Kitabı oku: «You Call This Romance!?», sayfa 5

6

CABOT PULLED A SWEATER over his head, and just as he’d reached that point of no return, with both arms in the air and his head still trying to push through the turtleneck, he heard Faith say, “I need to do a little shopping.”

“Forgot something?” He wanted to say, something else, but restrained himself.

“Ah, yes, a thong or two.”

Nah, she couldn’t have said that. His head popped through the sweater. “What?” He could see her now, and her face was flushed pink.

“A thing or two,” she mumbled.

Female stuff probably. All he needed to put the perfect shine on the weekend was a surrogate bride with PMS. For a second he tried to imagine Tippy with PMS, but he didn’t have to imagine it. Tippy acted like a woman with PMS all the time. “There are shops in the hotel. Go buy your stuff and I’ll…” He would lie down quietly on some animal’s skin and try to recover from Faith, from the tackiness of the room, from having to share the tackiest room in the world with Faith, all of those things. He might even experiment with the hammock, find out just how bad the night was going to be.

“Don’t forget to confirm the restaurant reservation,” he couldn’t keep himself from adding. “Let’s see, I’ve got all those written permissions to film. You got a separate table for the crew, right?”

“A sep—yes, of course,” she said hastily.

“Because I don’t want to treat them like staff. They’ll do the filming between courses, and they’ll be less obtrusive if they have their own table. Did you get the chart telling you what to wear when?”

“Ah…” She scrambled for a minute through a folder that had little pieces of paper sticking out randomly from three sides. “Yes.”

“Be back in time to change.”

“Yes, Sir,” she said, and saluted smartly.

He had to admit he was being a nag. “Sorry,” he said, “it’s a bad habit.”

“Everything will be fine,” she said, and gave him a sunny smile as she tripped out the door, her little blue crocodile sandals not making a sound on the three-inch-thick jungle-green carpeting.

HER SMILE FADED as she raced through the hotel, which seemed to be one endless casino, looking for a private spot. At last she found a small foyer with a marble bench and collapsed onto it. With shaking hands she took the restaurant reservations sheet out of the folder and dialed the number of that night’s restaurant—the nicest one in the hotel—on her cell phone.

“Confirming a reservation for two this evening in the name Drennan,” she said in her best travel agent’s voice.

“Yezz, of courzz,” came the purring response. “We’re eggspecting you.” The voice cooled slightly. “You are the ones who are going to be vilming.”

“Yes,” Faith said. “We’ll also need a nearby table for three, same time,” she added, and held her breath.

“That is quite impozzible,” the voice intoned at last. “We are vully booked.”

“But it’s very important,” Faith said. What had she thought the crew would do? Stand around their table filming them having dinner all evening? “My job depends on it.”

“I’m sorry about your job, but I can’t make a table where there izz no table.” The purr was rapidly turning into a snarl.

“Oh, but you can,” Faith said with enthusiasm. “Just set up an extra table for three next to our table. We don’t mind being crowded.”

“Miss, zizz is not our style at Arturo’s of the Inn of Dreams.”

“Would you tell me your name, please?” Faith said, feeling desperate.

“Mario.”

“Mario,” she said, “maybe I should come into the restaurant and discuss this with you privately.” So if necessary, she could slip him fifty dollars of her total liquid assets—one hundred thirty-six dollars and change. “I hesitate to tell you over the phone who will be filmed this evening, but she has strong democratic tendencies and will be appalled if her film crew doesn’t have its own table.”

“Izz this ‘she’ you refer to a…famous person?”

“Very.”

“In politics?”

“Oh, heavens no.”

“In the…film industry?”

There it was again, that sound of reverence. “I’m not at liberty to say,” Faith said primly. “Her public is very demanding. She values her privacy.”

“Ah-h-h,” breathed Mario. He sounded as if he were starting to pant. “Well, let me see, Mizzz…”

“I’m their travel agent,” Faith said.

“I think if we juggle here, and stagger there…” He seemed to be plotting it out visually. “Yezz. We will have that zecond table ready for your party, Mizzz…”

The purr was back, intensified. She’d saved herself fifty dollars. She wasn’t bad at this stuff, just always a little late. Now she had to do the same thing four more times, the two lunches and the two other dinners. She punched viciously at her cell phone.

AN HOUR LATER she stood in front of the hotel’s lingerie shop. Bad news, from the window display of silk and lace in Valentine colors of red and white. But surely they had plain white cotton panties and bras hidden away in the drawers, and she had about enough credit left on her credit card for two sets she could keep washing out.

“I need some underwear,” she told the clerk.

“Doesn’t everybody?” she simpered. “What sort of thing were you looking for?”

“Panties and bras. I forgot mine.”

“Ooh, do I ever have some pretty things for you.” She whipped out a white silk thong edged in lace and a bra that neither did nor hid anything, as far as Faith could tell.

“No, no, I was thinking more along the lines of…”

“Something more seductive. Aha.” The woman laid out another matched set on the counter. This time the thong was black, covered in embroidered red hearts, and the bra was red with two large black hearts forming the cups. “This has been a hot number the last few days,” she said.

“It would be a hot number any old time,” Faith said. She felt rushed and flustered, and yet she couldn’t keep from imagining herself wearing all those hearts, ambushing Cabot at the door of their own tiny honeymoon cottage.

And visions of that insidious sort were exactly the reason she needed to be buying plain white cotton panties and bras. “I’d prefer something simple,” she said, “cotton, preferably.”

“Cotton?”

“Cotton,” Faith said firmly.

“We only have one cotton line,” the woman said, casting a dubious glance at Faith. “But—lucky you, it’s on sale.”

“Wonderful,” Faith said. “I’ll take…” She looked down at the counter. They were cotton all right, thin cotton animal prints.

“Mix and match,” the clerk said gaily. “Wear the leopard with the zebra, or be conservative and wear tiger top and bottom.”

“They’d go well with my room,” she murmured.

“Oh! Are you in the jungle suite? Lucky you!”

“Uh-huh,” Faith said. The panties were, of course, thongs. The bras scooped so low that Faith wondered why anyone would bother to wear one of them. “I don’t suppose you have a camisole,” she said.

“No, I’ve got a teddy,” the clerk said.

“No teddies,” Faith said sharply. She was running out of time. “I need something to sleep in, too,” she said. She thought about Cabot, and added, “A pair of pajamas, long-sleeved pajamas with long pants. Neck-to-ankle coverage.”

The woman gave her a look of sympathy. “I’ll check in the back,” she said.

While she looked, Faith peeked at the tags on the animal print underwear. The price didn’t scare her too badly, so she held the bra up to herself and then the thong, tilting her head to one side as she tried to imagine herself actually wearing them.

There wasn’t room in her budget right now for frivolous underwear, and she supposed there wouldn’t be until she found a man she wanted so badly to look sexy for that she’d be willing to go into debt. She’d never had a problem getting dates, but several things had kept her from forming a lasting relationship. In the first place, each of her jobs had ended in a way that made it desirable to leave town. But in the second place…

The truth was that she was holding out for a man who made her feel the way her adoptive parents had felt about each other, a man who could bring that special light into her eyes, a man who…

“Hold it!”

She gasped and spun straight into the lens of Raff’s camera and the sudden glare of Chelsea’s lights. They’d caught her in a full frontal shot, pressing the tiny underthings to her breasts and her tummy.

“Terrific,” Raff said. “A bride-shops-for-sexy-unmentionables scene.” He turned to Joey. “And she thought of it all by herself.”

“Cabot’s going to lo-ove it,” Joey said, licking his lips.

“I did not think of it,” Faith snapped, flinging the underwear down to the counter. “I forgot my underwear and came in here hoping to find something simple, but they don’t have—”

The clerk came bustling out. “I have just what you asked for! Look!” She proudly displayed a pair of long-sleeved pajamas in black that were so sheer a person would be less noticeable naked. “But this one,” she said, “would match your room!” She sealed Faith’s fate by holding up in front of her a leopard-print mini-length slip-gown that was, if that were possible, more sheer than the pajamas.

“Got it. Smile!” Raff yelled.

“Aargh,” Faith shrieked. She gathered up a random selection of underthings and tried to flee.

“Money,” shouted the clerk. “You have to pay me for those things.”

“Charge them to the room,” Joey said.

Faith whirled and came back to the desk. “Don’t you dare charge them to Cabot,” she said, tossing her card across the counter. She stood there and fumed while the crew stood back and congratulated themselves on a great candid take.

“Your card was not approved for this sum,” the clerk reported. Her mouth pursed disapprovingly.

“What sum will they approve?” Faith said, feeling increasingly helpless.

“Charge them to the room,” Raff insisted. “Cab would expect you to. I’ll sign the ticket if she won’t,” he told the clerk.

“You are taking over my life,” Faith gasped, clutching the unwrapped undies to her bosom.

“That’s showbiz, hon,” Raff said.

Joey treated her to a spiteful smile and said, “Let the lady put your pretties in a bag, honey, or would you rather run through the casino with a pair of bloomers dangling down the front of your suit.”

Chelsea said, “I got a great backlight on that leopard nightie. This was such fun, wasn’t it? So spontaneous.”

“JUST COULDN’T RESIST the casino, could you?”

She’d been gone so long he’d begun to worry. He couldn’t figure out exactly why she’d want to escape now that they’d come this far. Still, he was so consumed by a need to run away from this bizarre suite, from the twinges of desire he felt for Faith each time he allowed himself to look at her and, above all, from the entire situation, that he could easily imagine someone else feeling the same way.

He was surprised, however, by the cold stare with which she greeted his words. She came to a sharp halt just inside the Jungle Nightmare Suite, sending that cold stare toward the spot where he sat on the edge of a hammock, swinging, trying to get up enough nerve to lie down on the thing.

“I have not been in the casino,” she announced. “I’ve just been through my own private hell and the last thing I need, the very last thing I need is for you to start picking on me.”

“Picking on you? Picking on you? What happened?”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” she said grimly. She paused briefly in her stalk toward the “hers” bathroom. “Did you call Tippy and tell her what this suite was like?”

He shifted his gaze away from her. He had to learn to do things like that, make frequent calls to the woman he supposedly adored, or the sharp-eyed Faith would catch on. Until he learned, he’d have to use evasive tactics. “She’ll like it. Don’t worry.”

Faith stifled a sigh. “Then if you’ll excuse me, I need to cut off some price tags.”

What did she mean by that? It was the first time he’d seen her in anything close to a bad mood. She’d been displeased about his wanting to come to Reno on this honeymoon of his, but not like this. Not icy.

She was even cute icy, though. Finding he was counting off the months of his commitment to Tippy again, Cabot sighed, rolled carefully off the edge of the hammock and went to make himself appropriately debonair for dinner.

The rehearsal for his wedding night dinner. What a laugh.

THE MAÎTRE D’HÔTEL took one look at Faith in her cream-colored outfit and whispered to Cabot, “Iv you’ll give me a minute, zir, I can improve the location of your tables.”

Cabot could understand the man’s feelings. He’d taken one look at Faith in the dress with the thin layer of stuff floating over it, a dress that matched her hair but somehow made you want to drown yourself in her eyes, and desired nothing more than to improve every aspect of Faith’s life, from her location to her marital status.

“Give us a quick little shot here in the bar while we wait,” Raff said from somewhere near his left elbow.

“I guess you don’t mean a shot of whiskey,” Cabot growled, then said, “Okay, okay,” put a tense arm around Faith’s shoulders, feeling silk and the velvet softness of her shawl brush against his hand, and smiled.

“Oh, c’mon,” Raff said, coming out from behind the camera to give him a disgusted look. “Right now you just look hungry.”

He was hungry all right, but not for the Northern Italian cuisine in which the restaurant specialized. “All right,” he groused, “what do you want?”

“In these shots,” Joey said, “you’ll want to transmit a sense of splendors to come, if you get my drift. Give her a ‘just you wait, sweetheart, the night is only beginning’ look, and Faith, honey, you give him a look that says ‘oh, yummy, yummy.’”

“Joey,” Cabot said, struggling for patience, “save this kind of stuff for Tippy. She’s the actress. We’re just rehearsing in a general kind of way….”

He trailed off because no one seemed to be listening to him. They were all staring at Faith, who had settled in under his arm as if she belonged there.

“She’s got it,” Raff said. “She’s got the look we want. Now, come on, Cab, loosen up a little.”

He loosened up enough to look down at Faith. Whatever look she might have been wearing that pleased Raff so much, now she just looked startled.

Her eyes were very wide, and as he gazed down at her, they softened.

He felt like a robot, the way his mouth just went down to meet hers of its own accord, the way the muted noise of the restaurant faded to a pleasant hum, the way he hardly noticed the whir of the camera, the glare of the lights, Joey’s fluttering attentions. Just a robot, doing the thing he’d been designed to do, kissing Faith as if there were no reality and no tomorrow.

Her mouth was so soft, so warm, its heated moistness innocently maddening in its suggestiveness. He wanted to sink himself into it, devour her and be devoured. He felt the heat of her body beneath his hands, and the heat increased the intensity of her light flower scent until it surrounded them like a cloud.

“Cut. Good work.”

He heard it, he had a feeling something was expected of him, but he didn’t give a damn. He had a mission here, and that mission was to kiss Faith as long as she’d let him. His libido quickened when he realized she was doing more than letting him. She was exploring his mouth with hers, reaching for him, her response even sweeter for its innocence. The sweetness was overwhelming, taking him out of himself, out of his own life and onto a higher plane. His arms tightened around her, he drew her closer, heard her gasp…heard a throat-clearing sound and Raff saying “Cut!” a little more sharply than he’d said it before.

With enormous difficulty, exercising all his will-power, Cabot removed his mouth from Faith’s, then removed his arms from around her, still feeling like a robot. His head turned mechanically to see his crew staring at him with peculiar expressions on their various faces.

“Your tables are ready, Mr. Drennan.” The maître d’ wasn’t giving him a peculiar look. He was giving him that look people give lovers. It hit Cabot hard that what he had just done was to kiss Faith, really kiss her, right in front of his crew, the restaurant staff and the crowd at the bar.

“I hope you and Miss Temple enjoy your dinner,” the maître d’ whispered as the waiter led them away.

“Miss who?” Cabot managed to say. The man answered with an exaggerated conspiratorial wink.

Cabot whipped his handkerchief, the one that was just for show, out of his breast pocket and mopped his forehead with it. This problem was one he hadn’t anticipated, that Faith might actually be mistaken for Tippy. In fact, it came as a surprise to him that Tippy already had fans who’d recognize her, and he was her publicist! Pondering his inadequacies, he marched forward behind Faith’s slender, graceful figure to his doom. No, not his doom, his dinner. All too soon, it would be bedtime. Cabot stifled a moan.