by Nina Bruhns
“You’ve been asking questions about my daughter,” he accused. “My real daughter.”
More pain sliced through her chest. How could he say that? She fought to keep tears from filling her eyes. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “Darla’s disappeared. I’m worried about her.”
He snorted. “More like upset she’s not there for you to leech off.”
She curled her hand into a fist to keep from smacking him. But maybe she should give in to her first impulse. A fist in that hypocritical, self-righteous face sounded really good about now.
“Get out of here,” her father sneered. “Go back to that strip club where you belong. And if I catch you asking questions about my daughter again, I’ll hit you with legal action so hard you’ll be living on a grate for the rest of your life.”
With that, he turned on a heel and stormed off.
She stood watching his wake disappear into the crowd, fighting to control the trembling in her limbs.
Okay, then.
Another sentimental family reunion. Always a fun time.
“Are you all right?”
She looked up to see Conner. Her tongue tied in knots and she couldn’t speak. Because suddenly, she had a blinding insight.
Conner Rothchild was just like her father.
Oh, not abusive, or overtly insulting. Nothing like that. But he was the same kind of man. With the same kind of lifestyle. And the same kind of prejudices. Against people like her.
Conner was ashamed of her.
That was why he’d insisted she come to the event as his assistant. Why he’d accepted a date with Ms. Paris Vogue. Why he hadn’t told his brother, or anyone, the true nature of his relationship with Vera. If you could call two days of monkey sex a relationship.
“N-no,” she stammered. Shook her head. “I mean yes. I’m fine. Really. Go back to your date.”
“I don’t want to—”
“Conner, please. I’m tired. There’s nothing more to learn here. I’m going home now.”
He frowned, managing to look concerned. Maybe he really did care. Yeah, that she’d blow their cover and reveal herself to his blue-blood family. She’d seen him with his famous hotel magnate uncle, Harold Rothchild, and his young trophy wife. Wouldn’t they get a kick out of—
No, stop it. Conner wasn’t like that.
Except he was. And now finally both of them knew it.
“I’ll call the limo for you,” he said.
“No. I’ll take a cab.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He pulled his cell phone from his tuxedo pocket.
“All right, fine.” She didn’t want to argue. She just wanted to be gone from this nightmare of a night.
“The driver has the pass code for the gate.”
For a second she didn’t know what he meant. Then it hit her. He expected her to go back to his home.
Can you say no way in hell? But she decided not to tell him that. “Yes, I remember.”
“Good. I’ll tell Hildy to be expecting you.”
It occurred to her that this must be a huge relief for him. Now he wouldn’t have to come up with lame excuses as to why he needed to drop his assistant off after he dropped off his date. She’d just be waiting for him at home. Preferably in bed. Preferably nude.
No wonder he hadn’t protested.
She went to take off the ring. “You should take this.”
“No, keep it for now,” he said.
She couldn’t argue or he’d know she had no intention of going to his place. She’d just have to send it back to him tomorrow.
“All right. Go.” She made a shooing motion. “Your friends will be wondering where you are.”
He hesitated, his brow furrowed. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look…”
“I’m fine,” she lied. “Go find your lady.”
“She’s not—”
But Vera was already walking away, not listening. Back straight, head up, she told herself as she threaded through the throng. How many of these strangers had witnessed Maximillian’s tirade against her? It didn’t matter. She just had to make it to the door without being stopped. Pretend you’re on the catwalk. You’re not naked, they are.
“Vera?”
Oh, God, now what?
She resolutely ignored the unfamiliar male voice and went right on walking.
Long fingers grasped her shoulder. “Vera, wait.”
She suddenly remembered the thief. She opened her mouth to scream. But then she recognized who it was. From pictures. In her living room.
“I’m Henry St. Giles,” he said, removing his hand. “Darla’s brother.”
Fortyish with thinning hair, he was still good-looking in a boring businessman sort of way. Darla was always telling stories about his out-of-control, crazy youth, but somehow he’d ended up selling out to their father and going to work for him after he was cut off for a year. Which explained why they’d never met.
“I know who you are,” she said curtly, bracing herself for round two. “What do you want?”
He looked abashed. “I’m sorry, Vera. I just wanted to apologize for what happened back there. With my father.”
“Why?” she asked suspiciously.
“We don’t all think the way he does.”
She arched a brow but didn’t comment.
“I know you have no reason to believe me,” he continued, “but I honestly regret not getting to know you like Darla did. You’re my little sister. I should have made the effort, not cowed under to my father’s…stupidity.”
Wow. She hadn’t known what to expect from Henry St. Giles when he stopped her, but this definitely wasn’t even on the list.
“That’s, um, very nice of you to say.” Not that she particularly believed him.
“You look like her,” he said, with a little smile.
“Yeah. So we’ve been told.”
The man actually looked bashful. Either he was a hell of an actor or he was sincere. You could have knocked her over with a feather.
He held out a business card to her. “This is me. I’ve written my private line on the back. Call me. I’d love to get together for lunch or dinner. Get to know you. If you like.”
She decided to be flattered. “Thanks. Maybe I will.” Could she actually be getting a brother? She reached for the card. The second he spotted the ring on her finger, Henry’s eyes popped. “What the—” They shot to hers in shock, even wider. “Vera, is that what I think it is? The ring from Candace Rothchild’s murder?”
She smiled at his bewilderment and shook her head. “No. It’s paste. Pretty good copy, though, don’t you think?”
“Where on earth did you get it?” he asked, still awestruck by the jewel.
“Long story,” she said with a laugh.
“I thought it was stolen?”
“No, the original was stolen. Well, actually both. But now they’re back—”
“Miss Mancuso?” the doorman interrupted. “Your limo is here, miss.”
“Thanks, I’ll be right there.” She tucked Henry’s card in her beaded bag and held out her hand to him. “It was nice to finally meet you, Henry. And I will call. I look forward to lunch.”
He nodded and waited just inside the entrance, watching as she walked to the white stretch limo and got in. He waved as the chauffeur closed the door.
Vera let out a long sigh of relief, bending down to pull off her shoes and wiggle her toes on the plush limo carpet. Thank God the night was over. Just one more thing to do. She picked up the phone to the driver.
“Yes, Miss Mancuso?”
She gave him her home address.
“But Mr. Rothchild said—”
“Change of plans,” she said. “Just take me to the address I gave you.”
“Very well, Miss Mancuso.”
She didn’t want to think about Conner right now. Didn’t want to let herself be depressed about their doomed affair. Or her bastard of a father. Or even about not making any headway on the investigation
of Darla and the theft ring.
She did smile when she thought of Henry. Well, at least the night hadn’t been a total disaster.
Her brother. Who’d have thought he’d want to get to know her after all this time?
It was so amazing, it almost made up for losing Conner.
Almost.
Chapter 14
“Babe? Where are you?” Conner jetted out an impatient breath. “Vera, pick up the damn phone!”
Her answering machine clicked on. Conner slammed down his receiver and paced back and forth in frustration. “Damn it!” Where was she? She must be there. Ignoring him.
He knew he’d be in trouble over that freaking date.
He ripped off his bow tie and threw it onto his bed. The bed Vera should be tucked into, waiting for him.
Not that he blamed her, if he were honest. He wouldn’t have been nearly as civilized about it as she was if she’d turned up with a date for the evening. He would have ripped the guy’s throat out.
Or at least kicked him out of the limo onto his damn ass.
He picked up the phone again and dialed the number of the bodyguard he’d hired to follow her tonight.
“Barton.”
“Where is she?” he demanded, not bothering with the niceties.
Barton rattled off the address of her apartment. “Limo dropped her off just over an hour ago. She’s still up there.”
“You sure? She’s not answering her phone.”
Barton was wise enough not to comment. “I’m camped out in the lobby, and I paid the security guy to keep an eye on her, too. I’ll know if she budges.”
“Good. Anything else I should know about tonight?”
“Some guy spoke to her as she was leaving the event.” Conner heard the sound of notebook pages being flipped. “Name of Henry St. Giles. Gave her a business card.”
Darla’s brother? Hell, Vera’s brother. What did he want? “Was it amicable?”
“Seemed to be.”
As opposed to her confrontation with Maximillian. Her own father. “You’ll be there all night?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Good. I’ll expect your full report in the morning.”
“Will do, sir.”
Thoughtfully, Conner put the phone back in its stand. Should he go check on her? Or just let her cool off…He wasn’t too worried about her safety, not with Barton there standing guard all night. And Conner’d hired a cleaning crew to tidy up the apartment after the FBI was done with their evidence collecting, so she didn’t have to deal with that.
But, damn it, he missed her.
He’d been bored stiff all night, stuck at that stuffy ball with his stuffy family and the stultifyingly sophisticated Annabella Pruitt, slowly drinking himself numb. Or trying to. Unfortunately, he’d remained distressingly sober the entire time, despite the copious amounts of alcohol that had passed through his system.
Guilt?
Possibly.
Probably.
He wasn’t proud of the way he’d treated Vera. In fact, he was downright ashamed. What was wrong with him? Was he such a damn wuss that he couldn’t just tell his socially paralyzed father to take a flying leap if he didn’t like Conner’s choice of women?
Not to mention the whole Maximillian St. Giles thing. Conner should have pounded him into the dance floor like a wooden peg. Or at least shamed him into apologizing to his daughter, admitting he was being an ass.
So, why hadn’t he?
Because Conner was an even bigger ass, that’s why.
Setting his lips in a thin line, he strode into the hall. “Hildy!” he yelled. “Get the limo back here! I’m going out again.”
Naturally, Vera refused to answer the intercom. So Conner had to talk the security guard into letting him into the penthouse.
Luckily, he’d been introduced as Vera’s lawyer the other day after the break-in, so he didn’t have too much trouble convincing the man he was worried about his client and wanted to check on her well-being. The C-note deposited discreetly in his uniform pocket didn’t hurt either.
Conner found her in the bathtub. Up to her neck in bubbles, the mirrors steamed up and a dozen scented candles lit. The room smelled like a hothouse filled with damask roses. A bottle of red wine was propped on the edge of the tub. Half-empty. No glass.
The fake Quetzal was sitting on the tub’s front rim, winking in the candlelight like a multicolored disco ball.
“Go away,” she mumbled, not opening her eyes.
“How do you know who it is?” he asked, chagrined that she wasn’t worried and didn’t even check. He could be the thief returning, for all she knew!
“I can smell you,” she said thickly. “The demonic scent of wealth and temptation.”
Had he just been insulted? He made a mental note to change his cologne.
He stepped into the room and closed the door. “Sweetheart—”
“Don’t!” Her hand shot up from the water, fanning out a cascade of droplets. “Don’t you ‘sweetheart’ me, you…”
His eyes widened as she called him a very bad name.
Ho-kay, then. Looked like he wasn’t the only one drinking himself into oblivion. “Been watching reruns of Deadwood?” he muttered. Walking over, he plucked the wine bottle from the tub and deposited it on the marble vanity counter.
“Hey!”
“Any more of that stuff and you’ll drown yourself,” he said.
“Drown you, you mean,” she muttered. Then called him that word again.
Okay, so maybe he deserved the moniker. But he couldn’t help smiling. She was even more beautiful when she was calling him bad names.
“Vera, I’m sorry.”
“Tell it to someone who cares.”
“Look, honey, I know you’re mad, but—”
“Mad? Me?” She cracked an eyelid, gave him a gimlet eye and made a really rude noise.
“I can see you’re not going to make this easy on me.”
“Sure, I am. What part of ‘go away’ don’t you get? I’ll be happy to e’splain it to you.” She hiccupped.
He desperately wanted to chuckle. But he figured it would be the last thing he ever did. So he did the second best thing. Toed off his shoes and socks and climbed into the tub with her. They’d have to cut his tuxedo pants off him, but what the hell, he didn’t like this suit anyway.
“What the—” she sputtered, wheeling her arms to get away from him. But he just grabbed onto her and held tight as he slid down behind her into the water, leaning his back against the end of the oversize spa tub. “You are such a freaking Neanderthal,” she gritted out.
“So sue me. But I warn you, I’ll win.”
Damn, it felt weird taking a bath in his clothes. But she really would have screamed bloody murder if he’d gotten undressed.
Besides, he didn’t want to give her the wrong idea, either. He wasn’t here for sex. He was here for forgiveness. For her.
At least she wasn’t fighting him anymore. With a huff, she let herself fall back against his chest, closed her eyes again and refused to look at him.
Progress.
She sighed. “Conner, what are you doing here?” she asked him, sounding suspiciously uninebriated.
“Apologizing.”
“That’s not what it feels like,” she said dryly.
He realized his hand had unconsciously found its way to her breast and was gently fondling it. Since she hadn’t clawed his eyes out, he didn’t stop.
He kissed the top of her head. “I’m sorry, Vera. I acted like a jackass. You have every reason to be angry with me, and I wouldn’t blame you if you never spoke to me again.”
“Good, because I don’t plan to.”
“Which would be a damn shame, because I’d really miss you ordering me around when we’re in bed.”
Instead of snorting and telling him he was the one who did all of the ordering around, as he’d hoped she would, she just sighed again.
“Conner, you and I, we�
�re not going to work,” she said quietly. “I don’t fit into your world. I’d never be accepted by your family. What’s the point?”
He hugged her closer, leaning his cheek on her head. “Because I don’t want to give you up.”
“You did a pretty damn good imitation of it tonight.”
Guilt assailed him anew. “I know. And I couldn’t be sorrier. I was wrong. It’ll never happen again. I swear.”
“You’re positive?” she asked bleakly. “Because if it came down to a choice between me or Rothchild, Rothchild and Bennigan, I have a feeling I know which way it would go.”
“I’m not so sure.” He fell silent, and for the first time he seriously thought about what would happen to him if he left the family law firm. Or was asked to leave.
Would he be sad? Sure, he would. Would it take a while to regroup and start over? Undoubtedly. But he had more than enough money in the bank never to have to work another day in his life. So would his world fall apart? Definitely not.
The only question was, if it came down to a choice between Vera and his family, which way would that go?
“You’re jousting at windmills,” she murmured.
She sounded tired. And he was totally beat himself.
“Let’s get out of this water,” he said. “And go to bed. We can talk about all this in the morning.”
“Conner…”
He kissed her on the temple. “We don’t have to make love if you don’t want to. Just let me hold you while you sleep.”
She hesitated, then let out a resigned breath. “You’re a real bastard, you know that?”
He’d been upgraded. A good sign. “I’ll take it,” he said, kissing her ear. “As long as I can be with you tonight.”
The next morning Vera got breakfast in bed. It was Saturday, and Conner didn’t have to work.
The sun was streaming through the floor-to-ceiling bedroom windows looking out over the city below and the mountains beyond. The sky was so blue it hurt. A lone hawk rode the thermals that rose off the desert floor, scouting for its morning meal…or maybe just windsurfing for the sheer joy of it.
She had no right to be so happy. She knew the bliss wouldn’t last. Conner was fooling himself if he thought they had a prayer.
