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Without waiting for further encouragement, he stepped out of the room. For the next half hour, he made somewhat good use of his time by checking his cell phone and catching up on business. Finally, Odele opened the door and motioned him into the den again.
Rick stepped back into the room...and froze, swallowing hard.
Chiara was wearing a one-shoulder gown with a short train. The slit went all the way up one thigh, and the deep red fabric complemented her complexion. She had the ethereal quality of, well, a fairy-tale princess naturally.
“I can’t decide which gown,” she said.
“The one you’re wearing looks good to me.”
He knew what the big minefields were, of course. Do I look fat in this dress? The automatic answer was no. Maybe even hell, no. Still, he was ill-equipped for the bombshell that was Chiara Feran—sex poured into a gown.
“You look spectacular,” he managed.
She beamed. “I’m wearing a Brazilian designer. I have a platform, and I want to use it.”
He knew what he wanted.
He’d like nothing better than to swing Chiara into his arms and head for the bedroom. He wasn’t particular about where frankly, but he didn’t want to scandalize her entourage. And if Odele was tipped off, she would be on the phone with Melody Banyon of WE Magazine in no time to report his and Chiara’s relationship had become serious—never mind that it was make-believe.
Still, the evening was young, and Chiara’s manager wouldn’t be here at its close...
* * *
Flashbulbs went off around them in dizzying bursts of light. The paparazzi were out in full force for this red-carpet event. Chiara gave her practiced smile, crossed one leg in front of the other and tilted her head, giving the photographers her best side.
Her one-shoulder silk organza gown had a deep slit revealing her leg to the upper thigh. It was a beautiful but safe choice for an awards show. Invisible tape ensured everything stayed in place and she didn’t have a wardrobe malfunction. Her hair was loose, and her jewelry was limited to chandelier earrings and a diamond bracelet.
The Ring of Hope Gala to Benefit Children’s Charities was being held at The Beverly Hilton Hotel. The hotel’s sixteen-thousand-foot International Ballroom could seat hundreds—and did for the Golden Globe Awards and other big Hollywood events. Soon she and Rick would be inside, along with dozens of other actors and celebrities.
Rick’s hand was at the small of her back—a warm, possessive imprint. It was for the benefit of the cameras, of course, but the reason didn’t matter. He made her aware of her femininity. She’d never been so attuned to a man before.
Despite the presence of plenty of well-known actors tonight, Chiara saw women casting Rick lingering looks full of curiosity and interest. He had a blatant sex appeal that was all unpolished male...
Chiara put a break on her wayward thoughts—aware there were dozens of eyes upon them. Not only were bulbs constantly flashing, but the press kept calling out to them.
“Chiara, look this way!”
“Who’s the new guy, Chiara?”
“Can you tell us about your gown?”
“Who’s the mystery man?”
Chiara curved her lips and called back, “We met on the set of Pegasus Pride.”
“Is it true he’s a stuntman?”
She cast Rick a sidelong look, and he returned it with a lingering one of his own. She could almost believe he was enraptured for real...
“I don’t know,” she murmured, searching Rick’s face. “Do you know some stunts, honey?”
“Not for the red carpet,” he said, smiling back. “Maybe I should practice.”
Ha. In her opinion, he was doing just fine with his publicity stunt for the red carpet. He was too believable in the role of boyfriend.
She knew what the headlines would say, of course. Chiara Feran Makes Debut with New Man. She and Rick had given their interview to WE Magazine, but every media outlet wanted their own story.
Chiara smiled for another few moments. Then she linked hands with Rick and moved out of the spotlight so the next prey—uh, celebrity—could take her place. She knew how these things worked.
