Anna’s heart skipped a beat.

Even through her wedding veil, his gaze pinned her in places like an electric-blue laser.

He reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a cell phone. He stopped to talk, his riveting eyes never leaving her.

Anna leaned in close to her friend, fighting off panic. “He’s the perfect male,” she whispered, her voice shaky.

Before she could say another word, her “groom” stepped closer, cell phone in hand. His well-over-six-foot frame towered her.

“Well, well,” he drawled, giving Anna an intense once-over. “You must be my bride.”

Anna took his extended hand. “Anna…Si…mpson,” she managed, using her fake last name.

“Ryan Cavanaugh.” He shook her hand and flashed a blinding smile. Deep dimples formed on both sides of his mouth. He leaned in closer to her. “Lucky me.”

Dear Reader,

If you’re like me, you can’t get enough heartwarming love stories and real-life fairy tales that end happily ever after. You’ll find what you need and so much more with Silhouette Romance each month.

This month you’re in for an extra treat. Bestselling author Susan Meier kicks off MARRYING THE BOSS’s DAUGHTER—the brand-new six-book series written exclusively for Silhouette Romance. In this launch title, Love, Your Secret Admirer (#1684), our favorite matchmaking heiress helps a naive secretary snare her boss’s attention with an eye-catching makeover.

A sexy rancher discovers love and the son he never knew, when he matches wits with a beautiful teacher, in What a Woman Should Know (#1685) by Cara Colter. And a not-so plain Jane captures a royal heart, in To Kiss a Sheik (#1686) by Teresa Southwick, the second of three titles in her sultry DESERT BRIDES miniseries.

Debrah Morris brings you a love story of two lifetimes, in When Lightning Strikes Twice (#1687), the newest paranormal love story in the SOULMATES series. And sparks sizzle between an innocent curator—with a big secret—and the town’s new lawman, in Ransom (#1688) by Diane Pershing. Will a seamstress’s new beau still love her when he learns she is an undercover heiress? Find out in The Bridal Chronicles (#1689) by Lissa Manley.

Be my guest and feed your need for tender and lighthearted romance with all six of this month’s great new love stories from Silhouette Romance.

Enjoy!

Mavis C. Allen

Associate Senior Editor, Silhouette Romance

The Bridal Chronicles
Lissa Manley

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to my wonderful husband, Kevin,

who supported me through nine years

of the ups and downs of an aspiring author.

Thanks for all the Tuesday nights.

I love you.

Books by Lissa Manley

Silhouette Romance

The Bachelor Chronicles #1665

The Bridal Chronicles #1689

LISSA MANLEY

has been an avid reader of romance since her teens and firmly believes that writing romances with happy endings is her dream job. She lives in the beautiful Pacific Northwest with her college-sweetheart husband of nineteen years, Kevin, two children, Laura and Sean, and two feisty toy poodles named Lexi and Angel, who run the household and get away with it. She has a degree in business from the University of Oregon, having discovered the joys of writing well after her college years. In her spare time, she enjoys reading, crafting, attending her children’s sporting events and relaxing at the family vacation home on the Oregon coast.

Lissa loves to hear from her readers. She can be reached at P.O. Box 91336, Portland, OR 97291-0336, or at http://lissamanley.com.

A Pretend Bride’s To-Do List:

♥ Spend as little time as possible with the pretend groom so as not to fall under his spell. We know what happens to you around good-looking men.

♥ Pay no attention to his stunning smile and gorgeous eyes and seemingly generous personality.

♥ Get the pretend ceremony over with.

♥ Forego pre-pretend-wedding jitters. This is a fake wedding!

♥ Try not to worry about the cameras…. The tabloids won’t even think to come here. Will they?

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter One

Anna Sinclair looked across the Rose Garden Park through her veil and raised a shaky hand to her throat. She watched the tall, incredibly handsome hunk stride confidently toward her.

Smiling, he paused to talk to the pretty, female photographer’s assistant, and his dark blond hair glinted like gold in the midmorning June sun. Dark green, leafy foliage, framed by the cloudless blue summer sky, provided the perfect backdrop for his stunning male beauty. His black tuxedo, hugging his wide-shouldered, athletic body like a glove, made him look like every bride’s dream come true.

But not Anna’s. Designing wedding dresses was as close as she would ever get to that romantic nonsense.

Wondering if she was an utter fool for getting anywhere near a camera, or a gorgeous man like that, she looked to Colleen Stewart, the tall, blond reporter assigned to “The Bridal Chronicles,” a newspaper special feature. “Please tell me that male model is not my groom.” Anna gestured to the god across the lawn, his head bent in thoughtful discussion, one hand casually shoved into the pocket of his tuxedo pants.

Colleen fluffed the train on Anna’s dress and looked in the direction she had gestured. Colleen whistled under her breath and her blue eyes gleamed. “He’s not a male model, Anna, even though he looks like one. His name is Ryan Cavanaugh and he’s the wealthy owner of a local chain of coffee houses, Java Joint. The Bachelor Chronicles was so successful featuring Jared Warfield, who owns a competing chain of coffee stores, that we decided to feature another coffee guy.” She put a hand on Anna’s arm. “Don’t tell me you have a problem posing with good-looking men.”

Anna spun around, inadvertently ruining the billowing train Colleen had taken so long to arrange. “Yes, I do.” Good-looking men always made her do foolish things. “I only agreed to pose because the woman originally scheduled to wear my gown didn’t show up.”

“So, what’s the problem?” Colleen asked. “You want your gown in the spread, right?”

“Of course I do. I’m hoping that my gown being in ‘The Bridal Chronicles’ will help me land that account I’ve come to Portland to acquire.” Landing the Perfect Bridal account was her last chance to fulfill the terms of her father’s deal.

She took a deep breath, telling herself to calm down. “But when I agreed to pose at the last minute, I didn’t anticipate that my groom would be so…so gorgeous. What if we win Best Wedding Couple?”

“Then you pose for more pictures and your gown gets more publicity.”

More pictures. Concealing her real identity with a veil for one picture was going to be risky enough, even though she’d dyed her dark brown hair auburn and by some miracle Colleen hadn’t recognized her. “More pictures would be very bad,” Anna said under her breath. “Very, very bad.”

“Actually, with a hunk like Ryan around, I imagine it’ll be very, very good.”

“Yes, indeed.” Anna fluffed her dress, needing air circulation. “It’ll be too good, and we’ll be a shoo-in for Best Wedding Couple.” She fanned herself with her hand, convinced the warm June sun was getting to her. Would anyone notice a woman in a pristine white wedding gown, her face fully covered by a fluffy veil, sneaking off before any pictures could be taken?

She should have never agreed to this. She certainly didn’t want to end up where well-known heiresses often did—on the front page of a tacky tabloid, the subject of an unflattering picture for all the world to see. “I assumed I’d be posing for one picture. Nothing more.”

“Just relax,” Colleen soothed. “You have no way of knowing who’s going to be voted Best Wedding Couple.”

“No way of knowing? Look at him.” Anna followed her own instructions and looked back to this Ryan guy. He’d left the fluttery-eyed assistant, who looked like she was about to melt into a pool of water on the lush, rolling lawn of the Rose Garden, and he was again striding confidently toward Anna and Colleen. With smooth male grace, he casually unbuttoned his tux jacket, staring at Anna. Even through her veil, his gaze pinned her in place like an electric-blue laser.

Her heart missed a beat.

He reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a cell phone. He stopped to talk, his riveting eyes never leaving her.

She ripped her gaze from him and leaned in close to Colleen, fighting off panic. “He’s the perfect male,” she whispered, her voice shaky. “Every woman in the city will be wiping away drool as they cast their vote for him.” She shook her head. “I’m not sure this is a good idea.” Yes, she wanted her gown in the photo spread. But not if it would reveal her real identity. She was simply humble working girl Anna Simpson, designer of the Anastasia line of wedding dresses for the time being. She didn’t want anyone to know she was really Anna Sinclair, the daughter of one of the richest bankers in the country. How would she know if she were a true success if the Sinclair name followed her around?

Colleen pressed a hand to Anna’s arm. “Please don’t leave me in the lurch. I’ll never find another model on such short notice.”

A shaft of familiar guilt poked Anna. Her father always made her feel like she was letting him down, too. Before she could reply, her “groom” stepped closer, cell phone in hand. His well over six-foot frame towered above both her and Colleen.

“Well, well,” he drawled, giving Anna an intense once-over. “You must be my bride.” He extended his hand. “Ryan Cavanaugh.”

She took his hand. “Anna…Si…mpson,” she managed to say, using the fake last name she’d come up with because it was similar to Sinclair and she’d be less likely to make mistakes.

He shook her hand and flashed a blinding smile. The skin at the corners of his astoundingly blue eyes crinkled. Deep dimples formed on both sides of his mouth. He peered closer to her veil. “You look pretty good under there. Lucky me, I guess.”

She pulled her hand away. In all of her twenty-four years, she had never seen such a stunning man. His brilliant smile almost made her knees buckle.

Her earlier misgivings exploded into a ball of pure dread. Ryan obviously possessed the kind of innate male charm and incredible good looks that she’d sworn to avoid since a similarly handsome, seemingly charming man—Giorgio The Italian Scumbag—had taken off with a chunk of her heart a year ago.

She fell back a step, needing air and space and to think, and stumbled on her gown thanks to her shaky legs. Ryan quickly reached out and grasped her upper arm, steadying her with his warm, very large hand. Arrows of fire darted from his hand into her body and she barely managed to pull her arm from his hot touch.

Ryan moved closer and the scent of his aftershave washed over her. “Hey, are you all right?”

No, I’m not. She’d never been able to keep her distance from handsome men, and, unfortunately had a history of making bad choices regarding them.

History being the key word.

Fighting the thoroughly ridiculous urge to lean closer and inhale more of his wonderful smell into her nose, Anna looked for an escape. She had no intention of exposing her real identity by posing for a fake wedding photo with a gorgeous man like Ryan. It was time to follow her instincts and do what she should have done when Colleen had suggested Anna fill in for the missing model an hour ago—run for her life, wedding dress and all. Thank goodness she hadn’t signed the required photo release waiver yet.

She pointedly ignored Ryan and looked at Colleen. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do this.” She put herself into motion and marched across the grass in the general direction of the temporary dressing area on the upper level of the Rose Garden Park.

“Hey!” Ryan shouted. “Where are you going?”

“Anna!” Colleen called. “Wait…” Anna ignored their calls, not wanting to deal with either of them. She didn’t want anyone suspecting she wasn’t simply Anna Simpson, humble bridal designer, struggling to make it on her own—without the benefit of the Sinclair name.

Before she had walked ten feet, she was jerked backward. Regaining her footing, she spun around. Ryan had placed a foot on the very edge of her dress’s lacy train.

Pushy man. “Remove your foot, please,” she said, her lips barely moving. “Do you have any idea how many hours went into the creation of this dress?” She’d spent months on this design, and had put blood, sweat and tears into the deceptively simple lace, satin, and pearl design. The beaded neckline alone had taken a professional seamstress three days to complete.

He shoved his cell phone into his pants pocket. “Look,” he said, a shadow of contrition in his eyes. He bent and gently took the fragile Brussels lace of her train in his hand and pulled up the slack, effectively holding her in place while he pretended to brush it off. “I’m sorry for stepping on your dress. I just want to know why you’re leaving. I thought we were supposed to have some pictures taken together.” He smiled again, showing teeth that looked as white as snow next to his lightly tanned face. “We’d make a great couple, don’t you think?”

Her stomach flip-flopped at his smile.

Oh, no, not again.

She took a deep breath and tried to calm her racing nerves. She had no desire to be part of a couple with him, not even a pretend couple. After Giorgio, the last in a short but illustrious line of cheating, lying, beyond-handsome men, she didn’t do “couple” anymore. She’d learned that what was on the inside of men was never as good as the outside looked. “Obviously I’ve changed my mind, Mr. Cavanaugh. Now would you please let go of my dress?”

“Oh, come on,” he said softly, his face pulled into an appropriately serious expression. “Can’t you just stay for one picture?”

Strangely, he seemed sincere, and his gentle tone caught her off guard. She slanted a glance up at him, reminding herself of how easy it would be for him to simply pretend to be sincere. “Look, I know I agreed to pose for these pictures, but I’ve changed my mind. I…uh, I didn’t realize you were going to be my groom.”

He swung his free arm wide with what looked like a forced smile on his lips. “What? I’m not good enough?”

You’re too good. She managed a tremulous smile. “That’s not it.”

“Then what’s the problem?” He leaned in close. “You did agree to this, didn’t you?”

She stepped back, out of his scent’s reach, and crossed her arms over her midriff, pressing the gown’s delicate beading into her skin. He had a point. She didn’t want to leave Colleen without a bride any more than she wanted to sacrifice the media exposure and possible contract a photo of her dress in “The Bridal Chronicles” might bring.

But the extra media exposure that Ryan’s good looks might bring frightened her for several reasons. Though it was silly, she detested having her picture taken; she’d been a gawky, unattractive child and had had too many unflattering pictures of her land on the front page of numerous publications. Also, she wanted to succeed as modest dress designer Anna Simpson, not heiress Anna Sinclair. Concealing her real identity was central to her plan.

And to succeed, she had to land the Perfect Bridal exclusive and make a profit. Then she would meet the requirements of the deal she and her father had made almost a year ago, within the time frame he’d decreed, which expired in less than a week. Then, she’d be able to follow her dream instead of working for her father at Sinclair Banking.

Wishing she possessed no sense of duty or fair play, she asked Ryan, “Why do you want me to do this shoot so badly?” She tried not to admire the absolute perfection of his chiseled face, heart-stopping sky-blue eyes, and full, sensual lips. And those dimples…

He lifted one broad shoulder. “Simple. I’m involved with a local charity’s fund-raising campaign, and I’d like to raise awareness with as much publicity as I can.”

A charity. Sounded like a worthwhile cause, one she wished she could help him with. But she couldn’t. Hiding her face in one photo was feasible. More than one—she sincerely doubted it. There had to be another way. “Then why don’t you just find another woman to be your bride?”

He bent close to her ear. “Oh, the answer to that is obvious,” he whispered, his warm breath tickling her ear. “With a woman as beautiful as I’m certain you are, I bet we’d win Best Couple for sure. As a bonus, my charity is almost guaranteed lots of publicity.”

A ribbon of hot excitement unfurled inside of her, joining a hard lump of guilt for letting him down. But she ignored the unsettling sensation and focused on what was important—her business, the one thing she could call her own, the one way she could show her true worth to the world—and her father. She didn’t want to win Best Couple and be faced with more pictures.

Then again, she wasn’t a heartless witch, either. She didn’t want to be responsible for keeping his fund-raising efforts from garnering publicity. A giant arrow of guilt poked her.

She tried to move away from him, unable to think clearly with his big body looming over her, scrambling her senses and judgment like a banana in a blender.

Why did she always let attractive men keep her from thinking clearly? Had her sheltered childhood, spent at exclusive, all-girl boarding schools and under the close supervision of her autocratic, ultraconservative father warped her judgment? Had her lack of experience made her into a woman who perpetually made bad choices in the man department?

Maybe in the past. Not anymore.

Drawing a deep, cleansing breath, she wished she had the luxury of lapsing into a soothing session of meditation to calm her nerves. But she didn’t. She would have to deal with Ryan without the benefit of her daily mantra.

“So,” he said, letting out her train just enough to allow her to put some space between them. “How about being my bride?”

His “proposal” brought forth a familiar yearning. She had once dreamed of happily ever after with the man of her dreams. But now she had to be wary of men. She’d played the he-really-loves-me fool before and had fallen for attractive, charming men like him and had paid the price in heartache and tears. She didn’t intend to make the same mistake one more time.

She’d finally acquired some sense.

She looked at Ryan again, liking the slightly humble expression on his face, even though she doubted it was real; charismatic men like Ryan usually got what they wanted without the need for humility. Even so, when Ryan threw her a small, hopeful smile, the foolish, appreciative, female side almost made her relent. And to her everlasting surprise, she found herself on the verge of giving him whatever he wanted.

On the verge, but not over the edge. Despite how guilty he was making her feel, probably deliberately, she just couldn’t go through with this photo shoot. She had belatedly realized that being in the public eye wasn’t someplace she could risk being. She might as well announce her true identity on the evening news, thereby sacrificing her “anonymous” identity.

Even though she still felt incredibly guilty that she couldn’t help his charity, she said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Cavanaugh, but I’ve made up my mind. I have no intention of signing the photo-release waiver and allowing this photo to go to print.” She looked pointedly down at the part of her dress he had in his arms, then clasped her hands together at her waist and gave him an imperious look. “Now please put my dress down. This photo shoot is over.”

She’d have to find a way to live with her guilt and with disappointing him and Colleen, just as she would have to sacrifice the exposure “The Bridal Chronicles” would have given her design business. Not exactly what she’d planned.

But not appearing in the paper did have its upside. At least she wouldn’t have to risk having her identity publicly unveiled, so to speak, and she certainly wouldn’t have to live through some awful, unflattering picture gracing the cover of the newspaper.

Not much of an upside. The guilt alone would probably choke her. But it was the best she could do given the circumstances.

Fighting frustration, Ryan gripped Anna’s dress, vaguely wondering what she looked like under that veil and why she was wearing the darn thing at all. Standing there, her hands clasped in front of her, the form-fitting, lacy dress she wore showing off her jaw-dropping curves, it was obvious she had a body for sin but was holding it like a schoolmarm.

Trying to ignore that sinful body, he focused instead on the question on his mind. Why was she so damned determined to run away from the shoot? Wouldn’t it be good for her business?

Whatever the reason, there was no way he was going to let her walk out on their stint as pretend bride and groom. Keeping other kids from going through what he went through as a child, with nobody who gave a damn about them, was a long-standing goal. He wanted the publicity for the Mentor A Child Foundation and he wanted the media exposure to improve his tarnished reputation. He wasn’t about to give up yet. He had to convince her to sign the release.

Time to appeal to her sensitive side.

“Can’t you help me out here?” he asked. “It’s just one photo, and you obviously intended to be part of this whole thing. It’s no big deal, right?”

“Wrong.” She tugged on her dress. “I changed my mind because it would be a big deal if we’re chosen Best Wedding Couple. And with you in the photo, looking…so, well…good, we’re virtually guaranteed to win.”

Her compliment surprised him and lit a warm space inside of him; he still thought of himself as the scruffy, half-starved little kid from the wrong side of the tracks. “While I’m flattered, I was thinking we’d win because of you,” he said, unable to squash the male curiosity that made him want to get a clear look at her face through her veil.

“You can flatter and charm me all you want, but I’m still not going to risk winning Best Couple.”

He frowned. “Isn’t winning good?”

“Not always. I…well, I just don’t want the attention, all right?”

He held up a hand. “But we’re only talking a few pictures in wedding clothes—”

“Which will turn into more pictures and interviews and attention I don’t want.” She shook her head. “Please try to understand.”

Damn. He’d assumed she was game for the shoot since she was here, decked out in full bride gear. Obviously, for some reason, that wasn’t the case.

Contingency plan. Time to change her mind.

He touched the tip of her creamy shoulder, exposed by her off-the-shoulder gown. “Are you sure you won’t reconsider?” he said, unable to help lingering on her smooth, warm skin. Did she have the face to go with her flawless complexion and stunning body, perfectly shown off by the pretty, figure-hugging dress she wore? “Lots of needy little kids will benefit.” Needy little kids like he’d once been.

She tugged on her dress, inadvertently touching his hand in the process. “I feel bad enough as it is, so please don’t try to guilt me into helping you out. Would you please let me go?”

Heat flared in his body and he tried to ignore how the mere touch of her hand almost knocked the wind out of him. Damn, he wanted to lift that filmy veil and see what she really looked like. Sweat broke out on his upper lip.

Get a hold of yourself and focus.

He was counting on the media exposure for Mentor A Child this chronicle thing would generate. He couldn’t afford to let his obvious attraction to Anna distract him and keep him from attaining that goal, or from counteracting the recent spate of image-bashing publicity his former employee Joanna’s personal vendetta had caused. Damage he needed to repair before the Mentor A Child Board of Directors decided he wasn’t the kind of guy they wanted connected to their organization.

For the sake of the foundation, he had to find a way to make this work, to help needy kids who didn’t have a loving adult in their lives and would fall through the cracks if the foundation wasn’t around to help them.

Like he had.

One way or another, he’d convince Anna to sign that release.

Luckily he was very good at getting what he wanted.

Her jaw set, Anna watched Ryan fiddle with the lace-edged train of her dress, wishing he’d let her go and leave her alone. “I’ll say it again, Mr. Cavanaugh. Please let go of my dress.”

He looked at her with those compelling blue eyes, a speculative expression on his face. He inclined his head. “Of course.” He let go of her train and smoothed it out. “Your tail thing is ready. I’ll walk you to the dressing tent.” He walked toward the makeshift changing area, a crease marring his tanned brow.

Relieved, but wary of his sudden turnabout, she fell in step beside him, ridiculously marveling at his strong, masculine profile. “I’m sorry I can’t help you out—” Without warning, her head jerked backward. “Hey!” She spun around and caught her shoe on an uneven patch of grass and teetered on the backs of her heels, her arms flailing.

Before she could find her balance, she fell sideways. Her veil, attached to her head with small combs, ripped off, jerking her head back again. She crashed to the ground like a felled tree, landing half on her rear, half on her back with a clump next to another thorn-encrusted rosebush, her gown poofing up around her like a giant marshmallow.

Her breath whooshed out of her and it took a moment to regain her wits. She slowly sat up, shaking her veil-less head, then looked up and saw Ryan peering down at her, his face creased with concern.

“Hey, are you all right?” He held out a hand. “That was some fall.”

She grabbed his hand, ignoring how warm and strong it felt, and pulled herself up, searching for her veil. She just wanted to escape before anyone recognized her. She could see the headline now:

Heiress Anna Sinclair Turns Her Back On Millions, Pretending To Be Bridal Designer

Some terribly unflattering photo of her flopped on the grass of the Rose Garden would undoubtedly accompany the headline….

She suppressed a tremor of disgust.

When she was standing, her legs still wobbly, Ryan stepped closer and slid his arm around her shoulders. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

His masculine scent washed over her, an intoxicating combination of clean male and expensive designer aftershave, and a ribbon of attraction darted through her. She swiveled her head and stared into his gaze, unable to find her sanity and look away, tumbling into the clear, compelling depths of his eyes. Awareness crashed through her like a tidal wave and she wanted to reach out and run her fingers over the sheer beauty of his strong jaw. A light breeze stirred, mixing his scent with the heady fragrance of freshly bloomed roses.

A couple of clicks sounded.

She instinctively cringed and snapped her gaze toward the sound.

“Thanks, guys.” A photographer triumphantly held up his camera. “One of those is sure to be a keeper.”

Panic seeped through her. Her worst fantasy had come true. Some overzealous photographer had taken a photo of her without her veil! “He just took our picture!”

Ryan stepped away and plucked her veil free from the rosebush it had snagged on. “Yeah, I guess he did.” A tiny smile hovered around his mouth.

She crossed her arms in front of her, wanting to wipe that little smirk off his face with everything in her. “You’re happy about this, aren’t you?”

“Hey, I wanted the picture taken all along, and you don’t seem willing to tell me why you’re so darned determined to back out.”

The despicable schemer. Had he arranged for the photographer to snap the picture on the sly?

She drew herself up and did her best to look haughty. “Well, Mr. Cavanaugh, the picture may have been taken, but I still haven’t signed the release.” She hastily gathered her dress, snatched her tulle veil from his hand, and stomped away. “And I don’t intend to,” she called over her shoulder.

“Not even for a worthwhile cause?”

She stopped and shot him a glare. “I’ll say it again. Don’t use guilt to change my mind, Mr. Cavanaugh. Trust me, guilt isn’t in short supply today.” She turned her back on the gorgeous man with the charming dimples, bone-melting smile, and enough charisma to raise a hundred red flags in her brain.

Thankfully, this ended here and now. She wasn’t about to let her one lapse in judgment, or Ryan’s attempt to make her feel guilty, ruin her plan to meet the terms of her father’s deal so she wouldn’t have to slave away in the family banking business.

She shuddered. Even though she possessed the skill and education to help run a banking dynasty, she couldn’t think of anything worse than being relegated to the uncreative, stodgy world of high finance for the rest of her life.

Her father’s world.

That was enough to keep her walking. She set her shoulders, needing to get away from the exasperating man with the gorgeous blue eyes, stunning smile, and his compelling reason to make sure the picture was printed.

Even though it went against her natural sense of fair play and altruism not to help him out, she had to ignore the guilt ripping through her and stand firm. Her future, her happiness, her self-worth were at stake. That picture would never see the light of day. Ryan would just have to get his publicity some other way, and she knew from experience that that was doable.

After all of the schemers who had betrayed and used her, she was done serving any man’s purpose.

Chapter Two

Ryan watched Anna clomp across the grass, her dress held high and her chin shoved into the air. A hearty dose of admiration overrode the puzzled irritation caused by her refusal to stay for the shoot. Most people saw him as a formidable foe and got the hell out of the way when he wanted something. She obviously had no problem crossing him. She was something else, all right, with her sassy threats and mule-headed refusal to cooperate.

He liked that. She was up-front and to-the-point.

Unlike any of the other women he’d known.

A vision of Sonya, the rich man-eater who’d burned him, thudded into his head. He’d met her through a mutual friend, and they’d hit it off right away. Quickly becoming inseparable, they’d become engaged after six months. He’d been happy and confident of their future, and had been totally unprepared for her calling off the wedding a month before the date. Apparently she’d determined—with quite a bit of help from her snooty parents—that despite his recent business success, he wasn’t rich enough for her taste. She’d left him almost standing at the altar, and had married a “trust funder” like her a week after she was supposed to marry Ryan.

Her cutting, unexpected betrayal had left him shell-shocked, hurt and pretty damn determined to avoid her kind—wealthy princesses who chewed up and spit out men they deemed unworthy.

But this Anna, well, she seemed to be a hardworking girl and nothing like the heiress who’d dumped him on his butt. Not that her being down-to-earth and normal really mattered. What did matter was that he wanted to keep needy little kids from having the kind of lonely, neglected childhood he’d had. He wanted the publicity for the foundation. Unfortunately it looked like Anna wasn’t going to help him out and sign that release.

And that was really a shame. If any woman could help him win Best Wedding Couple, she could. Man, what a beauty she was, all fiery auburn hair, big, gorgeous brown eyes the color of aged brandy, and smooth, pale skin. He’d need to start being solicitous, something he wished he’d thought of earlier. He impatiently unbuttoned his coat and loosened his bow tie, still feeling warm.

He had to convince her to help him out.

He stared at the tent for a second, his mind firing up. How could he change her mind to his way of thinking? Maybe he could turn her around if he knew what he was up against.

Maybe not.

Either way, now that the picture had been taken, he would do his best to make sure the paper published it. It was time to make use of his well-developed sales skills, honed from having to battle for every inch of his business success, to make Anna see the light.

A nice, conciliatory lunch seemed in order.

He headed toward the dressing tents, consisting of temporary rooms created by draped black fabric and wood frames. Anna was nowhere in sight, but he figured she was still changing, unless she’d taken off in full wedding attire.

He moved closer to the opening in the fluttering material, spying the reporter—was her name Colleen?—as he drew near. The tall, attractive blonde stepped out, looking as frustrated as he felt.

“She still changing?” he asked.

She nodded and gave a tiny roll of her blue eyes. “She’s pretty mad.”

“I know.” He loosened his tie more, which was beginning to strangle the life out of him.

She gave him a wry smile. “You must have really gotten under her skin.”

Before he could react to that regrettable assessment, Anna’s head popped out from between the sheets. “I can hear every word you’re saying, you know.”

He stared at her for a long second, knocked speechless again by her lush auburn hair, clear, stunning brown eyes, arched eyebrows and creamy, flawless skin.

What a looker.

Recovering, he gave her a lopsided grin and winked, determined to keep things light. Maybe humor would gain her cooperation. “Then we’ll have to save any secrets for later.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “How can you joke around?”

He shrugged. “Maybe we both need to lighten up.”

She looked at the reporter. “Can’t you get rid of him?”

The other woman backed away, waving her hands in front of her. “I’m not getting involved in any of this.” She took her keys out of her purse. “I gotta go.”

“Traitor,” Anna said under her breath, her face screwed into a frown.

The reporter laughed. “Hey, I’m not helping either one of you out.” She raised a brow. “You backed out on our deal, so you’re on your own, although I would like you to reconsider and sign the release. Think how good it would be for your business.”

Anna’s scowl faded, but the tiny crease between her brows remained. “I’m really sorry, Colleen. I lost my nerve.”

“I know. But my editor is expecting to go ahead with the whole thing, especially since you’re the last photo to be taken and the spread’s almost ready for production.” She turned to leave. “Why don’t you think about it and contact me later, all right?” she said over her shoulder. “And keep in mind how hard it will be for me to find someone else on such short notice.”

Anna half nodded and Colleen left. Ryan mulled over how Joe Capriati, the supervising editor, had stressed the importance of the photo-release waiver. According to Joe, the Beacon required the release because some woman had sued the paper after they’d printed her picture without her permission the year before. They weren’t taking any chances now.

He looked to Anna, gearing up to do a little steamrolling to convince her to change her mind and sign that release.

She had pressed her glossy, pink lips into a firm line and was glaring at him, something he didn’t get the impression she did very often.

“Please leave me alone,” she said.

He raised his brows. “Oooooh, that’s real scary.”

She sniffed and yanked her head back into the dressing room, rattling the curtain. “I can be scarier, I assure you.”

His smile grew. Even though she could blow his whole plan for damage control and good publicity for the foundation sky-high, he liked her gumption. “Yeah, you’re a real scary gal,” he said, searching for levity.

He then took out his handheld, electronic planner and consulted it. No meetings until four o’clock. Plenty of time to convince her to sign the release. “How about lunch?”

She popped her head out and blinked owlishly. “You’re asking me out?”

“Well, yeah. Is that a problem?”

“Maybe.” She disappeared again. A moment later, she emerged wearing a light pink cotton sweater and figure-hugging, dark blue designer jeans that showed off her trim but curvy body. She had her wedding dress, covered by a garment bag, draped over one arm and an oversized straw tote bag in the other hand.

He snagged another look at her curves without being too obvious, his blood percolating. Damn, she was hot.

“I don’t usually go out with guys like you,” she said.

Guys like him. His hackles raised. Could she somehow smell the dirt poor of his childhood on him? He was sure that was one of the reasons Sonya had dumped him.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you mean, ‘like me’?”

“You know.” She waved a hand in the air. “Good-looking. Dimpled. Don’t make me go on.”

His hackles relaxed and her compliment filled him with a sense of pleasure. “Oh, so you’d rather spend time with an unappealing man without dimples?”

“Quite frankly, yes.” She ran her hands through her heavily styled, dark red hair, loosening the stiff strands. “I’ve found that most really charismatic men are selfish, manipulative, and—” she shrugged “—hurtful.”

Ryan instantly wanted to know what selfish jerk had hurt her. But he was pretty sure she wouldn’t share that sort of information with him. She barely knew him. “How about if I promise to behave? Then will you go? Quite frankly, I’m starving.” And he hated that feeling. It reminded him how often he hadn’t had enough to eat during his childhood. Now, eating was his favorite pastime.

She sighed heavily and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Look,” he said, taking another tack to convince her to go. “What’s the harm in an innocent lunch? You have to eat, right?”

She looked at him, an odd worry clearly reflected in her brown eyes. She chewed on her lip, glanced away, then looked back. She then rummaged around in her tote bag. “Can we go somewhere vegetarian?”

He cringed. He’d been a meat and potatoes man, and whatever else he could get his hands on, after he’d spent his childhood living off nothing but his mom’s stale sandwiches made with a layer of peanut butter so thin he could barely taste it. “How about a compromise?” he suggested. “I know a place where you can go veggie and I can get a thick steak.”

She drew out a large pair of dark sunglasses and put them on. “You eat steak? For lunch? That sounds wonderful.”

He stared quizzically at the shades for a moment. Why was she wearing such big, ugly sunglasses? He then cupped her elbow with his hand, appreciating the softness of her skin. “You don’t look like you need to diet.” Not with a body like that. And it surprised him that she liked the sound of steak. He figured her for a genuine legumes-for-lunch kind of gal.

“I don’t, but in the interest of keeping my body healthy, I make myself stay away from fatty food,” she said. She pierced him with her dark eyes. “Okay. You’ve talked me into it. Lead the way.”

“Let me change and we’ll go.” He headed toward the tent where he’d left his street clothes, inordinately happy she’d agreed to go considering this lunch was nothing but an opportunity to convince her to sign the release.

As he changed out of his tux, a vision of Sonya rose in his brain like a bad dream. Maybe he shouldn’t spend any time with Anna, who he was obviously attracted to.

He willed away the tiny lump of anxiety taking up residence in his gut. Relax. Lunch with Anna was no big deal. It was for his image and his pet charity, an organization that helped underprivileged kids. Two very good causes he was committed to. Yes, lunch with the delectable Anna was simply a casual meal designed to garner her cooperation.

Nothing more than that, right?

Anna followed the waiter through the posh restaurant to their table. She tried to calm her still fluttering nerves. What had possessed her to agree to this lunch?

Aside from her unacceptable fascination with the handsome man following behind her, his hand burning a hole in the small of her back, of course.

Actually, she’d agreed to appease her guilt, hoping she could help Ryan come up with another way to acquire the publicity he wanted for his charity. She’d had quite a bit of experience, through her mother, with charitable organizations and fund-raising.

And it certainly wasn’t a crime to enjoy a necessary meal with an attractive, charming male, something she hadn’t experienced since Giorgio had swept her off her feet.

A cold shiver slid up her spine. Giorgio had been oh-so-attractive and charming at first, blinding her to his true nature and intentions. Like a total ninny, she’d forgotten all of the other men who’d burned her and she’d fallen for him faster than a bear stock market. She couldn’t let down her guard and make that mistake again.

Thankfully, this was a simple lunch to discuss Ryan’s charity, not a date. Forcing her thoughts away from Giorgio, she swallowed and tried to focus on her goal—to find another way to help Ryan so he would leave her alone, ensuring her secret identity would be safe.

She pressed her large straw hat lower on her head and adjusted her sunglasses when every woman they passed turned to watch Ryan walk by. At what she guessed to be well over six feet two inches, he was hard to miss. Especially since his tall, broad body was impeccably presented by the well-cut designer business suit he’d changed into. He moved with an easy, loose-limbed male grace that all women probably found hard to ignore.

Anna vowed to fly in the face of tradition.

Ryan was just a guy who had offered to buy her lunch.

No problem.

She would simply eat lunch, brainstorm about fund-raising, and that would be the end of their brief association.

The waiter seated them in a secluded booth at a table draped in white linen, set with lots of crystal and silver gleaming in the muted afternoon sunlight. People dressed in business attire talked in subdued tones and muted strains of Vivaldi floated to her ears.

The pleasant, earthy scent of cooking meat laced the air. Her mouth watered but she tried to ignore the feeling in favor of maintaining a healthy diet.

Did Ryan eat at such elegant places often? She usually avoided swanky restaurants because she’d spent too many hours of her youth stuck with the pretensions and dictates of society her father had drilled into her head.

She could make her own choices now, thank goodness.

Anna took the menu and opened it, pleased and surprised by the vegetarian selections, then glanced at Ryan. “Aren’t you going to look at the menu?”

“I already know what I’m having.”

“Oh. So you come here often?”

“All the time. Their steaks are the best in town.”

“You like to eat, don’t you?” she asked, smiling.

A shadow appeared in his eyes. “Yeah, I do,” he said curtly.

She drew her brows together, puzzled by his clipped answer, then turned her attention back to the menu. Even though her mouth was still watering over the smell of steak in the air, she suppressed a shudder at what his arteries must look like if he ate red meat all the time.

She then decided on a pasta and vegetable dish, and looked back at Ryan, who gazed at her with undisguised interest. “What?” she asked, ignoring the thrill that raced through her when he looked at her with his piercing blue eyes.

He kicked up the corner of his mouth. “I was just wondering why you’re wearing that hat and glasses. They don’t look like your style.”

She glanced away, then pushed her hair behind her ear beneath her hat. How could she possibly explain her outlandish disguise? The truth was, she couldn’t without giving away her real identity.

But Ryan had already seen her face, and hadn’t recognized her. Maybe her auburn dye job had thrown him off track. Since their booth was fairly well hidden, perhaps she could dispense with the hat and glasses during lunch to shove Ryan off the subject. “I…uh, well…” She removed her hat and glasses and put them in her straw tote bag. “No reason.” She gave him a brilliant smile.

He stared at her appreciatively and smiled back, shaking his head as if so say, “Yeah, right.” “Okay, you have your reasons, which you obviously aren’t going to share with me. What I want to know is why you agreed to pose for the spread in the first place.”

She held up her hands. “Look, I know it seems strange, but the regular model didn’t show and I needed my gown to be part of the spread.” She picked up her water glass and gave him a wry smile. “I know changing my mind might seem silly. But when you showed up…well, you weren’t what I was expecting.”

He leaned his forearms on the table and lifted a quizzical brow. “How so?”

“Oh, come on,” she said, smiling. “You must know that you’re an attractive man. I didn’t want to risk winning Best Couple and having to take part in any more…stuff.” Being in front of a camera had always terrified her. Or, rather, the results terrified her.

“Oh, so I’m a dangerous guy, then?” he asked, mischief glinting in his eyes. His dimple flashed at the corner of his mouth. “I’m wounded.”

Anna felt herself heating up, reacting to his teasing tone and appealing, lazy grin. “Yeah, I’ll bet.” She took a long swig of water, hoping to cool down. “You, Mr. Cavanaugh, are the kind of man who is inherently dangerous.”

His expression sobered. “You’re serious.”

“Absolutely. I’ve known men like you.” Men who made you trust, convinced you to believe, then broke your heart. “All flash and charisma. Nothing more.”

He leaned forward, his eyes intent. “Thanks a lot. And maybe I should mention that the wedding pictures were going to be fake, remember? You weren’t really marrying me, you know.”

No, she wasn’t. She was never going to have the kind of fairy-tale wedding she designed gowns for. She doubted she’d ever be marrying anyone or that she would ever be able to trust another man again. And that had to be fine. If she succeeded in meeting her father’s terms, her design business would be enough and, more importantly, would prove she had worth beyond her cash value or her banking skills.

She inclined her head. “You have a point, and I realize I may have…overreacted. But in my opinion, with you as my groom, winning Best Couple would have been a given.”

He glanced down and almost looked embarrassed by her compliment. “Well, I don’t know about that…” He trailed off and cleared his throat. “So you think you overreacted?” he asked, blatantly directing the subject away from himself.

She took a whole wheat roll from the basket on the table and eyed Ryan thoughtfully, wondering about the incongruity between his extreme good looks and polish and his almost blushing discomfiture over her flattering remark. “Maybe,” she hedged, hardly able to tell him that what other men had put her through had left a wound that affected all of the decisions she made. “Why all the questions?”

He rubbed his neck and looked sideways at her. “Other than the fact that you’re running around like a secret agent with a floppy hat and dark glasses on?” He opened one side of his jacket, cocked his head toward his shoulder and said, “Come in Double-O-Seven, come in.”

She grinned and held up her hands, liking this teasing, lighthearted side of him. “All right, all right,” she said, laughing. “I get the picture.” She sat for a long moment, gradually sobering. She had to remember why her disguise was so important—she wanted to succeed on her own. “I admit, what I’m doing seems strange, and maybe a little comical, but, trust me, I have a good reason, all right?”

He gazed at her for a moment, his expression turning serious, then nodded. “All right. And for the record, I was also asking questions because I’m curious about why you backed out. As I said, my charity is in the middle of a fund-raising campaign, and could really use the publicity the article would have generated. Seeing as how the Mentor A Child Foundation will suffer, I wanted to know what your reasons were.”

A bothersome sensation rolled around inside of her. Mentor A Child helped little kids and she might be keeping that from happening. “Are my admittedly nebulous reasons good enough for you?”

He lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “I guess, although I was hoping maybe you’d reconsider.”

A heavy load of guilt for not helping him smothered her. “Isn’t there any other way to get the publicity you need?” she asked, hoping to appease her guilt. She’d always been a pleaser, just like her mom, and it went against her natural instincts to do something that might hurt someone else—especially needy children.

“Maybe. But this article would reach a lot of readers and would be a great way to raise awareness for the Mentor A Child Foundation.” He paused and took a roll and put it on his bread plate. “Although there is a bungee-jumping stunt I was considering.”

Horror shot through her. “Bungee jumping? Are you crazy?”

“No, just driven to support this charity,” he said seriously. “Mentor A Child helps little kids who have nobody else in their lives.”

She was surprised that a flashy guy like him would care about little kids. Most didn’t. “Why don’t you just pay to run ads on TV or in the newspaper then? I’m sure you could afford to do that, right?”

He looked away. “I could,” he said, inclining his head, a new shadow lurking in his eyes. “And I will if I have to. But…this way the publicity wouldn’t seem so self-serving. You know what I mean?”

She nodded, studying him, sensing that there was more to this than he was letting on. But she wouldn’t press; she had her little secret, too, and the less said, the better.

The waiter arrived. Anna ordered, knowing she needed to eat, but the guilt and apprehension roiling around in her stomach like acid had killed her appetite. Was she overreacting and being selfish by saying no to the article? Or was she just being smart by keeping her distance from a man who seemed so much like the other men who’d scorched her, not to mention that she would be ensuring the success of her business? She’d never had something that she could call her own, something that wasn’t somehow given to her because of her connection to the Sinclair name. It was important for her dream to succeed on her own merits.

On the other hand, it was exceedingly difficult to ignore the fact that she was disappointing a lot of people, and possibly damaging Ryan’s charity, by backing out now. Should she reconsider? It had always been tough for her to put herself first, to stand up to other people, usually her dad, to get what she wanted.

Feeling torn, she eyed Ryan. “I feel really bad about all of this.”

He pinned her with his sapphire eyes. “Bad enough to change your mind?”

She let out a heavy breath. How had this become so complicated? Ever since she’d attended a fairy-tale wedding when she was a young girl, all she’d ever wanted to do was design wedding dresses. The fantasy of weddings had always appealed to her. To be able to do that, however, she had to meet her father’s terms, and that meant concealing her identity long enough to succeed on her own.

It didn’t help that, just like her dear mother, Anna had a soft streak a mile wide and a deep sense of altruism she was proud of. Her mother had always supported numerous charities.

Thinking of her wonderfully philanthropic mother clinched it. Anna simply couldn’t, in good conscience, ignore his charitable efforts. “Oh, all right,” she whispered, gripping the edge of the table, hoping she didn’t regret this decision. “I’ll sign the release.”

He reached over and put his hand on hers, then gently rubbed his fingers over the back of her hand. The contact made her jump, but she didn’t retract her hand. Warmth spread into every cell in her body, and she wanted to curl her fingers around his big, solid hand. She didn’t. Ryan was the wrong man for her to hold on to. She knew now that any man was.

“Thank you,” he said, his eyes warm with gratitude. “I appreciate it.”

She tugged her hand from his, needing to sever the connection between them. She might have overreacted to “The Bridal Chronicles,” but she wasn’t overreacting to Ryan. He was dangerous, everything she’d learned to avoid.

She reached for her water glass again and gulped some down. When she’d arrived at the restaurant, she hadn’t thought having lunch with Ryan would be a problem. But she’d been dead wrong. Not only had he talked her into signing the release, but she was also extremely attracted to a man she should stay away from.

Was history repeating itself?

A hollow pit formed in her stomach and she couldn’t help feeling that she was making another giant mistake.

Ryan stood next to his car and put up a hand to Anna as she climbed into her small car. She’d promised to meet him at the Beacon right away to sign the release.

Dragging his eyes away from the enticing curve of her hip as she slid into the seat, he focused on her gorgeous face, the lower part visible beneath the wide brim of the ridiculous hat she’d put back on.

What a beauty she was. He’d been spellbound by her creamy skin and how it had glowed in the muted lighting of the restaurant. Her thick, dark red hair had perfectly contrasted with her porcelain complexion and stunning, amber-shaded eyes.

Yeah, she was just the “bride” he needed. He frowned. For publicity, of course. After Sonya’s torching, posing for a fake wedding photo was as close as he’d ever get to being part of a wedded couple.

He sat down, turned on the ignition, and shifted his Porsche into gear, heading out of the parking lot.

Thank goodness his lunch date had turned out so well and Anna had changed her mind.

As he cruised toward the bridge that would take him over the Willamette River, he relaxed. Anna had agreed to sign the release, clearing the way for the picture to be printed. The Mentor A Child Foundation would get the publicity they needed and, hopefully, lots of neglected kids would be spared the kind of childhood he’d had. No thanks to Joanna, his image was well on the way to being squeaky clean again.

Smiling, he downshifted and zipped past another car, enjoying the sight of the Portland skyline, rising majestically in front of him against the spectacular, blue summer sky. He glanced down at the river running beneath the bridge. Sailboats and pleasure-craft bobbed like toys on the sparkling water. Casting his gaze right, he admired the other bridges connecting Portland’s east and west sides. Ahead of him loomed the West Hills, studded with evergreens glowing like emeralds in the sun.

Light-years from the ramshackle dump located in a podunk town in eastern Washington State he’d grown up in. Surrounded by poverty, constantly hungry, he’d dreamed of living in a city like Portland, a prosperous city full of tall buildings, sparkling rivers and opportunities for those, like himself, willing to work for them.

With those dreams driving him, he’d left his dirt-poor, horrific childhood and neglectful parents behind at seventeen. He’d worked his way through college digging ditches, scraped his way up and built his business from nothing. Now, ten years after he’d graduated, he was a successful businessman. He had the opportunity to promote an organization he believed in, an organization that helped kids who reminded him of himself.

When he reached the west side of the river, he swung a quick left and headed toward the office of the Beacon. Heady anticipation rose in him, carving away some of the worry that had been eating at him since Joanna had dumped her lies on the press about the kind of employer he was and his image had taken a nosedive, threatening his involvement with the foundation.

Tightening his hand on the steering wheel, he downshifted and jetted through an intersection, just making the light. He stopped at the next red light, looked in the rearview mirror and straightened his tie. Best Wedding Couple and free publicity for the Mentor A Child Foundation were just around the corner. Things were going exactly the way he wanted.

Within days, his problems would be solved.

And Anna’s problems?

Ryan shoved that niggling thought away. Anna might be a hardworking, normal woman he admired, but that didn’t make any difference. He needed to concentrate on what was important.

His business.

His charity work.

Keeping his heart safe.

After Sonya, he couldn’t let anything else matter.

Chapter Three

After she met Ryan at the Beacon and signed the release, Anna had her long-awaited meeting with Mr. Lewis, the president of Perfect Bridal. He’d seemed impressed with her designs, but admitted he was concerned about her lack of design credentials and virtually unknown name. She left the meeting with his promise to contact her in a few days when he’d made a decision about which designer he would feature exclusively in his stores.

Feeling deflated, and a bit desperate, she’d headed back to her hotel, thankful the meeting hadn’t been a total disaster. Mr. Lewis hadn’t recognized her, something she always worried about when she wasn’t able to wear her disguise during business meetings.

As she’d driven to her hotel after dropping her soiled wedding gown at the dry cleaners, she had decided that the decision she’d made to sign the release and let the picture go to print had been the right one, for both her and Ryan. If Mr. Lewis saw the picture in print, he might view her as more established and be more inclined to choose her designs. Ryan’s charity would benefit. It seemed like a win-win situation.

The next day, she spent most of her time in her hotel room, working a new design that featured lots of taffeta and delicate Italian lace, then munching on the healthiest snacks she could find in the hotel vending machine. As she worked, concentrating on the square neckline and bell-shaped sleeves, she ignored thoughts of Ryan clamoring through her brain, absolutely determined not to remember how his hair had looked like dark honey in the sunlight. How his tux had hugged his well-honed physique. How his electric-blue eyes had zeroed in on her, making her pulse speed up.

She drummed her drawing pencil on the table, her lip clamped between her teeth, looking at her sketch. She raised a brow. The clean lines, defined by the taffeta skirt, looked right, and the overall medieval look appealed to her, but the empire waist and the dimensions of the neckline, which she’d been working on for an hour, were off.

Frustrated, she tore off the page to expose a clean sheet of paper. Blue eyes appeared in her brain…

Darn. Why was she unable to get Ryan out of her mind?

She dropped the pencil and fidgeted. She then scraped her thumbnail clean of the French manicure nail polish that she’d painstakingly applied last night while watching old Brady Bunch reruns on TV, fantasizing about growing up in the Brady’s normal—or her skewed perception of normal—household.

Her phone rang and she jumped. Ryan? Eyeing the phone, she chided herself for thinking he had any reason to call her and snatched the handset up. “Hello?”

“Miss Simpson?”

“Yes?”

“This is the concierge desk. Pierre’s Dry Cleaning is here to deliver your cleaning, but there’s a bit of a problem. Would you mind coming down to clear this up?”

She breathed a sigh of relief that it wasn’t Ryan, only to suffer a spurt of anxiety over the wedding dress. “I’ll be right down.”

A few minutes later, she hurried across the lobby to the concierge desk. The dress was one of only a few she’d brought with her. It was made of lots of delicate satin, fragile lace and intricate beadwork, and the matching veil was fragile, as well. She fervently hoped the dry cleaners hadn’t ruined or misplaced it. “I’m Miss Simpson. You have my dry cleaning?”

The older, gray-haired man behind the desk smiled. “Ah, yes, miss. Thank you for coming down.” He held up the large dry cleaning parcel, then pointed to the receipt. “As you can see, the receipt from Pierre’s clearly stated you had left two items, yet only one item was returned.”

She nodded, frowning slightly. “Yes, I did leave two items.” She unzipped the heavy plastic garment bag. “A dress and a veil.” She carefully moved the bead-encrusted dress aside and let out a breath when she spied the spidery veil tucked inside. “And they’re both here.”

“Ah, good. Just wanted to be sure.” He motioned for a young man, presumably from Pierre’s, to come forward. “Everything is in order.”

The short, blond young man looked at her, squinted, then pointed to her face. “Hey, I know you. Aren’t you from Philly?” He cocked his head to the side and squinted. “Aren’t you some rich dude’s daughter? I used to live there, and my girlfriend cut out newspaper pictures of you and taped them all over the place, trying to get her hair to look like yours.” He shook his head, smiling appreciatively. “Man, she never even came close. Didn’t you used to be a brunette?”

A chill skipped up Anna’s spine. She reached up to her head. Darn. She’d left her room in such a hurry she’d forgotten her hat and glasses.

He continued staring, then snapped his fingers. “Anna Sinclair, right?”

Her stomach twisted into a panic-induced knot, she ducked her head, grabbed her dry cleaning and mumbled, “Must be somebody else.” She took off at a sharp clip across the lobby, wondering how she could have been so stupid as to forget her hat and glasses.

One quick trip to the lobby without her disguise and some dry cleaner deliveryman had recognized her. Granted, he was from Philadelphia, and she was much less well-known here in Oregon. But his recognizing her still bothered her.

While she waited for the elevator, chewing on her lip in the unladylike way her father hated, one thought blazed through her brain. She absolutely couldn’t afford to risk her identity and a chance to realize her dream, as Anna Simpson, by allowing the picture of her and Ryan go to print, even if Mr. Lewis might view the extra publicity as positive.

Even if she felt incredibly bad that she couldn’t help Ryan’s charity.

Oh, how she wished she’d put this all together before she foolishly agreed to fill in for the missing model.

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