What If He’s the One. Kathy Jay
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Chapter Three
I. Am. Actually. With. Him.
Alex took control at the airport. He heaved Maggie’s bags off the carousel. “Good grief. You’ve got a lot of baggage.” She really did. Literally – because she’d brought things with her for the shoot. And figuratively. She trembled inside, wondering if her procedure at the clinic had worked, and if today would be too soon to test.
He queued with her in the passport check lines, placing a hand in the small of her back and ushering her forward in a way that made her feel like she wasn’t just with him by accident. The pressure of his hand meant more than it should. He’d branded her with his delicious heat.
Turning heads every step they took, he towered over Maggie. His stop-you-in-your-tracks eyes were masked with dark sunglasses, but people recognized him anyway; and even if they didn’t they still looked. Recognition didn’t fizz on Alex. But awkwardness prickled through Maggie. She noted the stares, the admiring glances, the nudgings and finger pointings. Not to mention the phone-photo moments.
In the arrivals hall a young woman thrust a camera into Maggie’s hands. She and her mother draped themselves either side of a stony-faced Alex.
“Take a photo! Would you mind?”
Maggie raised an eyebrow. “Do you mind?”
“Be my guest.” He hooked his sunglasses into the top pocket of his jacket and looked into the camera, suppressing a scintilla of a smile. It was the look he was famous for. The fans expected it. Maggie’s legs turned to jelly. She took the picture and handed the camera back.
“Thank you so much,” the women chorused. “You’ve made our day.” They raced off, dragging their cases with nippy little wheels behind them, ready to waylay Nick and repeat the photo opportunity.
Through the flurry of attention Alex located his driver and whisked Maggie out of the airport. He held the car door for her while the driver dealt with the bags.
“Nick and I have different drivers. In theory we attract less attention that way.”
“If all the drooling damsels and general purpose nut-jobs back there are anything to go by, different cars isn’t going to do it. What you guys need is separate planets!”
Lips set in an unflinching line, a muscle twitched in his cheek. “We’re working on it.”
His body brushed hers when he slid into the car. Being around Alex over the next few days would be so much easier to cope with if he came with a button and an instruction manual telling her how to turn his infernal sex appeal off.
She couldn’t afford to indulge in swoony fan moments. She had a job to do. This Boston shoot was nothing more than a slot blocked off in her diary. Styling Alex would be easy. He’d rock any look she threw at him.
Maggie tugged at her seatbelt. It had jammed. She tugged again.
“Need a hand?” Alex leaned across. Mmm… Spiced man. His unshaven jawline was so close she wondered how it would feel against her skin. Any more of these moments, or – heaven forbid – incidents like the one on the plane and she would melt like microwaved chocolate. She needed to come up with a self-preservation plan, something to keep her one step ahead of Hot Vampire Guy.
One deft movement unjammed the seatbelt and he passed it into her hands, his fingers brushing hers as he did so. There was a knowing quirk of an almost-smile on his lips when he pulled back and settled into his half of the back seat to snap on his own seatbelt.
Her heart fluttered, hormones sky-high. If she could roll back time she’d make sure her one not-so-stellar night with television’s dreamiest man played out very differently. That Christmas, before Alex went off and got famous, Layla had teased her about her missed opportunity and bought her a pack of fluorescent, glow-in-the-dark condoms to keep handy just in case she ever got so lucky again. She didn’t. She’d been wearing blinkers when she met Marcus, moved in with him, started making long-term plans. What a mistake. The words “man” and “plan” might rhyme, but they were otherwise utterly incompatible.
The car pulled away from the terminal. Boston didn’t look very welcoming. A misty rain was falling, wrapping the whole place in gloom; the streets, the sea, the sky and everything in between looked grey.
Now that he wasn’t being scrutinized by any members of the public, a flirty smile lit up Alex’s features. His much-too-blue eyes twinkled, the corners creased.
“When do you start ripping my clothes off, Maggie? Tomorrow, is it?”
His deep voice did things to her that a girl in the back of a chauffeur-driven car should be ashamed of. How in heaven’s name was she going to get through the next few days if she couldn’t get her berserk hormones under control? She fidgeted, smoothing the grey fabric of her skirt under her palms. To stop herself, she locked her hands, as if she was praying, only to end up rubbing one thumb over the blue varnish on the other as if doing so might erase the color.
“The day after,” she replied primly. “And the general idea is to get you in clothes, not out of them. If it was a naked photo shoot you’d hardly need a fashion stylist.”
Alex laughed. He ploughed the fingers of one big hand into his jet-black hair. There was silence and then he hit her with a bombshell. “For the record, I’m sorry I didn’t call you.”
She gulped. Her throat felt tight as if she’d tried to swallow a peach stone. “Oh, it’s no biggie.” She whooshed a hand through the air, as if sweeping his words away. Her heart thudded as if it had been surgically removed and replaced with a piece of rock. She wanted to kick herself. Not a biggie? Of course it was a biggie. It was the biggest biggie of all time. She’d been crushed.
“I should have called,” he insisted.
“I really truly didn’t expect you to.” She babbled out the brush-off. “I mean, I rang your mobile a couple of times.” Six – at least. “You had things to do.” She’d got voice mail and hadn’t known what to say. When she’d tried him that final time, Nick had answered Alex’s phone. She’d told him to give Alex her love and wish him luck. He’d promised he would.
A shiver ran through her as though someone was trailing icy fingers along her spine. When he hadn’t called back, she shouldn’t have been surprised. Her grandmother had warned her to keep her expectations of the male species extra low. It was safer than having shattered hopes. She hadn’t believed her. She’d gone into the adult world with an open heart. And she’d been hurt. Twice.
Although she was controlled on the surface, her mind was paddling like a duck’s feet underneath. She’d thought she and Alex shared something special. They almost had. Only he’d kept his feelings locked away. Maybe allowing her to get that close had been a step too far. He’d always been out of reach.
After the holidays everyone was buzzing with the news that he’d dropped out to make Mercy of the Vampires. At the time she’d ached, knowing that he wasn’t coming back to London. The disappointment had been excruciating, but she’d clung on to a thread of consolation. He hadn’t just dropped her. He’d dropped his entire life.
“It’s ancient history.” She gave a nonchalant shrug and a bright smile. She’d had an airy- fairy notion that, in spite of her grandma’s professed wisdom on the non-existence of soul mates, she might prove her wrong. She and Alex simply weren’t meant to be.
Then along came Marcus and she’d had the stuffing knocked out of her. She’d come back a day early from working away, turned the key in the lock, and walked into her home to discover her fiancé getting down and dirty with someone he’d picked up at the pub. She wasn’t even that attractive and she was at least ten years older than Maggie. Maybe twelve. The gut-wrenching shock had turned her cold.
“Anyway, I called you, remember? You were busy and Nick answered. I told him to wish you all the luck