Colton's Mistaken Identity, page 6
“Thank you, Skye. I have to say that of all the times I’ve been at The Chateau, so far, this has been the most interesting.” Why not have some fun in front of the camera? Skye was a pro—she’d give as good as she got, he was certain.
“Uh, interesting? What about it intrigues you, Prescott?” She tilted the mic under his chin, too close, and he wrapped his hand around hers to gently guide it a few inches back. Her eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open, her soft lips dewy pink with a glaze of gloss he desperately wanted to taste.
Your tux pants are too tight to get a boner, dude.
“You intrigue me, Skye Colton. May I?” Before she could respond, he took the mic from her and looked at the camera. “Folks, I know you watch these shows, as I do when I’m not at them, and ooh and ahh at all the beautiful dresses, the actors who’ve all worked so hard to put together your favorite films. But we wouldn’t have the vehicle to get our stories out to you without people like Skye Colton.” He looked back at her. “I want to personally thank you on behalf of our film and the entire Hollywood industry for putting on such a wonderful gala each year at the beginning of this film fest. It’s the best of all kick-offs.” He handed the mic back to her, expecting the woman he’d barely met last year would chime in and riff off his impromptu show of gratitude.
“I, uh, I don’t quite know what to, um, say.” She clutched her ear, and he hoped the producer was feeding her something decent, because Skye looked like she was about to pass out. Crap. He’d overdone it. It never worked well when he let his testosterone do the talking.
“You don’t have to say anything, Skye. We’re all enjoying tonight, and I’m looking forward to the gala. It’s always such a great start to the week.” He was totally lying. Prescott hated formal dances and was far more comfortable on his family’s Iowa cornfields than in a fancy ballroom.
“Your film has great expectations around it. How do you manage the pressure?”
Definitely a producer’s question. “I hike, preferably with a friend, and spend as much time as I can outdoors.”
“Hiking with friends is the best type of exercise, in my book.” Score! Finally, she’d figured out that he was trying to enjoy their time together, even if it was in front of potentially millions of viewers.
“It’s even better with a bottle of wine, smoked Havarti and a flourless chocolate cake.” He hoped she liked the same fancy snacks that he did.
Skye giggled, and it was all Prescott could do to not ask her if he could kiss her on the spot. To hell with the cameras.
“That’s not very nutritionally balanced, Prescott. You need some green veggies in there.”
“Champagne is made from green grapes, right?” His belly tightened at her smile, the sheer delight on her face. The potent thrill of flirting with her made him wish he could will away the hours until he was alone with her.
“You’re teaching me a new way to manage my nutrition, Prescott.” She motioned with her hands as she spoke and took a step closer to him.
“Oh!” Her cry wasn’t something planned and his hackles rose, always on watch for a possible zinger from Ariella. Skye was already falling into him before he realized she’d tripped on the plush carpet.
Prescott’s protective instincts kicked in and he wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her up and saving her from a nasty fall. But before he could look down into her beautiful amber eyes, her arms flailed and he took a hard hit from the top of the microphone. He couldn’t stop the grunt that came out of his mouth, or the tooth that followed. He heard Skye utter another gasp of surprise, but it wasn’t about her falling this time. It was about the tooth that arced between them and landed on the red carpet.
Dang and double dang. His temporary crown had been knocked off.
Chapter 5
Skye was at once grateful, turned on and horrified as she pitched forward to a certain face-plant, was saved by Prescott’s quick, heroic actions and then saw something white fly through the air.
Prescott’s tooth.
She’d knocked one of his beautiful, pearly white teeth out. And there was no running from it or editing the tape. The film festival’s opening gala red carpet was being live-streamed around the world.
“Go to commercial, now. Skye, get a grip on yourself. What on earth is going on down there? Someone go check the carpet and see what she tripped on.” Phoebe heard the familiar jingle of a local attorney who specialized in automobile crash cases but drowned out what the woman was saying as she watched Prescott bend over and pick up the tooth from the carpet. When he stood he grinned at her, the empty space where the tooth had been taunting her.
“Are you okay? Oh. My. Gosh. I am so sorry, Prescott.” She couldn’t tear her gaze off him and had to ignore the producer’s rants or she’d completely lose it. It was all she could do to not rip her earpiece out.
“I’m fine.” He looked at the camera and with a start, she realized he was making sure it was turned away and off. “Are we on commercial break, or did we switch back to the camera at the driveway?”
“Both.” From the producer’s litany of curses, the camera wouldn’t be back on her at all tonight. “I’ve really messed this up. I am so sorry, Prescott. I will cover the cost of your dental work.”
He grinned and held the tooth up for her to see. “That’s just it, Skye, there’s nothing to be concerned about. It’s a temporary crown. I lost my real tooth years ago as a kid, playing ice hockey on a farm pond. My dentist suggested that between films was a good time to get a new crown, as the original one was close to breaking off. This goes back in like this—” He placed the white tooth into the space and then smiled, revealing his usual megawatt grin. “I have some dental adhesive in my pocket for just this instance.”
Phoebe knew she should feel relieved, but all she felt like was a colossal failure. She’d had one task to get through—to act like Skye for tonight’s opening. And she’d failed miserably. Sucking in a breath didn’t stop the tear she knew hovered precariously on her false lashes. The warm plop of it on her cheek wasn’t muted by the layer of cosmetics, and she quickly swiped at it, hoping Prescott thought she was simply rattled. Not about to become a blubbering mess.
“You’re very gracious. I have no idea what I tripped over.” She looked down at the carpet where a taped X marked her spot. Only then did she see a long wooden dowel behind the spot. “I must have tripped over this.” She bent and picked it up. “This is so odd, how did this even get here?”
Prescott took the dowel from her and tucked it under his arm. “Let’s take this to hotel security. Together.”
She panicked. “I can’t leave my station. I’m the hostess for the red carpet gala.”
Prescott wasn’t giving in so easily. His mesmerizing blue eyes were on her, and she saw steely determination had replaced the flirtatious light. “I’m a VIP, and I want you with me.” He nodded toward the bottom of the steps, where another reporter from a local Roaring Springs television network interviewed each guest and attendee as they stepped out of their vehicles. “It’s not as if no one is covering the event, and I was one of the last to arrive. There can’t be more than a half dozen or so VIPs left, and none of them are the actors in starring roles.” Prescott was the epitome of professionalism, and her attraction to him intensified.
“It does seem that she’s taken it in hand.” Phoebe wasn’t used to relying on a man to help her with anything, but Prescott’s warmth and unexpected interest in her made it tempting to walk away from the X and never look back. At least not for tonight.
“Skye, you seem to be struggling tonight. We’re going to let local Channel Seven have the rest of the meet and greet. Stay with Prescott.” The producer’s voice sounded annoyed but also relieved. Phoebe understood, as it was how she, too, felt at the moment. Frustrated and angry at herself that she couldn’t pull off the task of being the consummate media expert that Skye was, and relief that she didn’t have to any longer.
But she still had to play the role of Skye.
“I can handle the remaining guests.” She didn’t break eye contact with Prescott as she replied to the producer.
“Skye, it’s Remy. You’ve already shot the most important VIPs. And Prescott is our number one VIP this week. Forget about the telecast. Keep Prescott happy and mingling in the gala.”
“Will do.” She quickly removed her earpiece, turned the microphone off and smiled at Prescott. “I have to drop this equipment off at the production booth, but then I’m at your command for the rest of the evening.”
“Exactly the response I was hoping for.” His voice was even, but the burn of desire in his eyes at once turned her on and reassured her that she was safe. She’d only known him for a few hours, literally, and yet it felt as if he’d always been here. He seemed to know what she needed as he placed his hand on her lower back and escorted her from the red carpet. His touch wasn’t too much, as it normally would be if a man she barely knew touched the spot where her evening gown dipped seductively low. The pink sparkles made her feel very feminine, while the halter design allowed for both cleavage and a deeply cut back. The high slits were the real reason she’d bought the dress, though, because her legs reflected all the miles she spent running. Prescott’s hands were large, and his palm against her skin threatened her emotional equilibrium but in a way she welcomed.
After she dropped her equipment off with one of the production assistants, she turned to Prescott. “We’re free to head inside now.”
His hand went from her lower back to her palm, and she allowed their fingers to intertwine. Even their hands fit together perfectly, which made her wonder where else they’d come together so well.
Stop it. You’re Skye, and he’ll be gone in a week.
“I have to say, this is a pleasant surprise. I wasn’t expecting to meet someone I want to spend time with during the film fest.” He smiled, and Phoebe ached to tell him the truth—that she was Phoebe, the quieter, less confident twin. Since that was impossible, she summoned her inner Skye.
“I won’t let you down, Prescott, I promise.” She crossed her hand over her heart and watched his gaze follow her fingers to where her décolletage sparkled with the fine glitter powder she’d applied, just as Skye always did. Prescott’s nostrils flared, and she watched his chest hitch up. He leaned in close, his breath on her ear.
“The only thing you could let down is that dress, babe.” His voice purred low next to her ear. “I won’t be happy until I see all of you.” He straightened as quickly as he’d moved in, and to the other guests they’d no doubt appear to be having a fun but inconsequential conversation. Phoebe knew about Hollywood celebrities—they had women begging to be in their beds, at their sides. And Prescott was no different, she reminded herself.
But it didn’t hurt to pretend he was the one exception, did it? To allow herself the luxury of having him at her side throughout the gala, and meeting him for a hike in the morning, as if they were a normal couple getting to know one another?
It wasn’t as if she’d ever forget it was all pretend. Not while he still believed she was her twin.
* * *
Prescott’s desire simmered over the next several hours as Skye led him from group to group across the grand ballroom, as if they were playing leapfrog and she was determined for him to meet every single person present.
It was his job to do so, of course, but it wasn’t what he wanted.
For the first time since he’d been brutally used by Ariella, he wanted to spend time alone with a beautiful woman. And while Skye was tremendously attractive—stunning, in fact—he’d had his share of physically attractive women over the years. It was inevitable that he’d date the same women he worked with, but it also increased the chances of a bad ending, which he knew about firsthand. Actors had to be self-involved by definition, and without a partner to keep one grounded, it was easy to lose yourself in someone who shared the same profession. Two-actor relationships that lasted the test of constant public attention were rare.
Skye was a public part of the Roaring Springs Film Festival, but she wasn’t a true Hollywood type. He saw the depth of her dismay at what happened on the red carpet, had caught the shadow of vulnerability in her gaze when they’d stood in this room earlier, just the two of them and a few dozen support staff.
Prescott wanted to know Skye on more than a business level.
“There are only two more people that I think we should have you talk to. We’ve done really well tonight!” She appeared genuinely pleased about the social circuit she’d just led him through.
“Thank you for helping me do my grip-and-grin gig, but there’s something I can’t put off any longer.”
Her gaze filled with curiosity before her eyes widened. The false eyelashes were natural looking enough, but he’d prefer to see her bare skin, sans cosmetics. It was as if she wore a mask for the public and he needed to know he had the private Skye all to himself.
“I’m so sorry. Of course. The men’s room is to the left of the second, smaller chandelier, over there.” She pointed to an area kitty-corner from where they stood, on the other side of the full dance floor.
He laughed. “No, I don’t need the men’s room, but thank you.” He took her hand for the second time since he’d tried to comfort her right after her trip on the red carpet. He’d been so concerned that she was going to knock out one of her real teeth, and had been relieved she hadn’t been hurt. Since when did he become emotionally invested in women he’d only met the same day?
Tiny lines appeared on her forehead, and he found the unguarded expression adorable. “Come with me, Skye.” He led her through the maze of tables, past many faces that turned to look at them as they strode out of the room and onto The Chateau’s main terrace. The huge cement edifice boasted two open bars at either end along with a large hot buffet of gourmet finger foods.
“You’re hungry. Why didn’t you tell me?” She tugged at her hand but he didn’t let go, only kept walking until they were at the top of the steps that overlooked a French garden replete with carved boxwoods, fragrant roses and twisting, inviting pebbled paths. He pulled her up against him and kept ahold of her hand.
“I’m not hungry.” And he wasn’t—not for the buffet, anyway. He’d asked his security guards to stay in the ballroom unless he texted that he needed them. It was heaven to be out here with her, alone, as if they were any other couple.
She smiled, her full lower lip begging for his kiss. “I’m not used to, I mean, I don’t know you well enough to know what your requirements are for an event like this.”
“The same as anyone else’s. I’m just a man, Skye.” He shouldn’t have to tell her this—she worked with Hollywood VIPs at each festival. He’d done an internet search on her, as he didn’t remember meeting her last year. Skye Colton’s social media presence was formidable. This wasn’t her first rodeo.
“It’s my job to make sure you get all you need. And it’s more than just tonight’s gala, Prescott. My family prides itself on making The Chateau your home away from home.”
“I appreciate that, but I have to ask you something, Skye.” He couldn’t take his gaze from her large brown eyes, luminous under the full moon.
“Sure, of course.” She still had her professional demeanor in place and he wanted to strip her of it—but only if she wanted to.
“I want to walk with you through the garden, but not as Skye Colton, premier hostess. Not as Prescott Reynolds, actor in a film that’s being premiered at this festival. Just as Skye and Prescott, you and me.”
She blinked several times, and he heard a soft gasp. Either she was as hot for him as he was for her, or she’d not expected his request. He was hoping for the former. After all, she’d have to have picked up on his interest ever since he asked her to meet him tomorrow morning.
“Skye?” Her silence poked through his hope. Maybe he’d overstepped her boundaries. This was supposed to be a professional event, after all.
“I-I’d like to do that, Prescott, but let’s face it, we hardly know one another, and aren’t we going to go for a walk in the morning?”
He exhaled his impatience. “Here’s what I know, Skye. It’s not a lot, but it’s the real deal. I’ve learned that rare is the time that I meet someone in this life I lead who I feel might be different from all the others. Who might be someone I could forge a bond with, something more than fancy events, expensive, flashy clothing and cars.” He paused, looking deep into her eyes. “So when I do have the rare occasion to get to know someone like you, Skye, I have to jump on it. My lifestyle is transient, and I’m gone for months at a time on film sets all over the globe. I don’t have the usual time to allow a relationship to grow—I have to go for it, and if it doesn’t work out, we find out sooner.”
“A, a relationship?” She repeated a lot of his words, he noticed. As if she was nervous and stalling for time. But Skye wasn’t the nervous type, although he had to admit she seemed much more subdued than how she appeared in the media. How she’d flown under his radar last year was a mystery to him. Of course, he’d just broken up with Ariella at the time, and his entire film fest week had been a pressure cooker to meet the requirements of his PR firm while staying sane amid the paparazzi photos and tabloid reports of the breakup. He’d not been paying attention to any women.
He couldn’t believe he’d overlooked this amazing woman, though.
“A walk in the garden is all I’m asking for right now, Skye. Walk with me.” He held his hand up, giving her time.
She looked at him as if trying to decipher his motives. Prescott didn’t blame her—it was always a risk trusting a new person in your life.
After several heartbeats disappointment made an unwelcome appearance in his gut, and he feared that he’d pushed too hard, too soon. It wouldn’t be the first time. He lowered his arm.
