Nobody Does It Better (11 page)
"Maybe all your planning wasn't entirely wasted," she said.
"What?" She'd lost him.
"You said you crammed, right?"
He nodded, still not sure where she was going with this.
"And you do seem to have a knack," she added, almost under her breath.
Curiosity battled with irritation. Curiosity won. "A knack for what?" Devin asked.
She shrugged. "Blackmail, gambling. All this intrigue. I understand it runs in the family. And it's so very … Alexanderish."
Devin bristled. Alexander was creeping closer and closer, and Devin was getting pushed out of the picture, replaced by a con artist with a knack for role-playing. That wasn't the Devin he wanted her to see. He wanted her to see the man he'd become—honest, respectable—and he opened his mouth to tell her so.
"Two thousand a week," she said, and Devin closed his mouth.
He swallowed. "Excuse me?"
"The publisher wants to send Alexander on a three-week book tour. Starting tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?"
"The media is clamoring for interviews, and Cobalt Blue wants to strike while the iron is hot. So I need an Alexander. And you owe me." She smiled at him, a real smile with warmth and promise.
She was sexy when she smiled. Devin considered pulling her into his embrace and kissing her the way she'd kissed him in the bar the night before.
That
would get her attention.
Unfortunately, it would also make her point. Planting uninvited kisses on angry women would be like waltzing into Alexander-dom. But if he was with her for three entire weeks, it would be a heck of a lot easier to convince her of his real charms over Alexander's imaginary ones.
He tried to think fast. Jerry could run the pub, and would probably be thrilled to do it just for the extra cash. Jerry might be gruff, but he knew the business. That left the problem of the rest of the money. How the hell could he raise fourteen thousand dollars in the one week left after her tour?
No, he needed time to get the cash he owed. Trouble was, he also needed her. Spending some time with her in close quarters was just the ticket. But three weeks was too much. "If I owe you, I should do it for free. But just one week. No pay."
"Oh, no. I'm not sure what's going on here, but one thing I am sure of is that I don't want to feel obligated to you. Three weeks and you get a paycheck." No smile this time. Just a firm jaw, arms crossed, one hip slightly cocked, as if she was dug in for the duration.
She was sexy when she was stubborn.
He did some fast multiplication. Six thousand from the book tour, another five thousand he could skim from the pub if he scrimped. Two grand he could take off a credit card. That still left him a chunk shy of his goal.
"Make it four a week and you've got a deal."
"I don't think so."
He held up his hands. "I need more."
"I can't afford more. And I doubt I'd pay it if I could. Besides, you got me into this mess, remember?"
That he had. And if he could spare three weeks he'd help her in a heartbeat. He'd just have to compromise.
"How about. I do only one week for two grand?" If she agreed, he could scramble to raise the rest of the money in the weeks after the tour. Maybe he could get the earnest money back that he'd put down to buy his second pub in
Boston
.
And he could always go crawling to Derek as a last resort. He didn't want to, but if that's what it took to help Paris out, he'd suck it up. Somehow, he'd get the money.
"Two weeks."
"One and a half. That's my final offer."
Paris
looked toward Rachel, who shrugged.
"We'll make it work somehow," Rachel said.
"Do you think they'll still honor the contract?"
Paris
asked, and Devin wondered what contract she was worried about
Rachel shook her head. "I don't know. But we don't have much of a choice, do we?" She shot Devin a withering look.
He held up his hands in surrender. "I can only do a week and a half. I'm sorry. Really."
More sorry than she knew. The possibility of three weeks alone with
Paris
enticed him, and not only because he wanted time for her to get to know the real Devin. On top of that, he wanted to help her. But it just wasn't possible. If he helped her, he'd never be able to raise the money in time.
Paris
nodded. "It's okay. Don't worry. We'll work it out." She held out her hand. "Really. Let's shake on it."
Her handshake was crisp and firm. Businesslike. "You're doing us a huge favor. Really. Thank you," she said.
Devin nodded. "You're welcome."
He felt like a total heel.
Chapter 6
O
ne by one,
Paris
opened each dresser drawer, making sure nothing was left but plastic hotel laundry bags, the complimentary magazine raving about
Manhattan
's hot spots, and the Gideon Bible. She moved on to the nightstand and checked its drawer as well. Also empty, except for the room service menu. "I think that's everything except for the closet and a couple of things from the bathroom."
Rachel looked up from her magazine. "I should hope so. You've checked each drawer at least twelve times."
"Only twice." Actually, three times. But
Paris
doubted Rachel had noticed.
"Three times. I counted. And you don't even leave until tomorrow. Why the big production tonight?"
"I just don't want to forget anything,"
Paris
said, latching on to the first half-truth that flitted through her mind. The real truth was that she wanted to stay busy, needed to keep her mind off Devin. Plus, they'd agreed that he'd spend the night in her connecting room so that she could coach him this evening, and so they could ride together to the airport in the morning.
With Devin just a thin wall away,
Paris
doubted she'd be able to concentrate on packing if she waited until morning.
Rachel stood up and crossed to the bed, peering down at the stacks of clothes and bags of cosmetics. "I already see something you've forgotten."
"Really?"
Paris
inventoried her belongings, comparing the list in her head to the piles on the bed. "What?"
Rachel squatted on the floor and rummaged in her leather tote bag, then pitched a handful of condoms into
Paris
's open suitcase. "I've only got a half dozen here. But between you, me and the hotel furniture, I haven't really needed them lately. There's a shortage of good men in this city. And since you just snagged the last one, you'll need to pick up a pack at the airport tomorrow morning."
Paris
glanced at the neon packets shining like Mardi Gras coins, then up at Rachel, who was doing a poor job of holding back a grin.
With friends like this…
"First, I am not going to sleep with him. And second, even if I were, I would not in a million years suggest a lime green fluorescent condom."
"The hot pink is nice."
"Third,"
Paris
continued, ignoring her once-best friend who had just slipped below
Paris
's goldfish on the friendship scale. She stopped, confused. "I know I had a third."
"Third, you're going to be a martyr for women everywhere and turn down the attention of this amazing looking guy who is obviously crazy about you."
"Yes," said
Paris
. "I mean, no. I am not being a martyr."
"You were going to do the deed last night."
"Last night I didn't know that he almost
blackmailed
me. This is not a good start for a relationship. Dr. Laura would not approve."
"But he didn't blackmail you. He's honorable. Chivalrous. Oozing with character."
"Just because he walked away from one blackmail scheme doesn't make him Sir Lancelot. Knights in shining armor don't think up clever ways to use women to get money. Besides, maybe he walked away because my dad's a judge and not because his chivalrous side overwhelmed him."
Or maybe he does like you.
She squashed the thought, then grabbed a pair of khakis from the closet and started folding them on the bed. What was the world coming to when she was arguing with her best friend
and
herself?
Rachel stood sideways in front of the mirror mounted on the closet door, stomach sucked in, chest out. She turned and checked her other side.
Paris
watched, amused. "What are you doing?"
"Sagging. No wonder he's smitten with you. You don't sag."
"Rach, gravity doesn't even know where you live. And he's not smitten with me."
Rachel dropped the pose. "Oh, I know smitten. And he is it."
"It was a one-night thing, set in motion because he wanted to get something from me. Even if he did walk away from his little racket, that doesn't mean he's smitten."
She concentrated on folding her clothes, warding off erotic memories of the night before. Her thoughts had no business going there. No matter how much she'd melted from his touch, she was not about to fall under the spell of some con artist who intended to use her just to make a buck. And for a gambling debt! Maybe if he'd needed the money to buy a kidney for his grandmother…
She shook the thought away. Her imagination might be able to come up with noble reasons for his scheme, but that didn't make them true.
"Everything is on an even keel now. It's a business arrangement, pure and simple. That's all. No repeats of last night. I need an Alexander, and he fits the bill." Her body regretted the decision, but her head knew it was for the best.
"So now you're the one using him."
Paris
considered. "Yeah. I guess I am. Well, good for me. After all, turnabout's fair play. And at least I hired him."
"Oh, I'm not criticizing," said Rachel, flopping on the bed. "In fact, that makes it even better."
Paris
almost cringed at the devious tone in Rachel's voice. "Better how?"
"If it's a business arrangement, he can still be your boy toy. It's so yuppie. One and a half weeks. That's the perfect length for a fling. A little diversion, take your mind off work. And you're hitting
The laugh escaped before
Paris
could stop it. Great, now Rachel would be encouraged. She put on a stern face. "Decadent is not the image we're going for here. I don't need a boy toy or your advice." She waved her arm around the room. "All of this is the result of you shooting off your mouth at the bar that night."
"The room?"
"The situation, dummy,"
Paris
said, lobbing a pillow at her intentionally dense friend. "I don't need any more complications in my life. Certainly not a complication with a gambling debt the size of
Paris
held up a hand against Rachel's inevitable comment. "And I realize he didn't go through with it, but that's not the point. I don't do flings well. It would be just my luck that I'd fall for him, and then where would I be?"
Of course, the better question was,
How did she un-fall for him?
The damage was already done, but
Paris
wasn't go
ing to admit that to Rachel. The way out of this mess was to just take it one step at a time, and to keep the relationship purely professional. Any hints of sexual tension, and she'd politely turn the conversation back to their work.
Then she'd take a cold shower.
"Okay, you win," said Rachel. "Have a nice boring little tour. Maybe you'll meet a valet in Vegas who'll sweep you off your feet."
"Thank you," said
Paris
, grateful to steer away from the dangerous direction her thoughts were headed.
There would be nothing smart about getting mixed up with a fantasy man, and
Paris
was not a stupid girl.
* * *
"Here I am. Putty in your hands." Devin leaned negligently against the door frame, a canvas duffel bag slung over one shoulder, his tattered navy T-shirt just tight enough to show there was nothing soft or malleable about this man. He was hard. Stone. As immovable as a mountain.
"Hi. Come on in."
Paris
stepped aside to let the mountain enter.
Rachel would consider this a personal challenge.
He wants to be putty,
she'd say.
By the time I'm done he'll be mush.
But Rachel had the seductress act down cold, not
Paris
. Even if
Paris
could, what would be the point? A week of savage, wild sex, and then what?
Isn't that enough?
Paris
imagined Rachel's amazed query.
Paris
ignored her friend's urging, as well as her own hesitant agreement. No matter how alluring he might be, she'd squashed all intentions of picking up where they'd left off. He'd been setting her up for blackmail, after all. Best she kept that little fact firmly in mind.
She shut the door and turned around. He waited a few feet behind her, just on the threshold of the main area of the hotel room. Despite her self-imposed mini-lecture, the desire to reach out and stroke his chest almost overwhelmed her.
Damn Rachel. She was such a bad influence.
How was she going to manage such close quarters with this gorgeous hunk of tanned, muscular, blond
… maleness
if she couldn't control her eyes, much less her hands?
She tried to manage a businesslike smile. He watched her, a quizzical expression playing across his features. "What is it?" she asked, fearing he could read her mind.
"Three weeks."
"What?"
"You heard me. I'm yours for three weeks. I got you into this, the least I can do is help you get out." His jaw was firm. Was he expecting her to argue?
"I can only afford to pay you two a week."
He nodded. "I know."
"But … I thought you needed—"
"Do you want me for three weeks or not?"
"Of course," she answered, ignoring the devilish voice in her head that urged her to blurt out the kind of thoughts his words inspired. "I just don't want to mess things up for you."
How pitiful is that?
Paris
wondered. Suddenly the last thing she wanted to do was inconvenience him.
What's wrong with this picture?
Devin's smile softened his entire face. "Thanks. I appreciate that. But I'll be fine. Really."
"What changed your mind?"
"Some obligations I'm just not willing to turn my back on."
"Oh," she blurted. "A code. Like honor among thieves." She regretted the words the second they left her tongue, even before she saw him wince. "Oh, gosh. I'm sorry," she said uselessly. He was at least making an effort at chivalry and she was insulting him.
He waved a hand and gave her the slightest of nods. "So, we're leaving in the morning?" he asked.
Paris
considered whether to apologize again. Probably better to drop it. "Yeah. Bright and early."
"Well, then, what's on the agenda tonight?" Nothing in his tone suggested he was thinking about a repeat of the night before. Didn't matter,
Paris
thought about it anyway.
"Training." She smiled sweetly, forcing her mind back on track. "Brutal, hard-core basic training. If you're going into battle for me, I want you prepared." Her eyes grazed his body again and she choked back a sigh. The real battle was raging in her. She'd managed to keep her hands in check for all of four minutes. That deserved a pat on the back.
He dropped his shoulder and let his bag slide to the floor. "Fair enough. Where do we start?"
"Ground rules,"
Paris
said, with force intended more for herself than him. "We need to establish the basic ground rules."
"Great. Shoot."
Paris
frowned. Something was wrong, but she couldn't put her finger on it.
"So what's our first ground rule?" he pressed.
"You're Devin," she said, ignoring his question as she realized what was troubling her.
"Hate to break it to you, but your rule doesn't make sense."
"No. I mean, yes. No. I mean you
are
Devin."
"Yes. Me, Devin. You, Paris."
Paris
ignored his sarcasm. "I mean your hair is blond. That's not Alexander." Her stomach turned as she considered the uncomfortable truth. This blond-haired devil—not Alexander—had swept her off her feet.
His con, remember? He pretended to be Alexander to get you in bed. To get your money. And he did a damn good job.
She felt like bopping herself on the forehead. Of course! Certainly she hadn't fallen for this man. No way. Just for his Alexander-ness.
Well, she wasn't about to make the same mistake twice. A muscle twitched in his cheek and he took a few breaths before speaking. "Sorry. I didn't realize I needed to be good old Monty every waking minute. Since I'm not trying to pull anything over on you, I thought I'd just be myself for now." His eyes held a challenge, but
Paris
didn't understand the contest.
"I'm hiring you because I need an Alexander on this tour. If someone figures out you're not really Alexander, then I'm in a lot of trouble."
