Wouldn’t they?
Chapter 2
Lizzie was shaking by the time she got back uptown. She parked her car in the garage under her apartment building and dropped her keys getting out. She fumbled around in the dark looking for them on the ground and scraped her knuckles on the cement.
How would he react? He loved her and wanted to marry her, yes, but would he be disappointed that she didn’t come with the brass ring?
Who wouldn’t be?
She found the keys and shoved them into her pocketbook. She wouldn’t need them to open the door since she’d left Con in her bed watching movies. It was nearly midnight after her long drive back from the Island, and she’d bet money—if she had any—that he’d still be there, warm and welcoming, crumpled sheets the only cover on his muscled body.
Con was always there for her. Never too busy to see her, to hold her, to massage her tight shoulders and cook a gourmet dinner with her. When she told her cousin Maisie about him she’d laughed and said he sounded too good to be true, and for once Lizzie had been the smug one. After two years of hearing about Maisie’s engagement to Dwight the Perfect Fiancé and all the boring details of their years-in-the-planning wedding, it was a delicious coup to announce “I’m getting married on Friday.” She didn’t need napkins hand-embroidered with their entwined initials to declare her love for Con.
The elevator jerked to a stop on the eleventh floor and prickles of anxiety crept over her. How would she tell him?
Thick carpet absorbed the sound of her high heels in the eerily silent hallway. The apartment was in her father’s name. She’d have to move.
She and Con would find a new home together. In a nice friendly neighborhood. Not this snooty Upper East Side co-op where you had to have old money to get past the board. Maybe they’d even get a house? Not a big fancy one, but somewhere pretty and comfortable, just for them. She and Con shared the same taste in everything.
Except olives. She liked them, he didn’t.
She rapped on the door with her knuckles, trying to ignore the cantaloupe-sized knot forming in her stomach. She could make out the sound of the TV through the door, and her breathing quickened as she heard it flick off, followed by the tap of bare feet on the parquet.
Maybe she imagined that. How could you hear bare feet through a solid door?
I’m not an heiress any more. Sorry.
She heard the lock slide back and the door opened. Con smiled at her with that lopsided grin that sent her heart skittering every time.
“I missed you.” His voice and those dark sleepy eyes were just what she needed. She stepped over the threshold and threw her arms around him. He responded instantly, wrapping himself around her, holding her tight—so tight—absorbing all the stress and hurt that dogged her.
With her head on his chest and his strong arms around her back, she felt safe. Everything was going to be okay.
“That bad, huh?”
It had been her idea to go tell her parents about their planned wedding. He’d wanted to get married and deal with the fallout later. He knew he hadn’t made a top-notch impression on them last week, though neither of them could figure out why.
They’d decided to get married right away, with a minimum of pomp and ceremony. To make it just about them and their commitment to each other. They didn’t have anything to prove.
“Poor baby.” He kicked the door closed and kissed her neck, stroked her back. His warm soft lips on her skin, the tickle of teeth, his tongue on her earlobe sent her fears running and stirred up a swarm of excitement.
“Con, wait…”
He didn’t. He kissed her cheekbone and her eyelid, swaying her as she closed her eyes. Already lifting her away to a place where only they existed and where thoughts of—
“Sweetheart, stop…”
He still didn’t. His kissing became more insistent as his mouth roamed over her neck. His hands ran up and down her clingy dress, stirring warmth in her skin and making her breasts tingle.
Before she knew it she was on the bed with her legs in the air and Con moving over her in that magic way that always made her fall to pieces and rise up stronger, no matter how many times they made love.
When they crashed to the sheets together, panting and sweating, she clung to him. Wanted to hold tight to the bliss pouring through her body and soothing her hurt mind.
“Feeling better now, babe?
She nodded, still not wanting to speak and break the spell. She opened her eyes just enough to see his face. His strong features and harsh, masculine beauty always shocked her a little. Usually a neat “short back and sides,” his straight brown-black hair hung in his eyes, which shone in the glow of the light from the hall. Soft with love.
She smiled as he kissed the corner of her mouth. “Why do I always smile when you do that?”
“Because you love me.” He said it simply.
“I do love you. I love you more than I ever thought possible.” She pushed his messy hair out of his eyes, and he smiled too. He lay next to her on the tangled sheets, head propped on his elbow, gorgeous muscles defined even in the scant light.
“Con?” She paused. Was it her imagination or did a tiny crease appear between his eyebrows. Maybe he’d picked up on her odd tone of voice.
“Yes, babe?”
I’m not rich any more.
She hesitated. Not sure what words to use. None seemed to sum up the magnitude of what had happened or to put it in terms that made sense.
“My father said I couldn’t marry you.”
“And what did you say?” There was definitely a furrow between his brows.
“I said I love you, and we’re getting married tomorrow.”
The crease eased a bit. “You had me worried there. I thought you might be about to break my heart.”
“I’d never do that.” Lizzie swallowed. “But about the money…”
“What about it?” He looked relaxed again, a smile spreading across his mouth.
He wouldn’t care about the money—would he?
“It’s gone.” She looked right at him as she said it, wanting him to understand.
Con pushed up higher on his elbow, stared at her like he was trying to make sense of it. “What do you mean?” His smile faded a little.
“My dad gambled in the stock market and lost it all.”
“But your grandfather left the money to you. In your name.”
He did look worried. A saw blade ratchet in her stomach reminded her she’d eaten no dinner. Maybe that’s why she felt lightheaded.
“He did, but I gave my father power of attorney. He’s always managed it for me.” She inhaled a shaky breath. “He’s being indicted.”
“Indicted for what?” Con’s voice had lost its velvet softness.
“Securities fraud. He says he’ll be convicted.”
Con stared at her. Her breathing became shallow, and she struggled to keep it inaudible. Suddenly chilly, she fumbled with the sheet and pulled it over herself. Con had to move to free it from under his body, and she could see tension in the taut six-pack of his stomach.
Panic snuck through her as the frown deepened on his handsome face.
“I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding.” He touched her chin. “We’ll get it sorted out tomorrow.”
“I don’t think so.” Her voice was a breathy whisper. “He said my financial advisor was in on it.”
“So how much is left?”
“I don’t know. Let me check the balance online. Gosh, what’s my password, I don’t even remember it. I must have it written down somewhere.”
The glowing laptop screen illuminated their faces as grim reality sunk in. Not only was there no actual money in her brokerage account, but someone had authorized margin loans worth more than thirty million dollars. The margin had been called and all existing stocks dumped at market price two days ago. With two million still owed.
“Holy shit.” Con chewed his finger in a way she’d never seen him do before.
Con looked at her like she was speaking a foreign language.
“I know it won’t be easy.” She took his hand and squeezed it. “But we’ll be fine. I’ll have to move out of the apartment since it belongs to my father, but we can find a place of our own. We can live frugally, start saving…”
A new sense of resolve filled the odd hollowness she’d felt since leaving her parents’ house. Maybe in a weird way this would actually be for the best. “I don’t have expensive tastes, I never have. I actually like the idea of living like a normal person. Of having car payments and mortgage payments and having to save for vacations.”
Con still stared at the laptop screen, his lips slightly parted. “Car payments?” he rasped at last.
“You know, buying stuff like regular people do, rather than plunking down forty thousand in cash. I know it sounds rude to ask, but how much do you earn?”
“What?” Con’s dark eyes stared at her, uncomprehending.
“Your salary, what is it?”
“I don’t have a salary.” His voice had a strange sound to it.
“You get paid on a project-by-project basis?”
“Kind of...um, yeah.” He raked a hand through his hair and stood up. The bedside light glazed his firm muscles as he crossed the room, cursed aloud, then strode back. He seemed oblivious to the fact that he was completely naked.
An icy trickle of fear crept along Lizzie’s spine.
“You’re a mechanical engineer, right?” She didn’t like the ugly suspicion in her voice.
Con licked his lips awkwardly and ran his hand through his hair again. He picked up his black pants off the floor and put them on. No underwear.
“Why are you getting dressed? It’s two a.m.”
He walked back to her, took her hand and lifted her from the desk chair opposite the bed. Guided her to the middle of the room and pushed a stray curl out of her eyes.
“Lizzie. My lovely Lizzie.” He squeezed her hands and reassuring warmth rose through her. Then he shook his head, and a pained smile flashed across his face. “I’m not a mechanical engineer. I never said I was.”
“I don’t understand… I thought…” She searched his face.
“I said my expertise is mechanical, and you guessed what you wanted to believe.”
She racked her mind to remember the conversation. “So what did you mean?”
“I’m a mechanic.” He looked at her, soft apology in his brown eyes. “I work on cars.”
She blinked rapidly and felt her forehead crease. “But that time we tried to meet for lunch—Wheelock Engineering LLC, the sign said. Isn’t that where you work?” She still remembered waiting for him outside the glass-fronted high-rise just off Lexington. Waiting and waiting, until she’d finally given up. Caught in a meeting, he’d said later. They’d never actually made the rain date for that lunch.
He rubbed his upper arm. The desk light highlighted a taut bicep. “I don’t work at Wheelock Engineering. I do some work in the garage across the street. That’s where I’d meant to meet you.”
What? “There’s a garage on that street?” She racked her brain and couldn’t even picture it. As far as she could remember, all the other buildings were brownstones. That’s why she’d assumed…
“Yes. Maybe you never noticed it. It’s a small place.” He shrugged, his expression guarded.
None of this makes sense. Lizzie shook her head. She’d never doubted for a second that he was successful, well-off, educated…
“But aren’t your family Louisiana landowners, descended from French aristocracy?”
He hung his head for a second, hair falling into his eyes. He lifted his chin and met her gaze again. “I’m from Louisiana alright. And my family’s been sitting on the same patch of swamp for as long as anyone can remember, but I’m about as aristocratic as that cockroach there.” He nodded his head at the wall behind her.
She wheeled around and saw a small roach scaling the striped wallpaper. On sudden instinct she picked up a slipper and threw it, left a brown smear on the wall.
Her breath came in heaving gulps. “I don’t understand… You said…”
“I didn’t say all that much.” He wiped a hand over his face and looked at her, his eyes so sad. “I let you do most of the talking. I love listening to you talk. When I’m with you I really do feel like some old-money Creole aristo with an avenue of live oaks back home.” He lifted his hand and stroked her cheek.
His soft touch felt as good as ever.
She recoiled from it. “Who are you?”
“I’m Conroy Beale.”
“That’s your real name?”
“Yes.”
She stared at him. “But you’re not wealthy.”
He paused, then shook his head. “No.”
“What about that Range Rover you were driving when we met? Those don’t come cheap.”
“It belonged to a friend.” He hung his head a little. “I never said it was mine. I helped you get your car going that first time we met, remember? I never said I was anyone but who I am.”
The hero who’d saved the day by putting Evian in her empty radiator. She’d broken down on Third Avenue on her way back from the Island. Her rescuer had been dressed in Armani and driving a Range Rover—what was she supposed to think?
“I just made all this stuff up in my head?” Her head spun in all directions, trying to make sense of the cataclysm of information it couldn’t quite process. One minute she was a wealthy woman with a charming, successful, fiancé, the next she was—
She didn’t know what the hell she was.
A dupe.
He looked apologetic. “I guess you did make it up, a little bit. Believed what you wanted to believe.”
Her heart contracted at the sight of his kind brown eyes. He looked like Con. The wonderful man who’d brought her out of her protective shell and turned her into a self-confident, sensual, loving woman. Who’d taken her dreary existence and blown it open like a window thrown up in a dusty attic.
Her chest heaved under her satin dressing gown. “So when you said I was… I was beautiful…” her voice cracked. “It was all a lie?”
“No. You’re the loveliest woman I’ve ever met.” He looked right at her.
“No, I’m not.” She squirmed, suddenly conscious of her big breasts, her big thighs. “I should have known.”
“You are beautiful. You’re also a loving, passionate woman with a big heart.”
Am I?
She stared at him. So breathtakingly handsome with his dark hair tousled and his chiseled features shaded by two days’ beard. She couldn’t help the stirring of warmth—more—at the sight of him.
“You’re a special woman, Lizzie.” His hands hung by his sides and in spite of everything she found herself wishing he’d reach up and touch her. That look in his eyes—he did love her, didn’t he?
So he wasn’t a mechanical engineer or a French aristocrat. Was that the end of the world? He was smart, no doubt about that. “Your college degree, what’s it in?”
“I didn’t go to college.” Contrition in his eyes.
“What? But you said you went to… St. Swithin’s. I thought that was where you studied mechanical… mechanic—” She racked her brain, trying to remember exactly what he had told her.
“St. Swithin’s is a reform school in Natchez, Mississippi.”
Her mouth dropped and an undignified “oh” escaped.
She gasped for breath. “So you took auto shop there and I somehow translated that into a summa cum laude degree in engineering?” Her voice shook. “Why did you let me believe all those lies?”
She stared at him, unable to reconcile the seductive image before her with the ugly reality unfolding behind it’s shimmering surface.
“Oh, Lizzie. We were going to be so happy. I had it all figured out.”
“But now I don’t co
me with a lot of zeros in the bank, the deal is off, huh?” The room pulsed in hideous Technicolor clarity.
The sad look in Con’s eyes almost affected her.
“I don’t have anything to offer you,” he said quietly.
“Is that so? What exactly were you planning to offer me prior to this latest wrinkle in your plan?”
“Happiness. I did make you happy, didn’t I?”
Yes.
She swallowed. “An illusion. I thought I was happy because I thought you were someone else. You lied to me, maybe not in so many words, but in the things you didn’t say. And maybe you lied to me another way with all those gentle touches and long, heartfelt kisses I’m apparently such a sucker for. I loved you.”
Her words hung in the air, ringing with raw pain and already in past tense. Everything had changed irrevocably. Totally. The happiness of the last few weeks—the life-transforming joy—lay in ruins.
Conroy Beale—whoever he really was—didn’t say a word.
“What a freaking joke. I’ve been skipping around in my own world of delusion, happy little Lizzie, while everyone who supposedly loved me was coming up with some way to milk me like a cash cow. What was I thinking? Why would anyone actually love me? As my father so kindly said, I’m just a fat little nobody.”
“You are not fat.” He looked her in the eye. “Don’t let anyone ever tell you that. You’re perfect.”
His voice dropped as he spoke. Like he meant it. For a second she felt a prick of warmth, a surge of the loving support that transformed her from a shuffling caterpillar into the beautiful butterfly she’d become.
Or thought she’d become before her wings were rudely snapped off again. Right now she’d like to climb back into her chrysalis and hide forever.
All those warnings from her parents about being “careful” and avoiding “the wrong sort of people.” She’d scoffed at their small-minded cynicism—
And fallen headlong into the trap of a scheming con artist.
“You never did say you loved me, did you?” She stared at him through narrowed eyes. Trying to ignore the perfect features of his noble-looking face. “I said it over and over, like a freaking parrot, but you never did say it back to me.” A panicked laugh rattled her chest. “Tell me, Con, with no bullshit or beating about the bush. Did you ever, just for one moment, love me too?”
A Bad Boy is Good to Find Page 2
