Riches to Rags Bride (10 page)

He knew what that was like. After his mother's desertion, his father's death, being cast off by foster parent
after foster parent, he'd had to scramble to stay afloat emotionally. He'd been betrayed and he'd learned to be the betrayer; he'd gotten mean, but he knew that some people, innocent people like Angie or Genevieve, weren't ever going to be the mean type. They were easy prey, easily hurt.

She had no experience with the tough stuff that had been handed to her, and so she was like a defenseless puppy some idiot had decided to torture. And he hated that. That must be why he had a raw need to see Genevieve reclaim her pride.

Watching her now, he couldn't help feeling…good, proud, exultant. She had, at his suggestion, very publicly paraded around the store, trying on many pairs of jeans before eventually settling on the ones she'd chosen in the first five minutes.

“If they think you're out of control with a charge card, lead them on a little by putting on a show. Then you'll prove them wrong and get back a little of your own when you make only a modest purchase,” he suggested. “Never give them what they expect. You want to be the one who retains control of the situation. By bobbing and weaving and doing the unexpected—like a prizefighter—you'll never let them have a chance to hurt you.” Now she was putting words to deeds.

“Just these two items,” she said to the salesperson, holding out the debit card Lucas had provided for her.

The woman at the register looked at the name on the card, then quietly excused herself and went away. In search of a manager, he was sure. Obviously, Genevieve's name was on a list of those with less than optimum credit ratings. To Gen's credit, even though he could tell that she was incredibly self-conscious and uncomfortable, she stood tall, no hint of her inner turmoil on her
usually expressive face. She waited, pretending to look at other items he knew she had no intention of buying. Eventually, the sales clerk returned.

“I'm sorry this took so long,” the woman said. “Computer problems today, you know.”

“Is there…a problem with the card?” Genevieve asked, sweetly, staring directly at the woman as he had told her to do.

The woman looked away slightly, then shook her head. “No, not at all. It went through with no trouble. Thank you for your business, Ms. Patchett.” She bagged the purchases and handed the bag to Genevieve. “Come back soon.”

Genevieve flashed her an impish smile, but she didn't commit to anything. When she and Lucas were outside the store, she let out a long breath. “Okay, tell me, what did I buy? I was too nervous to pay much attention.”

He chuckled. “I don't believe you for a minute, but I applaud you. No one could have told that you were nervous. You handled yourself well, and no one looked down their noses at you.”

She smiled. “I never thought that shopping could become such an intimidating experience, but then I never thought about a lot of things until this year. I lived a very protected life, I think.” She wrinkled her nose.

“Nothing wrong with living a sheltered life.”

“Except it keeps you from learning how to actually live and take care of yourself. But that's all behind me now. Soon I'll be a fully armored female. Invincible. Able to handle any situation. Thank you for the pep talk and the lesson. You knew just what you were talking about.”

He shrugged. “I learned early in life how to stick my
chin out and stare people in the eye, even when it would have been smarter to back down.”

She stopped and stared at him. Uh-oh, he shouldn't have said that. “Those foster parents you had, the ones who walked away…what did they do when you stared them in the eye?”

Oh, no, he knew that look. He'd seen it a thousand times, and he had always hated it. It was the “let me make you my next pet project” look.

“Nothing you need to worry about. I'm not a boy anymore.”

She opened her mouth as if to argue.

“Seriously. Don't say anything,” he said, and without thinking he placed his fingertips over her lips. Bad mistake. Her mouth was soft, warm, incredibly tempting.

“I won't,” she promised, ignoring his command to stay quiet. Her movement sent that pretty mouth sliding against the pads of his fingers. He wanted to groan. Instead, he smiled as he pulled away from her.

“What?” she asked.

“Do you often do the opposite of what you're told?”

Genevieve blinked. “Actually, I spent most of my life doing exactly as I was told. My parents were very absorbed in their work. They wanted a quiet, well-behaved child who would fade into the background and not be a bother, and I complied. I think I thought that if I did everything they asked of me, maybe they would notice me, even love me. But hey, you can't have everything you want, can you?” She smiled, a brave smile, as if trying to comfort
him
for having to listen to her misfortune.

A black mist seized his soul. It was one thing for someone like him who had kicked his way out of the womb, fists swinging, and who had continued to fight the world, to be denied love. He had fought, sworn, stolen,
run away and generally been trouble to everyone. He'd deserted Angie in her hour of need. He didn't deserve love. But someone soft and earnest like Genevieve?

He wanted her to win, to have what she needed.

She looked at him with those big green eyes full of hope.

He groaned. He fought himself. And then he lost control. He pulled her into his arms, plunging his fingers into her hair as he kissed her. “Why do you hide your beautiful hair like this?” he grumbled, but he didn't wait for her to answer. Her mouth called to him and he had to taste her again.

She was sweet, she was heaven in his arms, her curves against his body. He wanted more of her. And he got what he wanted when she returned his kiss.

He pulled her closer, kissed her more. Then he pulled away. “I'm not going to be like Barry,” he said. “I want you. I want
this
from you. But I'm not going to overstep the bounds. I don't want to be another man you'll regret when I'm gone. I'm not a part of your plans.”

“You're not,” she agreed, her palms resting lightly against his chest, making him crazy, testing his self-control. “You're not in my plans. No man is. But…”

He waited.

“But sometimes you're in my fantasies,” she whispered as she rose on her toes and kissed him again. “I try to control those, because I'm sure it would be a mistake to kiss you too often.”

And that night she was in his fantasies, too. As she had been ever since he'd met her. It didn't change a thing. Genevieve was coming off of a major hurt. Two major hurts if you included her genius parents, who had been clueless about caring for a child. He wasn't going to be another person hurting her. For her sake. And his. He
didn't think he could take damaging another person. Especially not Gen.

Besides, he wasn't in her plans. Never would be. He needed to keep that in mind.

A
WEEK LATER
G
ENEVIEVE
stood in the gold-and-white banquet room of Lucas's hotel, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Any moment now, people were going to start filing through the doors. Or at least she hoped they would. She was almost ready to faint from the tension, wondering if people would come out of curiosity or stay away because, after all, who
was
she? Not her artist parents by a long shot. Not anyone important, really. She ran her hands down the slender lines of her strapless pale blue sheath, trying to calm herself, to appear poised. As if that was even possible.

And Lucas? He looked cool as ever in formal black and white, totally uninvolved. But by now Genevieve was beginning to know him a bit better. This project meant a lot to him. The fact that he was hiding the tension he must be feeling was just a testament to how well he'd trained himself. He always had his finger on the control button.

Except when he kisses a woman. Then he loses it.
The thought just dropped right in there, catching Genevieve by surprise. Was she blushing? She must be blushing. Lucas was looking concerned.

“Everything looks fantastic, Gen. You outdid yourself. The framed photos you took of Angie's House look
superb. The room, the food, the wine…it's all perfect. I hope you know that, so there's nothing to worry about. We're just going to wade right in and do this thing, all right? We're going to make it happen.”

She nodded, aware that her focus felt different tonight. In the space of a few weeks she'd gone from simply wanting a job in order to save herself to needing to help Lucas. Because this charity was his salvation. The stakes had been upped. And the fact that she cared so much about his part of the outcome tonight…?

She wasn't going to even examine that scary thought. “I just hope that the invitations I sent out were enough to attract some curiosity seekers.”

He smiled although it wasn't the full-bodied smile he had gifted her with the other day. “I especially liked the part of the invitation where you referred to ‘some previously unseen' Patchett art. Very provocative.”

Genevieve took a deep breath. “Yes, well I might have stretched the limits a bit with that one. There really isn't any previously unseen art. At least none that my parents would have allowed anyone to display in a gallery. I have a few things they hadn't gotten around to trashing when they died. If they knew I was doing this, they would come back to life just to berate me for it.” She nodded toward a display area she had set up in the middle of the room. There were a few drawings, a few sculptures, some glasswork and a stack of their notes concerning projects they hadn't gotten around to starting. “Not very interesting stuff to an aficionado and yet it was the only draw I could think of. Moreover…” He waited.

“I'm not an artist, but I spent a lot of time listening at art shows. My parents were very good at what they did, most of the time, but sometimes they talked up their
pieces in such a way that people thought the work was even better than it actually was. I'm counting on that sort of scenario this time, hoping the guests will see what they want to see rather than the reality. If they don't, we're sunk. They'll just get angry at the misrepresentation and refuse to back any project we're involved in. What will happen if no one steps forward tonight and offers to sponsor another project?”

He breathed in a deep, tight, long breath. “I can still manage to fund and staff one or two more projects.”

But she already knew that he wanted and needed to do more. This initial project was the mother ship, but there were women all over the country who needed a place to heal and grow. They had become his penance, a way to get over his past.

“So, we'll just have to get more donors tonight,” she said, closing her eyes and trying not to let the pressure get to her. She'd never sold anyone on anything in her life.

He gently placed his fingertips on her bare arm. “Gen, stop pressuring yourself. You've gone above and beyond what anyone could ask for in organizing this event and you've come up with a stellar guest list. If you think I'm going to blame you if people choose to be less than generous with their checkbooks tonight, you're wrong.”

“I don't think that.” Even though it was what her parents would have done. When a gallery opening didn't go well, they had always been ready with plenty of criticism for the nonartist in the family, the one who must have messed something up. But Lucas? He wasn't like that. He was even letting her off the hook for the most demanding part of the night because he thought she would feel like a failure if the evening didn't go well.

Because you're standing here with your eyes closed, taking deep breaths, you idiot. No wonder he's worried about you. You're talking about a man who feels he failed his mother because he was a difficult child. He thinks he drove foster parents out of the system because he was too out of control. His formative years were spent being told that he was too horrible to love. And he can't forgive himself for what happened to Louisa. So, do not be a ninny and become one more woman on the list in his guilt book.
Which was what would happen if she didn't get her act together.

It was what would happen if she did something stupid like falling in love with him.

The very thought made her heart hurt. She opened her eyes. There was no way she was going to let herself fall for Lucas and become another regret for him.

And darn it, she
did
want to do more, to try to help him turn this night into a success. So…what could she do? How could she make a difference? How could she take that bravado she'd accessed in that store the other day and apply it to this situation?
Think, Gen, think.
What did she know about art shows and patrons and her parents?

A tiny hint of an idea came to her. A crazy idea. A scary idea.

“Genevieve? What are you thinking? You're frowning.”

“Don't worry. I'm just concentrating. I've hired people to man the tables, hand out literature and take donations. That's their part. The women will flock around you, and you'll charm them. That's your part.”

He raised that lazy, wicked brow of his. She told herself the gesture wasn't sexy at all…even though it was. Very sexy. “I see.”

She wanted to keep this light, so she patted him on the cheek.

“Good,” she said, eliciting a killer smile from him. “Yes, I'm sure you'll be good at that. They'll probably be fighting for the privilege of writing the first check. As for me, I—”

“Will charm the men?” He frowned.

She did, too. “Not likely. Given my past associations with most of our guests tonight, I don't have the ability to swing the favor of these people to our side, not on my own. But I finally realized that I do have one possible weapon.”

“What is it?”

She took a deep breath. “It might not work. It's a long shot, but…the thing is, I've spent a lot of my life sitting in corners, behind flower arrangements and I've walked around passing out drinks at occasions like these. I've been the fly on the wall countless times. So while I can't wow the guests the way my parents did, I do know their weaknesses. Every single one of them wants the last cookie on the plate, the thing that no one else can have.”

“I take it you have the last cookie?”

“I do.” She gestured toward the display of her parents' work. “Let's just hope that all those art classes I took can help me sell them on the concept that even an inferior Patchett work is better than most artists' best work. And that if I can get them in the mood to buy art, they'll make the leap and also contribute to a good cause. I've never tried to do this, you understand, but tonight…” Her voice trailed off. What was she thinking? She was totally out of her league here, wasn't she?

“You're willing to do that, to chat up the very people who snubbed you, the ones who believed the lies? Gen,
these are people you knew and I know they hurt you. It's different from confronting a store clerk you'll never see again. You don't have to do this.”

She knew, and the fact that he cared whether she got hurt…her heart just ached. And she had to wonder…was she approaching that fine line between women Lucas wanted and women he felt he'd wronged? Was there even a line or just a cliff face that fell away on each side?

Either way, the glaring truth was that she and Lucas together was a bad idea. She felt a little heartsick, a little queasy, a feeling that only grew stronger when she saw the first guests filtering in. They were people she recognized and yes…people she feared. But people who could help Lucas.

She gave a tight nod and tried to smile up at him. “Don't worry about me. I'm doing it. Most of the people who'll be here tonight didn't snub me, since we never had the opportunity to meet in person once my parents were gone. It was the younger crowd, their children, who did the honors. Besides, even if these people tonight believed the lies they heard about me, a very wise man I know taught me how to hold my head up and confront the people who made me uncomfortable. And yes, it's not quite the same as standing up to a salesperson, but…”

He waited.

“I could use a pep talk from my boss. How about a few kind words?” She tried out a teasing tone, wanting to keep this light.

Apparently, he did, too. “I believe in you,” he said.

She smiled.

“And I like your hair like that.” He touched a soft auburn curl. She had left it loose tonight.

“Now you've gone too far in trying to build up my
confidence before I face the dragons. Red hair of this shade is jarring.”

“Dragons?” He grinned. “That's an apt way of putting things, and no I'm not lying. Your hair is amazing—the color is striking and beautiful. It garners attention. In the best way possible.” His sexy whisper felt as if it slithered right down through her body, touching her…everywhere, and just when she thought she might shiver with forbidden delight, a cough sounded near her elbow.

Genevieve turned to see Alvin Bevin, a very wealthy man. His daughter had led the charge in ridiculing Genevieve after the shopping incident.

It took Gen a few seconds to unfreeze her face and body.

“Are either of you the hosts?” he asked. “I'm—”

“Mr. Bevin,” Genevieve said, a bit too loud. “I'm so glad to see you again.”

He looked perplexed.

“I'm Genevieve Patchett,” she said, feeling as if she'd fallen into a nightmare. None of these people were going to know her. It was going to be a long night.

“Oh, yes, I remember now,” he said, and it was clear that he remembered the tales of how she'd blasted her way through her fortune. Immediately, his interest seemed to wane. He obviously thought her beneath contempt for throwing away what her parents had spent years amassing.

Lucas cleared his throat. For a moment, Genevieve thought he was going to step in and try to rescue her. He looked as if he wanted to, but he merely waited.

“Mr. Bevin, allow me to introduce you to Lucas McDowell of McDowell Sporting Goods. He's our host tonight.”

It was as if she'd just told Alvin that he'd gotten a
free pass into heaven. She'd seldom seen the older man smile, but he smiled broadly now. “McDowell Sporting Goods' stores? One of my favorite places. Just…could I ask you a question? It's about drivers and how to correct my golf swing.”

Uh-oh, this could go so wrong, but…interrupting a man who wanted to discuss his golf swing, something that clearly was of great importance to him? Not a good idea.

I'm plunging in, anyway,
she thought. “Mr. Bevin, I'm so sorry to interrupt at such a critical moment, but I promised Lucas I'd show him my parents' secret work and we were just about to go look at it. Would you like to come along? The party is so young that I don't think anyone else has had a chance to go over there yet.”

“Secret work? Why…yes.”

She felt Lucas smile, actually felt it even though she wasn't looking at him. And then, when they all headed toward the display, she could swear that an unseen hand touched her hair.

Fire shot through her. Either her imagination was running way too hot where Lucas was concerned, or he had wanted to offer her some encouragement, a high five by hair. At any rate, her confidence level rose. Alvin Bevin was hers. She wasn't letting him go until he agreed to be a sponsor for Angie's House. She knew just the piece that he would be interested in seeing, too.

But taking him directly to the treasure wouldn't do. She had to show him all the things he wouldn't want first, build up to the prize that would, hopefully, get him to make the leap to being a sponsor.

“Here are some of my father's paintings. Still lifes, mostly,” she said.

Alvin grunted, looked and shook his head.

She moved on to the next display area.

“Interesting piece,” Alvin said.

Genevieve did a double take. He was staring at a stack of papers, plans her parents had made for future projects. The only actual anything that could be called a piece was a paperweight, but…

“My parents didn't make that,” she said. “It's just there to keep the other things from blowing around when people walk past.” Why had she used her own piece for that purpose?

Maybe because she didn't actually own another paperweight?

Alvin quickly lost interest and moved on. Lucas, on the other hand, eyed the little blown-glass, yellow-and-crystal castle carefully. He picked it up. “It's not mass produced.”

She tried not to get flustered. Blushing wouldn't convince Alvin to buy anything. “No, it's by a local artist. One who hasn't done anything else for many years.”

Lucas looked up from where he was just putting the paperweight down. He raised one sexy eyebrow. “That's a very…convenient statement,” he said.