I'm No Angel (12 page)

“Well, Countess,” Angel continued, determined not to let Dagger bother her, even more determined to get even with Tom for his wisecrack about buying her, “Tom's affliction isn't something that one usually discusses in public, and it's not something that he would like everyone in Palm Beach to know, but I do feel you should be aware of the truth since you caught us…well…almost doing the deed.”

Frederike gasped. “Please. Tell me more.”

“It's quite serious, you know. And such a shame. But in spite of all the shrinks he's seen, Tom can't get a woman without paying for one.” Angel smiled sweetly, while dragging her fingernails along Tom's cheek. “It's that little problem of his.”

“Problem?”
Frederike's eyes widened.

“He may have money, good looks, and charm,” Angel said, “but, hmmm, how can I put this delicately?” She shrugged. “Highly paid escorts like me don't care how horribly a man performs sexually.”

“I had no idea, Mr. Donovan.” Frederike shook her head in shock. “If you don't mind me being a bit forward, have you tried Viagra?”

“Don't care for the stuff.”

Frederike's eyes narrowed in immense concern. “You have seen a good doctor, haven't you?”

“Not recently.”

“Well, I'll have my butler get in touch with yours and give you the name and phone number of the man my late husband used. He worked wonders on Evan. A little implant, you know.”

“That would be so nice of you, Countess,” Angel said sweetly. “After all, it is just a
little
implant that he needs.”

Now that Angel had stuck the knife into Tom for his vicious comment about paying her for her services, she was on a roll, and turned her anger on Dagger. “And what about you, Mr. Zane. Do you need a little something special to help you get it up?”

Dagger's eyes narrowed as he glared at his ex-wife. His anger was palpable. “I don't believe that is a subject one should discuss in the company of a refined lady like Frederike.”

The Countess tilted her head to smile up at Dagger. “You are just the sweetest man. Always so considerate.”

Angel thought she'd throw up.

“The two of you know each other well, then?” Tom asked, directing his question to Frederike and Dagger, as if he knew Angel would want to be privy to that bit of information.

“We've known each other a week now. And such a lovely week it has been,” Frederike said, all smiles as she held on tight to Dagger's arm and looked adoringly into his still-handsome but despicable mug. “Mr. Zane is a walker,” Frederike continued. “A new walker, of course, recently introduced to me by Stephania Allardyce. But he's ever so good at the job.”

“Walker?” Tom questioned.

“An escort,” Dagger admitted. “An
unpaid
escort.”

“I forget you're new to the island, Tommy,”
Frederike quipped. “You don't mind me calling you Tommy, do you?”

“Please do.” Tom grinned. “In fact, I'll let you be the only one on the face of the earth who's allowed to call me that.”

“You are such a lovely man.” Frederike smiled. “If you weren't so wealthy, I'm sure you'd make an absolutely grand walker. There are so many women like me on the island who no longer have husbands to escort them around town. No sex, mind you, just lively conversation, a strong arm to hold on to, a pretty face to look at over dinner, and a good dance partner. Dagger is all of those things, and he does everything with a delightful smile.”

“And Mr. Zane does this for absolutely nothing?” Tom asked.

“For the sheer pleasure of Frederike's company.” Dagger patted the Countess's arm. A spark almost glinted off of his perfect white teeth as he smiled down at her.

“I believe, however,” Angel added, “that the Countess foots the bill for everything.”

“You make it sound quite sinful.” Frederike hit Angel with frowning eyes. “In truth, I have money to burn, I'm of age, and Mr. Zane has been more than willing to escort me to places I've always dreamed of seeing, but never would have dared venturing to on my own…like this place.”

“You're a lucky woman,” Tom said, but Angel felt sorry for her—first that she didn't have a real man at her side; second, that she'd fallen into Dagger's clutches. It might be wise to warn Frederike LeVien, but Angel had no proof that Dagger
had done anything or planned to do anything wrong.

“I am quite lucky.” Frederike smiled widely. “Why, who would have thought a man who once worked as a P.I. here in town would become a walker? Of course, he was married at the time. Perhaps you've met his ex? Angel Devlin?”

“Lovely lady,” Tom said, smiling at Angel when she looked his way. “Deeply involved in earning money—in any way she can—for charity.”

“I don't have such fond memories of her,” Dagger said, glaring heatedly at Angel when she twisted her head around to see his reaction.

“Messy divorce?” Tom asked.

“Messy marriage, too.” Dagger's beady eyes slid up and down Angel's body. “The woman was far too involved in her work, tried to keep secrets from me, she even went so far as to wear a disguise once, thinking she could sneak around behind my back.” Dagger grinned from Angel to Tom. “But I've put that experience behind me.”

Frederike laughed giddily, waving a beringed hand around, drawing attention back to herself. “I do believe I've heard enough talk about sex and marriage for one night. I should get home before that nosy butler of mine comes looking for me.”

Frederike straightened the fur-trimmed hat that had slid a tad sideways on her head. “You know, dahlings, I believe my children would like to have me declared incompetent so they can control my money. I also believe they've asked my butler to keep an eye on me, so”—she grinned—“I've gone out of my way to give the snoops ever so much to suspect me of and talk about. Why, I'm sure
there's someone watching me now, and won't my children be shocked when they hear where I've spent the evening? Right now that nasty butler probably thinks I'm having an affair with a man who's out to screw me and take all my money.” Frederike patted Dagger on the cheek, just like the mindful dog he was. “But we know that's not true.”

“Of course it isn't true, Countess.” Angel glared at Dagger. “Dagger doesn't look at all like the kind of man who'd screw a woman and take her for all she's worth.”

Frederike hit Angel with another one of her condescending grins, then turned all of her attention to Tom. “It was a delight to meet you, Tommy.” Frederike took Tom's hand and held it tightly. “I'm sure we'll bump into each other again. After all, we still have a good month left to the season.”

Frederike air-kissed both of Tom's cheeks and gave Angel a withering glare. “Tootle-ooo!” she chirped, and, turning on the heel of her crystal-studded shoes, sashayed from the club with Dagger in tow.

Tom's warm, powerful fingers touched Angel's chin, and he drew her face toward his. His smile was hot. A wicked gleam twinkled in his eyes. “Now that that's over and done with, want to go back to my place and try that lap dance again?”

Angel's eyes narrowed. “You're insufferable. Not only that, but you're arrogant and cocky and—” She grabbed her purse and pulled out the folded check Tom had given her. She slapped it against his chest. “I may need this money, Mr.
Donovan. But I no longer want it, nor do I want to have anything to do with you.”

Tom grinned. “I take it that means we won't be having sex tonight.”

“Tonight, tomorrow, or any other time.” Angel shoved out of his lap. “And if you don't mind, I'd like you, your libido, and your overabundance of testosterone to stay away from me, because you're making my life miserable.”

A
ngel ripped the wig off her head as she stalked across the parking lot. The night air was almost unbearably thick and hot and she longed to get in the car, roll down the windows, and drive fast, just to let the wind toss around her and hopefully blow away her rip-roaring fury.

She aimed her key ring at the Jaguar and heard the driver's door unlock, but before she could slip inside, Tom had his hands around her waist and spun her into his arms.

“I've learned from experience that a woman who's pissed at a man shouldn't be sitting behind the wheel.”

“Excuse me?”

“You're angry. You're tense. And your mind is a million miles away, which means I'm going to drive.”

Angel struggled against him to no avail. “I'm more than capable.”

He smiled warmly. “Humor me.”

“I think I humored you enough with that lap dance.”

“That wasn't humorous. It was sexy as hell and I had the distinct feeling you were enjoying it just as much as me.”

“That lap dance was a mistake.”

“Mind telling me why?”

“Sure. I hate men.”

“All men?” Tom asked, keeping her trapped, his big body pressed lightly against hers, his callused fingers whispering over her cheek, brushing away damp, wayward hair. “Or is it just the guy you used to be married to that you hate?”

Angel's eyes narrowed. “You think this anger I'm feeing right now is because of my ex?”

“Isn't it?”

“I can't waste my energy being angry with him. Yeah, I hate him. Yeah, I wish he'd fall off the face of the earth. But getting angry over anything he says or does at this stage of the game would mean he still has power over me. And he doesn't.”

“Then would you please tell me why you're so damn angry?”

“Because you, Mr. Donovan”—Angel stabbed at his chest with her finger—“told Frederike you bought and paid for me.”

“That was a joke. Nothing more than a half-assed comment to make up for the stupidity of what Frederike was saying.”

“I didn't find it all that funny.”

“I thought you had a better sense of humor.”

Angel sighed heavily. “I told you this morning
that I couldn't be bought. It irritated the hell out of me that you'd even suggest such a thing.”

“Yeah, but the only reason I'm here with you tonight is because I paid you damn good money for the privilege.”

“You didn't pay for me or for sex, you paid to go on a stakeout with me and nothing more.”

Tom's eyes narrowed, but more out of concern than anger. “What's this about, Angel?”

She tried to turn her face away from him, but he curled his fingers around her cheek, forced her to look at him. “Tell me. Like I told you before, you might be surprised how understanding I can be.”

Angel plowed her fingers through her hair. “You're not the only one with bad memories.” She sighed heavily. “I try not to think about them. For the most part I try to laugh things off, but seeing Dagger tonight, watching him leer at me, knowing that he knew who was behind my ridiculous disguise, made me remember the way he used to tell me that he owned me.
Owned
me, as if I were nothing more than one of the fancy toys he liked to buy with the money I worked damn hard for. And then you pop off with that completely insensitive comment.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Please don't say that unless you mean it.”

“I don't say things I don't mean, Angel. I'm honest to a fault—you should have figured that out by now.”

Angel looked long and hard into his eyes and something she saw deep inside him, something that he made her feel, something she couldn't un
derstand, made her believe he was telling the truth.

“I hate losing control,” she said softly. “I hate looking like a lily-livered lady who needs a man to take care of her, to soothe her.”

“Never in my wildest dreams would I ever see you as a lily-livered lady.”

“No?”

Tom shook his head. “You're the kind of lady who fights fire with fire, who gives as good as she gets, and you don't bow down to anyone. That's what I like about you.”

She laughed lightly. “I thought it was my body that attracted you.”

“I like the whole package.”

Tom leaned forward to kiss her, but she moved away. “I think we've had enough kissing for one night.”

“I thought we'd just gotten started.”

“The stakeout's over, Tom. I know what Frederike's up to—which is absolutely nothing her butler needs to worry about. It's late, I'm tired, so why don't we head back to Jazzzzz and call it a night?”

Tom looked at his watch. “It's barely two
A.M
. We've got at least another four hours before morning.”

Angel sighed heavily. “You're not going to give me a break, are you?”

“The last thing you need is to be alone.” His fingers drifted up her arms and settled on her shoulders, digging gently into her overly taut muscles. “You need a drink. You need a massage.”

“Let me guess. You're suggesting we go back to my place for a nightcap.”

“Not your place, Angel. Mine. I've got a pool and the ocean out back. I've got beer and wine and I could even make a martini if you want one. And I've got something else, too.”

“I know. An Italian Renaissance bed that's all set up and ready to go.”

“Yeah, I've got that. But I've also got a grand piano. If you don't want me to take away your worries with a sweaty roll in the hay”—he winked—“let me do for you what I do for me when I've got too much on my mind.”

“What's that?”

“Tickle the ivories.” He cradled her cheeks in his hands and lightly kissed her forehead. “And once I have you good and relaxed, just say the word, and I'd be more than happy to tickle you, too.”

 

Mere Belle was wild. Overgrown with royal Poinciana that hadn't yet burst into a riot of color. That would come in June, when the oppressive heat and humidity drove most of the islanders off to their summer places in Newport or Southampton.

But Tom liked the heat.

Especially the heat of the woman beside him in the car. She was tempting and beautiful and…and he knew he'd have to move slowly. Angel wasn't the kind of woman a man could rush.

Hell, she was the kind of woman a man should take his time with. Every second with her was worth savoring.

That, of course, didn't negate the fact that he
wanted to spend long hours with her in the sack. He just needed to bide his time, treat her right, gently, until she was damn good and ready.

The drive up to the chateau wound through palms, wild orchid, and a thicket of twisted bougainvillea in every color known to man. The stone driveway was torn up in places, but he didn't apologize for the mess that he'd already grown to love.

Apparently he didn't need to apologize for anything, because Angel looked at the mansion and the five-acre estate with wide-eyed wonder.

“It's beautiful,” she whispered. “Not at all like the overly manicured mansions in town, places where you're afraid to walk on the grass or pick a flower for fear you might mess up the carefully planned aesthetic value.”

“Living in a place like that would drive me crazy. I'm used to the Everglades—where everything is wild.”

“Do you miss it?” she asked, as Tom pulled the Jag to a stop in front of the white stone chateau.

“I haven't had time to miss it.” He reached across the car and, resting his hand on the back of the passenger seat, coiled a lock of Angel's soft, silky hair around his fingers. “I've got a lot of landscaping to do. Cleaning. Painting. Decorating.”

“You could hire someone to do all of that.”

“And then what? Sit around on my butt all day, drinking beer, watching ESPN, getting fat, and being lazy?”

“Join a country club or two. Play polo. Tennis. Go sailing.”

“Do I look like the country club type to you?”

Angel shook her head. “That's what makes you so attractive. You're not like anyone else in town.”

That was a come-on for a kiss if he'd ever heard one, and he didn't waste time making his move. He curled his fingers around Angel's neck and leaned toward her. Her lips were ripe. Warm. And he could already taste their sweetness.

Her sapphire eyes darkened. Turned dreamy.

She licked her lips, and he closed his eyes, moving in for the kill.

Before he knew what was happening, Angel's silky hair pulled free from his grasp. He heard the click of the car door opening, and the clack of high heels on the cracked stone drive.

His eyes popped open to see Angel peering at him from outside, a wide smile on her face. “Did you forget that you were going to play the piano for me?”

He'd like to forget, but he had a damn good idea that she'd remind him again and again if he tried to do anything tonight that even remotely smacked of sex.

Tom threw open the driver's door and climbed out. Skirting around the Jag, he took Angel's arm, trying to ignore her heat, the way her breasts jiggled when she walked, and her smile. He ushered her up the white stone entry and through a pair of double doors that still squeaked from lack of use.

“It's empty,” Angel said, a frown narrowing her eyes as she stood in the massive entry hall. “I expected the walls to be covered with portraits and landscapes, and I was sure the place would be
scattered with seventeenth-century European furniture.”

Tom leaned against the wall he'd recently begun to strip of its peeling wallpaper. He folded his arms across his chest. “You sound disappointed.”

“Just surprised,” she said, her spiked heels clicking on the marble flooring that needed to be cleaned and buffed. She strolled to the center of the ballroom, closed her eyes, and inhaled, her luscious breasts swelling, rising, close to tumbling out of the tight red dress she was wearing.

“Someone's been using lemon oil in here.”

“Me.” Tom joined her, the thud of his crocodile boots on marble echoing through the room. “There's a lot of wood that needs polishing. A lot of walls that need stripping.” He turned in a circle, imagining the beauty of the place once he finished his work. “I figure I've got a year or two of work to do, but I'm in no hurry. As for furnishings…”

He looked across the room, at the shiny black Steinway grand that stood not far from the doors leading out to the courtyard. “I've got a piano down here and another one upstairs in my bedroom, right by the big screen TV and that big old Italian Renaissance bed I just had delivered.” Tom smiled. “What more could a man want? Or need?”

The smile she offered was filled with just one answer. “A family to fill up the empty spaces.”

Tom laughed uncomfortably. Family wasn't something he normally talked about with a
woman he eventually hoped to have knock-down-drag-out sex with.

He didn't want to even think about commitment.

He walked to the doors leading to the courtyard and looked out toward the dock and the yacht that was only dimly lit at this time of morning. “My grandfather lives on the yacht out back,” Tom said, “and before you ask why he doesn't live inside with me, let's just say he prefers living on the water. But”—he shrugged—“that's about as close as family's going to get to Mere Belle for quite a few years.”

“I can certainly understand that.”

That hadn't been the comment he'd expected. Part of him expected Angel to talk about her own desire for a family—she was a woman, after all—but instead she walked to the piano and caressed the ebony wood. “Did you really wrestle alligators in your past?” she asked, “or are you a concert pianist who likes to tease?”

Tom turned away from the French doors. “I would have thought you'd know everything there is to know about my past by now.”

“I ran out of time to do a thorough search into your past. And you did tell me if I had any questions about you, I should just ask. So”—she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye—“no more joking. You
are
a concert pianist, aren't you?”

“That was the dream my grandparents had for my mother, but she married my dad instead. As for me,” Tom said, strolling toward the piano, “I must have inherited her talent, but there aren't
many concert pianists living in Everglade City.” He sat down on the shiny black bench. “There are tourist attractions, though.”

He put his fingers on the keys and as he did so often, let the music he felt so deeply inside him come out.

Angel sat beside him, her arm brushing against his as he played, sending a thrill through his body that he didn't need right now—since sex was off-limits.

He tried to remember what he'd been talking about, and couldn't help but wonder how she'd managed to mess so completely with his mind, since he usually had so much control. It must have something to do with wanting something he couldn't have.

Yet.

He launched into a little Chopin, and concentrated on conversation instead of his libido. “My grandfather opened an alligator farm in the mid-fifties. It wasn't much, just a neon sign, fresh lemonade, a fenced pond, and a couple of gators that people driving down the highway would pay fifty cents to see. Over the years he bought a little more land, added snakes, rare birds.”

Tom gave the keys a little trill, interrupted Chopin to add an improvised birdcall, and grinned at Angel, whose sweet, lush breasts were rising and falling lightly with each breath she took.

His libido was winning the battle.

“When my dad died I went to live with my grandfather. Pop's kind of a curmudgeonly old guy and he wasn't all that keen on having me live with him in the beginning.”

“Why?”

“I was four and scared to death of just about everything. I hated the gators, screamed when I saw the snakes, and refused to get close to anything that had fangs or slithered.”