Undone by the Star (16 page)

Alex shook her head. She couldn’t afford to worry about what she couldn’t control; she had to focus on the evening ahead. Having observed her grandmother, and her own parents, who had attended so many functions they could work a room in their sleep, Alex knew the drill. And she had seen Marc, seemingly effortlessly turn a brilliant smile towards the fans who would have stampeded him given half a chance.

Tonight was about The Sadler. It was about being Alex. She’d been brought up to the life, and no matter what happened, she would be fine.

But nothing had quite prepared her for the searchlights sweeping up the front of the opera hall, or the masses of onlookers crowding their route to the red carpet.

She caught George’s reflection in the rear view mirror. “Might as well sit back and relax,” he advised. “It’s a long queue.”

“Can’t lean back either. I’ll ruin my hair,” replied Alex. She sat up straighter. It must be hard work being a celebrity. On display all the time, makeup and clothes talked about at every turn, not to mention having your personal life raked over the coals.

Alex shivered. Thank goodness, Marc wasn’t interested in acting any more. She wasn’t sure if all that attention was good for a relationship. Or the ego. She’d never spent so much time admiring herself as she had today.

Fingers crossed, Marc would admire her, too.

She felt the now familiar tingle of warmth as she thought of their own private “after” party. Despite the need to shine for the image of the hotel, Alex passionately hoped to shine a lot more privately when the function was over. The glaring lights and eager crowds on the street faded as she imagined how it would feel to let her skirt pool around her ankles as she stepped free of it, clad in nothing but her bodice and high-heeled shoes. She pictured again the fire in his eyes when he had kissed her so passionately in the mews. There would be no holding back, no pushing away. Tonight she would ask him to unzip her, and then finally know what it was like to be undressed by the man she loved.

“Damn.” Marc bumped his head against the roof of the car as he struggled to fasten the front of his trousers. “The last time I did this I was…never mind.”

Frank smothered a snort and Jeremy flushed to the tips of his ears.

“Thank you both,” Marc added as he checked that his shirt studs were well secured. “I owe you big time.”

“Autographs for the wife and kids?” asked Frank.

“Done.” Marc nodded. Jeremy had been studiously looking out the window. He hadn’t said a word in at least two minutes.

“You didn’t happen to dodge a bullet for me, did you, Jeremy?”

“I may have, but it was worth it,” the young man grinned.

“An angry boss is a beautiful one.” Marc put his hand on Jeremy’s shoulder. “Any advice for me?”

Frank caught Marc’s eye in the mirror. “Best thing you can do, mate, is make the party on time. And then we all come out smelling like roses.”

“You have a plan, I take it,” said Marc as Frank deftly switched lanes. Next thing he knew, they were careening down a cobblestone lane barely wider than the car. Jeremy turned around in his seat. “Frank has a friend who works the stage door,” he explained, “we’re going in through the underground entrance. Frank’s mate will escort you to the front lobby. With a little luck you’ll meet up with Miss Kirkwood on the red carpet.”

“Sounds like a Bond film…how do I look?” Marc asked as he slipped his arms into his jacket.

“Tie’s crooked,” said Jeremy passing Marc the wallet and phone he’d been holding for him. This sidekick role was probably the closest he’d ever get to being an action hero in real life. And probably the most fun he’d ever had too.

Frank wheeled around a corner. They were in a non-descript side street heading for a loading dock at the back of the hall. Frank flashed his lights. The parking barrier went up, and they drove down a long ramp into the darkened bowels of the building.

“How are you fixed for cash?” Frank asked him.

“Good. What are you thinking?”

“He wouldn’t say no to fifty quid.” Frank nodded towards the shadowy figure who suddenly appeared from behind a pillar. Frank stopped. Marc stepped out, and the car slid quietly away.

It was actually terrifying, thought Alex. They were only three cars back and the flash photography was blinding. Even with the security barriers, the fans were hungry for pictures of their favourite stars. And somewhere behind her would be royalty.

Which, she knew, wouldn’t stop anyone from taking pictures of her.

They might not know she was the CEO of The Sadler Hotel and one of the Foundation’s long-time sponsors, but that wouldn’t matter. It was all about being there.

If Marc had been seen with her, they would have recognized him immediately, shouted his name, and scrambled to see who the woman was on his arm. It was a dizzying thought. That day in the antique market he’d seemed to take it in his stride, but the fervour of the crowd had been frightening.

They were only two cars back now.

A mild sense of panic was in danger of undermining Alex’s confidence. She dealt with celebrities on a regular basis at The Sadler. She knew they were like everybody else, some were demanding, but most were courteous. And some of them even masqueraded as plumbers. They did this as part their job. She would do hers.

“You all right, miss?” asked George.

Alex cleared her throat. “Never better. It’s just strange to be in the middle of all this…,” she struggled for the right word, “…fandom.” Without Marc, she wanted to add, but didn’t. She was fine. George was as much her bodyguard as he was her driver and friend. All she had to do was walk the red carpet and smile.

And should anybody ask about her dress, she would proudly proclaim it was vintage couture, first worn by Miss Eugenie Sadler in Paris.

“We’re next,” said George rolling to a stop.

Alex turned aside to gather her shawl and handbag. She heard the rear door open. “Thank you, George,” she said automatically. She swivelled on the seat, and with one delicate sandal on the waiting carpet, raised her hand for assistance.

The hand that wrapped itself around hers was strong and warm and full of strength.

Relief washed over her.

She tipped back her head and smiled joyously as Marc drew her to her feet.

He kissed her with his eyes and with her arm locked in his, they turned to face the cameras. Together.

CHAPTER NINE

“I’m starving,” declared Marc as he gently tugged Alex across the darkened threshold of the Georgian townhouse. The taxi had sped away, leaving the late night street in silence. Only a low rumble broke the stillness.

“Sssh! Your downstairs neighbour is sleeping.” Alex felt a giggle rising in her throat and tried to hold it back. The evening had been so incredibly glamorous that the snores drifting from the first floor’s slightly open window gave the moment a surreal feeling.

“But, I am faint with hunger,” Marc protested in a loud whisper.

The giggle escaped and Alex pressed her face into the lapel of Marc’s tux to stifle it. The scent of him…she breathed deeply, then looked up as he grinned down at her. Hand-in-hand, they tiptoed across the foyer like a couple of teenagers and snuck up the stairs. When they reached the door to Marc’s flat, he paused and drew her close. All desire to laugh left her. Alex nestled against him, relishing how the warmth of his arms enveloped her in the early morning coolness.

“Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?” he whispered, brushing his lips across her forehead.

“Once or twice,” breathed Alex. “But don’t stop.” Her silk shawl slithered down her shoulders as she slipped her arms under Marc’s. She rested her cheek against his chest, and with a sigh, they relaxed into each other’s embrace. He held her close, and their breathing melded one to another. Alex listened to the steady beat of his heart and wondered if her own heart was beating in the same rhythm as his. She thought it must be.

It had been a spectacular evening. From the second he’d taken her hand as she stepped onto the red carpet to their last sip of champagne, the premiere had been a huge success. Her years at The Sadler had stood her in good stead. As waiters wove among the guests, and the scent of exotic flowers filled the air, she’d introduced herself, greeted friends and acquaintances, and delighted in the conversation. Marc was the perfect escort, subtly deflecting the attention he inevitably drew, even managing to discreetly detach himself from the young starlet who had repeatedly pawed his sleeve and told him how gorgeous he was.

At Alex’s lifted eyebrow, Marc had shrugged it off. “It’s all part of the game,” he’d murmured. She had been ready to take exception, and then someone had asked her about the dress.

And all eyes had been on her. It was a heady feeling being the centre of attention for who she was, representing The Sadler and her family. Marc had made no secret of his feelings for her, but he’d kept a respectful distance when it was her turn in the limelight. Until a well-known actor had walked up, given her a resounding smack on the lips and asked after her grandmother. When a minor royal had followed suit, Marc had bristled.

“It’s all part of the game,” Alex had whispered, and their eyes had lit up with shared laughter.

Now, standing here in his arms, Alex had never felt more secure. She raised her head. He lowered his; their lips touched, a butterfly caress. Then Marc pulled her still closer and his lips brushed hers as his hands slid, one to press against the small of her back, the other to cradle her head. She felt a tremor of joy slide across her. He groaned softly, fingers wound in her hair as he kissed her temples, cheekbones, and jaw until Alex searched for his mouth with her own, wanting him closer and closer. She buried her hands in his thick hair and pulled him to her, lips parted in longing, half-closed eyes dreamy with desire. Marc’s mouth closed over hers, his tongue responding to her needs. His hand stroked her back and she pressed against him.

A long rolling snore resounded from the floor below. They both froze, and the laughter that had been alive in them all evening, slipped out again. Marc stepped back and fumbled for his key, finally managing to open the door.

He swept Alex inside, pushed the door closed with his foot and reached for her again. She slipped flirtatiously from his grasp and cocked her head to one side.

“I thought you were faint with hunger?”

“Right,” Marc lowered his arms and simply looked at her. His breathing was deep and fast, as though he’d been running.

Moonlight slid across the flat, highlighting the contours of his face and smile. Alex felt her heart flutter. They’d lain together in its light only the week before, exploring each other’s feelings in front of the fire as their relationship deepened with possibilities.

With a sound between a groan and a growl, Marc flicked on the lights. “I really am famished,” he said. He held out his hand, and with it warm within her own, they went into the kitchen.

“Why is it nobody eats at these affairs?” asked Alex setting her evening bag off to one side. “The food was amazing.”

“Because nobody wants to end up with crumbs on their shirts or spinach between their teeth…kills the image.” He dropped a kiss between her shoulder blades. She trembled slightly at the sudden warmth of his lips on her bare skin. He helped her with the clinging folds of her shawl, and kissed her twice more. Arms surrounding her, he pointed toward the fridge. “I promise nothing, but there might be something in there we can eat.”

He let go of her then and moved across the room to the massive stainless steel refrigerator.

Alex shivered, not from cold but from awareness of her growing passions. Her hunger was all for him, but she knew Marc hadn’t had time to eat properly all day, and to be honest, neither had she. And she was an expert now at focusing on the more pressing matters at hand. Sort of.

“Eggs?” she asked.

“Good question….” Marc opened one side of the fridge, reached into its cavernous interior and produced a small carton. “Will six do?”

“Perfect,” said Alex. “We can have an omelette.” She moved over beside him to examine the culinary possibilities. “I see one yellow pepper, slightly wrinkled, brown mushrooms, butter, cream, cheese and champagne,” she chanted as she passed the ingredients to Marc. “A feast in the making.”

Leaving Marc to sort out the champagne, Alex rummaged through the well-equipped kitchen. She found a chopping board, a frying pan, knives and a spatula...and an apron in the bottom drawer which she slipped over her head before setting the butter on to melt.

Happily she attacked the vegetables and was almost done, when she realized how quiet it was in the kitchen.

“I think you should always wear an apron over your evening gown.”

She turned. He was leaning against the centre island watching her, his eyes dark with the intensity of his feelings.

Alex’s throat went dry. He’d loosened his tie and left the ends dangling. The snowy whiteness of his shirt stretched across the chiselled muscles of his chest. The grace of his pose spoke of controlled strength. The very picture of male elegance. And he wanted her…she could feel it.

“I’m going to have to kick you out of the kitchen,” she said, forcing herself to turn her back on him, to return to the job at hand.

He ignored her.

She sensed him behind her. Then he slid his arms around her waist and left a trail of gentle kisses down the side of her neck. His arms cradled her, holding her safe. “I didn’t know you could cook,” he murmured when he reached the delicate hollow. The slight rasp of his beard against her sensitive skin heightened her desire. Her breathing quickened.

Alex swallowed. “I worked in the kitchens one summer.” She so wanted to lean back against his chest, let herself melt into him. But the butter was already beginning to sizzle in the pan.

“Sous chef?”

“More like a scullery maid.” She laughed and with an immense effort of will, pulled away from him. “You do realize I have a knife in my hand?”

He chuckled. “I’ll get the plates.”

The next few minutes were a dance of promise. Savoury smells filled the air. The warmth of the stove fanned Alex’s face, heightening the blush on her cheeks. They moved about the kitchen silently, their bodies weaving towards and away from each other as plates were laid, cutlery found, and champagne poured, all choreographed to their intense awareness of each other and the slight pounding of their hearts.