terribly unflattering photo of her flopped on the grass of the Rose Garden would undoubtedly accompany the headline….
She suppressed a tremor of disgust.
When she was standing, her legs still wobbly, Ryan stepped closer and slid his arm around her shoulders. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
His masculine scent washed over her, an intoxicating combination of clean male and expensive designer aftershave, and a ribbon of attraction darted through her. She swiveled her head and stared into his gaze, unable to find her sanity and look away, tumbling into the clear, compelling depths of his eyes. Awareness crashed through her like a tidal wave and she wanted to reach out and run her fingers over the sheer beauty of his strong jaw. A light breeze stirred, mixing his scent with the heady fragrance of freshly bloomed roses.
A couple of clicks sounded.
She instinctively cringed and snapped her gaze toward the sound.
“Thanks, guys.” A photographer triumphantly held up his camera. “One of those is sure to be a keeper.”
Panic seeped through her. Her worst fantasy had come true. Some overzealous photographer had taken a photo of her without her veil! “He just took our picture!”
Ryan stepped away and plucked her veil free from the rosebush it had snagged on. “Yeah, I guess he did.” A tiny smile hovered around his mouth.
She crossed her arms in front of her, wanting to wipe that little smirk off his face with everything in her. “You’re happy about this, aren’t you?”
“Hey, I wanted the picture taken all along, and you don’t seem willing to tell me why you’re so darned determined to back out.”
The despicable schemer. Had he arranged for the photographer to snap the picture on the sly?
She drew herself up and did her best to look haughty. “Well, Mr. Cavanaugh, the picture may have been taken, but I still haven’t signed the release.” She hastily gathered her dress, snatched her tulle veil from his hand, and stomped away. “And I don’t intend to,” she called over her shoulder.
“Not even for a worthwhile cause?”
She stopped and shot him a glare. “I’ll say it again. Don’t use guilt to change my mind, Mr. Cavanaugh. Trust me, guilt isn’t in short supply today.” She turned her back on the gorgeous man with the charming dimples, bone-melting smile, and enough charisma to raise a hundred red flags in her brain.
Thankfully, this ended here and now. She wasn’t about to let her one lapse in judgment, or Ryan’s attempt to make her feel guilty, ruin her plan to meet the terms of her father’s deal so she wouldn’t have to slave away in the family banking business.
She shuddered. Even though she possessed the skill and education to help run a banking dynasty, she couldn’t think of anything worse than being relegated to the uncreative, stodgy world of high finance for the rest of her life.
Her father’s world.
That was enough to keep her walking. She set her shoulders, needing to get away from the exasperating man with the gorgeous blue eyes, stunning smile, and his compelling reason to make sure the picture was printed.
Even though it went against her natural sense of fair play and altruism not to help him out, she had to ignore the guilt ripping through her and stand firm. Her future, her happiness, her self-worth were at stake. That picture would never see the light of day. Ryan would just have to get his publicity some other way, and she knew from experience that that was doable.
After all of the schemers who had betrayed and used her, she was done serving any man’s purpose.
Chapter Two
Ryan watched Anna clomp across the grass, her dress held high and her chin shoved into the air. A hearty dose of admiration overrode the puzzled irritation caused by her refusal to stay for the shoot. Most people saw him as a formidable foe and got the hell out of the way when he wanted something. She obviously had no problem crossing him. She was something else, all right, with her sassy threats and mule-headed refusal to cooperate.
He liked that. She was up-front and to-the-point.
Unlike any of the other women he’d known.
A vision of Sonya, the rich man-eater who’d burned him, thudded into his head. He’d met her through a mutual friend, and they’d hit it off right away. Quickly becoming inseparable, they’d become engaged after six months. He’d been happy and confident of their future, and had been totally unprepared for her calling off the wedding a month before the date. Apparently she’d determined—with quite a bit of help from her snooty parents—that despite his recent business success, he wasn’t rich enough for her taste. She’d left him almost standing at the altar, and had married a “trust funder” like her a week after she was supposed to marry Ryan.
Her cutting, unexpected betrayal had left him shell-shocked, hurt and pretty damn determined to avoid her kind—wealthy princesses who chewed up and spit out men they deemed unworthy.
But this Anna, well, she seemed to be a hardworking girl and nothing like the heiress who’d dumped him on his butt. Not that her being down-to-earth and normal really mattered. What did matter was that he wanted to keep needy little kids from having the kind of lonely, neglected childhood he’d had. He wanted the publicity for the foundation. Unfortunately it looked like Anna wasn’t going to help him out and sign that release.
And that was really a shame. If any woman could help him win Best Wedding Couple, she could. Man, what a beauty she was, all fiery auburn hair, big, gorgeous brown eyes the color of aged brandy, and smooth, pale skin. He’d need to start being solicitous, something he wished he’d thought of earlier. He impatiently unbuttoned his coat and loosened his bow tie, still feeling warm.
He had to convince her to help him out.
He stared at the tent for a second, his mind firing up. How could he change her mind to his way of thinking? Maybe he could turn her around if he knew what he was up against.
Maybe not.
Either way, now that the picture had been taken, he would do his best to make sure the paper published it. It was time to make use of his well-developed sales skills, honed from having to battle for every inch of his business success, to make Anna see the light.
A nice, conciliatory lunch seemed in order.
He headed toward the dressing tents, consisting of temporary rooms created by draped black fabric and wood frames. Anna was nowhere in sight, but he figured she was still changing, unless she’d taken off in full wedding attire.
He moved closer to the opening in the fluttering material, spying the reporter—was her name Colleen?—as he drew near. The tall, attractive blonde stepped out, looking as frustrated as he felt.
“She still changing?” he asked.
She nodded and gave a tiny roll of her blue eyes. “She’s pretty mad.”
“I know.” He loosened his tie more, which was beginning to strangle the life out of him.
She
