Her Leading Hero Read online

  Instead of delving into all that, she just muttered, “Unlikely.”

  Marc made a tsking sound. Her head was tucked beneath his chin, making his voice reverberate in her ears.

  “You do realize that’s how every good love story starts, don’t you?”

  When she didn’t respond—there was no need to encourage him when he was like this—he continued anyway. “It always starts with someone who says they don’t want love. You know what they say: love finds you when you’re not looking for it.”

  She tilted her head to look up at him. “Is that what they say?”

  He nodded once in confirmation, and she noted just how unfocused his eyes were. Oh man, they were going to pay for this champagne binge in the morning. In the meantime… She searched her brain to remember what exactly they were talking about.

  Nope. Her fuzzy mind drew a blank.

  And then it didn’t matter what they’d been talking about. She no longer knew where she was or why she was there, because for one brief, terrifying moment, her entire world came to a screeching halt.

  He was there. Gregory Blanchard. The man, the myth, the legend. He was there, in person, in her theater.

  * * * *

  Gregory had no idea what he was doing at this theater. It had been a dumb impulse, really. He’d known his best friend was going to come here and make a fool of himself over the woman he loved, and Gregory had felt compelled to witness.

  If nothing else, he now had ammunition to embarrass his friend for the rest of his life.

  But now the fun was over and he found himself at a formal affair fundraiser, the type of event he typically went to great lengths to avoid. But here he was. Voluntarily sipping some watered-down whiskey cocktail and making small talk with the partygoers he recognized. Or, more often than not, the ones who recognized him.

  He did his best to come up with the names that went with the vaguely familiar faces. His father’s friends, no doubt. Or perhaps his stepmother Elena’s. Between the two of them, it was impossible to attend any social function without playing a game of six degrees of separation. Of course I remember you. You’re Elena’s friend’s daughter’s husband!

  He supposed he could technically make his getaway at any point. No one was forcing him to stay. But no one was expecting him at home either. He took another long drink.

  His ex had moved out several weeks ago, but their relationship had been over for ages. Hell, it had been over before it had even begun. Their relationship had followed the same pattern as every other relationship he’d ever had. Passion, followed by drama, followed by resentment, capped off with a bitter, disillusioned parting of ways. Or rather, he walked away—a fact his ex and his father were always quick to point out.

  And now there was one more failed relationship for his father to throw in his face the moment he got his chance. Another bit of proof that he was incapable of committing.

  Just like his mother. That part was typically unspoken but understood. She’d taken off when he was five years old, and his father loved to remind him of his many similarities to his flaky runaway mom.

  It wasn’t like he missed having Vanessa in his home—he sure as hell didn’t miss the fighting. But he’d gotten used to having someone there, and now the silence was unnerving. It had never bothered him before, but then he supposed he’d thought that at some point along the way he’d find the real deal. He certainly hadn’t expected to be thirty and single.

  But he supposed he should have. Maybe after more than a decade of dating it was time to admit that his father might be right. Maybe the ability to commit just wasn’t in his genes.

  He shook his head in annoyance and stared down into the ice. He’d been spending too much time with the old man, clearly. Just because his father believed he was a flake didn’t make it true. So maybe his relationship with Vanessa had been on-again, off-again—it had still lasted two years. That was something. He had a feeling he could be in a relationship for a decade and it wouldn’t sway his father’s opinion. Not as long as he shared his mother’s dark looks and served as a constant reminder of her betrayal.

  He’d long ago resigned himself to his father’s condemnation of his love life—he’d never find a woman his father approved of or be in a relationship long enough to prove himself. But what bothered him more was his father’s belief that Gregory’s commitment issues extended as far as his business dealings, and there he couldn’t have been more wrong.

  Business was another reason he was at this ridiculous party. As a favor for Ben, he’d stuck his neck out for this little theater, using his connections on the landmarks committee to have it designated a landmark so it wouldn’t be torn down or completely gutted.

  It wasn’t official yet, and he highly doubted the do-gooder volunteers who’d thrown this event even knew about it. But he’d put his name behind this place, and he’d figured he might as well check it out. See what all the fuss was about.

  He spotted his friend standing near a wall, watching his new girlfriend, Caitlyn, as she chatted with a strange man.

  Gregory came to stand beside him. “You do know you look like a stalker standing over here leering like that, don’t you?”

  Ben spun around. “What are you doing here?”

  Watching you make a fool of yourself over love. He resisted the urge to say it. Instead he pointed at Ben with his glass. “Thanks to the favor I did for you, I am this theater’s biggest champion. How could I refuse an invite when this is my new pet project?”

  “Have I said thank you yet for that favor?”

  “Only about twenty times,” Gregory said. He didn’t make a habit of throwing his family name around, and he wouldn’t have done it for just anyone. But Ben wasn’t just anyone. They’d met back in college and had hit it off from the start.

  He and Ben were total opposites—Ben was British, loud, crude, and constantly disheveled, as if he was forever on his way home from a raging party. He, on the other hand, dressed well and spoke with the kind of elocution that came from attending elite prep schools for twelve years. Not a likely friendship, to be sure, but then maybe that had been the initial appeal.

  Ben was exactly the type of guy his father didn’t want him to consort with, which was exactly why he’d befriended him. He used to get a kick out of pissing his father off with his choice of friends and girlfriends.

  Still did, he supposed. What other explanation for why he had stuck with Vanessa for so long other than the fact that her brash demeanor and the tasteless television show she was famous for drove his father nuts.

  Ugh. That thought was disconcerting. Surely he’d had other reasons for putting up with Vanessa for so long—reasons that had nothing to do with sticking it to his father. He just couldn’t think of them right now.

  Ben’s gratitude at the current moment was unnerving. Ben wasn’t one to say thank you; he was more inclined to bust his balls over something. When it looked like he might continue with his thank-you speech, Gregory brushed it off. “Don’t worry about it. Besides, you were right. This place does have character.”

  He’d been so consumed talking with the people who recognized him earlier that for the first time since walking into the lobby, he took a good look around. Sure, it was on the shabby side, but it had class, from its faded carpeting to the ornate sconces. He’d become something of an expert on real estate, and this building was the real deal. With some sprucing up, this place would be a rare gem, a remnant of a time gone by.

  He scanned the lobby idly, noting the details with an experienced eye—but then his gaze was caught. Ensnared, really. Fixated on something on the far side of the lobby. No, not something—someone.

  Holy hell, she was lovely. Blond hair fell in waves over half her face, giving a teasing glimpse of the delicate features it hid. He caught glimpses of siren red lips and smoky eyes. But there was no hiding that figure. She was short but perfect
ly built, with dips and curves in all the right places. Her dress was black, but she stood out in the crowd like a neon sign. “Who’s that?”

  Ben followed his gaze to a small group of costume-clad men and women gathered near the bar. “Which one?”

  Which one? As if it wasn’t obvious. There was only one who stood out in this crowd, and anyone could see that. To Ben, he said, “The blonde.”

  Ben squinted at the woman who was the spitting image of Veronica Lake…albeit pint-sized. “I don’t know—oh, wait. Is that?” He leaned in a little closer. “That’s Tamara Pierce. She runs this place.”

  Tamara Pierce. There was something familiar about her, but he couldn’t place it. He would remember a woman like her. Maybe she resembled someone he knew. Someone other than Veronica Lake, obviously. He’d become a fan of the old film noir movies back in his college days. Ever since then he’d had a thing for the femme fatales, and this woman looked like she’d just stepped off the screen to bring his fantasies to life.

  Ben’s voice in his ear brought him back to the present. “Who’s leering now?”

  He ignored the jibe but did look away. Good God, he didn’t want to be caught staring like some creeper. He’d approach her like a man when he saw an opportunity. Ben was staring at him, his eyes narrowed with suspicion.

  The last thing he needed was his friend interfering. Ben was head over heels for his girlfriend, and he would bet good money that his friend would feel the need to spread the love around. As if he needed or wanted his friend’s assistance. To get Ben off the scent, he kept up his steady perusal of the theater. “This place has potential. You were right to help save it.”

  Ben shrugged off the compliment.

  “It was a risk,” Gregory added. “But it looks like it could pay off.”

  Ben’s response was so quiet he almost didn’t hear. “The best things always are.”

  Somehow he suspected they were no longer talking about architecture. Ben was most likely referring to his new relationship—quite the risk for a guy who didn’t believe in happily ever afters. But Gregory was in no mood to be lectured on how love conquered all. He was here to drink and maybe meet some pretty women to take his mind off his latest run-in with Vanessa.

  His gaze scanned the crowd. Okay, so maybe he was hoping to meet one pretty woman in particular….

  Chapter 2

  Tamara was frozen, but Marc followed her stare. “Oh. My. God,” he whispered. “Is that…?”

  She was too paralyzed to speak. Gregory looked like he’d just stepped off a magazine cover. Square jaw, straight nose, and razor-sharp cheekbones. The man didn’t have to dress in costume to look like a matinee idol—he was one.

  Tamara’s stomach heaved. The champagne sloshed mercilessly. Oh God, she was going to be sick.

  She heard a gasp beside her. “Holy crap, it’s Gregory Blanchard.” That came from Alex, who’d joined Marc on his other side so now the three of them stood silent and frozen, gawking at the celebrity in their midst.

  “I know him.” The words came unbidden through frozen lips.

  This couldn’t be happening.

  “Of course you know him. The man is a living legend,” Marc said.

  It was true; as the ranking most eligible bachelor in the city, Gregory graced the cover of magazines regularly, his chiseled jaw forever popping up in the gossip section of the local papers.

  Yes, she recognized him. But that’s not what she’d meant. She knew him. Tamara opened her mouth to say just that but shut it quickly. What she’d been about to say would only lead to questions she didn’t want to answer. Questions she didn’t have time to answer, not if she wanted to get out of here without being seen.

  Some of the panic started to ebb as that realization set in. It wasn’t too late. He hadn’t spotted her yet. He was talking to Ben near the front entrance, his profile to her. Unable to look away from Gregory, she clutched Marc’s arm.

  It was a struggle to keep her voice level when everything in her wanted to freak out. “Marc, could you make my excuses to Meg and Caitlyn? Tell them I’m sorry but I’ve got to get out of here. I have a, um…a headache.”

  Lying had never been her forte. She glanced up to see Marc frowning down at her. “A headache? Since when? Tam, what’s up? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  A ghost—that was the perfect word. He was a shadow from her past. She would be able to spot him in a crowd even if he’d never graced a magazine cover. With his black hair, olive toned skin and tall, broad build, Gregory Blanchard was impossible to ignore. Good looks aside, he had a presence about him, a charisma that had made him the center of attention even when he was young.

  He’d been just as handsome back then, but in a boyish way. One of her brother’s friends, he’d always been close but untouchable. Older and much, much cooler—he might as well have lived in a different world, even though they moved in the same circles. But he’d never noticed her existence, and she’d been content—well, maybe not content—she’d settled for watching him from a distance. Just like she was doing right now….

  She blinked at his profile and looked away. What was she doing wasting time staring at the man? She could stare at his picture online for as long as she wanted once she was home and safe from recognition.

  “Please, Marc. Just tell everyone I had to bail, okay? I’ll explain later.” That was a lie and they both knew it, judging by the way he cocked his head to the side and leveled her with a glare. Marc respected her privacy, but that didn’t mean he was terribly fond of her penchant for secrecy.

  “Please, Marc,” she said again. She glanced toward the entrance and froze as her gaze connected with a familiar and stunning pair of dark brown eyes.

  In the time it took for her to plead with Marc, Gregory had spotted her across the room as if her fear had summoned him like a beacon. He didn’t look away, and she couldn’t drag her gaze away from his if her life depended on it. And her life might depend on it, because his stare had her heart beating so fast and hard she was dimly aware that she might have a heart attack—or faint, at the very least.

  Her mouth went dry and the blood rushing in her ears washed out the sound of the crowd around her. This was it. It had happened. Her worst fear had been realized. Someone from her past had found her.

  And not just anyone—Gregory Blanchard. The prince of high society himself.

  Two things seemed to happen at once—Gregory started walking toward her and the rushing sound in her ears cleared long enough for her to hear Marc say, “Oh my God, he’s coming this way.”

  The excitement in Marc’s voice was preposterous given the circumstances. A small part of her wanted to turn and smack him. This man could ruin everything, idiot! But of course, he didn’t know that. Besides, she was frozen. She could no more turn and smack him than she could run away.

  And that’s what she should do, she told herself. Run. Run now!

  But her traitorous body stood still, mesmerized into a catatonic state by the intensity of Gregory’s stare. He stalked toward her, a panther approaching his prey. She was dimly aware of the crowd parting around him, of the stares and the whispers that followed in his wake. If he noticed, it didn’t show. His expression was unreadable, and his attention was fixed on one thing. On one person.

  Marc whistled beside her, and his voice was filled with laughter. “Nice work, Tamara. Looks like you’ve reeled in New York’s white whale.”

  “You’re welcome,” Alex chimed in over her shoulder. The two of them laughed behind her as they prided themselves on getting their “little hermit” out of her shell.

  They thought he was coming over to flirt with her.

  Gregory was a few steps away when that thought registered, and its sheer absurdity was enough to puncture the panicked trance she’d gone into. She couldn’t have this conversation here, in front of Marc and Alex. Not here in her theat
er… Her home. If she had to face her past, she would do it outside or anywhere else. Just not here.

  She turned on her stiletto heel and bolted.

  She didn’t get far.

  “Tamara?” His low voice cut through the music and the chatter, stopping her in her tracks.

  The original cold fear returned and a shiver raced through her at the sound of his voice.

  She turned slowly. There was no escaping it now. Resignation at her fate had her steeling her spine and squaring her shoulders. She had known this day would come eventually.

  He was smiling down at her, and the sheer sex appeal behind it stole her breath away. Sweet Jesus, he’d always been hot, even as a teenager. But now, he was literally breathtaking. He’d filled out, his chest and shoulders molding the suit to perfection. His jaw was even more defined, if that was possible. He’d matured into the aristocratic features that had made him seem older as a teenager. Now they made him look like what he was: a whip-smart, highly educated leader in the city. One not to be trifled with by enemies and whose cool elegance made him a favorite match for supermodels and actresses. Last she’d read, he’d been linked to someone famous. Who was it?

  What did that matter? A distant voice mocked her for obsessing over his looks and love life at a time like this. But now that the moment she’d feared was finally here, an odd calm came over her. It was almost… Relief.

  Maybe that was why she was able to summon a smile when he said her name again. “Tamara Pierce?”

  He’d lowered his head a bit and leaned in so they could speak over the noise of the crowd. It was an oddly intimate gesture, like they were part of an exclusive club. She could smell a warm musky cologne as he drew even closer, his eyes fixed on her and filled with warmth.

  It was then that his words hit her. Pierce. He’d called her by her mother’s maiden name, the name she’d been using ever since she left Boston.