Hot & Bothered (24 page)

“Yeah. And there's nothing any of us can do as long as little Priscilla Jayne wants to go home.”

“Is that her real name? Priscilla?” Victoria thought about it for a moment, then smiled. “It suits her.”

“Yeah. You might not think so at first, because she comes off as a tough little nougat. But she's got a real soft center, doesn't she?” He shook his head. “She was sure thrilled with the dollhouse you gave her. Wasn't that slated for a customer?”

She shrugged. “I can make another for my customer. I doubt that little girl has been given much in her life.”

“It's definitely one gift that's going to be well-loved. She wouldn't hear of Gert putting it in the backseat and was holding it in her lap when they drove away.”

Victoria laughed, then changed the subject. “I've been dying to hear how it went today. Did you learn anything new?”

“Yeah. Did you know they make little girls not much older than Esme go to something called Cotillion class?”

She blinked. “What?” It was so not what she'd expected that she couldn't quite wrap her mind around it.

“You shoulda seen it, Tor. Little kids all duded up like miniature adults, marching with a precision I swear the Marines would envy toward some class that Frank tells me teaches them to ballroom dance and comport themselves like good little country clubbers.” Hands thrust in his slacks pockets, he shoved away from the doorjamb and sauntered across the room toward her. “You aren't going to make Esme attend one of those, are you? 'Cause I'm against it. I mean, manners are great and so is discipline—hell, I'd be the last one to argue with that. But I want my kid to be more than some society princess afraid
to scuff her patent-leather shoes or get a bit of sand in her socks. I want to teach her the stuff that counts.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “And that would be…?”

“I don't know, something useful like…survival skills! How to find her way out of the woods if she gets lost. How to live off the land. How to—well, maybe not eat grubs, but at least know which berries will see her through and which ones will kill her.”

“Yes, I can see where there's bound to be a great big demand for that in her life.” She didn't know whether to laugh out loud or swear. On the one hand, he was demonstrating interest in his daughter's life, a basic necessity if he was ever to be an actual part of it. But her foot began to tap. Because on the other hand—

“Uh-oh. Something tells me you're pissed at me.”

He'd moved closer and she had to tilt her head back to look up into his eyes. She used the movement to give him her snootiest nose tilt. “Hamiltons don't get p.o.'d,” she said coolly.

“No? Why's that, honey, too vulgar?”

“Much,” she agreed. “We are rational and collected. And when we're pushed too far, we become…irate.”

“Irate.” He leaned so close his breath washed over her lips. “And are you irate now?”

“A little.”

“Why? You said I should get to know her. Doesn't that mean showing an interest in what she does?”

“Yes, but—” She took a deep breath. Blew it out. “Okay, here's the truth. I've gone this alone for nearly six years. The only thing I want to hear from you is what a good job I've done raising her. You don't get to just waltz in here and tell me what is—or isn't—important for my daughter to know.”

“I don't?”

“No.”

His eyes narrowed. “Now, that's fair.”

“You want fair? Well, what's so fair about you suddenly telling me what to do here?”

He reared back, hands fisting on his hips. “What the hell are you talking about? I'm not dictating anything. I'm just expressing what I'd like to see as part of her future.”

She went from moderately annoyed to red-hot furious. “Because you think I'm nothing but a spoiled society princess and you can't stand the thought of her being the same?”

“No! Jesus.” He thrust his hand through his hair, knocking a strand loose from the rubber band holding it back. He ignored the way it dangled in front of his left eye to pin her in place with his stare. “Did you attend Cotillion class?”

“Of course.”

“And you had such a great time you can't wait for Es to repeat the experience?”

She considered him, more than a little shocked to realize she was enjoying their skirmishing. And not just because it felt good to hold her ground. While it was certainly true that she was less than thrilled about the thought of sharing the decision-making regarding Esme's future, maybe there was a subtext at work here, as well. One that had more to do with the fact that he was big and hard-bodied, with a slight flush highlighting his cheekbones and his dark eyes liquid with conviction.

And with her sudden acute awareness that it had been several
loooong
days since they'd last made love. She thrust a hand through her own hair.

“I hated Cotillion,” she admitted. “But if we end up
staying in the Springs it will be a part of Esme's life. Hopefully she'll eventually make friends from all walks of life. But for now she has Rebecca, and you can be sure if Rebecca goes to CC, Es will want to go, too. And I'd rather she make up her own mind as to whether she likes it or not.”

He considered it. “I guess that makes sense.” Scowling, he took a sudden step back and shook his head. “But, damn. I was really hoping you'd argue.”

“Why, so you could argue back just for the sake of arguing?”

“No, darlin'. So I could clear off that nice wide desk behind you and spread you across the top of it.”

“Oh.” She gripped the wood on either side of her hips so tightly it was a surprise it didn't crumble to dust. “Not a great—” her voice cracked like a thirteen-year-old boy's, and she cleared her throat “—idea.”

“I know. But this is hard.”

Her gaze instinctively dropped to just below the waistband of his pants.

A bark of laughter escaped him. “Oh, yeah, that, too. But I meant this no-sex stuff. It's really hard, and it's making us both edgy and—”

“Maybe a tiny bit unreasonable?”

“Yes.” He shoved his hands back into his pockets and stood with military erectness. “But we said no sex while the kid's around and no sex it is. So, do us both a favor. Go back behind your desk. And I'll bore you with the things I found out during my golf game with Olson and Hamlin.”

“W
E'RE SORRY
. Y
OU HAVE
reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service.”

Swearing, Jared slammed down the phone. This was the third fricking time he'd dialed the number P.J. had given him and each time he'd gotten the same recording. Why had she bothered to give him a number at all, if the damn telephone wasn't even connected?

Because it was easier than telling you she doesn't like you anymore,
whispered a voice in his mind that insisted on reminding him of what he kept trying hard to forget—how uncomfortable she'd been when she'd visited him last week.

“No!” He shoved the thought away and, in an attempt to outrun the icy feeling settling in his gut, left his room with long strides, yanking the door shut behind him with such violence it bounced back open again. Ignoring it, he stormed down the hall.

This wasn't about him. This had something to do with her bitch of a mother, he just knew it, and he was going to find Rocket and hire him to locate P.J. She could come live with them.

But when he turned the corner into the main upstairs corridor and spotted John, shock stopped him dead in his tracks. For the former Marine was wrapped around his sister, kissing her as if he were a condemned man and she
his last meal. Tori's arms were locked around his neck and John's long fingers clutched her butt.

He must have made a sound, because Rocket's head suddenly lifted and Jared watched his lips form a succinct swear word when he saw him standing there staring at them. Realizing his own jaw must be sagging, Jared snapped it shut so hard his teeth clacked. His worry about P.J. and fury over the operator's electronic message abruptly transferred to his sister and the lanky P.I.

He stalked over to them, his upper lip curling in a sneer when Tori turned to face him and he saw how red and swollen her mouth was, how mussed her clothing. He gave her a slow up and down, but John he ignored entirely. He couldn't look at the older man without feeling betrayed. He'd
admired
him. No, more than that—he'd practically hero-worshiped the guy. And all along the P.I. had only been being nice to him to get close to his sister.

Sickness crawled through him. Because Rocket was a frigging page right out of the old man's book, wasn't he? It was clear he had one eye firmly on the main chance and was looking out for Number One. Victoria was suddenly worth a lot of money and Miglionni had worked fast to consolidate his position.

Jared wasn't quite brave enough to say that aloud, however, and shame at being such a chickenshit added to his fury. Unsure who he despised more at the moment—Rocket, Tori, or himself—he gave his sister his most insolent stare.

“I thought you were trying to
help
me,” he said in a low, furious voice. God, if he couldn't trust her, who could he trust? Not P.J., it seemed. She obviously didn't want to be his friend anymore or she wouldn't have given
him a bogus telephone number. But Tori was the one person he'd counted on to be unquestioningly on his side.

Yet here he stood, forgotten once again.

It was like all those times with his dad and whichever wife had been in residence. Only this betrayal cut deeper because Jared never in a trillion years expected it from his sister and he lashed out unthinkingly. “I thought you were trying to help, but I guess I was just an excuse to have the studmeister here stay around, wasn't I? Well, hey.” He shrugged as if his world wasn't one great big ball of fiery pain. “As long as the big guy here is screwing you regularly, what do my little problems matter?”

Tori's eyes went wide with shock, but before the hurt that replaced it had time to gouge his conscience, she was blocked from view by John's bigger body. The utter fury in his jet-black eyes sent Jared stumbling several steps backward.

“In my office,” John snapped.
“Now!”

Oh shit, oh shit. Cold sweat broke out on Jared's back and trickled down his spine. That was exactly where his dad used to drag him whenever he'd felt the urge to tell him what a loser he was. Wanting desperately to order Rocket to stuff it but afraid to even open his mouth again, he whirled on his heel and stalked down the hallway, impotent fury burning through his veins. He was conscious of the long-legged man striding in his wake as they marched down the stairs and along the main-floor hallway until they reached the office in the rear of the new south wing that Rocket had taken over.

Banging through the doorway, he barreled over to the chair in front of the desk and threw himself down upon it. He folded his arms over his chest and, heart knocking,
glared defiantly as Rocket walked around the desk and took his own seat.

“Let's get something straight right off the bat.” Leaning his forearms on the desk, Rocket pointed a long, tan finger at him. The skull-and-crossbones tattoo beneath a fan of black hair on his arm shifted with the movement. “You can say whatever the hell you want about me. But you don't talk to your sister—or any other woman, for that matter—that way. Especially not Tori. She believed in you when no one else did. Hell, she disrupted her entire
life
for you, and I'll be damned if I'll listen to you disrespect her.”

The look he'd seen on his sister's face already had guilt twisting his gut in knots, but Jared hadn't asked her to do one damn thing for him, so why was he was supposed to take the blame for that?

Stubbornly refusing to admit that anything John said might have a grain of truth to it, he gave Mr-Silent-Swiftand-Deadly his best, go-fuck-yourself look and took the high road. “What the hell are you talking about? How did I disrupt Tori's entire life? Whatever she decided to do, it was her choice.”

“Jesus, kid, I know self-interest is the fuel that pretty much drives us all, but do you think you could consider someone besides yourself for five freaking minutes? You are not the sun your sister orbits around. She had a life in England and she uprooted it all—took Esme out of school, left her aunt and her friends, packed up her studio lock, stock and barrel and had it shipped halfway around the world. She did it for
you,
you ingrate, because she cares about you—not because it sounded like a rocking good time.”

Suddenly the high road didn't seem so high after all.
“So, who asked her to?” he muttered defensively, but was immediately stabbed with guilt because hearing the words said aloud made him realize that as defenses went it was worse than weak—it was below contempt. He didn't need the look John shot him to tell him that.

Shit. He hadn't even considered that Victoria might have a life that required some serious rearranging in order to help him. He'd just taken for granted that she'd be there. “So, okay,” he admitted slowly, “she didn't have to be asked.” Shaking with mortification that he'd needed to have it pointed out to him, he instinctively struck back. “But what about you? I suppose your slipping the sausage to my sister doesn't have the first thing to do with your own self-interest?”

John came half out of his seat, rage emanating out of every pore. “Watch your mouth when you talk about her! I'm not going to warn you about it again.” Abruptly he seemed to catch himself, for his expression went blank and he sat back down.

Jared noted with satisfaction, though, that John's hands had a slight tremor before he flattened them against the desktop, and it gave him the courage to make a rude noise and sneer, “Like you don't know she's going to be worth a bundle once my dad's will clears probate.”

“I don't give a flying fuck about her money!”

“Oh, sure. Her wealth has
nothing
to do with why you're all over a woman you just met a few weeks ago.”

John presented him with a noncommittal expression, but Jared saw the pure fury that burned in his eyes. The other man's voice was clipped and neutral, however, when he said, “Not that it's any of your goddamn business, but I didn't just meet your sister. She and I met years ago, and just for the record, E—” Cutting himself
off, he shoved to his feet. “What the hell am I doing, arguing with you about this?” He leveled a finger at Jared once again. “Apologize to your sister. You don't have to like or trust me. But you owe her your respect, not to mention your gratitude. If it wasn't for her, you'd still be begging on the streets.”

He walked around the desk and Jared expected him to just keep on going. Instead the tall man stopped in front of his chair and shoved his hands into his slacks pockets as he looked down at him. Jared glowered back defiantly, but his stomach was one big knot of icy nerves. Miglionni's face might not demonstrate anger with anything so obvious as a scowl, but Jared knew he was furious. His shoulders were stiff and his jaw was tight, and Jared braced himself for the parting shot that would slice his confidence to ribbons.

He was caught off guard when Rocket merely said, “If you think Victoria needs money to be attractive to men, kid, you're not only self-absorbed, you're stone-blind.”

He blinked. That was it? No: you worthless little asshole? No: your mother should have ripped you out of her body before you ever got the chance to screw up everyone's life? Just another defense of his sister? It was so far from what he'd been accustomed to hearing from his father that he could only blink like some damn demented rabbit.

By the time he gathered his wits about him again, John had already sidestepped the chair where he sat and strode straight out the door.

 

G
ETAGRIP GETAGRIP, GETAGRIP
.
The refrain beat time with the temper surging fast and furiously through John's bloodstream as he stormed along the upstairs hallway
toward his room. And he was trying. He was trying like crazy. But sweet, sweet Jesus! Wasn't it bad enough that he couldn't seem to keep his hands off Victoria? Now he'd come within inches of kicking the shit out of her kid brother, as well!

“Great.” He slammed open the door to his room. “I'm turning into my goddamn father.”

“Oh, I seriously doubt that.”

His head shot up. Victoria sat in the striped silk chair across the room, her back elegantly straight, her legs crossed and one foot tapping air. But it was the first inkling he had that he hadn't been paying the least bit of attention to his surroundings and a harsh laugh escaped him.

“Perfect. You know, once upon a time nothing escaped me. I was one of the best—the few, the proud. Now socialite dollhouse designers and punk seventeen-year-olds can get the drop on me without breaking a sweat. What's next—Esme gonna take me down?”

“News flash, pal: you don't have to be on guard around us.”

Yes he did. Particularly after the session he'd just had with Jared. He gave her a cool stare. “Look, do you mind? I need a little downtime here.”

She didn't budge. “It didn't go too well with Jared, I take it.”

His bark of laughter was short on amusement. “No. It didn't go too fucking swell—starting with letting him catch us in the first place. Like I said, I used to be a lot better at this.”

“Back when you were a—how did you describe yourself in Pensacola?—a trained killing machine who specialized in covert reconnaissance?”

Had he really been that fat-headed back then? Proba
bly. Still, since the description pretty much covered what he used to do, he gave a curt nod.

“Then give yourself a break,” she said. “You must have had downtime, even back then. And I know you were a big popular ladies' man and all, but somehow I doubt you did much heavy necking while you were in ‘killing-machine' mode.”

He'd been prowling the room trying to burn off some of his temper, but her comment made him stop and stare at her. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? Because, I gotta tell you, baby, it just points out one more way I've screwed up. How many times have I told you I'm going to obey the no-sex rules?” He didn't wait for an answer. “But then every time I see you, I'm all over you.”

“I don't recall protesting. As a matter of fact, who started today's episode?”

She had. Still…“That's not the point. It doesn't excuse me breaking my word. I could probably live with it, though, if it was only that. But there's no excuse for physical violence against a kid and I wanted to beat the crap out of your brother!”

“Trust me, I was right there with you in that desire.” She shrugged as if the urge was as common as dirt. “He's a teenager, John. Who doesn't want to smack them at one time or another?”

“No,” he said flatly, looking up from the clench and flex of his fists to engage her gaze. “You don't get it. I
really
wanted to hurt him. I wanted to wrap my hands around his scrawny little neck and squeeze until his face turned blue. I wanted to hit him with my fists. God, Tori, I wanted to mop the floor with his face. I'm no better than my old man.” And it scared the bejesus out of him. “I never thought I'd see the day when I'd have to say that,
but I just barely hung on to my temper. We're talking by a fingernail, here. I wanted to take him down—both verbally and physically.” He scraped his still shaky hands through his hair, digging his nails into his scalp. “You don't
know
how badly I wanted to let go. I'd bet my life it was exactly the way my old man must have felt when he used to let me have it.”