A Bad Boy is Good to Find(51)

Lizzie sat at the dining room table munching a croissant as long slivers of morning sun crept across the wood floor. Raoul had accosted her at breakfast, set up a mirror in front of her, and started work on her shower-wet hair while she was still eating.

“Sweetheart, you are looking goooood this morning.” Raoul’s smiling face leered behind her in the mirror. “Guess you took my advice about ice on the bags.”

“I just got a decent night of sleep.” Actually, she didn’t get all that much real sleep, but somehow unpacking some more of Con’s baggage and spending the night in his arms was more restful than a week at a spa. For the first time she could really see where Con was coming from.

Raoul chuckled. “Well, I’m glad you managed to keep young Conroy chained up long enough to catch some shut-eye. You’ll be married soon. That boy needs to learn to pace himself.”

Lizzie couldn’t help smiling.

Raoul spritzed her hair with some shiny stuff. “I don’t think any of us will get any sleep after they turn on those things.” He jerked his chin toward three enormous blue air-conditioning units that were being wheeled into the house.

“Thank God!” Lizzie closed her eyes for a second as the promise of being cool again almost unhinged her. “I had no idea how totally dependent I am on air conditioning.”

“Terrible for the skin. Dries it right out. The humidity has done wonders for your epidermis. It’s positively glowing.”

Yeah. Right. That glow has nothing to do with making love to Con and spending the night in his arms.

Hold up. No love was made. We had sex.

“You alright? You look tense. Like I was saying, now we’ve found the right routine—lots of moisture and a spritz of glycerine—the humidity makes your curls spring right up like Slinkys. Beautiful.”

“Thanks Raoul.” She took another a bite of her croissant and studied her reflection in the mirror. Perhaps her hair did look okay? Kind of like the “after” in a perm commercial. Would both Con and Raoul lie if they didn’t think it looked pretty?

Well, maybe Con would.

“Darling!” Lizzie jumped as Maisie’s voice boomed in her ear. “They’re steaming some wrinkles out of the dress and we’re going to do a fitting on-camera right after breakfast. Isabel Matsuo has outdone herself.” Maisie leaned down and whispered in her ear. “You know I’m almost ready to defect to her myself. What she’s done with the pearl beads is magnificent, the way it drapes—oh!”

Lizzie raised her eyebrows. Whatever! It’s just a dress. Maisie took this stuff so much more seriously than she did.

“Raoul, you are the most talented hairdresser in the Northern Hemisphere. How on earth did you manage to get Lizzie’s poufy frizz to make ringlets?”

Lizzie gritted her teeth.

“Didn’t do a thing, sugar,” said Raoul, without looking at her. “Lizzie’s curl is 100 percent natural. This is what it does when left to its own devices, just as your hair hangs like wet shawl fringe.” He winked at Lizzie, who fought to suppress an explosive chuckle.

Maisie’s icy smile barely covered her teeth. “Well, I must go supervise the placement of the air conditioners.”

“Don’t know why we need ’em with her around here,” whispered Raoul, before she was out of earshot. “Puts a chill in the air wherever she goes. But I guess I shouldn’t talk that way about your cousin.”

“Please do. It’s music to my ears.”

“Here comes Prince Charming.” He smiled. Lizzie’s stomach tightened.

“Hey, guys.” Con wandered over, carrying a plate of food and looking his usual polished self. Lizzie tried to ignore the rush of warmth she felt at the sight of him.

“Guys?” said Raoul with a flourish of his hand. “Guys? Is that how you talk to your future bride? This is Lizzie Hathaway. Do you want her to think you fell off a turnip truck?”

“’S better than the truth.” Con took a hearty bite of croissant.

“Yeah.” Raoul stopped dusting a layer of fine powder over Lizzie’s face and looked up at Con, suddenly serious. “I heard about yesterday. But don’t you sweat it, sweetheart,” he said. Con chewed his croissant casually as if a man called him sweetheart every day. “What happened back then was none of your doing.”

“Amen to that,” said Con. “And no one’s going to be sweating around here once those things get fired up.” He gestured to the blue monsters being wheeled into position and took another big bite of croissant.

Did nothing bother him? Maybe he really did have no feelings? Lizzie took a deep breath to combat tightness in her chest.

She had far too many feelings for Con this morning and anger and resentment weren’t even among them. She bit her lip.

“No biting. Save that for later.” Raoul rolled his eyes toward Con. Lizzie forced a smile.

She wasn’t falling for him again. Really, she wasn’t! She just felt sorry for him. Simple compassion, that’s all. And strong sexual attraction. Just normal girl stuff, nothing along the lines of eternal love and all that crap.

It was a little disturbing she could only sleep with him in her bed, like a toddler with a smelly stuffed animal it can’t let go of, but that was hardly the stuff of great romance.

“Lizzie, darling, we need you!” Maisie’s distant voice startled her out of her rather panicked ruminations. “The dress is ready.”

“Coming.”

“I haven’t done your eyes yet,” protested Raoul.

“I’ll sport the natural look for now.” She rose out of her chair, relieved not to worry about mascara and liner streaking her cheeks for once.

“Later,” she said to Con, trying to sound cool and casual.

Con just nodded, but the look he gave her—dark, wary and brimming with unspoken words—made her breath stick right at the bottom of her lungs.



“It looks a little tight.” Maisie—who else?—loudly voiced the words on everyone’s mind.

Gia struggled to get the zipper up. It was stuck right above her waist. A seed pearl popped off the front and rolled to the floor.

Lizzie gritted her teeth and sucked in harder. Lights, set up around the elegant sitting room they’d commandeered as a dressing room, beat down on her like sun on the Sahara. Dino winced behind the tripod-mounted camera blocking the Adams fireplace. The dress weighed a ton, and was all she could do to keep her shoulders steady.

“Is there any room to let the seams out?” Maisie asked the seamstress who’d accompanied the dress to Louisiana. The tiny Japanese woman looked at her blankly. She didn’t seem to understand a single word of English.

“The seams,” shouted Maisie, with a forced smile, as if the woman was deaf. “Fix?” The seamstress’s smooth forehead creased.

Up on the makeshift podium, Lizzie closed her eyes.

Gia forced the zipper to the top with a lightning movement that left Lizzie’s nipples begging for mercy. “Got it!”

Thank God.