What If He’s the One. Kathy Jay

      Nick’s playboy reputation was as legendary as Alex’s mystery. Lately the tabloids couldn’t get enough of his allegedly on-off affair with his on-screen love interest Ella Swift. Going by what she’d just witnessed, it was more off than on.

      In contrast, scandal about Alex rarely appeared in the gossip magazines. Even so, the paparazzi frequently photographed him with some glitterati girl glued to his side. Only last week she’d seen his name on a list of the world’s top twenty most-eligible bachelors.

      The show had been a huge success, running for almost ten years and making them household names. It helped that their mother was the flamboyant Cassandra Wells, and being real-life twins didn’t hurt either. It added to the hype that surrounded the Wells brand.

      “We’re at Cape Cod the second day. Doing something atmospheric in the dunes.”

      “Tell me more. I’m intrigued.” Alex butted into the conversation.

      “Leather and lace. Anyone?” Oops. She wasn’t doing very well on the act-professional-absolutely-no-flirting front.

      “Just as long as it’s you in leather and Alex wearing the lace. Or should it be the other way around?” A cheeky grin spread across Nick’s face.

      “Well, no.” She feared that working with Alex and Nick might require the bringing out of her inner schoolmarm – if she had one. “We’ve booked some lovely willowy girls to do something a bit Victoriana meets boho chic. We’re going to blend that with sea, sand, and a sexy biker-boy look.” She gave a little shrug. “That’s where you guys come in.”

      “Cool.” Nick’s grin widened at the approach of the flight attendant, smiling pinkly.

      “Sit down, please – um, sir.”

      The seatbelt lights pinged off, but Nick was bored now. He made a move to go back to his seat. “Catch you later,” he said loudly, drowning out the disembodied voice of the co-pilot regaling passengers with details of the cruising height and the ground temperature in Boston.

      Towards the end of the flight Alex looked down at Maggie. She’d fallen asleep. Her head had dropped onto his shoulder, but he hadn’t dared wake her.

      Where had the Maggie who wore bright colors gone? She’d been replaced by a sophisticated looking interloper. Alex gritted his teeth, trapped in his seat by a gently snoring Maggie.

      Ten years ago she had made a big crack in the armor he wore like a theatrical mask. He’d chosen LA over following his heart. He’d blocked out everything he loved about London when he’d given up on his dream. That included Maggie.

      He looked at her face, her long lashes. Her wavy hair had escaped from its ponytail. It brushed softly against his cheek. She smelt delicious. Every time he inhaled, her wild-flower-meadow fragrance floated up his nose. Her mouth was full. In a good way. Not an LA trout pout. Her skin glowed.

       Awkward!

      He couldn’t help thinking about the last time she’d slept right next to him. She belonged to a time and place pre-TV. Before things had changed completely. He’d lived and breathed Mercy of the Vampires for ten years – and loved every minute of it. But ten years was enough. When he’d pulled the plug on the show, Nick had been incandescent. He still hadn’t got over it. Too bad. Alex intended to move on, lead his own life – not a default version of his brother’s.

      Nick had been depending on him since the miserable night Drake had left their mother twenty-four years ago. Older by just twelve minutes, Alex had gradually become more like a substitute dad to his twin. They’d been alone watching a cartoon while his parents argued, shouting at the top of their lungs. Alex had protected Nick, getting him to stick his fingers in his ears, until he could find the remote and turn the volume up full. He’d drowned out the frightening sound of his parents’ anger. He’d been putting Nick first ever since.

      Maggie shifted in her sleep. She still rated ten out of ten on his hot-ometer. He’d happily pick up right where they’d left off. It would make the next couple of days a lot more interesting.

      Being near her was like breathing fresh air. It had to be down to her impossible-to-ignore curves. The gentle rise and fall of her breasts drove him crazy. This close, and at this angle, he had an attractive view of her cleavage. Her black top gaped slightly and he caught an unintentional glimpse of deep-pink shimmering silk. Lovely. Who’d have thought that the new understated Maggie would be wearing pulse-raising underwear in a magenta shade that matched her name?

      With his free arm he stretched down and picked up Maggie’s in-flight blanket, which had slipped into a scrunched-up ball between their feet. Awkwardly, he tried to cover her without disturbing her.

      He dragged his eyes back to her face. She had freckles, as if someone had dipped a paintbrush in caramel and flicked it across the bridge of her nose. He didn’t remember that about Maggie. A stab of shame lanced him. He didn’t remember because he’d blanked her out.

      The cabin crew announcement ping sounded. “Ladies and gentlemen, the captain has started our descent into Boston Logan International Airport, please fasten your seatbelts, make sure your seats and tray tables are in the upright position and switch off any electronic equipment.”

      The saccharin voice shook Maggie out of her sleep. Her creamy skin turned pink. Alex watched the blush travel up her neck from the dip of her top.

       Sexy.

      “I nodded off.”

      “Am I that boring?”

      Her lips curved teasingly. “Yes, very.” Her hazel eyes shone. She removed the elastic holding what was left of her ponytail and shook loose her hair. “Sorry.”

      “Don’t worry about it. It’s no big deal.” He deliberately held back a smile. “It was just like old times – apart from the snoring.”

      “Flipping Nora. I didn’t, did I?” Maggie sat up straight and clicked on her seatbelt. “Alex Wells. I do not snore, and you know it.”

      “I only have limited experience of your sleeping habits, Maggie.” Exactly that kind of meaningless banter had landed them in bed together once before.

      Maggie’s mysterious eyes shot him down. For the first time in several hours she didn’t have the perfect reply on the tip of her tongue.

      He’d better snap out of it. He weighed up the possibilities. Temptress Maggie? Professional Maggie?

       Face it, Wells. She’s way off limits.

      Flirting with her was a mistake. He’d been bored. It was what he did. Playing on the vampire thing. Still, he shouldn’t have gone there with Maggie.

      He’d better come up with an action plan. He quickly formulated a strategy, of sorts.

       Be civil.

       Put up with wearing tweed.

       No flirting – definitely no flirting.

       Wish her luck and wave goodbye.

      5? There was no number 5. Four points should cover it.

      What would he do if he’d never met stylist Magenta Plumtree before? Truthfully? He’d be tempted to explore her possibilities. She’d be just the thing to take his mind off Nick and the promo treadmill.

      “I’ve got a driver waiting at the airport. Can I offer you a ride to the hotel?”

      Her freckly nose wrinkled. “Oh … no … Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. I’ll get a taxi.” She waved a neatly manicured hand dismissively. The new Magenta had a neutral image. The peculiar-shade-of-blue nails, and the enticing underwear, reminded him of sparkly Maggie. The rest of her sophisticated appearance – all designer black and grey – slapped him in the face like a cold kipper; a reminder, although he didn’t need one, that time had changed everything.