Born to Be Wild (31 page)

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered against her ear, kissing her lightly and sending shivers of absolute delight through her entire body. She could stand here for hours enjoying the touch of his lips against her skin, but she planned to spend hours in his arms after dinner. Right now, she wanted to enjoy his laughter, their small talk. She wanted to share a fine bottle of wine and a good meal, and when she was relaxed, she’d take hold of his hand and lead him to her room, where champagne and Godivas awaited them.

She slipped just far enough away from him to hold on to what was left of her senses, and asked, “Would you like a drink before dinner?”

Apparently he didn’t want her holding on to her senses because he pulled her right back into his arms. “I was thinking we might start with dessert, and skip dinner altogether.”

His fingers roamed over the silky fabric, teased the curve of her spine and splayed over her bottom, tugging her against his hips, leaving no doubt at all where he wanted to start this evening.

“Dessert sounds lovely,” she moaned against the soft, thrilling kisses he pressed to her lips. “But Mrs. Fisk has made something wonderful for dinner tonight, and it wouldn’t be fair not to enjoy it.”

“We could enjoy it in bed. You feed me. I’ll feed you.”

She tilted her head, hoping he’d kiss the soft spot beneath her ear that longed for his touch. “I don’t think we’d get that far.”

“We could try.” He nibbled her earlobe, the sensations drumming up all sorts of devilish thoughts about Max nibbling away at her anatomy... after Mrs. Fisk’s romantic dinner, if she could just hold on.

“It’s tempting.
You’re
tempting, but—”

“Lauren, darling!”

Lauren jerked out of Max’s arms, spinning around to see a moment of scorn and then a superficial smile on her mother’s face.

She took a deep breath, hoping her face and chest weren’t red, hoping she wouldn’t die from complete mortification right here and now. “What are you doing here, Mother?”

“Keeping you from doing something you shouldn’t,” Celeste offered, laughing lightly.

She walked toward Max in her bold, sophisticated manner and shook his hand. “How lovely to see you again, Mr. Wilde.”

How Max managed to smile so politely was beyond Lauren’s imagination. Never in her life had she wanted so desperately for her mother to disappear, and when Gerald Harcourt strolled into the room looking far too cultured in his tux, Lauren wished they’d both go
poof!
Unfortunately she didn’t think she was on good terms with the fairy godmother lately.

“May I introduce you to Gerald Harcourt,” Celeste said, glaring at Max, smiling at Gerald.

“I believe we’ve already met,” Gerald said, but still he held out his hand to Max, and Lauren couldn’t miss the animosity in their shake, not when both men’s knuckles turned white. Obviously Max’s jealousy hadn’t completely subsided, and it appeared Gerald was still under the impression that she was interested.

“I thought you were going back to London,” Lauren said to her mother.

“Andrew had some pressing business to take care of—naturally. I thought about staying in Rio for a few more days, but Gerald called and suggested we—the
three
of us,” she said pointedly, treating Max as if he weren’t in the room, “go sailing.”

Celeste linked her arm through Gerald’s. “Gerald sailed in the America’s Cup last year.” She
turned her artificial smile on Max. “Do you sail, Mr. Wilde?”

“I ride motorcycles.”

“Oh, yes, how could I forget?”

“He restores motorcycles, too,” Lauren said. “As well as classic cars.”

“I have a penchant for the classics,” Gerald added, leading Celeste to the living room, not taking any notice if Lauren and Max had followed. Of course, they had, because Max seemed determined to keep an eye on the man he despised.

“My collection includes Pierce-Arrow, Isotta-Fraschini, Duesenberg,” Gerald continued. “In fact, I’ve recently purchased a ’32 Walker-LeGrande SJ, a magnificent vehicle.” He stood behind the bar and aimed his superior gaze at Max. “What about you?”

“A ’68 Corvette convertible,” Max said, leaning casually against the grand piano.

“I see.”

Gerald didn’t see a thing, Lauren thought. He was stuffy, arrogant, and sure that anyone and everyone would fall all over him and his wealth. That wasn’t quite the case where she was concerned.

“Gerald and I were thinking of going to Bice for dinner,” her mother said. “Perhaps you’d like to join us.”

“Max and I are having dinner here,” Lauren stated, trying hard to stay composed, to keep a smile on her face. “Mrs. Fisk is back from Tahiti and she’s preparing something new.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Wilde,” Celeste said, “I thought you were here on business. Picking up a check or something you might have left behind when you catered Betsy Endicott’s wedding.”

“I’m here strictly for Lauren,” he stated, sliding his arm possessively around her waist, his fingers clutching her side as he tugged her against him.

“How lovely.” Celeste turned to Gerald. “You know, darling, I’ve been traveling so much lately, it might be nice to have dinner at home tonight. You wouldn’t mind, would you?”

Gerald had already made himself at home and was pouring Chivas Regal into a glass. “Not at all.”

“I’m afraid—” Lauren’s protest was cut off by Max’s fingers digging into her side.

“I’m glad you’re going to join us,” Max said, far too cordially. “I’ve been looking forward to getting to know both of you.”

So much for her evening alone with Max!

“If you’ll excuse me a moment,” Lauren said, hoping no one could hear the gnash of her teeth, “I’ll ask Mrs. Fisk and Charles to plan on four for dinner.”

“Thank you, darling.” Celeste turned to Max and, assuming the job of hostess, said, “Gerald makes a wonderful martini. Would you care for one?”

“I prefer beer.”

“Yes, of course. I should have known.”

Lauren walked out on the conversation, the
click of her heels on the marble floor drowning out the forced congeniality going on behind her. Shoving through the kitchen doors, she collapsed in one of the chairs. “This evening isn’t going to go too well,” she said to Charles and Mrs. Fisk.

“Why is that?” Charles asked, casually wiping a crystal goblet with a white linen towel.

“My mother has returned, along with Gerald Harcourt.”

“Oh, dear.”

Lauren couldn’t help but laugh. “I think you’ve been around me far too much, Charles. You’re beginning to sound like me.”

“I could never be around you too much, Miss Remington.” He set the glass on the counter and took another from Mrs. Fisk, who was swirling them in soapy water. “Is there something I could do to alleviate this situation?”

“Short of hog-tying Gerald and my mother and throwing them in the wine cellar, I can’t think of a thing.”

“I believe I might be able to find some rope in the garage.”

Lauren grinned. “You really would do that for me, wouldn’t you?”

“Quite possibly.”

“And I’d help,” Mrs. Fisk added. “How dare they interrupt a romantic evening, not to mention make me have to prepare additional food!”

“In all fairness, they didn’t know they were interrupting anything.”

“If you ask me,” Mrs. Fisk went on, “you’re
much too forgiving with Lady Ashford. I know she’s your mother and all, but really, Miss Remington, it’s high time you stood up to her.”

“I quite agree,” Charles stated. “There was a time when she was a lovely young woman, not unlike yourself, I daresay. She was in love with your father but she let convention, social status, and an imperialistic mother come between them. When that happened, the part of her that I loved so well disappeared.” Charles put a hand on Lauren’s shoulder. “I pray the same thing does not happen to you.”

Lauren rested her hand over Charles’s fingers. “It seems my social status has taken quite a beating lately. As for convention, does this dress look like something my Palm Beach sisters would wear?”

“Heavens, no, and more’s the pity,” Mrs. Fisk chortled.

Lauren smiled as she stood, thankful to have such generous friends in her employ. “Thanks for bolstering my courage. I believe I’ll head back out and make sure Mother and Gerald haven’t done anything evil to Max.”

“I’m quite certain Mr. Wilde can take care of himself,” Charles said. “Quite certain, indeed.”

When Lauren walked back into the living room, it didn’t take but a moment to realize that Charles was, as always, correct.

Max leaned against the piano, relaxed in spite of the venom that was spit at him with every word coming from Lady Ashford’s mouth. The
woman disliked him, plain and simple, and he was doing his best to bite his tongue.

As for Gerald Harcourt, the guy was a pompous ass, smiling, joking, and laughing at everything that was said. At least Lauren’s mother was o
pen and honest with her hatred—and she’d always admired honesty.

oOo

Max took a long, cold swallow of Budweiser from the bottle Gerald had found in the refrigerator behind the bar, and watched Lauren return from the kitchen. She was stunning in the scarlet dress that showed off an awful lot of her soft, warm skin. He’d wanted to see even more tonight, but it looked like Gerald Harcourt had come between him and his plans—once again.

“So, Gerald,” Max said, latching on to Lauren and pulling her against his side. “What do you do for a living?”

“Nothing quite as intriguing as being a chef, I’m sure. I spend my days dabbling in investments, buying property, traveling.”

“He’s just purchased an island in Fiji,” Celeste added. “Have you been to Fiji, Mr. Wilde?”

Max took another drink of beer. “I went to Catalina Island once. I was working as a stuntman in an action-adventure film.”

“Is that how you broke your nose?” Lauren asked, drawing a slender finger over the bridge, which raised a cold look of disdain from Celeste.

“I broke it the first time when I was eight. A car accident,” he said, remembering the long-forgotten incident where his drunken father had run their
old Impala into a parked car. Zack was in the front passenger seat, buckled in. Max and Charlotte had flown forward on impact and hit the windshield. He frowned, remembering that Charlotte’s head was cut, that she probably had a scar. He tucked the thought away and took a swallow of beer.

“The second time I broke it was in Catalina.”

“Please tell us more, Mr. Wilde,” Celeste suggested. Was she interested? Max wondered, or just being polite?

“I was in a chase scene. Two boats racing across the water. The one I was in was rigged to blow up
after
I jumped overboard, but the timing was off. I ended up with a broken leg, a busted arm, a fractured nose, and a concussion that put me in the hospital for nearly two weeks.” Max looked directly at Gerald. “That doesn’t happen in Fiji, does it?”

“I live a quiet life on the island.”

“My first husband, Lauren’s father, was a rodeo star,” Celeste said, turning her attention—
again
—to Max, which surprised the hell out of him. “Reece, that was my husband, was hurt quite often, too. I remember a time—”

“Why did you give up being a stuntman?” Gerald asked, interrupting Celeste. Max couldn’t miss the annoyance in her eyes.

“My foster father was ill, he needed someone to run his catering business, and I wasn’t making any money in Hollywood.” Max turned to Celeste. “Stunt work’s a lot like rodeoing—some make good money at it, some don’t.”

“Do you make much money now?” Celeste asked. Max saw a small touch of warmth in her eyes, and thought they might be able to like each other—someday.

“I’m comfortable,” he answered, figuring she didn’t want too many details.

“And you have two children?”

Max nodded. “Jamie and Ryan.”

“Foster children, I believe Lauren said.” Celeste smiled, and took a dainty sip of the martini Gerald had made for her. “And they work for you, too, I understand. Is that why you brought them into your home?”

So much for the two of them getting along, Max decided.

“That was a one-time thing,” Lauren said, coming to his rescue. Max might have tossed back some cynical comment, but he heard the butler clearing his throat.

“Dinner is served.”

“Thank you, Charles,” Celeste said, tucking her arm through Gerald’s. “We can continue this lovely conversation over wine and one of Mrs. Fisk’s delectable meals.”

Gerald led Celeste toward the dining room, but Max didn’t move from the piano. “What would happen if we didn’t follow them?” Max asked Lauren, pulling her hard against his chest.

“My mother would send out the hounds, and they can be terribly vicious.”

“I’m not afraid of dogs any more than I’m afraid of your mother. If it was someone else who’d interrupted us, I wouldn’t let them stand
in our way. But I don’t want to cause you any trouble.”

“Thank you,” she said, whispering the words against his lips. “I’ll make it up to you.”