The Fiance Thief (13 page)

Alec grinned. “He’s a nice guy, Maureen,” he told Trent’s mother, hoping he sounded sincere. He glanced at the bathroom door. “Thanks, Maureen. You call me when Trent’s got something new going on, okay?”

“He’s filming a martial-arts movie right now.” She made a clicking noise with her teeth. “Now that Miranda Craig is so big, you’d think she’d get him a part in one of her movies, but Trent says she won’t even take his calls.”

“It’s a dirty business, Maureen,” Alec told her. They hung up, and he knocked on the bathroom door again.

“Who were you talking to?” Claire asked through the door. Alec remembered again that she didn’t miss much, and he decided to tell her the truth.

“I found somebody to support your story,” he said. “Claire, this is great stuff.”

She threw the door open, and he was greeted by a vision of beauty in red: Claire wearing a dress that was even more seductive than the white one she’d discarded. His jaw fell open, and he slapped it shut.

“I’m sorry I ever told you,” she said. “I forgot what a vulture you are.”

“You can’t wear that,” he said. “It’s supposed to be casual, not barely there.”

“Don’t change the subject.” She didn’t seem upset at his criticisms. She seemed kind of triumphant, in fact. “Alec, if you’ll take a good long look at this dress, you’ll see that it isn’t as low-cut as the white one, and it’s the same length. I don’t see what the problem is.”

“It’s so red,” he said.

“So have you taken up a new career as a color consultant?” she asked. “Am I a spring, trying to pass myself off as a winter?”

No, he wanted to say. You’re a timid young woman, trying to pass yourself off as a ravishing siren. And what’s worse, you’re succeeding. But he didn’t say that. Instead, he stepped past her into the bathroom and slammed the door shut. Then he opened it again to retrieve his clothes from the bed.

“I mean it Alec,” she said. “I never meant to hold her accountable for something she did years ago.”

“Well,” he said. “Except for that one thing she did. She’s still being held accountable for that, isn’t she?”

He judged that he only had a few seconds to get into the bathroom before she threw something at him. “I haven’t seen you speechless in a long time, Claire. It’s kind of refreshing.” He shut the door and locked it.

When he got out of the shower, he could hear the heavy chink of typewriter keys, striking paper at a fast clip. Unless she was getting ready to throw the typewriter at him, this was a good sign. He hurriedly shaved and dressed, then opened the door to see Claire at the desk, a folder of notes spread out before her. She had her manual typewriter set up, and was using the fancy stationery that had been provided to them.

How many times had he seen this tableau? Claire hard at work, unaware of anyone watching her. Only that had been the shy Claire, the one who dressed in the same shades as her desk, the better to blend in with it. But here was Claire in a red dress, sitting at an ancient manual typewriter. She wore her glasses, as she usually did when she worked, and she typed at her usual steady pace. The scene was eerily familiar, yet completely different.

Finally she sensed him watching her. She didn’t let out a startled scream, but rather, graced him with a smile. “You look fabulous,” she said. “So clean. So rid of all traces of the cow pasture.”

“Thanks,” he muttered, not accustomed to accepting compliments gracefully, especially not such left-handed ones. “Did you decide to scoop me on my Miranda story?”

“I had my final interviews in south Ridgeville on the days I was away from the office, and I’m revising my piece. This way I won’t get behind on my work.”

“Yeah?” Alec said, picking his watch up off the dresser and snapping it on. It was 5:20. “Well, I’m already behind on my work. We’ve got to make sure we get to that casual dining room before anyone else.”

“I hate people who are early for everything,” Claire said, standing up and stretching a little.

The stretch did nothing to help him keep his mind on his work, and so he was a bit short with her when he said, “Somehow I knew that about you. Now come on.”

Without further protest, Claire walked to the door and started to go out. Alec grabbed her before she could do more than stick her head out of the door.

“What are you doing?” she said loudly. He clapped a hand over her mouth and dragged her back into the room.

“We can’t be seen,” he said. “We can’t afford to have anyone tagging along with us.”

“What are you going to do? Spike the punch with truth serum so Miranda will tell all?”

“Damn, I wish I’d thought of that.” He was sincere, but she kicked him in the shins anyway. “Don’t mind my trick knee, Claire,” he said as he rubbed it. “I injured it playing football in high school.”

“Really? It’s a wonder you got out of adolescence alive.”

“Now,” he said, ignoring her and stepping up to the door, “we’re going to do this in a very systematic way. I’m going to look around the hall, and if no one is there, we’re going to make a run for the stairwell.”

“I think you missed your calling as a master spy,” she said, but he ignored her. He looked around, and not seeing anyone, took Claire by the hand and sprinted for the stairs.

They huddled there for a second as he whispered, “Okay, the casual dining room is two doors to the right from this hallway to your left. Got that?”

She leaned against him and whispered her response, her breath tickling his ear, “When I get stressed, I have a little problem with left and right.”

“Why am I not surprised?” he whispered. Sticking his head cautiously above the top of the stairs, he ducked as he saw a maid go by with a serving platter. “The maid is headed for the dining room,” he told Claire in a hushed voice. “When she comes back, we’ll go for it. In the meantime, if anyone comes up the stairs, we’ll kiss and pretend we were stuck here in a fit of passion.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Claire said.

Alec found himself disappointed that it didn’t. The maid returned, sans platter, and Alec, still dragging Claire, negotiated his way through the quick left/right turns. When they got to the casual dining room, it was gloriously empty.

Alex found that his ideas of what was casual differed from those of the Craigs’ decorator. Several marble-top
bistro tables were set about the room, each set with service for six. Claire looked around the room, while Alec quickly went about his business, picking up his place card and setting it by Miranda’s. He told Claire, “I saw the maid writing out these name cards earlier, but I couldn’t get in here without anyone seeing me.” He picked up the “Roger” that his card had replaced, and put it in the empty spot beside Claire’s. “Roger. That doesn’t sound like the name of anyone who’s going to put the moves on you during dinner.”

“Oh, Roger. Actually I met Roger…”

“Shh. Someone’s coming.” Alec grabbed Claire and kissed her, meaning only to continue their subterfuge for the benefit of whoever was coming into the room. Claire’s muffled cry of surprise faded altogether as his arms encircled her. Suddenly, a kiss that had started out as an act became the real thing. Her lips were warm against his, and he pressed his tongue between them, meeting hers with an uncontrollable heat.

He groaned softly as her hands traveled up the length of his back. He broke the kiss off to move his lips across her neck, her fingers gripping his hair as he did so. Having never expected to feel this kind of passion around Claire, he relished the feeling all the more.

“You’re so beautiful,” he told her, brushing a piece of hair back from her eyes as he kissed her again. She let out a soft sigh as his hand moved up to caress her breast, but then she stopped him, and broke away from him, shaking.

No one had entered the room. “False alarm,” she said.

“It felt like the real thing to me,” he told her, moving toward her, needing to kiss her and feel her against him again. As his lips met hers, he heard a loud “Harumph.” They broke off their kiss to see the maid standing there, shaking her head.

“Don’t you all have a room?” she said.

Blushing, Claire walked around from table to table, as if looking for her place. Alec followed her. Stopping in front of her place card, she said loudly, “Gee, honey, we aren’t together.”

“How will we manage, sweetheart?” he asked.

“You’ll get by,” the maid said, leaving the room in a hurry. As she left, Claire plucked up the place card to the right of her and hurried to Alec and Miranda’s table, switching it with one there.

“Stop that,” Alec said. He was conscious of being all business again. “We aren’t here to engage in gratuitous card-switching.”

“No,” she said, “but she put me next to Mrs. Schibley, who absolutely cannot stand me, and put her cousin Chris next to her so he couldn’t gossip about her. I’m just righting things.”

“How could this Mrs. Whoever hate you? What’s not to like about you?” Alec asked, truly mystified.

She looked at him as though he’d lost his mind. “Alec, you don’t like me, either.”

He’d forgotten that this weekend, never more thoroughly than when he was kissing her. “I wouldn’t say that,” he told her. “Anyway, if I’ve been mean to you in the past it was because you were so absolutely innocuous.”

“I can see why that would bother you,” she said. “Anyway, I’m sure you’ll find out why she hates me. I bet she’ll lists her reasons in detail.”

“Yeah?” Alec said, plopping down in his new seat. “I’m afraid I won’t have time to talk to old Mrs. S. I’m going to be busy with Miranda.”

Other people began to come in, most of them Miranda’s relatives, and Claire made conversation with them, introducing them to Alec. Miranda’s parents entered, and Alec quickly scanned the place cards around him, hoping against hope they weren’t seated at their daughter’s table.
Not only would it be hard for Miranda to spill her guts under the eye of her mother and father, but they would also undoubtedly notice that he wasn’t exactly head table material. But who was this Roger he had replaced?

He got his answer when a lanky, familiar-looking young man strolled into the room and began looking around for his spot. Where had Alec seen him before? Was it a shampoo commercial?

The young man stood there for a second, tossing his hair back like someone striking a pose, then scratching his head a little. Oh. He was trying to
look puzzled.
Alec felt like someone caught in a low-rent game of charades.

“Roger, over here” came a melodious voice. It was Claire’s. Alec twisted in his seat to see Roger stride toward the table and put his hand on Claire’s shoulder.

“Great to see you again, Claire,” Roger said as he plopped down in the seat beside her. How did he know Claire? And who gave him the right to strut around here like he was the next Brad Pitt?

Christine Colby and her cadre of assistants took their tables, then the rest of the Hollywood personnel filed in, their loud chatter drowning out any hopes of his eavesdropping on Claire. Not that he was interested, really. He would have plenty of conversation to monitor, once he and Miranda started talking. If she ever showed up.

He gazed anxiously around the room as Renee, Miranda’s psychic, took the seat across the table from him. He met her stare for a second before breaking it off, and the look she gave him was one that said plainly, I know you don’t belong at this table. He said hello to her and to Stacy, the personal trainer who’d been so impressed by his muscles earlier. She acted overjoyed to see him.

“Remember, you are going to give me all your secrets. No fair keeping any back.” She turned to Renee. “This man is fabulously built.”

Renee shook her head. “The body will never be happy until the intellect and the heart come together.”

He thought of how his heart, body and mind had all seemed to come together smoothly when he was kissing Claire. Unable to resist a peek at her, he turned to see her laughing attractively at something Roger was saying. That Roger. What a card. He turned back to his own table, and caught a brief smirk from Renee. He resolved not to have another thought about Claire until after he escaped Renee’s all-seeing, all-knowing eyes.

The table was rounded out by the appearance of Mrs. Schibley and Larry, sporting an expensive Havana cigar, which Stacy, Renee and Mrs. Schibley all loudly insisted he extinguish.

“I don’t mind,” Alec told him.

“Who the hell are you?” Larry asked, stubbing the cigar out in a saucer. He pointed past Alec at Mrs. Schibley. “And you?”

“I’m Alec Mason, Claire’s fiance. Remember?”

Larry had lost interest, but Mrs. Schibley perked up considerably at Claire’s name. “Claire Morgan is planning to get married again? How many will this be?”

“Well, she’s never been married before,” Alec said.

“My point exactly,” Mrs. Schibley said. “Don’t you think there’s something odd about a girl who gets engaged again and again, then never has the wherewithal to get married?” She pointed her finger at Alec. “She’s flighty, is what she is.”

That was a quality Alec hadn’t attributed to Claire. Skittish, yes. That one had occurred to him. But there were other traits he hadn’t noticed until this weekend. Funny. Sexy. Passionate. He was still musing over these adjectives, ignoring the retired teacher, when Miranda walked into the room.

A hush fell over the crowd. Give me a break, Alec thought to himself. Half of these people saw her every day,
and as for the rest, especially the older folks, they’d seen her when she was running around in diapers. She wore a long silk cream dress with a purple floral print, and her blond hair had been swept up so that mere wisps escaped from the pins. Her makeup was laid on rather heavily, and her smile was fixed. “On behalf of myself and my parents, I want to welcome you to our family home. Eat, talk and bask in the delight of a weekend devoted to renewing old connections.” The word
bask
was the only clue Alec needed to know that someone else had penned that speech for her.

She paused at Christine Colby’s table before making her way to her seat, and Mrs. Schibley said, “How eloquent she’s gotten. She was never that way before. Claire could write, of course.”