The Wedding Trap (Second Service) (4 page)

“Smart move.”

She started down the hall. She didn’t look behind her as she pulled the card key from her purse. She pushed the door open. If she had any kind of courage, she’d slam it closed and leave him out there. But she couldn’t. Until they had some kind of agreement—one with very clear terms this time—she would worry about what he would do.

Would he go downstairs and tell every one that she had asked him to play the part of her boyfriend? Or worse, would he go down there without her and continue to pretend to be Charlie? Either idea made her stomach clench into a tight knot.

She didn't relish the idea of being alone with him, but it was better than having this conversation out in the hall where anyone could overhear them.

She would just have to keep the discussion as brief as possible.

Beth let go of the door as soon as he stepped into the room. She stayed by the door, while he walked to the window, pulled back the gossamer thin drape, and glanced briefly outside. A second later, he let it drop. He obviously wasn't impressed with her parking lot view. Well, she couldn't afford the luxury suite that Isobel had reserved.

"You're going to have to change your plans," she said.

"Sorry. I can't do that."

He sat down in the high-backed upholstered chair. Beth didn't like the idea of him getting too comfortable in her room. But, on the other hand, since she couldn't exactly run over and stop him, she was glad he at least chose the chair. Maybe she was still feeling the effects of that kiss, but the thought of him lounging across her bed was far more distracting.

She crossed her arms. "Of course, you can. I'm sure that what you have planned for the Kensington this weekend will go down just as well at the St. Francis across the bay."

He shook his head. "I like it here better."

"Maybe I didn't make myself clear. I'm not asking. You are going to leave."

"Or what?" he asked, leaning forward.

Frustration bubbled up inside of her. She wanted to storm over and smack his face. Throw things at his head. Anything to force him to listen to reason. But the protective part of her brain held her back.

He might look calm and relaxed sitting in that chair, but there was something undeniably threatening about him. She should have recognized it earlier. Maybe she'd been too pulled in by his gorgeous face to see it, but now that she was alone in a small space with him, she could see that he practically thrummed with danger.

"Or...I'll go down there and tell them what you really are."

He smiled and leaned back in the chair. The ease was back so quickly it made Beth wonder if she'd only imagined the menacing gleam in his eyes.

"Go ahead," he said.

"I'll do it." Her voice shook a little.

"No, you won't. You're too invested in this lie that you've told," he said. "And even if you somehow decide to face their scorn and laughter, chances are they wouldn't believe you. Why would they? Everything else you've told them has been a lie."

Beth opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She could barely get breath past the lump blocking her throat. Her legs turned to rubber beneath her. She barely made the two steps to the bed. The edge of the mattress bowed beneath her weight.

Dear God, what had she gotten herself into? She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “I made a deal with devil, didn’t I?”

“I’m not sure about that,” he said. “But next time you might want to find out a little about the person you are blackmailing before you do it.”

“What is it that you want?” It probably wasn’t a good idea, keeping her back to him, but thought of turning around to face him was too much to bear. Besides, she still didn’t think he was out to hurt her. Not physically at least.

"Nothing," he said.

Like she could believe that. “Right.”

"It’s true,” he said.

Beth lifted her eyes heavenward again. No divine intervention came flowing down. Imagine that.

"And what if I end up getting in trouble because of this plan of yours?" she asked.

"You won't," he said. His voice was firm, certain.

"But what if I do?" She imagined a flood of cop cars pulling up in the middle of Isobel's ceremony, sirens blaring. She’d be cuffed and stuffed in the backseat while Spencer looked on and laughed.

“It’s not going to happen.”

"How can you be sure?"

"I'm not going to let anything bad happen to you or yours, Beth. I promise."

Beth swiveled around on the bed. His expression was calm and confident. She believed him. She couldn’t figure out why, but she did.

"What are we going to do about Charlie?" she asked.

"I don’t see any reason why we can't help each other. I'll be Charlie all weekend. After that you can tell them anything you like. We broke up. You found me with another woman. I fell off a cliff," he said with a twinkle in his eye.

"I'll have to drag you to some wedding events. You'll have to spend time with my parents." She wasn't going to sugarcoat it for him. There would be a price to pay for both of them.

He smiled as if that was exactly what he had been hoping to hear. "I haven't been to a wedding in years."

There would be no getting rid of him, Beth realized. Their deal was struck. She was stuck with him all weekend. Her stomach flipped over again, and this time it wasn't because her head was filled with visions of her mother crying as the police led her away in handcuffs. No, now she was imagining being trapped in this tiny room when Charlie finally slid out of that jacket.

Beth turned her face away before he could see her blush.

"I should change before dinner," she said, rising from the bed. She'd have to dress in the bathroom from now on.

"I'll go get my things," he said.

Beth could feel his eyes on her as she went to the closet to pick out a dress. She heard him rise from the chair and take two steps toward her. He cupped her shoulder with his hand. It was a comforting gesture, and, heaven help her, she wanted to lean into him. But she resisted. She kept herself straight as a beam.

"Everything is going to be all right, Beth."

She wished that he would stop saying her name. Just the sound of it made her feel all warm inside. It made her lose sight of important things. Details that she would have otherwise caught.

Charlie opened the door.

Beth froze.

"Wait," she said. "In the elevator. How did you know that my room was on the second floor?"

He shrugged his shoulders, and stepped out into the hall. "Lucky guess."

The door clicked shut behind him.

Chapter 3

Beth didn’t eat a bite of her dinner. For the first time in a week, it had nothing to do with self-control. Her stomach had been churning through the whole meal.

She'd been certain that at any moment the whole ruse would fall apart. Someone would ask something about her past, about Charlie's past, about anything at all, and Charlie would freeze. They would be caught in the lie and revealed as frauds.

But it never happened. Everyone was pleasant, and the topics stayed light. Her pretend Charlie showed off his charming side, laughing at Mr. Masterson's jokes, complimenting her mother's dress, even talking a little baseball with Jordan. Beth couldn't have hoped for a better result. There wasn’t even a hint of the dangerous man she’d seen a flash of in her room. By time the salads had been removed, he had the whole table eating out of his palm.

There were two exceptions, of course—Spencer, who still regarded Charlie with a skeptical eye, and Isobel, who only had laughter in hers.

Isobel excused herself from the table as soon as the waiter came around for coffee orders. Beth took the cue and followed her.

Isobel grabbed onto her arm as they walked to the bathroom.

"So? Who is he?” Isobel asked as soon as the door swung shut.

“What do you mean? He’s Charlie.”

Isobel balled her fists on her hips and gave her a pointed glare. “You know what I mean. How the hell did you pull this off?"

"I really don't know. The situation just kind of fell into my lap." She wasn't about to tell Isobel what kind of man Charlie really was.

“Where did you find him? Is he an actor?"

Beth scrunched up her nose. There wasn't any way to answer. Not a truthful one, at any rate. "Kind of."

Isobel's eyes widened. "Is he a gigolo?”

"Oh my God, Isobel." Beth put a finger to her lips, in case they could be overheard.

"He is, isn't he?" Isobel went on. "That's why he's so hot. And so good with people."

"Are gigolos known for their social skills?" Beth asked, furrowing her brow.

Isobel shrugged. "I don't know. I've never known one before. But I'd imagine they'd have to be."

It made sense. And it was sure a hell of a lot easier than having to tell Isobel that she had dragged a potentially dangerous criminal to her wedding. Sure, it made her seem desperate, but what the hell?

Isobel's eyes widened as all the pieces fell together in her mind. "And you're sharing a room with him. Are you—?"

"Dear God, no!" At least that part was true.

"Why not? Just look at him."

Beth's mouth hung open. "Because I'm not so hard up that I have to pay for sex."

Well, that wasn't exactly true. She probably
was
that hard up. But her pride wouldn't allow it. At least the pesky emotion was good for something.

"No, you're just hard up enough to pay someone to pretend to be your boyfriend." Isobel laughed.

Beth rolled her eyes and bit her lip, trying not to laugh. "I couldn't think of any other way out of it. You don't think anyone suspects, do you?"

Isobel shook her head. "No. Your mother just about ate him up with a spoon. I think she's already picking out colors for the nursery."

"What about Spencer?"

Isobel's expression turned serious. Nothing sucked the air out of the room like mentioning Spencer.

"I don't know why you spend so much time worrying about what Spencer thinks. I sure as hell don't, and he's about to become family."

Beth went to the sink and looked in the mirror. She combed her fingers through her hair, smoothing out an invisible tangle. "I just do. I just want to have a small moment where I get the better of him. It doesn't have to be big."

Isobel came up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder. "Well, give up on that dream. It isn't going to happen. It would mean that Spencer would have to see his own flaws, and men like him just don't do that. It just isn't in him. It's some male defense mechanism, I guess. You're just going to have to write him down in the mistake column of your life, and console yourself with the fact that you are a thousand times better than him, whether he ever sees it or not."

Beth looked up at Isobel's reflection in the mirror. It was a nice speech, one she would have benefitted from hearing two hours ago, before her life had tipped upside down.

"But you can do all that after the wedding," Isobel said. "First, hit the hell out of that Charlie out there all weekend long. Do it for those of us who can't."

"Isobel!"

"What, I'm getting married. I'm not dead."

Isobel turned Beth around and pulled her into a hug. A moment later, the bathroom door swung open and Isobel's mother walked in.

Mrs. Munoz was every bit as graceful as her daughter. It was easy to see where Isobel got it from. Beth had spent so much time at the woman's house growing up, she'd come to think of Mrs. Munoz as a second mother, one who cooked spicier food and didn't complain about how Beth was wearing her hair.

"Is everything all right?" she asked when she saw the pair hugging and the tears in Beth's eyes.

"Of course," Beth said, wiping them away.

"Beth starts crying every time I mention the wedding," Isobel said, covering for her. "She promises that she won't do it during the ceremony, but I wouldn't put money on it."

"Neither would I," Mrs. Munoz said.

***

Charlie wasn't at the table when Beth got back from the ladies room. She looked around the restaurant, but he wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Her heart hitched in her chest. Maybe he’d run off. Maybe this had all been part of some sick game he was playing, getting her hopes up and then ditching her.

Or maybe he was breaking into more cars. Or rooms. Maybe she was better off not knowing what he was doing.

Or maybe, just maybe, he’d gone off to the bathroom.

“Charlie said he had to run an errand," Mr. Munoz said when Beth sat back down in her seat. His vague answer wasn't terribly reassuring.

One by one, people starting leaving. It was starting to get late. But for some reason, the thought of going up to her room didn't sound appealing. There was too much going on in her head for her to sit up in bed, waiting for a knock on the door. She didn't even want to think about how she was going to sleep with a stranger so close. Was he planning on sleeping on the chair, or did he expect her to give up half the bed?

After her conversation with Isobel in the bathroom, Beth wasn't entirely sure which one she wanted.

What she needed was a little courage, a little determination. So, she headed toward the bar instead of the elevator.

Isobel and Jordan passed her on their way out. They looked so sweet together. Isobel's arm was tucked around Jordan’s side. When they stopped, Jordan tilted his head down on top of hers. Beth couldn't help but smile. They were good together.

"Are you going to be all right on your own?" Isobel asked. There was a world of meaning behind her concerned look.

"Yeah. I'm pretty sure that I can manage the 10 p.m. lounge crowd by myself," Beth said.

"That's not what I meant."

"I know. I'm good."

Isobel gave her another intense look. "Are you sure?"

"I promise." Beth shook her head and tried to laugh but it came out a stuttered sigh. "Take her to bed, Jordan."

"Will do," he said, starting to lead Isobel away. He stopped after a few steps and turned back. "Oh, Beth."

"Yeah?"

"I really like Charlie. I'm glad he could finally make it to something."

Beth forced the smile to stay on her face until Isobel and Jordan disappeared inside the elevator. Then her shoulders slumped, and she sighed for real.

She went to the lounge, and found a small table tucked into a corner. It was swallowed by shadow, the lights from the bar barely reaching it. The darkness suited her mood perfectly.

It took the waitress a few minutes to notice her.

"I'll have a Cosmopolitan,” Beth said, when she finally came to take her order.

"And a soda water,” a deep voice said behind the waitress. Charlie stepped into view. "I hope you don't mind if I join you.”

He pulled off his jacket and slung it over the back of the chair before he sat down.

Apparently it wasn't a question.

"Go right ahead," she said. If he noticed the sarcasm in her voice, he didn't show it. "Did you get your errand done?"

He nodded.

Beth considered probing further, but decided against it. Maybe with something like this it would be better to have plausible deniability. Wasn't that what they called it in the movies?

"Good for you," she said.

He looked at her but said nothing. The silence stretched on and on. Beth glanced down at her hands, then to the other tables in the lounge. Finally, she looked at the bar. She could feel Charlie's gaze on her, and as much as she didn't want to admit it, he was making her nervous. It felt as if he was looking inside her, studying her.

"So," he said after an interminable minute had passed. "Talk to me about Charlie."

Beth turned back to him, her eyes wide. "I thought you didn't need to know anything. You've been playing him all evening."

"Not those details. Tell me how you came up with him."

Beth didn't miss the command in his voice. He was a man used to asking questions and getting answers. For a second she thought of tossing off some flip remark, but then thought better of it. This day had drained the fight out of her.

"I first came up with Charlie when I was in the seventh grade."

His brows shot up, and Beth felt a little thrill of accomplishment. She wouldn't have guessed that there was much in this world that still managed to surprise him.

"Billy Demers asked Hailey Cranston to the spring dance instead of me. I didn't want anyone to know how upset I was, so invented Charlie. I told Hailey it didn't matter because I already had a boyfriend who lived one town over."

"But you can't bring a pretend boyfriend to the spring dance.”

"No, you can't. That was why Charlie ended up having a karate competition that night."

"Karate? I guess I'm pretty hardcore."

"That you are."

The waitress arrived with their drinks. Charlie pressed a bill into her hand and told her to keep the change before Beth could reach inside her purse. Going by the look on the woman's face, Charlie was a pretty nice tipper.

"After that I pulled him...I mean you...out of my pocket when ever I needed to save face. There were a couple of times in high school. One very memorable night in college. You once even saved me from going on a blind date with a co-worker’s cousin."

"I'm glad I could be of service."

Beth raised her drink in mock salute to him. He smiled and took a sip of his own.

"Isobel was the only one who knew the truth. She's the only person I've ever trusted to see me, warts and all."

He quirked a brow.

"They're metaphorical warts," she said.

“Of course."

Beth downed the rest of her martini. She looked down at the empty glass. "I could probably use another one of these.”

Charlie waved his hand to get the waitress's attention.

He ordered and paid again before she could say anything. She wasn't sure she liked the idea of being in debt to him. On the other hand, a couple of drinks was the least that he owed her.

He turned back to focus on her. His blue eyes had darkened in the dim light. The flicker of the candle on the table shimmered in his irises. Shadows fell across his cheeks, calling his features into stark relief. Damn, he was hot.

For a second, she didn't care what kind of man he was. She didn't care what he'd done in the past. All she wanted was to feel those lips again as they moved against hers. Maybe this time he'd press them against her neck. Or her earlobe. She was a sucker for earlobe kisses.

Moving lips. Crap. He'd just said something and she'd missed it because she'd been too busy making out with him in her mind.

"Excuse me?" she said.

He gave the wolfish smile again. Beth had the feeling he knew exactly where her mind had been.

"I was just wondering what made you bring up Charlie this time," he said.

Beth rolled her eyes dramatically. "That's a story that I usually wouldn't tell until I was three or four drinks into the evening."

"I have all night.”

He leaned back in his chair. His arms hung at his sides, loose and languid, but Beth could still make out the contour of muscle underneath his white oxford shirt. Those butterflies started fluttering again. Maybe another drink wasn't such a good idea after all.

"Spencer and I used to date," she said.

“So you’ve said.”

"It didn't end well."

He waited silently, and Beth wondered how much to tell him. He picked up his glass and took another sip. His eyes never left hers. Damn, there was something about that look that made her want to tell him everything. All of her secrets.