by Lissa Manley
She drummed her drawing pencil on the table, her lip clamped between her teeth, looking at her sketch. She raised a brow. The clean lines, defined by the taffeta skirt, looked right, and the overall medieval look appealed to her, but the empire waist and the dimensions of the neckline, which she’d been working on for an hour, were off.
Frustrated, she tore off the page to expose a clean sheet of paper. Blue eyes appeared in her brain…
Darn. Why was she unable to get Ryan out of her mind?
She dropped the pencil and fidgeted. She then scraped her thumbnail clean of the French manicure nail polish that she’d painstakingly applied last night while watching old Brady Bunch reruns on TV, fantasizing about growing up in the Brady’s normal—or her skewed perception of normal—household.
Her phone rang and she jumped. Ryan? Eyeing the phone, she chided herself for thinking he had any reason to call her and snatched the handset up. “Hello?”
“Miss Simpson?”
“Yes?”
“This is the concierge desk. Pierre’s Dry Cleaning is here to deliver your cleaning, but there’s a bit of a problem. Would you mind coming down to clear this up?”
She breathed a sigh of relief that it wasn’t Ryan, only to suffer a spurt of anxiety over the wedding dress. “I’ll be right down.”
A few minutes later, she hurried across the lobby to the concierge desk. The dress was one of only a few she’d brought with her. It was made of lots of delicate satin, fragile lace and intricate beadwork, and the matching veil was fragile, as well. She fervently hoped the dry cleaners hadn’t ruined or misplaced it. “I’m Miss Simpson. You have my dry cleaning?”
The older, gray-haired man behind the desk smiled. “Ah, yes, miss. Thank you for coming down.” He held up the large dry cleaning parcel, then pointed to the receipt. “As you can see, the receipt from Pierre’s clearly stated you had left two items, yet only one item was returned.”
She nodded, frowning slightly. “Yes, I did leave two items.” She unzipped the heavy plastic garment bag. “A dress and a veil.” She carefully moved the bead-encrusted dress aside and let out a breath when she spied the spidery veil tucked inside. “And they’re both here.”
“Ah, good. Just wanted to be sure.” He motioned for a young man, presumably from Pierre’s, to come forward. “Everything is in order.”
The short, blond young man looked at her, squinted, then pointed to her face. “Hey, I know you. Aren’t you from Philly?” He cocked his head to the side and squinted. “Aren’t you some rich dude’s daughter? I used to live there, and my girlfriend cut out newspaper pictures of you and taped them all over the place, trying to get her hair to look like yours.” He shook his head, smiling appreciatively. “Man, she never even came close. Didn’t you used to be a brunette?”
A chill skipped up Anna’s spine. She reached up to her head. Darn. She’d left her room in such a hurry she’d forgotten her hat and glasses.
He continued staring, then snapped his fingers. “Anna Sinclair, right?”
Her stomach twisted into a panic-induced knot, she ducked her head, grabbed her dry cleaning and mumbled, “Must be somebody else.” She took off at a sharp clip across the lobby, wondering how she could have been so stupid as to forget her hat and glasses.
One quick trip to the lobby without her disguise and some dry cleaner deliveryman had recognized her. Granted, he was from Philadelphia, and she was much less well-known here in Oregon. But his recognizing her still bothered her.
While she waited for the elevator, chewing on her lip in the unladylike way her father hated, one thought blazed through her brain. She absolutely couldn’t afford to risk her identity and a chance to realize her dream, as Anna Simpson, by allowing the picture of her and Ryan go to print, even if Mr. Lewis might view the extra publicity as positive.
Even if she felt incredibly bad that she couldn’t help Ryan’s charity.
Oh, how she wished she’d put this all together before she foolishly agreed to fill in for the missing model.
Before she’d lost all of her backbone and signed the release.
Luckily she’d come to her senses before the picture was everywhere. Surely she could simply unsign the release.
As she rode in the elevator back to her room, thankfully alone, she made a conscious effort to relax and not feel so badly about putting her needs first. Even though she felt enormously guilty that Ryan’s charity would suffer, he would just have to understand what was important to her.
She would do almost anything to make her dream come true.
And while Ryan might understand that, she somehow doubted a determined man like him would be happy things weren’t going to go his way.
Anna tapped her foot in the mahogany-trimmed, mirrored elevator whisking her up to Ryan’s office and adjusted her dark glasses. She’d called to be sure he’d be here and then she’d followed his instructions and driven to his office to deliver the news that she’d changed her mind in person. It was the least she could do considering things weren’t going to turn out the way he wanted after all.
Unfortunately that couldn’t be helped. That deliveryman recognizing her had been a huge wake-up call, a giant reminder of how important it was that she keep her identity a secret and succeed on her own.
She stepped off the elevator, settled her floppy hat down on her head, looked up—and froze. Ryan was heading toward her, moving with the innate male grace she had noticed yesterday. He looked simply gorgeous.
Her heartbeat fluttered like a hummingbird’s.
The dark brown designer suit he wore accentuated the honey tones in his hair and contrasted vividly with his clear blue eyes. The cut was ideal on his wideshouldered, muscular body, and the green, blue and gold patterned tie he wore, which would look gaudy on any other man, worked quite well on him and completed the thoroughly masculine package flawlessly.
He smiled at her and his dimples appeared. She yanked her gaze from him, focusing instead on the gigantic fresh floral bouquets, gold-framed, original artwork and chic taupe leather couches in the lobby. She kept walking toward him, even though her legs felt like rubber. She would not let his good looks and bone-melting smile weaken her resolve to prove to her father she could make a success of her business. After today, she and Ryan would have no reason to ever see each other again.
Anna smiled shakily and took his outstretched hand. His fingers surrounded hers, wrapping her hand in a deep warmth that seeped into the rest of her body like sunshine on a hot summer day.
“Nice to see you again, Double-O-Seven,” he said, a teasing glint in his eyes, slowly letting her hand slide from his. “Shall we step into my office?”
Her heart pulsed, expanding and contracting in an odd way. She nodded and followed him down a long, maple-paneled corridor. The sooner she delivered her news and escaped from him, the better.
He pushed open a large, glossy wooden door and motioned for her to enter. She stepped by him and looked around the spacious office. One wall, lined with floor-to-ceiling windows, provided a spectacular view of the city of Portland. Taupe designer drapes framed those incredible windows and a huge, mahogany desk, matching credenza and large leather chair sat directly opposite the door. The desktop was bare except for an open laptop computer, a marble penholder and a gold clock.
A gleaming personal gym occupied the other side of the room, explaining Ryan’s great body. A dark leather couch and loveseat sat on the left, arranged around a brass and marble coffee table topped with a fresh flower arrangement. Built-in mahogany bookcases, filled with books and magazines, lined the wall behind the couch. Original, abstract artwork adorned the grass-cloth walls.
He moved toward the couch and she followed, trying to control the strange, frantic beating of her heart. She was simply nervous about delivering the bad news, that was all.
He turned and indicated the love seat with his hand. “Have a seat. Can I get you anything to drink?”
She shook her head and gave in to her shak
ing knees and sat, sure she was too nervous to choke down any kind of liquid.
Ryan unbuttoned his suit coat and lowered his big body onto the couch. “So. What can I do for you?” A slight crease marred the space between his tawny eyebrows.
She shifted uneasily and removed her hat and sunglasses. “Uh… well…” She cleared her throat and avoided looking directly at him, apprehensive about disappointing him. Would he get angry and yell like her father always did when she wouldn’t do what he wanted?
She made a conscious effort to relax. “I… I’ve decided I don’t want our photo printed.”
“What?” He shook his head, his face pressed into a frown. Rising, he looked at her, then swung around, pacing. “Obviously something’s bothering you. Why is it so important to keep the picture from going to print?”
She chewed on her lip, rationalizing that she probably did owe him some sort of explanation since she’d signed the release. But she couldn’t give him the real explanation without exposing who she really was. Maybe she could give him an abridged version, leaving out any details related to her identity.
She cleared her throat. “My father expects me to join the family business in Philadelphia,” she ventured hesitantly, careful to omit who her father was. She made a face, hoping Ryan wouldn’t want to know exactly what the family business in Philadelphia was.
He lifted a speculative brow. “But you have other plans?”
She nodded slowly. “We made a deal a year ago. He allowed me to take a year to make my business a success and make a profit. He respects successful people.”
He raised one brow high. “And why are you here in Portland?”
“I want to land an exclusive deal with the largest chain of high-end bridal stores on the West Coast so I can fulfill the terms of our deal, which, by the way, expires in a week. This is my last chance.”
Ryan nodded. “Okay, I get that. You’re trying to snag a big account. If so, why are you backing out? I’d think the media exposure would be good for you.” This was getting dicey. She couldn’t tell him about the deliveryman recognizing her, and she couldn’t tell him she wanted to succeed on her own, without the Sinclair name, because he didn’t know she was a Sinclair. But she did owe him some kind of explanation. She settled on the truth—or part of it, at least. “The truth is that… well, I hate having my picture taken.” She shrugged. “I’m painfully camera-shy.”
He stared at her, then yanked his tie loose. “That’s it? Is not wanting your picture taken really that big of a deal?”
She stood quickly, fire filling her chest. She fisted her hands on her hips and glowered at him, horrified at how much he sounded like her father, at how easy it was for him to flick aside her feelings. “Of course it’s a big deal or I wouldn’t be balking, would I?” She shook her head. “You just steamroll along, don’t you?” she snapped, frustrated that things were spinning out of her control again. “Just like my father.”
He froze, staring at her, then swung around and resumed pacing. “Sometimes I have to steamroll. I’d never be a success if I didn’t go after what I want.”
“Even if it hurts other people?” Oh, how she wished she wasn’t so familiar with how someone else’s needs always took precedence over hers. True, being camera-shy might seem like no big deal, but it was incredibly real to her.
He turned and looked at her with his intense blue eyes. “Is this going to hurt you?”
“Yes, it is.” She knew from firsthand experience how much it hurt to surrender your hopes and dreams to somebody else. And she wished she could tell him that. But she couldn’t tell him without revealing her real identity. Even so, she’d never be able to respect herself again if she didn’t do everything in her power to succeed at what she wanted to do.
Now that she’d momentarily lost her sanity and signed the release, unless she could somehow stop the presses, her dream to succeed without her famous name might be in jeopardy, along with her dream to escape from Sinclair Banking.
Peter Sinclair came from a long line of arrogant, selfish men who had no qualms about making other people’s lives hell to satisfy their own agenda.
Including Anna’s mother.
She’d divorced Anna’s father ten years ago because of his overbearing ways and lack of respect for her dreams of becoming a novelist. It wasn’t until after she’d divorced him and sold her first book that he’d finally acknowledged her talents. After what she’d seen her mother go through, Anna knew that gaining his respect by succeeding on her own was the only way to make him see the value of what she wanted to do.
That might not happen now.
She sank down on the love seat and let her shoulders drop. How had she fallen into that oh-so-familiar trap and forgotten that Ryan had his own agenda, too?
How had she overlooked that he would use her to achieve his own goals, just like every other man in her life had?
She resisted the urge to bang her head against the wall, even though it might knock some sense into her.
How had she let her guard down so easily?
Ryan watched Anna’s lush mouth curve downward into a frown and her slender shoulders slump as if she carried the weight of the world on them.
A major jolt of guilt zapped him. Obviously this whole thing was a bigger deal to her than he’d realized, or rather, than he’d wanted to realize.
Hell, her funky disguise should have been a clue as to how important her business was to her, the lengths she was willing to go to protect her dream.
A dream he could identify wholeheartedly with. The look of utter defeat on her face troubled him. Even though she’d agreed to pose for the photo in the first place and had brought this on herself with her crazy scheme to prove things to her father, her obvious unhappiness set him on edge. She was a working girl out to make a success of her business in any way she could. He understood that, almost too much. She reminded him of himself seven years ago.
He moved toward her and hunkered down to her level. “I’m sorry this didn’t turn out the way you wanted. But you did sign the release.”
She bit her lip. “Yeah. I know. I shot myself in the foot. Good for you, though, right?”
He stood, really sorry she was so unhappy about all of this. “I guess so.”
She wrung her hands, her mouth pressed into a little frown that hit him like a swift kick in his gut.
He took a seat next to her, wishing he could ignore how guilty he felt. Her delicate floral scent flowed over him and a slow fire kindled in his veins. He wanted to reach for her with everything in him, but didn’t. Instead he quickly rose and stepped out of smelling range, needing to focus on the problem at hand, on anything but the womanly, sexy smell of her.
He shrugged out of his jacket and flung it on the couch. He hated feeling like he’d ruined her world, hated the sadness so obvious in her beautiful brown eyes. Even though it went against every bit of sense he possessed, he made a snap decision and said, “So let’s go fix this.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “How?”
He yanked on his loosened tie, then jerked it from around his neck. “I can be very persuasive when I want to be.” He threw his tie on the couch and started toward the door, then gestured for her to follow. “Let’s go.”
She picked up her bag and gave what distinctly sounded like a long-suffering sigh and walked by him. “I’ve got my car. I’ll meet you there.” She stopped at the door and turned, guilt showing in her brown eyes. “Thank you for this,” she said. “I promise I’ll help you come up with some other way to get the publicity you need for your foundation, okay?” She turned and walked out.
Although she had already stepped out of his office, the vague remnants of her soft, floral scent lingered in the air. He sniffed once, savoring the feminine smell, wondering if she always smelled so good.
He shoved his electronic planner into his pocket and started after her, shaking his head. He was being a fool. The way Anna smelled wasn’t important.
As he
followed her down the hall, appreciating the sway of her slim, jean-clad hips and the shape of her narrow back under her tight, white T-shirt, it didn’t take much thought to figure out why he was so damn eager to help her out.
Her nerves a jangling mess, Anna met Ryan in the lobby of the large building that held the offices of the Beacon. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt, displaying his well-muscled forearms, and had unbuttoned the collar and top button, exposing a few golden chest hairs.
Looking away from those tantalizing curls, she made an effort to counteract the thoroughly crazy physical attraction she felt when he came within twenty feet of her.
She checked her watch: 7:00 p.m. “It’s pretty late,” she said, chewing her lower lip. “Maybe we should have called.”
He shook his head and headed toward the hallway leading to the office. “No way. When you want something, it’s always better to show up in person.” She followed him and just as they were about to open the door with the Beacon stenciled on it in black letters, it opened and a tall, attractive blond woman stepped through. Colleen.
Colleen stopped. “Hey! Anna.” She smiled at Ryan. “Hello, Ryan.”
Ryan nodded.
Anna cleared her throat. “Colleen, Ryan and I have a little… problem.”
Colleen drew her brows together. “A problem?”
Ryan stepped forward. “Yeah,” he said authoritatively. “About the picture. We’re backing out of ‘The Bridal Chronicles.’”
Anna had to admire his blunt attitude. And while her father was extremely blunt, too, Ryan was sacrificing his cause for her, something no man had ever done, especially her father.
“I’m sorry,” Colleen said, her eyes wide. “But I can’t—”
