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‘I bet.’ The lift pinged behind her and Eloise turned to watch it open, even as she spoke. ‘Wish I was coming with you.’
The lift doors opened and Noah stepped out, his dark hair perfectly messy above those dark chocolate-brown eyes, his stubble just the right length for scraping over her skin and his shirt collar open under his jacket, showing hints of the collarbone she’d kissed her way along the night before...
‘Are you sure?’ Laurel asked, watching her. ‘Seems to me you might have your own fun right here.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Eloise said, and went to go and see her not-boyfriend.
* * *
‘Ready for your close-up?’ Noah asked as Eloise approached across the lobby.
She certainly looked ready. She’d left her hair down and it tumbled in waves over her shoulders, blazing red against the dark grey of her jacket and the creamy shirt that matched her skin. He wanted to touch it, to touch her. To reach out and kiss her, to show every other person in the hotel that she was his, even if only for a few days.
But he couldn’t. Because he’d promised her they’d be a secret, and because one more fling might ruin his chances at getting the film role of the decade.
He knew the reasons. But it still felt like a stupid idea. Anyone who looked at them would know they’d been together, he was sure. At the very least, anyone who’d been paying any attention to Eloise would know she’d been up to something last night. Her whole body screamed relaxed satisfaction, and the smile she gave him told him everything he wanted to know—that they’d be doing it again. And soon.
Thank God. The self-imposed time limit was already weighing heavily on him. In only a few days he’d be gone. That was not a lot of time to make the most of his connection with Eloise Miller.
He didn’t let himself consider the possibility of it carrying on beyond New Year’s Day. Eloise’s life was here, and his was everywhere else. She wanted for ever love, the deep and lasting kind, the sort she could rely on. He wanted anything but that. And, to be fair, she’d not given him any signs that she wanted anything more from their fling. Yes, their connection had been immediate and their chemistry explosive. But just because they’d shared secrets and feelings didn’t mean they had to share a life.
Maybe he was destined to only ever have meaningful relationships that lasted a day or two. And maybe that wasn’t the worst thing in the world.
At least this time, when it was over, it would be his choice and everyone involved would still be breathing. He’d take that as a win.
‘I can’t believe they actually want to take photos of me,’ Eloise said, standing just an inch or so too close. She wanted to keep this a secret but she didn’t even know what she had to hide, Noah realised. Understandably. Eloise wasn’t the sort of woman who would have done this before.
‘You’re the maid of honour,’ he pointed out, shifting his weight from one foot to the other to create the illusion of distance between them. ‘Kind of important to the wedding party.’
Eloise rolled her eyes. ‘I’m the understudy. And I’m only doing it because Melissa’s PR person thought it would look good.’
‘And you do look very, very good this morning,’ Noah murmured, too softly for anyone else to hear.
Eloise’s cheeks flushed the same pink as her skin did after making love. Just the sight of it made Noah want to drag her back off to bed for the rest of the day, photo shoot be damned.
He wasn’t quite egotistical enough to believe that the way Eloise was coming out of her shell—performing at the Frost Fair, dressing like she didn’t hate everything about her body—was entirely down to sleeping with him. But her words from earlier that morning had stayed with him all through his shower and getting dressed. She liked who she was when she was with him. Not what other people thought of her because she was on his arm, not what being seen with him could do for her career because, if anything, it might damage it, if Melissa really kicked up a fuss.
Just who she was with him.
Noah wasn’t sure he’d ever had that sort of an effect on someone before. It was intoxicating.
As the coaches finally left, Eloise led him down the corridor towards the rooms they were using for the photo shoot and interviews, but as they passed a small, empty office, Noah’s willpower ran out. Again.
Tugging her into the office after him, he shut the door and placed his back against it, effectively stopping anyone from interrupting. And her from leaving.
‘Noah...’ she said as he pulled her into his arms, but any real complaint in her voice was drowned out by the smile spreading over her face.
‘What is it about keeping things secret that somehow makes it even sexier?’ He kissed his way up her neck and was rewarded with a low moan.
‘We’ve got to go,’ Eloise said.
But Noah countered with, ‘Just two minutes,’ and she gave in rapidly.
Ten minutes later, they finally made it to the photo shoot.
‘You’re both late,’ Melissa said, eyeing them suspiciously.
‘My fault,’ Noah said cheerfully as he headed towards a clothing rail hung with suits and shirts. ‘I overslept after the stag do, so poor Eloise had to come and wake me up.’
Melissa didn’t look convinced but, since Eloise had already slunk away to the other side of the room where Caitlin and Iona were both choosing cocktail dresses from a second rail, she at least didn’t push the matter.
Noah tried to pay attention to the questions he was being asked by the stylist, and the clothes options in front of him, but it was almost impossible to keep his gaze from Eloise. He found it fascinating, watching her go through the rigmarole of a styling session and photo shoot for the first time. She looked constantly wide-eyed and bewildered and he wanted to be over there, talking her through it, reminding her that being the centre of attention wasn’t the worst thing in the world.
But then the real centre of attention—the bride—would glare at him and he’d hear Eloise’s voice in his head again, saying, Nobody knows, and make a concerted effort to look away.
Even if he didn’t last long.
‘We’re taking shots of all the members of the wedding party in formal dress, to go alongside the photos from the actual wedding tomorrow,’ the photographer explained as she positioned Noah where she wanted him, against the backdrop of the main fireplace in the reception area. ‘Melissa didn’t want there to be any chance of the actual wedding outfits getting out before the big day—understandable, given the amount of money she’s being paid for the exclusive—so we just went with some traditional formalwear in complementary colours.’
‘Sounds great,’ Noah said absently, wondering what Eloise was wearing right now. And how quickly he could get her alone to take it off her.
‘If you could just look at me...?’ the photographer asked, and Noah brought himself back to the present with considerable effort.
This was part of the job; he knew that. And he needed to give it his full attention.
Once the photos were taken he was whisked off for his interview, where he was asked questions about his friendship with the bride and groom, how he liked Morwen Hall, his latest film, the usual. He smiled, said the right things and kept his guard up just in case the interviewer—a journalist called Sara that he’d worked with a few times before—slipped in anything controversial. She didn’t and, overall, Noah decided it might have been the most straightforward interview he’d ever had. Apparently not being the main attraction had its advantages, sometimes.
As he stood to leave, he saw Eloise standing nervously beside the door to the smaller coffee bar area they were using for the interviews.
‘Want me to stay?’ he asked softly. Eloise shook her head, but Noah was sure that had more to do with her determination to keep things between them a secret than because she wanted
to do the interview alone.
Maybe he’d just hang around nearby. Just in case.
Pouring himself another cup of coffee from the machine set up on the bar, Noah waved goodbye to Sara and took his cup just around the corner, to a high-backed wing chair looking out over the riverfront. Far enough away that no one was likely to notice he was there, but close enough that he’d be able to hear if Eloise got into trouble. Sure, the questions lobbed at him had been soft balls, but Eloise wasn’t used to this sort of thing.
For a while, things seemed to go well. He couldn’t always make out all the words but Eloise’s voice stayed low and even, with a hint of laughter from time to time. She was good, Noah decided, listening intently. Calm and composed, but with enough pauses to show that she was thinking about her answers.
But then, just when Noah had decided they must be wrapping up, Sara threw in one more question.
‘I’ve heard stories that you and Melissa weren’t really all that close growing up. That her asking you to step in as maid of honour had more to do with PR than friendship. Do you have anything you’d like to say on that?’
Silence. Placing his coffee cup on the table, Noah peered around the back of his chair, enough to see the alarm on Eloise’s face. His body tensed at the sight, desire to save her rising up in him. Without thinking, he got to his feet and crossed to where they were sitting.
‘Almost done?’ he asked. ‘Only I promised Melissa I’d run her maid of honour through her paces again before tomorrow. We have to dance, you see.’ He took Eloise’s hand and pulled her to her feet. She stumbled and he caught her against his chest, holding her for just a moment too long.
Sara looked between them as Eloise stepped back, not looking at him.
‘So, you two must have grown very close, preparing for the wedding together,’ she said. ‘Anything to all those old sayings about the best man and the maid of honour...?’
Eloise’s cheeks flamed red and Noah cursed silently. He should have known better than to get involved, but he just couldn’t sit there and watch Eloise struggle.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, stepping backwards and almost tripping over the chair. ‘I need to go...check the arrangements for the rehearsal dinner.’
