Enchanted Heart (16 page)

“Sonja?”

She blinked. Then she turned on her heel and headed to the laundry room.

The shirt was still tumbling in the dryer. The timer had another ten minutes on it, but she yanked the door open, pulled the shirt out and gave it a single forceful shake.

“If only we could get rid of the problems in our lives that easily.”

She stood straight at his voice, her back to him. “Jack, I'm a very direct person.” She turned to face him. “I don't know what game you're playing, but I'm not going to be a party to it.”

“Good,” he said. “How about a nightcap?”

“Are you hard of hearing?”

He took the shirt from her hands and shrugged into it. He didn't bother to button it up. “Not in the least. As a matter of fact, my hearing is acute. I can hear . . .” He glanced at her chest. “Well, never mind.”

“I don't think I like you very much.”

He grinned. “Good. Now we can talk. I'm worried about Cole.”

“What about Cole?” Sonja asked.

Without waiting for her, he headed toward the great room where they'd started. “This house isn't what I expected of Cole.”

“What did you expect?”

He shrugged. “I don't know. Something a little more spartan, a little less
Architectural Digest.”

“And what do you know of
Architectural Digest?”

He looked over his shoulder at her. “Two degrees, one in design.”

“You're something of a contradiction, Mr. Spencer. Ice?”

“Straight.”

Sonja poured drinks. She didn't ask him what he wanted. She handed him a tumbler of amber liquid. She held a wineglass, less than half filled with a soft zinfandel.

“How do you know I didn't want wine?”

She looked him over. Really looked him over. From the top of his head covered with curly hair that was just a little too long. The powerful build that he kept masked by baggy clothing. To Sonja, Jack Spencer had one of those Ernest Hemingway, safari, headed-to-the-outback looks. Everything about him said he loved wild places.

“You don't strike me as a wine connoisseur.”

The corners of his mouth tipped up. “On that, you are right, Mrs. Heart.”

“Pride,” she said. “I kept my own name.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “I'd imagine that didn't set well with Mr. Traditional.”

Sonja settled in a deep, comfortable chair, one well removed from him and definitely not big enough for two. Jack ambled the room, pausing here and there at a piece of art that caught his eye.

“No,” she said. “It didn't.”

“Why didn't you want to take his name?”

“Are you a private investigator?”

He laughed, the sound again that rich, deep one that resonated with life.

“I, too, am direct. Sometimes too direct when I get back in the States.”

“How long have you been gone?”

He fingered an oversized African mask on the wall. “Early Ashanti. Museum quality. Very nice.”

“Thank you. You didn't answer my question.”

He faced her. “And you're trying to change the subject.”

Sonja closed her eyes. Then she downed the rest of her wine in a single swallow. “It's been a long day, and I have a full agenda planned tomorrow. Feel free to wait for Cole. The remote is right there. Videos and DVDs are in that cabinet. I'm calling it an evening. Good night, Mr. Spencer.”

She made her exit, all the time hoping he wasn't following her—wondering why she thrilled at the thought that he might. She ran a bath, then changed her mind. Her thoughts still on the houseguest who made her nervous and aware, she didn't need the ambient atmosphere of the tub to further lull her senses.

So she let the warm flow of water from the shower remove the stress from her body, the pent-up tension in her neck, the hard bite of sexual tension at her core. The scented shower gel, an earthy musk from Sephora, lathered in the sponge scrub. She rubbed it across her breasts.

A loud knock sounded at the shower door. Sonja yelped and the sponge went flying. She almost slipped on the shower floor, but found purchase between the wall and the showerhead. With a quick twist, she turned off the water.

“How dare you come in here! What do you want, dammit?”

“I'm not staying here tonight,” Jack said. “It wouldn't be . . . wise. Tell Cole I'm staying at the Williamsburg Lodge. I just made a reservation there. For two nights. Have a good evening.”

Sonja closed her eyes. Her breathing was erratic, just like the heart that beat a mile a minute. Jack Spencer had a lot of nerve. And he knew exactly which buttons to push.

He'd also given her a choice; she'd make the next call. He wanted her all right, but not in Cole's house.

13

“I
need to be honest with you,” Lance told Vivienne.

“All right. Be honest.”

“See, you're not taking this seriously enough.”

“I am, Lance. I am. I just find it difficult to believe that you intentionally set out to invest in a lingerie company.”

It had been two weeks since Lance told Viv he'd finance her project. His attorney drew up the paperwork that had been signed. And this evening, they were officially celebrating at Cloud 9—Viv's choice because, she said, that's what she was flying on. After dinner they lingered over wine and a shared dessert.

“Well, I didn't go out specifically looking for an underwear store.”

Viv laughed.

“Let's get out of here.”

The lighthearted smile fell from her face. She reached for her wineglass. “Lance, I told you . . .”

He shook his head. “Not for that. Remember that carnival we passed on the way over here?” When she nodded, he went on. “Let's go there.”

“To a carnival?”

“Yeah. It'll be fun. Festive. We are celebrating. When was the last time you went to a carnival?”

“I . . .” She frowned, cocked her head, thinking. “I don't think I've ever been to one.”

“Oh, well, then that's settled. I'll be your hero and win you big stuffed animals on the midway. Maybe we'll find one of those fortune machines like in the movie
Big.”

“You want to be transformed into a little boy?”

He held his hand out to her. “No, Viv. I enjoy being big way too much.”

The drive to the fair took less than ten minutes. Lance parked the Jaguar away from the other vehicles to avoid scratches and dents on his car.

He helped Viv out of the car, then noticed her shoes. High-heeled sexy numbers that reminded him of the pair in which he'd first seen her. He grew hard just thinking about that night.

“Uh, can you walk in those?”

Viv kicked up a foot and laughed. “I used to be a model. I can walk in anything.”

“If you say so.” He took her hand and they followed the crowd and the music toward the carnival set up in the huge parking lot of an abandoned home and garden store.

“Ooh, look. There's a Ferris wheel. I rode the one in Paris, near the Champs Elysees for a shoot there. But never for fun.”

“Then we'll be sure to ride the Ferris wheel.”

Vicki bit her fingernail. She'd let this go too far. The last time she'd almost sent him a photo, then chickened out at the very last minute. Now though . . .

She attached the file with the already scanned photo. And then, with a prayer that everything would work out all right, she pressed the Send key.

This would, she knew, change everything. She knew how he'd respond. She'd seen it happen too many times with Viv. All she could think about were the stories Viv told her of men who insisted they
knew
her. Of men who wanted nothing more than to claim a notch on a bedpost. Vicki wanted so much more. But she'd been handicapped with her looks. She and Viv
were
twins, but there was nothing she could do about the way she looked.

So she waited, while Clay got and opened the jpg. It took longer than she expected to hear back from him. But when she did . . .

Vicki smiled. But the smile was a little sad. Things would go downhill from here. Now, he'd press to meet her, then she'd really have a problem.

Lance bought wristbands that would enable them to ride all the amusements. Then, with a boyish grin that Viv found surprisingly compelling, he led her to the Ferris wheel. Once settled and secured in their seat, Lance laced his hands with hers on the safety bar.

“I declare the rest of tonight a stress-free, work-free zone. No talk of the store or business or anything that even remotely smacks of seriousness.”

Viv laughed. Then nodded. “It's a deal.” They shook on it. The car lifted as the ride moved to allow other revelers to get on board. A few minutes later, they dangled at the top of the Ferris wheel, high above the temporary amusement park. Looking out at the night and the city, they seemed cocooned together in a world made only for them, existing only for them.

Lance brushed back a wayward strand of hair at her temple. “When I was a kid I always wanted to stop at these kinds of roadside fairs. My mother would indulge me sometimes.”

“Where is she?”

“My mom? In Florida. She moved there a few years ago. The weather and the company suit her fine.”

“The company?”

“She lives in an adults-only condo. Loves it.”

“And what about when you finally show up with grandkids in tow?”

Lance threw his head back and laughed. “That'll be the day. I've got nothing against kids. And somewhere off in the future—like way out there—I can see myself with children. But now”—he shook his head—“that's not anywhere in the plan.”

“What's the plan?” she asked.

He glanced at her. “If I tell you, I'll be breaking the rule we just set for the evening.”

“You mean the one about work and stress?”

When he nodded, Viv tipped her head. “Then let's talk about that giant stuffed animal you're gonna win for me.” As the Ferris wheel began to make its circuit, she pointed to the midway. “See, down there. That one. That's the one I want.”

Lance peered over the railing. “Which one? They all look like ants to me.”

Viv laughed.

Lance did win her a big stuffed animal—a large yellow, red and purple dragon that took about forty-five dollars worth of balls tossed at milk cans and shots fired at moving targets to finally achieve.

“This is fun,” Viv said. “I'm glad we stopped.” While Lance toted the dragon that Viv dubbed Sirgal, short for Sir Galahad, Viv held a small sombrero that had been Lance's reward in his first effort at winning the dragon.

“Me, too.”

They passed a concession hawking cotton candy. Lance raised an eyebrow. “Why not?” she said. “The diet is shot to hell.”

His gaze roamed her body, slowly, appreciatively. He lingered at his favorite places on the female form. “You, Vivienne, are perfection. Don't lose an ounce.”

She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “I see why you get all the ladies.”

Lance paid for cotton candy they shared. “You wound me.”

“Hello, Vivienne. Well, I see why you haven't called.”

Viv turned.

Julian.

Her glance, guilty, darted from Julian to Lance.

“Hi, Jules. I've been tied up with the store. Let me introduce you to the man who . . .”

Lance cut across her. “Lance Heart Smith. Nice to meet you. You and Viv are friends?”

Julian shook Lance's hand, the other man's grip surprising Lance. He shook hands like he meant business, lethal business. But he never even looked Lance in the eye. Vivienne was his total focus. “Is that what she told you? That we were merely friends?”

Suddenly feeling both predatory and territorial, Lance wrapped his free arm around Viv's waist. She held herself rigid, stiff in his embrace. “Actually, she's never mentioned you at all.”

“Lance.” Her tone carried a warning even as she tugged free of him. They hadn't been like this all night, now with Julian, everything again turned to male-female domination. “Lance is investing in Guilty Pleasures. I told you about him.”

“Investing, hmm?”

With no words spoken between them, the two men sized each other up and declared war.

“Are you here with your nieces?”

“No,” Julian said. He hadn't missed the tug-of-war between Lance and Viv and his gaze turned speculative. “The company running this carnival, they're one of my clients.”

“Oh,” Viv said. She had nothing else to add. Running into Julian reminded her that she had ignored him. Not quite what she'd planned. But everything with the store and Lance's investment had kept her pretty intent on things other than Julian's potential hurt feelings. It would be easy, she knew, to soothe his ruffled feathers. Once she got him alone.

That would come later.

She leaned forward, kissed him on the cheek. “I'll call you this week. We'll get together.”

“Yeah,” Julian said. “We'll do that.”

The two men nodded at each other and Julian stomped away in a huff.

“He your boyfriend?”

“Don't be juvenile, Lance.”

“What? I'm just asking a question. He's the one who jumped all up in my face.”

“He didn't jump in your face. Let's just go, all right.”

A shadow had fallen over the evening's fun. Lance dumped the remaining cotton candy in a trash can and they headed toward the parking lot. A stream of other revelers were headed in the same direction. Though encircled by people, awkward moments of silence surrounded Lance and Viv, each lost in his or her individual thoughts: Lance dismissing Julian as a threat or competition; Viv wondering if she settled for Julian— or someone like him—would she always pine for someone like Lance.

Danger appealed to her. And Lance was danger with a capital D. He was impetuous, and Viv responded to that on several levels. For Viv, Julian was a reminder of everything she was trying to do—clean it up and straighten it out. Settle down. Make a home.

But Julian had never made her laugh the way Lance did. And in bed, Julian had never, ever taken her to the heights Lance had during their one frantic night together. Lance had been spectacular in bed. Was that the norm or had it been the moment, the spontaneity of it?

She glanced up at him, then put the sombrero on his head. Lance grinned. Then he stole a kiss.

Instantly, the fire raged, hot and furious. What started as a light gesture, turned into an inferno.

“Lance.”

He deepened the kiss, silencing her words of either protest or plea. Lance wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her close. So close, Viv knew without a doubt that, yes, he wanted her.

And she wanted him.

Catcalls came from a group of teenagers. “Whoo-hoo. Gimme some of that.”

“Get a room!”

They did break the kiss, but they held hands the rest of the walk to Lance's car. He shut the door then walked to the driver's side, tossed the sombrero on the backseat and settled behind the wheel.

Kissing Viv was all he had on his mind. But when he leaned toward her, instead of a soft, feminine body, he came face-to-face with the boldly striped stuffed toy instead. “Hmm, I see you have a dragon guarding the gates.”

She patted the toy snout. “Sirgal knows how to get the job done.”

Lance took her hand. “I really enjoyed myself this evening, Viv.”

“I'm sorry about that scene with Julian. Normally, he's so . . .”
Tame
came to mind, but it sounded so lame. “Normally, he's very calm. And no, he's not my boyfriend. I haven't had one of those since . . . well, in a long, long time.”

Lance read between the lines. She didn't have boyfriends, just lovers and sugar daddies. Did she plan for him to play both roles?

With a woman like Viv as the object of his desire, it didn't matter much to Lance. As long as she eventually—sooner rather than later—landed back in his arms . . . and his bed.

Like tonight.

“When the attention of a beautiful woman is at stake, men get a little intense.”

“I'm not a prize, Lance, something you or anybody else can win at a carnival.”

“I didn't say you were. And that's not what I meant.”

“Well, what did you mean?”

Lance shrugged. “Look at us, Viv.” He adjusted the rearview mirror and leaned over so they could see their images in the small rectangle. “You're beautiful. You don't need me to tell you for you to know that. And I know I look good. I always have.”

Viv smirked, not because he spoke an untruth, but because he was so confident in his appearance. “Vanity.”

He shook his head. “Not at all. Just fact. We're good-looking people.”

“Ergo?”

“Some people are threatened by that. Your pal, what was his name?”

“Julian.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “Yeah, Julian.” He said the name extending the first syllable.

Viv's brow creased. “So, let me get this straight. What you're saying is that because we were lucky enough to be born looking this way, the rest of the world has some sort of obligation to defer to us?”

“Well, I wouldn't go that far. But think about history. Beauty is always preferred. It's even in the Bible.”

Viv stared at him, incredulous. “And you really believe this?”