Can't Buy Me Love Page 7

  Really.

  Blake smoothly turned her around on the dance floor sending her body into the same vertigo her emotions were experiencing.

  Shivers went through Paige again. Professional, she thought to herself. She must act professional. She was doing this for them: the Zumbais, the tribe she had dedicated her life to helping. At least, she had up until her father died. Next year, she’d go back with two million dollars for the cause.

  “You look lovely tonight.”

  She pulled slightly away from Blake and met his eyes.

  They seemed greener than usual, the flecks of gold making them appear the color of a freshly cut field in spring.

  “Thank you,” she managed to coolly return, but she couldn’t help the blush of pleasure that stole into her cheeks. She knew he complimented her dress. Plain girls didn’t receive compliments.

  “I don’t remember seeing that dress in the showroom.”

  “It-it wasn’t,” she reluctantly admitted. Please don’t ask me where I got it.

  “I’ll thank you not to wear other designers while you’re married to me.”

  “Uh…I’m sorry. I didn’t think about that.”

  He gave a jerky nod. “I’m sure everyone here is dying to know where the dress came from.”

  “I made it,” Paige blurted, unable to stop the words.

  His gaze jerked toward hers, his eyes riveting. “You made it?”

  Paige nodded, biting her lip in trepidation. She should have never done this, re-fashioned two dresses to create this one. She hadn’t given one thought to the fact that they were Blake’s creations. Or at least, his company’s creations and he wouldn’t have wanted them destroyed. Nor had she given a thought to the fact that everyone there tonight would demand to know where her dress came from. But, dang it all, she wasn’t accustomed to attending soirees and parties on the arm of an influential man in the design world. How was she supposed to know?

  She lifted her gaze to Blake’s, snagging his angry look with one of remorse. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

  His gaze morphed into something else and Paige thought for moment—hoped for a moment—that he would kiss her.

  ****

  She made it? Blake felt himself sliding into the blue-green quicksand of Paige’s eyes. Sliding down, sliding away, so far that her response to his compliment seemed to echo off the insides of his head. He bent his face closer to hers searching for the only anchor he could: her mouth. Her soft, pink mouth. Provocative. Inviting.

  His lips were a breath away from salvation, a breath away from damnation, when he was jostled from behind, and the spell was broken.

  “Pardon me,” Daniel Tully said with a bright flash of teeth. “Beautiful dress.” He nodded toward Paige. “Something from the new line?”

  Blake forced a smile. “Of course.” He had no doubts that Paige would surrender the garment to him. With a few alterations to whatever pattern she used and he could legally claim the design. He hoped.

  He took a deep breath as Tully danced his partner away. He needed a shot of whiskey. He needed to get away from Paige. He needed...something. The room felt too hot, and she seemed too cool in his arms.

  He was about to dance her to the edge of the floor and relinquish her for the charms of the bar when they were jostled once again. This intrusion had a purpose.

  “Caldwell. So this is your bride,” the tall, blond-haired man drawled, then smiled politely at Paige. “Wait right here, and I’ll get Cherry. She’s been dying to meet you.”

  He released his dancing partner, and the abandoned woman turned her hard, curious eyes on Paige with all the intent a rattlesnake shows its prey. “Paige, I am I correct? Paige Parker?”

  “Caldwell,” Blake corrected. “Paige, this is Marguerite Davidson.” This matron of the Chicago Arts was the last person Blake wanted Paige to have contact with, though he should have realized sooner that this meeting was inevitable.

  With smooth grace, Paige lifted one hand as if Marguerite should kiss it rather than shake it. To further his anxiety Paige offered her left hand instead of her right.

  Damn it. He should’ve bought her a diamond. He was worth over a hundred and seventy-six million dollars, and he hadn’t bought his bride a diamond. His over-sight would be around the room in a matter of minutes.

  Marguerite turned Paige’s hand from side to side, studying the thick and utterly plain gold band. “You were a Parker, am I correct? Of the Indianapolis Parkers?”

  Paige was just about to answer, when Bill, the tall blond man who bumped into them earlier, returned with his wife.

  “What a lovely dress.” Cherry grasped Paige’s hand before it could be offered and her left one, of course. For all intents and purposes it appeared Cherry was being friendly and accepting Paige into the circle, but Blake knew she was curious, nothing more. “You must be Paige. I’m Cherry Holiday,” she said and dimpled a smile. “You’ve already met my husband, Bill.”

  “Actually,” the man said, stepping forward. “We haven’t been formally introduced.”

  Paige lifted her hand to him as well and Blake was impressed with her bearing. After all, it wasn’t every day she met her Congressman.

  Then again, she spent so much time overseas she might not even know who he was. Thank heavens for that.

  “Would you excuse us, please?” Blake took Paige by the elbow and escorted her from the dance floor. He could feel their eyes upon him and knew that his behavior bordered on rude, but the shorter he could keep the encounters, the better off the both of them would be.

  But in spite of his caution, the frenzy had begun.

  ****

  To Paige it seemed as if the string of hands to be shaken in that limp-wristed hold that society generously called a handshake never ended. Her jaws were tired from maintaining a smile, when she wanted to do nothing more than go home and crawl under the covers of her sunshine bed.

  Somehow amidst all the handshaking and the ring inspecting, she slipped away to the powder room. She was no more than to the door of the opulent lounge that served as both a resting place and a restroom when she heard her name mentioned.

  “I’m not sure why she married him, or rather, why he married her, but I’m willing to bet it was like the papers said, for his inheritance.”

  “What’s the matter with tried and true old-fashioned love, Janice?” an almost girlish voice asked.

  Paige heard a rustle that could have been Janice shrugging. “Virginia made it known that she wanted Blake to marry. I wouldn’t put it past her to arrange a marriage to get her way.”

  “You don’t really believe he’s in love with her, do you?” a third voice—a husky chain-smoker’s voice—asked. “He’s barely even looked at her all night.”

  “My point exactly,” Janice added. “Plus no diamond wedding ring. No honeymoon. I say she’s a convenience, nothing more. Or she’s pregnant.”

  A fit of sardonic laughter floated around her.

  “Well, she’s really not his type,” Girly consented. “Blake usually goes for someone more glamorous.”

  “Like Anna?” Husky-Smoker asked.

  “Exactly,” Janice replied.

  Paige wanted to run away, far away from these women and their gossipy truths about her and Blake’s relationship, but she had drunk too much champagne. She had no choice; she had to go to the bathroom.

  She took a deep, consoling breath. She was a Parker, dang it all. Maybe not of the Indianapolis Parkers, but a Parker nonetheless. She had battled malaria in the jungle, stood up to the chief of a rival tribe, and converted half the tribe to vegetarianism. No one could say that Paige Parker couldn’t stand up on her own. She straightened her spine and entered the room.

  All three heads turned in her direction and three perfect smiles immediately curved upon their perfect, but surprised faces. Somehow Paige smiled in return. She entered a stall and tried to ignore them.

  “As I was saying,” Janice said loud enough for Paige to hear. “T
omorrow is supposed to be a great day for tennis.”

  “Yes,” Husky-Smoker brightly agreed. “It’s supposed to be cool in the afternoon and not too breezy. A perfect day for tennis.”

  Determined not to let these women get the best of her, Paige stepped from the stall and went to the sink to wash her hands.

  “Do you play tennis, Paige?”

  She turned, for the first time noticing that Cherry Holiday was one of the women in the lounge area. And from her voice, Paige knew that Cherry had taken up for her. Cherry’s pale green eyes were filled with sincerity. But the other two...Paige met their gazes in turn. They weren’t interested in playing tennis with her. They were interested in finding out more about her relationship with Blake. Paige wouldn’t be set up for anyone’s entertainment. Not theirs, not Blake’s. No one’s.

  “No,” she said, drying her hands on a towel. The one word absolved Cherry of her self-imposed responsibility of friendship and helped Paige save face.

  Paige turned on her heel and left the restroom. She would show them. She would show them all. She would be the best professional wife in the history of marriage.

  ****

  “Are they buying it?” Blake asked as Noah slipped into place between him and the potted palm, close to the refreshment station, close to the champagne cocktails. They were a far cry from whiskey, but they would have to do.

  “It’s hard to say. Some of the women think it’s romantic, but for the most part, everyone is still making up their mind.”

  Blake snorted, then took a drink of the whiskey substitute. “I don’t know what I was thinking. If I wanted everyone to believe we were really married I should have bought her a diamond. I should have taken her on a honeymoon.” He lifted his fluted glass to the ceiling. “Here’s to you, Aunt Virginia. You wanted to make sure I knew my place, and I do. But it’s been bought and paid for, so it’s mine.” He raised the glass to his lips and drank deeply.

  “Blake, what are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about this.” He swept his arm in front of him. “Don’t let her talk about goodness and love fool you. Aunt Virginia wanted me to know that everything I have, I have because of her, and this is how she did it: by making me marry and by making me pretend it’s all for real. She’s got me jumping to her tune, and everyone in this room knows it.”

  “So change what they’re thinking. Go get your wife and dance with her. Kiss her and take her home before you drink so many of those cocktails you can’t find your way.”

  “You’re right, as always.” Blake handed Noah his half-empty glass. “That’s exactly what I’ll do.”

  Blake found Paige coming out of the restroom, a determined look on her face. That was bad. New brides should look radiant, not determined.

  “Dance with me,” he demanded, half expecting her to refuse and embarrass him, but she placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead her onto the floor.

  The song was slow and soft, and he pulled her close merely swaying to the flowing melody. At first she was tense, a nervous bundle in his arms, but inch by inch she relaxed into him until she laid her head against his chest.

  It was...nice...yes, nice, to hold her this way and to dance with a woman who didn’t try to lead or didn’t contort her neck around to see who was close, and if they were watching them. Paige danced with him, only him, and he liked that. He shouldn’t, but he liked it anyway.

  “Where did you learn how to dance?” The words slipped from his lips without a second thought from his brain. Her steps were graceful and practiced, but he was certain there wasn’t much call for ballroom dancing in the jungle.

  “You’re little investigation didn’t turn that up?”

  “If it did, do you think I would be asking?”

  “My father taught me. We didn’t have a television or movies, but we had a radio. He would play it at night, and we would dance together. He told me that one day—”

  She faltered, and Blake waited patiently for her to continue. “One day learning to dance would come in handy.”

  “And it did.”

  As the strains of the song faded away, Paige lifted her head and met his eyes.

  Blake gazed into their depths and knew it was a mistake. But something there compelled him, and it wasn’t their unusual color. It was...it was...something else. He wasn’t quite sure what.

  Slowly he lowered his head. He would kiss her now for all to see, then he would take her home. He breathed in her special perfume that wasn’t like any of the designer scents that wafted about the room. Her skin smelled of the pink bar of soap that sat in the shower next to his own, and her hair was scented with herbal shampoo he had found there as well.

  Then his mouth met hers, and the world changed. Her lips were soft beneath his, soft and pliable and parted. She went to his head with more force and speed than a double shot of whiskey. His tongue touched the part of her lips then deftly slipped inside. She melted against him, her body molding to his as they stood in the middle of the dance floor locked in an unbreakable tango of arms and mouths.

  Blake lost the initial purpose of the embrace and kissed her deeper and deeper until no thought existed at all. Passion for her roared like a fire through his blood, through his brain, and was joined by another loud murmur that filled his ears. He held Paige a little tighter. Her soft hands pushed their way between them, over the lapels of his tuxedo jacket and around his neck.

  Tuxedo jacket...The reality of time and space returned to him with shocking clarity. They were at the ball. And he was kissing her in front of almost one hundred witnesses. He pulled his mouth from hers and set her away from him.

  All eyes in the room were upon them. Even the orchestra had not resumed playing and instead watched the pair. The murmur he had heard surely had been the many voices of those around them speculating to one another about the kiss they witnessed. The doubts surrounding their marriage were slowly fading away. He succeeded and made them believe, but much more had happened in the process.

  Blake slipped one hand in his pocket to conceal the surprising effect Paige had upon him and with the other escorted her off the dance floor and to the refreshment table. He needed a drink and badly.

  ****

  “I told you to kiss her and take her home, not kiss her and ignore her. Paige has been lurking in the fringes since your dance.”

  That had been at least three quarters of an hour ago, and still the blood pounded in Blake’s veins.

  “What would you say if I told you that I’m attracted to her, and I can’t take her home? That if I do, I’ll break the contract and make love to her all night long?”

  “I’d say that you’ve had too much champagne. You never did have a head for the stuff.”

  “No,” Blake agreed, but he was thinking of Paige.

  “Blake, you’ve got to come out of this corner and be seen with your wife. You can’t kiss her like that and then just walk away. Not if you want everyone to believe you married her for more reasons than your bank account.”

  “I had to walk away,” he said grimly, then drained the champagne from his glass. “If I had held her any longer, I would have shocked all of Chicago by making love to my bride on the ballroom floor.”

  Noah shook his head. “No, you wouldn’t have. You’ve just been working too hard. Stress can do that to a man.”

  It was apparent Noah didn’t understand the allure that woman had. Hell, Blake didn’t understand it himself. But he had known about it from the first time he had looked into her eyes and felt himself drowning.

  “Go get your wallflower,” Noah commanded. “Take her home. It’ll all seem different after a good night’s sleep.”

  Blake pushed himself off the wall and placed his empty champagne glass on the tray of a passing waiter. Noah was right. Ignoring Paige because he was attracted to her was no answer.

  And it couldn’t really be an attraction. How could he be attracted to her? She was...well, medium. And the women he usually dated weren’t.
They were worldly and beautiful and had manicured nails. He wasn’t attracted to Paige. It was the champagne. It was the lighting. It was the pressures at work and the stress of the will and getting married that had caused his knees to buckle when his lips met hers. Nothing more than stress.

  With a renewed confidence, he tugged on the lapels of his tuxedo. He would get his wife and take her home.

  Blake scanned the outer edge of the dance floor where he expected Paige to be. People milled about, talked to one another, nibbled on crab puffs and caviar, sipped champagne, and pretended to have a wonderful time. Though he caught several people’s gazes and waved to them as he studied their midst, he saw no sign of Paige. He looked over the edge of the room, but again he found no sign of his wallflower wife.

  Incredulously his gaze swept the dance floor. Once and again until he saw her medium blond head, dancing among the highly lacquered hairdos of the guild supporters. From this distance, Blake caught a whiff of familiarity. The man she danced with was taller than she, around six feet, with broad shoulders and long brown hair tied into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. When he turned her in time to the music, the chandelier up above lit the sequins of her dress and the flash of a diamond in the left ear of her dance partner.

  “It can’t be,” Blake muttered to himself, then realized he had spoken aloud. He really must have had too much champagne. He never talked to himself. But then if Paige was dancing with whom he thought...

  Blake moved through the crowd, a little closer to his wife and her dance partner. The man turned and the light from above shown full on his face.

  Why now? Blake asked himself, refusing to mutter the words aloud again. Why here, at the ball, on the night he wanted to make society believe he had married his wife for more reasons than his inheritance, did the one person who could blow it all out of the water have to show up?