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Identity Crisis(25)

By:Grace Marshall


‘Sorry to hear that. If you don’t mind my asking, as a fan I mean, what’s Tess writing these days?’

It pleased him more than he cared to admit that she was his fan … Tess’s fan. He felt himself smiling hard. ‘Imagine Dallas does 50 Shades of Grey with a hint of Jane Eyre and a dash of Bridget Jones’s Diary thrown in for good measure.’

Her laugh was warm and thick and he held the BlackBerry closer as though he could feel it if he tried hard enough. ‘You’re kidding, right?’

‘Actually, I was kidding, but my publisher loved the idea.’

Dear God, did she actually giggle? The sound was musical and suddenly it was hard for him to imagine the woman on the other end of the phone had ever slapped him or tried to drown him. ‘No wonder you’re … I mean, Tess is having trouble with it.’ Then she added, ‘Life is stranger than fiction, Garrett. You do realize you’re living out a Tess Delaney plot even as we speak, don’t you?’

‘I had thought about it, yes,’ he said, curling himself around a pillow, imagining that it was her scooped into his arms against his body. ‘But then I was afraid you might resort to further violence if I mentioned it to you.’

This time her laughter was explosive, and he found himself laughing too, feeling like the darkness had somehow been pushed back.

‘Oh, come on, Garrett,’ she said, ‘Aster Martin clocked Daniel Varner good in Too Much Moonlight and Al Tristan ended up wearing a whole bowl of rum punch courtesy of delicate little Heather Jackson in Appealing to Heather. I would think you’d be truly inspired by now.’

‘You know what happens next in both of those novels?’ he said, gripping the device tightly to his ear.

‘Of course I know. Angry sex. Tess Delaney writes brilliant angry sex. The inspiration is certainly there. But you’re … I mean, Tess is the writer. I’m just the lowly PR person.’ Her voice felt suddenly closer. ‘You need to get some rest, Garrett. It would hardly do for you to be falling asleep all over your lovely date’s shoulder tomorrow night, now would it?’





Chapter Eight

Strangely enough, Garrett had slept after Kendra called him, and that without phone sex … Though he wouldn’t have minded. It had been almost noon when he was startled awake by the buzz of his BlackBerry. He grabbed it up breathlessly, hoping it was Kendra. It was Don.

‘I hear everything is ready for tonight. My plane just got in and I’m waiting for luggage. Kay assures me that you don’t need me to come and hold your hand. She sounds amazing.’

‘Jesus, Don, please tell me you two didn’t discuss holding my hand.’ Garrett rolled over on his back and threw his arm across his face.

‘Relax, Garrett. You know I’m just concerned. Seems like the Ryde Agency has everything under control, though. Makes me a little bit nervous for my job, actually. I’m told all I have to do is show up and you’ll be there with the lovely Tess Delaney on your arm.’

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Strangely enough he found himself writing down some ideas for a novel roughly based on his experience with Kendra. She was right. It was the dream story and it wouldn’t be that difficult to twist and turn it just enough to make sure their own identities were protected. Maybe Tess would even put a foreword in the novel to the effect that some of it was autobiographical. That would be the perfect way to thumb his nose at his publisher. After the dust was all settled, after the award ceremony was over, who cared if Tess let it slip that maybe, just maybe it wasn’t really her at the ceremony.

In spite of the hours he’d spent writing, he made sure to give himself plenty of time to get ready. If he had to be the no-account woman magnet of a Thorne brother, he wanted to make sure he did his best to look the part. OK, if he were honest, he also wanted to impress Kendra Davis, and he had the distinct impression she wasn’t all that easy to impress. He’d certainly not done a great job of it so far.

He was ready 30 minutes early and, to keep from giving in to the nerves threatening to run amuck in the pit of his stomach, he settled back into writing a synopsis for the story of Tess’s cover-up. He had just gotten to their steamy kiss in the foyer when the doorbell rang. His heart jumped. This was it. This was where he placed the past ten years of his life into the hands of a woman who didn’t like him. But, he reminded himself, she did like Tess Delaney. She liked her a lot. He’d have to trust that would be enough. He swallowed his nerves, straightened his bowtie and went to the door.

The woman on the porch left him breathless. Her rich russet hair was piled on top of her head in careless but outrageously sexy curls, curls that looked as though she might have had a romp in the sheets just before she remembered she had a party to go to and then she’d had to hurry to get ready. However, the rest of her looked polished to a delicious emerald shine. The dress sheathed her like a second skin, the split high up the right side allowed her long delicious thigh to play peek-a-boo from beneath when she walked. The shoes and the jewelry were gold; the necklace sparkled with a filigreed heart resting between her breasts.