Can't Buy Me Love (6 page)

Sh
e swallowed the bite of whatever it was she had made and cut another piece with the edge of her fork. “We have plenty of food. I went shopping today.”

Blake sat silently, wishing his dinner would disappear.
She cooked this on purpose?

“
You’re not eating your dinner.” Paige took another bite.

Blake looked down at his plate.
He was no stranger to taking chances. He took chances in the board room every day. He took chances every season with new designs. He had even been known to play the stock market like a mad man. But food was not something to take chances with. He liked it to be a constant in his life. Always the same.

Bravely
, he picked up his fork and took a bite. It tasted worse than it looked. Like a grainy noodle salad gone bad. Should he risk swallowing the bite whole or just spit it into his napkin?

He looked up at Pa
ige. Their eyes met and Blake lost all rational thought. She expected him to say something. Carefully he chewed. At least at this distance she wouldn’t see him grimace as he swallowed. Well, he hoped anyway.

He wrenched his gaze from hers and mana
ged to swallow without gagging.

“
Did, uh…your mother teach you to make this, too?”

“I have a confession to make.” She laid her fork aside and delicately wiped her mouth with the linen napkin. For a girl raised in the wilds of the jungle, she had impeccable manners. This just might work after all. “My mother never taught me to cook. I learned in the field and on the trips we made to different places.”

“I see. Where’d you learn to cook this?” Surely his words didn’t sound as derisive to her ears as they did to his.

“
This is my very own recipe.”

“You don’t say.”

Despite the distance between them, he could detect the blush rising into her cheeks. She placed her napkin back in her lap and retrieved her fork.

“
I don’t think I have ever tasted anything quite like it. What kind of lasagna did you say it was?”

“
Vegetarian,” She said proudly, scooping up another bite.

“Vege—does that mean…
”

“
That I’m a vegetarian? Of course.”

“
Of course.”

She watched him as she chewed. “You’re not eating. Is there a problem with your dinner?”

Well, yeah. He was a meat and potatoes kind of guy and now he was married to, and had consented to eat the food of, a broccoli and tomatoes kind of gal. Yes, there was a problem. “No, no, no, it’s…fine.” He took another bite to prove his point.

“
It’s even low fat,” Paige said. “I made it with tofu instead of cheese.”

No wonder.
He reached for the glass Dancy had set in front of him, and somehow managed to choke down the liquid. “What is this?” he sputtered.

“
Iced Japanese green tea. Do you like it?”

“
The tea?” It tasted like liquid grass.

“
No, the lasagna.”

“
Yes,” he lied, unwilling to hurt her feelings for anything, not even the steak he so desperately craved at that moment. Why he was so loathe to hurt her was anybody’s guess. Damn his aunt for teaching him to be a gentleman.

But he had to have her on his side if this plan of his was going to work. And it had it to.

“Good.” She smiled. “There’s plenty.”

Blake
’s smile felt stiff on his lips. Somehow he’d make it through this terrible meal and somehow he’d talk Paige into hiring a new cook, but first he had to get through dinner without hurting her feelings. Then he had to convince her to pretend—really pretend for all of Chicago to see—that their marriage was real.

****

“Let’s take our coffee into the den,” Blake invited.

Paige looked from her plate, down the length of table to where her husband sat.
Husband. So strange to use that word to describe Blake. After all, what they had wasn’t really a marriage, despite her efforts to pretend otherwise. That’s why she had offered to cook for him, she wanted to feel if even at dinner time that a portion of their marriage was real. It was stupid, but she couldn’t help herself.

“
But you haven’t finished your lasagna.”

Blake patted his trim waistline.
“I’m stuffed. Really. I ate a big lunch.”

Reluctantly, Paige placed her napkin beside her half
-eaten dinner, picked up Bruno, and followed Blake into the den.

The warm, friendly room held two big leather sofas that faced each other in front of the huge sandstone fireplace.
Paige sat on one couch while Blake sat on the other. He crossed one leg over the other as they waited for Dancy to serve their coffee.

He looked as cool and guarded as always, with the exception of that first time she had seen him in Noah
’s office and the fiasco with the press on the steps of the Cook County Courthouse, but something was up; Paige knew it. He hadn’t eaten his dinner. He wouldn’t look her in the eye. Those things by themselves weren’t out of the ordinary, but still she knew. Something was up, and it was bad.

Fortunately Dancy entered and poured their coffee and filled the silence with her presence and Bruno
’s growls. With a caustic look in Paige’s direction, Dancy left the tray and slid from the room.

Blake took a drink of the hot brew, then another.
His eyes were fixed somewhere near her ear as he took yet another sip of his coffee. “This is really very good,” he said obviously doing his best to melt the ice forming between them. “Is it a new blend?”

“
You didn’t ask me in here to discuss coffee. What’s on your mind, Blake?” Paige tried to make her tone casual, but her heart raced. Suppose he had reconsidered and now thought that a marriage to someone like her was not worth a large fortune.

“
No, I didn’t.” Blake sat his cup down and clasped his hands together between his bent knees. “I need a favor from you,” he said with a confidence that suggested he knew she would comply.

“
A favor?” It was the last thing she had expected to hear.

“
Yes.”

“
What kind of favor?” She wasn’t going to like this.

He took a deep breath, and Paige could almost see him mulling over the exact words to use.
It was probably a class he took at college. Exact Wording 101. “I need you to go to an opera fund raiser with me and play the part of my wife.”

“
What?” she squeaked, then managed to recover. “This wasn’t part of our deal.”

“
Our deal has changed.” His voice held a note of finality.

“
What’s that supposed to mean?” Paige stood and crossed her arms cover her middle as if to protect herself for what was to come next.

“
It means that the news of this marriage was supposed to get no farther than the two of us. Now the entire country knows. Everyone in the greater Chicago area is chomping at the bit hoping to get a glimpse of us together.”

“
I hope they don’t chew it in half while they wait.”

“
Paige, you’re not looking at this at all logically.”

“
Logically? What’s logical about any of this? I became your wife in a business deal, nothing more.” She turned to look at the empty fireplace. Anything was better than looking at him and knowing he didn’t think enough of her to meet her gaze when he spoke.

“
True. However, now your name is linked with mine. For better or worse.”

She whirled around to face him, hating the fact that he still sat
, legs crossed, and he hadn’t moved once during the whole conversation. He was making her crazy and flustered with his words and his presence, and she had no effect on him what so ever. “Would you mind explaining that remark?”

“
I wanted to keep the terms of this marriage a secret....” He spread his hands expressively. “Now one of two things can happen. We can go out together, pretend we’re a happily married couple, and no one need ever know differently. In six months we pretend to have an argument—in public. It snowballs, and six months later we get the divorce, as planned. Or I can come clean in the papers, tell them all about the will and how I married you to get my inheritance. Everyone will think I’m a greedy bastard, but they’ll pity you.”

“
You’d do that to me?” Her voice was a whisper.

“
I don’t have much choice, and neither do you. You see, Paige, our names are linked together no matter what either of us do. Your only choice now is
how
your name will be linked with mine.”

Paige sank to the couch.
“What about Anna Rivera? How does she fit into all of this?”

“
Anna? How did you—”Blake shook his head. “Anna won’t play a part at all. As long as we’re married, I’ll remain faithful to you. You don’t have to worry about other women making you a fool.”

No,
Paige thought,
I just have to worry about you making me a fool
.

“
This is a little like blackmail,” she said shakily.

Blake sighed.
“Life’s a little like blackmail. I need for you to do this, Paige. Please.”

“
What do I have to do?”

“
We’ll accept just a few engagements. The season always slows down during the summer months. Then, of course, in a few weeks we’ll have to have a birthday party for you.”

“
Birthday? How did you—oh, never mind.”

“
What’s it going to be, Paige?”

She paused a moment not wanting to answer, not knowing how to answer.
“All right,” she said against her better judgment. “I’ll do it.”

Chapter Six

On display.
That’s how Paige felt two weeks later as she and Blake stepped into the ballroom at the Ritz-Carlton. Despite the floor to ceiling windows that offered a fantastic view of the city, all heads turned in their direction. Briefly Paige wondered if perhaps the fund raiser had really been held in support of the Chicago Opera, or merely so that everybody who was anybody could see her in the flesh.

The group gathered in the ballroom was no less intimidating than the twelve-course, two-
hundred-dollar-a-plate meal Blake had declined. The tuxedo-attired men were the epitome of debonair as they danced their ladies around the floor. And the ladies...they were like a fairy tale dream in their formal dresses, perfectly made up faces, and manicured nails.

Paige had never felt as
plain as she did in that moment. She had never been one to wear makeup or curl her hair or paint her fingernails. Frivolities like that had no place in the jungle. That fell into Lydia’s department. What was she, Paige Parker, doing here, an ugly duckling among these swans?

She should have told Blake no, refused his heartfelt request to attend this ball. What did she care if people pitied her? In just under a year she was going back to Africa. Back where she belonged.

But she hadn’t said no. So there she stood in a half-homemade dress wondering how in the world she had gotten in the door. Not that the dress wasn’t fabulous; it was, even if she said so herself.

Once Blake had secured her acceptance, he’d handed her a credit card and told her
he’d someone by with “some dresses for her to look at.”

She might not know everything there was to know about fashion—being raised in the jungle could do that to a girl—but she had a sister who did.  Paige had taken one look at the dresses, channeled her inner-Lydia, then grabbed a pair of scissors and went to work.

There were some benefits of being raised the plain sister. She had learned how to sew. She could make clothes out of scraps if necessary. And tonight she needed the confidence the garment could afford her.

The dress
was basic black—not exactly one of her best colors since its severity paled her ivory skin even whiter—and had a simple, form-fitting bodice. The skirt fell to the floor in full pleats that started a good six inches below her hips. Standing still the dress appeared merely black, but when she moved, the pleats opened and revealed the inlaid cuts of pearly-white satin strewn with iridescent sequins. When she moved, she shimmered.

“
Smile,” Blake asided as they entered the room. A wide, false smile stretched across his lips. “Everybody’s looking.”

“
I know,” she shot back. “This is a bad idea, Blake.”

“
I know,” he said still smiling. He nodded to a few of the people standing at the fringes of the crowd, then took her arm and escorted her deeper into the ballroom. The crowd parted like the Red Sea for Moses.

Paige inhaled sharply when he swept her into his arms and out on the dance floor amidst the other dancers.

“Relax,” he whispered. “Loosen up and enjoy yourself. It’s only a dance. You probably weren’t even this nervous at your prom.”

She smiled at his cajoling, but even her lips were nervous and wobbly.
“I didn’t have a prom, remember? And I’m sure the Opera High Brows will be happy to know you’re comparing a high school dance with their ball.”

“
They’ll never know unless you tell them.”

“
Just like everything else?”

“
Yes,” he murmured into her hair. “Just like everything else.”

Shivers of awareness shot through Paige.
The heat of his thighs burned through the material of her dress and scorched her own sensitive legs. This was a
really
bad idea. She should have never agreed to come here with him. This wasn’t part of their contract. But then she wouldn’t have given up the chance to have him hold her in his arms for anything in the world. Still she had to remember her place; she wasn’t his real wife. She was merely a professional wife, and she had to act it, professional, that was. But it was hard with the way he was holding her, close and with loving hands as if she were truly his bride. Lord, he was a good actor. If he kept this up, she wouldn’t have to act at all in order to convincingly fall at his feet and...and make a complete fool of herself.

“
Why didn’t you?” Blake asked, his warm breath tickling her ear.

“
W-w-what?”

“
Have a senior prom.”

“
I was in Africa.” As crazy as it was she felt the pang of jealousy at not having a prom. After all, Lydia had gone with all the bells and whistles while Paige had been miles from the nearest phone, much less formal dance. She and her father had done noble work in Africa helping the Zumbai Tribe build houses and schools, learn hygiene and basic farming principles. And she wouldn’t trade that for all the proms in the world.

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.