The Best Man's Plan

Chapter Three

T he long, busy day had left Grace tired, so that she was very quiet when Bryan took her home. He drove her in a car that had somehow become available to him at the restaurant. She no longer questioned how everything he needed seemed to simply materialize at his fingertips.

He lingered in the hallway outside her converted-loft apartment until she unlocked the door. She suspected courtesy suggested that she invite him in for a drink, but she really just wanted to be alone for now.

He seemed to sense her feelings. “Get some rest,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She nodded and turned her doorknob. That might have been the end of the evening had the door to the stairwell at the end of the hallway not opened at that moment, accompanied by a burst of voices and laughter. Bryan seemed to react on sheer instinct, reaching out to pull her into his arms without any warning of his intentions. His mouth was on hers before she could ask what the heck he thought he was doing.

Maybe it was the element of surprise that kept her from resisting. Or maybe it was the awareness of those onlookers and the role she had agreed to play for the next few weeks. Telling herself this was only an act and Bryan was merely playing to their audience, she forced herself to relax and appear cooperative.

The problem was that it was all too easy to forget this was only an act. Whatever other problems she might have with him, Bryan Falcon certainly had a talent for clearing an otherwise intelligent woman’s mind of all coherent thought.

The sounds of voices faded away as Bryan’s mouth moved on hers.

Grace couldn’t have said whether it was because the newcomers had stopped talking or her ears had simply stopped working. It seemed all she could concentrate on was the way his lips felt against hers, the strength of his arms around her, the warmth of his lean body as it pressed against hers. She found herself clutching his shirt, the expensive fabric gathered tightly in her fingers as she steadied herself. For some annoying reason, her legs were proving a bit unreliable at the moment.

She must be more tired than she had thought.

She pushed her heavy eyelids upward as Bryan slowly drew his lips away from hers. His gleaming midnight-blue eyes were very close to hers, their expression intense but impossible to interpret. Blinking to clear her vision, she glanced around the hallway to find that it was empty now, her neighbors having discreetly entered their own apartment.

Bryan’s arms were still around her. She took a half-step backward, bumping against her apartment door. “Well…” she murmured, irked when her voice came out a croak. She cleared it quickly. “I guess that capped the performance for today.”

Just a hint of a smile touched his lips. He dipped his head toward hers again. “How about an encore?”

Groping behind her with one hand, she quickly turned the doorknob, pushed the door open and moved another step backward. “Sorry. Final curtain.”

With a good-natured smile, he straightened. “Good night, Grace.”

She let herself into her apartment and closed the door behind her. And then she sagged against it, listening until Bryan’s footsteps had faded away and the rumble of the elevator indicated he was gone.

“Elvis has left the building,” she muttered, trying to find humor in a situation that had grown entirely too disconcerting.

Her lips were still tingling from his kiss, her stomach still fluttering like crazy. It had been a long time since she’d been involved with anyone—not since her engagement had ended a year ago, actually. Maybe, when this was all over, she should consider getting out more.

“Stand still, Grace. You’re making it very difficult for Mrs. O’Neill to fit you.”

“There’s a straight pin sticking into my butt,” Grace complained, squirming again.

The exasperated-looking, gray-haired woman kneeling beside her made a hasty adjustment. “Is that better?”

“Some.”

“Then why are you still wiggling?”

Grace made an effort to be still, even though she felt very much like a voodoo fashion doll being poked and prodded and peered at.

“You still haven’t told me if you like the dress,” Chloe reminded her from a few feet away in the fitting room of Ballew’s Bridal Shoppe.

Glancing at the full-length mirror, Grace shrugged, dislodging a tiny waterfall of silver pins. Mrs. O’Neill grumbled something beneath her breath and gathered them up again. “The dress is fine. It’s pretty.”

And it was—a tasteful column of lavender silk accented with a diagonal sweep of rhinestones across the bodice. Pretty—but not a dress Grace would have chosen for herself. But it was Chloe’s wedding, not hers, and the decisions were all Chloe’s to make. Grace had no intention of arguing with any of them.

Which didn’t mean she couldn’t complain about a few other things. “Ouch!” she said as another sharp tip pricked her skin, this time at her waist.

Mrs. O’Neill finally scowled, the first time she had let her determinedly polite smile fade. “I never stick any of my clients with pins. But I rarely deal with anyone as wiggly and fidgety as you, either.”

“Grace, please be still.”

Grace exhaled gustily, then made a quick grab for the slipping strapless bodice of the still-unfitted gown. “Doesn’t anyone wear sleeves anymore?”

With a show of severely strained patience, Mrs. O’Neill stuck another pin in the bodice to hold it in place. Grace had the feeling she’d just barely missed being stuck again—this time on purpose.

“I’m still, okay?” She struck a pose, facing the mirror. “I won’t move another muscle.”

Though she looked doubtful, Mrs. O’Neill went back to work quickly, perhaps trying to get as much accomplished as possible before Grace changed her mind.

Staying as motionless as she could, Grace studied the reflection of the slender woman in the sophisticated lavender dress. To keep it out of the way, she had twisted her hair up in the back, making her neck look longer and emphasizing her bare shoulders.

The woman in the mirror didn’t look like Grace. She looked like Chloe.

“Are you almost finished?” she asked the seamstress. Her voice was strained with the effort of being still when what she really wanted to do was rip the lovely dress off and run naked for refuge.

“Yes.” Mrs. O’Neill sounded almost as relieved as Grace felt. “You can change into your own clothes now. I’ll leave your sister to help you. I—uh—have things to do in the other room.”

Chloe stepped behind her twin to ease down the zipper hidden at the back of the dress. “I think you tried sweet Mrs. O’Neill’s patience.”

“She certainly tried mine. Those damned pins— I’m probably going to spring leaks next time I drink a glass of water.”

“Oh, stop complaining. It’s over now. And you looked gorgeous in the dress, by the way.”

Grace tugged on the T-shirt and jeans she’d worn to the fitting and then pulled the clip from her hair. She had to glance toward the mirror one more time just to make sure she was back to normal.

Chloe turned to hang the dress on a hook, close to the lacy white dress that hung nearby. Chloe had been fitted into that dress just prior to Grace’s fitting. It was the dress their mother had worn in her wedding thirty-two years earlier. At five-six, Chloe and Grace were a couple of inches taller than their mother, which had necessitated the addition of a row of lace at the hem of the dress, taken from the mantilla-style veil their mother had worn. Other than that, Chloe wanted no changes made to the pretty, but very simple, gown.

It was going to be a sweet, unpretentious, lovely wedding, Grace mused. It suited Chloe perfectly.

Chloe sat on a tiny, padded chair to put on her shoes. Grace sat on the floor to fasten the straps of the heavy sandals she had worn. “So, how’s it going with Bryan?” Chloe asked, keeping her voice very casual.

With a quick glance toward the closed door, Grace shrugged. “He’s playing his part to the hilt,” she murmured, mentally reliving that mind-scrambling good-night kiss.

“I’m still not entirely convinced this is necessary. It seems like you and Bryan are being terribly inconvenienced by…well, you know.”

“It’s no big deal,” Grace bluffed. “Bryan seems to be getting a kick out of it all.”

“He does have a rather odd sense of humor.”

“No kidding. Anyway—it’s been days since I’ve heard speculation that Donovan heartlessly stole you away from his best friend.”

Chloe nodded to concede the point. “It has helped. Even the ones who are suspicious about what really happened between Bryan and me are hesitant to openly talk about it now because they look foolish when we continue to deny it and refuse to be drawn into further discussion about it. And the society articles about your trip to New York referred to you repeatedly as Bryan’s ‘frequent companion,’ which makes it sound like you’ve been seen together often.”

“I can handle being wined and dined for another few weeks. After that, life can get back to normal—for me, anyway.” Even as she made the airy assertion, Grace knew life wouldn’t be the same for either of them, really. Chloe would be married to a man whose career involved a lot of travel and perfunctory social obligations, though not as much of either as she would have faced had she married Bryan. Grace expected to find herself dealing with much more responsibility at the shop. She would be the one with no other obligations to interfere with the job.

Tugging at the neckline of her T-shirt, she asked, “Is it hot in here to you? I can hardly breathe.”

“I’m almost ready.” After checking her watch, Chloe stood in front of the mirror and ran her fingers through her short, tousled hair. In her khaki slacks and green-and-beige striped pullover, she looked neat and as fresh as if she’d just stepped out of a shower. Her own hair still disheveled from the clip, Grace felt rumpled and grubby next to her sister—as she often did.

She sighed impatiently when Chloe lingered to apply lipstick. “We’re going to your apartment, not to the theater. Would you c’mon, already?”

Chloe smiled as she put the lipstick away. “Okay, so I’m primping because Donovan’s picking us up. I know it doesn’t matter to him if I’m wearing lipstick, considering he fell in love with me while we were lost in a forest, all torn and scraped and covered in mud. But I still like to look nice for him.”

Grace tried to smile, but it still angered her to think about the ordeal Chloe and Donovan had endured at the hands of their kidnappers. Grace had tried to talk Chloe out of leaving home that week; she’d had a bad feeling about it all along. Chloe had agreed to spend a week with Bryan at his luxurious vacation lodge in southern Missouri, with the specific intention of discussing the possibly of an old-fashioned marriage-of-convenience between them. Grace had been adamantly opposed to that plan, believing her sister deserved more than a calculated merger.

She’d been aware that Chloe’s biological clock had been ticking wildly for some time, and apparently Bryan’s had, too—or whatever the male equivalent could be called. But she hadn’t agreed that compatible goals and dreams were enough to sustain a lifelong commitment. Besides which, she simply hadn’t considered Bryan a good match for Chloe. She didn’t know why—but every time she had seen Chloe and Bryan together…well, she simply hadn’t liked it.

When Bryan had been delayed by business problems in New York, he had asked his trusted second-in-command, Donovan Chance, to escort Chloe to the lodge, where Bryan had hoped to join her quickly. Before he could do so, Chloe and Donovan had been snatched by three kidnappers, taken to an isolated forest hideaway and held for ransom until Donovan had orchestrated an escape into a million-acre forest. Several days of stormy weather and other daunting obstacles had slowed their rescue. For four days, Grace hadn’t known where her sister was—or if she was even alive.

She shuddered with the memory of that horror. And she acknowledged—if only to herself—that Bryan had helped her through that time. He’d allowed her to vent her fear, her impatience, and her anger—and he’d given her strength by being calm, steady and ferocious in his determination to find his friends and the people who had taken them. When he’d uncovered evidence that one of his business competitors, Wallace Childers, had been the mastermind of the scheme, he had personally confronted Childers.

Watching the encounter, Grace had seen exactly how intimidating Bryan could be when he dropped the affable façade he wore in social situations. Childers had literally been in fear for his life when he’d reluctantly confessed everything—and Grace hadn’t blamed the man for being concerned.

But Chloe was safe, she reminded herself with a glance at her twin’s happy face. She had abandoned the foolish idea of a marriage-of-convenience in favor of a match based on true love. And Grace was doing her part to facilitate a happily-ever-after ending—for her sister, if not for herself.

Following Chloe out of the fitting room, she slung her oversized leather bag over her shoulder and muttered, “I still don’t think it was necessary for Donovan to drive us here and pick us up. We’re perfectly capable of getting around on our own.”

“He wanted to,” Chloe answered with a shrug. “He’s still being a little overprotective, but that will change after the wedding. I’m afraid I’ll have to insist on it.”

Grace knew she would quickly grow tired of being coddled and protected. She felt stifled enough now; being hovered over the way Donovan did Chloe would drive her nuts.

Which was why it was just as well she was single and unattached, she assured herself. She needed to be free. She wasn’t the type to be tied down to any man. She’d learned that fact the hard way—with a wannabe cowboy named Kirk.

The sidewalks of Little Rock’s River Market district were crowded late Tuesday morning as Bryan strolled toward the Pennington sisters’ shop. Tuesdays and Saturdays were the area’s busiest days during the summer. On those days, vendors gathered beneath the River Market pavilions to sell fresh produce, herbs, breads, flowers and other wares. Serving as a backdrop for the activities, the Arkansas River glittered with reflections of the bright July sun overhead. Locals and tourists in shorts and sandals ambled along the sidewalks, some carrying bulging bags of fresh fruits and veggies, others just window-shopping and enjoying the summer day.

A group of children in matching orange shirts emblazoned with the name of a local day care center dashed toward him, most likely headed toward the Museum of Discovery at the end of the block. Bryan sidestepped the chattering herd adroitly, nodding sympathetically to the adults trying to keep them under control.

He paused to study a grouping of paintings displayed on the sidewalk next to the River Market building, which housed several food stands and restaurants and gift shops. The artist, a striking black woman in a flowing dress and a big straw hat, had chosen vivid colors for her scenes of tropical marketplaces and fishing villages. One canvas in particular caught his attention. He stood in front of it for several minutes, enjoying the colors and the overall impression of cheery, bustling activity. It reminded him of his favorite marketplace in Jamaica; he could almost hear the lilting voices and the street musicians in the background.

Ten minutes later, he was on his way again, having left directions with the artist to have his newly purchased painting delivered to his Little Rock office. Bryan wasn’t usually an impulse buyer, but he knew what he liked when he saw it, and he was fortunate enough to be able to afford what he liked.

Yet all that money hadn’t helped him find anyone with whom to share his interests. In fact, it had proven a definite hindrance, drawing too much attention to his tentative relationships, and raising doubts about the true motives of the women who had shown an interest in him.

Chiding himself for letting such maudlin thoughts shadow his enjoyment of the nice day, he crossed the street toward the entrance of Mirror Images. Big windows on either side of the door were artfully arranged with uniquely shaped mirrors, framed prints, unusual candlesticks and other decorative wares. The display had drawn its share of attention; several potential customers were milling in the shop when Bryan entered. In response to the chime of the bell above the door, Chloe approached with a polite smile that warmed when she recognized him. “Good morning, Bryan.”

It was easier to tell the twins apart now that Chloe had cut her hair differently—not that Bryan had ever had much trouble recognizing them. Their personalities were so different that he had usually been able to distinguish them by their expressions alone. He took Chloe’s outstretched hand. “Good morning. You look beautiful, as always.”

“And you’re as full of blarney as usual,” she retorted, though she looked pleased by the compliment. “What’s up?”

“I had a rare couple of hours free this morning and I thought I’d pop in for a visit. If I’m not interfering with your work, of course.”

“Of course not. Justin can handle the sales floor for a few minutes,” Chloe replied with a nod toward her salesclerk. “He’ll call for me if he needs help. Come have a glass of tea with me in my office.”

Aware of the attention they were receiving from her customers, he accepted promptly. “I would love to.”

The small office Chloe shared with her sister never failed to elicit a grin from Bryan. Chloe’s side of the room was neat, organized, not a sheet of paper out of place; Grace’s desk was so cluttered it was a wonder she could find her chair. Above Chloe’s desk hung a framed museum poster of a Monet water lilies painting. Grace’s poster depicted a fiery red Corvette convertible. She’d told him once that she dreamed of owning such a vehicle someday. Bryan had impulsively offered to buy her one as compensation for her inconveniences because of his scheme to take media attention from Chloe and Donovan. Grace had let him know in clear and concise terms that she would fulfill her own dreams, thank you very much.

His amusement turning wry with the memory, he asked casually, “Where is Grace?”

“It was her turn to run errands—the bank, the post office, the office supplies store.”

Bryan wouldn’t admit to Chloe, of course, that he’d been disappointed that Grace wasn’t there when he arrived. It was disconcerting enough to acknowledge to himself that it was Grace who had drawn him here today. “How’s she holding up?” he asked. “With the scam we’re pulling off, I mean.”

Chloe wrinkled her nose as she removed a plastic pitcher of tea from the small refrigerator in one corner of the crowded room. “She fusses about it, of course, but Grace does love to fuss.”

He chuckled. “I’ve noticed.”

“And she is not happy that one of your men is following at a discreet distance while she runs her errands.”

“Tough. Fussing won’t do her any good when it comes to her security—not while I have anything to say about it, anyway.”

Grace poured tea into two glasses she had removed from a cabinet above the minifridge. “Daddy used to call us Sissy and Sassy. I was Sissy, of course.”