Champagne Cravings (4 page)

When he swooped in for another kiss, I stepped away.

“Hey,” he said in his low voice. “Don’t be like that. You
know I want you. You also know I don’t want you to think I’m similar to Chase
and Brandon.”

“Then why’d you kiss me?” I had to ask. “Why did you start
something tonight you had no intention of finishing?”

This time his expression was one I was wholly familiar
with—an honest one. “You’ve always been capable of resisting me. But it’s a
real bitch keeping
my
hands off you. Especially when you’re standing
here all dolled up and breathless. Wanting me so bad, it’s written on your face
and practically radiating from every pore of your body.”

Of course, I was completely transparent. How could I not be?
He made me hotter than the freakin’ sun.

“I tried to blow it off,” he said. “Make light of me being
naked in your bathroom. I should have just put on my clothes and walked out the
door. But the fact is,
I
want
you
so bad, I couldn’t stop myself
from seeing how you’d respond to a kiss.”

Um, like a Roman candle someone had just set a burning
match to?

Admittedly, I was terrified of how strongly I’d reacted to
him—even just that first featherlike kiss. Luckily, his next words brought my
anxiety down a bit and helped me to breathe easier.

“I can’t have you just yet, Lace,” he told me. “Not when
you’re still thinking in terms of a one-night stand. That’s not how I want this
to go between us.”

I regretted what I had to say about that before the
sentiment was even out of my mouth. “There is no
us
.”

He shifted from one booted foot to the other and said, “You
can’t act like nothing happened tonight.”

I nodded. I had to do that very thing. For my sake and maybe
for his too. Certainly for the sake of our friendship. Though we’d pushed the
boundaries this evening, we’d dodged a bullet when he’d turned me down.

“Just leave,” I told him, before we made the situation
worse. “Please.”

He stared at me a moment longer and I swam in ocean-blue
eyes that would likely haunt me the rest of the evening. His jaw was set in a
hard line and I knew he wanted to tell me off for shutting down after what we’d
shared. But he knew me well enough to understand that when I reached this
point, I wouldn’t budge. I hadn’t with Chase, when he’d come crawling back to
me after his endless cheating. Nor had I changed my mind for Brandon when he’d
sworn the threesome I’d caught him starring in meant absolutely nothing to him.

I’d made a mistake tonight with Mike, but I could rectify
it. Head it off at the pass. I knew that was the smart thing to do.

Finally, he said, “I’ll lock up for you. And I promise not
to use your shower again—unless you’re in it with me.” Despite the tension in
the air, he winked at me.

Then he turned and walked away, his boots making a low thump
on my hardwood floor. I was surprised I could hear the noise over the erratic
beating of my heart.

I stared after him, until he disappeared through the door
and locked it behind him with the key I’d given him for emergencies. He’d used
it to take a shower in the very tub I soaked in. He’d used it to get inside my
well-structured life and mess it all up with his hunky body and sizzling
kisses. He’d used it to get inside my heart with his admission he didn’t want
to play me the way I’d been played in the past. But I wouldn’t let him stay
there. No matter how much he turned me on. No matter how sweet I thought it was
he hadn’t fully taken advantage of my weakness this evening.

Not having sex with Mike tonight was for the best. Bottom
line, Bad-Boy Magnet Lacey Mansfield couldn’t survive another trip down
Heartbreak Lane.

Not even with a man who swore he’d never hurt me. A man I
found almost completely irresistible.

Almost…

The Supermodel Strikes Again.

I had no idea how to stop what I’d put into motion with
Mike, but it was the first thing I thought of when I woke the next morning.
Having tossed and turned all night from sexual frustration and the temptation
of Mike being so close in proximity—the only thing separating us being a common
wall and my trust issues—I wasn’t exactly well-rested and perky. In fact, I
glowered at him as I came out of my apartment and passed him in the hallway
when he stepped out of the elevator, his ritual to-go cup from the coffeehouse
on the corner in his hand. The same hand that had just barely touched me last
night, but which had thoroughly set me on fire.

After he’d left the previous evening, it’d been all I could
do to keep from alleviating some of the sexual tension I’d felt. But I’d had
the insane notion in my head he might be listening on the other side of the
wall we shared. And cranking up the music for five minutes to cover a battery-operated
device was too damn obvious. Him knowing I was so turned-on I’d had to take
matters into my own hands wouldn’t bode well for my resolve to distance myself
from him, would it?

He said, “Bright, sunny day today. We should have lunch in
Central Park.”

“I’m working,” I grumbled.

Undeterred, he grinned. “You are so not a morning person.”
Nothing new there. “How about dinner tonight?”

His invitation was as a casual as always, and nothing out of
the ordinary. Yet it made my stomach twist in knots because I was completely
disoriented today. I had no idea how to sort out the push-and-pull inside me,
the emotional tug-of-war in my heart.

The fact I was so crazy about Mike made a part of me want to
explore what he’d hinted at—a relationship. But too much of me had turned tail
and run last night and I couldn’t deny I had good reason for being scared. More
than just my fear of being hurt, I still couldn’t wrap my mind around Mike
wanting more than just an easy lay. Who would’ve guessed?

I needed some time to get everything back into place in my
mind and my heart, so I said, “I’ve got a lot happening with this new case.
I’ll probably be home late.” I hoped that would keep him from considering
stopping by.

Nope.

“I’ll order Chinese. We can heat it up when you get in, if
you’re running behind.”

I stared at him. The fact he was so amazingly good-looking
aside, the sparkle in his eyes made him hard to say no to. But Chase and
Brandon had had that “I’m all yours, babe” look about them too. Third time with
a bad boy would not be the charm, I was sure of it.

“I’m really not going to be in the mood for company,” I told
him. “I already saw footage from last night’s catastrophe at the Montlimiere on
the morning news and on the Internet. This campaign sabotage has gone high profile
and I’ll be swimming in it for a while.” Terrible pun, considering Biel’s
tragic debut as Elan’s model.

“I can help, you know.” The sincerity in his eyes and his
genuine smile made me sigh.

The problem, I realized, was that even if I wanted to think he
was like Chase and Brandon in order to keep him at arm’s length and to protect
myself, I knew, deep in my heart, he wasn’t cut from the same cloth. Despite
his voracious sexual appetite and remarkable ability to score any woman he
wanted, I could not dispute Mike Lucas was a good guy. One of the things that
made him so hard to resist.

He was the kind of man who’d risk life and limb to push my
car down Fifth Avenue if I ran out of gas. The kind of man who would buy me an
airline ticket back home to see my mother if I couldn’t afford it—upgrading it
to first class and refusing to let me pay him back. The kind of man who would
pummel a jerk like Brandon for fucking two other women in the coatroom at my
friend’s wedding reception and making an absolute fool out of me in front of
several hundred people.

Though the first two scenarios were hypothetical, the third
was not. Mike had been offended for me, a complete stranger at the time, and
hadn’t been able to let the slight go. That was how we’d met and I’d found out
about this great apartment. And the fantastic man living next door to it.

Thinking of how supportive he’d been from the very second
I’d met him made my heart flutter—which, conversely, put me on edge.

I said, “Of course you’d help me if I needed it. You always
have. And I appreciate what you said last night about not wanting just a
one-night stand with me. I got caught up in the heat of the moment and you did
the right thing by walking away so my convictions weren’t convoluted by alcohol
and your seriously sexy and very naked body. That doesn’t make me feel better,
though. Can you understand that?”

He stared at me, coffee cup in one hand, keys to his
apartment in the other. What likely went through his mind was something along
the lines of “Why do I even bother with this one?” I certainly wouldn’t blame
him for thinking that.

No other woman seemed to require him to jump through hoops
when showered with attention from him. I’d seen how other girls responded to
him. They’d do just about anything to turn his head and they hung on his every
word. Mike could make a woman roll over and spread her legs with little more
than a wink and a smile. I’d seen them melt right off their stools at bars and
parties and the coffeehouse on the corner.

I did not want to be one of them.

“I’m the one who said and did all the wrong things last
night,” I told him. “Now I’m stuck with the admission I made about wanting you
to fuck me, but I don’t have to act on it.”

He countered with a sharp retort. “You think you’re the only
one skating on thin ice, Lace, but that’s not true. You’re not the only one who
made a damning admission you’re stuck with.”

His words about trying to find someone who would help to get
me out of his head flashed in my mind as he continued.

“I wouldn’t have kissed you if I was seeing someone else
right now. I didn’t try to trap you into telling me you want me for the sake of
rubbing it in your face. And if I bring Chinese over for dinner tonight, it’s
because, no matter what, we’re still friends. Got it?”

I let out a long breath. How many dinners had we eaten in my
living room while watching a movie or rehashing our day with each other? Dozens
and dozens. Maybe hundreds over the course of three years. And yes, he’d
flirted. But he’d never taken advantage—just as he hadn’t last night when I’d
given him the prime opportunity in which to do so.

I didn’t want to be a heel or mess up our friendship. I had
no idea what I’d do if we were seriously on the outs. So I gave in.

“I’ll try to be home by seven,” I said, contrite and
remorseful I was acting as though I’d been the only one to dig a hole I
couldn’t get out of. The things he’d said to me in my apartment had not gone
over my head. I simply chose not to ruminate over them, because that hole would
only get deeper if I did. But he deserved more from me than the cold shoulder.
“And I’ll try to be less of a bitch.”

He laughed. Deep and hearty, taking me aback. Then again,
maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised. He’d always been tried and true with me.
The complication was me, not him.

Being the wonderful person he was, he said, “You’re not a
bitch, Lace. You’re a good friend and I don’t want to screw anything up between
us anymore than you do. But come on. We can only pretend for so long we’re not
into each other.”

My brow jerked up. “Pretend?” He’d been in hot pursuit of me
since the wedding.

With a grin, he said, “Okay, it’s no secret. But just chill
out for two seconds and we’ll see what’s what.”

I shrugged. Put like that, I felt dumb for getting so worked
up. We weren’t dating, hadn’t slept with each other and he hadn’t declared his
undying love for me. So why was I so uptight about sharing a couple boxes of
Chinese takeout with him tonight, when we’d done that very thing regularly
since I’d moved in?

Securing the strap of my laptop bag more firmly on my
shoulder, I said, “Consider me chilled out.” I gave him a smile and then
continued down the hallway to the elevator.

Outside my building, the doorman hailed a passing cab for
me. I gave the driver an address on Madison Avenue and put all my thoughts of
Mike on the backburner, along with the change in direction our relationship had
taken in less than a twelve-hour period. I set my mind for this new case,
knowing I had my hands full. I had a list of questions and people to speak with
about the sabotage. No leads concrete enough to give me a barometer of where to
start, but I suspected I’d get that sense when I walked into the Elan offices
and immersed myself in the corporate culture and the aftermath of last night’s
foiled product launch.

I entered the marbled lobby and stopped at the security desk
positioned before the bank of elevators.

“I’m Lacey Mansfield,” I told one of the uniformed security
guards. “Mr. Linnear is expecting me.”

The stocky, blond-haired man consulted a clipboard and gave
me a sharp nod. “Mr. Linnear called an emergency board meeting this morning. He
asked me to have our vice president of security escort you upstairs.”

“Thanks.”

I waited for the tall, well-built man with salt-and-pepper
hair to emerge from an elevator, recognizing Calvin Stoddard from the company
detail report Mav had sent over to me following our initial conversation.

He extended a hand to me and said, “I’m Cal. I’ve got a
contractor’s badge for you in my office. I’ll show you around first.”

We toured the top three main floors of the Elan Essentials
building so I could see where the executive offices were, along with the
primary departments I’d be meeting with. Then he escorted me to the photo
studio on the level below the lobby, though there were few people milling about
at that early hour. The rest of the building was a labyrinth of administrative,
operational, sales, distribution, and research and development functions for
which I likely wouldn’t have much use.

When we settled in Cal’s office, I reviewed and signed
security clearance paperwork. Once that was complete, I asked, “Was your staff
involved in the product launch?”

“Of course. Mr. Linnear is adamant about security, but he
was especially particular about it yesterday. I escorted Miss McKinley inside
the building to test the makeup in one of our labs. There were three different
sets of cosmetics—all the same makeup, but two were put together for backup
purposes. The sets were tested on Miss McKinley here and then packaged in
sealed bags with security tape that bleeds when opened.”

Two days ago, I would have scoffed at the extreme measures
taken for one application of makeup, but after last night’s botched launch, I
figured whoever served as the worst-case scenario guru in this organization
certainly knew their stuff.

Cal continued. “I then traveled with Miss McKinley to the
Montlimiere. She had a brief powwow with Mr. Linnear and the marketing and PR
people in the hotel suite assigned to her.”

“Anyone else present?”

“Sure. Our photographers and her hair stylist and makeup
artist.”

“Were you at that meeting?”

He nodded.

“Where were the cosmetics at this time?”

“Two sets were locked up in the lab, to be rushed over if
necessary—say, for example, the original bag was dropped and the vials broke.
My security team would have handled the delivery of another set, of course.”

“Of course.” I was beginning to appreciate this worst-case
scenario mystery person. Perhaps it was Cal.

“The third set was with Miss McKinley the whole time.”

I frowned. Biel certainly wouldn’t have been the saboteur.
For God’s sake, the woman’s modeling career was now on the line. She’d never
pull a stunt like that…unless she wanted a viable escape from the business.

Sometimes fame didn’t turn out to be what one expected and
backing out could be more difficult than staying in. I’d seen it several times
with my college friends, who’d been as ambitious as I’d been when it came to TV
careers. A few of them had risen to the top; others had caved under the
pressure. I’d fallen somewhere in between.

Thus, I made a mental note to do some digging on the
supermodel. Perhaps she’d seen this as an opportunity for escape.

Next, I asked, “Were you in the suite when Biel’s makeup was
applied?”

“No. I stepped out to give her some privacy. I stood watch
at the door and I had another guard at the elevator to monitor the hallway
traffic, because the whole floor was off-limits to guests during that time.”

“Anyone unauthorized coming and going?”

“Just a couple of expected deliveries. Two flower arrangements
for Miss McKinley from her agent and Mr. Linnear, as well as a champagne
refresh.”

My brow lifted. Cal added, “The hotel staff had set up a
small buffet in the suite. Caviar, lobster, shrimp and oysters, along with a
couple bottles of champagne. Someone called room service and had more sent up.”

“Did you inspect all the deliveries?”

“Thoroughly,” he said, a hint of indignation in his tone.
He’d been congenial up to this point, but now I was scrutinizing his space—and
likely stepping on his toes.

Treading lightly, because I needed Cal on my side, given his
extensive knowledge and access to all the top-secret areas of the building, I
asked, “Any idea when the hotel staff set the suite? An hour before Biel
arrived? Several hours? Was there anyone from Elan present while the buffet and
champagne were added to the room?”

“It was around four-thirty. I was there the whole time while
the staff put together the tables. They left the food and champagne in the two
mini-fridges in the room, which I set out myself once I returned with Miss
McKinley. We locked the room while I was away and didn’t allow anyone access
until I came back.”