Public Faces

Isabella woke to the feeling of being watched. Sunlight streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows she'd forgotten to close, and Alexander Kane stood at the foot of the bed, already dressed in a charcoal suit that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent.

"You talk in your sleep," he said by way of greeting.

Isabella sat up quickly, clutching the silk sheets to her chest despite wearing a modest nightgown. "What did I say?"

"Something about your mother." His expression softened fractionally before hardening again. "Get dressed. We have breakfast reservations at Eleven Madison Park in an hour."

She glanced at the bedside clock – 7:00 AM. "It's Saturday."

"It's a performance." He tossed a large white box onto the bed. "Wear this. The press will be there."

Isabella opened the box to find a powder blue Chanel dress, classic yet feminine. The price tag was still attached, and she nearly choked at the number.

"I have my own clothes."

"Not anymore." Alexander adjusted his platinum cufflinks. "Your new wardrobe will arrive today. Everything else will be donated."

"You can't just—"

"I can and I will." He turned to face her fully. "You're going to be Mrs. Alexander Kane. That means dressing the part, acting the part, becoming the part. Starting now."

Isabella clutched the box tighter. "And what part is that exactly?"

His smile was sharp. "The desperately in love fiancée who swept me off my feet. The young, ambitious beauty who made Manhattan's most notorious bachelor want to settle down." He approached the bed, leaning down until his face was inches from hers. "The woman who makes everyone believe that this isn't what it really is – a business transaction with benefits."

His cologne wrapped around her, spicy and expensive, making her head spin. This close, she could see the tiny flecks of blue in his grey eyes, the slight shadow of stubble on his jaw. He'd already shaved, but his beard was so dark it showed anyway.

"You really enjoy this, don't you?" she whispered. "The control, the manipulation."

"Immensely." His eyes dropped to her lips. "Almost as much as I enjoy watching you fight it."

He straightened abruptly. "Thirty minutes. The car will be waiting."

The bathroom door closed behind him with a decisive click. Isabella fell back against the pillows, heart racing. Last night had been... interesting. True to his word, Alexander had insisted they share the bed. But he'd stayed on his side, not touching her, though she'd felt his presence like a live wire all night.

The dress fit perfectly, of course it did. Isabella studied herself in the full-length mirror as she fastened a delicate string of pearls around her neck, another gift from the box. The woman staring back at her looked sophisticated, polished, every inch a future Mrs. Kane.

She hated it.

"Better." Alexander appeared behind her, his reflection joining hers in the mirror. "But something's missing."

His hands settled on her shoulders, warm through the thin fabric. From his pocket, he produced a small blue box – Tiffany's.

"Consider it your engagement ring."

Isabella's breath caught as he opened the box. The diamond was enormous, an oval-cut stone surrounded by smaller diamonds, set in platinum.

"It's too much."

"Nothing is too much for the woman who captured my heart." His voice dripped sarcasm as he slid the ring onto her finger. "At least, that's what you'll tell the reporters when they ask."

The ring felt heavy, like a shackle. "You've thought of everything, haven't you?"

"Almost everything." His hands slid down her arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake. "Turn around."

She did, and before she could react, his mouth was on hers. This wasn't the gentle test of last night – this was possession, pure and simple. His tongue swept inside when she gasped, one hand tangling in her hair while the other pressed against her lower back, molding her to him.

Isabella's hands came up to his chest, whether to push him away or pull him closer, she wasn't sure. He kissed like he did everything else – with absolute control and devastating skill. Heat pooled in her stomach, and she heard herself make a small, needy sound.

Alexander pulled back, looking satisfied at her flushed face and swollen lips. "Now you look properly kissed for the cameras." He straightened his tie. "Remember, we're madly in love. Try to look less like I'm holding you hostage and more like you can't wait to marry me."

"I hate you," she said, but her voice lacked conviction.

"So you keep saying." He offered his arm. "Shall we, darling?"

The restaurant was packed, and Isabella spotted at least three photographers trying to be discrete behind potted plants. Alexander guided her to a prime table with his hand possessively on her lower back.

"Smile," he murmured in her ear. "You're about to give the performance of your life."

And so she did. She laughed at his jokes, gazed at him adoringly, let him feed her bites of eggs Benedict from his fork. When he kissed her hand, lingering over the massive engagement ring, she blushed prettily.

"You're a natural," he praised quietly between bites. "I almost believe you myself."

"I learned from the best," she shot back sweetly, for the benefit of nearby tables. "My sister."

His eyes flashed a warning, but his smile never faltered. "Careful, sweetheart. You don't want to make me angry in public."

"Why not? Isn't that what real couples do? Fight, make up..." she leaned forward, dropping her voice to a whisper, "make love?"

For the first time, she saw real heat flare in his eyes, desire unmistakable before he banked it. His hand found her thigh under the table, squeezing just shy of painful.

"Don't start games you can't finish, Isabella."

"Who says I can't finish them?"

The words were out before she could stop them. Alexander's pupils dilated, and his hand slid higher on her thigh.

"Careful what you wish for," he growled softly. "I might just take you up on that challenge."

A camera flash went off nearby, capturing what would probably look like an intimate moment between lovers. In reality, it was a declaration of war.

Game on, Mr. Kane.