Romancing Miss Right (5 page)

Of course, in a standard opening night twist,
there hadn’t been enough of the pink note cards to write them on.
Luckily, Craig had pocketed a cocktail napkin and borrowed a pen
from a PA as soon as he got to the terrace, in anticipation of just
such a move and he’d been able to stay above the fray as the others
panicked and argued and negotiated cutting the cards in half. He’d
calmly written his dirty limerick on the napkin and adjourned to
the bar where he’d met up with Stefan and Aidan as soon as they
turned in their answers.

The mood was tense with anticipation and
Stefan and Aidan were killing their nerves with a few dozen
shooters.

Stefan listed against the bar, his accent
growing thicker with each shot. “She is too sexy,” he slurred
enthusiastically. “And when we marry, I will have all the sexiness
of her.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, buddy,” Craig
cautioned. “You’ve gotta get past all the competition first and
Captain America over there already scored a kiss.”

“What?” Stefan pivoted, staggered and righted
himself with a hand against the bar, glowering blearily in the
general direction of Homespun Daniel, who eyed the cluster around
the bar with disapproval. “No. No. I am the first kiss.”

“Maybe it was just a peck. You could still
get the first real kiss.”

“
Si
.” Stefan nodded, the up and down
motion of his head gaining momentum with his enthusiasm.
“
Si
, this is what I do. I get the first
real
kiss. I
knock her socks off. No socks!”

He lifted his glass in a toast to no socks
and threw back the shot, Aidan echoing the action before slumping
against the bar groaning. “I don’t feel so great.”

Right on cue, Miranda, the head producer—a
platinum blonde with a razor sharp bob who looked too young to be
in a position of such authority but acted like she owned the
planet—strode into the room and called out, “Showtime,
gentlemen!”

The crew began ushering them all to the main
living room, shoving champagne glasses into their hands, and
arranging them on and around the couches. Aidan stumbled on a
wrinkle in the carpet and Miranda’s laser-like gaze honed in on him
mercilessly. “Shit. Already?” she swore. “Get him some coffee.”

She directed their placement, eyes narrowed
as she arranged them according to height, coloring, and suit style
until they created a suitably impressive array of masculinity.
Make-up artists drifted around, blotting noses that were too shiny.
At the last minute, a PA darted in, plucking the coffee from
Aidan’s grasp and handing him a full champagne glass.

Miranda lifted a hand and the general hum of
conversation quieted. “All right, gentlemen,” she announced. “This
is the moment you’ve all been anticipating for months. You’ve all
had the chance to meet her, so you know exactly how gorgeous and
incredible Marcy is. One of you just met your future wife, but all
of you will remember this experience for the rest of your lives.
Let’s have a great night, gentlemen, and let Marcy know just how
glad you are that she’s your Miss Right.”

With that Miranda stepped back, ducking out
of the camera sight-lines, and the French doors at the far end of
the room swung open majestically, revealing Miss Right in all her
glory. And she was glorious.

A cheer went up from the gentlemen and Craig
heard himself joining in—surprising himself with the sincerity of
his shout. Marcy was something else. She glided into the room,
champagne glass already in her hand, and smiled, a blush rising to
her cheeks as the cheering went on and on.

Craig may be here for his career, but he was
going to enjoy wooing this woman for six or seven weeks until she
kicked him off. He would have gone through the motions with anyone,
but Marcy… Marcy was going to make this a hell of a lot more
fun.

#

“Marcy, I would steal you away, yes?”

John’s face fell comically as Stefan stepped
forward, extending his hand for her. Marcy placed her hand on his,
letting him help her up from the loveseat. She offered an
apologetic smile to John from Baltimore, who had only just begun
telling her about his three dogs and two cats, and let Stefan lead
her away.

For the last hour she’d felt like she was in
a game of hot potato—snatched from one man to the next before she
had time to think. She’d been tempted, more than once, to say no,
that a suitor could
not
“steal her for just a moment”, but
the producers kept encouraging her to give every man his chance to
plead his case. Reward those who take initiative, they said.

Unfortunately, Stefan’s initiative seemed to
have come with the help of some liquid courage.

He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm,
and she took shallow breaths to avoid inhaling too much of the
alcohol fumes wafting off him. She leaned on him, trying to avoid
breaking an ankle on the uneven ground as he led her across the
lawn to the gazebo strung with fairy lights.

“
Mi amor
, we are believe in love at
first sight, yes?” He guided her up the two steps into the gazebo
and turned to face her.

“Uh…” Marcy frowned, trying to figure out if
he was telling her he loved her already. His English seemed to have
deteriorated in direct correlation to the increase of his blood
alcohol content.

“I know you have kiss Daniel. But my kiss is
kiss of love, yes?” He reached for her face and she shied away.

“Whoa, Stefan—”

His hands clamped hard to either side of her
head, digging the mic hidden in her hair into her scalp. “We are
destiny. We are begin journey of romance.”

“Hold on, sport—” She slapped both palms
against his chest and gave him a shove, but alcohol had lent him
strength and obliviousness. His lips puckered, looming closer.
“Stefan, stop.”

“Yes. In name of love.”

“Oh for the love of—“ Marcy twisted her head
in his grip, shooting a pleading look toward the camera crew
capturing all of this for America’s viewing pleasure. “Guys,
c’mon.” Were they seriously going to let this guy force himself on
her because it made good television?

Those fleshy lips were millimeters from her
now, drowning her in noxious whiskey-scented breath. “
Mi
amor.
”

A figure surged out of the darkness, leaping
up to join them in the gazebo. “Is this man bothering you,
Marcy?”

Blond hair gleamed in the fairy lights.
Daniel.

“I do not bother,” Stefan declared
indignantly, but he did release her.

Marcy quickly stepped away. Daniel moved
forward, placing himself between her and Stefan—who appeared to be
quickly morphing from an amorous drunk into a belligerent one.

“You dare me!” Stefan began to unbutton his
jacket.

Daniel seemed to swell in response. With his
chest puffed up like that, he did look a bit like Captain America.
Marcy felt the most insane urge to giggle. Which was wrong. So
wrong. But there was something so hysterical about the moment—two
men, about to come to blows over the right to kiss her. It was
heady stuff.

Insane. But heady.

“Stefan,” she said, before things could get
out of hand. “I think you’ve had a little too much to drink. I
think it’s time for you to go home and sleep it off.”

The Spaniard frowned, visibly confused. “We
are destiny?”

“I don’t think so.” She wasn’t destined to be
with anyone who got falling down drunk the first time he met her.
“Sorry. I think you should go.”

Security appeared at the edge of the fairy
lights, proving they’d been there all along and someone—Miranda
most likely—had held them back to allow Daniel to have his savior
moment. He did give good hero. Captain America had probably earned
himself the first private date with these theatrics.

As security stepped forward, Stefan began to
sob, muttering incoherently in Spanish, though he didn’t resist
when they escorted him away from the gazebo.

Daniel watched him go, muscles bristling
beneath his suit coat. Only when Stefan was out of sight, did he
turn to her, blue eyes crinkling with concern. “Are you all
right?”

Something about the way he asked the question
struck her as overly dramatic. The crew may have let Stefan smear
her with sloppy kisses for the good of the ratings, but she’d never
been truly in danger. She’d known that, but Daniel was acting as if
he’d just saved her from a fate worse than death, rather than an
awkward situation. “I’m fine. He was just confused. And drunk.”

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that. May
I escort you back to the party?”

Marcy didn’t know what to make of this guy.
He saved her right on cue—in a scene that had doubtless been
carefully choreographed by the production team—and then he didn’t
even try to use his heroics to his advantage to score some alone
time with her? She couldn’t figure out his angle. But if she played
along, maybe he would reveal it. “Thank you. I’d like that.”

He took her arm and guided her down the
steps. As soon as she stepped onto the grass, her heel found a
divot and she wobbled, tilting against him.

“Allow me.”

Daniel bent and hooked one arm under her
knees, sweeping her and roughly two tons of glittering fabric up
into his arms as if she were no heavier than a feather. She gasped,
clutching his neck—and the producers doubtless all had simultaneous
orgasms.

At least now she knew his angle.

Marcy grinned, settling in to enjoy the ride
as Captain America—
I really ought to stop thinking of him as
that, damn Craig for putting it in my head
—marched across the
lawn with her in his arms like a real action hero. The camera crews
swarmed around, trying to get them from every angle without getting
in one another’s sight lines.

“I’m so sorry you had to deal with such
unpleasantness on your first night,” he said, his voice not
betraying the slightest hint of breathlessness at the exertion. The
man was
fit
.

“If this is the result, I’m not all that
sorry,” Marcy teased.

“I didn’t mean, uh…” It was hard to tell in
the dark, but she thought Daniel blushed. Was he for real? “I only
meant that we should be doing all we can to make this stressful
situation easier for you.”

“Thank you.” Being carried around like a
fairy tale princess certainly didn’t hurt.

“I think some of the guys may have been less
than helpful.”

“What do you mean?”

They’d reached the edge of the pool deck and
Daniel set her on her feet, not even trying to cop a feel as she
slid down against his body.

His face was clearer in the lights
surrounding the pool, his eyes wrinkled with concern. “I don’t want
to speak badly of anyone, but someone may have been egging Stefan
on. Doing toasts with him and stuff.”

“Let me guess. Craig?”

Daniel grimaced and nodded.

“Thank you, Daniel. For telling me and for
your help. You leave Craig to me.”

Chapter Six

“Hey, Miranda, what’s Marcy’s favorite
drink?” Craig asked

“Amaretto sour,” Miranda said automatically,
not even sparing him a glance, her attention consumed by whatever
she was relaying over her headset.

Stefan had just been hauled through the house
on his way to the rejection limo and Craig figured he had about two
minutes before Danny Boy tattled on him and Marcy came to find him.
If she did, he’d have her favorite drink ready as a peace offering.
And if she didn’t, he’d take it to her. There was only so long a
guy could wait to be sought out—but he wasn’t going to tell the
other guys that. Perception was half the battle. If these guys were
all panicked and insecure, it could only help his cause.

Craig collected an Amaretto sour from the
bartender off camera and strolled back into the living room to
wait.

“That’s your strategy?” John from Baltimore
asked skeptically. “Just stand there with her favorite drink and
hope she comes to you?”

“Dude, she’s already coming for me. I’m just
prepared for her.”

He couldn’t have timed it better. Marcy
entered the living room and didn’t even glance at the other men.
“Craig, could I have a word with you?”

He smiled at her as if they had a secret. “Of
course.”

She turned on her heel, probably intending to
storm out so he would be forced to follow, but he moved quickly so
it looked like they were sneaking away together. Perception.
Nothing like it.

Once they were outside, but still in view of
the other men, he extended the drink to her. “Amaretto sour? I hear
they’re your favorite. Thought you might like something to help you
unwind after the way Stefan was dragged out of here.”

She frowned at the drink, but accepted it.
“Did you intentionally sabotage Stefan?”

He blinked innocently. “How would I do
that?”

“By encouraging him to drink more than he
could handle.”

He shrugged. “I wasn’t the one pouring the
shots, sweetheart. You can take that up with the production
team.”

She frowned. “You aren’t supposed to mention
them. They’ll have to edit that out.”

He glanced around, reminded that the
conversation they were having now was on camera. It was disturbing
how easy it was to forget the constant presence of the cameras and
that everything he said now would be fodder for the viewing public
in a few months.

Marcy kept walking, around the pool deck to
the fire pit. When she shivered, he shrugged off his jacket,
dropping it around her shoulders as she settled onto one of the
plush loungers around the pit. She accepted the jacket, shooting
him a speculative look as she tugged the lapels.

From across the pool came the distinct sound
of someone retching into the bushes. Aidan, most likely.

Marcy groaned. “I suppose you had nothing to
do with that either?”