The Rent-A-Groom (2 page)

“I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I just—”

He lifted a hand to halt her refusal. “If it’s me personally that’s bothering you, please don’t make up your mind just yet. I know I look rough, but I came straight from the ranch; what you see isn’t necessarily what you get. I brought a tux and a few other things with me. If I could use your bathroom for a quick shower, you’ll see I clean up fairly decent.”

She could just imagine. Seizing on the one word he had spoken that was not loaded, she asked, “Ranch?”

His smile was immediate. “That’s my real line of work. Jobs like this help pay the vet bills.”

Staring down at the card she still held, Gina gave the idea of hiring this cowboy two whole seconds of serious thought. Then she shook her head. “I hate to do you out of a job, but I don’t think it would work.”

“It’s just a single evening, not a lifetime commitment.” His voice dropped to a note of husky persuasion as he braced a hand on the door frame and leaned closer. “I don’t bite, I promise. I’m no sex fiend or axe murderer. You’ll be safer than at a Sunday morning church service. We’ll have dinner at the Terrace downstairs, talk a little, get to know each other. Afterward, maybe we’ll dance or stroll around the Glass Garden. I don’t say it will be a dream date, but it should be pleasant. At least, I know it would be for me.”

He was good at the charm stuff, she had to give him that; the sincerity in his voice was totally convincing. Moreover, the evening he had outlined sounded much better than the one she’d planned, which included ordering room service and going to bed with a murder mystery. And she would dearly love to see the look on Bradley’s face if he should catch sight of her with this outstandingly handsome male model.

Still, Gina hesitated. The falseness of the whole thing bothered her. On top of that was the expense, a major consideration to her frugal accountant’s soul. Diane might have made the arrangement, but she couldn’t let her friend actually foot the bill.

Down the hall and around the corner there came the discreet chime that announced the arrival of the elevator on this floor of the West Tower. Race Bannister glanced in that direction then swung back to her with some urgency. “When I passed the registration desk down below, there was a man and woman checking into the Emerald suite next door. I’m not sure it’s the guy giving you problems, but the name sounded about right. You want to take this up inside, just in case?”

Gina reached quickly to release the brass safety latch and pull the door wide. Race picked up the black duffel and suit bag at his feet then stepped smoothly into the suite’s foyer. She shut the door and turned to face him.

Race was standing in the middle of the floor with a stunned expression on his face as he took in the pink marble under his feet, the mirrored walls, and the luxuriant fern on an antique brass stand that filled one corner. He eyed the bronze bust of Mitsy Packard, the lady for whom the enormous conservatory-atrium that gave the Glass Garden Hotel its name had originally been built. Then he cast an eye toward the Victorian rose-bower of a sitting room, with its wallpaper on which flowers bloomed in profusion. He scanned the flowering chintz, rococo extravagance of gilded picture frames, the carved wood, porcelain clocks and fringed cushions.

“Good Lord.” The comment was as stunned as his face.

“It’s supposed to be romantic.”

“Right.” The word was laconic, but the glance that went with it carried a sudden spark of interest.

“I’ve heard about this suite for years,” she said defensively, “read about it in
Bride’s
magazine—and also about the hotel built by a tough cattle and oil millionaire for his fragile flower of a wife. I always wanted to spend my honeymoon here.”

Race studied her while warm appreciation gathered in his cobalt eyes. “Yes, and I’ll bet you picked out one of those old-fashioned nightgowns to match the place, didn’t you? White silk, maybe, and down to your ankles? Ruffles and lace? About a thousand buttons somebody should have the fun of opening one by one.” He smiled with a slow shake of his head. “The guy who disappointed you must be a terminal idiot.”

She could get used to the way this man thought. He was right, of course. He knew it, too, and maybe guessed at the whole waiting-for-the-wedding-night romantic notion that went with it. That was plain from the way his grin widened as he watched the flush that climbed to her hairline.

She cleared her throat. “Look, I—”

“No, you look,” he interrupted, leaning to put his bags down before he straightened and put his hands on his hips. “This is not a big deal. I’m here, you’re here, and it’s just a few hours out of our lives. We’ll have a good time showing off for the idiot’s benefit, then I disappear. Mission accomplished. You can spend the rest of your week holed up in here letting empty room service trays pile up outside the door.”

“But I’ve never done anything like this before.” She winced and closed her eyes immediately as she realized how that sounded.

“I didn’t think you made a habit of it,” he drawled with a wicked undercurrent of suppressed humor.

“What I meant to say is, this isn’t the kind of thing I would ever consider in my wildest—” She stopped as she recognized she was making matters worse.

“So try it for a change. Live dangerously. Step out and do something a little reckless—or maybe a lot reckless.” His voice dropped to a lower note. “Who knows? You might enjoy it.”

“I don’t think that’s likely. I dislike jumped-up decisions or awkward situations. When I do something, I want it planned and organized down to the last detail.”

“Like your wedding? Not to mention your honeymoon?” There was a shadow of sympathy in the dark blue of his eyes but no relenting in his voice.

Her embarrassment shifted to resentment. “What can you possibly know about it?”

“I know you made reservations for this suite in your name, on your personal credit card, then neglected to cancel it when you canceled the wedding. I know you wouldn’t give up the place to your former bridegroom when he had the nerve to get himself hitched to a new bride on your original wedding date. What I’m not sure about is whether you’re here now to spite him or only because you hate to let the suite go to waste since you’ll have to pay for it anyway.”

“And it’s none of your business!” The words were so sharp they seemed to scrape her throat.

“No? Not even if I’m supposed to be helping you out of a fix?”

“I’m not in a—” Gina stopped as she saw what she was about to say was patently untrue. At the same time, her annoyance seemed to drain away before the quiet reason in his voice and in his eyes. “You must be good at what you do,” she said evenly. “You certainly have the gall for it.”

He lifted a gold-dusted brow. “I’m not afraid of taking a chance for something I want, if that’s what you mean.”

She could believe it. There was an edge of daring about him, plus a hint of well-honed competence that did not quite mesh with her image of a male model.

He was also correct about her erstwhile wedding. Nothing about that dismal affair had gone as it should; she had been plagued by doubts and suspicions even before discovering that Bradley was cheating on her. In truth, she’d gone to his apartment to ask a few pointed questions about the bookkeeping she did for him and possibly cancel the arrangements when she found him in bed with Sandra, her maid of honor.

For the two weeks since then, she’d been doing her best to discover where she went wrong, how she could have been so blind. Maybe she had been using too much logic and not enough impulse, too much practicality and not enough passion. Maybe there had been too much planning and not enough going with the flow.

Could be time for a change, after all. Hadn’t she just been fantasizing about parading a truly fine groom in front of Bradley? What was she thinking about, turning down such a perfect candidate?

She closed her eyes tightly then opened them again. Her lips parted as she tried to find the words to tell Race Bannister she would go through with it, would pretend to be his bride.

They wouldn’t come. Her shoulders slumped and she let out a sigh. “I can’t.”

“Why?” he asked softly. “What are you afraid of? It isn’t me. Or at least I don’t think it is, since you let me in here.”

Was he suggesting she was distrusted herself? That was ridiculous. “I’m not afraid. It’s just—oh, it wouldn’t work.”

He lifted a brow. “Why not?”

“Bradley would find out eventually that we aren’t married.”

“Marriage isn’t the only reason two people take a hotel suite together. A man doesn’t have to be a groom to act like a lover.”

The low timbre of his voice, his choice of words and the images they evoked, muddled her thinking and did peculiar things to the rhythm of her heartbeat. Her voice wasn’t quite steady as she answered. “Call it a matter of principle.”

“Principle is a lovely thing,” he said with a wry smile, “but not a lot of comfort.”

“Yes, well, it’s all I’ve got.”

He shook his head, a definite negative. “You’ve got me, if you want me.” He paused. “Tell you what. I’ll make it easy for you. Say the word, and I’ll go without a whimper. But if you have any use for my support, if you think you can stand an evening in my company, then all you have to do is point the way to the shower.”

He faced her in relaxed ease. A near-overwhelming presence there in the close confines of the suite foyer, he waited for her approval.

She did approve. It was possible she approved a bit too much.

He made the situation sound so simple. It wasn’t, and she knew it. Still, to resist the steady light in his eyes and the force of his personality was beyond her. She should never have let him inside, never have spoken to him at all.

She was going to regret this; she knew it beyond a doubt. But she couldn’t help it. The man and the opportunity were too good to resist.

Lifting a hand, she waved vaguely toward the door between the sitting room and sunken bedroom. Her voice hardly more than a whisper, she said, “In there.”

His smile was slow in coming, but worth the wait. “Good decision.” Picking up his belongings, he swung in the direction of the bathroom. “You won’t be sorry.”

She was sorry already. She just couldn’t find the words to call him back.

Her nerves were so on edge that she couldn’t sit down, couldn’t relax. All she could do was think about the man taking off his clothes in her bathroom, stepping into her life as he stepped into her shower. All the mirrors behind the vanity and along one side of the raised Jacuzzi tub would reflect his hard, lean form with its acres of sun-burnished muscle. He would see all her cosmetics and other personal articles scattered across the marble-topped vanity, emptied from her travel bag as she searched earlier for something for a throbbing headache.

She could feel the pain in her head returning now.

A hired escort. She must be losing her mind.

And yet he was so right for the job. She could not have found a better groom if she had constructed him herself. No, nor one more likely to make Bradley sit up and take notice.

At the same time, it was completely unreal that he was there. It almost seemed she must have summoned him with her pure, unadulterated need.

But no, Diane had sent him. She really should thank her, Gina thought. More than that, her friend and neighbor deserved to know how well her idea had worked out, what a great groom the Rent-A-Gent agency had sent.

Moving to the wicker loveseat that took up one corner before the sitting room fireplace, Gina dropped down on the cushions and reached for her cell phone that lay on the end table. As she punched in the number and waited for Diane to answer, her lips tilted in a mischievous smile.