Oliver said consideringly. A faint crease appeared between his brows. “I know the name, too.”
My stomach instantly tightened. For a moment I sat very stiffly, then slowly forced myself to relax. It was ridiculous to get upset over something I couldn’t help. People would always ask questions.
And I’d always feel guilty.
Lenore sat bolt upright. “I remember you now! You’re the Jazzmine Girl—for Jazzmine Cosmetics.”
“Yes.”
Triumph gleamed in her eyes. “You were the one dating that actor—what was his name?—oh yes, Pierce. Tucker Pierce.”
I set down my glass with a sharp thud against the tablecloth. I glanced at Nathan Reynolds and managed to keep my tone light. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I’m still a little tired from the flight. Perhaps I can get something to eat later.”
He was genuinely concerned but made no effort to detain me. It took John Oliver to do that.
He rose as I did. “Kelly, it’s not necessary for you to leave.”
“I’m tired,” I repeated.
“I read about it. ” His eyes were level. “It was in all the magazines, all over the TV…”
I felt the first flare of anger and resentment. “I know that. I know perfectly well what kind of publicity it got.”
Cigar smoke rose in a twisting gray trail. “I believe they said it was an accident.”
“There was another driver involved,” I conceded.
His wife slapped her hand down with a smack against the surface of the table. “I remember! He was killed in that grisly accident in California—” Her eyes widened and she stared at me. “You were driving. It was you behind the wheel. Wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” I said, “it was.”
I looked at Lenore’s surprised face, then her husband’s placid one, and finally I looked at Nathan Reynolds. He was observing me with a mixture of concern and compassion. That, more than Lenore’s avid interest and Oliver’s calm self-assurance drove me from them all.
I fled the room, the foyer with its beasts, the Lodge, and stumbled down the porch steps.
Right into the arms of Harper Young.
Chapter Three
He caught me by the arms swiftly, surely, and kept me from falling flat on my face. I regained my balance and thanked him breathlessly, embarrassed by the scene. I could feel the heat in my face as I tried to pull myself back together, and all the while he watched me.
“What’s after you?” he asked at last.
“Nothing,” I said instantly, and realized almost as instantly the answer wouldn’t hold up. Not when he’d witnessed my flight from the Lodge.
“You just got here,” he said in a wry drawl. “Leaving so soon?”
Automatically I brushed fingers through my hair, making certain the scar was covered by my bangs. “I’m just tired, and not all that hungry. Thanks for catching me.”
“Feel like talking about it?”
I swung around to look at him again. “No,” I said in surprise. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
He smiled faintly, though most of it was hidden beneath the thick moustache. “As you say, ma’am.”
Color and heat rose again. I summoned a politely distant smile, knowing perfectly well he saw right through me. He had that direct, knowing gaze that stripped away the facade I was trying to rebuild. “Mr. Young—”
“Harper.”
I sighed. I was tired, but I was also hungry, and even as I told him I had no appetite, I felt the rumble in my stomach. I opened my mouth to make my final farewell, but he stepped in before I could say a word.
“You’re that model, aren’t you?” He answered his own question with a nod of his wide-brimmed hat. “Yep. Cassie told me about you. About how you make all that money for having your picture taken.”
The accusation—or observation—was so old it had whiskers. “Right,” I agreed. “I make a million each time the shutter snaps. ” I turned to walk away from him, knowing an explanation would make no difference.
And yet he seemed to want one. “What’s it like, being a model? Is it true what I hear?”
I paused and glanced back. His smile broadened irritatingly. His tanned face was lean and mobile, appealing in a dark gypsy sort of way. He was intensely male, with all the accompanying male characteristics and attitudes that make the breed so frustrating much of the time.
I appraised him a moment, and smiled right back. “I doubt very much what you’ve heard has anything to do with the truth. But I also doubt you’d want to hear what it’s really like.”
He shrugged. “Try me some time. Set me straight.”
“Right.” I laughed. “You’d be bored stiff in thirty seconds.”
“Maybe.” He