Colton's Mistaken Identity, page 10
The image of soaking her feet in the spa spring pools made her want to weep. As her rendezvous with Prescott approached, nothing sounded better to her than spending more time with him—if only she could be herself.
You would have never caught his attention as yourself.
Phoebe knew it was true but didn’t want to accept it. What was happening between the two of them was organic and had nothing to with Skye. Except she couldn’t get past the fact that she was lying to him each time she let him call her Skye.
The traffic showed no sign of letting up, so she turned to walk the block to the main pedestrian crosswalk. She stepped back onto the curb, but she found herself blindsided as a rush of warm, stinky liquid assaulted her. She tried to get out from under the stream and inadvertently stepped off the curb. Phoebe heard the oncoming traffic and felt paralyzed on the spot.
“Look out!”
“Skye!”
Several witnesses cried out over the sounds of squealing breaks and car horns. Phoebe’s voice joined them as her ankle cruelly twisted in the high heels, forcing her first to her knees and then hands as she landed on the asphalt. Directly perpendicular to the traffic, she didn’t see but felt a car bumper hit her shoulder. Knocked on her side, she curled into a fetal position to save herself from the inevitable.
She was about to be run over.
But instead of the hot scrape of metal against her bare skin or the weight of a car smashing her onto the pavement, she heard the voice of life.
“Skye!” Strong hands were on her, removing her hands from her face. She opened her eyes and looked into Prescott’s concerned face. “Can you hear me?”
She nodded, unable to speak.
You’re in shock.
“Does anything hurt? Can you move your legs?” Warm hands were on her body, feeling for breaks.
“I—I-I’m good.” She pushed herself into a sitting position, leaning on her hip. Prescott’s arms were around her, holding her. “I think I might have messed up my ankle. And my dress, my hair...” Goodness, her makeup was probably ruined, too. If anyone local who knew both her and Skye saw her, her cover might be blown.
The sound of sirens reached them, and she tensed. “Oh no. I don’t want any extra attention.” She’d already noticed that traffic was stopped and a crowd had gathered.
“You’re going to have to be checked out. I’ll go with you to the hospital.”
“Is that our only way out of this?” She motioned with her hand to the scads of people surrounding them. Suddenly there wasn’t enough air, and she had a strong urge to run, anywhere, away from this scene.
“They’re almost here, hang on. I’ve got you.” He half held, half cradled her in the middle of the street, and she kept her face buried in his chest. He’d probably ruined his tuxedo helping her, but she’d get the resort dry cleaning to fix it.
Phoebe pulled her head back and looked up at Prescott, who was staring at her. The concern on his gaze made her forget about her twisted ankle and the fact she’d almost become roadkill. He should know who she was before this went any further.
“Prescott—”
“Nothing to see here, folks, we’re good.” The loud announcement by the arriving EMTs stopped her from breaking her role as Skye.
Chapter 8
“This feels like heaven.” Skye’s voice was stronger than it had been in the ER, and relief allowed Prescott to let go of the taut rope that he’d clung to since he’d witnessed her accident.
Skye sat next to Prescott in the large hot pool, the water bubbling around them in the empty spa. Prescott was still shaken from seeing Skye hit by the cab but hoped his concern didn’t upset her. He wanted her to know she could lean on him.
“It’ll do wonders for your muscles. Hopefully you won’t be in as much discomfort tomorrow.”
She smiled. Her eyes were closed, her hair soaked straight, and her makeup had long ago faded. “You sound like the EMTs and ER docs. Why don’t you just say it like it is?” She opened her eyes and turned her face toward him. “I’m going to be in a world of hurt tomorrow morning.”
He leaned over and kissed her lips. She accepted his gentle caress, and while he’d planned to do a whole lot more than smooch tonight, there was no way he’d make love to her right after a car accident. At least, not the way he’d planned. The champagne in his room was going to get warm. And the rose petals—he’d have to clean those up, too.
Prescott wanted Skye to be fully present when the time came for them to be together in every sense of the word.
“That’s nice.” She curved her lips against his, and he fought to keep from grasping her waist and hauling her closer.
“It sure is.” He looked into her eyes and acknowledged again that he’d easily lose himself in her.
Skye blinked. “Let’s go out to the springs. It’s prettier out there, and the water’s even hotter.” She stood, and he took in her beautiful form, perfectly feminine in a two-piece suit. He’d have expected Skye to wear a frilly bikini, based on her usual fashion choices, but the well-cut red polka dots with navy trim suited her better. At least, the part of her he was getting to know.
They donned the spa’s custom fluffy terry robes, and he put his arm around her waist, wanting to be a support to her with more than just his strength.
“How are you feeling now? How’s the ankle?”
“It’s sore, which is why I’m wearing these ugly plastic clogs instead of flip flops. But I’ve had my share of sprained ankles before, with the run—um, hiking I like to do. It’s nothing I haven’t dealt with.”
“You told the deputy sheriff that you never saw who dumped the water on you. Is that true?”
“Of course it is. Trust me, Prescott, if I’d seen who’d done that, they’d have had to deal with me. I totally trust Daria—she’s a consummate professional. But she’s overworked, along with the rest of the sheriff’s department and RSPD. I feel awful that she had to worry about me in the middle of tracking a serial killer. We don’t know that someone dumped that water on purpose, anyway. It could have been kids horsing around in one of the apartments above Main Street, or someone dumping their dirty dishwater out, for whatever reason.” Her voice trailed off, and that familiar shadow appeared over her expression again.
“You think it was personal, though, don’t you?” They stopped at the smooth rocks that surrounded the steaming hot spring. The sky was open above them, and as The Chateau was several miles out of town, the lack of light pollution revealed a fantastically glittering sky.
She nodded. “Yes, I’m afraid so.” Skye undid her robe’s tie, and he got out of his.
“Here, let me help you.” He braced his feet on the rock steps, clearly man-made to accommodate the mountain’s treasure. Skye accepted his assistance and slowly lowered herself into the pool.
“Ahhh, this is even better than the hot spa.”
“Is that sulfur that I smell?” He settled in next to her.
She giggled. “Rotten eggs, yes. But a sulfur soak is very good for the soul, and it helps with skin ailments. Whenever we scraped our knees as kids, my mother had us take a dip. It’ll wash out my injuries, that’s for sure.”
He never wanted to be as afraid as he was tonight when he’d left the one premiere early and within seconds witnessed Skye tumbling into the very busy street. It was as if he’d felt her alarm, the way his gut had cramped.
“Skye, I don’t want to put any additional pressure on you.”
“But...?”
“But I’d like to take you to the awards ceremony as my date, at the end of the week. I know you have to work some of it, but when you’re through, I’d love to have you sitting next to me.”
She didn’t respond, and he let the soft bubbling of the spring ease his fear that he was moving too fast, that she’d think he was desperate. And he knew he should have more concern for himself. He’d been used in the ugliest way by Ariella; Skye could prove just as deadly to his heart.
But he didn’t believe it for a single second. Skye was different, even different from who he’d thought she was, who she portrayed herself as on-camera.
“I’d love that.”
Three words, softly spoken in the Rocky Mountain night air. Prescott wanted to punctuate them with a shout of elation or a fist pump. He settled for allowing a rush of warmth to settle in his belly.
“Prescott?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you find this as romantic as I do?” She placed her hands on his chest and floated over him. He reached up and held her waist so that the gurgling spa didn’t carry her away from him. Her breasts were brushing against his chest, the fabric of her bikini top a barrier to what he wanted.
“You’re sore, Skye.”
“Not that much, really.” She watched him, and Prescott groaned with need as his fingers moved up and unhitched her top. He held one of her breasts in his hand and brought her mouth to his, giving in to the need he couldn’t deny.
* * *
Prescott’s tongue wasted no time rediscovering every nook and sensuous spot of her mouth, and when he gently squeezed her breast and ran his thumb over the nipple, Phoebe cried out. The freedom of being alone in the spa’s hot springs, under such a dazzling sky, left her a throbbing mass of want.
And she wanted Prescott.
“Do you have condoms, Prescott?” As the words left her mouth, her doubts returned.
Is this how you want to be with him, posing as Skye?
He opened his eyes, and she saw the struggle he waged with his desire. “Not tonight, babe. You’re going to feel your bruises tomorrow, and I don’t want your memories of our first time together to be associated with any kind of pain.”
She leaned in and kissed him. The water was over Phoebe’s head, and she held onto his shoulders to stay afloat. They stayed together in an embrace for a few more moments. It was long enough for Phoebe to know she had to come clean with Prescott.
“I have to tell you something, Prescott, and it can’t wait.”
“Why don’t we can talk later?” Desire blazed in his gaze.
She put her hand on his arm, stopping him from moving his hand to her breast. “No, please. I’ve waited too long as it is.”
A frown marred the handsome lines of his face. “This sounds serious. Tell me something—is this going to put an end to the wonderful time we’ve been having together so far?” He tensed under her hand, and she recognized defensive posturing. Prescott thought she was going to end it with him. When they hadn’t even really begun anything yet, hadn’t approached the topic of being a couple. It was too soon for that, but she couldn’t go any further without telling him the truth.
“I—I hope this won’t end what we’re beginning to share. But I won’t blame you if you change your mind about me.”
“That’s just it, Skye. What we have is—”
“No, stop! I have to tell you now. Please, let me get this out.” Her entire body shook as if she were on a mile-high precipice with no vision of what lay below.
“Tell me what?” Prescott’s wariness contained the beginnings of exasperation. “Spit it out, Skye.”
Now or never.
“I’m not Skye. I’m Phoebe, Skye’s twin.”
* * *
Prescott heard her say it, saw Skye’s—no, Phoebe’s—mouth form the words, but it took a full heartbeat for the realization to travel from his brain to his heart. And back again.
He’d been falling for the wrong twin. Or rather, the right twin but under the wrong assumption. Either way, he’d been betrayed. Again.
“You are the woman I saw on the trail that very first morning. With longer hair, no makeup. Were you stalking me then?” Sick revulsion twisted his gut. How could he be so damned stupid the second time around? And with the first woman he’d dated seriously since the Ariella fiasco?
Phoebe—he actually liked that name, it suited her—stared at him, and as she registered his accusation, her eyes widened as if she were afraid of him. Which only made him angrier.
“No, of course I wasn’t stalking you!” She shook her head, and he knew it had to pain her to do so just days after being pushed down the stairs at The Chateau. “I was on my regular morning run. When I got back that day, it was clear Skye wasn’t coming back in time to host the red carpet. My mother—Mara—flipped out. You’ve met her, you saw her in action at the hospital. My mother’s very persuasive.”
“You could have told me who you were, once it was clear I was interested in you.”
“I wanted to, but please understand I wanted to support my family, too. It’s so important to them to save the Colton empire, and The Chateau’s been suffering a loss since the Avalanche Killer struck. We had fewer reservations this year for the film fest, which is unheard-of. Normally we’re sold out a full year in advance.”
“I don’t give a damn about any of that, Phoebe.” He tried to sound disgusted over her parents’ scheming, but he had to admit, at least to himself, that he wasn’t as surprised as he should be. Her parents were in the midst of a heck of a struggle, business-wise, and they were worried about their missing daughter. It was hard to shake his sense of betrayal, though. He’d seen in Hollywood how people could manipulate the truth to suit their own purposes. Ariella certainly had done so.
Now Phoebe was part of that kind of manipulation, too.
You know she’s not like Ariella at all.
No. He was not going to do his own interpretation of the truth. Phoebe had deceived him. There wasn’t any valid excuse for that, except, she was doing it for her family.
“I’m so sorry, Prescott,” she choked out. “I can’t say that enough. I know you’re upset, and you should be. I don’t know what I’d do if I were you—”
She’s different. Special.
Phoebe’s tone was calm, but he heard the quaver, knew with all of his being that she was suffering over this. And hated himself for caring so damned much.
“Whatever.”
She’d lied to him. Just like Ariella.
“I’m not going to stay if you don’t want me here, but maybe a night to process this would help both of us.”
“Both of us? From what I can tell, I’m the one who was betrayed. I never lied to you about anything, Phoebe. The man who asked you to coffee in the grand ballroom? That was all me. No pretending. Hell, you almost let me make love to you thinking that you were another woman!”
“I did.” He didn’t risk looking at her, because damn if he wasn’t impressed with how she was owning up to it, now that she’d told him. And hadn’t he suspected something was amiss, all along? He’d even thought about the possibility of a twin switch.
“I felt it in my gut that something was off with you, that you weren’t telling me everything. I hate when I find out I was right, in this way.”
“I haven’t given you reason to trust me, Prescott, but even though I had to pretend to be Skye, everything I told you about me, how I behave when I’m with you, how you make me feel—it’s all me. Phoebe. With you, I’m one hundred percent Phoebe. Well, except for the stupid false eyelashes. And the makeup. I’ve actually found out more about myself these past few days, thanks to your patience and the time we’ve spent together. I’m realizing that I’m the best version of myself with you.”
“Words are cheap, Phoebe.” His words were harsh, but he didn’t miss how his anger was slowly abating. As if in the big scheme of life and this newfound relationship, maybe Phoebe acting as Skye, for good reason, wasn’t the worst thing.
Still, he couldn’t condone his own behavior. Why didn’t he call her bluff as soon as he’d thought she might not be Skye?
You were afraid she’d disappear. That you’d lose her.
He hadn’t wanted to step out of the comfort zone he’d found so readily with her. So while she’d misled him, this betrayal was nothing like what he’d suffered at the hands of Ariella.
His pride was dinged, but he knew that once he calmed down, the truth was inevitable.
The woman he’d known as Skye, who was in reality Phoebe, had gotten under his skin. He wasn’t ready to let her go, not until he figured out where this was headed.
* * *
The rest of the week, all Phoebe wanted was to be alone with Prescott so that she could reinforce what she’d told him in the spa. That while she’d pretended to be Skye, her feelings toward him were real. After she’d told him the truth, he told her he needed some space to process it. He’d insisted she get to bed, alone, and rest. Prescott had assured her they’d go to the awards ceremony, that they weren’t done, and emphasized his concern for her healing. To Phoebe this only underscored the integrity that attracted her to him in the first place. Prescott was the real deal.
Having to play Skye for several more days took on a different perspective for Phoebe since Prescott was in on her secret. It was actually a relief to not have to put up a false persona in front of him any longer. She looked forward to attending the awards ceremony on Sunday with Prescott, because her role as Skye would be nearly over by then.
Attending as Skye actually made it easier, because she could enjoy her very intense, very private feelings for him without turning any more heads than expected. Skye and Prescott were the perfect it couple, as they were both in the entertainment industry and understood one another’s careers. No one would give their being together a second thought. Whereas if it were Phoebe that Prescott was with, it might cause more of a stir. She was certain most people didn’t think she was Prescott’s type.
What Phoebe hadn’t planned on, though, was all the questions about her accident Tuesday night. At each and every venue she went to, playing Skye—albeit with her own lower-heeled shoes instead of the ones in her twin’s closet—Phoebe was asked three main questions. Did she see the person who dumped water on her, forcing her into traffic? Did she really believe it wasn’t on purpose? Was there a chance someone didn’t want “Skye” seen with Prescott and they were sending her a message?
