Except that the pretty blond waitress lingered too long, talking and laughing with him. Starr’s mood turned dark as the weather.
Tossing her head, she crossed her legs and pumped her foot. Why did she care who Barclay McLeod chose to flirt with? Let the man fan his peacock tail at ditzy blondes. She, for one, had more important things to do—like talking Stanley out of those gel-plates so that she could save a herd of sheep.
* * *
CLAY JOKED WITH the friendly waitress to take his mind off the disturbing woman seated across the room. He declined coffee and ordered scotch and water while waiting for his steak. Normally he didn’t touch liquor this early in the day, but Starr Lederman made him crazy.
He should have gone back to the apartment the minute it became apparent Starr and the boyfriend weren’t destined for a motel. Vanessa had no doubt fixed lunch. Not that he owed his sister-in-law any explanations for his absence; he didn’t. The guilt nagged more because Clay knew she worried. How many evenings had she watched out the window for a husband who never showed? Waited by the phone for calls that never came?
Clay had seen the number of times she choked back tears.
He could hear Starr laughing. It didn’t look as if she worried about anything. Was that what Harrison found so appealing about her? Since his brother was such a busy man. Ha!
Clay’s gaze skipped past the chatty waitress to the table across the room—where he could see Starr’s rose-tipped fingers entwined with her partner’s. As she pulled playfully free, Clay’s stomach felt as if it’d been drop-kicked downfield.
Hell, he knew what qualities appealed to his brother. The same qualities that appealed to him. The woman was warm, funny, touchable. Dammit, if Clay didn’t watch his step, she’d snare him, too.
Somebody, he thought, should warn that poor devil she was with to hold on to his wallet.
Clay drained his glass and set it down with a thump. He didn’t owe a stranger advice. What he needed was to go call Vanessa, set her mind at ease. Taking leave of the waitress, Clay patted his hip pocket to assure himself his own wallet was still there.
He was very glad to have it back. The wallet had been a gift from Morgan last Christmas. It was the first present the kid had picked out all by himself. Sadness for his brother’s son gripped him for a moment. Morgan was an intense boy who felt everything deeply; he’d be upset if he knew his school picture had been stolen.
Clay frowned as he punched out the numbers. If only he had some idea why Starr would heist pictures. He thought about the ones she’d left. A worn black-and-white of his parents on their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. A small wedding photo of Harrison and Vanessa—but of course she’d leave that.
He had other pictures of Morgan, but he liked the missing picture best. In it, the boy’s blond hair had been mussed, and a rare grin showed a missing tooth. Van wanted him to wear suits and look like a little man. She had refused to buy the school packet of photographs, so Clay had slipped him the money.
Harrison should have handled that incident, not him. But Harris was never around. He hadn’t even made it to the ranch last Christmas. Claimed he was tied up with important state business. Yeah, right.
Telling Vanessa goodbye, Clay went back to his seat. Damn, he didn’t like thinking his brother had lied. Clay glowered at Starr. Now-untamed curls framed a face kissed by a smattering of freckles. He didn’t let himself remember another place she had freckles; instead, he made himself concentrate on her eyes. Strangely iridescent irises shimmered around smoky centers and somehow intensified her look of innocence. Did knowing she wasn’t innocent make her more exciting?
Watching her now, Clay was forced to admit he found her exciting for other reasons. She was beautiful, yet seemingly indifferent to the fact. He ran a hand around a suddenly restrictive collar. Why should indifference in a woman make her alluring?
Clay hadn’t the foggiest notion, but it did.
Men, now, weren’t so subtle. At least he wasn’t. So why didn’t he go ask lover boy if he knew he was just one man in a long line of suckers?
Clay slid out of the booth again and wove his way through the tables.
Having made up her mind to ignore the younger McLeod, Starr sat with her back to the room. “What do you suppose is taking them so long to fix a simple soup and sandwich?” she muttered. “I have a ton of reports to file. If my food doesn’t come soon, I’m leaving.”
Stanley unfolded his napkin and polished his silverware.
“Are you going to get me those serum-test kits?” Starr demanded as if they hadn’t talked about several subjects since that one.
“You missed the whole point, Starr. My reluctance has to do with the odd way you’re acting.” Stanley laughed. “I mean, who’d trust you with a secret? Look at you. A bundle of nerves. What are you building with your silverware? A pen for your bighorn sheep?”
Starr dropped the knife she was threading through the tines of a fork, which formed a triangle with her spoon. “Who said anything about sheep?”
“I have your equipment list, Starr. Dart gun, big-game marking tags coded for San Jacinto. It hardly takes a genius to add things up.” He looked sullen. “If this is about getting your doctorate, why the big ruse?”
Clay skulked behind a waitress who came to deliver Starr’s lunch. He found the tidbit about San Jacinto very enlightening, and lingered in hopes of hearing more.
Starr accepted her order. Not the cup of soup she’d asked for, but a bowl. She weighed the value of sending it back to be corrected as Stanley pondered which dressing to use on his salad. Deciding not to make a fuss, she said, “It has nothing to do with my doctorate, Stanley. I thought Mr. Jensen explained.”
“Bunk and rubbish!” With a vicious stab, Stanley spiked lettuce, tomato and a large mushroom all at once.
Fascinated, Starr watched him lift the fork toward his mouth. She held her breath until it met its goal. Closing her eyes, she counted to ten.
Clay continued to lag within earshot.
Stanley patted his lips with his napkin. “I made some inquiries and couldn’t find anyone at U Berkeley who’s heard of this project.” He waved his fork under her nose. “If you got someone to pull strings so you can start compiling data for your thesis, you’re nuts.”
Starr’s jaw was set in a stubborn line. “I doubt you’ve spoken to every single person at U Berkeley, Stanley,” she drawled sarcastically. “Believe me, I know what I’m doing.” The words were barely out of her mouth when a dark blur materialized in her peripheral vision. She dropped her spoon, and soup flew everywhere as Clay McLeod slid into the booth beside her.
“What’s this I hear?” he asked with deceptive smoothness. “You’re planning a jaunt to my neck of the woods? Funny, you didn’t mention it this morning.”
Someone who didn’t know him might think his interest casual. Starr was close enough to feel the underlying hum of his anger. She should protest—but she felt confused, her thoughts disordered. Arguments, answers, clever comebacks—she couldn’t produce even one. This man had a way of reducing her to a mindless amoebic mass. Not only that, Harrison would expect her to throw him offtrack. To erect roadblocks. Denial, however, stuck in Starr’s throat, making breathing next to impossible.
“I thought you said you didn’t know this man,” Stanley accused as he speared a huge radish rosette.
Starr’s breath escaped like steam from boiling water. “He’s no friend, believe me,” she managed at last. “Ignore him, Stanley. Maybe he’ll take the hint and leave.” She deliberately picked up her sandwich and took a bite.
Clay smiled benignly, stuck out a broad, tanned hand and clasped the doctor’s smooth, pale one in a bone-crushing grip.
Stanley’s eyes bugged behind his glasses. Then both men turned to look at Starr. Stanley’s gaze was hurt and challenging; Clay’s slumberous and faintly mocking.
“This—” Clay arched a brow “—is Stanley Stud?” His amused voice caused diners all around to stop eat
ing and stare.
Stanley issued an ill-concealed oath.
Starr felt truly skewered on a barb of her own making—or rather, her daughter’s making. Too late she realized she shouldn’t have lied to Stanley.
His glare swung from the intruder to Starr and back again. Angrily he threw his napkin across his salad plate. But his tie got tangled in the folds and ended up landing in the Russian dressing, too.
Starr’s eyes widened as she watched an oily red stain seep through the fine linen napkin into the elegant silk of Stanley’s tie. Her colleague was nothing if not fastidious about his attire. She winced.
Stanley gingerly untied the offending article and let it drop. “I’d say you know him, all right,” he growled. “It’s not enough that you let that wretched, uncivilized little wharf hoodlum insult me to my face. Now you allow her insolence to be passed on to your...friends.”
“SeLi is not a hoodlum.” Furious, Starr struggled to stand, but Clay’s large body didn’t allow it. “Stanley, wait,” she said when he started to slide from the booth.
“Let him go,” Clay advised. “I’ll give you a lift back to the office.”
A waitress arrived just then with Stanley’s main course.
“Stanley, this is silly,” Starr hissed. “SeLi knows exactly how to jerk your chain. If you didn’t react, she’d quit doing it. Come on, finish your lunch. The spinach fettuccini here is to die for.”
“Oh, here you are!” Another waitress, the bubbly one Starr had seen fawning over Clay, rushed up and handed him his steak plate. Stanley was more or less hemmed in. “How nice,” the young woman cooed, her eyes only for Clay. “You found someone you knew. And to think you’re only visiting San Francisco. It’s a small world, I always say.”
The woman’s Pollyanna sweetness grated on Starr’s nerves, as did the way she gushed over Clay. Oh, he made a show of nonchalance, but Starr knew he loved every minute. “Sit, Stanley,” Starr snapped. “You’re making a scene.”
“Me?” he sputtered.
Clay calmly cut into his very rare steak and carried a piece to his mouth.
Stanley turned a sort of puce green. “How can you even watch this...this cannibal eat?”
“Don’t rush off on my account,” Clay said around a winsome smile. “Finish your tie, er, your lunch.” His grin spread.
Stanley pulled back, looking miffed. “I can’t believe you’re friends with someone so uncouth, Starr.”
Clay gestured with his fork. “Oh, we’re not friends. It’s more of a fraternal affiliation, I’d say, given her close association with my brother.”
“And who might your brother be?” Stanley tore his gaze from the meat and sneered. “Dracula?”
Clay’s smile faded. “Harrison McLeod. Senator Harrison McLeod. The rules are simple while he’s in office. What’s his is mine, and what’s mine I keep.” His cool blue gaze raked Starr.
She seethed.
Clay sat back. Under the table, his thigh brushed hers.
She went hot, then cold, then hot again.
“That does it!” Stanley hailed his waitress and asked her to box his lunch. “Being lied to, as well as insulted, is more than I can take. If the senator’s brother knows so much about your plans, let him get your gel-plates.”
Starr had to shut him up before he inadvertently let any more slip. Harrison would have a fit. “Stanley, people are watching.”
“Let them watch. I’m calling a cab. Are you coming or not? Leave your nonfriend the tab—he can certainly afford the prices here. In fact, I believe I’ll send him a bill for my tie.”
Without waiting to see if Starr followed, Stanley pushed past the waitress and headed for the door.
“Will he be back?” the confused woman asked Clay.
He shrugged and deferred to Starr.
Her response was to request the check. As the waitress pulled a sheaf of bills from her apron pocket and thumbed through them, Starr did her best to ignore Clay.
“So that’s your daughter’s idea of a stud?” he said the moment the waitress left. “You should really pay more attention to her education, Mom.”
Uncomfortably aware that every eye in the place was trained on them, Starr scooted out of the horseshoe-shaped booth, choosing the long way around. “You are—”
“Despicable?” he filled in, standing when she did.
“Did you follow me just to make my life miserable?”
His dark brows drew together with chilling speed. “I told you, but you don’t seem to get it—I want you out of my brother’s bed. Instead, it sounds as if the two of you are planning a rendezvous on my turf.” His arm snaked out and he caught Starr’s chin. “Tell me, Starr. How does Stanley fit in? Or does he simply make a good cover?”
Her lips parted and her cheeks burned. It was all she could do not to blurt out the truth, Harrison and his secrets be damned. She wanted to smack that know-it-all smirk right off his face—except that as she stared into his eyes, she found herself slipping again. Found herself wanting his kiss.
If she stood on tiptoe, their mouths would be mere inches apart....
Clay groaned. “This is insane,” he muttered, his senses tumbling like a barrel going over Niagara Falls. “Let’s get out of here. Now.”
Laughter from the next table penetrated the fog that clouded Starr’s reason. She blinked, then savagely bit her lip. How could she have let this happen? And in so public a place. “No.” She wrenched herself back, only to discover that no bonds held her in check.
Clay flushed. “You feel the chemistry between us. Don’t try to deny it. Forget my brother,” he said, lowering his voice. “He has a family, dammit.”
He sounded anguished. And that was why Starr wanted to say something. Wanted to make him understand—without revealing any of Harrison’s secrets. “The senator and I... We...” Clutching her purse, she shook her head. After all, what could she really say?
With a distressed cry, Starr reached into her purse for some cash and threw it on the table. Mindful of the curious stares of other diners, she hurried from the room.
Clay sank back against the cushioned seat, and wondered how he always managed to provoke her when that hadn’t been his intent. And it wasn’t as if he hadn’t given her every chance to explain, damn her.
Caught in a maelstrom of doubt, Clay stood and matched the cash she’d left, then added some more to compensate for the mess.
“Goodness,” someone gushed behind him. It was Miss Congeniality, the waitress who’d handled his order. “Your friends weren’t very hungry,” she said. “Oh, I see the gentleman had an accident.” She lifted a corner of Stanley’s soggy tie.
“Yes. Do you have something you can clip the label out with? I feel responsible, and I’d like to buy him another tie.”
“Well, aren’t you the sweetest man? Sure, give me a minute.”
Clay didn’t feel very sweet as he waited for her to return with scissors. Her eyes invited more than the thanks he gave her, but Clay pretended not to see. His mind refused to rid itself of a certain red-haired temptress.
* * *
STARR TRIED to regain control of her senses during the solitary cab ride back to work. Stanley’s taxi was just pulling away from the curb when hers arrived. If only she hadn’t stayed to fight that losing battle with Clay McLeod, she might already have made her peace with Stanley. They’d been friends since college and had always worked well together.
For the first time, Starr wondered if Stanley felt more than friendship for her. If so, it wasn’t because she’d offered any encouragement.
Not that she encouraged Barclay McLeod, either. Nor would she. Ever. She knew his type—a talented womanizer like her father. She loved her father, but she’d never tolerate that kind of husband for herself. Reportedly, Samuel Lederman dallied with every starlet who walked onto one of his sets. Yet, true to double standard, he didn’t want his wife so much as talking to another man. Starr had watched her mother live with the rumors—and realities�
�of his infidelities.
Women, young and old, threw themselves at her father. The man she’d just left back at the restaurant exuded the same kind of sexy charisma, Starr thought grimly as she paid her fare.
“Too sexy for my own good,” she murmured aloud placing blame where it belonged. She dashed into the building.
At first the date to start Harrison’s project had seemed impossibly close; now SeLi’s Christmas break didn’t seem close enough. Better to be camping at Idyllwild beyond reach of both McLeods than to be here, stuck in the middle of their family squabble.
Leaving the elevator, Starr walked right on past Stanley’s closed door. She’d had all she could take of sulky men for one day.
Starr rolled up her sleeves and set to work filing. As a rule, she didn’t mind filing volumes of lab slips or filling out reports in triplicate. Today her mind drifted to other matters, and she grew bored.
Budget cuts—which gave some indication of the shape their state was in—were responsible for a shortage in support staff. If Starr truly wanted to get back into Stanley’s good graces, all she needed to do was volunteer her clerical services for a few hours.
By midafternoon Starr decided it was the least she could do, considering it was her daughter who’d come up with the silly name. Friends were important; Clay McLeod was a virtual stranger.
But was she guilty of using Stanley to keep the wolves at bay, as Clay had insinuated? If so, she wasn’t proud of herself. She tapped on Stanley’s door and poked her head inside.
“Stanley, I’m sorry. I do value our friendship. Could you use some help filing lab slips?”
Stanley didn’t wait for her to change her mind. Nothing she offered could’ve worked half as fast at alleviating his hurt feelings. By the end of the day he’d even handed over the gel-plates.
“I still think I deserve your honesty,” he grumbled. “You know I’m a team player, Starr.”
Starr nodded and glanced at the clock above his head. “Wow, I didn’t realize it was so late. Thank goodness Darcy picked the kids up from school. I guess SeLi can play with the boys until I get home. Thanks for the plates, Stanley. I’ve gotta split.”
Christmas Star (Contemporary, Romance) Page 8
