Dangerous Ladies (24 page)

W
hen Tiffany opened the bedroom door and Brandi stepped out, Roberto caught his breath in instant and painful masculine awareness.

In makeup done by a professional and a red dress that shouted
Take me,
Brandi was the epitome of allure.

But in cosmetics applied by the loving hands of her mother and clad in a blue velvet gown cut in the medieval style, she looked sexy, classy, vulnerable, and as if she needed only his embrace to be complete—although perhaps his libidinous imagination had produced that last bit.

He could no more resist taking her hand between his and kissing it than he could resist the sweep of events that carried him along. “
Cara,
you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Brandi’s blue eyes glittered with the same cold frost as the sapphires in her ears. Snatching her hand away, she stalked away from him. She wore gold wedge heels that made her legs look a mile long from thigh to toe, and a gold belt that sat low on her waist and clanged softly while she challenged him with the sway of her hips. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

He lifted his eyebrows at Tiffany, who shrugged and mouthed,
She’s sulking.

Well. He supposed Brandi had the right—for a while. She’d lost the battle to stay in tonight. If he could, he would have indulged her, but he had no choice. His course had been set before he met her. He was seeking the truth about his past, and this operation was his way to find it.

She stood with the door of the coat closet open, staring into its depths with a frown. “Where’s my coat?”

Ah.
The tricky part.

With a nod at him, Tiffany picked the thickly quilted winter-white velvet coat off the chair and hurried after her. “Here, darling, wear this.”

“What is it?” Brandi frowned as she examined the warmest Gucci he’d been able to find.

“It’s mine,” Tiffany said. “I knew it was cold up here, so I bought it before I caught the plane.”

Brandi’s frown grew thunderous. “But you can’t afford this!”

“It’s all right, darling,” Tiffany said airily. “I got it on clearance from
bluefly.com
.”

“Mother, you can’t afford this coat whether it’s on clearance or not. And it’s white! How impractical can you be?”

Tiffany glanced at him as if apologizing for her daughter’s bad manners. “But it’s pretty, isn’t it?”

“You can’t afford this dress, or the other dresses, and you can’t declare bankruptcy again.” Brandi was truly distressed. “You have to cut up those credit cards!”

When had the roles of mother and daughter been reversed? Roberto thought their relationship had been askew for a very long time.

But in this instance, he’d bought the coat—he was tired of seeing Brandi shiver in the black London Fog—and he wouldn’t allow Tiffany to suffer for his actions. Before Brandi could scold anymore, he said, “Brandi, thank your mother for her generosity in allowing you to borrow such a gorgeous garment.”

Brandi turned on him in a heavy swish of skirts and a wave of
indignation. But when she caught sight of his grim reproof, she stopped. She thought. Her innate good manners took over. “Thank you, Tiffany.” She stroked the velvet. “It’s fabulous, and I’ll take good care of it.”

“I know you will, darling. It gives me such pleasure to know you’re going out. It’s been far too long since you’ve had a good time.” Tiffany beamed.

She was a kind and lovely woman, and why she wasn’t decorating the arm of a rich man, Roberto didn’t understand.

As Roberto helped Brandi into the coat, Brandi asked, “Mother, what are you going to do tonight?”

“Nothing. Watch a little TV. Read a little. I started a good book on the plane.” Tiffany yawned and patted her mouth. “I’m a little tired from traveling. Maybe I’ll just go to bed. How late will you be?”

“Don’t wait up.” Roberto bundled up in his own coat and scarf. “We’ve got three parties tonight.”

“Three.” Brandi pulled on her gloves and kissed her mother on the cheek. “I can’t wait.”

He flicked his finger against her cheek. “Sarcastic little witch.”

They went out the door arguing.

Tiffany went to the window and observed as Roberto handed Brandi into the limo. She waited until they drove away, and she waited a little longer.

Then she returned to the bathroom, to the makeup spread out on the counters and the stylish emerald-green dress hanging behind the door.

By the time the car arrived to pick her up, she looked almost as good as her daughter. In fact—she inspected herself and the excited glow that lit her from within—maybe better, because she was happy, as she hadn’t been for a long, long time.

 

The lights of Chicago cast alternating stripes of color and shadow in the back of the limo, but whatever the illumination, Brandi was
beautiful—and offended. She looked away from Roberto and out the window, her proud chin tilted up, her neck a tempting length.

But she couldn’t ignore him all night. He wouldn’t allow it. Unerringly, he found her gloved hand. “Allow me to tell you what we will do tonight.”

She swiveled to face him, her blond beauty cool and indifferent. “Since I have no choice, I really don’t care.”

“Indulge me.” Peeling off her glove, he kissed her fingers. “First we’ll go to dinner at Howard Patterson’s. He’s well-known for bringing in the finest chefs from around the world, and tonight he promises French provincial cuisine.”

“Good idea. Feed me first. That’ll improve my temperament.”

“So true, although I think champagne also improves your temperament. Anyone’s temperament, for that matter.” He pressed his lips to her open palm.

She inclined her head. “How gracious of you.”

She had the sharp bite of an asp and the brilliant wit of a dilettante, and the combination made him dodge and laugh, for he knew that she hid another guise behind the mask of sophistication. She was a passionate hedonist and a tender woman who had become a lawyer to set the world to rights.

God knew she was working hard enough to try to fix him. And while there had been a lot of women in Roberto’s life, none of them had ever tried to save his sinful soul.

“After we eat and improve our temperaments, we’re going to a party given by Mossimo.” Roberto caressed the pad beneath her thumb.

“BYOG?” She pretended to be indifferent, but her heartbeat increased with each stroke.

“BYOG?” Roberto frowned. Seldom did his English fail him. “What is that?”

“Bring your own gun.”

“Ah.” He chuckled. “Yes, I’m sure there’ll be enough firepower to start a small war. However, I will be unarmed.”

Her hand convulsed in his. “I don’t know that that comforts me.”

“Trust me. I’ll protect you.”

“I know
that.
I was more worried that you’d do something stupid.”

She was insulting, yet beneath her disparagement lurked an unthinking confidence that he would secure her safety, and that made him puff up like a strutting peacock. “I suppose it is forbidden to kiss your lips and ruin your glorious lipstick?”

“I’m wearing the lipstick that will remain on earth when all the glaciers have melted.”

He leaned toward her.

And ran into her free hand. “However, there is another reason why kissing me is forbidden.” She spaced her words for maximum impact. “I don’t want you to.”

“Champagne,” he murmured, knowing how very much it would annoy her. “Much champagne.”

She lifted her glossy, perfect lips in a delicate snarl. “Tell me the rest of the plan—we’re going to Mossimo’s?”

“Ah. Yes. I have to make an appearance, but I promise it won’t be for long.”

“I can’t wait.”

If Mossimo were smart, he’d stop worrying about Roberto and start worrying about Brandi. Roberto suspected she could take him down with a few well-chosen words. “I’ve saved the best news for last.”

“I’ll bet.” Sarcasm, but she didn’t take her hand out of his.

“Every year, Mrs. John C. Tobias gives a benefit ball for the symphony and a contingent of musicians plays for the dancing. It’s a night made for grace and beauty. It’s a night made for you, my Brandi, and I can’t wait to take you in my arms to lead you onto the dance floor.”

If his graceful sentiment impressed her, she hid it behind an impassive frost.

“Then, after we’ve waltzed together, you’ll get your way.”

“Get my way?”

“We’ll return to the suite and stay there,” he said in spurious innocence.

She stared at him in outrage—an outrage that slowly dissolved into mirth. Leaning back against the leather seat, she laughed loud and long.

He watched her, loving that she could laugh at herself without restraint.

“And tomorrow we’ll do things your way again?” she asked.

“That’s fair. At night you get your way. In the day, I get mine.”

“You really are a case, Roberto.”

“A case of what?” he asked cautiously.

“I’ll let you know when I figure it out.” She took her hand away from him. “We’re here.”

The limo inched up to the portico of the New England-style home, and the doorman ushered them inside. They greeted Howard and Joni Patterson, who insisted that Roberto appraise Howard’s newest acquisition, a two-carat diamond tie clip created in the 1920s.

Roberto told them the jewel was worth only thirty-six thousand, but the setting put the value much higher. Howard was ecstatic, and in a little more than two hours Roberto and Brandi ate, charmed half of Chicago society, and excused themselves to go to the rival party.

“I have to go,” Roberto told Joni Patterson. “To ignore a chance to dance with Brandi would be a crime against nature.”

“Damn that Tobias woman!” Joni said. “Why she has to have her party on the same night I have mine, I never will know, but I certainly understand about the dancing. The two of you are made to dance together!”

As they descended the stairs toward the portico, Roberto pointed out, “We’re becoming quite the well-known couple.”

“Wait until your trial,” Brandi advised, “when we tell everyone I followed you around under court order.”

“I wonder how many people will believe that?”

“All of them,” she said crisply. “I’ll make sure of it.”

The dinner hadn’t softened her ire quite as much as he’d hoped.

“I see you didn’t tell Howard that we were leaving their lovely dinner to first go visit the Fosseras,” she said.

“Sometimes I show a regrettable tendency toward lying.”

“I suspected that.”

“But not to you, my Brandi.” Leaning close, he whispered in her ear, “Never to you.”

He was delighted to note she hesitated before roundly saying, “And I’ve got a bridge I want to sell you.”

Against all logic, she wanted to believe him.

When they pulled up to the Knights of Columbus hall, Brandi’s mouth dropped. “Come on! The Fosseras can’t afford a nice place for their parties?”

“They can.” Roberto watched as Newby carefully parked the limo in a way that guaranteed them a quick getaway . . . if they should need one. “But their nice places are for their wives.”

“You mean it’s a guy party?”

“Not at all. But I don’t believe we’ll meet any wives here tonight.”

“They’re partying with prostitutes? And we’re going in?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I wouldn’t expose you to prostitutes.” He helped her out of the car. “They’re with their mistresses.”

T
he big room had been professionally decorated and the food professionally catered. The band that played could have performed in the best nightclub in the city. But the Fosseras had still held their party at a Knights of Columbus hall rife with cigar smoke and the faint scent of gym clothes.

Roberto counted the number of Fosseras over by the bar—twenty-two—and paid particular attention to the number of exits, including the windows. He noted the clump of females standing together near the dance floor, laughing shrilly and drinking everything from tequila shots to frozen drinks decorated with colorful little umbrellas.