Starr frowned back. There was nothing wrong with her furnishings. Everyone said she had good taste. Twin Wedgewood blue chairs were comfortable, as was a large, overstuffed burgundy-flowered couch accented artfully with the same blue tones.
Perhaps the brass-and-glass tables were too modern, but they didn’t intrude. Ah—the signed Monet prints that had belonged to her grandfather. Starr relaxed—a little. So, he was nothing more than a common thief.
Common, but discriminating. She felt the urge to laugh. What would her thief say if she offered to pay him to take them off her hands? She’d never liked the muted pastels or their god-awful gilt frames. It was her mother who’d insisted they be hung.
Actually Patrice Lederman had brought her decorator of the month over to do the job.
Picturing the dramatic fit her mother would pitch when she swept through on one of her rare visits and found them missing did make Starr laugh.
Her laughter drew the stranger’s angry gaze.
By now, however, Starr was pretty confident that if he’d intended her bodily harm, he’d have already done it. Trying but failing to control her relief, she waved a hand airily. “Take the paintings. Please. I’ll give you a head start before I report them stolen.”
“You think I’m a thief?” Clay’s jaw tightened. “I was simply calculating their worth—wondering how a...civil servant can indulge such expensive tastes. But then, we know how, don’t we?”
The news that he’d poked into her personal life galled Starr. Trying to shake up his arrogance, she said, “Well, maybe I have a sugar daddy.”
“Do tell.”
He’d obviously missed the sarcasm. “Hey—that was a joke.” She gripped the back of the chair defensively. But the way his eyes raked her, she felt as though she’d been tried and convicted of something slimy. Moving back, Starr clutched her robe again. “I’m serious about the prints. Take them and get out. I’m not likely to give you a proof of purchase for the IRS.”
“Cute. Very cute. And since you brought it up, how does your tax form read on these little—what do you call them?—perks.”
Starr blanched. Was this about taxes? Oh, Lord. She had to wait until she was thirty—a year from now—to get her trust fund. Her grandfather had set it up for her through his bank, so she’d thought the fund’s administrators had paid the inheritance tax. Maybe they hadn’t....
“Are you from the IRS?” she demanded, all levity gone. “I mean, am I being investigated?”
“I’m not from the IRS, sweetheart, but I fully intend to have you investigated. You know, you amaze me. Don’t you feel a shred of guilt, knowing your ‘sugar daddy’ is a married man?”
Starr closed her eyes. Good grief, the man was a full-blown fruitcake, after all. Wanting to appear casual, she edged toward the phone. If she could punch in a one-number code, Blevins would summon the police.
“What’s your name? Do you have ID?” she asked, trying to buy time. Her smile felt wooden. But crazies responded to smiles and gentle voices, didn’t they?
Suddenly her heart froze. What if SeLi came down into the middle of this? Terrified, Starr made a wild lunge for the phone.
Clay read her intent and with ease fenced her against the wall.
Their eyes locked. Starr was the first to look away.
“All you need to know,” he said, his tone dangerously soft, “is that I’m someone who plans to throw a monkey wrench in the senator’s little game.”
“Senator...McLeod?” Starr’s mind raced, though her voice squeaked. “Oh, my goodness!” Her gaze again tangled with the stranger’s ice blue glare. All at once things fell into place, and Starr felt less of a personal threat.
“Who sent you?” she asked. “Wildlife advocates or environmentalists?”
Clay fought her attempt to throw him off track. God, but she had that look of innocence down pat.
“Don’t BS me, sugar.” Clay dug the check out of his jacket pocket and waved it under her nose. “I think this should clarify my position.”
Starr had to cross her eyes to see what he was holding. It looked like a check. But he didn’t keep it still long enough for her to be sure.
“I trust this is enough to get you out of the senator’s bed and out of town. A long, long way out of town,” he drawled.
It was indeed a check, Starr saw now. A very big check if she’d seen all those zeroes correctly. And seeing her name on the line beside them made her gasp. Her gaze flew back to his. Heat clawed its way to her cheeks. This arrogant cowboy was offering her a bribe.
“You snake,” she hissed. “How dare you try to compromise Senator McLeod in such a sleazy manner!” Forgetting that her robe wasn’t secured, Starr drew back a hand to slap the smirk off his face.
Clay saw it coming. Without effort, he blocked her swing and pressed her hand to the wall.
The air between them crackled like a live wire. For a moment the only sound in the room was their combined breathing.
Clay moved a fraction of an inch back. “It’s a waste of breath to deny it. I followed you two today and saw everything.”
He’d followed her? Starr raised her chin haughtily. “You saw nothing, you baboon. Our lunch today was business.”
Clay threw back his head and laughed. “Yeah, right. A state senator always does business with low-level state employees. I suppose the kissy-face when he dropped you off was business, too?”
“Let me go!” She tried kicking him. What she wanted to do was throw him bodily out of her apartment, but he was too big. Too big and too solid. And she was shaking in fury. “What rock did they turn over to find you?” she spat, twisting to and fro. “Even if you have no regard for the senator as a politician,” she panted, “think of what smear tactics like this will do to his family. I suppose you took incriminating pictures, you louse!”
The moment the words left her lips, Starr had another terrifying thought. Harrison’s family wouldn’t be the only ones hurt by such muckraking. If the people responsible for sending this thug went to the press, Wanda Manning would have SeLi out of here in a wink.
She quit fighting. Maybe they could bargain. But, no. His eyes were cold. Starr thought then that both the senator and she were doomed.
“Have you no shame?” He forced her to look up. Damn, he wanted to see her eyes, to see her contrition, if only for a moment. Except that when their eyes met, Clay wished he’d paid her and left. Her lips, now a scant inch from his own, looked exceedingly soft and kissable. And her eyes—they were huge and dark with something other than remorse.
Desire? Clay slid under her spell. Lord help him, but he could see why his brother transgressed.
He felt himself sinking. “Forget the senator,” he growled. “Let’s talk about you and me.”
Starr nodded, although she hadn’t the vaguest idea what it was she was agreeing to. Being this close to him made rational thought impossible.
Suddenly Clay had visions of carting her away from the life she’d fallen prey to. He had visions of helping her turn her life around. Damn Harrison. Charming and rich, he’d blinded her. Led her astray.
“I’m not without influence,” he said. “Give me a week. I’ll find you a real job. How about in San Diego? You can start over.”
Starr watched a range of emotions streak through the electrifying blue eyes like fruit flipping through a Vegas slot machine. Earlier she’d seen fury on a short leash. Then she sensed an intense internal struggle. Now, underneath, something she couldn’t quite identify.
He clearly thought the offer should please her.
A job, he’d said. But he knew she had a job with the state. A shiver of fear danced up Starr’s spine. Harrison’s project...
Oh, God. Starr tensed.
He did the same, and they both waited.
For what? Starr was drowning in a sea of confusion. His eyes did that to her. Looking into them was like staring into a lake. Hypnotic, deep. And they did funny things to her insides. “Uh...could we sit and discuss this
, uh, job?” she ventured, feeling her knees caving in beneath her.
Clay tried to disconnect from her, but his body wouldn’t obey. At the restaurant he’d thought her skin had been made up to look youthful and dewy. Up close it gleamed like satin cream. Freckles dusted the bridge of her nose, and a few more traced the lush valley between her breasts.
Clay shivered. No, he couldn’t completely blame Harrison. As if from a distance Clay heard himself ask, “This check plus how much?”
“Pardon?”
He gestured with the check, then forced it into her hand. “You know, what will it take?”
“Take to what?” He was talking in riddles. She gripped the check, finding the crinkle of paper comforting.
“Help me out, please,” he asked nicely, then felt foolish. “Hell, I’ve never done this before. I’ll offer the same deal you have with Harrison. Better,” he hastened on seeing her frown.
He looked so boyishly embarrassed and sincere that Starr wanted to smile. She and the senator hadn’t discussed salary. But no way was a week of research worth this kind of money.
“Do you two have a contract or what?” he asked.
Starr felt the term contract like a slap in the face. What was she doing? Maybe this man was killing the sheep. She shoved at him and was appalled when she accidentally scratched his face.
Clay touched a finger to the welt. “Wildcat, huh? Look, if that was too blunt, I’m sorry. I don’t know the protocol for relocating a mistress.”
Mistress? Suddenly the truth dawned. Starr didn’t know when she’d felt so murderous toward another human being—if indeed he was human and not some subspecies. She’d thought this was about the senator’s project. Surely this dolt didn’t think that she and Harrison...that they.S.. Her mouth dropped open. That was exactly what he thought.
Purple with rage, she waved the check beneath his arrogant nose before she ripped it to shreds and flung the pieces in his face. “Get out!” Her body shook. “You’re despicable. No, you’re worse than despicable.” Her voice rose hysterically right before it cracked. “Get out!”
Pieces of the check drifted over him like snowflakes before Clay gave vent to his frustrations, caught her arms and pinned her slender body to his.
Both were breathing hard. “Dammit, woman, when I tell Harrison everything I know, he’ll leave you cold. You’d be wise to listen to me.”
Before Starr could kill him, or at least do him major bodily harm, the door flew open and in rushed SeLi Lederman on a whirlwind of motion. Her long-sleeved plaid shirt was only half-tucked into slim jeans, and her twin, jet black braids snapped against the shirt’s hem like whirling dervishes.
The man abruptly released her.
Starr read a host of questions in SeLi’s lively almond eyes. Eyes that took in her normally conservative adoptive mother’s disheveled state, then moved quickly to assess every inch of the tall dark stranger who’d had her mother wrapped in his arms.
Starr knew how it must have looked. Her choked protest was lost, however, in SeLi’s unladylike whistle.
Clay flinched and took several steps back.
Starr made haste to escape. “Ah, SeLi, you’re home,” she said inanely, giving a nervous toss of her auburn curls.
The child skidded to a halt near one of the blue chairs, where she nonchalantly dropped her bright purple book bag. She continued to regard the male in their midst with frank curiosity.
Clay refused to be intimidated. Instead, he challenged the girl’s amused gaze. She was, after all, just a kid.
“Totally awesome.” SeLi tipped her head to gain a new perspective. Another low whistle. “I don’t know where you found him, but this dude beats Stanley Stud hands down. It’s okay by me if you keep him, Mom.”
Mom. Clay did a fast double take and said aloud, “Mom?”
Starr rushed to stand protectively beside her child. Of SeLi’s two pet names for Stanley, Starr couldn’t help wishing the girl had chosen Stanley Stupid this time. Not that either was acceptable, but they were working on the problem. It would’ve been nice if SeLi had kept quiet altogether. Lord only knew why, but this stranger already labored under a mountain of misconceptions. And somehow, some way, he was tied to Harrison’s proposed project.
“You have a daughter?” Trying to recover from his shock, studied first the girl, then the woman.
“Oops!” SeLi clapped a hand over her mouth. “Didn’t I say if you’re ever gonna snag a husband, I oughtta call you Starr?”
Before Starr could gather her wits, the child thrust a small hand at the man and said around a lopsided grin, “Don’t worry, mister. She’s not married.”
A growling sound gurgled from Starr. “To your room, young lady.” She pointed. “The gentleman was just leaving,” she said, doubting the man had ever a passing acquaintance with the term. “I know you have homework.”
“Aw, Mom. You said we’d get out the Christmas decorations today.”
“Yes, well, that was before I had an unexpected chat with your teacher.”
Sullen, the girl buried her hands in her back pockets.
Starr knew that look. But she could be stubborn, too. “You heard me, SeLi. And not another word.”
Starr might as well have saved her breath, because SeLi obviously wasn’t finished talking to their uninvited guest. “Judge Forbes said I could use Starr’s last name till the ‘doption’s square. ‘Cause it will be...soon.” She paused to shoot Starr a troubled gaze.
Starr smiled and touched one of the girl’s shining braids. How could she not show encouragement? As usual, though, when she gave SeLi an inch, the little rascal took a mile.
“Jeez, mister.” SeLi gazed up at the man. “I know boyfriends get antsy ‘bout kids from another marriage, but she ain’t been. Married, I mean. She don’t even date much, ‘cept for nerdy Stanley.” The girl shot a sly grin over her shoulder at Starr.
Starr groaned. She didn’t date Stanley—not that it mattered. Maybe this was nothing more than a hideous nightmare. But no, she knew it was real the moment the stranger jammed his hat on so tight it rode the crest of black brows that met over the bridge of an impossibly aristocratic nose.
“I called you a wildcat,” he snarled. “Alley cat might be more fitting. Allowing yourself to be a kept woman is one thing. Having your kid solicit is quite another. I imagine the child-protection service would be interested.”
Starr wondered where to begin unscrambling this awful mess.
“He doesn’t work for Wicked Wanda, does he?” For the first time SeLi showed alarm.
Starr wanted to assure SeLi that he wasn’t with the county adoption agency, but at the moment she couldn’t be sure of anything. In the midst of a helpless shrug, her gaze fell accidentally on a piece of the check, which had stuck to the sleeve of her robe. A bold, black signature leapt out at her.
Barclay McLeod.
This lowlife was the senator’s brother?
Anger welled from the tips of Starr’s toes. “You have some nerve,” she said, tossing the piece of check against his broad chest. “How dare you threaten a nice man like the senator. How dare you threaten me!”
Her sudden offensive caught Clay off guard, and he backed toward the condo’s entrance.
In steady pursuit, Starr reached around him and yanked the door open.
Clay stumbled backward across the threshold.
The moment Starr saw him safely outside, she regained enough control of her senses to deliver a scathing lecture.
Entranced by the fiery halo of her hair under the skylight, Clay missed half her tirade—until she wound up by shouting, “I suggest you clean up your own backyard, Mr. McLeod, before you start on mine!”
The door, en route to closing in his face, jolted Clay back to reality. “What do you mean, clean up my yard?” He wedged the toe of his boot between the casing and the door. If he wasn’t always left to mop up his sister-in-law’s tears, he might find this woman’s last-ditch efforts amusing.
“I
t means,” Starr said, gritting her teeth, “ask yourself where the senator’s wife has been for the past few months.”
“At my ranch.” The thrust of Clay’s jaw dared her to make something of it.
“I rest my case.”
“So that’s Harrison’s angle. The oldest ploy in history. A poor, misunderstood husband. Well I hate to ruin your day, sugar, but he lied.”
“Don’t call me sugar!” Starr tromped on his toe. When he yelped and jerked it back, she slammed the door in his face and slid the bolt home. For just a moment she leaned against the cool surface, and held her breath. Did he think she’d fallen off a turnip truck? She knew who’d lied.
Lips pressed in a disapproving line, Starr crushed the piece of paper that bore his name and stuffed it into her robe pocket. She still wasn’t sure why he’d come. Were he and Harrison’s wife looking for someone on whom to hoist the blame for their infidelity? In meeting Harrison for lunch, had she played into their hands? Or did Barclay McLeod have a different reason? After all, Harrison had said his brother was “soft” on children and animals—like bighorns.
Maybe he did and maybe he didn’t. Starr rather thought the man cared for no one but himself.
At any rate, she had to let the senator know right away about this visit. On her way to the phone, Starr bumped into SeLi. The child’s face was pale and her eyes wide.
“Holy shit, Mom. What’d that dude do to make you so ticked off?”
“Watch it, little lady. You’re already in hot water up to your ears. I don’t think we need swearing added to the list.”
“I, uh, sorta forget now and then,” SeLi said. “Wasn’t he neat? If I had a dad like that, Buffy Jordan wouldn’t dare spread her dirty ol’ lies. Her dad’s an old fart with big ears. Jug ears.” She giggled.
“SeLi!” Starr closed her eyes and massaged both temples. “Stop it. We’re never going to see that man again. Now put your backpack away and let me make a call. Then we’ll talk.”
“Uh-oh,” SeLi muttered, skipping across the room. “I can see you’re gettin’ all tense again. I’ll just go do homework like you said.”
Christmas Star (Contemporary, Romance) Page 3
