Doomsday Brethren, Book 04: Entice Me at Twilight (30 page)

He disappeared into the bathroom and emerged wearing one of the hotel’s thick robes. He tossed the other at her. “You’ll want to shower now. When you come out, I’ll have a snack waiting. Then there’s work to be done.”

Before she could ask what, his footsteps across the hardwood floors faded, finally reaching the door. Someone entered; from the sounds, a husky-voiced woman and a man with heavy footsteps. Soon both headed her way.

Felicia tore out of the bed and dove into the bathroom. She shut the door behind her in relief, then turned the faucet. The woman who greeted her in the mirror was a stranger.

Sensual. Tousled hair, swollen mouth. Red cheeks. Utterly sated. The satisfaction on her rosy, relaxed face was unmistakable.

And all of England would see it once those pictures went public.

She closed her eyes, happiness warring with embarrassment. She wanted to stay safe, but feared revealing herself to everyone. Revealing herself to Simon. In a few days, he’d seen through her, all the way to her soul.

That terrified the hell out of her.

Voices on the other side of the door brought her out of her stupor, and she ran for the shower. The hot spray revived her as she tried to put the past few days in perspective. Impossible, really. From Mason’s bombshell to Simon’s abduction, the revelation of magickind, Mathias’s pursuit … all of that was staggering, but nothing she couldn’t handle. However, her mating to Simon, his possessiveness, his insistence on having her love bowled her over. She hadn’t wanted to give her heart to anyone, ever. Slowly but surely, he was prying it from her cold chest and filling the dark space with affection, caring, warmth.

As she rinsed her hair, a pang tore through her belly. How did she trust the idea of him always being in love with her, happily forever? And if she didn’t figure out how to stop her feelings for Simon from growing, his abandonment would hurt more than anyone’s ever had.

A part of her wanted to trust him, hungered to give him every part of herself the way he seemed to share all of himself with her. But even if she did, would that be enough? Was she too damaged to give him what he needed and deserved? Would he realize that something in her was perpetually broken and elect to break their bond?

Finally clean and having no other means of stalling, Felicia dragged on her robe and cracked the bathroom door. Just outside, a tray with fruits, soup, and a hot sandwich sat on ornate china, along with water and tea in a matching cup
and saucer. An older scrap of a woman dressed in head-to-toe black paced in front of the windows, her salt-and-pepper hair perfectly in place. She held a brush in one hand. The other was clenched in a fist.

Biting her lip, Felicia stared at the woman. Who was she? Her presence might have been troublesome, except that nothing sexual existed between her and Simon.

“Thank you for your patience, Amelia,” he drawled.

Slowly, Felicia emerged from the bathroom, clasping the lapels of the robe together. Her gaze connected with Simon’s. Something wild and intense pinged between them, ricocheting through her body like a bullet, doing maximum damage. He sent her a smile, like a lover who knew her secrets. She flushed and looked away.

“Eat, Sunshine. It’ll be a long few hours. After your meal, you can meet Amelia.”

Cautiously digging into her food, Felicia watched as Amelia cut a glare at Simon. The older woman sniffed in Felicia’s direction. “The pictures of her in the tabloids over the past few days show that she has long hair. That takes time.”

So Amelia had come … to do her hair?

The woman turned back to Simon. “You’re expected elsewhere soon, yes?”

Simon lifted one shoulder. “If we’re fashionably late …”

Amelia rolled her eyes indulgently. “How like you to assume the world will wait on you.”

“I hardly care if they do. But they’ll wait for Felicia, I have no doubt.”

Amelia wielded an arched brow. “Is that your arrogance talking, or are you finally in love?”

Felicia paused mid-sandwich, but Simon merely smiled. More nervous than hungry, she pushed her meal aside, rose, and faced Amelia. “I’m Felicia Safford.”

The older woman’s dark gaze scanned her from the top of the towel covering her head to her bare toes, then walked a slow circle around her. After a long, measuring stare, she looked sharply at Simon.

“I’ll need three hours and at least one assistant if you want her presentable.”

“Indeed?” He looked mildly amused.

Felicia frowned. “Who are you exactly? And what’s the matter with me?”

“Amelia Lawine.”

She nearly swallowed her tongue. Amelia was the hairdresser and image consultant to the rich and famous. Everyone who was anyone wanted Amelia’s advice. But she was always busy and notoriously selective. And she made last-minute house calls for Simon?

“I see you’ve heard of me.” Amelia dragged the towel from Felicia’s hair and filtered the wet strands through her fingers. “Not bad. Seems in good shape. The length is a bit long.”

“I like it.” Simon’s voice was suddenly steel.

Amelia shot an arch stare at him, then shrugged. “I’ll make it work. Her forehead is a bit oily, her cheeks dry. She needs a thorough shaping of her brows.” The little woman picked up one of Felicia’s hands, then made a sound of disgust. “Have you been filing your nails with a chainsaw?”

“I had them done three days ago,” Felicia protested.

“By an amateur.” Amelia let her hand drop and continued her visual path downward. “You need a good moisturizer for your skin all over, and that pedicure predates the Jurassic period.”

Simon leveled a reproaching stare at her. “Amelia, nice to know I can always count on you to be polite.”

The little woman snorted. “I’m honest. And you could
use a haircut yourself.”

“I’d never let anyone else touch my hair.”

“As well you shouldn’t. But you I’ll deal with later.” She turned snapping dark eyes back on Felicia. “You, come with me. By tonight, I’ll make you look like the most stunning creature any man ever beheld.”

“I-I really don’t—”

“In my opinion”—Simon crossed the room and took her hand in his—“she already is.”

Amelia turned a sharp stare his way. “Keep this up, and you’re going to force me to gossip shamelessly about you.”

He laughed. “As if I could stop you.”

The fifty-something woman smiled ruefully and took Felicia by the hand. After dragging her back into the bathroom, Amelia attacked her hair with a comb and scissors. Moments later, another woman crowded in, giving Felicia a pedicure under Amelia’s exacting direction. After buffing her heels and nipping her cuticles within an inch of their life, the little bird of a woman at her feet started in on her fingernails. All the while Amelia kept digging items out of her bag of tricks. Goop, then different goop, all applied to her hair, along with lots of tsking and a curse or two.

A long two hours later, Felicia shifted restlessly at the vanity and shouted over the blow-dryer. “Nearly done?”

Amelia snorted. “We haven’t even started makeup.”

Splendid. What the devil was Simon doing while Amelia and her friend were playing Frankenstein?

She heard people come in and out. A hotel employee cleared away the dishes; Simon’s valet appeared with his clothing. Simon and a third man Felicia couldn’t identify discussed something in hushed tones. The man stayed nearly an hour. What the devil was that about?

“Your attention is wandering,” Amelia chided.

“I’m not accustomed to this much grooming.” The woman plucked at her eyebrows, and Felicia flinched. “Ouch!”

“It shows.”

What seemed like forever later, Amelia finally brushed a final coat of lipstick across her mouth and stepped back to survey her results. She gave Felicia a pleased smile. “Beautiful. You’ll turn every head tonight. I’d say that Hurstgrove will become lovesick, but I daresay he already is. Look.”

On wobbly legs, Felicia stood and stared at herself in the mirror, blinking furiously. She almost didn’t recognize herself. Her naturally wavy hair had been fluffed into shiny, artful curls that accentuated her natural highlights. Her eyes, rimmed in soft brown, had never looked more blue or exotic, while her cheekbones had definition. The rest of her face glowed. Amelia had painted her lips a vibrant coral, and they looked nothing short of pouty.

“Oh my word … wow!”

Amelia began cleaning up the tools of her trade. “My work here is complete. Your dress and everything to be worn beneath are hanging in the closet.”

Felicia made her way to the adjacent space and flipped on the light. She gasped at the flow of golden silk cascading from the hanger and falling toward the floor. “It’s gorgeous!”

“The color is perfect for you. Shoes are in the corner. Hurstgrove has your jewelry for the evening. Good-bye, dear.”

“Good-bye. You’re a genius.”

“You’re welcome.”

With that the woman and her assistant left. Felicia stared at herself in the mirror, and her confidence surged. A woman like her could attract a man like Simon.

Perhaps, but that didn’t make her immune to heartbreak.

Her smile faded as she reached for the dress.

Moments and several troubled thoughts later, Felicia tied the sash around her waist. Amazing. Everything fit perfectly. Slightly Grecian with a twist of Katharine Hepburn, the silky dress hugged her breasts and cinched in at the waist, accentuated by the wide strip of silk, then fell like a dream to her feet. She stepped into strappy black shoes that were clearly expensive and felt like a cloud.

A moment later, Simon knocked on the door. “Ready? We’re beyond fashionably late.”

She opened the door. He cut a handsome figure with a fresh haircut and a form-fitting tuxedo. Debonair and smooth. Lethal to her heart.

When he clapped eyes on her, his jaw dropped. “Stunning.” He blew out a harsh breath. “I always knew you were beautiful, but tonight … hmm, you’re so sexy, Sunshine. I wish we could stay in.”

“Great idea!”

He shook his head regretfully. “Nice try. All part of the plan.”

Felicia stifled a curse. “Where are we going? And how many people will have seen our pictures by the time we arrive?”

“It’s a benefit dinner, and probably everyone. Just smile. I promise I’ll take care of the rest.” He took her hand in his.

In the bedroom, he handed her a delicate black wool coat. Around her neck, he clapped a gorgeous string of huge lustrous black and golden orbs decorated with diamond rondelles. He attached matching strings to her ears.

“These are gorgeous!” She gasped. “Are they pearls?”

He nodded. “Black and golden Tahitians.”

“They’re perfect,” she breathed, fingering them in the mirror.

“Then they match you.”

Such over-the-top flattery, yet when he spoke the words, there was no mistaking his sincerity. Her heart thawed a bit more.

“Aren’t these very rare? And very expensive?”

“So I’m told.”

A shocking thought hit her. “Tell me you borrowed these.”

A ghost of a smile crossed his face. “If you don’t like them, they’ll go back tomorrow.”

Felicia nearly choked. “You
bought
them?”

Simon shrugged, which she took to mean yes.

“I can’t take something this extravagant.”

“You’re not taking; I’m giving them to you. No more arguments. Now …” He handed her a heavy, coordinated champagne bag. “The Doomsday Diary is tucked in there. Amelia put your lipstick inside as well, and I’m to tell you on penalty of death that you must retouch.”

Despite the nerves fluttering in her belly, Felicia cracked a smile.

“Hmm. I may have to smudge it myself, just to test your dedication to reapplication.”

“Simon …”

“Ah,” he said regretfully. “Another speech where you tell me to keep my distance. Hasn’t it occurred to you yet that I’m not listening?”

No, she’d gotten that, loud and clear. “So my wishes don’t matter?”

“That’s not it.” He took her hand, pressing his forehead to hers. “You’re hiding, not just from me, but yourself. Once you see what it’s like to be truly loved and to love back … well, if you’d like to return to your walled-off existence, I’ll do my best to give you what you want. But I don’t think you want to spend the rest of your life alone.”

Felicia sucked in a breath. He got right to the heart of the matter so quickly. How did he voice her biggest fears and make her see them from a totally different angle? What if he was right?

And then what if something parted them?

“You’re thinking too much.” He tugged on her hand. “Let’s go.”

In the chilly evening, the valet brought the car around. The paparazzi hovered, jostling and shouting.

“Pictures of you and your fiancé’s brother are circulating the Internet. Are they real?”

“How long have you been lovers?”

“Your Grace, your brother is denying that you have any sexual relationship with Ms. Safford. Given the recent pictures, how can that be true?”

“No comment,” Duke said firmly, then hustled her into a sleek silver limousine that stopped inches from them.

Felicia’s teeth chattered when she got inside, not just from the cold, but the apprehension. People
had
already seen the pictures. Mason, too? Cold dread slid through her stomach. What must he be thinking?

“May I use your phone?” she said to Simon as he climbed in.

He hesitated, then handed it to her. “Is something wrong?”

“I can’t do this to Mason. He stood by me, held my hand, assumed so many of my responsibilities after Deirdre’s death. I don’t want him to discover … us from a bunch of tabloid pictures.”

Simon grabbed her wrist. “I inspected them before I allowed Holly to post anything. Caden watched our back. The pictures are sensual but tasteful. They don’t look posed at all. Will Mason know from looking at them that we’re lovers?
Yes. But I made certain they should neither hurt nor embarrass you.” He released her slowly. “Call him.”

Felicia did. It was a frustrating but guilty relief to get his voicemail. Not knowing what to say in a recording that wouldn’t crush him, she simply hung up.

“I admire you for wanting to soften the blow,” Simon said softly. “When you do talk to him, he may say that he loves you, but I’ll do whatever it takes to fight for you and make you believe in me.”