wait to change her nail color, start afresh.
“What’s the plan?”
Alex suppressed a teasing half-smile. “It’s a mystery tour. I’m not telling you what the plan is. You’ll have to trust me.”
First stop, the Statue of Liberty. They waited in line to take the ferry with the other tourists. With his dark glasses and upturned collar Alex remained incognito. Just before leaving the hotel, Maggie had stuffed Hamlet in her handbag and was flicking through the pages.
“So fill me in. Who’s Polonius?” Maggie asked. She’d done Hamlet for A level, but that was a long time ago. “I’ve mostly forgotten it.” She peered at the script. “And what’s an arras?”
“It’s a curtain and Polonius is Ophelia’s father. He’s eavesdropping behind the arras and Hamlet stabs him with his sword not knowing who it is.”
“So Hamlet kills off his girlfriend’s dad? That’s not good.”
“It’s a tragedy.”
Maggie nodded earnestly. “It certainly is.”
They climbed the three hundred and fifty-four steps into Lady Liberty’s crown, took photos of the Manhattan skyline, and talked more about Hamlet while they were up there.
In the afternoon they walked between the trees in Central Park, wandering aimlessly, along paths, over arches, and under bridges. Sometimes they stopped to run through a scene or two of the script. Maggie loved the splatters of color amongst the green where the leaves were just beginning to turn. By the Conservatory Water her heart twinged watching a little girl launch a sailboat with her dad. At the Alice in Wonderland sculpture, she let out a gasp of delight as kids clambered over the toadstools and clung to the White Rabbit’s ears. A proud father hoisted his tiny tot onto the big toadstool. Maggie sucked in a breath. She couldn’t miss what she’d never had. Her heart squeezed. Was she wrong to deprive her child of a father’s love, right from the off? Because she’d grown up knowing she’d never meet her dad she hadn’t had any qualms about it – until now.
Alex picked up on her preoccupation. “Is something wrong?” he asked. “Are you tired? Would you like to go back to the hotel?”
“It’s not that.” She shook her head. Suddenly dads were everywhere. “Dadless is all I’ve ever known. I guess that’s why I’m okay with the idea of a family that’s a dad-free zone. Mine’s not on my birth certificate. He might as well have been a sperm donor.”
“You’ve taken a negative and turned it into a positive. I wish I could have half your optimism. The San Andreas fault would be hard-pushed to do more damage than my father.”
Maggie’s heart went out to him. When she’d known him before he wouldn’t talk about his dad. Still, he had to be exaggerating. The name Drake Wells was revered. “I know you hated the things that got written in the tabloids, but he can’t have been all bad. Surely?”
A muscle flickered in his face. “It’s a waste of breath discussing my father. I don’t measure up. I never have. I never will.”
“My mum’s the one I couldn’t measure up for,” she admitted. “If I’d been more like her, I don’t think she’d have left. When she went to work in Spain my grandma overcompensated. She filled my days with fun stuff, like she was on a mission to make sure that I didn’t feel unloved.”
It had sort of worked. Despite her mum’s rejection, she’d had no sense of being unwanted. There’d been postcards and presents, and although her mother refused to come home to Cornwall, her grandma had saved up for budget flights and taken her to Spain for holidays. But did she feel loved? What she’d felt in bucketfuls was gratitude, so she’d returned her grandmother’s care by behaving impeccably, helping around the house, never being a nuisance. It wasn’t until uni that she’d been free to be her real self. She’d stopped trying to match the wallpaper for a while. She’d started blending again since Marcus. At the heart of things she’d lost a vital part of her self-worth.
Maggie let go of Alex’s hand. She loved the warmth of his touch, but she couldn’t process being this close without wanting more. “Basically,” she blurted, “What you call my optimism is nothing more than a refusal to be beaten by rejection.”
“You don’t have to do this solo, you know.” He reached out with both hands and gently pushed her hair behind her ears. “You can count on me. When we get back to London, if you need anything, anything at all, promise me you’ll call. I’m going to be in the UK for a while. I’ll do whatever I can.”
“That’s very sweet.” She sounded like she was accepting an invitation to coffee. “Thanks.”
“You shouldn’t have to be on your own.”
“I don’t have to be. I chose this,” she insisted, a touch too vehemently. She took a step back, reluctantly moving out of range of the hands that had been smooth heat against her skin. She didn’t want to push Alex away. Nothing tempted her more than the urge to kiss the sincerity right off his lovely lips. Instead she tested his offer to do anything at all for her. “Is my every wish your command?” she asked.
“Within reason.” A hint of a smile flitted across his serious face.
“In that case. I’d like to go to the zoo.”
Alex’s electric laughter cracked through the tension. “Then the zoo it is.”
Alex and Maggie were like a couple of big kids on their whirlwind tour of Central Park Zoo. They ate hot-dogs and cotton candy, and saw penguins and polar bears. In the gift shop Alex spotted a three-foot-high penguin. Part of the display for a range of books stuffed with animal facts, it wasn’t for sale, but Alex turned on the charm, signed autographs, and negotiated with the sales assistants to acquire it in exchange for a donation to wildlife conservation.
“What do you want that for?”
Alex held the penguin at arm’s length next to Maggie, comparing the two of them. “It’s your perfect accessory. Black and white with just a hint of yellow.” He handed it to her. “It’s for you. For the baby.”
“Don’t be daft. I can’t take this back to London. It’s huge. It’ll need its own seat on the plane.”
“He’ll have to make do with being stuffed into the overhead locker.”
Holding a flipper each, they were admiring a beautiful snow leopard when a woman tapped Alex on the shoulder. She held out a camera and said something incomprehensible in French or Spanish. Alex did a double-take.
“You want me to take a picture of you?”
Maggie stifled a giggle. “It’s usually the other way around,” she explained unhelpfully to the woman and her blank-faced entourage. “They’re obviously not fans.”
Alex organized the photo and butterflies skittered in Maggie’s stomach. They were the full-package family – yummy mummy, baby in a ditsy flower dress, too-cute toddler in a dinosaur t-shirt, a grumpy older kid with sneakers and a kid-sized back-pack. And a dad to complete their picture.
Maggie hugged the penguin and watched as Alex took charge of the first photo shoot in a week that wasn’t of him.
“Say cheese,” he coaxed smiles out of the family. “Fromage? Queso?”
“Cheese,” they chorused, with the exception of the sullen boy in sneakers, who could give Jago a run for his money, and the baby, who blew dribble bubbles winsomely.
The photo shoot done, Alex surprised Maggie, and everyone else for that matter, when he transformed from temporary photographer into impromptu magician. With sleight of hand he produced first one quarter, then another, out of thin air, and two more from behind Sneaker Boy’s ears, finally eliciting a reluctant smile.
The Little Shop of Afternoon Delights Page 14
