Hot Wheels and High Heels (22 page)

“How did you know that?” she asked him. “You drink out of the good plastic.”

“I went to millionaire finishing school. The instructors were really strict.” He set the glass down on the bar and picked up the tin of caviar. “Did you know they recently limited the export of caviar to the United States because the sturgeon that produces it is an endangered species?” He turned the tin over in his hand, looking down at it reverently. “Imagine what a single ounce must cost now.”

One hell of a lot. And she wouldn’t mind trying it again sometime.

“What about the Godiva chocolate?” she asked. “Do you have any interesting facts about that?”

“Nope. Premium chocolate pretty much speaks for itself.” He picked up the perfume bottle. “I don’t know a thing about perfumes, but I’ve been assured they don’t come any more expensive than this one.”

He opened the bottle as he spoke, then dabbed some on his fingertip. In a slow, deliberate motion, he touched the pulse point beneath Darcy’s ear. As he dragged it downward, the subtle notes of jasmine and sandalwood wafted up to her nose.

With her mother here oohing and aahing, it had been easy to downplay her reaction to these things. But now, with Jeremy’s deep baritone voice narrating an even better life than the one she’d lost, she couldn’t help imagining what it would be like to have this kind of opulence every day of her life.

Leaning to within inches of her neck, Jeremy inhaled softly, then made a sound of approval. “Do you remember what it was like?” he murmured. “To live like a princess?”

Of course she remembered. She tried to put it out of her mind most of the time, and most of the time she was successful. But with these things right in front of her, memories came racing back. Part of her wanted desperately to dive headfirst into that basket and overdose on chocolate and caviar. To bathe in expensive perfume. To drink the best wine out of Waterford crystal. To have a weird little Asian man bringing harmony and prosperity to her new home, a home also occupied by a wealthy man ready to lay the best life had to offer right at her feet.

But she didn’t trust this man. Not by a long shot.

“You can have any woman on the planet,” she said. “Why me?”

“I’ve been asking myself that same question.”

“Come to any conclusions?”

He came closer still. “Lust is unpredictable. Who knows when it will strike?”

Lust. Exactly. This was all a game to him to see just how much it took to get her into bed. That the moment she gave him what he wanted, he’d laugh his way right out her front door. Or . . .

Or there was always the possibility that once she gave him what he wanted in a way he couldn’t forget, he’d find his way back for more. One thing would lead to another, and she’d have him wanting her.
Needing
her. And then she’d have him right where she wanted him.

He closed his hand around her wrist, stroking the tender skin with his thumb. “Come to my house tonight, and I’ll show you what real luxury is.”

Which was clearly going to involve seven-hundred-thread-count Egyptian sheets.

He took another step forward and closed the gap between them, staring at her lips the whole time. She knew what he intended, and something in the back of her mind was screaming at her to stop him. But the closer his lips came to hers, the more that little voice faded into the distance.

Just kiss him. Kiss him like you’ve never kissed a man before, and sooner or later, you’ll have everything you ever—

Knock! Knock! Knock!

At the loud raps on the door, they both jerked back.

“Damn,” Jeremy said. “It’s probably Bernie, checking to see if the bad guys swooped in through the back door.”

Damn
was right. Darcy was ready to kill whoever was on the other side of that door for their
impeccable
timing.

She backed away slowly, then turned and went to the door. She opened it, expecting to find Bernie, and got a shock.

“John?” she said incredulously. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, I didn’t just happen to be in the neighborhood, that’s for sure.” He brushed past her, taking an immediate right into her kitchen, where he set the stuff he held down on the counter—a toolbox, a Home Depot sack, and a box from Pizza Hut.

“I can’t believe you’re living in this dump,” he said.

“John—go away.”

He upended the sack on her kitchen counter, and some kind of hardware tumbled out.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“A deadbolt.”

“I have a lock.”

“In the door handle. That’s useless.”

“How did you know my door didn’t already have a deadbolt?”

“I told you I know this complex. The owner’s a tightwad.”

“But there’s a chain lock, too.”

“One good kick and that’s history. How safe do you think that makes you?”

“John—
stop!
”

He ignored her, grabbing the deadbolt along with a drill out of his toolbox. He turned to head back to the front door, and that was when he looked across the counter between the kitchen and living room and saw Jeremy.

“John,” Darcy said, “this is Jeremy Bridges. Jeremy, my boss, John Stark.”

John eyed Jeremy for a moment, then set down the drill and the deadbolt and came into the living room. He moved slowly, clearly taking the time to analyze the situation he’d just walked into. The men shook hands the way men do unless they have a real good reason not to, all the while sizing each other up. Money versus might. Both formidable powers.

“So you’re the man who repossessed Darcy’s Mercedes,” Jeremy said.

“So you’re the man Darcy’s husband embezzled three hundred thousand dollars from,” John responded.

There was a long silence as both men stared each other down. Finally John spoke to Darcy, but his eyes never left Jeremy.

“Darcy? Have I interrupted something here?”

She wanted to say,
Yes! I have a millionaire on the hook, and you’re messing things up. Go away!

But then John turned and met her eyes, and her brain replayed the words he’d spoken a moment ago.
“One good kick and that’s history. How safe do you think that makes you?”

The strangest feeling came over her. She’d fought with John from the second they’d met. He was irritating and exasperating and thought he knew what was best for her every moment of every day, and he was doing it again tonight. But right now she couldn’t get around one undeniable fact that gave her a whole new awareness of him. Jeremy had brought her expensive but frivolous gifts.

John had brought her food and safety.

Maybe he had an ulterior motive, too, but Darcy sensed none of that. Suddenly the man who drove her crazy had filled her with the most amazing sense of warmth and comfort, overshadowing every need or desire she’d felt before he knocked on her door. Within a few minutes, she’d probably be fighting with him all over again, but still . . . right now . . .

She wanted one of these men to leave. And it wasn’t John.

“Uh . . . no,” she told him. “You didn’t interrupt anything. I think you’re right. I really do need that deadbolt.”

“That’s not a problem,” Jeremy said. “I’ll send someone over to take care of it tomorrow.”

“No,” John said. “She shouldn’t spend a single night in this place without decent locks.”

Jeremy’s expression tightened with irritation. “Then I’ll send someone over tonight.”

“No,” Darcy said. “There’s really no point in doing that. Not when John’s already here. He can take care of it.”

“I’m sure he has something better to do than play handyman.”

“Nope,” John said. “Can’t think of a single thing.”

He spoke in an even tone of voice, but the warning was there just the same.
Back off, buddy. I have this situation under control.

Jeremy turned to Darcy. “My car’s waiting.”

A beautiful, luxurious limousine, complete with a millionaire making his move. She was insane to give that up, and she couldn’t imagine that tomorrow she wouldn’t be filled with a whole lot of regret over that. But just for tonight, insanity seemed like a wonderful state to be in.

“Maybe another time,” she said.

Jeremy raised his chin a millimeter or two, a muscle in his jaw twitching. In one swoop, he’d been dismissed by a woman and one-upped by another man. He clearly didn’t like that in the least, but he was smart enough to know when he’d lost the battle. Whether he still wanted to fight the war remained to be seen.

He headed for the door. Darcy followed. When they reached it, he turned back, lowering his voice so only she could hear.

“A woman like you isn’t cut out to struggle, Darcy.” He glanced at John, his gaze tight. “Remember that.”

He left her apartment, and she closed the door behind him.

Chapter 14

J
eremy got into the limo, barely closing the door behind him before reaching into the fridge for a beer.

“Back so soon?” Bernie said.

He popped the cap of the beer and took a swig, then looked out the window, amazed that in spite of the squalor that was Creekwood Apartments, he hadn’t been able to entice Darcy to spend an evening in paradise. This whole situation with her was becoming an irritation he wanted to settle in his favor, but for the first time he wasn’t quite sure how to go about doing that.

“She’s staying in tonight,” he said.

“So she didn’t like your extravagant but heartfelt gifts?”

“She liked them just fine.”

“Is that why you were in there for only twenty minutes?”

Jeremy clenched his teeth with frustration. “Seems I have a little competition.”

“You mean she found a guy richer than you? Works fast, doesn’t she?”

“Actually, it’s the man she works for.”

“At the repo company?”

“Go figure.”

“Did he happen to be the guy who showed up at her door a minute ago carrying the toolbox?”

“That’s the one.”

“Hmm.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What it means is that you’d better ramp it up. You’re fighting six foot three inches of pure testosterone.”

Yeah, some women had a real thing for the blue-collar type. But in the end, women like Darcy always knew who signed the checks.

“What’s the matter?” Bernie asked. “Aren’t you up to the challenge?”

“Of course I am.”

“Just take her to Paris or something. That’ll wow her.”

“I won’t have to. John Stark is just a distraction. I know which buttons of Darcy’s to push, and they have nothing to do with hormones.”

“Oh, I have no doubt you’ll win in the end. The question is, what’s it going to cost you?”

Jeremy took a swig of his beer, frustrated as hell because he was beginning to wonder about that himself. Not that he didn’t have it to spend. But he hadn’t gotten this far in life by paying more than market price for anything.

“She’s just playing hard to get,” he said.

“Never thought I’d see the day. I think you might actually like this woman.”

“Now, Bernie. You know me better than that. Liking someone would require me to have a heart.”

“True. My mistake.” She eyed him up and down. “Then again, what’s with the preppy look? You look like you’re heading to a country club. And I know how you hate those.”

“They’re just normal clothes.”

“Nope. Normal for you is a Cowboys T-shirt, crappy jeans, and tennis shoes. Yet now you’re going for the rich-guy look. Trying to impress someone?”

“Bernie, you want to shut up?”

“Sure, boss,” she said, smiling a little as she turned away. “Whatever you say.”

God, she was
such
a know-it-all. One of these days he was going to fire her for real.

At first this had only been a game. But now, when it looked as if there was a possibility he could lose . . .

It was time he got down to business.

John plugged in the drill and ripped through the deadbolt packaging to install the lock in Darcy’s door, moving with the authority of a man used to firing up power tools and repairing things. Warren had never fixed anything around the house. Replacing lightbulbs and putting new batteries in the TV remote were about the only things he’d been able to handle.

While John worked, Darcy busied herself by arranging a few things in her pantry closet, but several times her gaze wandered in his direction. She noticed his taut expression as he pressed the drill to the door, the fluid, agile way he switched from one tool to another, his forearm muscles flexing as he twisted the screwdriver. And those hands again. Big, strong,
talented
hands. Now that she knew what it felt like to have them roaming over her body, just looking at them now made her mouth go dry.

She turned away. This was ridiculous. Getting hot over a man with tools? Was there any bigger cliché than that?

John had the door open as he worked on the lock, and suddenly he looked up, focusing on something outside. He slowly rose to his full height, his voice booming across the breezeway. “Hey! What are you looking at?”

Darcy looked around the doorway to see Crazy Bob peeking out his door. He wore his usual gym shorts without a shirt, that cigarette dangling from his lower lip and his eyes shifting back and forth crazily.

“Beat it!” John said.

He ducked back inside his apartment in a flurry of door slamming and lock turning.

“Weirdo,” John muttered, kneeling beside the door again. “You watch out for guys like him.”

“He’s probably harmless.”

“That’s what somebody has said at one time or another about every serial killer in history.”

“He’s a school teacher.”

“That figures.” John shook his head with disgust. “Damned educational system.”

A few minutes later, he had the lock installed. He came to his feet a little stiffly, then twisted the key in the lock to test it. He handed her the key. “There. It’s in. I’m hungry. Let’s eat.”

“How do you know I haven’t already had dinner?”

“Have you?”

“No.”

“Then let’s eat.”

They went to the kitchen, where Darcy pulled down two of the stoneware plates she’d put away earlier. John grabbed the pizza box and set it on the kitchen table, and they both sat down.