to cover her without disturbing her.
He dragged his eyes back to her face. She had freckles, as if someone had dipped a paintbrush in caramel and flicked it across the bridge of her nose. He didn’t remember that about Maggie. A stab of shame lanced him. He didn’t remember because he’d blanked her out.
The cabin crew announcement ping sounded. “Ladies and gentlemen, the captain has started our descent into Boston Logan International Airport, please fasten your seatbelts, make sure your seats and tray tables are in the upright position and switch off any electronic equipment.”
The saccharin voice shook Maggie out of her sleep. Her creamy skin turned pink. Alex watched the blush travel up her neck from the dip of her top.
Sexy.
“I nodded off.”
“Am I that boring?”
Her lips curved teasingly. “Yes, very.” Her hazel eyes shone. She removed the elastic holding what was left of her ponytail and shook loose her hair. “Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s no big deal.” He deliberately held back a smile. “It was just like old times – apart from the snoring.”
“Flipping Nora. I didn’t, did I?” Maggie sat up straight and clicked on her seatbelt. “Alex Wells. I do not snore, and you know it.”
“I only have limited experience of your sleeping habits, Maggie.” Exactly that kind of meaningless banter had landed them in bed together once before.
Maggie’s mysterious eyes shot him down. For the first time in several hours she didn’t have the perfect reply on the tip of her tongue.
He’d better snap out of it. He weighed up the possibilities. Temptress Maggie? Professional Maggie?
Face it, Wells. She’s way off limits.
Flirting with her was a mistake. He’d been bored. It was what he did. Playing on the vampire thing. Still, he shouldn’t have gone there with Maggie.
He’d better come up with an action plan. He quickly formulated a strategy, of sorts.
Be civil.
Put up with wearing tweed.
No flirting – definitely no flirting.
Wish her luck and wave goodbye.
5? There was no number 5. Four points should cover it.
What would he do if he’d never met stylist Magenta Plumtree before? Truthfully? He’d be tempted to explore her possibilities. She’d be just the thing to take his mind off Nick and the promo treadmill.
“I’ve got a driver waiting at the airport. Can I offer you a ride to the hotel?”
Her freckly nose wrinkled. “Oh … no … Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. I’ll get a taxi.” She waved a neatly manicured hand dismissively. The new Magenta had a neutral image. The peculiar-shade-of-blue nails, and the enticing underwear, reminded him of sparkly Maggie. The rest of her sophisticated appearance – all designer black and grey – slapped him in the face like a cold kipper; a reminder, although he didn’t need one, that time had changed everything.
“Don’t argue, Maggie. Just say yes.”
I. Am. Actually. With. Him.
Alex took control at the airport. He heaved Maggie’s bags off the carousel. “Good grief. You’ve got a lot of baggage.” She really did. Literally – because she’d brought things with her for the shoot. And figuratively. She trembled inside, wondering if her procedure at the clinic had worked, and if today would be too soon to test.
He queued with her in the passport check lines, placing a hand in the small of her back and ushering her forward in a way that made her feel like she wasn’t just with him by accident. The pressure of his hand meant more than it should. He’d branded her with his delicious heat.
Turning heads every step they took, he towered over Maggie. His stop-you-in-your-tracks eyes were masked with dark sunglasses, but people recognized him anyway; and even if they didn’t they still looked. Recognition didn’t fizz on Alex. But awkwardness prickled through Maggie. She noted the stares, the admiring glances, the nudgings and finger pointings. Not to mention the phone-photo moments.
In the arrivals hall a young woman thrust a camera into Maggie’s hands. She and her mother draped themselves either side of a stony-faced Alex.
“Take a photo! Would you mind?”
Maggie raised an eyebrow. “Do you mind?”
“Be my guest.” He hooked his sunglasses into the top pocket of his jacket and looked into the camera, suppressing a scintilla of a smile. It was the look he was famous for. The fans expected it. Maggie’s legs turned to jelly. She took the picture and handed the camera back.
“Thank you so much,” the women chorused. “You’ve made our day.” They raced off, dragging their cases with nippy little wheels behind them, ready to waylay Nick and repeat the photo opportunity.
Through the flurry of attention Alex located his driver and whisked Maggie out of the airport. He held the car door for her while the driver dealt with the bags.
“Nick and I have different drivers. In theory we attract less attention that way.”
“If all the drooling damsels and general purpose nut-jobs back there are anything to go by, different cars isn’t going to do it. What you guys need is separate planets!”
Lips set in an unflinching line, a muscle twitched in his cheek. “We’re working on it.”
His body brushed hers when he slid into the car. Being around Alex over the next few days would be so much easier to cope with if he came with a button and an instruction manual telling her how to turn his infernal sex appeal off.
She couldn’t afford to indulge in swoony fan moments. She had a job to do. This Boston shoot was nothing more than a slot blocked off in her diary. Styling Alex would be easy. He’d rock any look she threw at him.
Maggie tugged at her seatbelt. It had jammed. She tugged again.
“Need a hand?” Alex leaned across. Mmm… Spiced man. His unshaven jawline was so close she wondered how it would feel against her skin. Any more of these moments, or – heaven forbid – incidents like the one on the plane and she would melt like microwaved chocolate. She needed to come up with a self-preservation plan, something to keep her one step ahead of Hot Vampire Guy.
One deft movement unjammed the seatbelt and he passed it into her hands, his fingers brushing hers as he did so. There was a knowing quirk of an almost-smile on his lips when he pulled back and settled into his half of the back seat to snap on his own seatbelt.
Her heart fluttered, hormones sky-high. If she could roll back time she’d make sure her one not-so-stellar night with television’s dreamiest man played out very differently. That Christmas, before Alex went off and got famous, Layla had teased her about her missed opportunity and bought her a pack of fluorescent, glow-in-the-dark condoms to keep handy just in case she ever got so lucky again. She didn’t. She’d been wearing blinkers when she met Marcus, moved in with him, started making long-term plans. What a mistake. The words “man” and “plan” might rhyme, but they were otherwise utterly incompatible.
The car pulled away from the terminal. Boston didn’t look very welcoming. A misty rain was falling, wrapping the whole place in gloom; the streets, the sea, the sky and everything in between looked grey.
Now that he wasn’t being scrutinized by any members of the public, a flirty smile lit up Alex’s features.