All Fired Up (13 page)

“So…what?” Jeana’s brows lifted but her botoxed forehead stayed smooth.

“What do you think of my suit?”

“The same thing I did when I helped you pick it out. It’s fabulous. Are those the Jimmy’s we bought at Saks? Your uncle would be proud. Speaking of whom…” She paused and took a sip of white wine.

A waiter stopped by and greeted them, handing them menus and telling them about the chef’s choice. When he left, Jeana continued.

“Have you seen the photos he shot for that new European underwear line, Uber Homme? That campaign could single-handedly revive the tightie-whitie. I will meet that model, with or without Seamus’s help.”

Calleigh laughed. This might be a different life, but Jeana sure hadn’t changed. “I’ll see if I can get you a phone number. Although you know he’s probably gay.”

“I could straighten him out. In every sense of the word,” Jeana purred.

“I guess I don’t need to ask how your love life is, then,” Calleigh said.

Something she couldn’t name flickered briefly in Jeana’s eyes. Her cousin looked away, concentrating on the menu. Was Jeana jealous? That would be a first.

“You know me, too busy for anything serious.”

“But you must be dating someone, you’re one of the most eligible bachelorettes in Manhattan.”

“Not a soul.” Jeana waved her hand and a sparkle caught her eye. Calleigh grabbed her friend’s wrist for a better look. A diamond bracelet glittered back at her.

“Wow. That’s beautiful. Where did you get that? I can’t even imagine how much a thing like that costs.”

“It’s nothing. Just CZs.” She slipped her hand out of Calleigh’s and back to her lap.

“You don’t wear CZs.” Calleigh smirked. Diamonds really were this girl’s best friend.

Jeana shrugged. “Before I forget, have I told you how great your hair looks? You can thank me for that, you know.” She flipped open her menu. “Brad couldn’t come up with what to get you for a wedding present, so I suggested it. Very expensive, but money is no object where you’re concerned.”

“Do I detect a hint of jealousy?” Calleigh joked.

Jeana’s gaze snapped up from the menu. “What? No. Not at all. Hey, I introduced you two. I could have kept him for myself.”

“I’m just teasing. Why so tense?” She picked up her own menu. The prices were almost as shocking as the tags in her closet.

“Sorry. Lots of stuff going on at work.” She sighed. “Maybe I am a little jealous. Brad’s a great guy. Can you blame me? No one’s whisking me off to Paris.”

“How did you know we’re going to Paris? I just found out this morning.” Calleigh set her menu down.

Jeana’s face paled to the shade of her suit. She sipped her wine and the color returned to her cheeks. “He called me, to be sure that would be just the right honeymoon. He’s so concerned with making sure everything’s perfect.” She laughed weakly. “What girl wouldn’t be a smidge jealous of a man like that?”

Calleigh nodded. “That was sweet of him.”

The waiter returned and they ordered. Jeana talked about every designer who’d ever held a sketchbook, and Calleigh just listened, as disconnected from the conversation as an audience member at a talk show taping.

When the check came, Jeana insisted on paying. They hugged goodbye, with promises to do it again soon.

The day had warmed considerably. The sun was shining and the sky blue. With no real direction in mind, Calleigh walked, enjoying the fresh air.

She replayed everything Jeana had said about Brad. He was a good catch. He loved her, wanted her to be happy. Wanted the best for her. Still, something bothered her, something nameless and small. A piece of the puzzle was missing. She’d gotten what she wanted, but she wasn’t happy. Correction, she wasn’t as happy as she thought she’d be. So they were selling her childhood home. All the memories she needed were in her head. Brad was always telling her she was too sentimental. Selling the brownstone was the right thing to do.

Her pep talk took her as far as Times Square. She thought about getting a pretzel but then decided against the carbs. She wandered aimlessly, watching the tourists buy “I Love NY” T-shirts and Statue of Liberty thermometers. A gaggle of teenage girls stood nearby, lining up to have their picture taken.

One of them approached Calleigh. “Excuse me, ma’am? Would you take our picture?”

Ma’am? “Sure. Which button do I push?”

“The silver one on top. Be sure to get that billboard in the background.” The girls giggled as their ringleader pointed over their heads.

Calleigh glanced up to see what the girl was talking about.

The massive billboard depicted a well-muscled male in tight, white, ribbed underwear and nothing else. From behind, a woman’s arms wrapped around him, one hand on his chest, the index finger of the other disappearing beneath the waistband of his underwear. Across the bottom of the black and white photo the words Uber Homme were scrawled in lipstick red.

There was something familiar about the man in the picture. His face was turned and hidden by shoulder length hair but the chest…

“Oh my.” Alrik. The scars had been airbrushed out, but she’d bet her Jimmy Choos that was him. The heat in her belly warred with the chill on her skin.

“Lady, are you going to take our picture or drool?” The girls giggled again, poking each other and making faces.

“Yes. Sorry.” She snapped the shot and handed the camera back.

The missing puzzle piece clicked as it snapped into place. She stared at the billboard, refusing to acknowledge the sound. She dug through her purse for her cell phone, found it and punched in her uncle’s speed dial number.

She listened as the line connected and started to ring. Seamus better have some answers and they better be good ones.

Chapter Eight

“Hullo?”

“Uncle Seamus, it’s Calleigh.”

“Calleigh, me love! What can I do for you?”

“Who’s the guy in the Uber Homme photo? What’s his name?”

“Interesting question for a newly wedded lass to be askin’, don’t you think?” Seamus chuckled.

She huffed into the phone. “Answer the bloody question. I’m in no mood for games.”

“Calleigh McCarthy! I’d say you’re in a mood all right. Is that anyway to talk to your uncle?”

“No, it isn’t. Answer the question.”

Silence.

She rolled her eyes. Creative people could be so dramatic. “Please.”

“His name is Paulo.”

“Paulo?” Not Alrik?

“Lovely Italian chap, hardly speaks a lick of English.”

“Italian?”

“Yes, lovey. Anything else? His measurements, perhaps?” More chuckling.

“No, I…Jeana wanted to know. Thanks. Bye.” She hung up and looked at the billboard again. Upon further inspection, she decided the nose wasn’t quite right, the hair a little too short. Paulo. She owed someone a pair of Jimmy Choos.

Chiding herself for having such a fickle heart, she hailed a cab. Times Square was too noisy, too crowded, and her feet hurt from walking in these stupid heels.

Alrik wasn’t even real. He was a twelve-hundred-year-old Viking who was dead but not really, and who had burned into a pile of ashes in front of her. It was like having a crush of the tooth fairy. Except without the cash incentive.

Saints in heaven! Is that what she had? A crush?
Snap out of it, Cal. You’re too old to have a crush. You’re a married woman, for Pete’s sake! Start acting like it.

Brad was real. He was handsome. Not as handsome as—
Stop it!
He had a great job. He loved her. He was taking her to Paris. She stared at the ring on her finger. He only wanted the best for her. Even Jeana said so. Although that girl’s opinion was questionable.

By the time Calleigh got back to the apartment building, she had formed a plan. Dexter directed her to a market a few blocks away and after a quick trip there, she returned home.

The next few hours were spent prepping and chopping, boiling and baking. She whipped up a seafood lasagna, a salad of baby greens with homemade vinaigrette and shaved parmigiana cheese, then wrapped a warm loaf of zesty garlic-pesto bread in foil. She packed all of it into a cardboard box with plates, silverware and a bottle of Chianti.

Tonight she would treat her hard-working husband to a wonderful picnic dinner, and an even better dessert.

Over a La Perla set of black lace push-up bra and panties, she tied a black wrap dress. The dress’s deep vee neckline accentuated the cleavage created by the bra. She slipped her feet into a pair of strappy black heels. Her feet might get cold, but Brad could warm them up.

She did her makeup carefully, finishing with deep red lipstick. A touch of Chanel No. 5 and some diamond stud earrings, and she was ready to give her husband a reason to stop working.

Her husband
. She smiled. The poor man. She could picture him sitting at his desk, hunched over legal documents, files piled up around him. He probably hadn’t even thought of food. Hopefully once he saw her, food would still be the furthest thing on his mind.

She giggled, feeling naughty and wonderful all at the same time. In this new reality they’d undoubtedly made love already as husband and wife. But for her, tonight would be the first time. Her nerves tingled and the anticipatory rush spilled across her skin warm and inviting. This was right. This was what her life should be.

Dexter called a car to take her to Brad’s office building and then loaded the box of goodies into the trunk for her when it came.

She sat in the back of the sedan wrapped in a long black cashmere coat with mink collar and cuffs. The sedan was as quiet as a vault. The city flickered by like a silent movie.

Mesmerized by the lights outside her window and the thoughts whirling in her head, she scarcely noticed when the car stopped.

The glass partition whirred down. The driver glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “We’re here, ma’am. Would you like me to carry the box up for you?”

“No, thank you, I can manage.”

He came around to open her door, and she tipped him as she got out. Lifting the box into her arms, he thanked her, wishing her a good night.

After a brief explanation and a little pleading, Calleigh persuaded the security guard at the front desk to let her up. She’d been to Brad’s office numerous times, but never after dark, when everyone else had gone home.

The empty offices reminded her of staying late after school. She passed a night shift cleaner vacuuming in the hallway. What a tough way to make a living.

Brad’s office was just ahead. She smiled at her ingenuity. He was going to be so surprised.

Balancing on one foot, she rested the box on her knee. The cleaner vacuumed closer. The machine’s high-pitched hum was not exactly the background music Calleigh had envisioned, but she couldn’t very well ask the woman to stop working.

She pushed the lever handle down and hefted the box back into her arms. Nudging the door open with her hip, she slipped inside. The door shut softly behind her.

The office was dark, only the desk lamp illuminated the space. She blinked, letting her eyes adjust. Brad’s big leather desk chair faced the windows looking over the city. The coat rack beside the door held his suit jacket and another one in winter white.

Soft moaning drifted above the vacuum’s fading hum. A spicy sweet scent perfumed the air. Her stomach pitched and the urge to retch overwhelmed her.
Not again. Not this time.

“Brad?” His name came out a whispered plea. The phantom hand of comprehension squeezed the air from her lungs.

The chair shook a little but didn’t swivel. She heard frantic murmurs and the thump of something or someone hitting the floor.

Calleigh’s hands shook. The box slipped out of her grasp and landed with a sharp crack.

“Honey, is that you? What are you doing here?” Brad’s voice quavered. More scuffling. The rasp of a zipper.

She reached over and flipped the light switch.

Blinking at the sudden brightness, she saw a deep red stain blossoming around the box as Chianti seeped into the carpet. Anger surged through her, steel-coating her spine. What a fool she was to think he would change. That he’d be different this time.

Well, one of them would be. She wouldn’t run away this time.

“Brad.
Now
.” She stalked toward his desk just as he stood. The first three buttons on his shirt were undone. His belt was unbuckled but his fly was up.

He moved, blocking her view of the desk behind him. “Kitten! Nice to—“

“Cut the crap, I know what’s going on. I will not be made a fool of twice.”

“Twice? I don’t know what you’re talking about. You need to calm down, Cal. It isn’t what it looks like.”

Anger surged through her, earthy and acidic like the spilled Chianti. She opened herself up to it and let her emotions take over. With new clarity, she saw him for what he really was. A slimy, cheating crapweasel. She smiled. “Really? So you aren’t screwing Jeana?”

“Jeana? What makes you think Jeana’s here?”

“Her jacket’s hanging on your coat rack and her perfume is stinking up the place. Your office smells like a whorehouse. I know she’s here.”

“You’re being silly. There’s no one here but me. That’s my secretary’s coat and her perfume. She just left a half hour ago.” He started buttoning his shirt.

“So were you screwing your secretary? Because by the looks of you, you’ve been screwing someone.” Calleigh poked him in the chest. “And it certainly,”
poke
“isn’t”
poke
“me.”

His face contorted in anger. He grabbed her hand. “Enough. I have work to do. Go home, Calleigh.”

“I will
not
be dismissed, Bradley.” Scowling back, she pulled her hand back and charged past, elbowing him out of her way.

Jeana cowered under his desk dressed only in panties, crocodile pumps and a familiar diamond bracelet.

Furious, Calleigh grabbed a handful of platinum hair and yanked her out.

“Ow!” Jeana twitched away, spitting like a cat. “Get off me! Brad forced me—“

Calleigh released her. “Shut up. I may be a fool, but you’re a slut. And I’m getting wiser by the minute,
cousin
.”

She turned her attention back to her husband. “We’re done, Brad. Over. Speak to me through my lawyer.”

He stood there slack jawed as she headed for the door. She grabbed Jeana’s jacket off the coat rack and threw it at her ex-cousin.

“Cover up, Jeana. That much silicone on anyone is obscene.”

***

Alrik watched the scene unfold in Freya’s golden mirror. The happy sounds of Valhalla’s souls echoed through the halls, but bitterness filled him. This one who had betrayed Calleigh with her cur of a husband, this Jeana, reminded him of another cold-hearted blonde.

Calleigh should not have to suffer this. She did not deserve to have her heart so cruelly broken. He was proud of her courage. Proud of her for standing up for herself. She was a strong woman, brave, beautiful, and pure-hearted.

He would slip away before Freya noticed and return to Calleigh before the three days ran its course. Surely she would not choose to keep this change. He could be back at her side before another grain of sand slipped through her hourglass.

“Viking!” Freya’s voice rang through the gilded halls like a mother calling her child. She wanted him at her side. Nay, she demanded him there.

He stayed silent.

She called again, a sullen insistence edging her voice.

He growled low in his throat. The days spent fending off the goddess’s advances taxed his patience, something he did not have in abundance to begin with. She was considered a great beauty and her skills as a lover were storied by Valhalla’s minstrels, but Alrik refused to pay the price for sampling her wares.

His Phoenix brother, Eros, knew that cost too well. Succumbing to Freya’s wiles had bound him to her for eternity. There would be no second chance for the first Phoenix created.

Muffled footsteps whispered across the floor behind him. The densely fragrant scent of attar of roses curled its way through the air. He knew the goddess stood waiting before he even turned around.

“My lady.”

Flanked by her two great blue tigers, Freya was draped in sheer gold silk. The fabric matched her unbound hair and displayed more of her body than it covered. “Do not make me fetch you like a servant,” she sniffed.

“Many Vikings walk these hallowed halls, goddess. Perhaps if you called me by name I would know which of us you wanted.” After seeing what Calleigh had just been through, his mood was sour and his tolerance for Freya’s games thin as the silk she wore.

“Your insolence is hardly amusing, Viking.” Indigo flashes of lust glinted in her eyes. The hunt aroused her, that much was plain.

“I did not mean to be amusing. I meant to be instructive.” He glanced at the mirror, wondering what was happening to his charge.

“Ignore the mortal! You will be returned to her soon enough.” With a sweep of her hand, Freya clouded the glass, blocking his view.

Fresh anger ground his teeth together. He could feel the muscles twitching along his jaw. “This moment would not be soon enough.”

She shook her head, a wicked smile teasing her lush lips. “I could find such better uses for that bold mouth of yours. Perhaps you should be taught a lesson.”

“I know everything I need to know.”

“Do you? How intriguing.” She laughed, twirling a blonde curl around one finger. “You have one day left in my presence. You shall spend it in my bedchamber starting immediately. We shall see just how strong your resolve is, Viking.”