His 7-Day Fiancée. Gail Barrett
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“You’ll see.” The uniformed doorman swung the door open, and Kendall shot Amanda a knowing smile.
Amanda dutifully followed her inside. She gave herself a mental pep talk, tried to resist that constant urge to scan the crowds and monitor her surroundings for Wayne—a habit born of the need to survive. But she didn’t need to worry about Wayne anymore. And she was not going to let him ruin this night.
She stepped past the doorway into the lobby, looked up and abruptly stopped. A huge, vaulted ceiling soared above her. Beneath it towered an enormous stone aqueduct, its trilevel arcades a marvel of ancient times.
“Oh, my,” she murmured, and every thought of Wayne fled her mind. Captivated, she twirled in a circle, ignoring the people streaming around her, intent on absorbing every detail—the statues of Roman emperors, the decorative medallions and columns, the chariot perched on a marble dais.
“I told you,” Kendall said while Amanda still gaped, trying to take it all in.
“You were right.” This place was amazing. Fabulous. She felt as if she’d been dropped into ancient Rome.
Her gaze lingered on the colorful murals, the display of early black-glazed pottery, and the closet archaeologist in her thrilled. Whoever designed this place deserved an award. She couldn’t believe how authentic it looked.
A woman brushed past, jostling her, and Amanda staggered to stay on her feet. She knew that she needed to move, that she was blocking the entrance, but she couldn’t seem to budge. She wanted to absorb every-thing—the gurgling fountains, the flickering torches on the walls, the lions pacing restlessly behind glass. Lions. She shook her head, incredulous. This place was unreal.
Then her eyes settled on a plaster relief of Janus, and the tight ball knotting her belly began to slide loose. Janus, the Roman god of doorways and gates, endings and beginnings—the perfect symbol for her new life.
And for the first time in ages a sliver of optimism surged inside her, a longburied glimmer of hope. She really was going to be all right here. She’d find a new job. Her daughter would thrive. She’d finally find the peace she deserved.
She smiled then, inhaling the soothing scent of moisture from the splashing fountains, the heavenly aroma of roses and gladioli brimming from urns. Still smiling, she turned to join her sister. The tang of a man’s aftershave teased her nose.
Wayne’s aftershave.
Her heart tripped. She stumbled, anxiety drumming through her. She glanced around, frantic to find the source of the scent, but a crowd formed around her, blocking her view.
Calm. Stay calm, she urged herself sternly. Wayne wasn’t here. This had nothing to do with him.
She hauled in air, struggled to swallow around the tension gripping her throat, determined not to overreact. She stepped to the side, tried to work her way through the noisy throng to find where her sister had gone. But the people shifted and trapped her in.
“Get out of my way,” a man in a white shirt shouted beside her, and his rough, raised voice agitated her nerves.
“The hell I will,” another man answered.
Amanda glanced up, caught the first man’s glowering face and took another step back. They were too close. Too close. Trying to beat back the onrush of panic, she cleared her throat. “Excuse me.”
They ignored her. Her anxiety building, she prodded the nearest man with her elbow, intent on getting past. But another whiff of aftershave curled through her senses, and her heart made a frenzied throb.
Stop it, she lectured herself. She had no reason to be afraid. This man had nothing to do with Wayne.
And these people were not going to hurt her. She had to get over the irrational fear, this wrenching need to escape.
She pivoted, wobbled on her too-high heels, determined to get free of this mess. But then a fistfight broke out. Someone shoved. The white-shirted man pushed back, sending the beefy man into her side. Thrown off balance, she gasped, dropped her purse, and nearly fell. The contents of her handbag spilled over the floor.
Great.
Her hands trembling, urgency making her head light, she knelt, scooped up her cell phone and keys. The man in the white shirt squatted beside her. “Sorry,” he muttered, his voice gruff. His aftershave assailed her, setting off a spurt of panic, unleashing a bone-deep reaction she couldn’t control.
“Just leave it. Please. It doesn’t matter,” she pleaded, needing him to move far away. But he snatched up her wallet and tissues with his thick, stubby fingers, and stuffed them into her bag. Desperate now, unable to meet his eyes, she grabbed her purse, clutched it to her chest and rose.
“Break it up!” someone shouted as she turned and stumbled away from the arguing men. She searched through the crowd for her sister, found her waiting a few yards away.
“There you are,” her sister said.“ What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” Her voice came out high and rushed, and she sucked in a calming breath. “I just got bumped and my purse spilled.”
“I told you not to bring that bag.”
“I know.” She reopened the drawstring top, pawed through the jumbled contents, double-checked that her wallet was there. Relief flooded through her, and she blew out her pent-up breath.
“Well, try to keep up this time,” Kendall said, and shook her head.
Feeling foolish, berating her loss of control, she trailed her sister across the room. So she’d smelled Wayne’s aftershave. Big deal. He’d worn a popular brand. She’d let her imagination run away from her.
And she had to stop it. She couldn’t keep letting him do this to her. Every time she thought of him, he won.
But as they crossed the enormous lobby—past the restless lions, past the Roman arches leading to intriguing gardens and baths—that feeling of trepidation crept through her again, as if eyes were boring into her back. She straightened her shoulders, determined not to assume that submissive hunch, and tried to shrug the sensation off. But it only intensified, crawling up her spine, her neck, growing stronger with every step.
Her temper flared. This was ridiculous. She didn’t deserve this constant fear. She had to put an end to the lunacy now.
“Wait a minute,” she said to Kendall. Defiant, she stopped, whipped around.
And met the dark, searing eyes of a man.
But not the one who’d bumped her. This man stood apart from the rest, his feet planted wide, his hands braced low on his hips, like an ancient conqueror surveying his realm.
His thick black hair gleamed in the lights. Heavy beard stubble shadowed his jaw. He had black, slashing brows, taut, masculine cheeks and a mouth so sensual it made her breath catch. A black suit gloved his tall frame.
He was handsome, riveting—shockingly so. But more than his dark looks commanded attention. He had a stillness about him, a feral intensity that exuded intelligence, authority, power.
Her heart thumped, made a funny zigzag in her chest. The word predator flashed through her mind.
The edge of his mouth kicked up at her blatant inspection. His eyes smoldered even more. Then his own gaze dropped, making a long, slow slide over the length of her, trailing a firestorm of heat in its wake.
Her knees trembled. A zap of awareness sizzled her blood. And a completely different type of tension arose in her nerves.
Her face burning, she whirled back toward her sister.
“Whoa, when I said hot men, I didn’t mean that hot,” Kendall said.
“What?” Breathless, mortified that she’d responded so outrageously, she grabbed her sister’s arm and hauled her away.
“You