The VIP Doubles Down (Wager of Hearts Book 3)

by Nancy Herkness

  “It’s prevented you from doing what you do best, hasn’t it? It makes you feel like you have no purpose.” She could relate to that.

  His nostrils flared as he pulled in a breath. “What’s the point of getting up in the morning? To go to meetings about foreign rights and marketing plans? Other people are experts on that. I’m just there as a courtesy.”

  “Do you feel like your creativity is all bottled up inside you and can’t get out?”

  He fiddled with a sugar packet. “It’s worse. There’s no pressure at all. Just a vast, blank void. No world where I am in total control.” He looked up at her, his eyes pools of despair. “I wasn’t joking about wishing you were one of my characters. I’m not all that good with living, breathing people.”

  The harsh fluorescent lights of the coffee shop accentuated the shadows of fatigue under his eyes and the unhappy lines bracketing the corners of his mouth.

  “I’m sorry.” She didn’t know what words of comfort to use, so she reached across the table to fold her hand around his. It took him a long moment to drop the sugar packet and relax his fingers into her grasp.

  “I’ve been told I confuse friendship with pity,” he said, “but I don’t want your pity.”

  “What I feel is empathy.” And an almost overwhelming desire to help him, something she needed to be wary of. In battling his pain, he might unintentionally hurt her, lashing out with teeth and claws the way Pie had when Allie tried to give the little cat medicine that would save her life.

  She must have made an unconscious movement of withdrawal, because he gripped her hand with a sudden urgency. “Tell me I haven’t scared you away.”

  “My mama didn’t raise a coward.”

  “That’s my Allie.” He traced her knuckles with his fingertip, sending tiny waves of delight dancing over her skin. “I know I’m cranky and overbearing, but I thought you could stand up to me.”

  “When I did, you didn’t like it.”

  He looked toward the plate-glass window that framed the dark, quiet street. “I panicked.”

  “You know it’s not me who gives you the ideas, right? They come from within you.”

  “You’re the catalyst.” He brought his gaze back to her.

  She wanted to be his inspiration. Another dangerous desire.

  “I said I’d be there tomorrow, and I will be.”

  “When I’m with you, I believe that.”

  Her resolve weakened. It would feel so right to take him up to her apartment and show him that she would be there for him. After all, she was used to healing with her touch.

  He released her hand. “I’m going to take my needy presence away so you can get some sleep. Because tomorrow night I intend . . . no, hope to keep you awake for several hours.” He gave her a long, hot look. “Allow me to escort you back to your front door, where I will place a chaste kiss on your forehead and depart into the night.”

  “You don’t have to go to extremes,” Allie said. “I’ll take a down-and-dirty kiss on the lips.”

  And she got one that left her knees so weak she could barely climb the four flights to her apartment.

  Chapter 17

  When Allie walked into the office the next morning, Gavin was staring at his computer screen. “Thank God!” he said, swiveling his chair so he faced her. “What do you think of adding a subplot about Julian’s handler, Virgil? Readers are always asking for more about him, and this seems like a good place to expand his character.”

  “Good morning to you, too,” Allie said, walking over to her desk and setting down her purse and her to-go cup of coffee.

  Gavin offered her a rueful smile that made him look almost boyish. “When I’m engrossed in a story, I forget about the social niceties. Top of the morning to you. You look exquisitely beautiful today. I hope you slept well.”

  “Such insincerity. You made sure that I tossed and turned all night.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “The tea kept you awake?”

  So last night wasn’t going to be discussed in the cold light of morning, even though she’d lost sleep over the despair she’d seen in him. She lifted the bag in her hand. “I brought fresh croissants from the best bakery in the city, which just happens to be two blocks from my apartment building. Be nice or I won’t share them.”

  “Ah, that explains why I was suddenly thinking of the rue Yves Toudic.” He stood and sauntered over to her, dipping his head to give her a quick kiss on the lips. His were warm and tasted of coffee. Their touch sent a ripple of desire through her. She put her hand on his chest to push him away, but the feel of his solid muscles under the black cashmere just made things worse.

  “Rue what?” she managed to ask.

  “It’s the street where Du Pain et des Idées, the best bakery in Paris, is located.”

  “Wait! Julian eats there in Best of Both Worlds. The name is so cool that I thought you’d made it up.”

  Gavin snaked his arm around her waist and pulled her close again. “You are utterly delicious, my dear.”

  “And I’m your assistant,” Allie said, as much to herself as to him. She was still reeling from his revelations of the night before, and it made her more vulnerable to him.

  He slid his arm away with a sigh of resignation. “In that case, answer my question.”

  She pulled a still-warm croissant from the bag and wrapped it in a napkin before handing it to him. “Virgil is such a shadowy figure that I’d love to know more about him. What kind of subplot?”

  “I was thinking he might be forced to go out in the field with Julian. Team them up so they learn more about each other in the process. After all, Julian doesn’t know much about Virgil, either.”

  “How much do you know about Virgil?”

  “Ah, that would be giving away trade secrets.” Gavin bit into the croissant and groaned before taking another bite. “Your first duty every morning is to pick up a dozen of these to bring here.” He polished off the rest of the croissant and licked his fingers, making her remember other ways he’d used his tongue. A shudder ran through her.

  She pulled another croissant from the bag and held it out to him.

  “Aren’t you going to eat one?” he asked as he took the pastry.

  “The smell broke down my willpower, and I ate it before I got back to my apartment. So the rest are for you.”

  He ate the second one more slowly, giving her time to admire the fluid movements of his fingers as he tore off pieces of the flaky pastry and brought them to his mouth. It took a few bites before she realized he was dragging out the process on purpose while he watched her from under hooded eyes.

  “You are a bad person,” she said, tossing the bag on her desk.

  “An indisputable fact.” He grinned and polished off the croissant in one swallow. “Let’s discuss Julian and Virgil.” He waved her toward the couch. A cheerful fire burned in the fireplace, and she was happy to sit near it. He settled himself in a chair, stretching out his legs in their dark gray wool trousers.

  “First, tell me how your neck feels.” She’d noticed he was holding one shoulder higher than the other one, as he had last night.

  “Did you bring your marching ants?”

  “I told you I can’t treat you anymore, but I’m going to call someone who can.”

  “My neck is fine. My”—he stared at the fire—“actions yesterday just aggravated it temporarily.”

  “Look, I’ll give you a massage later—as a friend—but I want you to get professional treatment. Your writer’s block may have created the problem, but it’s become a real physical issue now.”

  Gavin shifted in the chair. “This person you’re going to call, is it someone Ben Cavill works with?”

  “Not that I know of. Why?”

  “You and Ben spent a lot of time talking medical business at dinner the other night.”

  “He wanted to know more about my qualifications because he might be able to recommend me to his patients.” She had hoped to hear from him by now, since the
doctor had seemed very interested in her background. “It would be great for my career.”

  “I imagine he just hasn’t yet had a patient who needs PT.” Gavin dropped his chin to his chest and looked up at her from under his dark eyebrows. “Can we get to work?”

  For the next hour, they slung ideas back and forth. Gavin used her as a sounding board and also as a reference to the books. Allie was a little surprised he didn’t remember every detail of every book.

  Gavin gave a wry shrug along with a wince. “I don’t reread them after they’re published. After writing the book, revising it, copyediting it, and proofreading it, I believe the book has been made as good as I can make it. Then it gets sent out into the world to stand or fall on its own merits. I feel as though the books aren’t mine anymore. They belong to my readers.”

  “So the books aren’t your babies?”

  “Only when one gets a bad review.” He winked.

  “I thought authors weren’t supposed to read their reviews.”

  “I don’t . . . anymore. But I used to because I had to know what readers were saying. As a result, I developed a thick skin—or maybe it was just arrogance—so bad reviews no longer bothered me. Much.”

  Gavin’s cell phone vibrated on his desk. He sat forward as though he was going to stand and then stopped. “I’ve gotten into terrible habits. Like answering my phone during writing hours because anything seemed preferable to the frustration of not being able to write. That stops today.”

  This time he rose to approach Allie. He held out his hand and drew her to her feet. “Thank you, my dear.” He placed a gentle, almost reverent kiss on first one cheek and then the other. “That’s a gratitude kiss.” Then he slanted his mouth over hers hard, his tongue beguiling her into parting her lips so they could taste each other.

  All her good intentions vaporized in the blaze of arousal that he sent burning through her. Where their thighs grazed, where her breasts pushed against his chest, where his pecs bunched under her seeking hands, every touch sent a charge of desire down to the dark pool between her legs. He lifted his head to look down at her. “And that’s a kiss that means I want to take you to bed.”

  “I got the gist,” she said, tracing her fingers over his tense anterior deltoid.

  “But you’re my assistant.”

  “And we both have work to do,” she said, her voice a breathy rasp. “Just wait until you feel the massage I’m going to give you later. It’s going to hurt so good.”

  He groaned and rocked his hips into her. “You’re not reinforcing my work ethic.”

  “Pot, meet kettle,” she said, squirming out of his grasp.

  “I may have to write a sex scene to satisfy my lust.”

  “Does that work for you? Because reading sex scenes just makes me feel . . . lustier,” Allie said, laughing, then dodging around the couch as Gavin made a grab for her.

  She marched to her chair and forced herself to sit down without looking at Gavin. As his footsteps receded across the room, she sneaked a quick glance over her shoulder. He stood at a tall wooden desk with a pen in his hand, frowning down at a yellow legal pad. He tapped the pen against his cheek a couple of times and started to write.

  The focus etched in the angles of his face and the tautness of his posture conveyed the intensity of a mind in the throes of creating. A thrill of excitement ran through her. She felt as though she shouldn’t be watching because he left himself so unprotected, so she turned back to her computer, straining to hear the scribbling sound of his pen on the paper.

  She started when Gavin’s phone chimed.

  He swore, and she turned to see him throw down the pen and roll his shoulders. “Time for class.” He grinned at her. “I haven’t been this annoyed about having to teach class in months.”

  “You’re happy to be annoyed?”

  “Grumpiness is my default setting, as you should know.” He pulled a black leather briefcase out from under his desk, his expression becoming sober. “It’s like the cell phone. I wanted to be interrupted then. Now”—he flexed the fingers of his writing hand—“I want to keep working.”

  He walked over to her and set down the briefcase. “And I want you to remember me while I’m gone.”

  He twined his hand into her ponytail, moving it aside so he could put his lips against the back of her neck. He touched the exposed skin with the warm, moist tip of his tongue, sending shivers of pleasure racing through her body. He moved to just behind her earlobe and repeated his seduction.

  “Gavin,” she breathed, as the warmth of his touch seemed to froth through her veins.

  He leaned down beside her ear. “I want to do the same thing between your legs, but I wouldn’t be able to stop, and I’d hate to leave a whole roomful of budding writers without a leader.”

  She let her head loll over the chair’s back. Now his mouth came down on hers, his tongue plunging in and out until her hips rocked in the same rhythm.

  “That’s right, sweetheart,” he said against her lips. “We’ll be dancing together just like that tonight.”

  And then he straightened away from her, leaving her a boiling mess of unsatisfied need. “You’ll come for dinner?” He emphasized the word come.

  “Or I might just use my vibrator at home.”

  He smiled. “That will make you nice and wet for me.” Picking up the briefcase, he flicked her cheek with his finger. “Dinner is at seven.”

  And then he had the audacity to walk out on her while whistling a cheery tune.

  Allie raced up the front steps of Gavin’s house at 7:10. She’d refused a ride from Jaros, and the subway had been fouled up. Ludmilla answered the door without her usual cheerful smile. “Mr. Gavin not here,” she said.

  “Not here?” He’d been adamant about her returning for dinner.

  “Something happen. You talk to Mr. Hugh.” Ludmilla led her to a comfortable, masculine den where the actor stood by the window, drinking a beer.

  He turned, and Allie again experienced that weird shock of seeing a fictional character in the flesh. Once she got past the Julianness of him, she saw that Hugh appeared even more worried than Ludmilla did.

  “I’m afraid Gavin’s gone,” he said.

  “So I heard.” Allie sat in a wing chair. She was darned if she was going to stand just because Hugh was. “Where?”

  “Probably to the Bellwether Club. That seems to be his bolt-hole these days. Although no one knows with certainty. He just walked out of the house without a word.” Hugh swallowed the rest of his beer in one gulp. “It’s my fault, I’m afraid. I brought him bad news.”

  “What kind of bad news?”

  Hugh walked over to the chair opposite hers with the same coiled energy he projected as the super spy. Dropping into it, he swiped up another bottle of beer from the coffee table. “All the actors who were signed for the next Julian Best movie were released from their contracts today. That means the producers have decided there won’t be another movie in the foreseeable future.”

  So they’d given up on Gavin just as his creativity seemed to be returning. He would feel that like a physical blow. “He’d just started to expand the Christmas novella into a full-length novel.” Allie was furious on his behalf. “He must be devastated.”

  Hugh took another swallow of beer. “He’s not alone in that.”

  Allie stood up and paced to the fireplace and back, unable to sit still when she was so concerned about Gavin. He would plunge back into that dark void again, back to the place where he had no control over his world. She couldn’t let that happen. She turned to Hugh. “Where’s the Bellwether Club?”

  “You can’t get in there. It’s for billionaires only, and they guard their privacy fiercely.”

  “Can’t Gavin let me in the club?”

  “He’s gone off to lick his wounds alone, so he might not be receptive to that.”

  “I have to try. Do you know where the club is?”

  “No, but Jaros does.”

  Allie head
ed for the door. “I’ll text Gavin when I get there.”

  “What if he refuses to see you?”

  “I’ll sit on the front steps of the Bellwether Club until he changes his mind.”

  “I owe you an apology,” Hugh said from behind her. “You’re a better friend to him than I.”

  Ludmilla thought the plan was a good one, so Allie was quickly ensconced in the back of the Bentley en route to Gavin’s club.

  Allie stared at her phone, trying to figure out what words would make him agree to see her. Finally, she typed, Are you at the Bellwether Club? Ludmilla is worried.

  The Bentley slid smoothly between crazily veering taxis and buses spewing clouds of exhaust as she waited. Finally there was a ping from her phone.

  I’m fine.

  Not helpful. Allie texted back, You didn’t wear a coat so she thinks you’re freezing to death on the streets.

  Yes, I’m at the club.

  She could practically hear him growling as he typed. That’s a relief. Glad you’re warm and cozy.

  There was another pause before he responded. Is Hugh being a polite host?

  She decided not to tell him she was on her way there. Maybe she could talk her way in. The West Virginia accent sometimes helped with that. I came to see you, not Hugh.

  I’m not good company right now.

  I think I should be the judge of that.

  “Miss Allie, we are here,” Jaros said as he guided the car to the curb.

  Allie peered out the car window to see a tall brownstone with a massive stone staircase leading up to a door painted a solid, forbidding black. Carved gargoyles jutted from the building’s corners and cornices. The shadows cast by the dramatic up-lighting made them seem to sneer down at her. The only indication of what the mansion housed was a small plaque by the door, on which the initials BC were painted in gold curlicues.

  “They don’t roll out the welcome mat here, do they?”

  “Is not a place for people like you and me,” Jaros said.

  “We’ll see about that.” She pushed open the car door just as Jaros got out to hold it for her.

  She yanked down the hem of her quilted blue jacket. Marching up the steps, she looked for a doorbell. There was none. Nor did the heavy door sport a knocker. Glancing around, she saw a camera camouflaged by one of the gargoyles. She waved at it. Nothing happened.