by Alison Kent
‘What’s your hurry, Ben?’
Heidi laughed nervously—a sound that couldn’t belong to her, the mighty Heidi Malone.
‘You’re right.’ Ben lifted one—only one— hand from her shoulder. ‘What’s the hurry? It’s not like I’ve been waiting fifteen damn years.’
‘You have?’ she said, her voice ingenuously soft. ‘You’ve been waiting for me?’
‘Call it a fantasy, but yeah.’ He reached for a sprig of hair that had escaped her cap and twirled it around his finger. ‘I’ve been waiting for you.’
‘I’m your fantasy?’ She reached up and touched his face, and the hair that had fallen loose on his brow. ‘I don’t think I’ve been anyone’s fantasy before.’
Ben’s eyes slowly closed, slowly opened. His mouth pulled into a regretful smile. ‘You were everyone’s fantasy, Heidi. Didn’t you know that?’
‘You’ve got to be kidding,’ she said, and frowned at his statement.
‘Wrong. I’m dead serious.’ He pulled her closer and she knew from the look in his eyes that he intended to prove it.
FOUR MEN & A LADY
by
Alison Kent
All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.
All Rights Reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises II B.V. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
MILLS & BOON and MILLS & BOON with the Rose Device are registered trademarks of the publisher. TEMPTATION is a registered trademark of Harlequin Enterprises Limited, used under licence.
First published in Great Britain 2000 by Harlequin Mills & Boon Limited,
Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW91SR
© Mica Stone 1999 ISBN 0 263 82386 5 21-0007
Printed and bound in Spain by Litografia Roses S.A., Barcelona
I owe a big thanks to the following people.
Temptation author Julie Elizabeth Leto, for vetting my cultural references. Sara Houston State University Bearkat Joe Holloway, for advising me on the band. Albany High School, Albany, Oregon, 1984 graduate, Paul Williams, my brother the rock star, for grounding me in the times. You’ve all made me feel very old! And I’m not!
To the Rocks of Gibraltar in the muddy terrain of my sea. Walt and Jan.
This one is for Susan Sheppard, after whom I’d name my firstborn.
If he wasn’t twenty. And male.
So, instead, I’ll name my star.
Prologue
RUBBING AT THE SCAR along the curve of his jawline was a bad habit Ben Tannen had never been able to break.
He caught himself in the act too often while driving. Or when lost in thought. The worst was when he was lost in thought while driving.
Like now.
He glanced in his rearview mirror at the Southwest Texas setting-sun streaks of turquoise and orange-yellow, and found his thumb working the groove that began center-chin and ran to the midpoint of his ear.
An inch higher and she might've put out his eye. Or so the doctors had said. And wouldn't that have been a parent's dire prediction come true.
Ben knew the diagnosis wasn't entirely accurate. The strength of Heidi's fury, her hurt and humiliation, had far surpassed the strength of her swing.
Still, the gash had been bad enough. The chain Heidi used to lock up her bike was old, had lost most of its blue plastic sheathing and hadn't been kind to his face.
She'd acted in the heat of the moment. Had she stopped to think, she'd've realized the end with the combination lock had a lot more potential as a weapon.
He did have that to be thankful for.
The pain had lingered longer than he'd admitted during any of the endless medical follow-ups or reconstructive consultations his parents had forced him to attend.
Even now he swore he still felt an occasional twinge. Like the skin and bone had intentionally enclosed the pain of the injury so he'd understand the consequences of making an ass of himself.
He understood all right. The consequences were there every morning when he looked in the mirror to shave. He had a hell of a scar reminding him to keep his nose and his jaw and even his checkbook where they belonged.
He also understood any feeling that remained was only in his mind... and only when his thoughts drifted to Heidi. He steered clear of her direction, as a rule.
After scraping his face off an asphalt parking lot, a guy'd have to be a moron to go back for more. Which Ben had. Three times.
So sue him if he'd been both an ass and a moron. He bet there wouldn't be one person at this weekend's high school reunion who didn't have a closet full of skeletal remains.
Even the Mighty Heidi Malone had old tales to tell.
Ben forced his hand from his face.
He wasn't surprised she'd done as well for herself as she had, or that the press had bestowed on her the epithet after she'd won a particularly high-profile case.
She'd had amazing success as a woman defending women in matters of sex and race. She'd come a long way, baby.
A living breathing cliche, Heidi'd been the girl from the wrong side of the tracks forced by a jagged turn in a county line to attend school with the sons and daughters of class and privilege.
She'd also been the only female in Sherwood Grove, Texas' Johnson High School's award-winning jazz quintet. Heidi'd played alto sax like nobody's business and tolerated no less from the other four teen musicians.
After a particularly bad night of practice not long into their freshman year, in fact, she'd christened their group of five The Deck, accusing the rest of them of playing as flat as a bunch of personality-impaired face cards.
Her tirade had dissolved into a fit of giggles and bathroom jokes about royal flushes, and the five had left that evening with nicknames none had managed to shake over the next four years.
Heidi'd labeled herself The Joker and Ben—The Ace—had had a hard time keeping silent. She didn't seem to realize she'd chosen a card that had no real place in the deck.
He wondered if Heidi would even make it to this weekend's reunion. Jack had assured Ben that she'd responded to the invitation, though it had been very last-minute. And very tentative. Like that was any kind of surprise.
Heidi'd never been much for convention. Come hell or high water she'd been determined to make her own way in the world...as he'd learned there beside the bicycle racks on their final day as high school seniors.
Leaving the parking lot of the Stonebridge Reporter, Ben turned on the headlights and turned off the memories. Forty minutes and he'd be in Austin.
He hoped Heidi showed tonight. He really did. Tonight had been fifteen years in the making. And he was ready.
He patted his slacks pocket, smiled at the folded square of old paper there. Yep. It was time to see if Mighty Heidi was as good as her word.
Sure she'd paid off her monetary debt, but that wasn't all she'd promised him those many years ago. He had every in
tention of collecting her IOU.
She'd made a mistake when she'd skinned him alive with that cutting tongue of hers. Because now he was her skeleton. And he was coming out of her closet.
Chapter One
THE LIGHTS WERE DIM, the air was smoky and the music was loud nineties rock.
The door to The Cave Down Below closed behind her, and Heidi stopped in the entryway to get her bearings. The club occupied a lot of space on the first floor of the old warehouse, but it only took her a minute to see what there was to see.
Dance floor and stage on the left. Bar at the rear. Pool tables, video games, big-screen TVs to the right.
A gust of wind tickled her short hem. She glanced back briefly at the hugging, giggling couple elbowing their way through the door.
They jostled her, apologized and continued inside. Having loitered long enough—she certainly wouldn't call the delay avoidance—she followed the man and woman into the club.
And was immediately assaulted by the noise.
The clatter of air hockey disks and pool balls competed with the bells and whistles, tsssbooms and thuds, whomps and rrrooaars of video games and pinball machines.
People mingled from the doorway of the club to the opposite end which looked half a football field away. Voices raised above the chaos to shout drink orders and roar "Over here!" and laugh belly deep.
The pulse of humanity. A living breathing collective consciousness that rose and fell with a heartbeat's deep rhythm. Heidi released a sigh along with the last of a ridiculous case of nerves. Walking inside wasn't the step through the looking glass she'd been expecting.
The Cave was no different than the few clubs she frequented in Dallas when letting down her hair with Georgia. Often the places she and her partner took clients to celebrate the court's decisions toed this same sort of rowdy line.
But she was definitely overdressed. Or underdressed, judging by the looks lingering on the hem of her short black dress. Obviously her idea of casual involved more bare skin than the regulars at The Cave were used to seeing.
Oh, well. She'd dressed to party, to play, to have fun. She'd also dressed to kill and to vamp—in case the need for either arose. So far, neither had.
She hadn't seen a single sign of Ben.
Ben Tannen. Amazing, wasn't it, that two words, a simple name, could so easily return a grown woman to the days of adolescent angst?
Here she was, her heart beating like she was sixteen. The shiver of anticipation zigging down her spine, the beads of perspiration zagging between her breasts, couldn't have been more real.
And all over a boy, now a man, who'd never acknowledged her teenage crush.
Heidi shook her head. Enough silliness, she vowed, returning her attention to the crowd. Not only had she seen no sign of Ben, but Randy, Jack and Quentin seemed absent, as well. In fact, she'd seen only one or two vaguely familiar faces.
The lack of recognition would've made for one of those classically uncomfortable reunion moments had either classmate approached. Neither did. Which surprised Heidi not in the least.
She expected many such non-moments this weekend. After all, she could hardly be recognized now when fifteen years ago she'd been virtually invisible. A nobody in the consummate sense of the word.
Making her way to the bar through the crush of bodies, she ordered a beer and eased onto the bare edge of a bar stool. Legs crossed, she swiveled to the side and glanced out at the crowd. One face after another came into focus, the details fell into place.
There was Starr, the head cheerleader who'd dated Ronnie the quarterback and been eight weeks pregnant at graduation. She appeared to be at least eight months pregnant now. As Heidi looked on, Ronnie pushed away from the crowded table, leaned down to give Starr a peck on the cheek then went to join friends at the bank of pinball machines. Heidi smiled when she realized the ex-quarterback's rounded belly mirrored his wife's.
Her gaze picked up another couple. Eric and Ellen, the twins, valedictorian and salutatorian respectively. They'd been so competitive, both academically and personally, that neither had a life outside their studies. Neither wore a wedding band now. Heidi couldn't help but wonder about the price of their success. Or of her own.
Dang it, she was sounding like Georgia. Georgia Banks was a natural-born litigator and Heidi was pleased to call the stunning black woman both partner and best friend. But she really needed to find a new voice for her conscience.
One that wasn't so disconcertingly accurate in her summation of Heidi's obsession with one particular man. A man who obviously couldn't pry the silver spoon from his mouth long enough to down a cold one with old friends. Or old enemies.
Heidi continued to visually canvas the room. She took in the looks slanted her way, not so terribly different from the looks of years ago. They were still trying to figure her out. Who she was. Where she came from. Whether or not she belonged.
She sighed. Conscience or not, a dose of Georgia's irreverent humor would certainly spice up what looked to be a long night ahead. Which meant a long day tomorrow. And Sunday as well.
One thing was certain. Next time Heidi was in high school, she would work a little harder to avoid earning the very title she found herself wearing—Most Likely Fifteenth Class Reunion Wallflower. Silently laughing, she lifted her cold longneck—only to have the bottle snatched from her hand.
"Hey!" she cried, looking up and over her shoulder and into the face of... "Quentin Marks!"
"Heidi Malone. Long time no see. Long time no speak to. Long time no hear from." Quentin winked and downed a quarter of her beer, watching her face as he swallowed. His eyes twinkled with that endearing Marks mischief. His mouth turned up in that quirky Marks grin. "I see you've descended from your throne to consort with the commoners."
She knew she was smiling like a fool, but it was so good to see what the years had made of the boy who had been one of her very best friends. "Since when does The Joker sit on a throne? I was the one with the silly clothes and goofy hat, remember."
"Goofy hat, right. I wondered what that mess was up there on your head." Quentin patted the hair she'd let grow from the bleached-out, straggly waif cut of her high school days to the full-bodied mass of curls she'd let loose for the night. "I knew it couldn't be hair. If it was hair, then you couldn't be Heidi. You are Heidi, aren't you?"
"Quentin, you goof." Unable to contain herself a minute longer, she flung both arms around Quentin's neck and hugged him, nearly losing her seat on the stool as she did.
Quentin heartily returned the embrace, his broad hands securing her balance before he pulled back to take another look and another feel of her hair. "This is great, even though you did wear the butchered look well."
She stuck out her tongue and scooted more securely onto her seat, tugging her hem down her thighs. "After all that chopping I did, I wasn't sure it would ever grow out."
"It grew out. It grew curly. And—" he caught a strand around one finger "—it grew into a different color."
Weren't chemicals and coloring a girl's best friend? "You might want to keep your nose out of my hairdresser's business unless you want him to take a pair of scissors to that horse's tail hanging down your neck."
"Think again, Delilah," Quentin said and tossed his head like an arrogant thoroughbred. "You're looking at five years' worth of work here. Besides, if the recording industry takes a dive and my production skills are no longer needed, I'll be set for a career as the new Fabio."
Heidi rolled her eyes. Her intervention years ago had saved the destruction of Quentin's self-esteem. Dressed in flea-market fashion and hair appropriate for London's underground, Heidi had possessed a sense of self rare in one so young.
Knowing what she wanted had never been a problem. It was the acquisition that had given her grief. Quentin had seen her blow off convention and chase her dream her way. He'd trusted her direction.
And it seemed she'd created a monster. Or a monster stud, she amended as the thoroughbred leaned past her sho
ulder to check his reflection in the mirror behind the bar.
She watched the pretentious male ritual with great amusement. But she had to admit he was gorgeous, what with the combination of his golden hair and stylish need to shave. The head-to-toe black in silk and linen and leather was the perfect canvas for his sun god coloring.
"Get a lot of mileage out of that hair, do you?" she asked.
It took five seconds for Quentin's gaze to skim her lap. "More mileage than you get out of that dress."
Dang it. Heidi crinkled her nose and adjusted one sliding shoulder strap. "This seemed like a good idea at the time."
Taking in the whole of her outfit, Quentin glanced at his watch. "It seems like a good idea now, too."
When had flirting ever been so easy, so fun? So perfectly, harmlessly nonthreatening all the way around? She'd missed Quentin's quick wit. She should've stayed in touch. Should've considered what she would be leaving behind when she ran.
Meeting his gaze, she lifted her chin and her beer. "You wouldn't be coming on to me, would you?"
Quentin gave her another head-to-toe once-over, forced up one roguish eyebrow. "I think that could be arranged."
Heidi smacked his shoulder. "If I didn't know you better, I'd think you were serious."
He looked down at her, his blue eyes narrowed, thoughtful. Devilish. His smiling mouth equally fiendish. "If I didn't know you better, I would be serious."
She'd walked right into that one. "First you cast aspersions on my roots...uh, the roots of my hair. Now you're disparaging my feminine allure. I see a lawsuit in your future, buster."
He made a face of insulted feelings and boosted up onto the now vacant stool next to hers. "Me? Disparage the Mighty Heidi Malone?"
Her bottle came down with a thud on the bar. Just like old times, the battle of wits and words was on, as if fifteen minutes had passed instead of fifteen years. This time, however, she had a better arsenal. And a bigger vocabulary.
Her smile was well sugared. Mighty Heidi Malone had intimidated worse characters than this one on her climb from the bottom of her life to the top. "You're lucky you got your dig in while the night is still young and I'm still forgiving. Because the next person to make reference to that particularly loathsome nickname will feel the truth and the pain of how I earned it."
