Strappy heels, check. Formal dress, check. Chignon, check. Dangly earrings, check. Loosening her white-knuckled grip on the sequined clutch bag, CJ pushed aside the vintage winter coat, glancing down at her outfit. She had everything, so why did she feel something was missing? Possibly because that something was her sanity.
One step at a time, CJ. Get through this evening first. He might give up after this. After all, men like Jack Harper went only so far as their egos could carry them. He may even acquiesce to her earlier view of him and admit live on air to her audience that he was wrong. Yeah, right! And pigs might fly. She snorted inwardly at the folly of her own thoughts, sidestepping a passerby and inhaling the cool, crisp air around her.
She refused to wait in the station. At least then she could avoid the open-mouthed gawking from female occupants of other stations in the building and potentially hearing admiration from the powers that be who had already dragged up in-house cover for those nights she was to be on her “dates.” The same powers who had called her at 7:00 a.m. the day after that show to organise the press for the event, congratulating her on her quick thinking.
Damn it! This was her show, not a stand-in’s! A show that, thanks to her advice and her listeners’ word of mouth coupled with her expertise on the decks, had turned itself into something big. It was a life, a career, freedom she had worked for, and she would not give it up easily.
So she’d have to ignore the fact she was stuck between the devil and the deep blue sea. She dragged her eyes from the pavement and squinted at the sight of a long limo rounding the corner. You have got to be kidding me. She blinked—god, make this a hallucination—making her contact lenses slide down before popping back into place, and she stepped forward as the car pulled to a stop in front of her. The familiar, sleek lines of her family’s favourite mode of transport made her cringe, and she straightened as the glossy, black door opened.
Her breath caught in her throat when a single, deep red rose emerged, closely followed by the man of the hour himself, her heart tripping at the sight of the bright, white smile. She curled her fingers into her palms, trying to ignore the alien tingle that made its way rapidly down her spine.
“Good evening, CJ. This is for you.” His smooth, husky tones whispered over her already sensitive skin as he stepped closer. His fingers brushed across hers as the rose swapped hands, making her nerves jump with ... what? Anticipation, excitement? Whatever it was, thank god for the cool air keeping her head focused and her feet on the ground.
“Thank you. It’s beautiful.” She touched the soft, silky petals. Since when had any date ever brought her a rose? The short answer would be never. Not that this was a date-date. This man was the embodiment of everything she didn’t want. Everything she had avoided.
Pushing back the dark thoughts, she brought the rose closer, inhaling the sweet aroma, her nose twitching at another scent there. Mint? Him. That was the only possible answer. Would it be rude to hold her nose so she wouldn’t have to smell the minty goodness? Possibly.
She dropped her head down to a nod, the stifled movement not the flirtatious thank you he was probably used to, before maneuvering around him to the open door of the limo. She made sure to keep her distance and ignore the goose bumps skimming up her arms at his nearness. Looking back, she tilted her head at his own lack of movement. “Shall we go, or is this our stop?”
“Oh no. I have somewhere much more interesting in mind for our first date.”
Ignoring the manic fluttering of her heart, CJ ducked her head, sliding across the soft leather, the plush seats dipping at his arrival. Her breath caught as she found herself a hair’s breadth away from him, a small tingle unfurling itself in the pit of her stomach before sliding through her. Making herself turn, she locked her gaze on the sights of London she hoped, she prayed would soothe her dancing nerves.
A loud quack from nearby made her start, followed by more loud quacks. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out her phone, her stomach sinking. She knew this would happen, even expected it.
“What do you have in there? An aviary?”
The deep voice rippled over her senses, the sound too close, too intimate, and she shuffled sideways, her shoulder hitting the limo’s window. The next date they went on, she was taking her own transport. “It’s my Twitter.” Short and simple. He asked, she answered. The end.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing. In fact, you should be pleased. That flock of quacks shows how popular your idea was. Thanks to your little stunt, my producers have been over the moon and pasted it across the website.”
She frowned at his shrug. The knowledge didn’t seem to phase him in the slightest. She, on the other hand, had been livid. “The hashtag for all of this, just so you’re aware in case you wanted to follow, is 8dates1month. Let me repeat that for you in case you didn’t hear the first time. Hashtag 8dates1month. This,” she said, her hand reaching up to encircle the entire contents of the limo, “even has its own hashtag.”
You would think the stupidity of his suggestion would have hit him by now, so what was the deal with his look of boredom?
“Are we trending?” His voice was just as bored as his expression.
“Are we trending? There is no we about this. This isn’t a team effort. This was all you.”
“And my whole reason for these dates is the reputation of my company. You are free to retract your slanderous statements anytime you like.”
“They were not slanderous, and you insinuated I give dud advice. Besides I am not quitting. I will finish what I set out to,” she snapped. Damn, she was letting him get under her skin.
“Good.”
Gritting her teeth, she drew her coat around her.
“Is that a ... wedding dress?” The disbelief in his voice made a smile pull at her lips, and she swallowed it quickly as she turned to him, her eyes as solemn as she could manage.
“Yes. Yes, it is. I was so enthralled by you that I jumped the gun and bought a dress.”
“I thought I said ‘formal.’ As in black tie formal. Isn’t ... what do you call it? An LBC or something part of your ‘staple’ wardrobe?”
“FYI it’s an LBD, and for ...” Her voice trailed off as a scream floated on the night air. The limo slowed as it reached a dense crowd, flashes sparked in all directions, brightly lit letters shining at the end of a long, red carpet. Blinking at the sudden change of atmosphere, she felt her stomach flip as realisation hit. A movie. That’s where he had taken her on their first date. And not just a movie but a premiere. That could only mean ... paparazzi. The nearby flash made her jump, and she sat back hurriedly, pressing herself tightly against the car seats.
The sudden heat across her hand made her tear her eyes away from the mayhem outside, her gaze dropping to the large one over it, her stomach twisting at the rough, masculine feel of his skin against hers. “Just smile at them. If they ask you anything, not-so-subtly turn your head away and move down the line,” Jack said, his commanding tone oddly reassuring.
That was easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one whose grandmother was a patron of the 1920s-style cinema house. He wasn’t the one who had been frogmarched down these carpets only to be ignored in favour of her more beautiful parents. Memories of hissed instructions on how to walk, what to say, always made her cringe at the shy, awkward girl she had once been.
“You look scared.” His voice pierced her panic bubble.
“Scared? Who said anything about being scared?” Terrified more like.
“The press can smell fear. You can’t show them that.”
“I am a nocturnal creature, Mr. Harper. We are not used to being surrounded—yes, surrounded—by people and bright lights.”
“First, I think you should start calling me Jack, and second, I think you’d be less ‘surrounded’ as you put it if you stopped concentrating on them.”
“Oh? Considering we are stuck in a car in the middle of a sea of press and crazed fans, who or what exactly, in your opinion, should I concentrate on?!” Breathe, CJ, breathe. She hadn’t hyperventilated in a crowd in almost ten years. She wasn’t going to start now.
“Me.”
The light tingle running through her burst into a volcanic surge at the soft directive, her gaze trailing across his strong jaw line as he maneuvered himself around on the seat to face her. His sheer size blocked out everything behind him, and he reached out a hand to cup her face, one roughened thumb pad scraping gently across her cheek.
She sucked in a lungful of air, aware of her shorter breaths, which she knew had nothing to do with the paps outside. Her fingers itched to curl into his. Maybe if she had been on more dates, been more experienced, she’d be able to hide her reaction instead of being the open book she knew she was.
The world outside faded to black at his touch. And she shivered as a sudden cold gush of air hit, freezing her whole being at the sound of chanting and cheers. She refused to acknowledge her tingling cheek at the withdrawal of his hand as he made his way out of the car; instead she shuffled across the seat after him. Ignoring their audience’s heart-pounding screams, she smoothed down the white tulle skirt, then pushed herself forward, up and out of the car only to find a hand in her way. A hand that moments ago was on her cheek. Oh god! What had she been thinking to let that happen? She was on an assignment, of sorts. Yes, this was a quasi-date, but it was still work!
Mortification burned through her as she ignored the danger of his outstretched hand; his name shouted across the night air forced her take a step back.
“Hold my hand, CJ.”
Blue-eyed devil, deep blue sea. Either way she was going here, it was going to be blue. She could at least thank her parents for one thing. The deportment training at finishing school was finally coming in handy for something. Pasting a placid smile on her face, she slid her hand into his as he turned to face the crowd. Fireworks shot across her skin, making her grateful she only had to follow his lead as he made his way along the red stretch, greeting the stars by name, giving an easy smile for the press.
“CJ. CJ! How’s the date going?”
Turning her head at the screech, she pulled her lips into a warm PR smile her mother would have been proud of. “Follow me on Twitter and find out. It’s @cjstratt by the way.” She threw another smile over her shoulder and turned to leave.
“Nicely played.” His warm breath tickled her nape, and she resisted the urge to lean against him for support at the sudden jellification of her legs. She was nervous, that was all. Yes, he was handsome. Scrap that, sex on legs would be a better comparison, but this was all nerves.
“Thanks,” she replied, deliberately keeping her voice bland.
“Seriously. I think I underestimated you. That was handled like a pro.”
“Maybe you did, and if I were you, I wouldn’t do it again.”
“Trust me. I won’t.” His words were crystal clear despite the loud audience behind them, the dark hypnotic pull of his gaze dragging her in.
“Jack Harper. Jack, over here! Is the deal in trouble? Would this have happened on your brother’s watch? Any comments on Lulu Benton getting remarried?”
The dark hypnotic sway crashed suddenly, ice forming where there had been heat, and she tilted her head to the side to encounter a determined journalist. Deal? Brother? What was he talking about? And who the heck was Lulu Benton?
Not that she had much time to find out at the speed they were hurried along. At least the family portraits depicting the patron had been taken down inside the ornate doors, so it was doubtful she’d be recognised. In fact, she wouldn’t. Everyone would still be looking for the shy, mousy-haired brunette with thick glasses. Depositing her coat in the cloakroom, CJ pirouetted around, catching sight of her “date” on the other side of the hall. Surrounded by women. Typical! Well, this had been his idea, and he was right about one thing: They were in this together.
Grabbing a champagne flute from a nearby tray, she began to make her way through the thick throng, where no one stopped to talk to her, until she encountered a wall. She lowered her head away from the gazes of the unfamiliar famous faces. It wasn’t surprising that history would repeat itself. Juggling her glass and purse, she reached for her phone, rolling her eyes at the stream of retweets and mentions.
She had planned originally to tweet after the dates; however, with so much free time now, she may as well begin. The hairs rose on the back of her neck, a burning awareness skirting over her skin as a new instinct guided her to look across the crowded room. She found him almost instantly, his gaze locked onto her.
• • •
He had said formal, hadn’t he? Why was he expecting her to actually comply with his wishes? Not that he cared about what she was wearing. It was all about the deal. He tightened his grip around the thin stalk of the champagne flute. It was just the deal.
This was not turning out how he had planned. He thought his initial attraction had been thanks to the challenge. He shouldn’t have touched her cheek. What had he been thinking? Or more factually, what part of him had been doing the thinking?
Without the glasses and hair falling into her face, he could see her more clearly. Could see the faint spray of freckles across her nose, the smooth, pale line of her neck, the delicate hunch of her shoulders. The sequined, black strapless top only succeeded in keeping his mind from his task, and he was grateful as the sound of a bell nearby signaled the start of the film. Setting his glass onto a nearby tray, he excused himself from the small group and made his way across the room, the crowd parting naturally for him as he knew it would.
Pastel-coloured strands swirled amongst the white in the up-do on top of CJ’s head, her fingers flew over the brightly lit screen in front of her. If she had noticed his arrival, she hadn’t said; the feeling of being ignored was alien and unwelcome.
“Having fun?”
“Working. You?” He narrowed his eyes at her succinct reply.
“These events are always a source of amusement for me,” he drawled. “Working on a date?”
“This is a date-assignment.” She pushed the phone back into her bag, “We should go. The film is starting soon and people are starting to watch us.”
“That bothers you, doesn’t it?” He watched her carefully through lowered lashes, curious about her reaction after her response to the press when they had been in the car.
“Mmm, does being surrounded by an unknown crowd bother me? I work antisocial hours as a radio DJ slash agony aunt on a show that has only me and my producer in attendance. Let’s think about that question, shall we?” She tilted her head, bringing one black painted fingernail up to tap against her chin.
She was an enigma. An enigma he was determined to crack. Since the infamous Lulu Benton’s, his ex-stepmother’s, allegations, he hadn’t allowed himself to get close to anyone to find out anything of consequence.
CJ’s small gasp brought him back to the present, and he reached for her as she was knocked sideways, wrapping an arm around her and dragging her to him as the crowd surged forward. The subtle hint of a fruit mix hair product whispered across his face; her light blue eyes filled with bewilderment and ... what else he wasn’t sure and he didn’t have time to find out. He had a deal to complete. That was all.
Stepping back, he dropped his hand. “There are no hard and fast rules with seating here, so ladies’ choice.” Careful to keep his tone neutral, he ignored his body’s heat, especially in those places her hands had landed.
“Can’t wait.” Her tone was as excited as someone visiting the dentist. She made her way into the arena, oblivious to the heated stares of the surrounding males in the crowd. Stares that irritated him. He just didn’t understand why.
• • •
She would have had more fun visiting the dentist. At least they knocked you out before drilling. That film was like a live drill without the pain relief. CJ eyed the green digital clock above her in the limo, the small digits blinking slowly, proclaiming it now to be 8:05 p.m. The Tube would still be running if she made it to a station quickly, and she flicked her eyes over the still figure next to her. The moon gleamed through the dusty clouds, the midnight streetlights playing with shadows across his granite features as he stared out of the window.
Clearing her throat, she sat up straighter in her seat, the sound directing her date’s eyes back to hers. She inhaled quickly, ignoring the bops of her heart at his slow smile. The man was really beyond reason! Even fake dating him was a big no-no. From what she had witnessed growing up, men like him, people like him, seemed to equate money with a god-given right to behave just how they pleased, regardless of the feelings of those around them. She had to get as far from him as she could and back to her stable, rich-man relationship-free reality.
“So Jack, thanks for an um ... an evening, and just to save us all a long trip, why don’t you stop the car here? There is a station a few minutes’ walk away.”
“A station. For what?”
“Well the last time I checked, it had trains on it. The kind that go choo choo.” She stopped just short of rolling her contact lens-induced dry eyes at him.
“Yes, I know what trains are. Why do you want it?”
“Because at some point this morning, I would like to get home. You know, just a thought.”
“Where do you live?”
“Like I’m going to tell you.” She sniffed.
“You’re not going home at this hour on the Underground.” His tone was final.
“I’m sorry, what? That sounded suspiciously like you’re not allowing me to go home.”
“Don’t be so melodramatic. I am taking you home. We’re on a date, remember? That’s what dates do.”
“Okay, I get it. You’ve ticked all the right boxes: flowers, movie, yadda yadda yadda. But you don’t have to take me home.” Why was he being so difficult? “Besides, unless you plan to drive in circles, then I’m not going to tell you my address.”
“Okay.”
That was too easy. Way too easy. She trusted him almost as much as she’d trust a pride of lions not to attack at feeding hour. Panic rose within her as he reached for the phone, the familiar soft voice of her producer floating through the air on the driver’s radio.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Annoyed at the screech in her own voice, she fell across Jack, swiping the phone from his hand and knocking it back onto the receiver. Her vain attempt to push herself back up failed and her hand encountered his thigh. Oh god! Did she move? Did she stay where she was? Seconds ticked by, her hand frozen into place, even as heat flooded through her, scorching her face
“CJ. You might want to let go. Now.” The hissed warning near her ear broke through her panic and she pushed herself away quickly, sliding across the seat, her back landing against the opposite door of the limo with a thud, her hand curling around the squashed rose under her.
The silence crackled between them, and she locked her gaze on the flattened rose between her fingers, trying hard not to focus on the mortification flooding through her like a tsunami. Strike two for professionalism.
“It’s 8 Orchid Road, Acton, West London. That’s my address,” she managed, glad her voice sounded a lot calmer than she felt.
He didn’t speak as he flipped a switch next to him, relaying the information to the driver before firmly returning his gaze to the road outside. Turning her head to do the same, she inhaled deeply. Date one, done. Only seven more to go.