The thinking part of her brain—what was left of it—told her to blow him off, hightail it to the kitchen, where there was safety in numbers, and avoid him for the rest of their shared time in Jackson Hole. But when they were face-to-face like this, and his entire being seemed poised and alert for whatever she might deign to say next, it was hard to remember that he was a danger to all her interests—professional and personal. Or that it was best not to get tangled up with him in any way, ever.
How the hell had she gotten herself into this mess?
“Look,” she said, turning all her frustration and irritation inward, on herself, because she was the problem here, not him. Marcus was only trying to get laid, which was what men did, and he was just more persistent than many. “I’m going to make this as clear as I can. And then at the end, I can draw you a diagram with little stick figures if you like. Anything to help this get through your thick skull.”
“Stick figures?” One edge of his mouth curled. “I look forward to that.”
“This trip out to Jackson Hole to land Judah Cross’s auction may be a fun jaunt for you and your brother, the mighty Davies men of the mighty Davies and Sons auction house. And you have several advantages over me, because your house’s reputation precedes you and Judah Cross is apparently an old friend of yours. For all I know, he’s your ‘godfather’ or ‘uncle’—” she made quotation marks with her fingers “—or some such nonsense.”
A shadow darkened his face.
“And if for some reason you don’t get this auction, you’ll just wait until next week, when some other icon, like Bruce Springsteen or the Stones or someone like that, decides they need you for their auction.”
Marcus’s jaw tightened, as though he was grinding his teeth.
“But I have moved to a new continent to try and jump-start my career,” she continued. “I mostly handle rare books, yes, but this is a brilliant chance for me to broaden my horizons and make a name for myself in my new job. Because for some bewildering reason, I’m on Judah Cross’s radar, which is why he invited me out here. And I don’t want to blow the biggest opportunity of my career.”
“I get it,” he said quietly.
She was in no mood to be pitied. “No, you don’t get it. You don’t get the half of it. Because on top of it all, I haven’t even reminded you of my younger brother, whose university bills I’m footing even though he’s too idiotic to appreciate what I’m doing for him. But I have to do it, because I don’t want him moving in with me and sleeping on my sofa, and an education is the best way to get him on his way to becoming a functioning member of society.” She paused for a breath. “So that’s why this opportunity is important to me.”
“Claudia,” he tried again.
“Tell me, Marcus, who’s depending on you? I really want to know. Who will suffer financially if you don’t land this client? The tailor who cuts your suits? The detailer who takes care of your fancy car for you? Who, Marcus? Anyone?”
“Look,” he said, then had to break off to swipe a hand over his head. He seemed to be gathering his thoughts. He opened his mouth, shut it, then opened it again. Even then, he didn’t quite seem to know what to say. “Look,” he began again. “You’re right.”
This was a surprise. “What?”
“You’re right.” He shrugged, abruptly turning and nailing her with a look of such open earnestness that she almost needed to turn away. He continued, his color high and his voice husky. “You’re right, okay? This would be a great auction for our house, but it won’t make or break us. We’ll go on either way.”
“Oh.” There was something about his concession that took the wind out of her sails. She was used to fighting for everything she had. She wasn’t used to winning.
“So we can withdraw from consideration.”
She cocked her head, certain she’d misheard. “Withdraw?”
“Yeah. Pull out. Coop won’t be happy, and he’ll take a little convincing, but—”
“Hang on.” Humiliation flickered to life inside her, building heat and swelling through the wall of her chest. “You’re saying you’ll...what? Give me the auction because I’m so pathetic I can’t win it on my own? Am I getting this right?”
His brows straight-lined into a frustrated frown. “Don’t twist my words, Claudia.”
“By all means, then.” The heat had now climbed up her neck and risen to her cheeks, probably making her incandescent. “Explain how you don’t think I’m a charity case.”
“That never crossed my mind. That’s not what this is about.”
“What’s it about, pray tell?”
“It’s about the fact that exploring a relationship with you is more important to me than an auction. It’s about my willingness to do whatever it takes to make you and me happen.”
Claudia gaped at him, as much from shock that he’d say such a thing—oh, the pretty words!—as from dismay that the words meant so much to her. Even now, as she told herself not to get her head turned or her feelings hurt, another part of her brain was wondering if he might mean it...if they could figure this out...if he could possibly want her as much as she wanted him.
She tried to joke it away because she couldn’t think what else to do. “That’s a lot of effort to go through to get laid, isn’t it, darling?”
“Darling.” His frown deepened. “I could get used to the way you say that. So don’t say it unless and until you mean it.”
Outrage got the best of her. Why couldn’t she win a point—even a tiny one—in this mating game between them? And why was it feeling less and less like a game and more like something...real?
“There are millions of other women in the world, Marcus. Any of them would be happy to screw you.”
He shrugged, looking irritated. “Maybe. Maybe not. It’s irrelevant because I want you.”
Flustered, she clasped her hands in her lap. “You don’t really—”
“I. Want. You.”
His voice was soft but his gaze was intent and unyielding, and she suddenly realized that she’d have better luck asking Mount Everest to move six inches to the left than she would talking Marcus out of pursuing her.
The thing was, it made no sense. Men, starting with the father who’d disappeared before she was born and never made an appearance in her life, had never seen anything special about her. Hence, the unfortunate series of short romances and breakups, dotted with the occasional one-night stands that she’d endured over the years. If there was a loser, she attracted him, and her ego had the dings to prove it. Oh, sure, she puts lots of time and energy into projecting the facade of the sophisticated career woman, but that was the thing about facades—there was no reality behind them.
Shooting a glance into the kitchen, where Summer was still chattering and Cooper was warily peering into the juicer, apparently trying to decide whether he dared drink its beet-red contents, she decided it might be best to disabuse Marcus now of the mistaken notions he seemed to have about her.
“I’m not special, you know. In fact, I’m guaranteed to be a pain in your arse—”
“Worse than you are now?”
“—and you’re bound to regret any involvement with me.”
His eyes narrowed with clear hostility to this idea. “Do tell.”
“Now is not the time for me to catalog all the various neuroses my absentee father caused in my life. Or how this makes me a clingy nut job when it comes to relationships—”
He laughed.
“This is not funny,” she cried. “I bare my darkest secrets to you, and you laugh? Perhaps you’re the nutter here, Marcus. You’re certainly rude.”
“Sorry.” He made a show of wiping the smile from his face even if he couldn’t quite tamp down the amusement in his eyes. “But I disagree with everything you just said.”
“That’s because you
want to get laid! You’ll say anything! Talking to you right now is like talking to a drug addict who wants his next fix! Your brain chemistry is all screwed up— Why are you glaring at me like that?”
He leveled her with a look that plainly said the fun-and-games portion of the conversation was now over. “First of all, I’m a grown man,” he told her. “Do I want you? Hell, yeah. But I can still think straight. Appreciate the concern, though.”
That shut her up.
“Second, I don’t know what happened with any previous relationships you may have had, and I don’t want to think about that too much, because thinking of some other man touching you makes me want to put my fist through the nearest wall, and since the walls here are made of logs, that doesn’t seem like a very good idea. So I’m going to chalk it up to the fact that you’ve never met the right man.”
Claudia stilled, stunned.
“Third, I’m going to educate you about what the right man looks like, so that when you meet him, you’ll know what you’re dealing with.”
“Marcus,” she tried, “I just think—”
“Be quiet, Claudia. That’s your problem in a nutshell. You think too much.”
Wait, what? Did he just tell her to be quiet?
“Don’t you dare—” she began, swelling with indignation.
“Be. Quiet. You’ve already had your say. Now I...am...talk-ING.”
Wide-eyed and breathless, she shut up.
“The right man, Claudia,” he continued sharply, “is the one who’s as fascinated by this—” he tapped her temple with his index finger “—as he is by this.” He waved a hand up and down her body. “He’s the one who wants to hear what you have to say and know what you’re thinking. He’s the guy who looks at you and sees a kick-ass woman who’s brave enough to go out there and take risks and stretch her wings to support her family even though she’s afraid. He’s the guy who sees you’ve got the heart to do the right thing by your brother even though it’s the tough thing for you.”
Claudia made a choked sound, probably because she could no longer breathe.
“The right guy,” Marcus went on, his voice softening, “is the guy who sees that your fear and your tough past are making you throw up roadblocks as fast as you can, even if you have to manufacture them. And he’s the one who’ll stick it out with you as long as it takes.” He paused, his mouth twisting with some emotion she couldn’t quite read. “He’s not going anywhere.”
“Marcus—”
He stared at her, eyes flashing. “You know what, though? This is easy. You want to get rid of me? All you have to do is look me in the eye and tell me to get lost. Not that I can’t nonsense or that I don’t have the time and it’s inconvenient bullshit. Look me in the eye and tell me that you don’t want me to be the one. And I’ll be gone. Like that.” He snapped his fingers.
Looking him in the eye, she opened her mouth.
And couldn’t say anything.
Triumph shone on his face. “That’s what I thought.”
The combination of his quiet confidence and her simmering dread—how was she supposed to resist him when he could so easily use a few well-placed words to knock down all of her fortified defenses?—sparked a wave of annoyance inside her.
“You’re very good at talking the talk, aren’t you, darling?”
His expression soured at her renewed use of the nickname.
“But can you walk the walk when the time comes?” she asked, keeping her voice silky to disguise how flustered she was.
“Watch me,” he said flatly.
“Well, well, well,” drawled a new voice. “What do we have here? Lover’s spat?”
Startled, she and Marcus straightened away from each other and looked up to discover Judah Cross staring down at them, a speculative gleam in his bright blue eyes.
Chapter 10
“Mr. Cross.” Claudia jumped to her feet and tried to look like the professional she aspired to be rather than the smitten and melty girl she became whenever she was around Marcus Davies. Smoothing her jeans, she ignored Judah Cross’s question and extended her hand as though they were in a boardroom. He took it in a hard grip between his two hands, and she felt the rough palm and swollen knuckles of a man who spent vast amounts of time working with his hands—chopping wood here on the ranch, maybe?—and playing bass guitar. “What a pleasure to meet you,” she continued in the voice she used when recording the message on her voice mail back home. “And thank you for having me. I’m Claudia Montgomery.”
Judah cocked his head, regarding her with the kind of indecipherable look that made her stand up straighter. “Claudia.” His voice was the mellow rasp with a hint of a Texas twang that she’d heard countless times before while watching him give TV interviews. It was also exactly what one would expect from someone who’d made a vast fortune singing soulful rock that sounded like the love child of Elvis Presley and Janis Joplin. “Claudia,” he said again, trapping her in his unblinking gaze.
O-kay, then.
She waited for him to release her and say something else, but nothing seemed to be imminent, so she took the opportunity to study him up close while her raging heartbeat thumped in her chest as though it wanted to audition for his band.
He was quite tall, she noticed right off the bat, somewhere between her height and Marcus’s, which had to make him about six-one. After forty years of wearing his hair in every conceivable style, from a Beatles-type bowl cut to a Little Richard swirl to an Afro during the disco era and an unfortunate frizzy mullet phase in the 1980s, he’d now settled on a close-cropped style that flattered his sandy-brown curls and would have been right at home on a banker or a lawyer.
His face was a tanned leather illustration of the damage excess could do to a person. Drinking, drugs, smoking, sun exposure and the general hard living that came from burning the candle on both ends with blowtorches were all right there in the deep wrinkles and creases. Still, he was handsome, with the sharp cheekbones and intense blue eyes—they were the color of irises—that made women of all ages peel off their panties and throw them to him onstage.
He was dressed as though he’d taken a worldwide shopping trip and thrown on a little of something from everywhere. A mint-green tunic that looked Pakistani. A pair of loose harem pants that he may well have nabbed from MC Hammer. Colorful scarves of every pattern and description—Indonesian batik, Native American and Asian—were loosely looped around his neck and dangling down the front of his shirt. And he wore an excessive amount of jewelry with turquoise, jade and lapis lazuli stones. He had chokers and chains in rose, yellow and white gold, armfuls of silver bangles, rings on all fingers and studs covering every inch of his ear rims. Oh, and a stud in one nostril in the shape of—she squinted discreetly, checking it out—the yin-yang symbol.
The funny thing was, on him, it worked. Beautifully.
Absorbing it all in a silent inventory, she had the random thought that she’d hate to be behind him in the metal detector line at the airport.
“Claudia.” This third time, he dimpled and then revealed a full smile, which was startlingly white and welcoming. “It’s a great pleasure to meet you. Anything you want, you just ask, you hear? Come here. Give us a hug.”
He opened his arms and Claudia walked straight into them, forgetting all about her usual reluctance when it came to displays of affection. What else was a person to do when one of her childhood idols wanted a hug? Anyway, there was something familiar about him, as though she’d finally met a pen pal in person after years of writing. True, she’d probably feel that way about any famous singer whose music she loved, but still. He smelled wonderful, musky and exotic, as though he’d anointed himself in sandalwood after dressing.
Come to think of it, he probably had.
Turning her loose, Judah palmed her face and smacked a wet one on her cheek, mak
ing her grin idiotically before ducking her head.
“She’s a beauty, isn’t she, brother?” Judah asked, turning to Marcus.
“That she is,” Marcus agreed, staring at her.
“I’ve heard about you, Mr. Cross,” she said, trying to get a grip on her simpering. “You’re a charmer. My mother—she died last year—was a huge fan of yours. So am I, of course. She told me she went to one of your concerts in London and women were screaming and fainting in the aisles.”
“I’m sorry to hear about your mother,” Judah told her, his expression clouding. “You must miss her.”
There was so much understanding in his face that she found herself confessing. “I do. Terribly.”
“Well, we plan to take good care of you while you’re here, and there’s no Mr. Cross at my ranch. Just Judah, you hear?”
“I hear,” she told him.
“And you,” Judah said to Marcus, shaking his head sadly. “You’re off your game, man. I was over in the kitchen yakking with your brother for five minutes, and you didn’t even notice I was there, did you? And I see you’ve only gotten uglier since I saw you last. Shame.”
“And you still talk nonstop nonsense. Also a shame,” Marcus replied.
They glared at each other for a beat before bursting into laughter and coming together in a hard hug. Behind their backs, Claudia rolled her eyes. Had she called it, or what? Of course Marcus, her powerful competitor, already knew the potential client.
It figured, didn’t it? She wasn’t likely to get any breaks here, that was for sure. David, meet your Goliath. Oh, and, by the way, no slingshot for you. The story of her life.
Even so, she smiled gamely and pretended the playing field was even. “How do you two know each other?”
“The Davies brothers feed my art addiction.” With a wry grin, Judah waved at Cooper, who was still in the kitchen and now making a face as he tasted the beet-colored juice, and then pointed to a painting far away, in the dining room area. Claudia’s jaw clanged to the floor when she did a double take and realized it was a Jackson Pollock. “I’ve gotta do it now that it’s the only addiction I have left, don’t I?”
Sinful Attraction Page 8
