by Lissa Manley
“Wrong.” She tugged on her dress. “I changed my mind because it would be a big deal if we’re chosen Best Wedding Couple. And with you in the photo, looking… so, well… good, we’re virtually guaranteed to win.”
Her compliment surprised him and lit a warm space inside of him; he still thought of himself as the scruffy, half-starved little kid from the wrong side of the tracks. “While I’m flattered, I was thinking we’d win because of you,” he said, unable to squash the male curiosity that made him want to get a clear look at her face through her veil.
“You can flatter and charm me all you want, but I’m still not going to risk winning Best Couple.”
He frowned. “Isn’t winning good?”
“Not always. I… well, I just don’t want the attention, all right?”
He held up a hand. “But we’re only talking a few pictures in wedding clothes—”
“Which will turn into more pictures and interviews and attention I don’t want.” She shook her head. “Please try to understand.”
Damn. He’d assumed she was game for the shoot since she was here, decked out in full bride gear. Obviously, for some reason, that wasn’t the case.
Contingency plan. Time to change her mind.
He touched the tip of her creamy shoulder, exposed by her off-the-shoulder gown. “Are you sure you won’t reconsider?” he said, unable to help lingering on her smooth, warm skin. Did she have the face to go with her flawless complexion and stunning body, perfectly shown off by the pretty, figure-hugging dregs she wore? “Lots of needy little kids will benefit.” Needy little kids like he’d once been.
She tugged on her dress, inadvertently touching his hand in the process. “I feel bad enough as it is, so please don’t try to guilt me into helping you out. Would you please let me go?”
Heat flared in his body and he tried to ignore how the mere touch of her hand almost knocked the wind out of him. Damn, he wanted to lift that filmy veil and see what she really looked like. Sweat broke out on his upper lip.
Get a hold of yourself and focus.
He was counting on the media exposure for Mentor A Child this chronicle thing would generate. He couldn’t afford to let his obvious attraction to Anna distract him and keep him from attaining that goal, or from counteracting the recent spate of image-bashing publicity his former employee Joanna’s personal vendetta had caused. Damage he needed to repair before the Mentor A Child Board of Directors decided he wasn’t the kind of guy they wanted connected to their organization.
For the sake of the foundation, he had to find a way to make this work, to help needy kids who didn’t have a loving adult in their lives and would fall through the cracks if the foundation wasn’t around to help them.
Like he had.
One way or another, he’d convince Anna to sign that release.
Luckily he was very good at getting what he wanted.
Her jaw set, Anna watched Ryan fiddle with the lace-edged train of her dress, wishing he’d let her go and leave her alone. “I’ll say it again, Mr. Cavanaugh. Please let go of my dress.”
He looked at her with those compelling blue eyes, a speculative expression on his face. He inclined his head. “Of course.” He let go of her train and smoothed it out. “Your tail thing is ready. I’ll walk you to the dressing tent.” He walked toward the makeshift changing area, a crease marring his tanned brow.
Relieved, but wary of his sudden turnabout, she fell in step beside him, ridiculously marveling at his strong, masculine profile. “I’m sorry I can’t help you out—” Without warning, her head jerked backward. “Hey!” She spun around and caught her shoe on an uneven patch of grass and teetered on the backs of her heels, her arms flailing.
Before she could find her balance, she fell sideways. Her veil, attached to her head with small combs, ripped off, jerking her head back again. She crashed to the ground like a felled tree, landing half on her rear, half on her back with a clump next to another thorn-encrusted rosebush, her gown pooling up around her like a giant marshmallow.
Her breath whooshed out of her and it took a moment to regain her wits. She slowly sat up, shaking her veil-less head, then looked up and saw Ryan peering down at her, his face creased with concern.
“Hey, are you all right?” He held out a hand. “That was some fall.”
She grabbed his hand, ignoring how warm and strong it felt, and pulled herself up, searching for her veil. She just wanted to escape before anyone recognized her. She could see the headline now:
Heiress Anna Sinclair Turns Her Back On Millions, Pretending To Be Bridal Designer
Some terribly unflattering photo of her flopped on the grass of the Rose Garden would undoubtedly accompany the headline…
She suppressed a tremor of disgust.
When she was standing, her legs still wobbly, Ryan stepped closer and slid his arm around her shoulders. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
His masculine scent washed over her, an intoxicating combination of clean male and expensive designer aftershave, and a ribbon of attraction darted through her. She swiveled her head and stared into his gaze, unable to find her sanity and look away, tumbling into the clear, compelling depths of his eyes. Awareness crashed through her like a tidal wave and she wanted to reach out and run her fingers over the sheer beauty of his strong jaw. A light breeze stirred, mixing his scent with the heady fragrance of freshly bloomed roses.
A couple of clicks sounded.
She instinctively cringed and snapped her gaze toward the sound.
“Thanks, guys.” A photographer triumphantly held up his camera. “One of those is sure to be a keeper.”
Panic seeped through her. Her worst fantasy had come true. Some overzealous photographer had taken a photo of her without her veil! “He just took our picture!”
Ryan stepped away and plucked her veil free from the rosebush it had snagged on. “Yeah, I guess he did.” A tiny smile hovered around his mouth.
She crossed her arms in front of her, wanting to wipe that little smirk off his face with everything in her. “You’re happy about this, aren’t you?”
“Hey, I wanted the picture taken all along, and you don’t seem willing to tell me why you’re so darned determined to back out.”
The despicable schemer. Had he arranged for the photographer to snap the picture on the sly?
She drew herself up and did her best to look haughty. “Well, Mr. Cavanaugh, the picture may have been taken, but I still haven’t signed the release.” She hastily gathered her dress, snatched her tulle veil from his hand, and stomped away. “And I don’t intend to,” she called over her shoulder.
“Not even for a worthwhile cause?”
She stopped and shot him a glare. “I’ll say it again. Don’t use guilt to change my mind, Mr. Cavanaugh. Trust me, guilt isn’t in short supply today.” She turned her back on the gorgeous man with the charming dimples, bone-melting smile, and enough charisma to raise a hundred red flags in her brain.
Thankfully, this ended here and now. She wasn’t about to let her one lapse in judgment, or Ryan’s attempt to make her feel guilty, ruin her plan to meet the terms of her father’s deal so she wouldn’t have to slave away in the family banking business.
She shuddered. Even though she possessed the skill and education to help run a banking dynasty, she couldn’t think of anything worse than being relegated to the uncreative, stodgy world of high finance for the rest of her life.
Her father’s world.
That was enough to keep her walking. She set her shoulders, needing to get away from the exasperating man with the gorgeous blue eyes, stunning smile, and his compelling reason to make sure the picture was printed.
Even though it went against her natural sense of fair play and altruism not to help him out, she had to ignore the guilt ripping through her and stand firm. Her future, her happiness, her self-worth were at stake. That picture would never see the light of day. Ryan would just have to get his publicity some other way, and she
knew from experience that that was doable.
After all of the schemers who had betrayed and used her, she was done serving any man’s purpose.
Chapter Two
Ryan watched Anna clomp across the grass, her dress held high and her chin shoved into the air. A hearty dose of admiration overrode the puzzled irritation caused by her refusal to stay for the shoot. Most people saw him as a formidable foe and got the hell out of the way when he wanted something. She obviously had no problem crossing him. She was something else, all right, with her sassy threats and muleheaded refusal to cooperate.
He liked that. She was up-front and to-the-point.
Unlike any of the other women he’d known.
A vision of Sonya, the rich man-eater who’d burned him, thudded into his head. He’d met her through a mutual friend, and they’d hit it off right away. Quickly becoming inseparable, they’d become engaged after six months. He’d been happy and confident of their future, and had been totally unprepared for her calling off the wedding a month before the date. Apparently she’d determined—with quite a bit of help from her snooty parents—that despite his recent business success, he wasn’t rich enough for her taste. She’d left him almost standing at the altar, and had married a “trust funder” like her a week after she was supposed to marry Ryan.
Her cutting, unexpected betrayal had left him shellshocked, hurt and pretty damn determined to avoid her kind—wealthy princesses who chewed up and spit out men they deemed unworthy.
But this Anna, well, she seemed to be a hardworking girl and nothing like the heiress who’d dumped him on his butt. Not that her being down-to-earth and normal really mattered. What did matter was that he wanted to keep needy little kids from having the kind of lonely, neglected childhood he’d had. He wanted the publicity for the foundation. Unfortunately it looked like Anna wasn’t going to help him out and sign that release.
And that was really a shame. If any woman could help him win Best Wedding Couple, she could. Man, what a beauty she was, all fiery auburn hair, big, gorgeous brown eyes the color of aged brandy, and smooth, pale skin. He’d need to start being solicitous, something he wished he’d thought of earlier. He impatiently unbuttoned his coat and loosened his bow tie, still feeling warm.
He had to convince her to help him out.
He stared at the tent for a second, his mind firing up. How could he change her mind to his way of thinking? Maybe he could turn her around if he knew what he was up against.
Maybe not.
Either way, now that the picture had been taken, he would do his best to make sure the paper published it. It was time to make use of his well-developed sales skills, honed from having to battle for every inch of his business success, to make Anna see the light.
A nice, conciliatory lunch seemed in order.
He headed toward the dressing tents, consisting of temporary rooms created by draped black fabric and wood frames. Anna was nowhere in sight, but he figured she was still changing, unless she’d taken off in full wedding attire.
He moved closer to the opening in the fluttering material, spying the reporter—was her name Colleen?—as he drew near. The tall, attractive blonde stepped out, looking as frustrated as he felt.
“She still changing?” he asked.
She nodded and gave a tiny roll of her blue eyes. “She’s pretty mad.”
“I know.” He loosened his tie more, which was beginning to strangle the life out of him.
She gave him a wry smile. “You must have really gotten under her skin.”
Before he could react to that regrettable assessment, Anna’s head popped out from between the sheets. “I can hear every word you’re saying, you know.”
He stared at her for a long second, knocked speechless again by her lush auburn hair, clear, stunning brown eyes, arched eyebrows and creamy, flawless skin.
What a looker.
Recovering, he gave her a lopsided grin and winked, determined to keep things light. Maybe humor would gain her cooperation. “Then we’ll have to save any secrets for later.”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “How can you joke around?”
He shrugged. “Maybe we both need to lighten up.”
She looked at the reporter. “Can’t you get rid of him?”
The other woman backed away, waving her hands in front of her. “I’m not getting involved in any of this.” She took her keys out of her purse. “I gotta go.”
“Traitor,” Anna said under her breath, her face screwed into a frown.
The reporter laughed. “Hey, I’m not helping either one of you out.” She raised a brow. “You backed out on our deal, so you’re on your own, although I would like you to reconsider and sign the release. Think how good it would be for your business.”
Anna’s scowl faded, but the tiny crease between her brows remained. “I’m really sorry, Colleen. I lost my nerve.”
“I know. But my editor is expecting to go ahead with the whole thing, especially since you’re the last photo to be taken and the spread’s almost ready for production.” She turned to leave. “Why don’t you think about it and contact me later, all right?” she said over her shoulder. “And keep in mind how hard it will be for me to find someone else on such short notice.”
Anna half nodded and Colleen left. Ryan mulled over how Joe Capriati, the supervising editor, had stressed the importance of the photo-release waiver. According to Joe, the Beacon required the release because some woman had sued the paper after they’d printed her picture without her permission the year before. They weren’t taking any chances now.
He looked to Anna, gearing up to do a little steam-rolling to convince her to change her mind and sign that release.
She had pressed her glossy, pink lips into a firm line and was glaring at him, something he didn’t get the impression she did very often.
“Please leave me alone,” she said.
He raised his brows. “Oooooh, that’s real scary.” She sniffed and yanked her head back into the dressing room, rattling the curtain. “I can be scarier, I assure you.”
His smile grew. Even though she could blow his whole plan for damage control and good publicity for the foundation sky-high, he liked her gumption. “Yeah, you’re a real scary gal,” he said, searching for levity.
He then took out his handheld, electronic planner and consulted it. No meetings until four o’clock. Plenty of time to convince her to sign the release. “How about lunch?”
She popped her head out and blinked owlishly. “You’re asking me out?”
“Well, yeah. Is that a problem?”
“Maybe.” She disappeared again. A moment later, she emerged wearing a light pink cotton sweater and figure-hugging, dark blue designer jeans that showed off her trim but curvy body. She had her wedding dress, covered by a garment bag, draped over one arm and an oversized straw tote bag in the other hand.
He snagged another look at her curves without being too obvious, his blood percolating. Damn, she was hot.
“I don’t usually go out with guys like you,” she said.
Guys like him. His hackles raised. Could she somehow smell the dirt poor of his childhood on him? He was sure that was one of the reasons Sonya had dumped him.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you mean, ‘like me’?”
“You know.” She waved a hand in the air. ‘‘Good-looking. Dimpled. Don’t make me go on.”
His hackles relaxed and her compliment filled him with a sense of pleasure. “Oh, so you’d rather spend time with an unappealing man without dimples?”
“Quite frankly, yes.” She ran her hands through her heavily styled, dark red hair, loosening the stiff strands. “I’ve found that most really charismatic men are selfish, manipulative, and—” she shrugged “—hurtful.”
Ryan instantly wanted to know what selfish jerk had hurt her. But he was pretty sure she wouldn’t share that sort of information with him. She barely knew him. “How about if I promise to behave? Then will you go?
Quite frankly, I’m starving.” And he hated that feeling. It reminded him how often he hadn’t had enough to eat during his childhood. Now, eating was his favorite pastime.
She sighed heavily and crossed her arms over her chest.
“Look,” he said, taking another tack to convince her to go. “What’s the harm in an innocent lunch? You have to eat, right?”
She looked at him, an odd worry clearly reflected in her brown eyes. She chewed on her lip, glanced away, then looked back. She then rummaged around in her tote bag. “Can we go somewhere vegetarian?”
He cringed. He’d been a meat and potatoes man, and whatever else he could get his hands on, after he’d spent his childhood living off nothing but his mom’s stale sandwiches made with a layer of peanut butter so thin he could barely taste it. “How about a compromise?” he suggested. “I know a place where you can go veggie and I can get a thick steak.”
She drew out a large pair of dark sunglasses and put them on. “You eat steak? For lunch? That sounds wonderful.”
He stared quizzically at the shades for a moment. Why was she wearing such big, ugly sunglasses? He then cupped her elbow with his hand, appreciating the softness of her skin. “You don’t look like you need to diet.” Not with a body like that. And it surprised him that she liked the sound of steak. He figured her for a genuine legumes-for-lunch kind of gal.
“I don’t, but in the interest of keeping my body healthy, I make myself stay away from fatty food,” she said. She pierced him with her dark eyes. “Okay. You’ve talked me into it. Lead the way.”
“Let me change and we’ll go.” He headed toward the tent where he’d left his street clothes, inordinately happy she’d agreed to go considering this lunch was nothing but an opportunity to convince her to sign the release.
As he changed out of his tux, a vision of Sonya rose in his brain like a bad dream. Maybe he shouldn’t spend any time with Anna, who he was obviously attracted to.
He willed away the tiny lump of anxiety taking up residence in his gut. Relax. Lunch with Anna was no big deal. It was for his image and his pet charity, an organization that helped underprivileged kids. Two very good causes he was committed to. Yes, lunch with the delectable Anna was simply a casual meal designed to garner her cooperation.
