The Makeover Mission (13 page)

"Things?" She could have sworn his lips twitched.

"You know what I mean. Who's off the subject now?"

He reached for her glass, probably afraid she'd either drop it or
bean him with it. "I'm sure you're still tired and not thinking
clearly."

"Don't you dare do that dictator-to-subordinate thing with me
here," she warned him. Not that it fazed him in the least.

"We'll take this one day at a time."

"And if I say no to something, is it still a go?"

His face registered nothing. A very neat trick to avoid
commitment, she realized, wishing she could do the same.

"We'll take this one day at a time."

"You sound like a parrot." She turned to stare out the
window, not caring if it was a juvenile move.

"You have no other meetings today. You can spend the
afternoon resting in your room at the villa."

She held back the inclination to snap him a salute—barely, but
didn't bother to respond. She knew he wasn't waiting for one. It wasn't a
suggestion as much as an order, one he'd give to a balky child who was not
behaving.

But maybe some time alone was exactly what she needed—time when
she wasn't being watched, weighed and analyzed by this man or anyone else. Time
to deal with the fact she'd be almost in his hip pocket for another three
weeks. Time to figure out if that was bad news—or good news.

A little over two hours later she found she'd survived. More than
that, she'd actually enjoyed herself. That and the fact that, at the very end,
when she was getting her hand squeezed by a number of dignitaries who all
looked alike, McConneghy had taken her aside, gesturing to a line of
ordinary-looking people waiting to meet her.

"A compromise?" she asked, touched that he'd actually
listened, and maybe even understood, a little.

"A compromise." He nodded toward where a half dozen men
stood, controlling the line by the positioning of their bodies. "Watch
them. They're here to protect you."

Risking themselves, she realized, even as she stepped forward to
accept the first handshake from a man who looked as if he'd spent every day
toiling in the fields, his skin weathered, his hands roughened by calluses. One
after another they came, their smiles tentative, their manner wary. And yet
they came, judging her silently. Not her, but their future queen, Jane thought,
greeting them all, until her hand felt like putty and her legs quaked.

It was McConneghy who came to her rescue. Again.

"Time to go," he murmured as she smiled into the face of
a woman who must have been a hundred if she was a day.

"Did I meet everyone on Vendari?" she asked as he
escorted her out of the hall and into the blazing afternoon sun.

He gave her a skeptical glance as he opened the limo door.
"Rethinking your position?"

"No." She laughed, surprised at how good it felt to sink
into the leather seats. "Not at all. I just hadn't realized how much work
is involved in shaking hands. I always thought dignitaries and movie stars were
spoiled and lazy."

"And now?" He'd opened a bottle of orange juice, poured
it into a crystal glass and handed it to her; its taste was ambrosia on her
tongue.

"And now I take back every petty, envious, unjustified
thought I had about them."

"You did a good job back there."

The words both surprised her and pleased her, she realized,
shoving away the feeling that it was much like being a child seeking approval.
A feeling she knew only too well. Instead she changed the subject.

"Thank you for making it possible for me to meet those
people."

This time he was the one who looked surprised.

"You mean for Elena to meet them."

She knew the smile on her face wavered, but she kept it there,
even as she turned her gaze away. It was silly that his words should hurt,
especially following a compliment she knew was sincere. But they did. It was as
though he was reminding her she was a fake. None of this was real and she was
only doing a job.

"You never told me how long I'd be here," she found
herself remarking, knowing she'd meant to ask the question earlier, surprised
at the conflicting feelings it aroused in her. On the one hand she'd be able to
get back to her real life, the one where she belonged, not walking around in
silks and pretending she was somebody important. On the other hand it would
mean never seeing Lucius McConneghy again, a man, who by all rights, she should
despise. But the anger wouldn't come, nor the bitterness. No matter how hard
she tried.

"The wedding is back on schedule. It will happen three weeks
from yesterday."

"Three weeks?" The words came out as a squeak. "I'm
supposed to keep this up for three weeks?"

"You've had no problem with it so far."

"It's been one day." She knew she sounded slightly
hysterical. She felt that, but darn if she could pinpoint exactly why.
"There's no way I can fool Elena's real family for long and they're bound
to show up here sooner or later."

"I told you when we first arrived, it's being taken care
of."

"How?"

"Pavlov Rostov is having some difficulty with his overseas
investments. They're requiring him to handle them personally."

"Oh." What more could she say? If she'd had doubts about
the power behind the obscure government agency he worked for before, there were
none now. "You can manipulate something like that?"

One of his brows arched. "I'd prefer another term than
manipulate."

"You know what I mean. Why do you bother with this elaborate
hoax? Why don't you just dictate to Tarkioff and Rostov what they will and
won't do and be done with it?"

"We don't work that way." He gave her a long,
all-too-seeing look. "We've also sidestepped the real issue here."

She felt like a petulant, unreasonable child being called to task.
"The real issue is that three weeks is too long. I can't possibly not make
a mistake in that time."

"That's a double negative."

She wanted to toss her juice over his head. "That's reality.
There's no way I can go on pretending I'm somebody I'm not for three
weeks."

"You're doing fine so far."

"You're not listening to me." She wondered if he was
taught obstinacy or if it just came naturally. "We're talking about three
weeks of dinners, and functions and…" She waved her free hand, "…and
things."

"Things?" She could have sworn his lips twitched.

"You know what I mean. Who's off the subject now?"

He reached for her glass, probably afraid she'd either drop it or
bean him with it. "I'm sure you're still tired and not thinking
clearly."

"Don't you dare do that dictator-to-subordinate thing with me
here," she warned him. Not that it fazed him in the least.

"We'll take this one day at a time."

"And if I say no to something, is it still a go?"

His face registered nothing. A very neat trick to avoid
commitment, she realized, wishing she could do the same.

"We'll take this one day at a time."

"You sound like a parrot." She turned to stare out the
window, not caring if it was a juvenile move.

"You have no other meetings today. You can spend the
afternoon resting in your room at the villa."

She held back the inclination to snap him a salute—barely, but
didn't bother to respond. She knew he wasn't waiting for one. It wasn't a
suggestion as much as an order, one he'd give to a balky child who was not
behaving.

But maybe some time alone was exactly what she needed—time when
she wasn't being watched, weighed and analyzed by this man or anyone else. Time
to deal with the fact she'd be almost in his hip pocket for another three weeks.
Time to figure out if that was bad news—or good news.

Chapter 6

«
^
»

J
ane had barely waved off Ekaterina's
solicitous offers of a warm bath or back massage when they'd returned to the
villa when there was a knock at the door.

It shouldn't have surprised her to see McConneghy there, but it
did. Obviously the man's idea of some time alone was different than hers. And
here she'd thought she was going to have communication problems with the people
of Vendari.

"Yes?" She had hardly got the door open before he
brushed past her.

"Good. You're not busy."

"Define busy." If he thought she was ready to head out
to another reception or dedication they really were going to have to work on a
few issues.

As if he read her mind, he grinned. "Don't worry. My plans
involve pleasure, not business."

Brain cell overload. It was the only excuse she could think of for
standing there like a ninny with her mouth open.

Either that or she'd shelved one too many copies of
Cosmo
in
the library stacks. The ones with headlines like Hunk Fantasies Can Come True
or If He Asks Will You Say Yes?

"Excuse me?" she managed to stammer.

"Come along. We'll get what we need there."

He was heading out the door, with her scrambling to keep up with
his long-legged stride, before she could ask the simple questions. Like what
did they need? And where were they going?

He never slowed until they'd traversed at least a mile of
hallways, three sets of stairs and four posts with armed bodyguards. Ones that
saluted religiously as McConneghy came in sight.

A neat trick if you could do it.

"Where?" she tried to ask, but lost the train of her
thoughts as she plowed into his broad back.

Rubbing her nose she peered around her. They were in a new area of
the villa. Which wasn't unusual, given she'd been limited in her movements thus
far to the gym, dining area and her bedroom. But this section was at the very
rear of the building, at a level below the main structure, which she could see
over her shoulder. If she wanted to look in that direction.

Which she didn't, given what was in front of her.

"A pool?" she muttered.

"Of course it's a pool." If his tone hadn't been light
she would have had to slug him and deal with the consequences. "I thought
a few laps would be nice."

Heavenly was more like it. A librarian's salary didn't run to
luxuries such as regular pool access, but every once in a while, in the dead of
a South Dakota winter, she'd splurge and spend several hours at the local YWCA
in their overly chlorinated, nothing-like-this pool.

The pool before her was shaped like a kidney bean, with glazed
tiles on the bottom, an overhead glass canopy and lush tropical foliage
discreetly set around the perimeter. Definitely heavenly.

There was one little detail, though.

Glancing down at her silk outfit she cast the man beside her a
look she knew only a woman possessed. The one that said—Get a clue.

"I don't know about you but I'm not used to swimming in my
dress clothes."

He had the audacity to grin, and nod toward a lattice-enclosed
area.

"There's a changing room inside. And several swimsuits sized
for Elena."

"But—"

"All new, of course," he added. The man was a bloody
mind reader.

"She keeps unused swimsuits on hand just in case?"

"It's a prerogative of the rich and indulged."

Go figure. Still, the librarian in her hesitated. There was
something too decadent, too frivolous about spending the middle of an
afternoon, or even the later part of one, splashing around a pool. It wasn't
work. It was pure play, and responsible, practical adults did not play in the
middle of the day. At least this one hadn't been raised that way.

"I thought you'd enjoy this," he said at her side, those
laser eyes of his boring through to all the secrets in her soul.

"Yes, but—"

"But?"

"It's hard to explain."

"Try, anyway."

The man was relentless. No news there.

She looked longingly at the pool before sighing. "You, of all
people should understand."

He gave her one of those arched-eyebrow looks that made her want
to cringe before he asked. "Come again?"

"You know. Duty, honor, country."

"You've lost me."

Yeah, like that would really happen. She tried again. "Tell
me in all honesty, that you'd be able to stop in the middle of one of your days
to splash around in a pool? You know, responsibility before pleasure. That kind
of thing."

He looked at her, really, really looked at her a few moments
before lowering his head and shaking it. At first, with the small muscle spasms
impacting him, she thought he might be choking, until she realized he was
laughing. At her. The beast.