style="font-size:15px;"> But it wasn’t simple. Simple had become a fantasy from the moment he’d touched her, looked into her green-gold eyes. From the moment he’d glimpsed her luscious curves.
While his head was demanding that he call a cab, dump her in it and send her on her way, do what he could to help without getting involved, his heart—mostly his heart—wasn’t having any of it.
That foolish organ demanded that he scoop her up, carry her to his apartment and keep her safe from harm.
Neither was an option.
It was clear that she didn’t trust him further than she could throw him, and why would she? In her shoes, he’d be expecting the police to arrive at any minute to remove her from the premises.
What he had to do was keep his head, keep his distance—despite arms aching to wrap her up, keep her safe—but, most important of all, keep her from running.
He had no idea what had caused the row with Rupert Henshawe, or why he’d sent his heavies after her, but he did know that while she was here, under his roof, no harm would come to her. And that, he told himself, was all that mattered.
He looked at the shoe he was still holding, hoping that without it she’d think twice about making a dash for it the first chance she got.
Not so easy with the store closed but she was right, she was smart and, like the involvement issue, he wasn’t banking on it.
We?
Lucy caught sight of herself in one of the mirrors and snapped her jaw shut. For a moment there she’d almost succumbed to the fantasy that he might be a good guy.
Perhaps the atmosphere in the grotto was rubbing off on her and, like the little girl in the lift, she wanted to believe.
Had they seen that in her? Rupert’s PR people. The longing for something that had always been out of reach. Not the glamour, the clothes, but something deeper. A need for love so desperate that she would be emotionally seduced by the fairy tale of the beast tamed by the innocent.
In other words, a sucker.
Because only an idiot would have fallen for it. She knew she wasn’t special. Not tall and elegant or the slightest bit gorgeous. She wasn’t an ‘It’ girl, or a model, or an actress. Nothing like the kind of woman billionaires were usually seen with. Not the kind of woman Rupert had dated in droves—even while remaining determinedly uncommitted—before he’d apparently been bowled over by her innocent charms.
So innocent that he’d insisted on waiting until they were married before they moved their relationship beyond a few kisses.
How many women would have been dumb enough to fall for that fairy tale?
Forget the still small voice in the back of her head. The fact that he found it so easy to resist temptation, the fact that she was perfectly happy to go along with it, wasn’t panting with frustration, should have sent not just warning bells clanging but klaxons wailing an ear-splitting warning.
It was so obvious, faced with reality, that she was in love with the idea of being in love, the fairy tale, rather than the man. While Rupert…
Well, his motives were clear enough.
He could have paid a celebrity to be the face, the figure to relaunch his fashion chain, but he wanted a real woman who he would transform with his new ‘look’. An ordinary woman.
Apparently she was a breath of fresh air. Real. That was how the PR people had described her in their report. Not a model or a star, but someone who every women in their sales demographic would instantly relate to, aspire to be. Would believe.
So far, so simple. And the rest of it had started as a throwaway line scribbled in the margins of a report.
And she’d fallen for it, believed him, because it had never once occurred to her that it was all a big fat lie. What, for heaven’s sake, would be the point of that?
Innocent was right.
The point, of course, was money. A lot of money. Now she knew the truth, she could bring the whole edifice crashing down. It would cost him millions and he wasn’t about to let that happen.
She dug out her phone and with shaky fingers she keyed in a tweet while she had a chance.
Lies, lies, lies…
She stopped. There was no signal. Had she been cut off? Or was it just because she was in the deepest part of the basement, surrounded by concrete? She’d had one a couple of hours ago by the coffee machine…
It didn’t matter. Whatever the cause, she was, for the moment at least, totally on her own.
Nothing new there. She’d been on her own for most of her life. And if she was trembling by the time she tugged a comb through her damp hair it was with anger rather than fear.
She was absolutely furious with Rupert for lying to her, with Nathaniel Hart for making her want to believe him, but most of all with herself for being so gullible, so stupid.
Diary update: Everything was going so well. I was safe for the night. All I had to do was keep my head down, stay out of the way of security patrols and I was home dry. Well, wet, actually, because I couldn’t resist taking a shower…
Oh, for goodness’ sake, she thought, closing the phone. What was the point?
She was up the creek without a paddle and going nowhere. At least not for the moment. Once she was out of the basement all bets were off, but for now the best she could do was get dressed and be ready to take advantage of the slightest opportunity.
She lifted the towel from her shoulders and began vigorously rubbing at her hair. The last thing she needed was pneumonia. In fact…She gave up on the hair and sorted through the pile of discarded elf clothes, picking out the tights, bootees and even the hat, pushing them into the depths of her bag.
The bootees weren’t going to be snow-proof, but they would be a lot better than bare feet.
Guilt warred with a sense of triumph as she finished towelling herself off. Triumph won as she stepped into fragile lacy underwear which would do nothing to keep the cold out. She fastened her bra and then reached for her dress.
Her hand met the bare slats of the bench and she turned to look.
Her dress, along with the towel tossed aside by Nathaniel Hart, had slipped to the floor.
She made a wild grab for it but both dress and towel had been lying there quite long enough to soak up water like a sponge and, as she lifted it from the floor, it dripped icy-cold water down her legs.
In desperation she squeezed it. Rolled it up in a dry towel. The towel got wet. The dress did not get noticeably drier.
It was the elf costume or nothing.
She groaned. She might be in a mess but the dress did things to her figure that the elf costume could never hope to achieve. She knew what effect the dress had on Nathaniel Hart. Wearing that, she had a chance of distracting him but, while her underwear would have undoubtedly done the
