Read the book: «An Australian Surrender: Girl on a Diamond Pedestal / Untouched by His Diamonds / A Question Of Marriage»
An Australian Surrender
Girl on a Diamond Pedestal
Maisey Yates
Untouched by His Diamonds
Lucy Ellis
A Question of Marriage
Lindsay Armstrong
www.millsandboon.co.uk
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Girl on a Diamond Pedestal
About the Author
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
EPILOGUE
Untouched by His Diamonds
About the Author
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
A Question of Marriage
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
Copyright
Girl on a Diamond Pedestal
Maisey Yates
MAISEY YATES was an avid Mills & Boon Modern Romance reader before she began to write them. She still can’t quite believe she’s lucky enough to get to create her very own sexy alpha heroes and feisty heroines. Seeing her name on one of those lovely covers is a dream come true.
Maisey lives with her handsome, wonderful, nappy-changing husband and three small children across the street from her extremely supportive parents and the home she grew up in, in the wilds of Southern Oregon, USA. She enjoys the contrast of living in a place where you might wake up to find a bear on your back porch and then heading into the home office to write stories that take place in exotic urban locales.
To my mom, Peggy,
for always encouraging me to simply be me.
And many thanks to Robyn, Gabby, Nicola,
for giving me coaching on my Australian phrases.
CHAPTER ONE
BIRCH Manor was the last constant left. The only thing remaining in her life that had always been there. Everyone else, her mother, her piano teacher, her fans … they were gone. The house was all she had.
Until the bank took it, at least.
Noelle sighed and looked out the window, her stomach tightening as the glossy black Town Car drove through the open wrought-iron gates and around the circular drive, stopping in front of the door to the manor.
She moved away from the window and hoped her guest didn’t notice the twitching curtains. It was too sad really, that she’d been reduced to this. Waiting for her home to be taken, watching for the financier coming to appraise the property. Waiting to be evicted. She had no idea where she would go.
The check she’d gotten last week had come with a handwritten note informing her that this would likely be the last royalty check for the foreseeable future. The company wasn’t selling her old albums anymore, and several of her digital albums had been taken down from the big websites. No one wanted her music.
Not that the royalties had been amazing over the past year. Hardly anything really, enough to buy a latté on the odd occasion. Now she wouldn’t even have that any more.
Suddenly she wanted the hot, frothy drink so badly she thought she might cry.
She was a sad case. Poor Noelle. She’d throw a pity party if she thought anyone would come. Well, the bank might if there was something to repossess. She laughed into the vast, empty entryway, then straightened her skirt and took her place in front of the door, not really sure why she was bothering to play hostess, only that it was reflexive. Her mother would have expected it of her. Demanded it.
Of course, her mother wasn’t here.
Noelle sucked in a sharp breath and reached for the doorknob. Her fingers tightened around it, waiting for the knock, and as soon as it pierced the silence, she tugged the door open. Her heart skipped, spinning a downward spiral into her stomach as she took in the man standing before her.
Tall and broad, in a suit that was definitely not of the standard-issue, bank-employee variety, but quality, custom made and tailored to flatter his amazing, masculine physique.
His lips curved into a smile, not a warm one, but one that she felt down to her toes. His eyes were dark, deep like chocolate, but without any of the sweetness. Her stomach tightened, a strong, sharp craving overwhelming her.
For coffee. Still coffee.
“Ms. Birch?” He had a nice voice too, rich and luxuriant, just like the suit. Why couldn’t it have been obnoxious? Nasal or high or something. But no, it was low and husky, smooth with a drop-dead-sexy Australian accent adding flavor to his words.
“Yes. Are you …” She changed tactics mid sentence, decided to go for something more forceful. “You’re from the bank.”
He stepped past her and into the house, his eyes sweeping the room, and her, in a dismissive manner. “Not exactly.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I came in lieu of the assessor. I’m interesting in making an offer on the property.”
“It’s in foreclosure.”
“I know. And I’m considering purchasing it before it goes to auction. I need to take a look and let the bank know what I intend to pay for it.”
“Really? Why didn’t I think of that? I would have given them … well, I think I might have five dollars in my bag over there.” She gestured to the red purse hanging on its hook by the door. “Think they’d go for it?”
“Not likely.” His answer was clipped, annoyed. Why was he annoyed? She hadn’t barged into his home early on a Saturday morning. She was the one who got to be annoyed. It was her right.
“Too bad,” she said, fighting to keep her tone light, flippant. Unaffected.
“From what I’ve seen of your loan information, you’ve been delinquent for months.”
Delinquent. She hated that term. Like she was a criminal or something because she didn’t have any money. Like she wouldn’t have paid the mortgage if her bank balance ever managed to exceed double digits.
“I’m aware of why you’re here—or, at least, I’m aware of what I did to make the bank take my house back.” The words stuck in her throat. “I don’t need a rundown from you.”
“Good. Because I’m not here to give it.”
“No. You’re here to find out if you want to move into my home before the bank has even thrown me out onto the streets,” she bit out. She never would have spoken to anyone that way a year ago. She would have been gracious, smiled, been faultless in every way. But that veneer had started eroding over the past year. She just felt angry now. Battered. Like she was dying slowly inside as life chipped away at her very last foothold.
She’d been trained never to show strain or fatigue, never, ever to give the tabloid media a reason to gossip about her. But the past year had been like hell on earth. A constant barrage of blows that never seemed to end. Every time she tried to stand up and dust herself off, something else would hit. And this seemed like the knock-out punch. Because what would she do without this last piece of security? Without this last link to everything she used to be?
Everything she would never be again.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Noelle,” he said, his dark eyes locked with hers. She felt like he could see her—not just that he was looking at her, but that he truly saw into her, beneath her polished veneer to the cluttered mess beyond.
She wanted to hide. Not just from him, but from everything.
Isn’t that what you’ve been doing for more than a year now?
Yes. Head down, trying to survive. Trying not to draw media attention. Too defeated to try and track her mother down. Because, as the lawyer she hadn’t been able to afford had pointed out, the money had all been in her mother’s name, so the battle would be long and expensive. It would devour the fortune that she was trying to win back. And if she didn’t win … it would mean the kind of debt she could never crawl out of. It all seemed impossibly hopeless.
“Then do enlighten me, Mr …?”
“Grey.” He extended his hand and she accepted the offer, his strong, masculine fingers curling around her slender, pale hand, engulfing it. Making her feel warm, too warm. “Ethan Grey.”
Ethan felt a flash of attraction, of pure, raw need, race through him when his hand touched Noelle’s soft skin. He ran through a litany of his very favorite swear words in his head. It had been too long since he’d gotten laid if a handshake had the power to get him hot.
Especially a handshake from this particular woman.
Maybe it’s genetic?
He bit back a sound of disgust at that thought. He would never use that as an excuse. He was in control of his own actions. If he sinned, it was because he’d chosen it. And at least he was man enough to admit it. Unlike his father. Damien Grey hadn’t been much of a role model in that respect.
Yes, she was beautiful, but mostly just fragile-looking with her delicate frame and pale skin. As if she didn’t get outside enough. Everything about her was pale. White-blond hair, large, robin’s-egg-blue eyes with long, thick lashes, darkened with the aid of makeup. She was like a porcelain doll, one that might break if handled too roughly.
The deep-red lipstick she was wearing was likely intended to give her more color, but all it did was show just how washed out the rest of her was. Pale and drawn, shadows beneath luminous blue eyes.
Even so, she was arresting. Her beauty was almost other-worldly.
She reminded him so much of her mother. That cold, self-possessed allure that made a man ache to see what was beneath all that control. The kind of woman who led men around on leashes, had them begging simply to be in her presence.
She had all of that, plus an air of vulnerability her mother hadn’t had. It only added to her appeal. It made a man want to do more than simply possess. It made him want to protect.
“Nice to meet you,” she mumbled, pulling her hand away.
He was relieved by the break in contact. “I don’t think you really mean that.”
She smiled, an expression that didn’t reflect in her eyes. “No. You’re right, but I’m too polite to say otherwise.”
“I’m glad for your manners then,” he said dryly.
“How is it I’ve misunderstood your motives, Mr. Grey?”
“I’m not planning on moving into your house.”
She arched an eyebrow. “No?”
“No. I plan on expanding the house and making it a hotel property.”
“What?”
She was small, maybe a foot shorter than his own height of six foot three. But there was nothing small about her presence. Even in her pale, diminished state she exuded a kind of force that demanded all eyes rest on her. Another similarity to her mother. At least from what he remembered of the woman. He’d been young the times he’d seen her, lingering near the gates to his childhood home, his father sneaking out to be with her like an adolescent boy. Leaving his wife and son behind so he could indulge in his forbidden passion.
Ethan clenched his hands into fists and forced his mind back to the present. He’d been over the past. Over and over it. Now was the time for action and he couldn’t afford to be distracted. Not when the key to his plan was standing right in front of him.
“How can you do that?” she asked, not waiting for him to answer. “This house is two hundred years old. It’s … it’s a marvel of architecture and … and … it’s my home.” Her voice cracked on the last word.
He knew that this was the only home in her name. He wasn’t sure what had happened to the penthouse in mid-town Manhattan, or the townhouse in Paris. When the sprawling estate had come up as a home in foreclosure he’d acted immediately. It was opportunistic on his part, more than a carefully planned-out maneuver. But from the moment he’d walked in, he knew he’d made the right move.
Strange how largely she and her mother had factored into his life, while she seemed to have no clue who he was. He hadn’t seen even a hint of recognition in her eyes, either on sight or at the sound of his name.
She was probably too dazzled by the brilliance of her own sparkle to look around and see anyone other than herself.
“I’m not planning on demolishing it, Noelle, merely expanding it. Adding a pool, maybe.”
She flinched when he said that. It bothered her, him talking about changing the house. She was attached to it, that much was obvious. And that would prove useful to him.
“Great, well, I don’t really want to be involved in the blueprint for this, so maybe I should leave and let you poke around for a while?”
“I don’t believe I need to spend any time poking around. My mind is made up. It’s a good investment and from where I’m standing it doesn’t appear that I’ll take a loss on it.”
The expression in her eyes changed again. Anger, pure and real, joined the anguish. So much emotion in her. He couldn’t summon up a single feeling in response. Too many years of shoving them aside. Of strangling the life out of his emotions whenever possible so he could move forward.
“So you can just buy it then? Like that? Without even stopping to consider what it might do to your … to your monthly budget or anything like that?”
He laughed. It was only a sound. It didn’t really express any of the things laughter usually did. “Not my main concern, no.”
He could see the struggle in her, the emotions that made her body tremble even as she kept her face set into a firm, determined expression. She wasn’t exactly what he’d imagined she might be. Pampered, yes. Clear prima donna tendencies, yes. But she was strong too. He was certain that beneath that brittle, fragile exterior was a backbone of steel. That only made her more interesting.
“Why is the house so important?” He was hoping it was important. Everything depended on it.
Because it all depended on her. On getting her to agree to his proposition. Revenge was sweet, but she would give it the bitter edge that he craved. That he needed in order to have satisfaction.
“Why? Why do you think?” she asked, her voice breaking again. “It’s the only home I have. When the bank takes it, I won’t get any money from the sale. I’ll have nothing. Less than nothing. I have nowhere to go.”
“Most single women don’t live by themselves in a mansion that could easily house ten other families,” he said.
Noelle fought to keep her cool, to keep from breaking down. From showing any weakness. She had been trained to look calm on the surface no matter what. If her mother tore into her before a show, telling her she wasn’t beautiful anymore, that it was her fault ticket sales were down, she still had to go on stage. And she would keep every emotion locked in her, letting it escape through her fingertips. In the sound of the piano.
Her emotion didn’t seem able to escape that way anymore. Now when she played it was dry, stilted. There was nothing behind it. Nothing but empty, technical skill.
She took a breath. “It’s not a matter of downsizing, although that would have helped the electric bill.” A bill she had done her very best to scale back. No lights during the day, no heat, the only source of warmth the fireplace in her bedroom so she didn’t freeze at night. “I don’t have anything,” she said, shame creeping over her.
He arched one dark eyebrow, his expression cool, blank of any sort of caring or true interest. “How is that possible?”
The last thing she wanted to do was give him her big bad sob story. She’d found a lot of strength over the past year. Just getting up had been a struggle some days, but she’d done it. And she’d done it with no support. Asking for help now violated that sense of independence and pride. But she was staring homelessness in the face and she wasn’t certain her pride came into it anymore.
“Everything’s gone. Don’t you know what happens to child stars when their parents manage everything? It’s a story that gets repeated on entertainment news channels quite frequently.”
She wasn’t a child now, which was why she’d become so uninteresting to the public. Concert halls were half-empty when before she’d filled them. A nine-year-old girl playing original compositions on a massive grand piano was a spectacle. It was amazing. A woman doing the same thing lacked the wow factor.
Empty halls meant more pressure. More drills. More practice. Something was wrong and it was her fault. And then it had all stopped. The music quit playing in her head. She looked at a beautiful landscape, at people on the sidewalk, and she heard nothing. Once, it had all been enhanced by the soundtrack in her mind. Melodies that came about constantly, endlessly.
It was quiet now. Dead.
“They took everything,” he said.
“My mother did.” The betrayal was still like an open wound inside her, something she couldn’t seem to reconcile or heal.
That got a slight reaction from him, a bit of real shock in his dark eyes. “And she’s gotten away with it?”
“It’s all in her name,” she said. “Most of my money was earned before I turned eighteen and even after that I never bothered to change anything. I mean, why would I? She had always managed my finances and I trusted her. I have no contract saying any of it should have been mine, or that I earned it. So that’s how I ended up with nothing.” She paused for a moment and looked up at the ceiling. “Well, this house is in my name, so yay me.”
The only person who knew about her mother was the lawyer she’d spoken to. She hadn’t been able to bear the thought of telling anyone else. The fact that her own mother would do that to her. Her piano teacher had quit. Friends, people she’d toured with sometimes, were still busy making music. And she was alone.
In an old empty house with bills that she could never hope to pay. She’d been treading water until recently, working on a plan, some sort of solution … but now she was going under. And she knew she would drown before any sort of help came along.
Ethan knew he shouldn’t really be shocked that Noelle’s mother had betrayed her like that. A bitch like her didn’t care who she hurt. She certainly hadn’t cared about the pain she’d caused his mother. Not in the least.
But as much as he hated Noelle’s mother for her part, it was his father Damien who had to pay for the sins of the past. And Noelle was in the perfect position to make that a reality.
He ignored the slight twinge of conscience he began to feel in his chest, spreading to his arms, making his fingertips feel numb. He didn’t have time for a conscience. Noelle would get what she needed, and he would get exactly what he wanted.
Everyone would win.
Except for his father.
“Will you be touring again soon?” he asked.
Noelle had been touring since she was a child. He’d never been to see her, but he’d seen her name in the news frequently. She’d played at Carnegie Hall, she’d played for the Queen of England. She was a household name and had been for at least eleven years. And apparently, all of that touring had left her with nothing.
“I’m not touring anymore,” she said tightly. “My label dropped me because I couldn’t book venues. My publicist dropped me. My agent.” She made a clicking sound with her tongue. “So, yeah, I’m pretty much done with music.”
She looked down, lashes fanning over high cheekbones that seemed a bit more pronounced than they should be. She had that cabbage-soup-diet look about her, like she wasn’t getting quite enough to eat. He couldn’t imagine her turning down his proposition, not when he knew she needed it so badly.
And he was tempted, tempted to come out with it now.
But it was too soon.
He was a master of the business deal, and tomorrow, he would set in motion the most important deal of his life. He wouldn’t allow impatience to ruin that.
“Come to my office tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll send a car for you around noon.”
“Why? So we can discuss where in my hundred-year-old rose garden you’re going to dig your inground pool?”
“Not exactly.”
He had no intention of turning her home into a hotel. He had no intention of purchasing it at all. Sure, a hotel here would bring in money, but that money would be nothing compared to the satisfaction he would gain by executing vengeance against his father.
Noelle, and her home, were the key to that revenge.
CHAPTER TWO
ETHAN’S office building was warm. Noelle let it wash over her as she walked into the open, stately marble foyer and crossed to an elevator that took her to the top floor.
Even the elevator spoke of luxury. She ached for it. For gorgeous hotels with amazing views and thousand-thread-count sheets. For heat, and for lunch that consisted of more than instant noodles with little freeze-dried chunks of vegetables.
For a crowded auditorium and applause meant just for her.
“You really are pathetic,” she said to the empty lift.
Yes, she really was. But knowing that didn’t make the longing go away. Her life had never been easy, she knew that. Sometimes she’d wished for all of the fame, the practice, the shrill voice of her mother and the stern voice of her instructor to go away.
But now that they had, she was faced with some harsh realities she’d never dealt with before.
She sucked in a sharp breath as the elevator stopped. Her stomach turned over, her hands shook as if she was about to go out on stage. The kick of adrenaline was addictive. It was one of the many things she missed about her former life as a concert pianist.
This was different though. The familiar spike of adrenaline was infused with a warm, honeyed sensation that pooled in her stomach and made her body ache in places she’d never given a thought to.
She clenched her teeth and took a breath. Focus.
She walked from the lift to a reception area and gave her name to the man sitting behind the desk. While he searched for it in the computer, she picked one of her favorite pieces—not one of her own, but one of Mozart’s—and began to run through the notes.
Pictured her fingers flying over the keys. Effortlessly, joyfully.
It was something she always did before a performance, to remind her of how prepared she was. That she was ready. That she wouldn’t make a mistake.
“Just through that door there, Ms. Birch,” the receptionist said, smiling brightly.
“Thank you,” she replied, keeping her mind on the music as she walked to the door.
She tried to slow her breathing, keeping it in rhythm with the legato portion of the piece. Slow and steady. Don’t rush. Don’t falter. Smooth.
She opened the door and the notes fluttered from her head like startled birds. She wasn’t prepared for whatever this meeting was, and there was no use pretending otherwise.
Because Ethan was more frightening than a theater filled with three thousand people. He was sitting behind a broad, neat desk, his large hands folded in front of him, his expression even harder than it had been yesterday at her house.
“Good morning,” he said, unfolding his hands and putting them behind his head, the action so casual it was maddening. That he wasn’t tense at all when she felt like a slight breeze could shatter her was beyond unfair.
“Morning,” she said, refusing to lie and call it good. “I’m here for our mysterious meeting.”
“Have a seat,” he offered, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk.
“No.” She wasn’t going to put herself in that position. Him behind his big desk, her sitting there on the opposite side like a child about to be scolded.
Being meek and subservient didn’t work. It didn’t keep people with you. It only made you easier to deal with. And this past year she’d come to see that she’d been being thoroughly dealt with all of her life. That was one good result of having a bomb detonated in the middle of her existence. She wasn’t going to play the pawn anymore.
A harsh lesson learned the hard way. But she had learned it. In some ways, without her gilded cage, she was stronger now than she’d ever been. Even if it didn’t always feel like it.
A half smile curved his lips. She didn’t like that. Because it wasn’t an amused smile, it was something else. Something sort of dark beneath the surface of the expression. “No?”
“I’d prefer to stand,” she said stiffly.
He inclined his head. “If you like.”
He stood then, and she felt dwarfed. He was a foot taller than she was, and broad. More than that, he just seemed to fill the room with his presence. The something else that gave people whiplash as they passed him in the street, trying to get a look at him. Mad sex appeal or something. She stretched her neck and straightened her shoulders. It didn’t help.
“I would say that this was business,” he said. “That it’s not personal. But that would be a lie.”
She swallowed hard. “Would it?”
“Yes. I don’t need the money your home would bring in as a boutique hotel. I don’t need the money that would come in from buying the family business, Grey’s. But I don’t want him to have it. And that’s where you come in.”
“Me?”
“It was a nice accident, seeing that your home was about to be foreclosed on. I thought I might be able to help you out. For a fee.”
“A fee?”
“There is no such thing as a free lunch. Or, in your case, a free manor house situated a reasonable commuter distance from the city.”
“You must realize that I don’t have anything to give you,” she said, her heart sinking into her stomach at the same moment that the back of her neck started to prickle. He must know she didn’t have money. Which meant he must want something else. And that couldn’t be anything good.
“You’ve never heard my name?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “Should I have heard it?”
“I know yours. And not just because you’re famous. Or, more accurately, I know your mother’s name.”
“How?”
“Do you know the name Damien Grey?”
“I …” She almost said no. But it was a name she knew, not the last name, but the first. A very familiar name. “Yes. Well, Damien, but … it could be a different Damien.”
“I’m betting not. Damien Grey is my father, and for several years, he was your mother’s lover.”
As revelations went, it shouldn’t have been shocking. It wasn’t as though she’d believed her mother had been out having tea parties while Noelle spent nights alone in grand hotel suites before performances, but her mind had never gone there.
She did remember her mother talking about Damien, though. Meeting him. Staying with him. She’d been eight, maybe, when that had started and she simply hadn’t put the relationship in the right context.
“I always thought he was in the music industry,” she said, realizing how stupid that sounded. She shook her head. “But what does this have to do with me? Or is it all part of drawing out the torture that has been the past year of my life? I’m not quite dead yet, want to land the fatal blow?”
“I have a proposition for you.”
She gave him a pointed glare and drew on every shred of strength she’d been building in herself for the past year. “If this has anything to do with filling the position in your life that my mother filled in your father’s, you can take your proposition and shove it up your—”
“I’d like you to be my wife.”
She took a step back and sucked in air, choking on it, coughing and coughing while trying to catch her breath.
“Are you all right?” Ethan took a step toward her and she held up her hand, gesturing for him to stop. A gesture he ignored.
He put his hand on her back, his touch warm and … comforting, in some strange way. A connection. She hadn’t had a connection with anyone in so long. She wondered if she ever truly had.
She cleared her throat and breathed deeply. “I’m fine now.” She stepped away from him.
“Do you need something?”
She’d have to make a list.
Yesterday’s craving came back to her in full force. “A latte?”
He nodded and walked back to his desk, pressing the intercom button on his phone. “Christophe, I need a latte.” He looked back at Noelle. “How do you like it?”
“Vanilla. With whipped cream.”
He repeated the instructions to Christophe then cut off the connection.
“It will be here soon,” he said.
She wanted to cry, and it was the stupidest thing. Yet she couldn’t stop the ache of emotion that tightened her throat. No, it wasn’t emotion, she told herself. It was her recent choking experience. That was all. “Thank you.”
“Now, shall I repeat my offer or will it send you into a fit again?”
She narrowed her eyes. “I choked. Although if it had been a fit, it wouldn’t be overly surprising, would it?”
“Marriage in exchange for your home. Free and clear, not owned by the bank, but by you.”
Well, wasn’t that a bright shiny poison apple? Take a bite, dearie. “What’s the catch? Why me?”
“I thought you might have a bigger stake in this than a stranger would. Think about your mother seeing you in the news, rising back to the top on my arm. The simple truth is, I need a wife to get the company. And if that wife was you, if you were a part of taking it from my father’s grasping hands, well, it would be that much sweeter.”
“That’s … I don’t know. I don’t know if I can be involved in this. It’s …”
“Let me simplify it. If you marry me, in name only, and divorce me once Grey’s is transferred into my name, you get your house. And the rest of it doesn’t need to matter to you.”
“How can it not matter to me?” she asked.
He shrugged. “That’s up to you. But how do you think it would be for your mother to see you in the paper, to see you back at the top? In circles she can’t move in any more, not once you’re in them. Because then they might find out what she did to you. Maybe you don’t have legal recourse, but you can close her out of society. If I remember her correctly, that mattered a great deal to her.”
Noelle tried to think through the pulse pounding in her temple. “Yes. It did. Does.”
“Wouldn’t it be nice to take a piece of that back from her?”
Yes. Yes it would. And no, she didn’t think she was bigger than that. Because all her life, she’d been nothing more than her mother’s ticket in. A chance for her to move in the circles she’d always dreamed of while Noelle did all the work to keep her there.
“How do I know I can trust you?” she asked.
“How do you know you can trust anyone?”
Noelle thought of her mother. Of finding out one day that the penthouse in Manhattan was empty … and so was her bank account. “I suppose you can’t.”
“Time. A blood relationship. Marriage vows. None of it can ensure you know someone. But you have nothing to lose. You can only gain. You don’t have anything else for me to take.”
Well, that wasn’t entirely true, but she wasn’t planning on announcing it anytime soon. “But this would be …” She fought the blush creeping into her face. “Not a real marriage, right?”
“A real wedding. A legal marriage. But nothing more. Nothing permanent or physical.”
“Oh.” It sounded simple. Uncomplicated and … tempting. A chance not only to get her home back, but to have the bank stop calling and sending notices. A chance to show her mother she hadn’t won.
“In the interest of us knowing each other better, I’m going to ask you some questions and you will answer me. Honestly.”
Noelle blinked, the change of topic making her head spin. “Are you interviewing me for the position?”
“As any good businessman would.”
Noelle shifted, uncomfortable beneath his assessing gaze.
“I know you’ve never been married,” he said.
“No.” She shook her head.
“Do you have a man in your life? A lover?”
She nearly laughed. Where would she have kept a lover? In her suitcase while they were on the road? Her mother would never have allowed such a thing. Sure, she got to make time for men, but she would never have permitted Noelle the same luxury. Would never have let her compromise her image like that. And now … Well, she wasn’t about to bring a date back to her big empty house and tell him all about how washed-up she was over a cup of bargain-brand soda.
“Not at the moment,” she replied dryly.
“Good. It would have to remain that way for the duration of the arrangement. For appearances.”
“I think I can manage that.”
An answering smile curved his lips. “Excellent.”
“And I’ll get my house?”
“And then some.”
“What else?” she asked, hating that she cared. Hating that she was tempted.
“I would give you a settlement when we divorced. That’s in addition to all the media attention you’ll get as a result of our association. I attend a lot of events and as my fiancée, you would attend with me.”
The longing that assaulted her was like a great, dark pit opening up inside. Empty and huge, waiting to be filled. Needing it.
Parties and people and cameras. Luxury. Things that had been so absent from her life. A link to the girl she’d been, the things she’d had. This was a chance to have it again. She despised the weakness in her that wanted it. That needed it.
And yet she felt crushed by the desire for it.
There was a quiet knock on the door and Christophe came in, latte in hand. The wide-mouthed caramel-colored mug was like a vessel of life in her eyes. She hadn’t bought coffee in weeks, months maybe. Not even for the machine at home.
She took it in her hands and let the heat from the ceramic seep into her palms. “Thank you,” she murmured, her throat tight again.
Christophe smiled and made a hasty exit, as she imagined he was paid to do. Quiet efficiency.
She took a sip and was horrified when her eyes blurred with tears. She blinked hard as she swallowed the warm, comforting liquid, allowing it to soothe the pain in her chest.
She lowered the cup and looked fixedly at the swirl of thick cream on the top of her latte.
A flash of recognition mingled with the image of a headline in her mind. He’s offering you this. A way to escape. A way out.
And a way to prove to your mother that she didn’t win.
“So this would be a marriage as far as legalities go, but not … not permanent and not physical,” she repeated.
“Exactly. No one, including my father, needs to know the personal aspects of the relationship. But it is imperative we make it down the aisle. I came close once, and it’s going to take more than close to get what I want.”
She nodded. Tried to picture it. Tried to picture getting married. Funny how she’d never really thought about it before. She’d played at weddings, celebrity weddings, weddings for royalty, but she’d never once thought of her own.
Her scope had always been so narrow. She’d lived and breathed piano. Performance, composition, practice, drills … she had dreamed music. It had been her all-consuming passion and drive. And when it had faltered, her mother had always been there to push her past it. To make sure that she didn’t lose focus for even a moment.
It was good in a way. She didn’t have a romantic fantasy tied to the thought of wedding. A wedding was … well, it was paper. Paper with performance added into the mix. And she did performance. At least she had done it. She’d done it well, too.
A kind of restless energy overtook her, starting in her fingertips, tingling up her arms and to her stomach. Why not do it? How was it really different than any other performance she’d given? She’d always projected a character on stage. Serene and sweet no matter what was going on inside of her. No matter if she’d been fighting with her mother or if she’d suffered a slap across the face at the other woman’s hands ten minutes before show time. She just added another layer of powder and went out on stage, smile pasted on.
“It’s a temporary arrangement. A business proposition. And I would pay you well.”
“And we would be expected to … go out. Go to parties, that sort of thing.” It shamed her that it mattered, almost more than the money. To be bathed in the glow of admiration again. Nothing felt like that. Nothing. It made her feel that she was a part of something, that she was important. That she was loved.
And she’d been so alone for so long. Hiding, hoping no one would find out what had happened.
“Yes. We would have to at least give the appearance of a courtship, even if it is a whirlwind one.”
“Stranger things have happened, I suppose.”
“Much stranger.”
“Like a mother making off with her daughter’s earnings?”
He nodded. “Or a father betraying his family to spend time with his mistress.”
And this was a chance, for both of them, to make some of it right. And maybe she was making it more than it was because right now the latte was so warm and so comforting, and the caffeine was making her feel more awake and alive than she had in weeks but it seemed slightly poetic in nature.
They had both been manipulated. Betrayed in a way. They had both lost things they had earned, things that were theirs by right, at the hands of those who were supposed to love them.
They deserved to take those things back. They both deserved to win.
“You’ll put this all in a … a contract, right?” She had learned the hard way that even her own mother couldn’t be trusted, she wasn’t about to put her trust in a man she’d only just met.
“We’ll have a prenup. Of course it won’t outline the specifics of the arrangement, as we don’t want that made public. The house will be yours upon the signing of our marriage license, money after the divorce.”
“You’ve thought this through.”
A wicked grin curved his lips. “I’m making it up as I go along, but I’ve been told I’m pretty good at improvising.”
“I would say so.”
She wasn’t. She was pretty crap at improvising, as it happened. The whole last year was proof of that.
“I’ve begun the paperwork with the bank to purchase the manor. I’ll sign it over to you once we speak the vows.”
“And the prenup?”
“My lawyer can have it ready by tomorrow.”
She felt dizzy. Her life had been stagnant for so long, nothing to mark the passing of months but a new mortgage bill in the mail. Now suddenly things were changing. She felt like she might be able to see the light at the end of the tunnel.
And there had been nothing but damp, dank cold for so long.
“Good,” she heard herself say. She felt as if she were hovering above the scene now, watching it all with a surreal kind of detachment.
It didn’t seem real, that was for sure. But it felt hopeful in a really strange way.
That marriage to a man she didn’t know or love seemed hopeful said a lot about the sad state of her affairs, that was for certain.
“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” he said.
“Your place or mine?” she asked, trying to force a laugh.
A dark light shone in his eyes. “I’d say yours, since it is the thing that brought us together.”
CHAPTER THREE
ETHAN could hear the music as soon as he walked up to the door of the manor. It wasn’t a classical piece. It wasn’t a song at all. Repetition and scales, the same few notes over and over again with regimented perfection. A straight, staccato rhythm more like a military maneuver than anything related to music.
Strange. He hadn’t associated that kind of discipline with her. But then, she looked so much like her mother it was hard for him not to think of their personalities being as identical as their features. Celine Birch was a cloud of perfume and gauzy clothing in his memory. Frothy and elegant, nice even. It had taken some time to realize what she was.
His father’s mistress. No, more than that. The woman Damien Grey had loved above his family. The woman he hadn’t even bothered to hide from his wife.
Ethan gritted his teeth and raised his hand, pounding on the door hard and fast. The strains of the piano continued, unbroken, unyielding. He turned the knob and the door opened. He followed the sounds of the piano, his footsteps echoing as he crossed the marble tiled entryway and walked into the formal sitting room.
There were no interior lights on, the opulent crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling was dark. The only illumination came from the sun shining through two large windows.
And then there was Noelle, sitting at the piano, her eyes fixed on a point in front of her rather than down at her fingers, playing the notes over and over again. The sun was like golden fire in her hair, illuminating it, giving the impression of a halo. He wondered how it was possible for someone who looked so angelic to set fire to a man’s blood without so much as a sultry glance.
She looked up and the music stopped abruptly, her toolarge eyes overly wide in her face. “Ethan.” She scrambled around to the other side of the glossy white grand piano.
“Am I early?” He knew he wasn’t.
“I …” She looked around for as if searching for something. “I don’t have a clock in here.”
“What are you working on?”
She shook her head and tucked a strand of glossy hair behind her ear. “Nothing. Drills. Keeping up my dexterity.”
“Do you practice every day?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t think you were doing music anymore.”
She shrugged. “I don’t have anything else to do.”
He walked over to the piano and ran his fingers over the sleek body. “I don’t have a piano in my penthouse.”
She frowned slightly. “Do you play?”
He chuckled. “No.”
“Then why …” she trailed off, her mouth falling open. “Oh.”
“You didn’t imagine you would continue to live out here in the country did you? Especially not after we’re married.”
“I hadn’t really … I hadn’t really thought about it.”
“I’ll be installing you in a penthouse suite in one of my hotels. All the better to garner the proper attention and establish ourselves as a real couple.”
She winced over his choice of words. “Right.”
“Is that a problem?”
She shook her head. “I’m used to moving around.” Actually, the habit of moving around was so ingrained in her that staying in one place for so long had actually felt wrong in many ways. This past year, stuck out in the weeds all by herself, had been more surreal than a different city every night.
“I trust you’ll find everything to your satisfaction.”
Although the idea of running into her seemed extremely appealing.
“Great.” She bit her lip and looked back at the piano.
“Do you need it in Manhattan?”
“I don’t … it’s a pain to move pianos. Hardly worth it.”
“I’ll buy you a new one and have it moved into the suite.”
He said it so casually, like the purchase of a piano that would run him six figures meant absolutely nothing. There was a time when it had been the same for her. She’d had an allowance, provided by her mother, with the money from touring, merchandise and album sales, and she’d wanted for nothing.
There had been so much money then. Money she’d earned. Money that had somehow never been hers.
“I can’t ask you to do that.”
“It’s nothing, Noelle. As you mentioned before, I have no shortage of resources at my disposal. You and I are working together and I see no reason why this partnership can’t be beneficial for the both of us.”
She frowned slightly. “I suppose.”
Noelle wasn’t certain what to do with such an accommodating offer. That he cared about her need to play the piano seemed strange. Her playing didn’t benefit him. Now, her mother had always made certain there was a piano in every hotel suite they used. She couldn’t skip practice, not for one afternoon. Being on tour was no excuse. She always got her hours in on the piano. It was her job, and she worked at it as faithfully as anyone who went to an office every day.
Or well beyond that point. It was her only input into the business that was her career. Her mother did the networking. She went to the parties, talked to booking agents, labels and made sure all the needs per her tour rider were in order. It was all about making sure that Noelle Birch—the business—was in order. It was never about her as a person.
But Ethan just seemed to be concerned with what she wanted, what might make her happy. It was strange. It made her feel warm inside, more even than yesterday’s latte. She liked that even less than his wicked smiles. Because she knew better than to trust those feelings. Than to trust people who acted like they cared.
“Do you have the prenup?” she asked, stomach suddenly filled with a shivering sensation.
“Yes.” He reached into his interior suit-jacket pocket and took out a folded stack of papers.
His fingers brushed against hers as he passed them to her. He was warm, like his office. She unfolded the papers and skimmed them, her heart accelerating when she got to the part about children and custody.
“But we don’t need …”
“This is mostly a standard document. As far as even my lawyer is concerned this is a real marriage. My grandfather wanted me to have stability. The kind I lacked growing up, I think. Of course, I’m of the opinion that marriage doesn’t necessarily bring that sort of stability. You can understand why.”
“Haven’t you tried just explaining to him?”
“You don’t explain things to my grandfather. There’s no point. He knows everything already. He’s coming from a good place. And I don’t mind following his rules—if only because I have such an easy time bending them,” he grinned.
She kept on reading the prenup, her eyes widening when she saw the settlement she was entitled to in the event of a divorce. An event that they already had planned.
“Enough?” he asked.
She cleared her throat. “I … yes.”
It was generous. Not enough that she’d never have to work again, but enough to keep her out of abject poverty, and with the full ownership of the manor in addition to the cash settlement it was all more than enough.
She could sell the manor, get a smaller apartment in town. She’d have enough to buy lattes and eat more than a cup of instant noodles for dinner.
It was enough that she couldn’t say no. Even if the whole situation made her want to get in the shower and scrub her skin until she could wash away the film it had left on her. Her mother sleeping with his father, hurting his family that way. The idea of marrying just so she could keep her house …
Okay, so it might seem mercenary marrying for money, but it wasn’t a real marriage. And why shouldn’t she be a little bit mercenary? Everyone in her life had looked out for themselves, they’d used her to make their position in life better. What was wrong with her doing something for herself? And she wasn’t using Ethan, she was helping him. They were helping each other. It was a very good rationalization, anyway.
“Once we leave here, you aren’t backing out.”
She shook her head. “I won’t. I can’t.”
“Just remember, you stand to lose a lot more than I do.”
“There’s no way I could forget that.” She bit her lip hard, trying to block out the feeling of hopelessness that was rising up in her, a feeling she had become far too familiar with. “Do you have a pen?” she asked, holding out her hand and hoping he didn’t notice the slight tremble in her fingers.
“You don’t have to sign it yet. We haven’t even applied for the license. The actual wedding won’t be for a while. We’ll have to establish ourselves as a couple. For my grandfather’s satisfaction.”
“But I’m ready to sign.” She was ready to move forward. Ready to commit one hundred percent.
“Good.” He took the documents from her and put them back in his pocket. “Are you ready to come with me now?”
“Now?”
“Why wait?”
She looked around the living room, at the last connection to her former life. “No reason. It might take me a while to pack.”
“I can wait.”
It was the kind of opulence that felt like both a half-remembered dream and her due at the same time. The kind she had almost forgotten about, but longed for. She’d been reminded, with full and brutal force, just how much she missed it yesterday in Ethan’s office, the warmth and glamour surrounding her like a comforting blanket.
And now, in the open, expansive suite, she just wanted to throw Ethan out the door and turn circles like the little girl she’d never truly been.
“Does it meet your standards?” he asked, resting his broad, dark hand on the white marble bar top.
She turned and forced a smile, trying to ignore the growing ball of emotion in her chest. “Perfectly.”
“I can have a piano brought in tomorrow, does that work for you?”
“Yes, absolutely.” A piano too. To go with the lush, amazing view of Central Park. And money. All fine and good to stand on principle and pretend it didn’t matter … when you had some. But when you didn’t … well, that was when you realized how important money was. It might not buy happiness, but it paid power bills, bought food and clothes. Those things made her pretty happy.
The knot inside her grew larger, made it hard to breathe. She felt … the whole thing just felt wrong, and yet she didn’t think she could walk away. It wasn’t like she was sleeping with him. That would make it all truly reprehensible.
But she still felt as if she was selling herself.
Haven’t you always sold yourself?
What else was performance anyway? She had always been the product. It wasn’t just her music. If her music had been all people wanted from her, it wouldn’t have mattered that she was an adult now. That she was no longer a cute little cherub dwarfed by the grand piano she played.
This was just a different venue.
And she wasn’t going to sleep with him.
Her body felt hot all over just thinking about it. She had zero experience when it came to men, and while in theory she knew about sex—all about it, since she had a pretty curious nature and she’d done a lot of … reading on the subject—she’d never had a chance to put her knowledge into practice. When would she have found the time? And her mother would have …
She closed that thought off. She didn’t care anymore. She had once—she had cared so much. She’d wanted to please her mother, her instructor, her fans and her tutors more than anything in the world. To earn love by being talented and easy to deal with, to give and give.
She had nothing to show for it.
She didn’t care what her mother would think of her now. And, considering her mother’s personal life, it would be hypocritical for her even to have an opinion. So she could sleep with Ethan if she wanted to. She didn’t have anyone around telling her what to do, what to wear and what to think. She could do what she liked, and that meant she didn’t have to hide away, she didn’t have to do drills every day and she didn’t have to stay away from men.
A little tremor wracked her body. Sensual and shameful. Sensual because … well, Ethan just took her thoughts down that path. Shameful because, while in normal circumstances the idea might appeal, she wasn’t out to sell her body in the interest of spiting her mother. No, things weren’t as desperate as all that.
There was a quiet knock on the door and Ethan crossed behind her. She turned quickly. She wanted to make sure she could see him.
He opened the door without checking to verify who it was. “Yes?”
“Mr. Grey.” An employee of the hotel, identified only by his highly polished name tag—his sharply tailored suit was as far from a hotel uniform as anything Noelle had ever seen—stood in the entryway. “When I heard you were here, I thought I would come and make sure that everything was—”
“Everything’s fine, Thomas,” Ethan said, moving to where Noelle was standing, his stance possessive. A clear sign that he was linking the two of them, proving to the employee just where things stood.
Of course, it was all for show. But he was as good as putting on a show as she had once been.
“Noelle will be staying here for the foreseeable future. Everything is to go to my account. Food and service, anything she wants.”
She didn’t—couldn’t—believe that Ethan was truly giving her carte blanche to have whatever she wanted. All part of the show, she reminded herself. Because a man could hardly seem stingy in regards to his … whatever the world was meant to see her as at the moment.
A potential wife. A high-priced call girl.
Her heart thudded dully in her chest. They could see her as either, it wouldn’t matter. Ethan would marry her in the end and that would put a bit of salve on her reputation. Of course, the reputation would blister again after the divorce, but that was the least of her worries. At the moment she had no reputation. Her star had fizzled out.
Ethan moved nearer to her, curling his arm around her waist, drawing her to his body. His fingers moved, idly, slowly, the touch feather light over her clothing. Yet it seemed to blaze a trail of fire that penetrated the thin fabric of her blouse, leaving smoldering embers in its wake that retained the heat long after the flame had moved on.
She tried to suppress the small shiver that raced up her spine, but she couldn’t. Too much of her energy was focused on keeping her face neutral, keeping from conveying to Thomas that having a man’s fingertips drifting over the line of her waist was anything more than a common occurrence.
“Yes, sir.” Thomas nodded. “And will you be staying here as well? In the interest of providing you with the best service.”
Yeah, right. More like in the interest of being nosy.
Ethan’s fingers drifted further up her body, to her ribs, curling around, barely brushing the underside of her breast. She stiffened, not allowing the gasp that had climbed into her throat to escape, not allowing her face to betray her shock.
“I’ll call down in the morning for room service when I’m here. Rest assured, I’ll be certain my needs are met while I’m staying.”
Her face was hot, it felt like the blood beneath it was boiling, pulsing as it rushed through her veins and lit her skin like a beacon. She sucked in a breath. “Or I will.” There. This was a game. That’s all it was. And she wasn’t about to be bested.
She didn’t need heaps of—or any—sexual experience in order to play the part.
Ethan caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilted her face up so that she had to meet his liquid black gaze. “I have no doubt about that. In fact, I have a feeling I’ll be requiring very little in the way of hotel room service.”
Her pulse was pounding in her temples now, but she ignored it. Instead of shrinking away from him, as her body was screaming at her to do, she curled herself into him, putting her palm flat on his chest.
It was solid, well-muscled. She could feel the definition of his body beneath the layers of his crisp dress shirt and suit jacket. He didn’t have the body of a man who spent all his time behind a desk.
He had the body of a man who worked out. Shirtless. Maybe he swam? Water sluicing over all that enticing, golden skin, muscles shifting and bunching, tensing and relaxing as he moved …
She chastised her imagination big-time for that unnecessary foray into fantasy.
Understandably, their little sex farce brought sex to mind, but that didn’t mean she was allowed to indulge in thoughts like that.
No, she was allowed to. If she wanted to. Which she didn’t. Because this thing with Ethan was a business transaction. And that meant sex and fantasy had no place in it. She had to remember that.
She pressed her palm more firmly against him, proving to herself that he was just a man. A person. A body. Nothing to get excited about. “I’ll make sure you have whatever you need,” she said, fighting to keep the tremor out of her voice.
Thomas, the nosy employee, forced a smile. “Excellent, sir, then if everything is to your liking …?”
“Yes, we’re fine for now.”
“I’ll leave you then.”
When he turned and left, Noelle let out a gust of breath and tried to extricate herself from Ethan’s hold without flailing.
“I think the show is over,” she said, gritting her teeth when he continued to hold onto her.
“Is it?” he released her. “Too bad. I enjoyed that very much.”
“It was beyond thrilling,” she said, her smile false, very purposefully false so he would know just how fake the sentiment was. She had a feeling he wasn’t being sincere. Just trying to see if he could agitate her.
“You surprise me sometimes.”
“Do I?” she asked, her teeth locked tightly together.
“The day we met you seemed very … pale.”
“I was about to lose my home, and you were scoping it out and making changes before my rear end had even hit the gutter.”
“True enough.”
Pale. What a strange way to describe her. Or maybe not. Pale sounded weak, washed-out. As if something had more potential and yet wasn’t reaching it. Her stomach sank a bit. That was her. She couldn’t even argue.
She was beginning to find that lost potential now though. She just had to get her life back on track. Get some resources so that she had a square one to start from. Maybe she could play again. Maybe the music would come back to her. If she played this opportunity right, she would have a chance.
Without it, she would lose the only asset she possessed. She would be on her own again, with nothing. No job experience, and not a whole lot of real-life experience.
“A year ago I never would have had the courage to do this,” she said. “But, way back then, I didn’t recognize a very important truth.”
“What’s that, beautiful?”
Her stomach tightened when he said that. Beautiful. She used to feel beautiful sometimes. She wanted to feel beautiful again.
It’s up to you to feel beautiful though. Everyone else could just be lying.
Yes, it was up to her.
“I learned that you can’t count on anyone. The only person I can trust to hold my best interests in high regard is me. If I want to change things, I have to do it, because no one else will do it for me.”
“A hard lesson to learn, but an important one,” he said.
“Very. So I’m taking care of me. Of my best interests.”
“Don’t forget my best interests. Don’t forget your end of the deal.”
“I won’t.”
“Good.” He leaned in, his scent teasing her sense. The only man she’d had any exposure to was her piano teacher, and he had smelled of hair grease and heavy cologne. Ethan smelled like soap, clean skin and a little bit of something unique that was simply … him. A smell that made her want to lean in to him, to lean on his strength.
No. The only strength she could trust was her own.
Of course, it would be better if she could find a decent amount of strength.
She swallowed heavily and took a step back. He took a step toward her and she stopped, rooted to the spot on the plush carpet.
“I’m glad you’re intent on playing your part, Noelle. Because tonight,” he lifted his hand and skimmed her cheek with his thumb, brushing a lock of her pale gold hair from her shoulder, “I’m going to show the world that you’re mine.”
CHAPTER FOUR
I’M not yours. I’m not anyone’s.
Her words echoed in her head as she contorted her arm in order to pull the zipper up on the tiny black cocktail dress that Ethan had had sent to her room an hour earlier.
Her words were feeble because hey, power, he had it. But she didn’t belong to him. That was how her mother had seen her, too. A thing she could own. A thing she could sell. It was a good thing she’d had musical abilities or there was no telling what her mother would have used her for.
She shuddered and bent over, lifting a foot up and tugging on one of the glittering, beaded high heels, also provided by Ethan. Or Ethan’s personal shopper or assistant. He didn’t exactly seem the type to go and pick up a pair of gorgeous, sparkly shoes.
She bent and started pulling on the other shoe, lost her balance and wobbled sideways, catching herself on the couch but still tumbling to the floor. She let a curse slip through her lips and then laughed.
“Not quite ready yet?”
She turned sharply at the sound of that rich, oh-so-sexy voice. “You didn’t knock. Did you knock?”
“It’s my hotel,” he said, shrugging broad shoulders and walking over to the bar. From her vantage point on the ground he looked even taller, and slightly more infuriating than normal since he’d just caught her at a disadvantage.
“It’s my room,” she said.
A half grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I’m paying for it.” He picked up a bottle of Scotch and poured himself just enough to fill the bottom portion of the glass. “Drink?”
“Soda?” she asked.
He raised his eyebrows. “Soda?”
“I have a one-drink limit if I’m going out in public. My mother’s rule, but in cases like this, I’ve always found it to be a good one.”
“Have you?” he opened the fridge that was set into the bar and produced a little glass bottle of lemon-lime soda.
“I’ve seen too many starlets sprawled out on the floor at a big party after too much heavy drinking.”
He looked down at her, his lips curving upward. “Sprawled on the floor, eh?”
She pushed her shoe on the rest of the way and pulled herself up, tugging the hem of her dress down. “A clumsy moment isn’t the same as getting completely drunk and making an ass out of yourself in public.”
“Relax. Have a soda, it’ll calm your nerves. Well, it won’t, but here you go.” He picked up the bottle and walked over to her, putting the cool glass in her hand.
She was surprised that it still felt cold. After being in his hand she’d half expected it to be hot. From him, his skin. And good grief, but he was handsome.
Rugged and polished at the same time, totally put together while maintaining a slightly dangerous edge. It was the glimmer in his brown eyes, the sort of devilish look that told a woman he knew how to be bad at just the right moments….
And here she was turning Ethan Grey into some kind of simplistic fantasy. She was too innocent when it came to men and she knew it. It was too easy to imagine she could handle him when she knew nothing could be further from the truth. When it came to sexual games, she couldn’t compete with him.
But at least she’d be comfortable at the party. At least there she’d be in her element. More than she’d been since her world had crashed, burned and crumbled at her feet.
“Thank you,” she said, suddenly feeling very thirsty. As if she’d swallowed sawdust.
Ethan pushed his dark hair off his forehead, leaving it disheveled. Her fingers itched to put it back in place. She gripped the bottle tighter.
“Just about ready then?” he asked.
“Um … Yes. Ready.”
If she just thought about the party, and not how it would feel to run her fingers through Ethan’s hair, she just might make it through the night.
Ethan watched Noelle’s eyes as they entered the grand ballroom, all decked out for the kind of pretentious party he didn’t care a fig about. Her eyes were lit up, like everything else in the room. It was the brightest he’d seen her since the day he’d first met her, pale and drained in the foyer of her home.
This was the sort of party his mother had lived for. He remembered her looking the same way, getting ready to go somewhere, getting out of the house. It was the only thing that had made her smile. When she could go to an event and shine. When she could bask in the glow of her dimming fame and receive some form of adoration. The adoration he’d given her had never seemed to matter.
And his father … he had been too consumed with chasing after another woman. Lavishing his affection on her. Making an ass of himself and embarrassing all of them because he couldn’t control his libido. He’d never seen how being easy was supposed to make a man more virile, more of a man. In his estimation, control counted for a lot more.
And Damien Grey had never possessed any sort of control when it came to women. But Ethan was different. When it came to relationships, he was in charge. It began and ended when he wanted it to, and if he didn’t have the time to invest in a relationship, he simply didn’t.
Of course, now he was paying for the long bout of celibacy.
“Like it?” he asked, his throat tight.
Her arm was draped through his, her hips brushing against his as she walked. Every stroke of her soft curves was like getting licked by a flame. He had thought her insipid that first day … but tonight he was seeing the real woman.
She was beautiful, perfectly made-up with her blond hair pinned into a low bun and the fitted black dress skimming her curves. He’d just about swallowed his tongue walking into the room and seeing her sprawled on the floor, long shapely legs exposed up to the tops of creamy, toned thighs.
He couldn’t remember the last time the sight of a woman’s legs had gotten him so hot.
Disgust rolled through him. Was he really letting her get to him so easily? Just because she had feminine curves and a hot pair of legs? She was also the daughter of the woman who had torn his life apart. There should be no attraction there. He should look at her and see Celine Birch. And yet he didn’t.
Attraction or not, he wouldn’t act on it. He wasn’t his father. He thought with the brain in his head, not the one in his pants.
“It’s lovely. Amazing. Whose party is it?”
He realized he hadn’t told her. He used that much-needed distraction to get his body back under control. “Birthday party. One of the big important socialite types.”
“Which one?”
“Sylvie Ames.”
“Oh, I played at one of Sylvie’s birthdays. Her sweet sixteen. I remember it.” Her cheeks flushed pink and she seemed to shrink a little bit beside him.
“When was that?”
“More than ten years ago.”
“How old were you?” She seemed too young to have been doing anything on a grand scale ten years ago. Or even three years ago.
“I was eleven.” She had been too young. He’d known she’d been a famous child, had even had a vague concept of who she was when his father had been sleeping with Celine, her mother. But it hadn’t really struck him until that moment just how vulnerable she would have been.
“That’s quite impressive,” he said. Scanning the crowd, trying to keep his mind on picking out the possible paparazzi that might be sprinkled throughout. He needed to get his picture in the papers. That was the whole point of tonight, after all. Not to think of Noelle, in front of so many people at such a young age. Exposed to all manner of criticism.
He shouldn’t care. But he found that he did.
“Oh yeah, fabulous. I’ve burned through the career of the lifetime and hit the point of redundancy at twenty-two. Hooray for me.”
“Why is it you think you’re redundant?” He broke from looking into the knot of people and turned his focus on her.
“Well, let’s see. I’m broke. Instant noodles is fine dining in my home and … oh yeah, I just took a position as a man’s fake future bride in order to keep myself from having to move into a cardboard box.”
“Honestly, I will never be able to fathom women’s moods.”
Her eyebrows snapped together. “What does that mean?”
“You were fine a moment ago.”
“Fine before I found out …” She looked around furtively. “Fine until I found out I was here, at this party, on charity when I was a performer at a party for the same person once. A highly valued one. If it weren’t for you the only way I’d be allowed in here would be if I was serving drinks.”
“Jealousy, or inadequacy?”
Noelle felt unreasonable anger at Ethan rise up in her. “Why not both?”
He grabbed onto her arm and turned her so that she was facing him, not caring that the wait staff and guests were having to move carefully around them in the crowded space. “I’ll tell you something, Ms. Birch. You’re here with me. And that means it’s not you who should be feeling jealous.”
“High opinion of yourself.”
He snorted. “You think I’m full of myself? Nah. I’m just realistic. I’ve got more than a billion dollars. I’m talking sitting in my bank account, that’s discounting assets. My family on my father’s side is old money, made even richer by the success they’ve had with their resort chain. And my mother is a former A-list movie star with connections most people can only dream of. Half the women in here would give their favorite handbags to be with me and it has absolutely nothing to do with who I am as person, but what I could give them. But they aren’t with me. You are.”
It didn’t really make her feel better, his little speech. After all, he wasn’t here with her because he cared for her. He’d sort of taken her in, like a stray cat. A stray cat who had to earn her milk and catnip by posing as his fiancée. But that was a whole different ball game to being the woman he desired.
But his speech did resonate with her. People wanted him because of what he had, because of his influence, and just like her, if it was all gone tomorrow, his popularity would be too.
And how empty was that? No wonder he was willing to get married to inherit the resort chain. He had to get everything he could to cling to the things that made him special.
It was relatable on a bone-deep level. It was what she wanted too. She was trying to get what she needed back. The things that made people look at her, acknowledge her.
If she couldn’t have the fame and the glory she’d accept just not being homeless. She wasn’t feeling particularly picky.
“I know all about that, Ethan,” she said, taking a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray. The time to have a drink was now.
“Do you?”
“Look around us. Look at all the friends I have. Didn’t you see my support crew rallying around me back at the house that day you first came? People ready to hold a bake sale to help me hold onto my home? Oh, no, there was no one. Because I’m no one. At least as far as everyone else is concerned.”
Ethan looked at her, his dark eyes locking with hers. He pressed his palm to her lower back, dipped his head low. Any of the people around them would be forgiven for thinking that he was going to pull her to him and kiss her right there in front of everybody. She didn’t think that. She didn’t. It certainly wasn’t why her lips were dry and her pulse was pounding.
“Let me tell you something, Noelle. It’s these people—anyone who believes that. They’re the ones who don’t matter.”
She swallowed hard, her eyes stinging with a sheen of moisture, threatening to turn into a source of real embarrassment. She pulled away from him and looked at the stage. There was a piano there. She wondered who was playing tonight.
Her hands itched all of a sudden. Flexed as she thought of playing a slow, smooth song
Because she couldn’t look at Ethan. And she couldn’t think about what he’d just said. It was contrary to everything she’d ever been taught about life. About what was important.
And he was just trying to make her feel better, because who wanted a cranky-looking woman on their arm all night?
A woman, a very young woman in a long red dress, came floating out onto the stage and sat in front of the piano, a string quartet sitting down the stage from her. The first strains of the music started to filter through the room and Noelle closed her eyes. Let them fill her with longing, with an ache that she was afraid would never go away.
“Care to dance?”
She opened her eyes and looked at Ethan, his eyes hot and intent on her. She cleared her throat. “You dance?”
“My mother insisted I learn. And anyway, I found it quite instrumental in picking up women back in the days before my bank balance was quite this healthy. Back in the days when I had to rely on charm and skill to get a date.”
She looked back at the stage, at the performers. She’d always been the one up there. Separate and removed. The mood of the room. A part of the parties, an integral part, but never in them.
“For the press?”
His lips curved up slightly. “Yeah, of course.”
She accepted his offered hand. It was hotter than she’d imagined it would be, his palm a bit rougher. He led her to the dance floor and her heart started tripping on itself. She’d never danced with a man before. She’d never danced. Not even at her own CD-release parties. But she’d even performed at those, even then more the entertainment than the guest of honor. And dancing wasn’t essential to piano, which meant it was a skill she’d never acquired.
“I don’t really know how to dance,” she said, when they stopped at the edge of the dance floor and he pulled her gently into his arms.
“But I do. And you can let me lead.” He laced his fingers through hers and wrapped his other arm around her waist. “Put your hand on my shoulder,” he said, his voice soft, enticing.
She obeyed the instruction and immediately had to fight the urge to slide her hand, palm flat, down to his hard-muscled chest. She knew it was muscular because her breasts were crushed against it, her heart raging, and she was certain he could feel it.
She looked back up at the stage as Ethan moved back. She felt it all flow through her, the music and his movements, and her feet seemed to obey the prompting from Ethan’s body. Everything just seemed to work.
“So tell me, why don’t you know how to dance?”
“No time,” she said, her words short and breathless, not from the exertion of dancing, but from being in such close proximity to a man. To this man.
“Ah, right. The drills.”
“Yeah, the drills. They took up—take up—a lot of time.”
“I see.”
“A person can’t be great at everything. You can be great at one thing, if you work at it. If you want it badly enough.” She repeated the words of her former piano teacher, slightly shocked at how quickly the words rolled off her tongue, even after all this time.
“I don’t accept that,” he said, pressing his hand more firmly against her lower back, moving the lower part of her body closer to his. It made her tingle, made her uncomfortable … aware of her breasts. It was the strangest thing. Not completely unpleasant.
“Doesn’t matter whether you accept it, it’s true. It takes hours and hours of dedicated practice to claim proficiency at anything. It takes true commitment.”
“Hmm, commitment I’m not so good with.”
Her pulse pounded harder. He flexed his fingers and the slight motion against her back made a shock of sensation skitter through her veins, lighting up every last part of her body, from her head to her toes and every inch in between.
“Are you sure? Because you asked me to marry you only twenty-four hours after meeting me.”
“Commitment with a catch I can deal with. Commitment with a defined end date, I actually think that’s quite perfect. But then, that’s why I don’t make commitments. Because I know I wouldn’t want to keep them.”
“Well, then your proficiency must be in something other than relationships.”
He smirked. “I have a major in business with a pretty accomplished minor in bedroom skills. And I only claim a minor because you insist a person can’t have a double major in life.”
She felt her face get hot, her blood pounding in her temples. She didn’t know how he could say things like that so casually, like it didn’t mean anything. As if it didn’t throw his mind straight into the bedroom with all kinds of sweaty, half-formed visions.
She’d watched her share of late-night cable when she’d been alone in her hotel room, so she knew what kinds of things he was talking about. And it was making her feel weak and shaky all over.
“What about you? What’s your view on commitment?”
“I majored in piano,” she said, forcing a smile. “Figuratively speaking, of course.”
“Yeah, I got that. I see what you were doing there.”
“You’re making fun of me,” she said. But he wasn’t doing it in a cruel way. He was teasing her. She wasn’t sure if anyone had ever really teased her like that. If anyone had engaged her in conversation quite like this. Intimate. Sharing. Strange.
“A little bit.”
He turned away from her and she couldn’t help noticing how striking his face was in profile. Strong nose and square jaw. He was almost too perfect to be real. He was like a man chiseled from rock, only infused with breath and warmth. And a glint in his eye that spoke of sin and pleasure.
“Over there,” he said, inclining his head slightly. “That’s Anita Blaire, she’s the lead writer for the society pages.”
Noelle turned her head slightly and saw a woman craning her neck to get a look at them.
Ethan released his hold on her hand and placed his palm on her hip, sliding it around slowly until both of his hands were rested on the indent in her spine, just above her bottom. He moved his thumb slightly, slowly, his touch edging near intimate territory.
She stiffened, her heart pounding so hard she was afraid she was going to pass out. She swallowed, barely able to finish the job thanks to her suddenly dry throat.
“Relax,” he whispered. “Lean into me.”
She did her best to relax but her muscles were locked up, tense. Not with fear, but with anticipation. She didn’t know what he might do next. Where he would touch her. It made her hot and shivery all over. Like having a fever, one that burned from deep inside her core.
“How’s this?” she asked, her voice a little bit thin, shaky.
“Better,” he whispered, his lips brushing her temple, the slightly intimate caress making her stomach tighten with raw, sexual need. It was different like this. In the arms of a real man, instead of just the hazy fantasy of a dream lover’s caress. Her ideas of desire were all viewed through a Vaseline-smeared lens in her mind’s eye. But this wasn’t obscured or blurred, it was sharp and clear. Almost painful in its intensity.
And he hadn’t even kissed her.
Would he? Eventually. He would have to eventually because he would have to do the kiss-the-bride thing at the wedding. And now her palms were sweaty. She tightened her grip on his shoulders.
He angled his head and his lips skimmed the line of her jaw. She blew out a shocked breath and dug her fingernails into his shoulders, just to get that extra hold, because she felt as if she might melt into a puddle of Noelle at his feet. Wouldn’t that be a good picture for the society pages?
He pressed his lips more firmly to her skin, just beneath her ear. She shuddered when he brushed the tip of his tongue over the tender skin. She’d never even known to fantasize about such a simple, sensual thing. Even if she had, she wouldn’t have known the effect it would have on her.
“You taste like vanilla,” he said, his voice soft and husky, his breath touching her neck, making goosebumps spread over her.
She pulled her head back so she could look at him, at his dark eyes, so intent on hers. Was he going to kiss her now? Like, really kiss her?
He looked away from her, back in the direction of Anita. “I think we’ve caught her attention,” he said.
The shroud of arousal that had cocooned them just a moment before broke and Noelle became conscious again of the noise in the room. The buzz of conversation, the music, the fact that there were other people there, in the ballroom, in the world.
“Oh,” she cleared her throat, “yes.”
“Ready to go and be social?”
No. She was ready to go and crawl under a rock and hide for ten years, thank you very much, because she’d made an idiot of herself over the brief brush of his lips on her skin. The worst thing was, she was still wishing he’d done more.
“Of course,” she said, her voice brittle.
“Come on then, sweetheart, let’s spread the good news of our new-found love.”
The free sample has ended.
