“You’ll need my help, of course.” Francesca ignored her—as usual.
“You’re telling me I should sleep with him for the sake of the music building?”
“If you actually need a reason to do what you want to do anyway, then that’s as good a one as any. Now, we don’t have much time.” Francesca walked over to her lingerie chest and got out the velvet-lined box.
Lexi groaned. “Not the fake boobs.”
“Lexi, you have an enhancement emergency.”
Lexi was unaware that these sorts of emergencies existed.
“We want you to look hot—so hot that Spencer won’t be able to tear his eyes away. So hot, he’ll follow you as you lead him from the reception. He won’t demonstrate the hand and your father will be ticked off. Bye-bye grant money. Go get the black knit dress—wait, get mine. It’s smaller.”
“Frankie—”
“Get my black beaded purse, too.” She went to her nightstand and opened the drawer, withdrawing a foil packet.
“Francesca!”
Her roommate walked over to her and got the purse from the closet shelf herself. Opening it, she dropped in the packet. “Remember, your body is a temple, not an amusement park.”
LEXI WAS ENHANCED enough to fall out of the dress. She was displaying a startling amount of manufactured cleavage, and parts of her body touched that had never touched before. Her center of gravity had shifted and she kept misjudging her personal space. She had to relearn how to walk because her normal healthy strides meant jiggles and there was a lot more to jiggle now.
She felt like a platter of gelatin.
She could only hope that her mother was so preoccupied she wouldn’t notice Lexi’s appearance.
The reception was in the music room. Even though Lexi was a few minutes early, people already milled about. She tried to stay out of sight until she could see whether or not Spencer was present. She saw her parents, another couple she assumed must be the honorees, the catering staff and couples her parents’ age she thought might be the foundation trustees.
No Spencer as yet. This was good. She’d waylay him outside the door and he’d never even get to the reception.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” said a familiar male voice behind her.
Lexi whirled around, forgetting her altered silhouette, and bounced against Spencer. “Hi, Spencer.” She was too startled to try for the husky voice she’d practiced.
There was an arrested expression on his face as his gaze collided with her cleavage and stuck. She saw him swallow then meet her eyes with desperate determination.
Oh, cool. It was working. She smiled and held her shoulders back, feeling a little feminine flutter as his gaze flicked downward. “I hadn’t planned to be here tonight.”
“I know.” Sweat beaded across his upper lip and she could actually see a vein throb in his temple. “I figured that Mushy Mischy guy would get you out.”
“Mushy?”
“Yeah. Some piano guy.”
That’s right. Her father had said... Lexi gripped his arm. “Are you talking about Mischa Wolfe?”
Spencer nodded.
“Mischa Wolfe is coming here tonight?”
“So I was told.” He raised the silver briefcase that held the hand. “I’m supposed to show him our friend, here.”
Lexi nearly fainted. Mischa Wolfe—he of the flowing blond locks, smoldering eyes and high Slavic cheekbones—was in Rocky Falls and her mother hadn’t bothered to tell her?
But she hadn’t been answering the phone, had she? “Of course I want to meet him. I’ve been an admirer of his for several years.” She couldn’t resist adding, “You two have something in common. You’ve both done a calendar.”
“Is that so?”
Lexi nodded. And jiggled. What? She’d have to watch facial movements, too?
The movement caught Spencer’s attention. She saw him glance downward again. These things were almost as good as a hypnotist’s swinging watch.
“Shall we go in?”
Lexi hesitated. That wasn’t the plan, but she couldn’t pass up a chance to meet Mischa Wolfe. Imagine, if she could get him to affiliate with Littletree... She shivered, another movement that Spencer watched with fascination.
Francesca should be here. Francesca was the perfect person to handle Mischa, and then Lexi could divert Spencer.
But only Francesca’s breasts were here.
Lexi would have to make do. “Yes. Let’s go in,” she said to Spencer.
OH. MY. GOD.
Breasts. White skin. Breasts. Red lips. Breasts. Perfume. Breasts. Long black hair.
Lexi.
Lexi’s breasts.
Oh. My. God.
Spencer swallowed. His mind wouldn’t work. His legs barely responded.
And he’d thought he could just forget about her after he’d left on Christmas. She was angry with him, and he acknowledged that she had reason to be, but he’d been resigned to the fact that she was going to be another sacrifice in a long line of sacrifices he’d made to achieve his goals.
Now he wondered if he’d sacrificed too much.
They’d only been apart a few days, but everything about her seemed more intense than he’d remembered. Her lips were redder. Her hair was longer and blacker. Her eyes bluer. Her skin whiter. Her perfume more seductive. Her breasts more...more.
He couldn’t stop staring at her as she moved around the room. He impressed no one at this reception. Sure, he spoke to many people. He must have smiled, because they smiled back at him, except for Lexi’s parents who had frowned when they’d seen her.
But Lexi wasn’t around to hear him discuss the hand—and he hoped he’d been discussing the hand—no, she was clinging to a man who looked like Lord Byron with a bleach job. Lexi seemed to find everything the man said wildly hilarious. She’d laugh, bending forward enough so that every male eye in the vicinity followed her movements.
No one was listening to Spencer talk about the hand. Even he didn’t care about its applications for musicians. And he didn’t like the piano dude. He didn’t like the way he was looking at Lexi like she was his for the taking.
But she was, wasn’t she? She was free. Spencer was free.
And he didn’t like it.
LEXI COULD FEEL Spencer looking at her, though every man around was looking at her. Even her mother was looking at her, but that was in an entirely different way.
“I like Texas,” Mischa said to her cleavage. “And I very much like Texas women. They are so healthy.”
She was really tired of this whole breast thing, but if it got Mischa to Littletree... “I keep telling you that you’d love it here. And think, Littletree currently doesn’t have an artist-in-residence.” She gazed, or attempted to gaze into his eyes, but they so seldom met her own. “I could recommend you since I’m on the piano faculty.” Like he’d need a recommendation.
“I am finding the concept of being artist-in-residence very attractive.” He looked her up and down. “So much beauty and talent here.” Holding out his hand, he said, “Come. Let us make beautiful music together.”
Even from the flamboyant Mischa, the line was a howler, but Lexi smiled and gave him her hand. He led her across the floor toward the piano. “I would hear you play.”
He wanted to evaluate the caliber of Littletree’s faculty by listening to her. Lexi slipped Francesca’s purse off her shoulder and set it beside her. This was a huge opportunity. If she impressed Mischa and he agreed to become Littletree’s artist-in-residence, Lexi wouldn’t need money from the foundation because the school trustees would fall all over themselves voting funds to upgrade the facilities. And it could happen. It was not rare for concert artists to lend their names to a small college, thus elevating it to premier status. It was the big fish in a small pond scenario. He’d gain stature, they’d gain stature, and he’d gain even more stature.
Spencer could have the foundation money with her blessing.
And with that stumbling block ou
t of the way... She sought him out before she played. He was staring at her, his eyes dark, his jaw tight.
He was jealous, she realized. And he wouldn’t be jealous if he didn’t want her. The knowledge made her smile. It gave her hope.
And so there it was. The future all came down to Francesca’s breasts and Lexi’s playing.
As the crowd settled, Lexi was extremely conscious that she was preparing for one of the most important performances in her life. She’d pick something short and flashy—a crowd pleaser, because after all, they were in the middle of a cocktail party. Mischa would play too, she guessed. Probably Chopin, a favorite of his. For contrast, she ought to pick something modern, like Prokofiev.
Okay. This was it. But as Lexi crashed into the first chords, she knew she was in trouble. The stupid breasts were in the way. She couldn’t sit at the right angle and her view of the keyboard was partially blocked. The driving rhythm coupled with the thundering chords meant there was serious jiggling going on that she could both feel and see. It distracted her, and her performance suffered.
Mischa stood right above her. Maybe with the view, he wouldn’t pay as close attention to her playing. “Ah. One of my favorites,” he murmured.
Yeah, she bet it was. Being in this situation was hideous and horrible and she’d never forgive Francesca.
She concluded the piece, mercifully without falling out of the dress, but it wasn’t one of her more stellar performances.
Remembering to bow from the neck up only, Lexi acknowledged the polite applause and turned to Mischa, managing a smile. “And now it’s your turn.”
He inclined his head, kissed his fingers at her and took his place at the piano. The room hushed and Lexi knew her mother was thrilled that Mischa was going to play, especially after Lexi’s miserable offering.
Rather than stand by his side, Lexi edged away from the piano. A half-dozen steps later, she backed into a warm body.
“I want to talk to you.” Spencer’s whisper tickled the side of her neck. “Where can we be alone?”
Lexi was still angry about her performance, which would have been fine if she hadn’t been squeezed and uplifted for Spencer’s benefit. So she wasn’t feeling particularly charitable toward him right now. Beckoning with her head, she indicated that they should skirt the crowd and leave by a side door.
Mischa had begun a lengthy Chopin, so Lexi knew they had several minutes before he noticed she was gone. Getting Spencer away was her goal anyway, so she should be happy.
But she wasn’t.
Mischa was going to make a pass at her, she knew. He’d been telegraphing it all evening. He was handsome and egotistical, true, but with justification. It would be so convenient to have an exciting affair with him—but Lexi wasn’t interested, and the reason she wasn’t interested was following her out of the music room.
Spencer.
He’d spoiled her for other men. Did he have to look so good? Did he have to be so smart? Did he have to act like such a rat?
Did she have to go and do something stupid like falling in love with him?
Love should have elevated her performance, considering what was at stake, but the only thing elevated was her chest. Nothing had changed. Spencer was still after the grant money, and Lexi should still try to lure him away.
The instant they were in the long hall outside the music room, Spencer pulled her into his arms. “Are you still mad at me?”
“Yes.” She could be mad and in love at the same time, right?
He kissed her. Hard. “How about now?”
“Still angry.”
He kissed her again. “I can keep doing this for as long as it takes.”
And it just might work. “Why?”
“I want you.”
It was exactly what he was supposed to say, which made her angrier. She didn’t want him wanting her, she wanted him loving her. She glared at him. “You don’t want me, you want my breasts.”
“Okay. I want your breasts.”
Forget the plan. Lexi couldn’t stand it. “Then here.” She reached inside the bodice of her dress and removed the squishy flesh-colored pads. “Take them. They’re Francesca’s and all they’ve done is cause a lot of trouble.”
Then she stalked off toward the foyer.
SPENCER HAD NEVER been handed breasts in that way before.
All rational thinking stopped and he lost precious moments staring at them, absorbing the implications.
The slamming of the front door brought him out of his stupor. He started forward.
“Spencer!” Lexi’s father hailed him.
Spencer quickly shoved a breast in each pocket and turned around.
“I’ve been looking for you. Now is the perfect time to demonstrate the hand. I confess that I’m anxious to see it in action, myself.” Lawrence Jordan reached the doorway of the music room as applause sounded behind him. Looked like Mush-man had finished.
“I don’t have a fully operational prototype as yet. We discovered a design flaw. Lexi, uh, helped with that, actually.” Spencer swallowed. He had to go after her—now, if he ever wanted to patch things up between them.
Lawrence made a disgusted sound. “I see she’s left, and after that abysmal performance, I don’t blame her. And as for her appearance...” He drew a breath. “I hope you won’t hold the actions of our daughter against us, Spencer.”
Spencer was taken aback. “You should be proud of her.”
Lawrence blinked. “Why?”
And with that one word, Spencer realized he knew more about what made Lexi tick than she did. No wonder she wanted money from her father’s foundation—it would be tangible evidence of his approval. But it would also mean admitting that she couldn’t achieve success without his help.
It was a tough spot to be in, and she must have known it, yet was willing to sacrifice her pride for something she believed in—the Littletree music department. Her project. Something as important to her as his was to him.
And he’d blown it for her.
He should be glad she hadn’t slugged him on sight.
Squaring his shoulders, he looked her father right in the eye. “If you have to ask why you should be proud of your daughter, then you don’t know her. I do. She’s talented, smart, funny, ambitious and beautiful.”
And you let her get away. What does that make you?
Lawrence smiled. “I see your folks raised you to be a gentleman. Sometimes parents try—”
“And sometimes they don’t.” Appalled at the man’s attitude, Spencer cut him off. “If you’ll excuse me?” He turned to leave.
“Where are you going? We’re waiting for the hand demonstration.”
“Sorry. Something more important came up.” Someone more important.
“What could be more important than your presentation to the trustees?”
Spencer grinned. “I’m going to see a woman about a pair of breasts.”
The look on Lawrence Jordan’s face was worth torpedoing his chances.
He was halfway down the hall when she stepped out of the shadows. “Lexi! I was on my way to find you.”
“You can’t leave. You’re supposed to demonstrate the hand to the trustees.”
“I found something more important to do.” It was hard to see her eyes in the shadowy light.
“I heard.” She drew a shaky breath and he thought she might be near tears. “You can‘t—you shouldn’t—oh, Spencer, I heard what you said to my dad. That was so...gallant!” Her voice broke on the word.
Spencer took her in his arms. “I meant it. All of it.”
“But this is your big chance with the foundation!”
It was his big chance with her. “I don’t want you hating me because I applied for the grant. It’s all yours. Go for it.”
“I don’t hate you, and I’m not going to go for it,” she said, and he heard defeat in her voice. “This evening, I realized my father would never approve a grant I applied for anyway. So now I’m not going to give him th
e satisfaction of knowing that I asked.” She tossed her hair back. “But it’s different for you. Come on. I’m not letting you waste this opportunity.”
“Lexi—”
“And don’t think I’m going to let Mischa demonstrate that hand. He’ll just grab all the glory for himself.”
“You’re going to help me demonstrate the hand?”
She nodded. “That’s why I came back.”
And that’s when Spencer knew he was in love with her.
It didn’t hit him as hard as he thought it would, probably because he’d been falling for her since she’d first walked into his office. But it was still a jolt, and he had to find the right time to tell her. Soon.
MAKING A NOBLE SACRIFICE was great in theory, but Lexi found that reality was a bummer. Even though she knew that a working robotic hand would benefit more people than a new music building, she still felt a few pangs at giving up her hopes for a foundation grant.
If they’d rehearsed, she and Spencer couldn’t have put on a better show. They pounded home the point that the invention was the perfect marriage of science and the arts.
And with Lexi’s cleavage back to normal, she found Mischa Wolfe’s interest in her had deflated, as well.
No loss.
Still, it was hard to watch Spencer as the center of attention and realize that all she had to look forward to was another year of declining enrollment, transferring faculty and clunky practice pianos.
Then there was Spencer, himself. Sure he’d said some nice things about her, but it wasn’t a good idea to have the daughter of the foundation’s chief trustee mad at you, was it?
Too bad he didn’t realize Lawrence could not care less.
And with that depressing thought, Lexi slipped out of the reception.
12
LEXI CAUGHT FRANCESCA coming out of her bedroom. “You’re back early. I haven’t finished yet,” her roommate whispered, looking around expectantly.
“Finished what?” Lexi snapped as she hung up her coat.
Mr. December Page 16
