Secrets of the Rich & Famous (10 page)

His lips were inches from hers.

‘It isn’t going to happen,’ she said softly, looking into his eyes. His warm breath mingled with hers. ‘I don’t do rich men, I don’t do flings and I definitely don’t do flings with rich
men. Especially ones who manipulate their way through life with gag orders, contracts and cash. So why don’t we stick to our own plans? I’ll get my article finished and be out of your hair by Christmas. And you can get on with sorting out your reputation. If you’ve still got one.’

With enormous effort she took a step back from him, then put another pace between them, and another. His gaze didn’t waver, meeting hers without a hitch until she cut her eyes away and left the room, slamming the door behind her. She knew just from the way her nerves were on edge that she’d be lucky to get any sleep tonight, but she didn’t care. She was in control, not Alex, and that was the only thing that mattered.

Alex stared for a long moment at the closed kitchen door. She’d had to kick the doorstop away because she was so determined to have something to slam. If his head wasn’t so mixed up he might have found that amusing.

Desire burned deep in his abdomen. He rubbed his fingers slowly over his mouth again. He could still taste her, still smell her. His senses were vibrantly alive. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so tuned in to a woman, and he was so damn sexually frustrated he felt like gnawing the granite worktop.

Kissing her hadn’t been the plan. Of course
it hadn’t. He’d been fighting those mad feelings like crazy all evening. And suddenly those soft lips had been against his. He was shocked by the overpowering hunger that suffused every part of his body. Rational thought was driven away. The pent-up anger and jealousy he’d suppressed all evening as he watched her in someone else’s arms boiled to the surface. His one desire at that moment was to kiss and kiss and kiss her again, and ride that delicious wave as far as he could.

He stood up and made coffee. The familiar motions of filling the mug, adding milk, calmed him, brought a more solid reality back.

It gnawed at him that she’d painted him as some kind of predator, out to take advantage of her. And it annoyed him even more that he cared so much what she thought. He’d had a lucky escape. He was tired, wasn’t thinking straight. She might look like Miss Chelsea now, but underneath she was country village girl through and through. Miss Ordinary. Like Susan. Do-not-touch-with-bargepole. Rationality clicked coldly back in.

He drained his coffee and threw the dregs down the sink. As he made his way to his bedroom he felt the momentary lapse in control disappear. She’d done him a favour, backing off like that. The next time he saw her he’d make sure he kept a safe distance. Physically
and mentally. And surely now her work would be done she’d be moving out. That was a good thing.

Yet sleep was still a very long time coming.

On edge through lack of sleep, Jen was dressed by seven, making coffee and breaking eggs into a frying pan. She added milk and began to scramble them. Her head felt fuzzy and out of focus.

Alex came into the kitchen and her heart skipped a beat. Despite her mental determination to put distance between them her body was apparently refusing to stand down. Even when obviously tired he still looked gorgeous. He poured his own coffee. The tension in the room was palpable.

‘Hi,’ she said uncertainly.

He barely glanced around.

‘Morning.’

‘I’m going to be working on a draft of my article today—the material I’ve got so far. I thought I’d set myself up in the den, if that’s OK with you?’

There was a pause, as if he was considering whether to mention the elephant in the room.

‘About last night …’ he said.

She’d prepared for this. Somewhere in the long restless hours between leaving him in the
kitchen and finally giving up on the prospect of sleep.

‘There was no last night.’

He looked vaguely amused. ‘You can deny it as much as you like. I was there, too, remember?’

‘I meant what I said. Let’s just be professional. Concentrate on our own lives.’

‘I couldn’t agree more. But first, for the record, I did
not
take advantage of you, despite your determination to paint things that way. You kissed me back.’

‘You made me.’

He laughed in disbelief. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘I said, you made me.’ She had to admit, as arguments went, it wasn’t her strongest.

‘I’ve only known you a matter of days but I think I can say with confidence that I can’t imagine anyone
making
you do something you didn’t want to. Ever.’

Deep down there was the frustrating reality that he was right. She
had
kissed him back. But only after
he’d
instigated the intimacy. She rounded on him, determined to put an end to this once and for all.

‘However you want to paint things, we both played a part,’ she said. ‘I don’t see why this has to turn into a huge
atmosphere
. I just want to make it clear that last night was a blip. I’d never
be interested in a one-night stand.’ She tipped the eggs onto a plate. ‘It’s nothing personal.’

He gave a bitter laugh. ‘One-night stand? Is that what you think it would be?’

‘What do you expect me to think? You don’t do relationships. You do work. You made it clear how you live your life. You want short-term flings with no comeback. That’s fine by me, but I’m not about to be a one-hit wonder. Not for any man.’

Alex thought of Susan. The sweetness of their early relationship, the distance that had grown gradually between them as his work became more and more demanding in line with his success. And the end, when he’d realised he no longer knew her at all. If he ever had. The side of the story the press hadn’t covered.

‘Of course you’re at such an advantage because you think you know all about me,’ he said. ‘Everything there is to know about my past. Because everything printed about me is, of course, always true.’ His voice rose to an exasperated snap.

She didn’t rise, kept her voice calm. ‘Tell me what you’re really like, then. What am I missing? Why shouldn’t I believe everything I read about you?’

How the hell was he supposed to answer that? And, more to the point, why did he even
want to? She had the weight of years of tabloid stories on her side, painting him as a playboy. He’d been linked to so many women. Some were just speculation, but plenty had been correct. Oh, yes, the papers had made much of the financial cost of his divorce. But there had been other costs, too—ones which didn’t make such great column inches. He was so much more newsworthy as a bachelor playboy rather than a workaholic who dated superficially because he had no time to be a family man.

He gripped the edge of the granite counter, took a breath, and wondered where to start. Wondered whether to start at all.

The sound of the exterior intercom buzzing cut like a knife through the tension in the kitchen. For a moment both of them stuck to their rigid defensive posture. Jen looked at him expectantly for what she was no doubt certain would be a rubbish explanation. Then she threw her hands up and left the room for the front door.

He heard her speaking, heard the door open and shut, and then she re-entered the room. The only visible part of her was the long legs. The rest was obscured by a gigantic arrangement of red roses, holly berries and Christmas greenery. An explosion of red and green, vulgar in its hugeness. He felt his jaw drop.

She heaved the arrangement onto the kitchen
table. He couldn’t help noticing that her cheeks were flushed pink with excitement as she emerged from behind the flowers. She pulled out the card and flipped it open.

A sharp intake of breath gave away her delight. ‘They’re from Richard Moran!’ she said.

Of course they were. Hadn’t he known that the moment he saw them? The man had no style. The massive bouquet dominated the room. Moran had never been one to stick to the mantra of less is more.

Lack of subtlety didn’t seem to make a poor impression on Jen. She looked at him, card held aloft, delighted excitement in her eyes.

‘He’s invited me to the racing!’ she gasped. ‘That VIP Christmas meeting I accidentally bid for. He must have thought I wanted to win it and couldn’t afford to go higher! ‘

Alex felt a nauseating stab of jealous irritation that told him that, however hard he denied it, last night’s kiss definitely meant more than he wanted it to. What a creep! He couldn’t believe she was falling for this.

‘You can’t seriously be thinking about going? You just finished telling me how much fantastic material you’ve got. How much more do you need, for Pete’s sake?’

She looked at him with an incredulous expression.

‘Of course I’m going! Are you insane? I need
to ride this out as far as it goes now. That’s the whole point of the article. This is better than I could ever have hoped.’

‘The longer you go on with this, the more likely it is he’ll clock who you are. It might have been OK last night, with all those people, the dancing and the auction in the background, but if you spend the day at the races, just the two of you, he’s bound to ask you some awkward questions.’

‘Your confidence in me is really heartening,’ she said, giving him a sarcastic grin.

‘Your insistence on pushing ahead with the project is very telling,’ he snapped back angrily. ‘Are you sure it’s
really
still about the article? Are you sure you’re not getting carried away with the moment?’

The flush on her cheeks intensified and she cut her eyes away from his.

‘Don’t be ridiculous! Nothing is more important to me than nailing this article. Everything is riding on it. All my savings are sunk into it, and my future career depends on it. I don’t care what it takes.’

‘Don’t you think you might be protesting a bit too much? You don’t care if you’re taking a risk because you’re so busy swooning over your new fake life, being wined and dined by a millionaire. So much for social experiments.’

He knew he’d touched a nerve. Fury took over her face.

‘You have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about. I am here to work. Last night was about research for my article—not cosying up to some rich guy, getting what I could out of it. This whole thing is about making my own success without the need for any of that.’

‘You expect me to believe that?’

‘I don’t care if you believe it.’

‘I’ve seen all this before, you know. Starting out grounded, determined the lifestyle won’t change you. Then you have a taste of the high life, start to enjoy the trappings. It’s one slippery slope to letting the luxury take over. You lose your grip on reality, on what was really important to you at the outset.’

He saw from the knit of her eyebrows, the sudden shrewd gaze, that he had her full attention now. But her next question still floored him.

‘Are you talking about yourself?’ she said.

He wanted to kick himself for giving away so much, and cursed her insight.

‘Not just about me,’ he said shortly.

‘You mean your marriage?’

He was done with this conversation. ‘Yes, I mean my marriage. I won’t bother to elaborate. I’m sure you already know all the details as you’re so up to speed with the press coverage
of me. And if you don’t you can always research me on the internet.’

He left the room. Left her to the flowers. He didn’t see her blush because she’d actually done that way back, on the first day she met him.

‘L
ET
me get this right. Alex Hammond snogged you and you’ve told him you’re not interested?’ Elsie’s incredulity was immense. ‘Have you lost your mind?’

‘No, I haven’t! And that’s exactly the point. I’m in total control of the situation. Men like Alex Hammond do not go for women like me. Not for any good reason, anyway. He only took an interest because he’s had to swear off women after all that stuff about Viveca Holt in the news. He can’t get his hands on one of his usual conquests so he thought he’d have a punt at me. He’d probably cosy up to a gorilla right now if it had a makeover and signed a gag order.’

‘Who cares what his reasons are? You passed up the chance of a fling with Alex Hammond!’ Elsie spoke as if Jen had won the lottery and handed the ticket back.

‘Yes! Exactly! All it would ever be is a
fling
. Because that’s all he ever has.’ Jen smoothed
her hair back from her face, took a dignified breath, drew herself up to her full height. ‘I’m better than that.’

Perhaps if she said that often enough, in lots of different ways, she might actually begin to feel as triumphant about her decision as she wanted to feel. Instead of this miserable dragging in her stomach as if the butterflies he’d evoked there last night had been doused in icy water. The idea that she might be different, more than a week-long fling, was something she refused to entertain. She’d bet all his girlfriends thought they’d be the ones to change him, and if Viveca Holt hadn’t managed it Jen from the country wasn’t likely to, was she?

She made a huge effort to squash everything out of her mind apart from her article. It was about time she got her mind back on task.

‘Only problem is, now I need some background information on horse racing and I can’t ask him. I’m having to rely on the internet and I feel like I’m floundering. I don’t suppose you know anything?’

‘Nope. Sorry.’

Impossible to distract, Elsie returned to the subject that mystified her. ‘Was he a good kisser?’

Just the flashback that question prompted made Jen feel like melting into a puddle on the floor.

‘I’m not going to answer that,’ she said. ‘I’m going now.’

She moved to press the disconnect button, but not before she managed to catch Elsie’s parting comment.

‘That means yes.’

It turned out that the careful couple of glasses of champagne at the ball—just enough to make her feel confident and bubbly, not enough to turn her into loudmouthed ladette—combined with the twinkly subdued lighting, had given her a bit of a rose-tinted goggles effect when it came to Richard Moran.

Perching uncomfortably on one side of the leather back seat as his car purred smoothly towards the racetrack, it briefly occurred to Jen that Alex’s warning her off him might also have pushed Richard up a few notches on the attractive scale. She’d been told many times, mainly by her mother, that there was a definite streak in her that didn’t appreciate being told what to do.

In the cold light of day Richard was ogling her cleavage rather too much for comfort. Then again, the moss-green dress with its pretty floral
print and empire line didn’t need stuffing with chicken fillets to make it look half decent. Perhaps he was simply wondering where her curves had gone.

His incessant talking about himself and name-dropping was also beginning to grate on her, and his hands were getting a bit wandery, making her grateful to whoever had invented the maxi-dress that it banned access from ankle to neckline. She sat up stoically in the seat. She wanted so much to write a mind-blowingly brilliant article. One the editor of
Gossip!
magazine simply couldn’t refuse. The consummate professional, that was her. She was prepared to do anything to pull that off.

She wriggled away as Richard’s hand brushed her thigh.

Not quite anything.

Alex drained his fifth coffee and tried to apply his caffeine-buzzing mind to his work. Just his work. Everything else excluded. Doing that was meant to be second nature by now. Relationships,
people
, didn’t distract him like this. He didn’t allow them to.

The attitude he’d taken—let Jen go her own obstinate way and see how far it got her—had become somehow harder to stick to the moment the front door slammed behind her.

He was concerned about her.

Whatever else that kiss had meant, he didn’t know. Wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Concern was the first step on a slippery slope towards caring, and he no longer did that. But somewhere along the way they’d become friends, and he couldn’t now just let this go. It hadn’t been so bad at the ball. He’d been around to keep tabs on the situation. This was completely different. She was on her own.

Richard Moran was not just a ruthless businessman, he also had a very nasty accusation of sexual harassment lurking in his not-too-distant past. An accusation hastily dropped, yet rumoured to be true. And that was just one of many indicators of the unsavoury side of his personality.

Alex threw his cup into the sink and grabbed his keys. However things were between them, he should never have let Jen go today. He might as well have let her go swimming with a very hungry shark. She wouldn’t thank him, he knew that, but anything would be better than sitting here driving himself nuts. He’d blag his way into the VIP enclosure when he got there.

The Christmas race meet was a jovial affair. The VIP enclosure was festooned with decorations in subtle shades of blue and aqua, perfectly co-ordinated. Spicy mulled cider and canapés were served in the warmth of the glass-fronted
bar as horses thundered past outside, their breath clouding the frosty air.

After talking about himself for the entire car journey, Richard Moran seemed alarmingly determined to turn the tables on her as soon as they arrived. It was much harder to work the perfect date when you were constantly being kept on your toes about your fictional background.

The first person he introduced her to turned out to be a successful jewellery designer with her own exclusive studio and website. Jen felt a line of perspiration break out along her spine as Richard mentioned her own invented jewellery business, and then watched beadily as she tried not to squirm while fielding questions about what was and wasn’t hot in jewellery right now.

As the afternoon progressed being with him felt more and more like walking on eggshells.

She’d no sooner pasted on a breezy smile as he introduced her to Annabel and Cosmo—’Old, old friends, darling. Cosmo and I studied together at Cambridge.’—than she was fighting back a wave of nausea as he pointed out that Annabel had attended the fictional private school she’d chosen.

‘Prior Park College, wasn’t it? You must have been there around the same time,’ he said.

Annabel flicked back her glossy chestnut bob and surveyed her with perfectly made-up eyes.

‘I don’t remember you,’ she said.

‘Ah, well, it’s a big school, isn’t it? Perhaps we were there at different times.’ Jen groped desperately for a way to change the subject.

‘What house were you in?’

‘Aha! Those canapés look delicious!’ she gabbled.

She made a beeline for a waiter a few paces away and returned munching a port and stilton tartlet. She couldn’t think of any other way of causing a diversion, and etiquette rules forbade her from speaking with her mouth full. She glanced at Richard and realised with a cold flash that she wasn’t doing half as well as she’d thought she was. He gave her a penetrating look which made her nerves fray. She tried to stop the rising heat in her cheeks by force of the mind, certain that he would pick up on the slightest blush.

He was suspicious of her.

The friendly, upbeat façade had switched like lightning to coldness, and she felt a dark twinge of unease as she remembered Alex’s warnings about him. She suddenly wished she’d heeded his advice and quit while she was ahead with the success of the ball to write about. But, no, she’d been so stupidly flattered by the in-your-face flowers and attention, and the idea of proving a point to Alex, that she’d failed to keep a clear head.

Her only option was to stick to her story and try to avoid being alone with him.

Richard drew Cosmo aside for a private discussion, and Annabel propelled Jen towards a group of glossy women who eyed her up and down as if she was some new and interesting life form. She took a deep breath.
Intimidated
didn’t really cover it, but at least Richard was distracted.

‘You can always count on Richard to bring along someone new.’ Annabel gave a tinkly laugh.

Jen bit back a sarcastic reply. Yes, she knew he was a playboy—but surely it must be bad form to point that out?

She soon found that belittling the girlfriend of a rich bachelor was practically a sport in itself among these women.

‘I had that dress, too—what a coincidence! It’s darling, isn’t it?’

Jen glanced at the skinny blonde woman, introduced to her as Sukie.

The three other women leaned backwards in unison and looked at her dress. As a spectator she might even have found it funny. She concentrated hard on keeping her posture relaxed.

‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘Designer. Last season.’

Jen didn’t miss the challenge. Pointing out
that the dress wasn’t brand-new was an underhand move. She didn’t rise.

‘Unfortunately I had a bit of an accident in mine,’ Sukie said. ‘Someone spilled red wine down it at a wedding back in January. Landed mainly on the hemline. I remember it flapping around my ankles all wet. I could never quite get the …’ her voice trailed off ‘… stain out.’

If this had been a movie the camera would have moved in on Jen for an immediate close-up. She tried desperately to keep a dignified look on her face when what it wanted to do was fold in on herself. Four pairs of beady rich eyes swivelled downwards to the hem of her dress. Jen didn’t need to glance down herself. She could tell just from their expressions what she would see if she did. The sweet floral print on the deep green fabric was busy enough for the stain to blend in on cursory checking. If you didn’t know it was there you would miss it. Turned out, she had.

‘I donated it to Oxfam,’ Sukie added, to no one in particular. ‘In Knightsbridge.’

So Sukie had no compunction about donating imperfect clothing to charity without pointing out the flaw. Jen really couldn’t give a damn what someone like that thought about her. Her temper flared.

‘I’m all for wearing second-hand clothing,’ she said. ‘Too much emphasis is placed on the
price tag in my opinion. No one cares if it costs more than a car as long as it’s by an in-vogue designer. It’s incredibly shallow. And by the way …’ she frowned at Sukie, who took a step backwards ‘… you were supposed to point out to the store that there’s a stain on the dress.’

She realised that the elegant, quiet tone she’d consciously been trying to maintain had disappeared and her loud voice was making heads turn.

Richard Moran swiftly rejoined the group, tumbler of whisky in hand.

‘What’s going on?’

‘Genevieve appears to be wearing one of Sukie’s cast-offs,’ Annabel said smoothly, with that tinkly laugh again. ‘I think she’s finding the situation a little awkward, Richard.’

Jen’s heart plummeted. Not one face in the group was friendly. They saw her as an impostor, and she supposed that was exactly what she was.

Richard Moran grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her aside.

‘Do you want to tell me what’s going on here?’ he barked in a stage whisper. ‘Your big talk about a jewellery business just doesn’t stack up, you fobbed Annabel off when she asked about school and now it turns out your dress is from a charity shop. What are you? Some kind of stalker?’

Jen felt a hot flash of contempt at the way he was treating her. And he thought she was pursuing him because she was infatuated? How arrogant could you be?

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ She yanked her elbow free and snapped impulsively, ‘I’m not a stalker. I’m a journalist!’

The words were barely out of her mouth before he’d grabbed her a second time, one arm clamped around her waist, the other digging sharply into her arm. The black eyes had a sinister tinge in them. He pulled her hard towards the roped-off exit.

She struggled. ‘What are you doing? Let go of me.’

He clamped her against him and spoke with absolute clarity in her ear as he propelled her along. She was vaguely aware that he was simultaneously smiling and nodding at people as they passed. Keeping up appearances.

‘You are going to walk out of here with me without making any fuss,’ he hissed. ‘We are going to go somewhere quiet and you are going to tell me exactly what you are up to and who you are working for.’

His grip bit bruisingly hard into her arm and she felt the first dark tendrils of real fright twisting their way through her. Her instincts told her Alex had been right. This was not a man to be trifled with. She forced her whirling
mind to
think
. She needed to get herself away from Richard before he could find out any more about her. Thank goodness she’d used a false name. If she made a run for it there was no way he could trace her.

Gathering all her strength, she kicked him as hard as she could in the shins—but instead of releasing her he unclamped his hand from her arm and grabbed a handful of her hair. She struggled madly and drew in a huge breath to scream.

The sound died on her lips as Richard Moran lurched suddenly sideways. Letting go of her, he fell into a nearby dark blue spiral Christmas tree. She stumbled to keep her own balance. As he got to his feet, covered in blue glitter and dabbing the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, she found herself dragged away at speed.

It was Alex.

He’d come, after all.

They barely spoke at first as the car sped back to London. Her emotions were in turmoil. Hideous disappointment at the failure of Mission Racing churned deep in her stomach along with the humiliation of being manhandled to the exit, VIP heads turning her way. The dreadful feeling of being frighteningly out of her depth was something she loathed. But underneath it all
there was a tentative glimmering of deep-down happiness at what Alex’s dramatic intervention might mean.