Ryan had placed a foot on the very edge of her dress’s lacy train.
Pushy man. “Remove your foot, please,” she said, her lips barely moving. “Do you have any idea how many hours went into the creation of this dress?” She’d spent months on this design, and had put blood, sweat and tears into the deceptively simple lace, satin, and pearl design. The beaded neckline alone had taken a professional seamstress three days to complete.
He shoved his cell phone into his pants pocket. “Look,” he said, a shadow of contrition in his eyes. He bent and gently took the fragile Brussels lace of her train in his hand and pulled up the slack, effectively holding her in place while he pretended to brush it off. “I’m sorry for stepping on your dress. I just want to know why you’re leaving. I thought we were supposed to have some pictures taken together.” He smiled again, showing teeth that looked as white as snow next to his lightly tanned face. “We’d make a great couple, don’t you think?”
Her stomach flip-flopped at his smile.
Oh, no, not again.
She took a deep breath and tried to calm her racing nerves. She had no desire to be part of a couple with him, not even a pretend couple. After Giorgio, the last in a short but illustrious line of cheating, lying, beyond-handsome men, she didn’t do “couple” anymore. She’d learned that what was on the inside of men was never as good as the outside looked. “Obviously I’ve changed my mind, Mr. Cavanaugh. Now would you please let go of my dress?”
“Oh, come on,” he said softly, his face pulled into an appropriately serious expression. “Can’t you just stay for one picture?”
Strangely, he seemed sincere, and his gentle tone caught her off guard. She slanted a glance up at him, reminding herself of how easy it would be for him to simply pretend to be sincere. “Look, I know I agreed to pose for these pictures, but I’ve changed my mind. I…uh, I didn’t realize you were going to be my groom.”
He swung his free arm wide with what looked like a forced smile on his lips. “What? I’m not good enough?”
You’re too good. She managed a tremulous smile. “That’s not it.”
“Then what’s the problem?” He leaned in close. “You did agree to this, didn’t you?”
She stepped back, out of his scent’s reach, and crossed her arms over her midriff, pressing the gown’s delicate beading into her skin. He had a point. She didn’t want to leave Colleen without a bride any more than she wanted to sacrifice the media exposure and possible contract a photo of her dress in “The Bridal Chronicles” might bring.
But the extra media exposure that Ryan’s good looks might bring frightened her for several reasons. Though it was silly, she detested having her picture taken; she’d been a gawky, unattractive child and had had too many unflattering pictures of her land on the front page of numerous publications. Also, she wanted to succeed as modest dress designer Anna Simpson, not heiress Anna Sinclair. Concealing her real identity was central to her plan.
And to succeed, she had to land the Perfect Bridal exclusive and make a profit. Then she would meet the requirements of the deal she and her father had made almost a year ago, within the time frame he’d decreed, which expired in less than a week. Then, she’d be able to follow her dream instead of working for her father at Sinclair Banking.
Wishing she possessed no sense of duty or fair play, she asked Ryan, “Why do you want me to do this shoot so badly?” She tried not to admire the absolute perfection of his chiseled face, heart-stopping sky-blue eyes, and full, sensual lips. And those dimples…
He lifted one broad shoulder. “Simple. I’m involved with a local charity’s fund-raising campaign, and I’d like to raise awareness with as much publicity as I can.”
A charity. Sounded like a worthwhile cause, one she wished she could help him with. But she couldn’t. Hiding her face in one photo was feasible. More than one—she sincerely doubted it. There had to be another way. “Then why don’t you just find another woman to be your bride?”
He bent close to her ear. “Oh, the answer to that is obvious,” he whispered, his warm breath tickling her ear. “With a woman as beautiful as I’m certain you are, I bet we’d win Best Couple for sure. As a bonus, my charity is almost guaranteed lots of publicity.”
A ribbon of hot excitement unfurled inside of her, joining a hard lump of guilt for letting him down. But she ignored the unsettling sensation and focused on what was important—her business, the one thing she could call her own, the one way she could show her true worth to the world—and her father. She didn’t want to win Best Couple and be faced with more pictures.
Then again, she wasn’t a heartless witch, either. She didn’t want to be responsible for keeping his fund-raising efforts from garnering publicity. A giant arrow of guilt poked her.
She tried to move away from him, unable to think clearly with his big body looming over her, scrambling her senses and judgment like a banana in a blender.
Why did she always let attractive men keep her from thinking clearly? Had her sheltered childhood, spent at exclusive, all-girl boarding schools and under the close supervision of her autocratic, ultraconservative father warped her judgment? Had her lack of experience made her into a woman who perpetually made bad choices in the man department?
Maybe in the past. Not anymore.
Drawing a deep, cleansing breath, she wished she had the luxury of lapsing into a soothing session of meditation to calm her nerves. But she didn’t. She would have to deal with Ryan without the benefit of her daily mantra.
“So,” he said, letting out her train just enough to allow her to put some space between them. “How about being my bride?”
His “proposal” brought forth a familiar yearning. She had once dreamed of happily ever after with the man of her dreams. But now she had to be wary of men. She’d played the he-really-loves-me fool before and had fallen for attractive, charming men like him and had paid the price in heartache and tears. She didn’t intend to make the same mistake one more time.
She’d finally acquired some sense.
She looked at Ryan again, liking the slightly humble expression on his face, even though she doubted it was real; charismatic men like Ryan usually got what they wanted without the need for humility. Even so, when Ryan threw her a small, hopeful smile, the foolish, appreciative, female side almost made her relent. And to her everlasting surprise, she found herself on the verge of giving him whatever he wanted.
On the verge, but not over the edge. Despite how guilty he was making her feel, probably deliberately, she just couldn’t go through with this photo shoot. She had belatedly realized that being in the public eye wasn’t someplace she could risk being. She might as well announce her true identity on the evening news, thereby sacrificing her “anonymous” identity.
Even though she still felt incredibly guilty that she couldn’t help his charity, she said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Cavanaugh, but I’ve made up my mind. I have no intention of signing the photo-release waiver and allowing this photo to go to print.” She looked pointedly down at the part of her dress he had in his arms, then clasped her hands together at her waist and gave him an imperious look. “Now please put my dress down. This photo shoot is over.”
She’d have to find a way to live with her guilt and with disappointing him and Colleen, just as she would have to sacrifice the
