by EC Sheedy
She took a breath, let it out slowly. So many years ago.
Seeing Julius today had been a rush, and other than his impassive face and…darker aura, she’d have recognized him instantly. But then she did have pictures of him in Amanda’s scrapbook. She’d had a terrible crush on him back in the day. As crushes went, it ran its course, ending when Julius went off to school in England. Something his father, English by birth, had been set on.
She rubbed her upper arms against a chill, raising her head at the rumble of a vehicle coming down the road. It was an ancient yellow Chevy truck, hurtling toward her driveway as if it were skimming along freshly laid asphalt, instead of a cratered and pitted country road. Clancy. He turned into her driveway and stopped with a screech of brakes at the bottom of her steps.
Deanne let her dark remembrances go. Her and Julius’s memories of that terrible day existed in parallel universes, and there’d they’d stay. Julius didn’t need her as a reminder of his tragedy.
Clancy West, all six beautiful feet of him, got out of the truck and headed for where she stood on the porch. His shoulder-length “artist’s” hair, as he called it, loose today, a shifting ebony gleam under the sun. Women would maim their sisters to have such hair.
Deanne’s heart warmed at the sight of him, a warmth quickly followed by minor irritation.
“Well,” he said, putting his hands on his hips and making no attempt to hide his childlike expectations.
“You—” she jabbed a finger in his direction, “—are not supposed to be here. You promised.”
He grabbed her pointing finger and kissed it. “I know.”
“You said you’d leave Julius to me, remember? That’s the only reason I agreed to rep you.” She tugged at the hand he still held. “And give me back my finger.”
He kissed it again, gave her a broad grin, and let go of her hand. “Well?” he repeated, completely unrepentant. “Tell me. Tell me.”
How could she stay mad at this crazy man-boy? She decided to try. “I should make you suffer.”
“I suffer all the time. It’s what artists do best. So spill. What did Zern think?”
Deanne cocked her head. “Samba had her puppies. Want to see?”
He opened his mouth and closed it, then draped his arm around her shoulders and started them toward her front door. “You’re a cruel woman, Deanne Moore. But if I must suffer, I might as well do it looking at puppies. I get pick of the litter, remember?”
Inside the house, Clancy glanced around the near-empty room, then at the gallery wall she’d created. He nodded his head. “Very nice. Thanks.”
“Not bad for an ex-back-office admin type, huh?”
“You were never that. You were a squandered talent and an exploited woman.”
“And what exactly does that mean?”
“It means you let that mother and A-hole husband of yours tear out the heart of your self-confidence—until they had you believing all you were good for was smoothing out their agendas.”
“Magic word—let. It was kind of comfortable being under their collective thumb rather than out here in the cold, cruel world with you.”
“You planning to buy a ticket back to Chicago?”
She laughed. “Not in this lifetime.”
“Good. Because I’m currently resetting the definition for the word broke.” He paused dramatically. “Hint. Hint. Zern. Zern.”
“I was going to call you, you know.”
“You’re killing me…”
She couldn’t hold out any longer. “He loved your work, Clancy. Said it was genius.”
Clancy sucked in a noisy breath and closed his eyes; without opening them, and after a long pause, he said, “And?”
“He bought…all three of them.”
His eyelids opened then, and he let out a breath big enough to fill a life raft. “Champagne. Where’s the champagne?”
“It’s not even noon, yet—and don’t you want to know what he paid first?”
“I already know.”
“You do?”
“He paid whatever you were asking.” Clancy looked around. “Now where’s the bubbly? Noon be damned.”
Deanne went to the fridge and retrieved the Dom Pérignon champagne they’d bought on her first day in Seattle. To celebrate her first sale, Clancy had said, with his usual fuzzy optimism and unshakable confidence.
She held the bottle out to him, but when he gripped it, she held on. “Why, Clancy?”
The bottle between them, he said, “Why what?”
“Why did you believe in me when no one else did?”
CHAPTER 5
Clancy either didn’t know how to answer or planned on doing some torturing of his own. “You really want to know?” he finally said.
“Yes, I do. And I’m holding Dom here hostage until you tell all.”
He hesitated again, which wasn’t Clancy’s style, then said, “You know I loved you in college.”
Deanne’s neck warmed. “College was a long time ago. And, if I remember right, you loved a lot of girls.”
“True.” He swept her with his intense blue gaze. “But there was only one Deanne. One beautiful, unstoppable—untouchable—Deanne, the girl who never smiled. Her goals all about doing the right thing. Get perfect grades, get the perfect job, and marry the perfect man…and live up to the standards set by her perfect mother—”
“That’s not true, I—” She stopped mid-denial. Mid-lie. Not that anyone could live up to her mother. Lauren Moore, brilliant, beautiful and successful, was one of the country’s most feted businesswomen, on a set path to the Fortune 500.
“Uh-uh. No interruptions.” Clancy pulled the champagne from her hand, started working the cap and continued, “As I fell seriously short on the perfection scale, and despite my widely acknowledged sexual prowess, I could not get Miss Idealistic into my bed. Result? We became friends instead of lovers.” He smiled, touched her chin. “A friendship I value very highly, I might add.”
“As do I, but none of that’s on point, Clancy.” Although he was so damn right about all her chasing after perfection.
“You spent—what?—twenty-eight years trying to please everyone but yourself, then you capped it off by marrying an ambitious idiot who knew exactly how to play on your insecurities—”
“This is getting scary.” Damned if he wasn’t echoing her shrink. “Maybe you should cut back on your Dr. Phil pills.”
Clancy popped the cork, grinned. “Glasses?”
She retrieved the two flutes they’d bought along with the champagne and handed them to him. He poured.
“That bastard—what was his name again?”
“Kevin, as you very well know.”
“He used you, baby. You damn well know that. He wanted what you had—”
“What my mother had.” The usual sick knot began its curl deep in her belly. It was hell to accept she’d been used. God, she’d been naive. Blind to the classic ploy of the ambitious man determined to get to the top and seeing marriage to the boss’s daughter as the most direct route. Except in Kevin’s case it turned out he’d much rather have married the boss herself. Or so he’d told her…
“Whatever. Jesus, the guy even took your surname.” He shook his head. “You worked your sweet ass off for your mother and what’s-his-name, and they were kicking said ass with their Ferragamos shoes while you did. You were too good for both of them, you just didn’t know it.” He held out his glass.
She held out hers. “Until you came along and rescued me. Or should I say had me committed.”
They clinked glasses.
“You rescued yourself the day you walked out of your mother’s office and left her and idiot boy behind. Me? I happened to be around for your pity party and the general cleanup.” He stopped. “Now, let’s drink a toast to new beginnings, yours as the hot, new agent lucky enough to land the up-and-coming artist Clancy West, and mine as a once destitute painter who will now be able to pay his rent.”
They drank, t
hen Deanne lifted her flute again. “And to Julius Zern for his extremely good taste.” After they’d both sipped again, she grinned at Clancy.
“You look smug.” He eyed her with suspicion. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Julius is coming to your show on Tuesday. He wants to see more of your work.”
“No shit.”
She laughed at his stunned expression. “You’re on your way, painter man.”
The champagne fizzed, danced and warmed its way down Deanne’s throat, while the thought of seeing Julius again played in her mind in full and living color, warming another part of her anatomy entirely.
Crazy. But nice…Had to be the bubbly.
Whatever the reason, she felt…happy. Optimistic. High on life. And for some curious reason seeing Julius again was the cause.
Silly, silly woman.
Still she smiled, even as she told herself to put her dreamy, schoolgirl thoughts away and relish the happiness for what it truly was—the result of a successful business transaction, and her second big step. The first was leaving Chicago and coming back to Seattle, the second was taking charge of her own life. Feeling happier and stronger than she had in years, she intended to make her take-charge attitude a habit. And that meant figuring out what she wanted and going for it. Flat-out. No detours.
Her very own golden rule.
Julius put down the phone, all arrangements for next Friday’s flight to France now in place. He was good to go.
He’d considered taking an extra few days in Paris but decided against it. Paris was for lovers, and at the moment, he didn’t have one, hadn’t for the past six months. No big deal and no great loss. Women were soft, beautiful creatures—close to mystical, in his opinion—and he loved their company, both in bed and out. But they leaned toward building happily-ever-after scenarios—two people loving and living for each other for as long as life allowed. Julius did not. Although even he had to admit he’d been more of a hermit than usual lately.
Probably the reason he’d had trouble concentrating for the past couple of days.
Since meeting Deanne Moore.
The woman hadn’t left his mind. Nor had the bizarre sensations he’d experienced when he’d stood close to her, held her hand—a swirling fusion of heat, sex and…fear. The fear like a hazy premonition with no form, no weight. Damned eerie. Not the first time he’d experienced such phenomena, but generally not at the same time. The heat and sex, he was all for. Those urges had him thinking of calling Deanne at least a dozen times—and left him semi-aroused for the better part of the past two days. But the fear thing—like danger behind a curtain—baffled him. Which meant the smart thing to do was keep his distance from the woman until he’d figured out what the fear was about, who exactly was afraid—and of what.
Maybe it was the Minton kid. Could be. Bad vibes there…But Minton wasn’t all of it. Not by a long shot.
Lily, his female Lab, lay beside his chair, curled into a ball. When she stretched, Julius stroked her soft chocolate-colored head. Brutus, bigger and a shade darker, rose from his sleep under the window and ambled over to get his share of the lovin’.
“You two have it made, you know. Catered food. Afternoon siestas. Petting on demand. Not a bad life.”
Lily got to her feet and stood beside Brutus, their tails now swinging in tandem, their eyes bright with anticipation.
“I know you want a walk, but I’m having a swim first—” maybe a few laps will clear my head of a certain artist’s too attractive agent, “—so you’re going to have to wait.” Like a matched set of chocolate bookends, they stared at him unperturbed, as if every word from his mouth had been dipped in gold—or beef gravy.
He gave them both a good scratch behind the ear, then left his office and headed for the pool, his sneaker-clad feet virtually soundless on the marble floor of his home’s spacious foyer. The dogs followed him, their nails clicking on the hard surface.
Kit came out of the library, notes and itinerary in hand. He handed the papers to Julius. “You okay with me taking off now? I’ve got a date.”
Kit’s social life had blossomed since Julius’s partner, Joe, had got on his case about being too much of a nerd, and put him on a workout regimen that built some serious muscle. With his father dead, mother a runaway years ago, Kit had pretty much made Guardian, Inc., and Julius his family, which made Julius faintly nervous.
“Go for it,” Julius said. “Have a good time.”
“What are you going to be doing?”
“A swim. Catch up on some paperwork.”
“I can stay, hang out with you, if you want.”
Jesus. He must have set his hermit mode on high—and for too long—if he looked pathetic enough for Kit to offer blowing off his date to keep him company. He damn near smiled. No one understood he was okay with being alone, that he preferred his own company.
Although not today.
Julius’s stomach clenched, the sensation sharp and tight. “Thanks, but I can do without a babysitter.” I need something else entirely. Someone else. And he wondered why in hell he was fighting it.
“I didn’t mean—” Kit had the alarmed expression of a kid who’d been caught finger-scooping the pie filling.
“I know what you mean. Now, get out of here. Enjoy your evening.”
“Okay.” He eased up. “She is kind of hot.”
“They’re all hot when you’re nineteen.”
Kit grinned. “True.”
When Kit was gone, Julius tossed the notes on a nearby table and headed for the phone. He hadn’t made a decision exactly—more like he was giving in to an irresistible force, a woman force that had activated his male autopilot. A vision of Deanne again leaped full-blown into his mind, her dark blue eyes meeting his, her quick easy smile…lush shape. The curious looks she shot his way when she thought he wasn’t looking. He wanted to see her again—no, he wanted to see her right now. Tonight.
He glanced at his watch. Four-fifteen in the p.m. He put his chances of setting something up at less than zero.
He dialed anyway.
CHAPTER 6
Arms full of paper grocery bags, Deanne took only one step into the kitchen before her phone rang.
Damn. She one-armed a bag of groceries onto the kitchen table, grabbed for the quart of milk threatening to topple to the floor—which for some reason the bagger had perched on top of her strawberries—and picked up the phone. “Hello.”
“Deanne, this is Julius Zern.”
His voice, a sexy, throaty baritone, sang its way to her chest. All the air left her lungs in one big swoosh. Her jaws clamped shut.
Oh, God, he was going to renege on the buy.
After her initial, physical reaction, the idea of his reneging paralyzed her, and she stood, quart of milk in one hand, phone in the other, as if she’d been hosed down with Super Glue. She wouldn’t assume the worst, she wouldn’t. At least not out loud. To calm herself she glanced through the open door of the laundry room at her pups, now a contented lump of fur sleeping close to their food source. “Julius,” she murmured, his name coming out somewhere between a croak and a moan, “is there something, uh, I can do for you.”
“Yes. You can have dinner with me,” he said, his voice even lower…slightly gravelly.
Her heart jumped in her chest, butting against her rib cage. “Dinner…Why?” Dearest goddess of the dating-challenged, where in hell had that come from? Afraid the heat in her face might drip down and curdle the milk she was holding, she set the carton on the table.
“Interesting question,” he said. “We could say dinner is simply a natural result of our doing business together. A way to celebrate.” He stopped. “Or we could call it a date—a tried-and-true but very old-fashioned way for a man to get to know a woman he finds both beautiful and interesting. We can call it whatever makes you most comfortable.”
Oh, that voice… Like dark water over polished stone. Her mouth went dry, and she prayed its dryness would stop yet another
dim-witted response from skidding across her tongue. Guess that’s what happened when a woman hadn’t had a “date” or anything close to it since she walked out on her husband over two years ago. She’d lost her edge—her girlie patter—not that she’d ever had much of it in the first place. But something in her was applying spiked brakes to her tongue, yelling about how going out with Julius was a bad idea. A dangerous idea. So far they’d been all about business. Anything else might get…messy. Her mother never mixed business with pleasure.
While she was busy trashing that errant bit of maternal programming, Julius went on. “Rather than take your deafening silence for a no. I’ll read it as concern about the Clancy West sale.” He paused, and she heard him breathe deep. “No strings, Deanne. Whatever we might…experience on a personal level won’t affect that. You have my word. Will eight o’clock be all right?”
She thought about that messy thing again, smiled and said, “Eight o’clock is fine.” Eight o’clock is beautiful, fantastic, exciting.
“I was thinking Romano’s on the lake, maybe catch the sunset? Their jumbo shrimp with pancetta, along with a good chardonnay, is unbeatable.”
“Sounds wonderful…” God, she could listen to his deep, sexy voice forever—even if it never did anything more than recite a menu. She wanted to sigh but blinked instead, and poked what brain matter she had into a usable formation. She did, after all, have responsibilities. “But I’m thinking puppy sitting and frozen lasagna.” She waited for him to beg off, unable to imagine her idea of a date appealing to a man like Julius. But, God, she was actually holding her breath.
“I’ll bring the wine.” He sounded amused and not the least put off.
“A wise decision.”
“Then it’s my second one in under an hour.”
