And when one of the women called Brianna a pampered princess with no talent, Brianna began to think that it just might.
Chapter 2
As Brianna slipped through the private entrance at Bar 8, an exclusive hotspot that happened to be on the ground floor of her hotel, she felt the stress of the past two hours fade away. She could have gone upstairs to her cozy three-bedroom suite and ordered room service, but the night was still young, and she didn’t feel like being alone.
She took a seat at the circular marble bar. The sophisticated ambiance and hushed lighting made it easy for Brianna to forget the outside world. The sleek, wood walls were inlaid with crystals, creating the illusion of raindrops. Couples sat at glass tables, enjoying obscenely expensive bottles of wine, and the sound of laughter and foreign languages sweetened the air. Everyone at the bar had their eyes glued to the soccer game on the flat-screen above the bar, and their loud, boisterous cheers created a festive mood.
“Madame, what can I get you?” the waiter asked in his thick Russian accent.
“Pinot grigio ’95, please.”
As Brianna looked at the menu, memories filled her mind. The last time she’d been at this trendy spot, Bailey had attracted the attention of everyone inside the bar, and soon their quiet dinner for two had turned into an impromptu party for twenty. Patrons snapped pictures of Bailey, begged for her autograph and chatted her up about her photo shoot that morning at the Eiffel Tower. By the time they’d left the bar, the sun was peeking over the horizon and the paparazzi were staked out in the lobby, waiting to snap the perfect shot of the model on the brink of superstardom.
It’s hard to believe that was six months ago, Brianna thought, taking the glass the bartender offered and tasting her wine. My family has always been the toast of the town, but now it feels like everyone in the world is gunning for us.
Brianna closed her eyes and released a heavy sigh. It was days like this, when perfect strangers bashed her family and questioned her talent, that Brianna wanted to disappear. For once, she wished she could be a nobody. Someone no one knew or recognized. Not Brianna Hamilton, fashion designer and eldest daughter of Roger and Lila Hamilton. Just Brianna. No last name.
A clean, refreshing scent washed over her. It was aftershave, and the fragrance reminded her of home, of her father, of all the cold winter days they’d spent inside playing chess and watching Jeopardy! on TV. Brianna opened her eyes, half expecting to see her gray-haired father sitting in the stool beside her, but when she saw him—the sexy heartthrob who’d caused a stir when he’d entered the Carrousel du Louvre—she gasped.
“I’m sorry,” he said, holding up his hands in a gesture of peace, his expression one of genuine concern. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
His smile was apologetic, but Brianna eyed him warily. She wasn’t used to men approaching her at a hotel bar, or anywhere for that matter. Guys rarely asked her out, and that suited her just fine because she wasn’t interested in having a one-night stand or finding that special someone, either. Dating didn’t appeal to her, and neither did racking up more sex partners than the Material Girl. She’d much rather work or spend time with her family than sweat out her perm with a guy who was more interested in getting off than pleasing her. Brianna knew, in theory, that there were still a few good men out there, but she didn’t have the energy or patience that dating required.
And why bother when love doesn’t last, anyway?
“Do you mind me sitting here?”
“Yes—I mean, n-n-no,” she stammered, tripping over her own tongue. “It’s a free world. You can sit wherever you want.” Brianna recognized she was rambling, but she couldn’t get her lips to stop moving or her hands to quit shaking.
“I won’t bother you. I promise.” He gestured with his head to the TV. “I just want to watch the World Cup qualification match between Italy and Germany.”
Brianna flashed him a smile. He was definitely American, likely from the West Coast, and radiated a calm, laid-back vibe. His voice was deep, husky—a sound she’d love to hear more of. So why not strike up a conversation? Despite all the drama at the fashion show, she was feeling surprisingly upbeat.
Sitting at a bar with a gorgeous guy can do that to a girl, Brianna thought, shifting nervously on her swivel stool.
“I bet on the boys in blue, and I’m anxious to see how they’re doing,” he said.
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but the game’s over. Germany won by two.”
His eyes widened. “Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack.”
“How the hell did that happen?” The stranger raked a hand over his brown close-cropped hair. “The last time I checked, Italy was up by two.”
“In the second half, the Germans were the faster, more aggressive team,” Brianna explained. “They’re a talented, young squad that plays with a lot of heart, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they won it all in Brazil next year.”
He raised an eyebrow. “How do you know so much about European football?”
“I lived in Milan for a year, and it was the only thing on TV!” Brianna laughed. “Italians live and breathe football, and it wasn’t long before I fell in love with the sport, too. I don’t watch as many games as I used to, but I still follow my favorite teams.”
“Interesting.” Studying her, he stroked the length of his jaw. “Who do you like in the France versus Spain game? I was just about to place my bet.”
“That’s a no-brainer. France.”
“How can you be so sure? They haven’t been playing well as of late.”
“That’s why I’m convinced they’ll win,” she told him. “The French perform best when it matters most, and they know if they lose to Spain they’ll have to permanently relocate because their fans will never, ever forgive them!”
The stranger chuckled and offered his right hand. “I’m Collin.”
No, you’re fine-as-hell, Brianna thought.
He was, without a doubt, the best-looking man she’d ever seen in the flesh, and being in such close proximity to him was wreaking havoc on her body—and her mind. Her nipples had hardened under her dress, and she couldn’t stop picturing Collin naked in her bed. And if he looked half as good in real life as he did in her fantasy, that could spell serious trouble.
“Are you going to tell me your name, or do I have to buy you another glass of wine first?”
“I’m Brianna,” she said, reaching out and taking his hand. A flutter danced in the pit of her stomach, then spread south. Brianna sat up taller, straighter. She had to be on guard if she wanted to withstand the heat of his gaze and his devilish smile. Her body’s reaction to Collin— a dark-skinned brother with killer swag and dreamy brown eyes—momentarily stunned her, but she found her voice and said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“No, the pleasure is all mine.”
For a moment, they sat in complete silence, appraising
