Claiming His Christmas Wife by Dani Collins

Author:Dani Collins
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2018-09-05T14:04:20+00:00

CHAPTER SIX

A FEW DAYS LATER, Travis booked them into the presidential suite in a Charleston mansion that had been converted to an exclusive boutique hotel. Their room had two floor-to-ceiling marble fireplaces, panels of Tiffany glass above the door frames, Italian chandeliers, a whirlpool tub in the bathroom and a twelve-foot Christmas tree in the lounge.

She was dying to say, “What, no piano?”

“I usually stay with my father, but his brothers and their wives are there, in town for the party.”

“I’ll try to make do,” she murmured, noting there was a king bed and a daybed, along with a sofa here in the lounge that probably pulled out.

“You have an appointment at the spa. I’m seeing my barber and picking up my tuxedo.”

“Okay.” What else was she supposed to say? This was a play they were enacting. She had to report to hair and makeup, then say her lines without flubbing. “Is your father’s party being held here?”

His mouth quirked. “A cruise of the harbor. I asked Gwyn to make all the arrangements and send the bills to me. She was going to book a paddle wheeler, but Vito’s bank decided to buy a yacht to use for corporate events. He swears it was coincidence, but he likes to upstage me.”

“Rivalries only matter when you’re in second place. Someone said that to me recently.” She circled a rivet in the upholstery of the chair she stood behind.

“You said it,” he said dryly. “And when it comes to pleasing Gwyn, I’m forced to cede to Vito, so any sense of rivalry is pointless.”

She smiled benignly, keeping her gaze on the chair. Lucky Gwyn.

“Are you all right? You’ve been quiet.”

“Nervous,” she admitted.

Suffering a hideous case of performance anxiety. After his kind words the other night, she had reminded herself not to let that affect her too deeply. To counteract any silly yearnings, she had counted up all the ways she could never rise to his level, which made for a depressing mood. She had decided to salvage some self-respect by repairing the damage she’d done, though. She would be the best fake wife he’d ever had.

Despite not having been a very good real one.

He left and she went down to the spa to let the proverbial birds and mice work their magic, massaging away her tension, painting her nails and pampering her skin, rolling her hair into fat twists of red-gold and lengthening her lashes to glamorous degrees.

When she returned to their room, she found a gown on the bed, this one in a rich amethyst. It didn’t look as dramatic as the blue she’d brought with her, appearing quite plain and modest, but once she had it on, she saw its sensual elegance.

The draped back was so low, however, she couldn’t wear a bra. That left her breasts thrusting against the sweep of velvet across her front. The cut of the skirt was narrow with a slit that rose nearly to her hip. Once she had her shoes on, she showed a lot of leg with each step.

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