She tore her eyes away from him and checked Maggie in, tapping manically at her computer keyboard, in case her colleague, who was answering the phone, finished talking and got to deal with him before she finished with Maggie. Normally he’d have been amused, tempted to play the game.
He was so ready to drop the whole Jago and Jarvis thing, couldn’t wait for the promo to be over. And right now he was more interested in Project Magenta. Shamefully, when he’d learned that Maggie was the highly rated stylist who’d been booked to work with him in Boston his first reaction had been “Magenta Who?” It hadn’t taken him long to figure out exactly who she was and curiosity kicked in. Regretful curiosity that he’d left things unfinished with Maggie.
When it was Alex’s turn to check in the receptionist switched from ultra-speedy to incredibly slow. She finally gave him his cardkey and he turned to speak to Maggie, but she was already attempting to push the big gold trolley laden with her baggage in the direction of the elevators. She was having trouble. One of the wheels was spinning in useless circles and instead of going in a straight line the trolley kept veering off to the left. A smile that started somewhere in his chest burst onto Alex’s face and cracked his superficial mask.
He strode across the lobby with purpose and caught her up.
“Where’s your bellhop?”
“Gone for a tea break, or something.”
She gave a shove. The dodgy wheel wobbled and the trolley didn’t budge.
“This is all I need,” she gasped. “To get stuck with no bellhop and the trolley-from-hell with a doolally wheel and a mind of its own.” She rolled her eyes. “Yay.”
“Don’t be such a drama queen. There are enough of them in my world already.” The comment earned him a withering look.
“What do you suggest?”
“Chill out, Maggie.” Since there was absolutely no sign of the bellhop, he hauled her small mountain of baggage off the less-than-useless trolley. “I’ll bring your stuff to your room.”
He picked up a heavy bag in each hand and headed for the elevators.
Maggie grabbed the handle of his compact case and wheeled it off, hurrying ahead to press the button.
“Haven’t you ever heard of travelling light?” He stepped into the elevator and dumped her bags on the floor.
“Not when I’ve got handmade bespoke tweed jackets to tote across the Atlantic because the Wells brothers can’t fit a UK photo shoot into their busy schedules and only have a two-day window in Boston that will work for them.”
She fixed him with her doe-eyed gaze. He always had been a sucker for the appeal of those come-to-bed eyes of hers. It was amazing he’d resisted her for so long when they were friends.
“Point taken.” The doors slid closed. “Which floor?”
“Two.” His fingers collided with hers as they both made to press the button. She pulled back as if he’d given her a static shock.
Was this what they called a blast from the past? She was certainly a temptation. Perhaps he should add something more watertight than “no flirting” to his action plan, like a temporary celibacy clause, for example. Technically, it should be a “no action” plan. What he should be doing over the next few days was getting to know her again, not weighing up her fling-potential. She wasn’t fling material. He looked down at the big bags at his feet.
“Strictly speaking I guess some of this is my baggage,” he mused.
A puzzled smile twisted her rosy lips. Her eyes sparkled. Even after seven hours on a plane, she looked very kissable.
“I guess,” she agreed, crossing her arms defensively.
Back when he’d landed Mercy, he’d wanted to call her. Badly. But he’d been afraid that if he did, he might turn down a golden opportunity and disappoint his mother and Nick. Maggie might have been the girl who’d rather sleep than have sex with him, but she’d also been the friend who could read him like a play script. He couldn’t talk to her, because if he had done, he’d have risked convincing himself to fly back to London, finish drama school, and audition for serious roles; something that met with his father’s approval.
That would have been out of the question, no matter how badly he wanted to do it. Their mother pulling strings only got them so far. The studio required both Wells twins, and the publicity mileage that came with them thanks to their parents’ celebrity. Without Alex, there’d have been no contract for Nick. No way would Alex have let his brother down, but with each new series, each new contract signed, he’d become more entrenched in a role he’d been lukewarm about at the outset.
Now that he was standing next to Maggie, his blinkers were off. His crassness ate at him. He should have said goodbye. Saying sorry, like it was only last week and he’d just forgotten to call, seemed inadequate. Leaving everything behind to follow his brother’s dreams had been tough, so he’d confined her to a compartment labeled ‘past’, along with all the other stuff he’d failed to deal with.
The elevator stopped and the doors opened with a ping. Maggie stepped quickly into the corridor, looking down the line of numbered doors. Alex strode out after her, carrying the baggage.
“Which room?”
She glanced at her key. “It’s right here.” She pointed to the door in front of her. “This one. You can go, I can manage now.” She tilted her head and smiled up at him. “Thanks.”
Did she have to have such a sexy smile?
“Open up and I’ll lift this lot in for you. I don’t want you rupturing something and failing to turn up to the shoots. I need you.”
Maggie huffed out a breath and did as she was told. She was loaded with the irresistibility factor.
“You’ve gone all chivalrous knight,” she laughed. There was a smoky glint in her hazel eyes and curls of amusement tweaked the corners of her mouth.
“What were you expecting? I haven’t turned into my TV character. Jago might be mysterious and moody, but that isn’t me.” He hesitated. He wanted to add, “I shouldn’t need to tell you that”, except he thought better of it. The way he’d treated her was distinctly unchivalrous.
Maggie waved a dismissive hand. “I know that,” she said. “Please promise me you won’t forget to channel a smattering of mean and menacing for the shoots, though, because I’m quite sure the magazine isn’t expecting me to stick you in a suit of armor.”
“Vampires in shining armor?” he chuckled.
“That’s what I’d call a drastic makeover,” she laughed, “And one guaranteed not to get me any follow-up calls. I’d like to raise my profile, not bury it without trace. Anyway, you needn’t worry, the looks I’ve got planned are very cool.”
He captured her gaze and the urge to play with her reeled him in. “I’m yours to do with as you please.”
The devil in him wanted to feel her blue-nailed fingers tear his clothes off, and make stupid, crazy love to her with the finesse their last encounter had lacked. These rogue thoughts weren’t helping his no-action plan.
She looked him up and down slowly. “Now there’s an offer I bet not many stylists would refuse,” she joked. “I just might have to take you up on it and give you a revamp!”
“Funny one! I like what you did there.”
She smirked and he grinned back, itching to press his mouth to her smile. He wanted to crush her lips, feel her mouth open beneath his, their bodies meld like molten metal. Forget the tea party. Boston could turn out to be Party Central. She was a whole decade more attractive right now than ever. Perhaps she’d turn out to be