by Kim Law
Without warning, the girl made a beeline for the crystals winking from Vega’s feet, her hands outstretched as if desperate to reach the jewels as quickly as possible. “Pretty.”
“Becca!” Cat’s reprimand came an instant too late. Although most of Becca froze with her mother’s command, one finger gently traced the outer curve of the hardware on one shoe. Her face slowly turned toward her mother, but she didn’t relinquish her touch on the bauble.
“I don’t mind, Cat.” Vega shook her head slightly, her voice soft, almost laughing. “Really. I always appreciate meeting a young lady with exceptional tastes in shoes.”
“Exceptional taste or not,” Cat muttered, “those are darn expensive, and Becca’s fingers spend more time these days in dirt than soap and water.”
Vega laughed with ease. “Then you should feel better knowing this pair is several years old.”
They were the last she’d purchased on her modeling income. Wearing nothing but sensible clothing and shoes for the last few years, Vega should have gotten rid of these along with the remainder of her collection a long time ago. But as a shoe enthusiast from the instant a modeling job had stuck her in designer heels, she’d been unable to separate herself from the footwear even though she’d refused to wear them anywhere but the comfort of her own home.
A masculine chuckle in her ear pulled her attention back to JP, and his blue eyes almost made her forget the subject at hand. He nodded toward her feet and she looked down to see Becca now on her backside, the girl’s own sandals discarded nearby.
“Can I try?”
“Becca!”
Cat and her daughter both spoke at the same time, Cat clearly mortified that Becca didn’t yet have the grace not to ask a total stranger if she could try on her shoes.
“Do you know how to walk in heels, Becca?” Vega would have squatted to the child’s level if not for fear her skirt would rip up the back. Instead, she rested her hands on her thighs and bent her knees a fraction as she peered down at the girl.
Becca nodded, her blonde curls dancing around her face. “I wear Mommy’s all the time.”
Vega glanced at Cat and saw she’d given up on being humiliated by her daughter’s behavior. She shrugged. “Since she learned to walk.”
“That long, huh?” Vega continued to Becca. “Then I guess you do know how to walk in heels.”
Becca nodded and scrambled back to her feet. “I’m a good walker. I promise not to hurt them. Tyler can’t walk in them, though. He falls down.” She crinkled her nose and looked at her brother, still sitting on the floor and flying the helicopter, as if his status as a male made him worthless as a sibling.
Vega slipped a foot from one shoe, and JP’s hand connected with her elbow, his fingers strong and hot through the sheer fabric of her sleeve. After she reminded herself to breathe, she slid off the other shoe and noticed her eyes were now level with the angled ridge in the middle of JP’s throat. His fingers remained wrapped around her elbow.
“Look at me, Mommy!” The girlish squeal squeezed Vega’s heart. She’d once been that innocent and free, that certain that happiness was a given.
Becca marched back and forth, her tiny feet crammed into the toes of the shoes so that she barely wobbled. The heels clomped behind her with each step, and Vega felt an ache in her chest. She was approaching thirty and had yet to find anyone she trusted enough to consider settling down with, much less settling down to have a child with.
Tyler inched closer as if realizing he was no longer in the middle of the action.
“You can’t do it, silly.” Becca flapped her hand at her brother as she clomped toward Vega. “Boys don’t know how to walk in heels.” Hot heels apparently brought out the big-sister attitude in the girl.
“Tell Vega thank you.” Cat scooped up her son and waited for her daughter to comply. Once she had, Cat smiled warmly at Vega. “I appreciate the attention. As you can see, she does love girly shoes.”
JP held tight as Vega once again slipped into her heels, then finally, almost reluctantly, his fingers trailed down the back of her arm before disappearing. The fire from that soft touch roared through her body and filled her ears to the point that she barely made out Cat’s words as she said her good-byes and headed to the front of the house.
JP disappeared with them, the momentary silence giving Vega a chance to pull in a deep breath. She inhaled until her lungs burned, then let it out. Rubbing her hand up and down the arm where he’d touched her, she looked around the massive room with the high ceilings and authoritative elegance, and nerves hit her, pooling in her belly. She was in the home of one of the Davenports. With Jackson Parker Davenport Jr. himself.
Dinner.
Get the interview.
Nothing else.
“I love the skirt.” JP stood in the middle of the open French doors, his admiration clear in his heated look. “I think I even like you being taller than me.”
Vega played it off, giving him a slight curtsy and dipping her eyelids. “As you wished.”
He growled, low and dangerous. “You are a tease, Vega Zaragoza. But I do like it.” He motioned down the hall. “Our dinner awaits. Shall we?”
She crossed the room, suddenly unsure how to walk in the spikes as he devoured her every move. When she passed in front of him, he touched a hand to the small of her back, and fire licked from his heated fingers into her body, toasting all sorts of hidden places.
“What was it you wished to talk about again?” he asked, his voice as coarse as gravel.
“You know full well what I’m here to talk about.”
“Honey, at the moment all I know is how bad I want those legs wrapped around me.” His fingers drifted lower, but he remained a gentleman.
She stopped in the threshold of the dining room and took in the scene. The ambience was far too intimate. Two place settings angled together on one corner of the twelve-person table. Gleaming china trimmed in gold, flickering candlelight, and elegant crystal all beckoned.
Seduction.
And she had seen this particular play before.
She wiggled her fingers together in a nervous gesture, unable to control the action, and reminded herself that this time was different. This time she was older, not as naive, and no one was hiding anything. They both knew exactly why the other was here.
She wanted the interview.
He wanted her naked.
Gulping, she moved forward and wondered which one would get their wish.
CHAPTR FIVE
“IT WAS A rotten thing to lure me here, then send your sister out for the evening.” As JP held out her chair, Vega’s voice was soft and low, almost intimate, and not at all as she’d intended.
“Wish I could take the credit.”
She looked over her shoulder to see if he was lying. Light-blue eyes burning steadily back at her said he was telling the truth. It was Cat’s doing. But he hadn’t tried to convince her otherwise.
“The hair is amazing.” His fingers feathered across her bare neck as she lowered to her seat. “I’d love to see it down sometime.”
She fidgeted at his touch, quickly recovering by reaching for her water glass. He kept touching her, each caress traveling way beyond the barrier of her skin, and it was quickly driving her mad. She shouldn’t be here. She tapped a fingernail against the crystal of her glass. She had no business playing this game.
“Thanks,” she murmured, lifting her hand and patting the intricate twist that was far less severe than her normal ponytail. “I prefer it up.”
The fact was, she had to wear it up. Her hair—along with her legs—had been her calling cards in her modeling days, and though it had been years since she’d been on the cover of any magazine, she still felt vulnerable at the thought of being seen with her hair loose. She’d only recently taken it back to its natural color.
JP disappeared through a swinging door without additional comment, and promptly returned with two plates and a decanter of salad dressing. A bottle of wine
was tucked under one arm, and a corkscrew dangled from his fingers.
With a flourish, he presented the salad. “Mustard vinaigrette okay?”
“Absolutely,” she practically purred as she took in the first course of the meal. The presentation was so professionally done, he’d either bought outside food or, more likely, brought in a chef to prepare it for them. She tossed a quick glance at the kitchen door, wondering if there was someone currently stashed away in there.
JP drizzled the dressing over their salads and poured them each wine before settling in his chair. He held his glass up for a toast.
“To the beginning.” Clink.
She paused, her glass still pressed to his. “Of what?”
“Whatever this is.” The twinkle in his eyes tied her stomach into a pretzel.
After a sip that exploded on her tongue and, alone, almost had her promising to do whatever he wanted, she murmured, “This is a discussion about you allowing me to shadow you.”
“This,” JP began, reaching for his fork and spearing a mix of crisp colors, “is whatever we make it.”
And at that moment, she honestly had no idea what she wanted to make it. The chemistry between them was like nothing she’d ever been a part of. Why couldn’t she throw caution to the wind for one night? It wasn’t as if she’d ever have such an opportunity again. Surely they could keep a single night discreet.
She dug into her salad, but her nerves insisted food was not the best idea at the moment. After two bites, she reached for her wine.
She couldn’t sleep with him.
Could she?
Licking her lips, she cast her eyes to the side to find JP’s fire-blue gaze lingering on her mouth. Her stomach wrapped around her knees. If she slept with him, where would she go from there? No doubt someone who exuded that much testosterone would put anyone else to shame.
With effort, she decided to remind them both why she was there. She reached for the bag she’d carried in with her and slipped a folded piece of paper from an inner pocket. “I spent time this morning outlining my vision and how I see the interview being laid out.”
She slid the sheet onto the glossy table, but he ignored it, jabbing his fork through the outer skin of a ripe tomato instead.
“I thought getting your feedback would be a good place to start,” she tried again.
Silence.
After chewing as if making sure to attain the digestively recommended twenty-one chews per bite, JP balanced his fork on the edge of his plate and topped off her glass of wine. “Let’s get to know each other first. Put business off until after dinner.”
When she opened her mouth to protest, he cut her off.
“If I’m going to give real consideration to this idea…” His lips flattened briefly as if the thought were utterly distasteful. “I need to know more about you first.” He turned the full power of his gaze to her. “I need to be able to trust you.”
Trust? Uh…yeah. She doubted that was his true intention, but didn’t see any other way to go at the moment. She nodded. Fine. If he wanted to talk, they’d talk. But it wasn’t just going to be about her.
She started the questions, turning the conversation on him. No sense not taking the opportunity to shed some light on kernels of information. After all, understanding the man better would help her produce the best program possible.
He backed off the flirting and they began to talk, then he soon brought out the next course. The New York steak crusted in a pepper rub and red wine sauce placed a stranglehold on her remaining nerves, making them momentarily lose out to the incredible taste of the succulent meat.
“This is fantastic,” she murmured, more to herself than to JP, but she didn’t miss the predatory gleam in his eye. The pride of a man who knew he was winning over his prey.
She definitely had to find out the name of the chef and visit his restaurant on occasion. Surely a few infrequent visits to the occasional five-star wouldn’t break the bank. She closed her eyes as she chewed, savoring every hint of flavor, while also recalling how easy it was to become used to such delights. If she weren’t careful, she’d redevelop her expensive tastes.
It wasn’t as if she couldn’t dip into the savings left from her previous income, but she’d always held back, worrying she’d someday need the money for items far more important than good food and better shoes.
Dinner passed, and she found herself shocked at the ease with which they carried on a conversation. He’d spoken about everything from his first memory—his mother teaching him to tie his shoes—to some of his more recent business deals and why he’d made them. She’d shared some of her earlier memories growing up, as well as a bit about her mother and father, all without mentioning either that her father had been killed in the line of duty or that she’d had to go into modeling to support her mother.
Their conversation had been far more than the chitchat and innuendos she’d originally expected, and though she wouldn’t use anything he’d said without his permission, her respect for him had grown leaps and bounds. It couldn’t be easy growing up a Davenport, especially when choosing your own path instead of following immediately in the family tradition.
“You said you were only six when your family moved to DC? That must have been exciting.” She waited as JP refilled her wineglass. He emptied the bottle into his, but barely enough for a few sips poured out. She held hers up in silent question. Did he want some of hers?
JP’s lips tilted, his eyes hooded. “You drink it, gorgeous. It seems to be doing wonders for your nerves. And to answer your question, yes, we moved there for school years, then came back to Atlanta during the summers. But no, I wouldn’t exactly call it exciting.”
“No?” He was right. The wine had done wonders for her nerves, though relaxation hadn’t been exactly complete. She glanced at the remaining food on her plate, then at his empty one. “You want the rest of my steak? I don’t think I can eat any more.”
“You didn’t like it?” His voice was low, pulling her toward him as if tugging an invisible wire.
The atmosphere around them was changing, becoming softer and warmer, but she found herself helpless to retreat.
His Adam’s apple bobbed. He’d removed his jacket and tie during dinner and opened the top button of his shirt, and she now found herself eyeing the spot just above that open V. She had the strongest urge to put her tongue right there.
“It was delicious,” she said, her words so low they could barely be heard. She tilted her head, watching his throat rise and fall with every swallow. “In fact, I can imagine only a couple things I’d like better.”
Vega’s words had an instant reaction below his belt. Had she meant them as the come-on they’d sounded? Any other woman and he’d have no doubt. But this one had confused him since the moment he’d met her.
One minute he thought she was playing the normal man-woman games, wanting the exact thing he did. The next, she slid an annoying sheet of paper across the table with enough notes on it that even he had to acknowledge that though she might be open to sleeping with him, she was also here to get the interview.
He watched her gaze clear and dart to his in horror as she realized how wanton she’d sounded.
Yep, that’s what he thought. She might be thinking she wanted to be in his bed every bit as much as he wanted her there, but she wasn’t ready to go down without a fight.
“I…uh…I’m sorry,” she finally mumbled. “I meant…”
He couldn’t take his eyes off her, humored by the way she tried to find some explanation for the slip.
With jerky movements, she shoved the paper closer to him. “If you’ll just take a look at my notes, you’ll see how I’ve done exactly as promised.” Her tongue peeked out to touch her lips before continuing. “And…um…will ensure those who aren’t in love with you already will be by the end of the hour.”
She took a deep breath that didn’t seem to settle her down at all, then jumped right back into her spiel, her words coming out so fas
t they practically tripped over each other. “I’d like to capture you in your everyday activities. At the office, playing golf or whatever you do in your downtime, possibly a business meeting, charity work…”
He didn’t want to talk about an interview that wasn’t going to happen.
“Don’t worry, Vega.” He spoke softly, and her relieved gaze rose to meet his as if understanding that he meant not to worry about how she’d come across a moment earlier. He wouldn’t hold it against her.
But as quickly as his words had soothed her, her obvious relief shot ire into his gut. What was so wrong with the thought of them coming together and having a good time, anyway? It wasn’t as if there was anything wrong with him.
He narrowed his eyes on her, deciding he preferred her as off-kilter as he felt. “I know you didn’t mean to sound like you wanted to go straight to the nearest bed. We can have dessert first.”
Fire shot through her brown eyes at his words, and though he knew he was being an arrogant jerk, he couldn’t stop himself. “But we probably shouldn’t use one of Cat’s bedrooms. That would be uncouth.”
A gasp filled the air as Vega’s mouth dropped open, and he instantly chastised himself. He was better than that.
“I apologize,” he muttered, looking away to stare at the artwork on the other side of the table. “That was uncalled for.”
His attraction to this woman was screwing with his head, making him act like a spoiled rich kid instead of the successful, upstanding adult he’d worked so hard to become. “Please…” He motioned in her general direction, uncertain what to say other than, “Continue.”
After ten seconds of silence, her words once again started up, rattling on about the damn interview as if he hadn’t just insulted her in the worst possible way. He kept his gaze trained on the painting, careful not to clench his jaw, but from where he was sitting, an in-depth interview now would be the worst possible thing for his fucking “budding” political career.
There was the knowledge of Lexi and her kid to worry about. Plus, though he’d been around politics his whole life, he knew precious little about the day-to-day business of it—and cared even less. Not to mention that he just liked having a small piece of his life private. His own.
