Manolos in Manhattan (2 page)

He raised his brow slightly. “Now there’s an odd compliment.”

“Sorry. It’s just...you know, the ‘English people have bad teeth’ cliché,” she managed to say. “I’m Holly James. I’m...” she stopped. Who was she? She’d forgotten. “I, um, I’m Alastair’s daughter.”

His smile, like his hand, was warm. “Yes, I know. Natalie Dashwood-Gordon pointed you out when you came in.”

“She did? You know Natalie?” Natalie was her father’s goddaughter and now, since her marriage to Rhys Gordon, she was Holly’s half-sister-in-law.

“Not very well. Your father only introduced us about ten minutes ago.” He glanced down at her hand, still clasped in his, and back at her face. Amusement lingered in his eyes.

Hastily, she released his hand so he wouldn’t think she was a complete idiot...which he probably already did.

She turned to Chaz. “This is my friend, Chaz Williams. He’s—”

“I’m your biggest fan, Mr Duncan,” Chaz gushed. “Oh my God, you have no idea! I’ve seen every one of your movies, every single one, even that one about the English veterinarian that bombed at the box office—”

“Yes, well, the less said about that, the better,” Ciaran said quickly, and took Chaz’s hand in a brief grip. “Very nice to meet you, Mr, er...Chaz.”

Chaz let out something between a whimper and a gasp and very nearly melted on the spot.

Ciaran turned back to Holly. “I wonder if I might trouble you for directions to the loo,” he murmured. “I’ve had a bit too much of that questionable chardonnay.”

She smiled in sympathy. “It’s pretty bad, isn’t it? My father’s notoriously cheap.”

His gaze lingered on her face. “There are other compensations.”

“Follow me, Mr Duncan.” Holly ignored the disquieting lurch of her heart –
you’re engaged to Jamie
, she reminded herself – and turned to go. “I’ll show you the way.”

“Please, call me Ciaran.”

“Why don’t you let me show him where the bathroom – I mean the loo – is?” Chaz whispered, and grabbed her arm. “Please!”

“Next time,” Holly promised. “Be right back.”

“Ooh, you’re a heartless bitch,” he hissed.

She grinned and threaded her way through the crowds with Ciaran behind her, everyone smiling and parting like the Red Sea for the two of them, until they reached a door at the end of the hallway. She turned the doorknob, but it was locked.

“Occupied,” she apologized, and led Ciaran towards the front staircase. “You can use one of the bathrooms upstairs,” she said over her shoulder. She unhooked the velvet rope that barred partygoers from the upper floors and waited as he followed her.

“Thanks. I don’t fancy embarrassing myself at your father’s party,” he confided as he followed her up the stairs. “I can see it now – ‘Film star Ciaran Duncan, smelling strongly of wee, appeared at Dashwood and James’s New York City launch to promote his new film, “The Incontinent Continental,”’ he said. “Not the sort of publicity I want, I can assure you.”

Halfway up the stairs, they moved aside to let another man pass on his way down. He was impeccably dressed in black tie. With his somber expression, he wouldn’t have looked out of place at a funeral.

He drew even with them and paused. “Ah. Miss James.”

She glanced over at him. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry – you obviously don’t remember me. Your father introduced us last week. Hugh Darcy, the family solicitor.”

“Oh, yes. Of course,” she said, and shook his hand briefly. “Mr Darcy, this is Ciaran Duncan. Ciaran, Mr Darcy.”

“We’ve met,” Darcy said, and ignored Ciaran’s outstretched hand. He turned back to Holly. “A pleasure to see you again, Miss James,” he said, although his expression indicated it was anything but. To Ciaran he said nothing, only cast him an unsmiling glance as he proceeded down the stairs and headed towards the drawing room.

“Well, that was rude,” Holly said, unaccountably annoyed by Hugh Darcy’s unfriendliness. “Who does he think he is, anyway?”

“Perhaps,” Ciaran suggested, leaning forward to whisper in her ear, “I’m not the only one here tonight with bathroom issues. Mr Darcy looked rather constipated, even for an Englishman, don’t you think?”

Holly couldn’t help it; she giggled. She clapped a hand over her mouth, just in time to see Mr Darcy pause and glance up at the sound of her laughter, his expression unreadable. She flushed and turned away. “You’re very bad, Mr Duncan,” she whispered.

“So I’ve been told,” he whispered back.

“Come on then, let’s find you a bathroom.”

The guest bath at the end of the upstairs hall was empty. “Here you go, all clear. I’ll see you later.” She turned to go.

He caught her wrist. “If it’s all the same to you, Miss James,” he said as he pulled her forward and slid his arms around her waist, “I’d prefer sooner rather than later,” and he drew her firmly against him, lowered his mouth to hers, and kissed her.

Holly was too shocked to do more than give in to the – admittedly – skilled persuasion of his lips. He was an excellent kisser. Oddly, he didn’t taste of chardonnay, but of minty toothpaste. Almost as if he’d planned this kiss...

With his lips distracting her, and with her thoughts spinning faster than one of those stationary bikes at SoulCycle, she couldn’t help but respond.

Suddenly Holly realized Ciaran was maneuvering her into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind them with his foot, even as he kept his mouth expertly attached to hers.

“What are you doing?” she asked as she drew back in mild alarm.

He looked at her in surprise. “Why, having a quickie, of course.” He smiled. “Isn’t that what the Yanks call it?”

Chapter Two

“What are you talking about?” Holly wrenched herself from his grasp and stared at him in astonishment.

“Well,” he explained, his brow lifted in amusement, “a quickie is when two people are instantly, madly attracted to one another, and so they decide on the spur of the moment to get together for a very nice, very quick—”

“I know what a quickie is,” she interrupted. “And I’m most definitely
not
having one with you.”

“You’re not?” Surprise mingled with confusion crossed his face. “But why? I’m Ciaran Duncan, after all.”

“Because I’m
engaged
, for starters.”

“Then why,” he asked reasonably, “did you kiss me just now?”

Good question. Why
did
she kiss him just now? “I was...swept up in the moment. You caught me off guard.”

“Ah.” He smiled.

God, he was smug
. “Oh, you think because you’re a film star, I’ll have sex with you, right here, right now? Because you’re famous?” she sputtered.

“Well...yes,” he said mildly. “Most women do.”

“Sorry, but I’m not ‘most women.’ God ‒ you’re an egotistical, oversexed jerk. I don’t even
know
you! We haven’t been on a date, or had a coffee together, or...or anything.”

“We could consider this a sort of date, couldn’t we?” he suggested, and lifted her hand to his lips. “I’ll buy you a coffee afterwards, if you like. I might even spring for one of those overpriced cookies.”

She snatched her hand away. “No thanks. I don’t sleep with strangers. Or self-important twits.”

“Well, that’s easily remedied.” He pulled out a cell phone from his breast pocket, opened the calendar, and began scrolling through it. “Let’s see...are you free tomorrow night? I’m not headed back to London until next Sunday. We can have an early dinner.” He eyed her expectantly. “And if you’ll let me, I can prove to you that I’m not an egotistical, oversexed jerk. Or a self-important twit.”

“What part of ‘I’m engaged’ don’t you get?”

“You’re not in love with your fiancé, whoever he is. If you were, you wouldn’t be here now.”

She gasped. “What? How dare you. You don’t know anything about my fiancé. Or me.”

“Interesting. I didn’t know women still said ‘how dare you,’” he replied, unperturbed. “And you’re right, I don’t know you. But I’d like to.”

Holly stared at him, too furious – and okay, too flattered by his interest, no matter how unwanted – to speak.

“One date. One dinner. That’s all I ask.” He smiled roguishly. “Think of it this way ‒ it’ll be good publicity for the store,” he pointed out. “And if, after dinner, you decide you still don’t like me, I’ll be winging my way to the other side of the Atlantic the very next day, and you’ll never see me again. Unless, of course, you go to see my new movie,
Charmed
, coming to theaters everywhere on first August.”

She couldn’t help it; she laughed. “You really do take the cake. Thanks, but the answer’s still no.”

Surprise flickered over his face, gone as quickly as it came, and his expression smoothed back into its customary amusement. “Well ‒ one can’t blame a chap for trying.”

He turned away to open the door.

“Maybe if I wasn’t engaged...” Holly blurted, and froze. Had this man – this
actor
– put her under some kind of a movie star spell, or something?

Thankfully, he didn’t hear her as he’d already stepped out into the hall. “I apologise if I misread the situation. Goodnight, Miss James.”

“Goodnight.”

As she followed him into the hall, she heard footsteps, and glanced up to see her father Alastair coming towards them. “Dad?”
Oh, shit
. She hoped he hadn’t seen her come out of the bathroom with Ciaran.

“Holly? What are you doing up here?” His glance flitted from his daughter to Ciaran and back to Holly again.

She felt her cheeks grow warm. “Mr Duncan needed the loo, and the downstairs ones were all occupied.”

“Oh. I see.”

“Actually,” Ciaran said, “I was just telling Holly that she and I should do a bit of publicity while I’m in town. Drum up some attention for the store.”

Alastair eyed him doubtfully. “Publicity? What sort of publicity did you have in mind?”

“I thought Holly and I might spend a day doing typical New York things – take the Staten Island ferry to the Statue of Liberty, ride a carriage round Central Park, dine at the Russian Tea Room or Tavern on the Green...and visit Dashwood and James’s new store before it officially opens, while the paparazzi snap pictures and proceed to plaster them all over the New York newspapers.”

Holly, impressed despite herself, regarded him in admiration. He was
good
.

Alastair was silent. “Well...I don’t know. I suppose it
would
generate a lot of interest…”

Ciaran smiled, his eyes still on Holly. “You have no idea.”

“What about me?” Holly turned back to her father. “Has anyone bothered to ask me how I feel about this crazy idea?”

“Actually,” Alastair mused, “I think it’s rather a good idea.”

“You can’t be serious.” She stared at him. “You
are
serious. There’s just one problem, or have you forgotten? I’m engaged.”

He sighed. “Oh, yes. There is that.”

It was no secret that her father, although he liked Jamie Gordon, Rhys’s adopted brother, well enough, didn’t completely approve of their engagement. He avowed that Jamie, with his long hours and ambitions to become a Michelin-starred chef, would never make proper time for a wife or family.

Which, Holly knew, was patently ridiculous.

“I shall speak to Jamie myself,” Alastair said, “and explain that you and Ciaran are doing a publicity junket for the store on‒” he paused “‒what day are we talking about, Mr Duncan?”

“Let’s see.” He studied the calendar app on his phone once again. “I have tomorrow free.”

“Tomorrow it is.”

Outrage swept over Holly. Now she knew how all of those unmarried, Jane Austen-y women must have felt, standing helplessly by as their fathers discussed their future with another man and left them completely out of the loop.

Well, she thought with gathering anger, she wasn’t helpless and she wasn’t about to stand by as her future – even if it were only tomorrow – was decided for her. She opened her mouth to refuse, to tell them both unequivocally that there was no way in hell she was spending one minute, much less her entire Sunday, with Ciaran Duncan – not even in the name of publicity.

But she hesitated. She knew how important the store’s upcoming launch was to her father. Dashwood and James was still on somewhat shaky ground, financially speaking; the New York store, if it did well, would go a long way to shoring up the family’s depleted coffers.

And after all, she mused as she studied Ciaran doubtfully from beneath lowered lashes, it was only for one day.

She could endure
any
thing for one day. Even Ciaran Duncan.

Chapter Three

“Fine,” Holly said. “I’ll do it. For the store,” she added pointedly before Ciaran could thank her. She turned to Alastair. “But you have to promise to tell Jamie that this was
your
idea, Dad, not mine.”

“I promise.” He added dryly, “Thank you for your very great sacrifice for the cause.”

Ciaran laughed. “I never thought anyone would have to be persuaded to spend time with me. I’m wounded.”

“And I’m off.” Alastair glanced down at the pashmina dangling from his hand. “Excuse me, but I promised to give this to Natalie – she’s complaining of a chill, although God knows I don’t know what she’s talking about ‒ and return to my guests downstairs. I suggest you both do the same.”

“I’ll be right there.” Holly turned away and moved to follow him.

“Wait.” Ciaran caught up with her. “What time shall I pick you up tomorrow?”

“Eleven, I suppose. I’m catatonic before noon.” She paused. “Do you know where I live?”

“Yes, I got your address from Ms. Welch earlier. She’s much more accommodating than you.” His eyes twinkled.

Twinkled!

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he added with a grimace, “I really
do
need the loo.”

She smiled. “Right. You know where it is. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Miss James. I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning at eleven.”

“Not a minute sooner,” she warned.

“No sooner, I promise. I look forward to it.” He winked one of those sexy green-brown eyes at her and made his way back downstairs.

And so it was settled. Holly would spend tomorrow with Ciaran Duncan, internationally famous film actor, British heartthrob, and ex-boyfriend of Sienna, Keira, Olivia, and Jennifer...