The Bridal Chronicles

by Lissa Manley

  Thank the stars above one thing had gone her way in the last few days. Luckily the wind had blown her hair across her face in the photo that had been printed as part of “The Bridal Chronicles” in the Beacon two days ago and she wasn’t easily recognizable. Thank heaven she also didn’t look like the gawky, unattractive teenager who had landed on the cover of several Philadelphia publications when she’d been growing up.

  Even so, she’d put up numerous prayers that she and Ryan wouldn’t be chosen Best Wedding Couple, even though prayers were more than likely futile, even though Ryan had promised that “The Bridal Chronicles” would end here and now.

  Though her face had been partially covered by her windblown hair, the picture of them had turned out beautifully. In the photo, Ryan was smiling adoringly at her, his dimples in plain view, and of course, he had looked better than any mortal man had a right to look, all tall, gorgeous male. She was smiling back at him like she loved him with all of her heart, like she was the happiest woman on earth. They were perfectly framed by a profusion of colorful rosebushes, which acted as a stunning foil for her flowing white, lacy dress and his dark tux.

  They looked deeply in love.

  But the picture was a sham, albeit a gorgeous sham. Being chosen Best Wedding Couple was probably inevitable, but it didn’t hurt to hope the whole female population of Portland had suddenly gone blind. If not, she was counting on Ryan keeping his promise by making sure she didn’t have to take part in any more photos.

  In an effort to counteract her ominous thoughts, she concentrated on breathing deeply in tempo with the music. She would relax, think about positive things and find a way to avoid Ryan. Before long, he’d be nothing but a memory.

  On a long breath, she chanted her mantra in time to the pounding bass of the music. “Giorgio is sleaze. Giorgio is sleaze. Giorgio is sleaze.”

  Somehow, that particular mantra always seemed to calm her down. Just as she’d managed to chase all thoughts and worries about Ryan from her frazzled mind, a pounding sounded on the door to her room.

  She ignored the pounding. Maybe they would go away. “Giorgio is sleaze. Giorgio is sleaze. Giorgio is sleaze.”

  The pounding sounded again, louder now.

  Sighing, she uncrossed her legs. So much for uninterrupted meditation. Standing, she grabbed Nayr, moved toward the door and opened it.

  Her heart fell, then squeezed in her chest.

  Ryan. In tight black jeans, scuffed leather boots, a black leather jacket, holding a motorcycle helmet. Looking like the bad boy, sexy male that he unfortunately was.

  Stunned speechless, she glanced down at him, then jerked her gaze up to his face and froze, staring at his nose.

  After a few seconds of weird silence, he made a face and waved. “Hello?” he yelled over the music.

  She flushed. “Hold on.” She went to her CD player and flicked the off switch, then moved back to the door.

  “Metallica?” he asked, one brow raised. “I’m surprised the other hotel guests haven’t complained.”

  “I always listen to heavy metal when I meditate. It relaxes me.”

  “Whatever floats your boat.” He gave her an expectant look. “Can I come in?”

  She didn’t want him in her room, bending her common sense out of shape, breaking down her control like he had at the Fun Center. “I really don’t think—”

  “I’ve got some news.”

  “Let me guess,” she said in a slow monotone. “We’ve been chosen Best Wedding Couple.”

  He nodded, looking sincerely sorry. “Yeah.”

  Her stomach twisted into a tight knot. She fell back a step, then swung around and paced the small entrance to her room, one hand clenched, one hand gripping Nayr. “I knew it,” she muttered darkly. “I just knew it.” Now her plan to avoid Ryan was history and she’d end up on the front page of some sleazy tabloid. Not only would she look terrible, her true identity would be up for grabs.

  “Can I come in?” Ryan asked again from the doorway.

  She sighed heavily, going over all of the reasons in her mind why she shouldn’t let him in.

  She was attracted to him.

  He was the kind of man she had to stay away ftom.

  The list went on and on.

  “Look,” he said, cutting her off, glancing at his watch. “I’m meeting a friend for the second part of my ride in half an hour. Can I come in or not?”

  She wanted to say no. She really did. But being the considerate person she was, she couldn’t turn him away; especially since he’d made a special trip here to talk to her.

  Swallowing her trepidation at having big, incredible, biker Ryan in her tiny hotel room, she nodded. “All right, you can come in. But just for a little while.”

  “Thanks.” He stepped inside, and gestured to the overflowing hotel garbage can she’d set next to the door. “Excess garbage?”

  “My designs always suffer when I’m upset.” She propped Nayr against the pillows on one of the beds. “I’ll be lucky to ever design another decent dress again.”

  His eyes held on her. “You’re still upset about the photo I take it.”

  “What else would I be upset about?” She turned from his intense blue eyes and moved further into the room, unable to ignore the shiver of pleasure his look caused. Obviously the photo was only half of the problem. Her thoroughly unacceptable attraction to him was the other half.

  He followed her in, putting his helmet on the bed closest to the door. “Yeah, I figured you’d be upset. That’s why I came here to deliver the news in person.”

  His caring about her feelings surprised and touched her. “You came here just to tell me this? Why didn’t you just call?”

  He lifted one broad, leather-encased shoulder. “I was out anyway. Do you mind if I sit?” he asked, gesturing to the bed nearest him.

  “Go ahead.”

  He lowered himself to the bed, wincing.

  Concern rolled through her. “What’s wrong?”

  “I participated in a charity event yesterday, and the three-legged race was a killer.”

  She suppressed the urge to laugh. “You hurt yourself in the three-legged race?”

  “Hey, you should have seen the kid I was hooked to. He was so small he wasn’t much help. I wasn’t allowed to pick him up, so I ended up sort of dragging him along and I wrenched my leg in the process. He’s fine, though.” He leaned back and propped one leg on the opposite knee. He rubbed his calf, grimacing.

  The sight of him rubbing his leg sent heat rushing through her. Oh, how she wanted to kneel down next to him and rub that calf herself…

  She swallowed heavily. “So why did you?” she asked, her voice high and tight. “Come here. To see me. I mean, if you’re so sore.” Darn it all, she couldn’t even manage to string a coherent sentence together.

  “I felt bad when I found out about Best Couple, and as I said, I wanted to tell you myself, especially after I promised no more wedding stuff.”

  Anna wasn’t used to a man really caring about her feelings. Uneasy, she sat on the edge of the desk chair and took a deep breath, determined not to let his presence rattle her. “I doubt you feel that badly. Your pet charity is going to get all kinds of exposure out of this, just as you wanted.” Which, really, was a good thing. She felt like a heel for even worrying about any of this at all.

  “Look, whether you believe me or not, I do feel bad that things didn’t turn out the way you wanted.”

  “But this will be really good for the Mentor A Child charity. Which is great. At least one good thing will come out of this.”

  “I hope so,” he said. “Anything that gets the organization in the public eye is good.”

  She stood and walked over to stare out the window at the sight of the sun glinting off the buildings of downtown Portland. “Yes, well, the public eye isn’t that great for me.” She took a deep breath and let it out. “Thank goodness my face was partially hidden in the photo.”

  He moved behind her. “
You still looked beautiful,” he said into her ear in a low, deep voice. His warm breath feathered her neck as he leaned in so she could smell his spicy scent and feel the warmth of him so close to her.

  Even though she doubted his words, her heartbeat accelerated. Trying to ignore the way her body always enthusiastically responded to him, she swallowed and said, “Thank you.”

  He put his hands on her shoulders. She softly gasped. Warmth rippled down her arms and flowed into her body, and she had to fight to keep herself from pressing back into him, from turning her head around and searching for his kiss.

  “You were the perfect bride.”

  She gave an uneasy little laugh and turned to look up at him. “Hey, I know the dress designer.”

  He was so close her breath left her in a rush. The light from the window illuminated his eyes, framed by his dark lashes, making them look like the brilliant blue sky on a summer day. The urge to lose herself in his touch and kiss almost overwhelmed her flagging common sense.

  He kept his intense blue eyes on her, but dropped his hands from her shoulders and stepped back. “It had nothing to do with the dress, Anna, even though the dress was very pretty. Your true beauty comes from the kind of person you are—a strong, hardworking, down-to-earth woman struggling to make it on her own. Some day you’ll make some lucky guy a wonderful real bride.”

  “I doubt it,” she said, guilt for lying to him shooting through her. He had no idea how un-down-to-earth she really was as the heiress to one of the largest banking dynasties in the country. And even though his thinking of her as marriage material warmed a place deep inside of her, the loss of his touch made her feel suddenly empty and alone.

  “Don’t you believe in true love, happily ever after and stuff like that?” He looked intently at her. “Most women do.”

  She smiled wryly and inclined her head. “I used to be an incurable romantic. But I’m not anymore.” She moved to the table and took a sip from her water glass. “To love I’d have to trust, and… well, to tell you the truth, I highly doubt I’ll be able to do that again.”

  “My sentiments exactly.” He paused. “About love, I mean.”

  She widened her eyes, surprised. Ryan was more like her than she’d realized. “You don’t think that stuff exists?”

  He shook his head. “No way. My parents didn’t have time to love me. They only had time to fight. And… I guess you could say I’ve been burned, which pretty much cured me of ever believing in anything, really.”

  “You’re kidding. What woman would do that?” she asked before she could stop herself.

  “Trust me. They’re out there.” His eyes darkened and he turned away.

  Obviously he’d been wounded like she had. Oh, how she wished that she was the kind of woman who could heal him. But she wasn’t. Her negative track record with men had seen to that. “I’m sorry,” was all she could say.

  He rolled a broad shoulder. “I learned an important lesson, one I should have learned from my parents. Love is a damn myth. It doesn’t exist.”

  Somehow, it saddened her to know that this incredible man didn’t want to love. “I’m surprised that we agree about this. You’re such a generous guy.”

  “I can be generous without loving, you know. Love is nonexistent, period.”

  They did have that in common, and when she really thought about it, she didn’t want to share anything with him, especially not something as personal as feelings about love. She paced by Ryan, biting her lip.

  He rubbed his neck. “Look, I know you didn’t want any of this media attention, but I want it for the foundation. I don’t want to be selfish, but I can’t set aside my own priorities, either. For the record, I’m really torn about what’s happened. I want to protect you, but I want the publicity for my charity.”

  Either he was a very good actor or he was truly sincere. She always liked to think the best of people and wanted to believe the latter, but that had led to trouble in the past. “I doubt you’re that torn. Maybe, if I’m lucky, being chosen Best Couple will be the end of it.”

  He shot her an apologetic glance. “No such luck.”

  She fisted her hands at her sides, preparing for bad news. “What do you mean?”

  “As Best Wedding Couple, we’re expected to go to the Portland Bridal Show and participate in a mock wedding. On live TV. Tomorrow.”

  Sharp-blades of panic chopped through her. “But you promised—”

  “I know, I know,” he said, cutting her off. “I’ve already been to the Beacon to try to get us out of it—”

  “How hard did you try?”

  “I gave it my best shot.”

  Okay. He probably had. But that didn’t change the fact that exactly what she feared would happen was happening.

  A media blitz that could reveal her real identity and might plaster her picture all over the country.

  Like it or not, she was on a crash course for a publicity whirlwind and lots of cameras. Worse yet, Ryan, one of the most attractive men she’d ever met, was along for the ride.

  Mock wedding, media circus, handsome Ryan.

  Three things that scared her to death, three things she had to find a way to deal with. Right now. Before she got in any deeper than she already was.

  And before her foolish heart repeated the past and caved to temptation.

  An ominous silence scraped across Ryan’s nerves.

  “I can’t do it,” Anna stated a few moments later, her clear amber eyes hard.

  Ryan’s admiration for her grew. And that irritated him. He’d come here to break the news about the mock wedding in person, partly to soften the blow, partly to help take the edge off his own guilt.

  But he hadn’t come here to admire her, or even because he liked her, even though she was proving to be very fascinating, not to mention incredibly attractive. In her beige chinos and plain white T-shirt, her hair in a no-nonsense ponytail and not a bit of makeup on her face, she had no right to look so damn beautiful. His attraction to her merely complicated an already muddled situation, and he hated complications.

  He had to get this whole situation back on track. His track. “You can’t just back out.”

  She straightened an already neat stack of sketches on the desk. “You promised to help me, and I expect you to live up to that promise. Pay up, buddy.”

  He had promised, and he’d tried to back out for Anna’s sake. But the guy in charge at the newspaper had made it clear that backing out wasn’t option at this late date. When Ryan had been given the go-ahead to set up a fund-raising and informational booth for the Mentor A Child Foundation at the wedding show, he’d had to agree. All he had to do was convince Anna to cooperate—again.

  He scoured his mind for a way to turn her around. He looked around the room, noting, with pleasure, that she’d propped the bear he’d won at the carnival on the bed. He then looked at her design sketches on the desk, featuring a flowing, lacy gown with a high neck and tight sleeves. Maybe a simple reminder of how good this wedding show would be for her business would be enough. He was betting—and hoping—that her desire to, succeed as a designer would override her desire to avoid the media and that the good person inside of her would relent for the sake of his charity.

  He gazed at her speculatively. “I’ve been given permission to set up a booth at the show for the foundation, so, yes, I want this pretend wedding gig. But this would be fantastic exposure for you, too. Have you thought of that?”

  She froze, her hands on a sketch. She slowly looked up at him. “Of course I’ve thought of that. That’s what got me into this whole mess in the first place.”

  He tilted his head to the side. “Okay, so let’s look at this from a different angle. Have you landed the account you’re after yet?”

  Anna straightened. A scowl marred her forehead. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “The man in charge hasn’t made a decision yet.”

  “Have you met with him, presented your designs?”

&nbs
p; “Yes.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “He liked my designs, but…” She trailed off and looked away.

  “But what?” he pressed, needing something to work with.

  “Well, he was uneasy about giving the account to such an inexperienced, unheard-of designer.”

  He snapped his finger. “Bingo. You won’t be nearly so unheard-of if your dress is featured on TV, will you?”

  She scowled at him. “You’re not playing fair.”

  He spread one hand, palm up. “Hey. I want the bridal show to help with my charity, a good cause I’m pretty certain you’d feel good about helping. Your business would benefit, too. I’d say that’s very fair. Come on, Double-O-Seven. You know this is the right thing to do.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest, glaring tawny fire. She turned and paced around the hotel room, muttering under her breath and wringing her hands.

  After about five trips in a circle, she turned back to him. She huffed. “All right, you win. And you’re right. I will feel good that your charity will benefit. I’ve been feeling really guilty about that all along.” She moved to the desk and straightened the sketches again. “You knew exactly how to manipulate things around to get the publicity for your foundation, didn’t you? You’re very good at that.”

  He cringed inwardly at the implication that he was manipulating her, surprised that what she thought about him mattered to him at all. “You want your business to succeed,” he said as offhandedly as he could manage. “That’s your need, not mine.”

  After a long pause she said, “I’m glad you realize that because I want to make it clear that I’m doing this for me, not to help you out, even though I’m pleased that your charity will benefit.”