Born to Be Wild (19 page)

So that was the reason behind Bear’s picture-perfect smile! She should have known.

A few moments later Jazz went back to work and Lauren took another sip of champagne, embarrassed by all the wrong thoughts she’d had about people. Meeting Max and his friends had been an eye-opening experience, gave her insights into a part of the world far removed from her own.

Taking another sip of champagne, and tucking
away thoughts about working at the Hole until later, she headed for the table where Jamie had parked herself. She couldn’t help but notice the young girl’s bright, sparkling blue eyes, the smattering of freckles bridging her nose, or the abundance of golden-blond curls pulled into a ponytail. She was cute right now, but in a few more years she’d be a knockout and probably a handful for Max.

Setting her glass down not far from Jamie, Lauren studied the array of pastries and tarts. “I’m partial to chocolate,” she stated, wanting to draw Jamie into an easy conversation. “What do you like?”

“The chocolate baskets filled with lemon cream.”

“Have you tried any?”

“I’m not supposed to touch these. Max said they’re for the guests and he’ll make some especially for me tomorrow or the next day.”

“My mother didn’t allow sweets in the house when I was growing up,” Lauren said nonchalantly, “and I wasn’t supposed to touch them when I went to parties.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Tilting her head toward Jamie, she grinned. “But I didn’t let that stop me.”

“What did you do?”

“I’ll show you.” Lauren swept her finger through the lemon cream filling and quickly shoved it into her mouth, licking away the deliciously sticky concoction.

Jamie giggled. “Max would murder me if he caught me doing that.”

“So would my mother, I’m afraid, so why don’t we do it the right way.”

Lauren took a dessert plate from the table, scooped up two chocolate baskets, and set them in the center of the delicate china plate. She took two forks and napkins and sat on a cushioned wrought-iron bench near the end of the table. “You know, Jamie, I’ve taken much more than I can eat.” She smiled at Jamie. “Would you mind helping me?”

“You’re sure?”

“Quite.”

Jamie sat next to her on the bench, took the fork Lauren offered her, and dug into the dessert. Lauren followed her lead, finding the creamy concoction even tastier than it looked.

“I’m Lauren Remington,” she said, taking a second bite.

“I know,” Jamie said, licking lemon cream off her lips. “I keep track of all the women Max dates, even the ones he’s just thinking about dating.”

“Are there a lot of them?”

“Hundreds.”

Hmm. Lauren easily recognized the young girl’s jealousy. She remembered having a similar conversation with one of the many blond bimbos her father had dated when she was young. Reece Remington, an All-American retired rancher with whom she’d spent a few weeks out of every summer, still dated blond bimbos, usually two at a
time. Max, however, didn’t seem like the blond bimbo type. That could, however, just be wishful thinking on her part.

Lauren helped herself to another bite of lemon cream. “Which one of Max’s girlfriends is your favorite?”

“I don’t know,” Jamie answered. “Probably the stripper.”

Lauren coughed, nearly choking on the filling that had stuck in her throat.
“A stripper
?”

“Yeah. Max says he likes her moves.”

Oh, dear!

Jamie pushed up from the bench. “Well, I’d better get back to the kitchen. If Max sees me out here havi
ng fun when I should be working, he’ll have my head.”

The little girl skipped off, leaving Lauren all alone with her lemon cream, thoughts of a nearly naked buxom woman suggestively hugging a pole, and the sound of footsteps that came to a stop behind her.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

Lauren spun around, a dizzying feeling hitting her when she did. She closed her eyes a moment, wishing she hadn’t had so much champagne, then opened them slowly, focusing on the man standing over her. “Gerald?”

“I’m glad you haven’t forgotten me completely.”

“Of course I haven’t forgotten you.” That would have been an impossibility. Her mother had brought up the name Gerald Harcourt in
nearly every conversation they’d had in the past few days.

Rising slowly, Lauren wobbled and was grateful when Gerald offered a helping hand. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Gerald Harcourt was one of the most distinguished-looking gentlemen she’d ever met, and she’d met quite a few. Tall and slender, he wore Armani like a champ. The black and white tux looked rather nice against the richness of his tan, one he’d probably gotten lying in a thong on the sun-drenched Fiji island he’d purchased. The last time she’d seen Gerald, his hair had been dark brown; now it was mostly silver. One thing about him definitely hadn’t changed. His hands were warm and far too skilled, and she couldn’t forget that he liked women. A lot of women.

“Would you care to dance?” he asked. “It’s been a long time.”

She looked about her, finding it difficult to believe that she hadn’t noticed other people dancing, that she hadn’t heard the orchestra, that she hadn’t observed Max standing near the kitchen door. Watching her. Glaring at Gerald.

“I really should take care of my guests,” she said, trying to pull away, but Gerald held on to her hand and playfully spun her against his chest.

“Nonsense,” he whispered against her ear. “Everything’s well under control.”

Again she looked toward the kitchen, but Max
had disappeared, and her heart sank in disappointment. She’d wanted to dance with him, but she had guests to entertain, and he had guests to serve.

“You look troubled,” Gerald said. “The best way to deal with that is dancing.” He led her far too easily to a place near the pool where at least a dozen couples swayed to the music. Sliding his hand behind her back, he pulled her closer than she wanted to be held. It was only one dance, she told herself, and he
was
her guest.

“You’re very beautiful,” Gerald said, as he swept her about in a dizzying circle. “I’ve thought of you often over the years.”

“How could you possibly find time to think of me? Mother tells me you’ve been terribly busy.”

“It doesn’t take all that much time to purchase a summer house on Martha’s Vineyard or an island in Fiji, it merely takes money. Both places are quite lonely, though.”

“Then why did you buy them?” she said, not really interested, but trying to be a good hostess.

“I’d hoped to share them with my wife.”

Or one of his many girlfriends, Lauren imagined, but she was far too polite to make that comment. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out between you and Jessica.”

“Sometimes marriages work, sometimes they don’t. She was a beautiful woman and I enjoyed her company. Unfortunately, she had a deathly fear of flying and didn’t like accompanying me on my trips around the world.”

“You could have stayed home.”

“I did in the beginning. I gave her everything I could—my time, homes, beautiful jewelry. But I missed traveling, seeing my friends in other countries. Long separations led to other troubles I needn’t bother you with. Surely you understand?”

“All too well.”

His mouth moved close to her ear. His breath was warm. Too warm. “We’re very much alike. You realize that, don’t you?”

“Champagne?”

Lauren jerked away at the sound of Max’s voice. “I’d love some.” She took a glass from his tray, relieved that he’d rescued her. She smiled, but met nothing but Max’s blank stare.

“And you, sir?” Max asked, holding the tray toward Gerald.

Gerald’s lip almost curled as he stared at Max. It was just a flash of animosity that turned quickly to a polished smile. He took a glass and in his most gentlemanly voice said, “Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome, sir.”

Max turned to Lauren, his expression still cool and detached. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

What on earth had she done to annoy him this time?

“I believe our contract called for a dance.”

His eyes narrowed into a frown, not exactly the look she’d expected. “Yeah, it did,” he said. “But don’t worry, I’m not going to hold you to it.”

“But—”

“If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do.”

Max stalked away, disappearing into the crowd and leaving her annoyed with his actions and hurt by his indifference, because little more than an hour ago they were nearly in each other’s arms.

“What was that all about?” Gerald asked.

“Nothing,” she answered, trying to ignore the ache in her heart, but it seemed to blot out everything around her.

“Do you make a habit of dancing with the caterers?”

She wanted to tell him no. Wanted to pretend that she felt nothing for Max, but she couldn’t hide her deepening emotions. “He’s a friend. A dear friend.”

There. She’d said it, and the world hadn’t crashed in on her.

“Your mother told me you’d developed an odd attraction toward a caterer. Is he the one?”

“I told you, he’s a friend.”

“And decidedly jealous, I daresay.”

Could Max really be jealous? She’d done nothing more than dance with Gerald Harcourt, a bore who meant nothing to her. She’d have to straighten Max out the next time she saw him.

But she didn’t see him again. Max Wilde had made himself completely invisible, while Gerald Harcourt stayed g
lued to her side, flashing his billion-dollar smile so many times she wanted to scream. Instead, she drank champagne, flitted from one acquaintance to another, entertaining her guests while trying to figure out a way to get
rid of Gerald, other than knocking him unconscious.

But Gerald wouldn’t be put off. He urged her to stand with the other single women when Betsy tossed her bouquet, and pulled her back to his side when she missed. They ate cake together, drank more champagne, and tossed fragrant white plumeria at the bride and groom when they ran off for their round-the-world honeymoon.

She had no idea how much time had gone by, but the warmth of the air, the smoothness of Gerald’s voice, and too many glasses of champagne lulled her, made her rest her head against his shoulder. She wanted to close her eyes. Wanted to sleep.

And then she could dream of dancing with Max, since it appeared that was as close as she’d ever get to reality.

Gerald’s cologne was strong and sweet, so different from Max’s, which had been light and musky and natural. Gerald’s hand was small, soft against her back, where Max’s was large and strong, with calluses on his palms. Gerald’s hair was perfect, while Max’s was wild. She lifted her head and looked into pale blue eyes that weren’t the least bit intense, showed no sign of danger, only sophistication and the ultimate in breeding, and she wished that she were looking into Max’s fiery brown eyes.

She didn’t want to be with Gerald any longer. It was getting late, people were starting to drift away. “It’s time that I say goodbye to some of the guests,” she told him, pulling far away.

“I could do that with you.”

She shook her head. “You’ve been wonderful all afternoon, but there are a few people I’d like to see on my own.”

He didn’t argue. “Perhaps tonight—”

“I have plans.”

“Then I’ll call tomorrow.”

She smiled gently, not wanting to tell him that she wasn’t interested. Unfortunately, she’d done little to prove that point in the past few hours.

The orchestra continued to play, a few couples swayed on the veranda, and Lauren searched for the only man she wanted to dance with.

“Have you seen Max?” she asked Bear, who stood behind the bar, looking devilishly handsome in his tux.

“There was a problem at the Fabianos’ party. He asked me to take charge here.”

A sinking feeling hit her heart. “He’s gone?”

“Not more than a minute or so.” He turned a glass upright on the bar. “Would you like a drink? I make a hell of a martini.”

“Some other time, thank you.” She skirted quickly past friends and acquaintances, past her mother, who tried to catch her attention, toward the driveway that led to the side of the house. She prayed she could catch him.

A black van with a sleek motorcycle and Born To Be Wild painted in screaming reds, yellows, and greens on the side was backing out of the drive, and she raced after it. “Stop, Max. Please.”

The van continued to move backward, slowly
maneuvering around a Rolls and a Bentley. “Max!” she cried out again. He didn’t stop until the vehicle reached the street. She was breathless when she got to the rolled-down driver’s window.

Max had stripped off his tie. His jacket was gone and the top button was loosened on his shirt. He looked wonderful, and she wished she could climb into the van and run away with him.

“I hoped I could catch you.”

“Why?”

She couldn’t miss the annoyance in his voice. “Because we need to talk.”