Nobody Does It Better

“Just that you must be pretty attracted to me if you’re going to that much trouble to keep me all to yourself.”

She smiled sweetly, fighting to keep her breathing under control. “Haven’t you ever heard the saying? Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer?”

“So we’re enemies?”

“Frankly, I have no idea.”

“Well, there you go.” He leaned against the wall, smug satisfaction dancing across his face.

“There I go what?”

“Just that you don’t know if I’m an enemy or a friend. But you want me around. Sounds like attraction.”

She held her tongue. Such an infuriating man. Attraction wasn’t the point. The point was that he crashed the party—pretending to be the man of the hour—supposedly to get a date. Then, in a display of pure arrogance, assumed she was attracted to him. The idea was irritating, conceited. It was also, she conceded, exactly what Alexander would assume.

Well, so what? True, he looked the part. And he did have a certain aura. And, yes, there was a tingle when he took her hand. But that didn’t mean…

Okay, maybe it did. But even if Paris was attracted to him, he would be the last person she’d tell. “I think you’re confusing curiosity about your lack of manners and good character for attraction,” she finally retorted.

“Am I?”

His response was so quick that for a moment words evaded her, and he seized the advantage.

“Let me prove myself. Let me be your knight in shining armor and ride forth into the masses spreading the glorious crusade of Montgomery Alexander.” He thrust one arm skyward as if holding a sword.

A giggle escaped her. She couldn’t help it. He looked so silly. Besides, what choice did she really have? Montgomery Alexander hiding in the corner with his manager would do nothing to satisfy his fans and would certainly not make Ellis Chapman’s day. Any minute now, the masses would come to them.

It’s just like swimming. Take a deep breath and jump.

“Fine,” she said. “But we go together.”

Arms linked, they plunged forward. Within moments, someone caught Alexander’s attention and pulled him toward the dance floor, but not before he leaned over and offered one last word of reassurance.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I promise an award-winning performance.”

“I SHOULD HAVE COME right over,” Rachel said. “But I thought you’d hired him, and I was going to sulk a little since you’d kept me out of the loop.”

The party was winding down, and Rachel and Paris were camped out in the darkest corner of the restaurant. The remains of crackers, cheese and plump strawberries littered their table. Paris grabbed the last strawberry and shoved the plate aside.

“He’s amazing,” Paris said, glancing toward the dance floor where her mystery man was politely stalling a persistent redhead who kept urging him to dance. “I mean, his performance was amazing,” she added, feeling the heat pool in her cheeks. “I shadowed him for two hours, ready to rescue him, but he never said anything stupid.”

“Is he how you pictured Alexander?”

Paris shrugged. Rachel had hit upon the question of the hour. “It’s weird. Before, I could imagine Alexander’s hands, his scent, his walk, everything. But now, when I close my eyes, all I see is, well, him.” She nodded toward the impersonator.

“Well, of course,” Rachel purred, looking like the cat that swallowed the canary.

“Of course? Oh please, Dr. Freud, do enlighten me.”

“Fantasy and reality collided. Reality is winning.”

“You really do sound like Freud.”

“I’m serious. You’re attracted to him, and—”

“Whoa, wait a minute. I am not attracted to him.”

“You’re such a liar. Besides, where’s the harm?”

“Just because he’s attractive doesn’t mean I’m attracted to him.” Paris wanted Rachel to see the difference. And she needed to convince herself there was a difference. Then Rachel’s words registered. “Harm?”

“In a little seduction,” explained Rachel. “Where’s the harm in that?”

“He’s not going to seduce me.” Too bad, thought Paris, taking in his broad shoulders and leading man looks. She could think of worse things than being swept away by a man like that.

“No, no,” continued Rachel. “You should seduce him.”

“Oh, well that’s…have you lost your mind?” Paris blustered, pulling her gaze away from Alexander.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it. He practically dropped out of the sky into your lap. He admits he wants to go out with you. What better way to get a boy toy?”

“Rachel!” She’d played with the idea earlier, true. Who wouldn’t have? But there was no way she’d go through with it. Really. Rachel was just being ridiculous. For one thing, Paris wasn’t the seducing type. And even if she was…

Well, she wasn’t. So it didn’t matter.

Paris felt Rachel’s stare, then saw the diabolical grin.

“Uh-huh,” said Rachel. “You know you want to. He’s your fantasy come true.” She grabbed her purse and hauled it onto her lap.

“I’m not looking for a fantasy,” Paris urged, as much to herself as her friend. “You know my plan.”

“Oh, right. Two more of these books. Sock away the money. Finish your dreary epic. Publish it under your real name. Retire Alexander. Admit to your father you’re a writer, but of fine literature that won’t embarrass the family name. Find a suitable man—that means boring, by the way—and have babies. The end. How could I have forgotten your brilliant plan?”

“You’re going to use a lifetime’s supply of sarcasm in one sitting. And there’s nothing wrong with my plan,” Paris insisted, ignoring the niggling feeling that maybe there was.

“Are you supposed to be a nun in the meantime?”

Paris squirmed, not wanting to admit just how appealing Rachel’s seduction plan sounded. Instead, she parried, figuring that the best defense was a good offense. “You’re not exactly practicing what you preach,” she said, then immediately regretted her words.

Rachel shot her a tentative glance. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Paris shrugged, not sure it was the time or the place to explore the truckload of issues surrounding Rachel’s love life. To say Rachel had self-confidence issues was an understatement. An overweight, plain little girl from the wrong side of the tracks, Rachel had been teased mercilessly during grammar school. And the torment had escalated in high school after Paris had moved away. She might have grown up and slimmed down and turned into a knockout, but Paris didn’t think Rachel saw her true self in the mirror. And so she overcompensated something fierce.

“All I mean is that you’ve dumped the last dozen guys you’ve dated without so much as a good-night kiss. You’re hardly the roving expert on seduction,” Paris said. During their years together in college and law school, Paris had watched Rachel master the art of flirting. Now, she attracted a constant stream of men, but always cut them loose before they got too close. Paris didn’t need a textbook on pop psychology to see why. Rachel couldn’t handle being the one to get dumped, so she cut the possibility off at the pass. And as a result, she never got close to anyone.

“That’s completely different,” Rachel insisted. “The men I date are potential relationship material. When it’s obvious things won’t work out, I let them down gently.” Paris opened her mouth to argue, but her friend didn’t let her get a word in. “Besides, I’m not suggesting you marry this guy. You just need to have a little fun. Especially if the rest of your life is going to be the utter doldrums.” Rachel continued to rummage in her purse, finally pulling out three little plastic packets. Condoms.

“For crying out loud, Rachel,” Paris snapped, looking around to see if anyone had noticed. “I don’t need these.”