Too Hot to Handle

by Nancy Warren

  17

  AMANDA’S CELL PHONE RANG. Healey again. She was about to turn the thing off and then decided to answer it. Maybe if she told him once and for all to leave her alone, he would.

  “What do you want?” she snapped.

  “What was I supposed to do?” he snapped right back. “You came onto me, remember? Sure, I could have blown you off, and then you know what you would have done?”

  “Gone home. Alone.” She squeezed her eyes shut, knowing it was a lie.

  “Bullshit. You’d have found some other willing stud. And you know what? I couldn’t stand the thought. I’d been watching you, okay? Not because I’m a pervert but because it was my job. You were lost and grieving and messed up.”

  She opened her mouth to blast him. But he was right. So right. “I know,” she said softly.

  “And I was seriously attracted to you.”

  “You were?”

  “Yeah.” A pause. “Still am.”

  “Oh. Are you still my bodyguard?”

  “No, ma’am. I’m off the case.”

  “Well, thanks for, you know, keeping me safe.”

  “You’re welcome. Now it’s just you and me. No job getting in the way. I want to see you again. Start over.”

  She stifled a smile. “When?”

  “How about now? I’m outside your door.”

  She ran to the peephole. And there he was. Standing outside her door. She figured she had two choices. She could trust him. Or not.

  He was so different than anyone she’d ever been with. More serious, way cleaner living, and he really seemed to care about her. Which was probably good.

  Also, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him.

  So, she flung open the door and before either of them could speak, they were in each other’s arms.

  He kicked the door shut behind him. “I missed you,” he said into her mouth.

  “Me, too.” She dragged at his shirt, he stripped off her hoodie, her T-shirt.

  Their jeans ended in a single mass on the floor and then they were naked on her unmade bed. Light streamed in the window onto their naked bodies.

  She wanted him so badly she literally ached. But he seemed to have other ideas.

  He was stroking her in slow, delicious ways, keeping her in the zone but not letting her climax. She groaned, partly from pleasure, partly from sexual frustration and partly from annoyance.

  “Are you punishing me?”

  He laughed softly. “No. Can’t you simply trust me?”

  “I have trust issues,” she admitted. “From a long string of bad decisions in the guy department.”

  “How about giving trust another try?”

  She hooked a leg over his hip, angled her hips so she could add her own friction. “Will you let me come if I do?”

  He grinned down at her. “Maybe.”

  Her lips curved in response. “I won’t make it easy.” And then she took over, torturing him until sweat was beading his forehead and he was breathing like a man in pain.

  “You gonna let me come?” he finally asked when she’d brought him to the edge and backed off one too many times.

  “Maybe.”

  She put her hand back on him and suddenly found herself flying through the air, hitting the mattress with her back. She squeaked with shock, and found her legs being pushed apart. She gazed up at him, torn between need and satisfaction that she’d won this round. “You in a hurry or something?”

  “Yeah.” And then he plunged into her. He managed to hold on to his control long enough for her to catch up and she could see the effort it was costing him. He stroked her with his body, stoked her excitement with his own until they hit one of those magic moments where they shattered simultaneously. Usually she closed her eyes at the fateful moment, but she hadn’t known how close to climax she was and so was swept away, her gaze locked with his. She felt as if she was looking into the deepest part of him, where all his secrets, his memories and his essence lived.

  His eyes went dark, seemed to focus on whatever he saw inside her open eyes, which she suspected was her secrets, her memories and her essence.

  As her orgasm swamped her, she felt a connection so powerful with this man who was a virtual stranger that a mist of tears clouded her vision.

  He didn’t say anything for a moment, simply held that intimate gaze and then, bending slowly, kissed her. She tasted the salt of his sweat, the softness of his lips and then they were holding each other tight. As though they’d never let go.

  When they’d come back to earth, he said, “I’d love to stay and make love to you for days, but I’ve got to get ready for the gala tonight.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m going to go shower.” She watched him walk naked to the bathroom, feeling lust stir once more. She was seriously turning into a nymphomaniac.

  He paused in the doorway of the bathroom. Didn’t turn around. “You staring at my butt?”

  Damn, he was good. She could lie, but then he might start wearing clothes around the place. Trust, she reminded herself. Maybe she could trust him with the truth. “Yeah. I am. It’s one of your best features.”

  He chuckled. “Maybe I should turn around and you might want to revise your opinion.”

  “Egotist. Go shower.”

  “Come with me.”

  “Okay.”

  They made love in the shower, wet and slow. And as they were drying off in her too-small bathroom, bumping into each other, he said, “When this is over, how would you like to go sailing?”

  “In March? It would be freezing.”

  “Not in the Caribbean. I figure both our bosses owe us some time off.”

  She fought the excitement that roared through her like a flash flood. “You barely know me.”

  His hand traveled down her spine, tracking the bumps as he went. That hand was warm and sure. “I know the sounds you make when you climax.” He dropped a kiss on her damp shoulder.

  “I know that when I lick the back of your knees you giggle, and when I touch your sailboat tattoo with my tongue you get goose bumps.”

  “Do not.”

  He licked at the tattoo on her back. “Do, too. I know that you’re a good person who eats way too much crap and that it makes me happy to wake up with you.”

  She turned to stare at him. “I’ve gone out with guys for months, years, who never made a speech half that romantic.”

  “Bet they were thinking it.”

  She snorted. “Ah, no.”

  He kissed her lips softly. “Then they didn’t deserve your time. You deserve romance.”

  “I don’t need—” He cut her off with his mouth.

  “I know you don’t need it, or me, or anyone. You’re tough. I get it. So, you don’t need romance. I still say you deserve it.”

  He kissed her one more time and she was embarrassed at the way her hand clung to his shoulder when he pulled away.

  He dressed swiftly and she knew that he was going to make sure Charlie and Lexy got in and got away from the gala safely. She wanted to ride along, but she knew it would only look suspicious. She understood she had to stay out of the way even as it killed her to sit home and worry. About all of them.

  “I have to go,” he said.

  “Be careful. And come back tonight.”

  He kissed her hard. “I’ll see you later.”

  18

  LEXY HAD BEEN TO THE ODD charity gala, of course. Impossible to live in Manhattan and work in the fashion world without ending up at one glitzy benefit or another. But she’d never seen anything like the Diamond Ball hosted by the Graysons. The ball had been going for half a century, but Florence Grayson took over the chairmanship in the late eighties and had held it ever since.

  The Diamond Ball raised an enormous sum for charity, but it was also a chance for the rich and connected to polish up the best of their gems and adorn themselves with all the sparkle they owned.

  Traditionally they wore diamonds.

  She’
d wanted to get in these doors for years so she could showcase her own designs to the wealthy, fashionable and fabulous. However, the price tag put the party way beyond her reach. The price of a single ticket was the equivalent of a small car, and a table cost as much as a house in most parts of the country.

  If she wasn’t slightly apprehensive about being in the company of a possible killer and wearing jewels that were controversial to say the least, she’d have been wildly excited to be here.

  Charlie walked at her side, the perfect escort in a Dior tux. They chatted idly as they entered the magnificent ballroom of the Grayson mansion.

  “I’ve always wanted to come to this event,” she admitted, trying to ignore the tingle in her spine, “but I’ve never been able to afford it. I can never pay you back for the cost of my ticket.”

  He smiled. “Relax. We’re both here as guests. We’re part of a table.”

  “A table? I thought those were reserved by big companies and superrich families.”

  He put a hand to her lower back and urged her forward. “We’re here as guests of my mother.”

  She stopped as though she’d run face-first into a plate-glass window. Smuck.

  “What did you just say?”

  He seemed amused at her obvious horror. “My mother gets a table every year. She was delighted that I actually accepted her invitation for once. Even more so that I’m bringing a guest.”

  “I can’t meet your mother.” Panic was beating at her breast much worse than when she’d thought all she had to deal with was a possible killer. “She’ll know what we were doing before we came here tonight. Mothers always know.” She put a hand to her hair. “I’m mussed. I’m definitely mussed.”

  He took her hand in his and lightly kissed it. “You look absolutely perfect,” he said, studying her carefully. “I like your hair slightly mussed, and your heavy eyes and swollen lips, you look like you’ve spent the afternoon being pleasured in my bed, which is exactly how I want you to look. Like a well-pampered mistress.”

  “Listen, Pendegraff, I don’t do mistress. We are equal partners in this thing. And I didn’t spend all afternoon in your bed. It was up against the wall.” She paused, reliving the afternoon in all its glory. “And on the living-room sofa.” She touched her thumb to the corner of his mouth. “And we ended up in my bed. Not yours.”

  Beneath her thumb his lips quirked. “It was a hell of an afternoon.”

  “You certainly don’t need my mussed hair to broadcast your sexual exploits. That smug expression on your face should do the job just fine.”

  She made to walk past him but he stopped her, holding on to her elbow. “I’ll be as equal as you want me to be, but for tonight we’re playing parts. You’re the hot, slutty mistress and I’m the rich playboy so smitten with you that I’ve hung a fortune in jewels around your neck. Think you can handle that?”

  “I can handle anything. You worry about yourself.”

  He chuckled softly and they continued on their way, mingling with gorgeously gowned women sparkling with diamonds. Suddenly he leaned forward and whispered in her ear. “When we get home tonight, you’ll be in my bed. That’s a promise.”

  Based on what could happen between now and then? She seriously hoped he was right.

  “I was hoping to make some business contacts among these people. It is demeaning to masquerade as your hot, skanky mistress and it won’t do my credibility as a businesswoman any good.”

  “Look at it this way. You’re also being resurrected from the dead. That’s got to be a reasonable tradeoff.”

  “You are such a smart-ass. I don’t know why I put up with you.”

  “I’ve been wondering the same myself for years.” An older woman’s rather amused voice said from behind Lexy. The voice was rich sounding, a little slow and lazy. It almost reminded her of—No. Please let the woman behind her not be—

  “Lexy, darling. I’d like you to meet my mother.”

  Pulling every bit of backbone she could access, she turned to face Charlie’s mother.

  The woman gazing at her with an amusement that was eerily familiar and was astonishingly chic. She was probably in her early sixties and wore her naturally white hair in a stylish bob. Her gown was peacock-blue and brought out the blue color in her eyes and emphasized a clear complexion that she’d allowed to age naturally. Her diamond set, earrings, necklace, brooch and bracelets, was almost stunning in its brilliance.

  “Mrs. Pendegraff, it’s wonderful to meet you. And thank you for inviting me to this party. I’ve always wanted to attend.”

  “It’s my pleasure, dear. And you must call me Sarah.”

  Charlie’s mother extended her hand and she shook it, feeling the woman’s scrutiny of her and immediately being certain she could tell what she and her son had been doing all afternoon, which naturally made her blush and feel guilty.

  “May I say that in a room full of amazing jewels, your set really stands out? Those emeralds are spectacular.”

  “Thank you. I know I’m supposed to wear pure diamonds, but Charlie gave me this necklace so I wanted to wear it.” She blushed even deeper. This was the lie they’d decided on and didn’t it just figure that the first person she’d have to tell it to would be the man’s mother? Of course, if he’d told her his mother was going to be here, she’d never have agreed to the preposterous story in the first place.

  “Really?” Sarah Pendegraff shot a piercing look at her son. “How long have you two been going out together?” And the subtext was so clear she might as well have shouted it out. And why haven’t I met this girl or heard a word about her when you know her well enough to hang a fortune in jewels around her neck?

  She decided to let Charlie answer that one. This was his mother, after all.

  He took her hand in his. “Be nice, Mother. You know I only introduce women to you when I’m serious. Lexy is serious.”

  Her hand jumped in his. He must have felt it for he squeezed her fingers reassuringly. Of course it was a lie, but for a moment her heart had done a strange bump-bump thing. Which was crazy. She didn’t want to be important to Charles Pendegraff III any more than she wanted him to matter to her.

  Sarah glanced searchingly between the two of them. Then smiled. “Well, I’d better get to know Lexy then, hadn’t I?” She gestured to a small group standing and chatting, all of whom were fiercely elegant. Lexy knew that in the stolen jewels and a dress she couldn’t possibly afford she’d fit right in, but she’d never felt more of a fraud. “Come and meet the rest of the table.”

  “Where’s Charles II?” she asked Charlie in an undertone as they trailed his mother.

  “The major British royals don’t usually come unless they’re in town, but we’ve probably got some minor royalty around.”

  “I meant your father.”

  “Ah. He passed away a few years ago.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.” There wasn’t time for more, but she realized how very little she knew of this man who’d been inside her body. He was full of contradictions. A thief who moonlighted working for law enforcement and insurance agencies, a man who stole for a living and yet belonged to a family wealthy enough to buy a table at the Diamond Ball, a man who could be ruthless when he chose, as in when he’d grabbed and kidnapped her, who could also be a gentle and romantic lover.

  Unfortunately she was a woman who loved contrasts.

  She had a feeling it was safer in her jewelry designs, however, than in her choice of men.

  Not that she’d chosen, really; she and Charlie had been thrown together by circumstances that were more than strange. But now that they’d been intimate, she didn’t think she was going to be able to go back to her old life exactly as it was.

  “My dear,” Sarah Pendegraff said, drawing her forward. “I’d like you to meet some of my friends.”

  The friends turned out to be people she’d mostly heard of. They were either quoted in the New York Times business pages, or they were featured in the society pages, which she tr
ied to keep up with for business reasons. There was so much bling in the group flashing and twinkling that she wished for sunglasses.

  She shook hands all around and soon discovered she wasn’t the only one who kept up with what was going on around town. “What did you say your name was?” one of the gray-haired captains of industry asked her.

  “Alexandra Drake. Lexy.”

  His yachting-tanned forehead crinkled. “You’re not the jewelry designer from SoHo, are you?”

  She smiled. Resisted glancing at Charlie. Showtime, it seemed, had arrived. “Yes. That’s me.”

  “But you’re alive.”

  “Very much so. I was out of town when the fire broke out in my studio. I didn’t hear about it until I returned.”

  “I believe there was a fatality involved,” the man said, with a delicacy that barely masked his curiosity.

  “Yes. The police are still trying to identify the woman. I don’t know who she was.”

  “Stanley loves current events,” Stanley’s wife interrupted smoothly. “He’ll talk your ear off if you let him. May I just say that is a stunning necklace you have there.”

  “Thank you.” She reached for Charlie’s hand in a coquettish gesture. “Charlie bought it for me.”

  He took her hand. Gave it a squeeze.

  “My goodness.” The woman who had obviously been attempting to steer the conversation into smoother channels seemed to lose her bearings. “Stanley’s never given me anything half so precious.” She glanced at her husband accusingly. “And they aren’t even married yet.”

  “Do you mind if we mingle for a few minutes, Mother? I’d like to introduce Lexy to a few people.”

  “Of course not, dear.” She glanced over his shoulder, and stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Oh, but before you go, you should say hello to our hosts.”

  Lexy’s hand twitched in Charlie’s as a jolt of nerves zapped her. He squeezed reassuringly, but she could feel the current of energy coming from him.

  “Sarah, darling,” a cultured female voice crooned. Lexy watched a woman with shoulder-length ash-blond hair and a face that belonged to a forty-year-old approach. She suspected that face would always look forty. Apart from a waterfall of diamonds hanging from her neck, she wore a diamond tiara. Victorian era, judging by the style.