Michelle Conder – Socialite's Gamble (страница 3)

She stared at him and he had a moment of wondering where he had seen her face before. Then he discarded the thought. He didn’t know her and he didn’t want to know her.

‘You are really not a nice man, are you?’

He shook his head as if to say lame, very lame and reached into his pocket to withdraw his wallet. ‘Here’s a fifty.’ He held the money out to her. ‘That should cover it.’

She looked at his offering as if he’d just pulled it off the bottom of his shoe. ‘Hardly.’ She lifted her chin and her hair fell back from her face. She was really quite exquisite with her chin jutting out like that. Her lips a strawberry pink, her cheekbones high and her eyes heavily lashed. With mascara, no doubt.

‘These shoes are worth a thousand pounds.’

Aidan blinked, realising that he’d lost his train of thought while he’d been staring at her. Pulling himself together he raked her slender frame and let an insolent curl shape his mouth. ‘I doubt it, honey.’

‘Honey?’

‘Look, lady, I get it. Run into someone and then try to fleece them. Sorry, I’m not that gullible.’

‘Fleece them?’

If possible her eyes widened even more and he refused to let himself be drawn in by her. Refused to glance down at the sexy thrust of her small breasts or those long silken legs showcased to perfection in tiny denim shorts. ‘Look, I don’t know if you’re a broke tourist on the make or a working girl but I don’t like being played for a fool.’

‘A working …’ Her eyes narrowed and he felt pinpricks of heat on his skin as she dragged her eyes down over his lightweight suit and then back up. He saw her shoulders straighten and noticed that a hot flush had risen up along her amazing cheekbones.

Then she rose in front of him like Cleopatra on the throne and for a minute he expected to feel the sharp sting of her small hand connecting with his face. Lucky for her she pulled herself back in time and only stuck her nose up at him.

‘You really are a horrible man.’

Aidan shook his head. He didn’t have time for her games. ‘For all I know the shoe was already broken,’ he said curtly.

‘For all you care, you mean,’ she spat at him. ‘I hope you have an interesting life,’ she said, smiling coldly before grabbing hold of the handle of her suitcase.

If he wasn’t mistaken, Aidan thought, the little witch had just blessed him with a Chinese curse.

About to give her a true piece of his mind and tell her just what he thought of her benign attempts to extort money out of him, he heard his name being decimated by a shrill female voice.

‘Mr Kelly? Oh, Mr Kellllly?’

Aidan turned to find the stewardess who had dogged his every move during the flight from hell bearing down on him like a Hungarian linebacker. ‘Oh, Mr Kelly. I’m so glad I found you.’ She flashed all her teeth at him like a barracuda spying lunch. ‘I have something for you.’

He just had time to see the pink-haired woman roll her eyes heavenward before disappearing into the crowd. Frustrated that he hadn’t had time to deal with her impertinence properly, he glared at the stewardess in front of him. ‘This had better be good.’

As soon as the out-of-breath stewardess had placed her manicured hand against her chest in a move redolent of Scarlett O’Hara, her posture giving the impression that she’d like nothing better than to plaster herself all over the front of the man Cara had nicknamed ‘the cretin jerk,’ she knew it was her cue to disappear. No doubt it was her phone number that she wanted to give him. Or maybe she was about to drag him off to the nearest broom cupboard and put those pearly whites to good use. Cara didn’t care, but she hoped he picked up a nasty disease in the process.

Rude, horrible, loathsome man!

Fuelled by angry frustration and nervous energy at the disappearing time, Cara did what she did best—she retreated from the situation and merged with the noise and bustle of those around her as she hobbled towards the terminal exit with as much dignity as she could muster, thankful that she would never have to see that man’s arrogant face again.

The airport was teeming with people and outside it was raining so hard she was sure it was a monsoon. How was it possible to be raining in LA and Vegas? Wasn’t California supposed to be always sunny? And Sin City was in the middle of the desert. It should be hot, she thought as she stepped through the automatic glass doors and into an icy cold wind that sawed the breath from her lungs. Holy moly, but tonight could freeze the ice off a penguin.

Rubbing her hands over her arms and trying to stop her knees from knocking together with cold she quickly scanned the long line of bedraggled commuters—also underdressed to withstand the arctic blast, and the non-existent taxis that should have been lining the kerb. Why was it that taxi cabs seemed to disappear in every country unused to inclement weather? She’d do anything for the reliability of the black cabs back home right now because she couldn’t be late. She just couldn’t.

Quelling another bout of panic she gritted her teeth and marched back inside, searching for the hire-car desks.

She stopped when she saw them. It seemed a couple of hundred other commuters had already had the same idea. Frustrated she headed back outside and saw the line surge forward as three taxis pulled alongside the kerb and just as swiftly departed with relieved customers inside.

A shiny silver limousine purred up to the sidewalk, water drops clinging to its polished windows and paintwork like tiny pearls and the crowd gazed at it longingly. Oh, what she’d give to have thought ahead and organised one of those. She watched the young driver alight from the car and scan the crowd. Glancing around, she waited to see who had won the lottery and then back at the chauffeur when no one came forward. He had a sign and Cara shifted a little to the right so she could read it.

Mr Kelly, it read in bold print.

‘Mr Kelly? Oh, Mr Kellllly?’ The stewardess’s high-pitched voice filled Cara’s head and she narrowed her gaze. Surely not. Could Mr Kelly be the cretin jerk from inside? And why did his name sound so familiar?

Not that she was truly interested. He was probably just an overinflated film star and the outrageous idea of taking off in his plush Mercedes jumped from outer space and straight into her mind. His warm, plush Mercedes.

Of course she wouldn’t do it, but boy, she’d like to. It would serve him right for his scathing put-down of her before.

Cara looked back through the terminal, half expecting him to swagger towards her with the ‘me Jane you Tarzan’ stewardess. Really, he didn’t deserve that car. Another gust of wind whipped an ice cap off the Arctic Circle and settled it over Vegas.

Even her bones shivered this time.

A nearby child sneezed and started whimpering.

‘It’s not supposed to rain in Vegas,’ a middle-aged woman with two young children huddled under her arms groused good-naturedly.

‘It’s not supposed to be cold, either,’ Cara said.

‘Oh, my, you’re Cara Chatsfield, aren’t you?’

‘Guilty.’ Cara smiled, expecting that the woman would either turn away now in disgust, or bubble over with excitement at having met her.

‘Oh, you poor thing,’ she gushed. ‘I’m sorry to say I read about that awful scandal last year and I just want you to know that you were right to sack that manager of yours.’

It had been her agent that she’d sacked but Cara was so shocked by the woman’s passionate support she was almost stupefied. ‘Well, thank you.’

‘I think it’s awful how people take advantage of others. And you copping all the flak for that video because you’re a woman. I noticed that man in it with you wasn’t mentioned and he wasn’t wearing much more than you.’

‘No.’

‘Sorry, I’m ranting.’ The woman blushed and fussed over one of the children’s hair.

‘No, please.’ Cara smiled. ‘Rant away.’

The woman grinned back. ‘I wish that limousine was waiting for me. Who do you suppose it’s here for? A prince?’

Cara arched a brow. ‘Hardly.’

She looked around. Maybe the cretin jerk really had visited that broom cupboard.

She smiled at the woman as the idea of stealing Mr Kellllly’s limo returned. ‘Maybe it is waiting for us.’

‘I wish,’ the woman said with a sigh.

When one of the younger of the children started sneezing Cara straightened her spine and strolled towards the young limousine driver. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting,’ she said airily. ‘I spotted an old friend.’

‘Ma’am?’

‘You are waiting for me, aren’t you?’

‘Ah, no, ma’am. I’m waiting for a Mr Kelly.’

Cara tilted her head and gave him a smile she’d been told made grown men forget their own names. ‘It was supposed to be Ms Kelly, but never mind. No harm done.’

‘And you’re … Ms Kelly?’

‘No, I’m not.’ Cara smiled patiently. ‘I’m travelling incognito. I have to do that after, well, you know … the video clip last year.’

The young driver blushed as Cara had expected he would and looked flustered. ‘Oh, I don’t—’

She waved her hand dismissively. ‘Please, I’d rather not talk about it. Now, I hope you don’t mind but I promised to give my friends a lift. It’s too cold for them to wait for a taxi.’

‘No, no.’ He scampered to open the passenger door for her. ‘Not at all, Miss Chats—I mean, Ms Kelly.’