Anything but Love

by Beth Ciotta

  As of today, Rae was a millionaire.

  Whoop-de-flipping-do.

  Finishing off the truffle, she sighed and shifted from the snow white leather club chair to the snow white leather sofa in yet another attempt to find comfort in her mother’s luxurious Bel Air home. The furnishings were sparse and expensive. The decorative accessories tasteful, bordering on sterile. Not one area of casual clutter. Even the holiday decorations were meticulously arranged.

  Classical music played softly in the background, compliments of a new stereo system, hidden away somewhere—otherwise Rae would’ve dialed up a livelier playlist. Instead, she endured the stuffy music while scrolling through real estate listings on her iPhone and fantasizing about cupcakes and better times.

  She’d spent the past year living a simple life in Sugar Creek, Vermont. Then the last two months driving across country sorting through jumbled emotions and bracing for the future. She’d only been back in California and living under her mother’s roof for three days, and it was two days too long.

  Anxious, she glanced toward the grand stairway, wishing her mother and stepfather would dress a little faster. Rae had been ready for an hour. The sooner they got this evening’s pretentious holiday dinner over, the better.

  “Bah humbug.”

  There. She said it. She’d been thinking it all day. Rae had never been a big fan of Christmas. Mostly because it had never lived up to her expectations. As an only child of a celebrity socialite who preferred the limelight to home life, Rae had spent a good majority of her childhood keeping company with her very own TV. Holiday programming highlighted the importance of family and friends, the spirit of giving, and the magic of believing.

  Rae had never lacked for presents, but there’d been no festive activities with family. No gathering around the piano to sing carols. No sleigh rides, no tree trimming, no baking of holiday cookies. Oh, there’d been decorations, but her mother had hired a company to trick out whichever mansion they were living in at the time. And there’d been parties, but they’d been the Hollywood kind or the business-related kind, depending on which man her mother had been married to, and certainly none were the kind that welcomed kids.

  Christmas Eve had always been Olivia Deveraux’s night on the town, bouncing from one glitzy party to another. Never mind that Christmas Eve was also her daughter’s birthday. Surely the fact that Rae got presents that day in addition to Christmas morning was celebration enough.

  This year was no different. This morning Olivia had presented Rae with diamond earrings, a special gift for her twenty-fifth. “Really, sweetie,” she had said, “you’re independently wealthy now. A legitimate heiress. Time to start dressing and acting the part.”

  Olivia had been dressing and acting the part for years. She’d never been the real deal. Rae was the real deal. Thanks to Olivia’s first husband, the father Rae had lost at age two.

  Just now Olivia was upstairs with husband number four, a man Rae despised, taking forever and a day dressing for the first of three parties on their meticulously calculated social calendar. Amazingly, Olivia had invited Rae along. Although maybe not so amazing. As of this morning, Rae was stinking rich, a magnet for attention, something Olivia breathed like air.

  Not wanting to insult her mother, especially since Rae was trying to forge some sort of genuine bond, she’d sucked it up, agreeing to attend the dinner party being hosted at the Beverly Wilshire. Rae had never been a social butterfly, but she could endure a formal dinner, and besides, the proceeds went to a local children’s hospital. She’d simply beg off after, leaving the wilder, drinking parties to Olivia and Geoffrey while she took advantage of their state-of-the-art kitchen.

  Rae planned to spend her Christmas Eve birthday whipping up a holiday cupcake that would make the Cupcake Lovers proud, then chowing down and drinking wine while watching a marathon of sappy holiday movies on the Hallmark Channel. Movies celebrating friends and family, old-fashioned values, open hearts, and love. Movies that celebrated the kind of Christmas Rae had always craved and—double whammy—reminded her of the down-to-earth folk she’d been surrounded by in Sugar Creek. Being filthy rich couldn’t compare to being happy.

  Rae eyed her mother’s professionally decorated, artificial tree, weathering a wave of melancholy as her mind exploded with the visions and scents of naked Vermont pine. Over the last two months Rae had done her best to forget her attempt at lying low and living incognito in the Green Mountain State under the mousy, shy guise of Rachel Lacey. All she’d wanted was a few months of anonymity, time to assess a dicey situation with Geoffrey, time to contemplate her future without her shallow mother breathing down her neck.

  Losing herself to find herself.

  Hiding until she had the funds to fight fire with fire.

  Being a nobody had paid off in ways she’d never dreamed. Working with the children at Sugar Tots had been a dream. Joining the Cupcake Lovers and baking cupcakes for charitable causes had been a joy. If only Sam McCloud hadn’t fallen for her. (How could any man fall for drab, aloof Rachel?) If only Rae hadn’t fallen for Sam’s cousin, Luke Monroe.

  Another dicey situation.

  Disappearing, again, seemed the best course. No one would miss her, right? People came and went all the time—at least in Rae’s life.

  “Stop moping, Deveraux. Jeez.” Disgusted with her blue mood, Rae pushed to her feet and smoothed the wrinkles of her cocktail dress. “It’s your birthday. You’re a millionaire.”

  Surely it was sinful for someone so fortunate to feel this miserable.

  Time to find new happiness. Honest joy and real contentment. As for love …

  There was always the Hallmark Channel.

  “Someone to see you, Miss Deveraux.”

  Rae blinked, startled by the depth of her daydreaming. She hadn’t heard the doorbell. She hadn’t even heard Ms. Finch, her mother’s latest housekeeper, enter the room. “Who is it?”

  “Said he’s an old friend.”

  That heightened Rae’s curiosity. True friends were sacred, a rarity in Rae’s life, and she was certain she didn’t have any in Bel Air.

  Ms. Finch, who struck Rae as having a broomstick up her butt, raised her fastidiously penciled, coal-black eyebrows. “He seemed harmless so I allowed him access through the security gate and asked him to wait in the foyer.”

  “Oh. Right. Thank you.” Rae dragged her fingers through her Bordeaux-colored, newly cropped hair. In her desperate need to cut ties with Rachel Lacey, she’d invested in a stylish makeover and a chic wardrobe. Months ago she would have been wearing a mid-shin peasant dress and clunky, flat-heeled sweater boots. This afternoon she’d zipped herself into a knee-length emerald green sheath with an Empire waist and donned a pair of platform pumps. A dash of holiday spirit combined with an air of sophistication—perfect for the dinner at the Wilshire.

  Rae bolstered her shoulders as she moved across the pristine living area and then through two other rooms in order to greet her old friend—who was more than likely a smooth-talking reporter or an annoying member of the paparazzi. She’d begged Olivia not to brag about her inheritance but that was like asking her mother not to pose for the camera. Nothing would have surprised Rae. Except …

  “Luke.” His name scraped over her constricted throat, sounding choked and raspy and, to her utter embarrassment, besotted. Rae had never considered herself shallow, but she’d fallen for Luke Monroe’s boyishly handsome face and incredible body the first time she’d laid eyes on him—much like every other woman in Sugar Creek. His ornery smile and easy charm were irresistible and his devotion to family and friends admirable. The fact that he openly dated several women at the same time should have been a turnoff, except he was honest about his no-strings-attached intentions and that was oddly refreshing.

  As always, he was dressed down in faded, baggy jeans and a snug tee that accentuated his muscled torso. He’d rolled up the sleeves of a blue flannel shirt that hung unbuttoned and untucked, and he was wearing heavy
boots more conducive to the snowdrifts of Vermont than the sand and sun of California. Rumpled and unshaven, he looked incredibly out of place in Olivia and Geoffrey’s ostentatious mansion.

  Luke Monroe’s presence here, now, was surreal and, though stunned, Rae couldn’t suppress a giddy thrill. “What are you doing here? How … how did you find me?”

  “It wasn’t easy.”

  His clipped tone betrayed his anger as did his grim expression. Luke was one of the most jovial, easygoing men she’d ever known. She’d seen him harried once, frustrated, but never angry. Well, except for the fateful night a randy college kid had grabbed her butt when she’d been taking a drink order. Luke had interceded and he’d been angry, no, outraged on her behalf. She’d been smitten with Luke for months, but that night she’d fallen in love.

  Rae’s cheeks burned while she grappled for words, while Luke dragged his gaze down her body, soaking in the transformation. She struggled not to fuss with her cropped hair or to tug up her scooped neckline. There was absolutely nothing she could do about her bare legs, and kicking off her pumps would be ridiculous and embarrassing. She’d never been one to flaunt her curves and there was nothing promiscuous about this dress, yet Rae felt naked.

  Exposed.

  “Born and raised in privilege,” Luke said in the wake of her silence. “Exclusive private schools. Extended lavish vacations.”

  Rae flinched at Luke’s caustic tone. He spouted the cards she’d been dealt as though she’d been lucky. As a teen, she’d been shipped off to various locations and pawned off on assorted relatives so as not to cast a shadow in her mother’s spotlight.

  “College graduate with a master’s degree in education. A freaking master’s,” he said in a low, tight tone, “yet you worked as an assistant at Sugar Tots and then came to work for me as a freaking waitress in a freaking bar. You said, and I quote: I need the money, Luke.” He stuffed his hands into his jeans’ pockets, swept a disgusted gaze over the opulent foyer then back to Rae. “What the—”

  “Hello. Who do we have here?”

  Rae cringed at her mother’s sultry tone and knew without turning that the woman was shrink-wrapped in a sexy gown and no doubt slinking down the white carpeted staircase. Rae watched as Luke turned his attention to her mother, saw the moment he recognized her as the tabloid famous Olivia Deveraux, one-time starlet, all-time sex kitten. Rae waited for Luke to get that bewitched, lustful expression most men, ages eighteen to eighty, got when they saw her voluptuous and overtly stunning mother in person. Instead, he just looked annoyed.

  “Friend of yours?” Olivia persisted, moving in alongside Rae, and reeking of Chanel No. 5 and fruity martinis.

  “We worked together,” Rae blurted, because friend didn’t really describe their association. Especially not now.

  “Luke Monroe,” he expanded, while offering Olivia a hand in polite greeting. More than he’d done with Rae. “Pleased to meet you Ms. Deveraux.”

  “Are you really?” she asked in a coy tone, clasping his palm and pursing her crimson lips in a sexy pout. “You don’t look pleased.”

  “Blame it on the long flight and the holiday crush,” he said in a gentler tone that only made Rae feel worse. Instead of celebrating Christmas with his family, a family he was incredibly close with, he’d flown across the country … for what? To give Rae hell?

  “You just flew in from China today?” Olivia asked, looking mildly shocked. “Good heavens, Reagan. Invite the man in for a drink. I’ll join you.” She looped her arm through Luke’s and guided him toward Geoffrey’s well-stocked bar.

  Rae’s heart pounded as she hurried after them, wondering how she was going to wiggle her way around another colossal lie. Wondering what Luke was thinking just now and wishing she’d booked herself into a hotel rather than buckling under Olivia’s invitation to stay here while seeking a new home suited to her birthday inheritance.

  “Maybe Luke will tell me more about your volunteer work abroad,” Olivia said over her shoulder to Rae before turning her wide, kohl-lined eyes on Luke. “Every time I ask her about her work with those poor children, she declares those days the best days of her life then changes the subject. It must have been horrid working in such a remote location,” she said to Luke then pointed out the premium back bar. “I don’t suppose you know how to mix up an appletini?”

  “I think I can manage,” he said with an enigmatic glance at Rae. “Vodka or gin?”

  “I’m a vodka girl. And as Bond would say…” Olivia winked and purred. “Shaken, not stirred.”

  Just as Luke reached for Grey Goose and vermouth, Geoffrey swaggered into the reception room in a dapper Armani suit, his salt-and-pepper hair slicked back from his handsome, aging face. “Olivia, sweetheart, what the hell?” he asked while checking his gold watch. “We’re late as is and…” He noticed shaggy-haired Luke in his rumpled tee and flannel shirt mixing drinks behind the Italian marble bar and frowned. “Do we know you?”

  “This is Luke Monroe, dear,” Olivia said with a beaming smile. “A friend of Reagan’s.”

  “Really.”

  Rae couldn’t tell if Geoffrey was frowning because he didn’t like the idea of Rae entertaining a virile, young man or because he was peeved about the way Olivia was ogling said virile, young man. Knowing the way her mother’s mind worked, Olivia was no doubt mentally comparing Luke to one of Hollywood’s young hunks, in this instance Ryan Reynolds, and imagining herself starring alongside him as the mature love interest. Olivia was constantly lamenting how Sandra Bullock was stealing all of her roles.

  Instead of acknowledging Luke, Geoffrey eyed Rae. “Dinner starts promptly at five.”

  “Maybe Luke could join us,” Olivia said.

  “There’s a dress code,” Geoffrey said. “Reservations for three.” He spared Luke an annoyed glance. “No offense.”

  “None taken,” Luke said, but he didn’t take the hint and leave either. Instead he poured sour apple liquor into the shaker then reached for the lemon juice.

  Clearly he meant to have his say with Rae and it wasn’t a discussion she wanted to have in front of Olivia and Geoffrey. In a way, Rae was grateful for Luke’s obstinacy. The less she had to endure Geoffrey’s company—the man who’d threatened her in this very house last Christmas—the better. Also, Olivia was already three sheets to the wind. She wouldn’t miss Rae for long, if at all.

  Feigning nonchalance, Rae moved behind the bar and stood beside Luke. Her skin tingled, her pulse tripped. He’d only held her once, kissed her once, yet she recalled every detail of that tender, searing encounter—a brush with passion that would haunt her for the rest of her life. “Actually,” she said, speaking past the lump in her throat, “I’ve decided to skip the Wilshire in favor of spending time with Luke. He flew all this way and—”

  “You’re going to waste a five-hundred-dollar plate?” Geoffrey asked.

  “No waste,” Rae said, holding the industry kingpin’s intimidating gaze. “All proceeds go to charity. You two go on. Don’t give me a second thought,” she said, unconsciously leaning into Luke. “I’m in good hands.”

  “Do tell,” Olivia said with raised brows.

  Geoffrey worked his clean-shaven jaw. “What is it you do, Monroe?”

  “You mean aside from mixing a mean appletini?” Luke asked, shaking and pouring.

  While Olivia sampled his creation, Luke snaked an arm about Rae and held Geoffrey’s cold gaze.

  Rae’s heart pounded. Because of Luke. Because of Geoffrey. Because she was trapped in a web of lies.

  “Sweet heaven, this drink is orgasmic!” Olivia moaned in ecstasy. “You must try it, Geoff.”

  “Pass. Could I have a word with you, Reagan?”

  Rae’s stomach turned as the walls closed in. This situation had just gone from awkward to intolerable. The last person she wanted to be alone with was her so-called stepfather. “Aren’t you running late for dinner?” she asked. “I know we are.” She looked up at Luke, her panicked heart in
her eyes. “Ready?”

  Hand at the small of her back, Luke prompted her from behind the bar. “Nice meeting you, Ms. Deveraux. Mr.—”

  “Stein. Geoffrey Stein. Of Stein & Beecham Industries. And you’re Luke Monroe.”

  “Of the Sugar Creek Monroes,” Luke said as he escorted Rae toward a temporary reprieve. “We’re in the book.”

  THREE

  “A cab?”

  “Had to get from the airport to your place somehow and since I don’t know the area and my time was limited, I opted for a cab.”

  Rae shifted anxiously on her heels as Luke opened the rear door for her—mad as hell but still a gentleman. Heart pounding, she eased inside. “But a taxi from LAX to Bel Air? And you asked him to wait? We’re talking a lot of money, Luke.”

  “Don’t talk to me about money right now, Rachel … Reagan … whatever the hell your name is. Not now.” He closed her door and rounded to the other side.

  She swallowed hard as he slid in and buckled up. As supportive as he’d been inside where Geoffrey was concerned, in private he’d reverted to the angry man she’d greeted at the door. Six feet of hunky fury. “Rae,” she managed.

  “What?”

  “Call me Rae.”

  Luke glared then shifted his attention to the driver. “Back to the airport, please.”

  Rae blinked. “Flying in and out of LA in one day?”

  “Skipped out on my family for Christmas Eve,” Luke said. “Need to be back for Christmas.”

  “Why did you skip out at all?”

  “Because I only just learned of your whereabouts and I had to know if…” He shook his head then dragged both hands down his face.

  The man’s frustration crashed over Rae in suffocating waves. Unsettled, she cracked open the window and reminded herself to breathe. “Why are you here, Luke?”

  “I need to know why you lied to us Rach … Rae. I need to know why you pretended to be someone you aren’t. Why you played us … me, Sam, the Cupcake Lovers … for suckers.”

  “I didn’t—”