Awakening Beauty
Автор
Amy J. Fetzer
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One
It was moments like these that made Lane Douglas glad she’d changed her name. Elaina Honora Giovanni didn’t get involved with the police. Police reports meant giving your ID and putting the incident on the blotter, and that was open season for the press.
There was one particular member of the press corps out there just waiting to read her name somewhere and come hunting like a wolf for its prey.
And something as simple as a car accident would be enough to lead him right to her.
When the sound of screeching tires, splashing water and a loud solid crunch had registered, Lane knew before she whipped around that her car was the victim.
Attacked by a low-slung, silver sports car.
The impact popped open the trunk of her car.
“Buona fortuna as usual, Elaina,” she muttered to herself, dropping a box full of books on the porch of her shop, then rushing down the steps to the curb. Cold winter rain soaked through her clothes, matted her hair.
She could feel the tightly twisted bun on the top of her head sagging already.
Never good in a crisis, she looked first at the books in the trunk, then at the man still behind the wheel of his car. His loud cursing told her that he at least was uninjured. The car door opened and he climbed out, glaring at the damage before meeting her gaze.
“Are you all right?” he asked, and whipped out a cell phone.
“Fine, fine. I wasn’t in the car, remember? Are you okay?” she shouted over the rain.
“Yes, dammit.” He kicked the tire, then winced.
“Smart move,” she said.
He smiled at her, tipping the phone away for a second. “Tyler. Tyler McKay.”
She knew who he was. It was hard to live in Bradford, South Carolina, and not know the McKays. Rich, handsome and eligible didn’t begin to describe Tyler. With dark hair and light-blue eyes, he was the most noticed man in town. And that wasn’t even counting that long, lean body in a leather jacket and jeans.
She swung her gaze to their cars.
His hadn’t fared well against hers.
The sports car looked like an accordion halfway through a song.
Then she noticed the rain pouring over the crushed metal of her trunk like a stream over rocks and dribbling onto the carton of books.
“Oh, no, my stock!”
He barely glanced at it, still talking into the phone. Then he closed the cell phone and observed, “They’re ruined.”
She glared at him. “Yes, thank you for pointing that out. What was your first clue?” She tried shutting the trunk, but the twisted metal refused to oblige.
He took off his jacket and like Sir Walter Raleigh, covered the books. “How’s that?”
“A Band-Aid to a bleeding head wound.”
“Gallantry is never appreciated.”
“Perhaps when it’s sincere it would be.” She threw off his jacket and lifted out a soaked carton of books.
He picked up the other carton and walked behind her. “The cops will be here in a couple of minutes.”
He probably pulled someone’s chain for that quick service. When your family owned practically half the town, it wasn’t hard. “Good.” She unlocked the shop door and pushed inside.
“Look. It’s my fault.”
She paused at the doorway to look back at him. It was a mistake. He was too close, his front to her back, and she got a full dose of him in one flash. Vivid blue eyes pinned her, as if the chance to look at her would be snatched away any second and he needed to get in a good stare while he could. The little crinkles at the corners of his eyes spoke of countless smiles, and rainwater dripped off his dark hair onto his leather jacket.
When she caught a whiff of his warm woodsy cologne, Lane wanted to inhale deeply. Instead, she said, “The rain, the curve off Bay street and a slick road are to blame.”
He grinned. “Does this mean I’m forgiven?” he said softly.
That smile lit something inside her and made her pulse jump hard. Her chilled skin was suddenly warmer, and ignoring the way she reacted to him wasn’t as easy as she expected. He probably knew exactly the effect he had on a person. “Do you need my forgiveness?”
“No, but I’d like to have it. Being neighborly and all.”
That smile came again and she hurried into the shop and set the box on the counter before looking at him again.
“Then, yes, you’re forgiven. But I reserve the right to needle you.” She smoothed her hair back off her face. Her glasses steamed up and slid down her nose. “Although since I didn’t put any change in the parking meter, with my luck I’ll be getting the ticket.”
“You won’t. I promise.”
She arched a brow. “Falling on your sword for me? Now that’s gallantry.”
He smiled and Lane felt her insides shift and bow. This was so not good, she thought.
“And your name is?” he asked.
“Lane Douglas.” It tripped easily off her tongue after nearly two years, she thought. Sad that lying about who she was had become second nature. He held out his hand. She shook it once, quickly, then jerked back. Okay, so his skin was delightfully warm, and though she might have expected smooth and pampered, it wasn’t. She’d felt at least one callus. He probably got that golfing.
She turned her back to him, inspecting her sodden books and mentally calculating the cost to replace them.
“Nice place,” he said. “Is it new?”
“It’s been here for 150 years, Mr. McKay,” she said, although she knew he meant newly remodeled.
“Call me Tyler, please. Mr. McKay is my dad.”
She hunted in her purse. “I don’t want to get that personal. I may have to sue.”
His gaze narrowed. “I will make full restitution, Miss Douglas.”
She faced him, holding out her driver’s license and insurance card. “Good. Why don’t you hail the cops?” She nodded to the windows. The blue lights of the police car flashed against the watery glass.
Tyler stared at her for a second, then, with a sharp nod, took her information and stepped out onto the covered porch. She wasn’t worried about the police, for Lane Douglas had nothing to hide. While he talked to the officers, Lane tried to salvage the books, but there really was no hope. A water-damage sale was in order, and she’d just cut her losses as usual.
Like she’d done with her family.
Stay a Giovanni and live in a cage. Become Lane Douglas and live like a normal human being.
Hmm.
Tough choice.
Heiress to a winery or not.
Now if she could just get Tyler McKay out of her store without piquing his curiosity, she’d be fine. She’d spent the past year avoiding McKay—and anyone else in his family. There were quite a few, and they attracted the attention of the media like the Kennedys. And like the Giovannis. Tyler McKay was wealthy enough, affluent enough, to have traveled in the same social circles as her family. Not to mention that her face had once been plastered over every newspaper and tabloid in the country, and someone might recognize her.
Her identity had to stay a secret.
With the exception of her father, even her own family didn’t know where she was. She’d do just about anything to keep it that way.
The woman couldn’t be more chilling, Tyler thought, glancing back into the shop as the deputy filled out the report. She was rummaging in a box of books, and his gaze traveled from the round glasses and the reddish-brown hair falling out of its tight bun and drooping onto the collar of her sweater to her skirt, wet and hanging to ankles, hidden by what looked like combat boots.
She reminded him of a spinster schoolteacher, but there was something about her that was far from spinsterish. He couldn’t put his finger on it yet, but she had incredible eyes, deep-set, long-lashed and the color of Irish whiskey that those glasses couldn’t shield.
She was reserved, businesslike, but he had the feeling she was trying too hard. Tyler had never seen her before, which was strange. He’d thought he knew everyone in Bradford.
“I need to speak to Miss Douglas,” the cop said.
Tyler nodded and they stepped back inside. Cold rain turned the sky a little darker gray and dreary, but inside the house-turned-bookshop, it was warm and smelled like cinnamon. She wasn’t visible now, and he called her name.
She appeared from the back of the store with a tray of steaming coffee and cups.
“To take the chill off.” Lane told herself she didn’t have to invite friendship or anything, but she didn’t have to be rude to McKay. He knew everyone and everyone read books. So it was good for business.
Tyler took a cup, warming his hands.
The cop declined, asked her a few questions, then handed them each a copy of the report and left. Tyler tucked his copy in his jacket and sipped coffee.
Lane wished he would leave, too. The man unnerved her, and if the FBI’s constant questions about what she knew about her brother Angel’s alleged illegal business deals hadn’t done that, it was saying something. She’d just as soon not listen.
“How come I haven’t seen you around before?”
“Well, I sell books. Do you read?”
“Of course I do.”
A smile teased her lips and she peered at him through the round glasses. Tyler was struck again by the beauty of her eyes.
“Apparently not enough, Mr. McKay.”
Tyler grinned. “You’re still upset about the car.”
“No, not really,” she said. “Maybe I can get a new one out of it.” He liked the little smile she was trying not to show.
“It would have to be totaled for that.”
“Well, I could leave it there, and if you go driving again, that shouldn’t be a problem.”
He laughed, a soft rumble that matched the thunder outside. Just then the little bell above the door tinkled as a boy of about twelve entered the shop, shaking off the rain. Lane smiled at him.
“Man, what a downpour,” he said. “Hey, Mr. McKay.”
“Hi, Davis.”
The kid frowned out the window, inclining his head. “Is that your car all smashed up out there?”
“Sadly, yes.”
“Aw, man, that’s an insult to a car like that.”
“It can be fixed.”
Lane glanced between the two. “Can I help you with something?”
The boy held up a plastic packet of flyers. “Winter Festival flyers. Can I put one in your window?”
“Sure.”
Setting down her cup, she crossed to the boy, gathering tape and a small towel as she went. She handed him the towel to dry his face and chatted softly with him as she put the flyer in the front window, asking him if the location was what he needed.
Tyler saw a different woman just then, one with kinder eyes than she’d had for him. He didn’t get it. There weren’t many women who could resist the McKay charm. Or so his mother told him. And he was turning his on high.
“See ya later, Mr. McKay.”
“Later, Davis.”
“Watch the traffic,” Lane said. “There are some reckless drivers out there.”
“Being the graceful victor is out of the question, huh?” Tyler said after the boy left.
“It’s not every day the town playboy slams into my poor defenseless car.”
“You forgave me, and who said I was a playboy?”
She let out a long-suffering sigh and walked behind the counter. “Who hasn’t, McKay?” She slid an extra flyer in front of her, reading the list of events and ignoring him. Which was next to impossible.
“Lies, I swear.”
Lane looked up. He was smiling, and she thought, he’s dangerous, get him out of here. “You needn’t defend yourself. I form my own opinions and though I know who you are, I don’t care what you do.”
“Intriguing,” he said. “A woman who doesn’t care what gossips have to say?”
She lifted her gaze, looking at him over the rim of her glasses. What did he know about gossips? A few locals musing about his love life? Hah. He should try life in the big leagues. When people in Outer Mongolia knew what you had for breakfast or what you wore to bed. Now that took gossip to a whole new level. And put it on the front page of a tabloid that every person in America who goes through a checkout line at the grocery store can see.
Oh, yeah. There was gossip and then there was gossip.
“Isn’t there someplace you should be?” she asked, anxious to get him out of her shop, out of her life. “Like work?”
Tyler felt something in him pitch by just looking into her eyes. She could probably give a man frostbite without even trying. And yet, something told him, it might be worth it just to see if he could start a fire in solid ice. “Nope.”
“Ahh, the life of Riley.”
“It’s raining,” he reminded her. “You won’t get many customers today.”
“You’d be surprised what people will do for a good book on a day like this. It’s perfect curl-up-and-read weather.”
He wouldn’t mind curling up right here. The stray thought surprised him and he blinked as if to catch it back. After all, she with her waterlogged-librarian look wasn’t exactly the stuff of dreams. But still…those whiskey eyes of hers continued to draw him in. Whether he wanted to be or not.
“Are you working the festival?” He pointed to the flyer she’d taken from the boy and was taping to her counter.
“No.”
Now that surprised him. The Winter Festival was the one time a year when every merchant in Bradford banded together. Good for the town, good for business. Plus, it was a hell of a lot of fun, with different events scheduled every day for a couple of weeks. People came from all over the state for it. “How come?”
“I chose not to.”
“Party pooper.”
She was trying not to smile again. He could tell.
“All the local businesses join in,” he said.
She arched a brow, still looking over the rims of her glasses. “The gas station does? The carwash?”
“You bet. Dennis at the gas station gives away tickets for a free carwash with every fill-up. And Mike at the carwash gives away ten dollars worth of gas with every wash and wax.” He took another sip of coffee and rocked back on his heels. “So how about it?”
“I sell books and I don’t do it from a vendor’s cart.”
“You sell coffee, too.” He gestured to the small coffee bar surrounded by cozy overstuffed chairs.
“Oh, sure, big contribution—mocha lattes.”
“On a cold afternoon, sure. Why don’t you give it a try?”
“Who are you, the mayor?” she asked, shaking her head and smiling.
“Hmm.” He pretended to give that some thought. “Mayor McKay. Kinda like the sound of that.”
“Uh-huh. Why don’t you go to work, make more money?” She took the coffee cup from him midsip and set it behind the counter.
He blinked. “You show all your customers that charm?”
“I save it for the really big spenders.”
Tyler’s lips twitched. He loved her sense of humor. “You’ll go under in a month with that attitude.”
She scoffed. “I’ve been here over a year, McKay, and survived just fine.”
“Ah, but is surviving ever really enough?” he asked.
She gave him a look that said he’d just stepped into too-personal ground. “You don’t have to hang around, McKay. You’ve done your civic duty.”
“Hey, is it me you don’t like or the McKay name?”
The McKays. Wealthy, privileged. And he stood here thinking she was a struggling businesswoman. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that she knew what life was like with unlimited funds. What it was like to be the talk of not only the town, but on two continents. Giovanni Wines. Suspected Mafia ties of money laundering, her sibling’s picture in the paper with some questionable businessmen. Then there was the sublime thrill of seeing her own face on the cover of a tabloid—and her career as a clothing designer ruined. All because reporter Dan Jacobs had said he loved her when he really only wanted to use her to get an “inside” story on her family. The worst part was that she’d loved him, and he’d used it to betray her.
She stared at the floor, her chest suddenly tight as a drum, as she pushed at the hurt still wedged in her heart. She had closed herself off because people she’d loved had lied. People hurt you, and didn’t care how much if they got what they wanted. People like Dan Jacobs.
Books, on the other hand, never wounded you so hard that you didn’t think you could ever get back up.
Books took you away…
“Miss Douglas?”
She looked up, forcing a smile.
Tyler frowned, wondering where she’d gone just then. “You okay?”
Her expression changed from brooding to falsely cheerful, and all it did was heighten his awareness of her. Which was bordering on overload. She had a regal quality about her, not arrogant, but dignified and sophisticated. And even the librarian clothes and glasses didn’t hide it from him.
“At the risk of sounding redundant, I’m fine.”
Tyler didn’t get the cold shoulder from women often, and he admitted it rattled him. It was suddenly a challenge to get a real smile out of her.
When he continued to stare, she said, “Shouldn’t you be calling a wrecker? Calling your office or your girlfriend?”
No, he thought, no girlfriend, or at least no one steady. Right now, he was having fun doing the love-’em-and-leave-’em-graciously game. Because not so long ago, he’d come damn close to saying “I do” to the wrong woman. A woman who’d wanted the McKay money, but not the man.
It had been two years and though it didn’t hurt anymore, the memory of how blind he’d been still stung. And the sudden flash reminded him that he would never know if a woman wanted him or a key to his family’s fortune.
“No girlfriend to call, thanks for asking. And I called the wrecker when I was talking to the deputy.” He tipped his head a bit and leaned on the counter, closing the space between them. “You’re real hot to get me out of here, aren’t you. Why is that?”
Lane kept right where she was, refusing to back off. It wasn’t a smart move. He smelled wonderful. Warm and spicy. And the brown leather jacket and tan shirt made him look downright yummy. She sucked in a breath that unfortunately brought his scent down deep inside her. “Unlike the idle rich, I have a business to run.”
Her voice was like smoke, low and throaty, and Tyler tried placing her accent. Not Southern for sure, but the region wasn’t definite, and it sounded slightly European sometimes.
“Mr. McKay?”
“Yes?”
“I believe your pocket is ringing.”
He blinked and reached for his cell phone.
“Fan club?” Lane asked.
He winked at her and her insides did a dance she’d almost forgotten. “Hello, Mom, yes, I’m fine.”
Lane smothered a laugh.
“Good grief, how did you hear about this so soon?” A pause and then he said, “Tell Mrs. Ashbury I’m fine. Yes, yes, I will on my way home.” He closed the phone. “I have to give her proof I’m not lying on a stretcher with my head split open.”
“I could accommodate you if you want some sympathy?” She hefted a resin statue of a gnome reading a book, her lips twitching with a smile.
“I’ll pass.” He chuckled and stepped away before she gave in to the urge to bean him. “Send me the bill for the books,” he said as he strode to the door.
“I will.”
“Or better yet, I’ll stop by tomorrow and pick it up.” Tyler somehow knew that would get her riled.
“The U.S. postal system is fine, Mr. McKay. It works for most people.”
Half out the door, Tyler grinned back at her. “I’m not most people, Miss Douglas.”
He shut the door and trotted down the steps, hailing a cab and leaving behind his wrecked car.
And Lane felt as if she’d just been warned. This wasn’t the end for Tyler McKay. And that, for her, was dangerous.
