Oh sweet God!
Closing her eyes, Emily sighed, “Vega…”
Vega…
The way she said it caused his mind to envision the passing faces of his fans as they reached out to grab at him. Vega? She wasn’t making love to him, she was making love to Vega! The persona! Just like the rest, she wanted a piece of the great artist.
“Vega….”
No! He pulled away from her before his penis went soft in her hand.
Jumping to his feet, he turned his back to her. He fastened his pants and grabbed his shirt off the floor.
“Maximo?”
“You need to go.”
“But? Wait. What just happened? I-I don’t understand.”
He couldn’t look at her. He screwed his eyes tight. “Get dressed.” He was being a prick and he couldn’t even explain it to her. She needed to get out before he made an even bigger jack ass of himself. He braced his hands on the worktable and hung his head. “We’re done for tonight. Lasci prego. Please leave.”
Chapter Ten
Emily raced her Jeep out of the parking lot as if a horde of zombies was after her. She kept blinking to keep her vision clear as tears welled in her eyes. Looking into the passenger seat at her hastily packed bag, the red of her silk robe screamed at her. She pushed the button for the side window, ripped the robe from her backpack, and threw it out of the speeding car.
A sob caught in her chest. What was wrong with her? First she tried to kill him by falling on him then she practically attacked the man. Shoving her hand down his pants. What the hell? No wonder he pulled away. She’d ruined everything! What a flaming idiot!
Peering out the windshield, she didn’t even know where she was, or where she was headed. She’d just jumped into her Jeep and drove off. How had she gotten on Huntley Street? Suzanne and Tony only lived a couple blocks from there. The clock on the dashboard read 8:39. She hoped it wasn’t too late. She needed to talk to someone. Anyone.
Screeching the Jeep to a stop in front of 45 Melville Ave., she noted lights still burned in their front room. Em pushed the doorbell and stepped back, shaking both her hands as another wave of shock and humiliation washed over her.
The light over the door flicked on. Suzanne or Tony was probably looking through the peephole. She gave a feeble wave. The door jerked open and the light from inside spilled onto the porch.
“Em? Are you okay?”
“No. Is it too late? Can I come in?”
“No, I mean, of course. It’s never too late for you. Come on in?”
Emily stood just inside the door, rubbing her hands together. Tony was on the couch, an afghan and a bowl of popcorn sat in his lap. A black and white movie flickered on the television. An Affair to Remember. It was Suzanne’s favorite old Cary Grant movie.
“Oh, God, you’re having a romantic evening, and I’ve barged in and ruined it.” It must be a theme for her tonight.
“Don’t be silly. We’ve watched this a hundred times. Tony, just pause it.” Cary Grant’s handsome face froze on the screen. Suzanne rubbed Emily’s arm. “What’s going on, sweetie? Is Trixie okay?”
“Yeah, Trixie’s fine. Um,” her voice dropped to a whisper. “Is there somewhere we could talk in private?”
“Sure, sure,” Suzanne whispered back. To Tony she announced, “Honey, I’m going to show Em the baby’s room.” She grabbed Emily’s hand. “Come on.”
She pulled her down the hall and into the first doorway. Flipping on the light, Emily’s chest constricted at the sight of a perfect little nursery done in butter yellow and white. A soft mural of the sky had been painted on the ceiling. A border of fuzzy ducklings followed one another around the top of the walls. The crib was set up waiting to be made. A small stack of polka dot sheets and gingham checked bumper pads were neatly stacked alongside.
“Oh, Suzanne…” Em sighed. “This is too cute.” She flipped a finger at a mobile of stuffed ducklings and sent one of them dancing. The music box attached started to play “Hush Little Baby.”
“I just love the ceiling, don’t you? Kay Winston from the Stoddard School did it. Do you know her? She’s really talented, like you.”
“I know Kay. Pretty long hair. Her murals are amazing. She’s a sweetheart.” Emily picked up a stuffed bear and hugged it to her chest. It smelled baby fresh and clean. She couldn’t tell Suzanne she’d acted like a complete slut. Not in front of innocent ducklings and teddy bears! It had been a mistake to come here. She set the stuffed animal into the corner of the crib. “I’m sorry. I’m just being silly. You go back to your movie. I’ll be fine.”
“You’re not fine. Tell me what’s got you looking so spooked.” Suzanne’s eyebrows shot up. “Is this about Jeremy’s wedding again? I still can’t believe he asked you. Tony couldn’t believe it either. I mean, come on, what was the man thinking? Oh, I know, you had your fitting.” She grimaced. “The dress is horrible.” Emily covered her eyes with her hand as Suzanne continued. “No. Worse. They paired you up with the ugly cousin?” She gasped. “You’re still in love with Jeremy and don’t know how to tell him.”
“No.” Emily squeezed her eyes tight as her head started to pound. She rubbed at her eyebrows “No, I’m not in love with Jeremy.” I’m in love with Maximo Vega. She couldn’t say the words. How was she ever going to explain what just happened in his studio? Simple. She wasn’t. There wasn’t anyone to explain this to. Not Suzanne, not Trixie.
“You guessed it.” Emily threw her hand up. “The dress is horrible. I’m going to look like a pink satin broomstick.”
Ten minutes later she was back on the front stoop with Suzanne’s assurance it couldn’t be as bad as she imagined. She personally guaranteed Emily would look amazing for the wedding with or without mink eyelash extensions. Emily hated lying to her, but telling her she’d had Maximo Vega’s penis in her hand wasn’t happening. Not with little duckies staring down at her in judgment.
Emily pulled herself into the driver’s seat and peered through the windshield. Tears she wouldn’t cry stung her eyes. Melville Avenue was dead quiet. The whole town of Stoddard rolled up the sidewalks before nine p.m. She missed Chicago. The lights, the noise. The city was never quiet. How had everything gotten so messed up? She shouldn’t be here. She held her forehead. She was losing her mind.
Pulling her phone out of her pocket, she started to dial Jeremy’s number, but four digits in, she pushed the disconnect button and threw her phone into the passenger seat. She couldn’t talk to him. Face it, she was alone. Besides, Jeremy had one crazy woman to deal with. He didn’t need another one.
She drove around for the next two hours, burning time until she was certain Trixie would be asleep. No flashes of brilliance graced her as she drove. No answers to the questions screaming. No epiphanies as to why Maximo had his hands on her body and his lips on hers one minute and what happened to make him pull away from her the next. When she finally crawled between the sheets, her exhaustion should have been enough, but her mind continued to churn. There were no answers written on the bedroom ceiling either.
Next morning she grabbed a coffee and dashed out before Trixie could notice the dark smudges beneath her eyes. Em had one class before she was scheduled to work at the studio, and she was fully expecting to spend less than ten minutes there while Dante listed all the reasons why she was fired.
When she entered the studio that afternoon, Dante stood with his ever-present clipboard at his office door. “Ms. Baskins.”
Here it comes. She stopped in front of him, sighed and pushed her hands into her pockets. “Mr. Rizzoli.” She concentrated her gaze to the middle of his chest and steeled herself for the lowering of the ax.
“Did you want something, Ms. Baskins?”
She lifted her eyes.
He had one eyebrow cocked at her.
“Didn’t you want to say something to me?”
“What did you want me to say? Nice shoes? Are we playing guessing games today?”
“No, no.” Sh
e frowned. “You didn’t want to talk to me?”
“About what?”
“Um, well, nothing, I suppose.”
“Go to work, Ms. Baskins.”
“Really?” She tipped her head. Had she heard him wrong?
Dante put his hands on his hips. “Are you waiting for an engraved invitation?”
“No, I’m going.”
“Ms. Baskins, why is it every time I have an encounter with you another gray hair sprouts on my head?”
“I couldn’t begin to guess, Mr. Rizzoli, but I’ll give it some thought.”
“Good. Now move along.”
Emily rushed through the studio, eyes darting to catch anything amiss. Had she dreamed last night? No. She had a bruise on her hip from where she hit the floor. Naked. In Maximo’s arms. Just before she shoved her tongue down his throat and her hand into his pants. He mustn’t have said anything to Dante. She was confused more than ever. Her internship was still active. Was she still posing for him?
Grabbing her safety gear, she hit the noise and chaos of the casting room.
“Late again, Baskins?” Crystal was on her before the door closed.
“Mr. Rizzoli didn’t want to speak to me.” Emily shrugged and flashed the woman her biggest smile.
“What? Never mind.” She frowned. “You look like something my cat threw up.”
“Thank you.” Emily shook her head. “I do my best.” Nothing like kicking a girl when she was down.
“Well, do your best on the piece over there.” She pointed toward a torso piece of a headless, armless male with huge shoulders, killer abs, and an impressive set of genitalia.
“Ah, the perfect man.”
“I prefer them headless.” Crystal quipped before she walked away.
I heard you bite their heads off after sex. Emily held her hands up like a praying mantis and grimaced at Crystal’s back.
Crystal called over a shoulder, “No pinkies on this one.”
“Great.” Emily slumped onto a stool in her work area. It was just another day in Crystal’s funhouse. Nothing had changed. As confused as she was, she couldn’t help but be relieved. No matter what did or didn’t happen with Maximo, she was still here. For now, that was enough.
“Hey, Baskins! You waitin’ for an invitation?”
Emily jumped up and grabbed a tool. She shot a glance at Crystal’s back then glanced in the direction of the side door. Maybe she was waiting for an invitation.
****
For the rest of the day, Emily worked on the thin seam running the length of the figure’s right side. The play of the ribs was done brilliantly. The flow of pectoral muscles over the chest was flawless. As delicate as the dancer had been, this piece was all about strength and power.
It was Friday evening. Almost everyone cleaned up and cleared out by five sharp. The clock on the wall read 7:10. The casting room was quiet. The mixers stopped more than three hours ago. Emily had gotten lost in the work. It felt good. She’d caught her second wind and blocked out the commotion in her mind, pushing it aside, tucking it away. After her dad’s death, she’d become an expert at burying her feelings away in little cubbies until she felt strong enough to pull each one out and deal with it…or not. Denial was a good thing.
The figure before her was coming along beautifully. Both side seams were gone. The few air bubbles along the top of the shoulders had been erased. She was working on the seam that ran up the inside of each thigh. Em figured another hour and she’d be done. She cupped the figure’s testicles. “Okay, Fred, turn your head and cough.”
“Fred?”
Emily straightened slowly and removed her hand from the statue’s privates and brushed her palm on her thigh before turning to face Crystal. Her cheeks burned.
“I’m sanding the man’s balls, it’s only polite to give him a name.”
“You’re an odd one, Baskins.”
“I’ve been told that before.” Emily pushed the goggles back on her head. “I thought you already left.”
“Was on my way, but you gotta see what’s going on out there.”
Well, that raised her curiosity. It had to be something good for Crystal to come back. She’d been in a good mood all afternoon. Said she lived for her weekends, but she hadn’t left with the rest and was still dedicated enough to put in some extra hours. “What’s going on?”
“Just come look. You’ll like it, I promise.”
“Now I’m scared.” She pulled off the dust mask and dropped the sanding block onto her worktable.
The main studio was quiet. Emily couldn’t see what was so—
Crystal bumped her and jerked her chin toward the front of the studio, near Dante’s office. “Now that is one hunk of man, right there.”
Maximo Vega was the sexiest man on the planet. Put him in a tuxedo and, well… Oh. My. God! He was fitting a gold watch to his wrist and tugging at the cuffs of a crisp, white shirt. He buttoned the jacket. The elegant tux fit him like a dream. He unbuttoned the jacket, checked his watch and ran his fingers through his hair. Its dark waves shown from the lights overhead. He rubbed at his jaw. His five-o’clock shadow had an extra two hours of sexy. Where were the GQ photographers when you needed them? Maximo was gorgeous.
Crystal chuckled as she put a finger under Emily’s chin and shut her gaping mouth. “Told ya you’d like it.”
“Wow.” The word rushed out on the breath she’d been holding.
“The man sure does clean up pretty.”
Emily couldn’t take her eyes off him. He tugged on his cuffs again. The tan of his hand set against the white of the cuff had her remembering those hands on her last night. Cupping her breasts, teasing her nipples. Beneath her T-shirt, they tingled and tightened. Maximo smoothed the front of his shirt and buttoned his jacket once more. Her mind flashed to the vision of her hands smoothing over his abdomen, reaching lower, just before—
The door to the studio slammed.
“Way to ruin it,” grumbled Crystal.
A ray of setting sunlight through a sidelight hit the sequins of Beverly Lavender’s deep purple gown and, for a brief moment, turned her into a tall, coiffed disco ball. Her hair had all the signs of a professional updo. Long, lazy spirals framed her face. Large amethyst and diamond teardrops dripped from her ears.
The slit of her skirt showed a length of shapely leg starting at her eyebrows and traveling eight or ten miles down to perfectly dyed, insanely high Louboutins.
“Wow, again,” Emily groaned. “She’s stunning.”
“She’s a cyborg. No real woman looks like that.” Crystal snorted. “Crack her open like an egg, bet you’ll find gears.”
Emily crossed her arms over her chest. Ms. Lavender’s dipping neckline offered a display of all her womanly charms. “She looks real to me.”
“Well, fun’s over. I’m outta here.” Crystal thumped Emily’s back. “Shut off the lights when you’re done.”
“Right, lights.” Em’s stomach dropped watching Beverly tip in to kiss Maximo’s cheek, giggle and wipe her lipstick off his skin. She straightened his already perfect tie and ran her ringed hand down his lapels. Em was glad she was far enough away so she couldn’t hear the gushing no doubt coming from her glossy lips. Watching was bad enough. Why was she torturing herself? She still had work to do. And yet, she couldn’t turn away. It was like driving by a car accident. She didn’t want to look, but she couldn’t help it.
Beverly slipped her arm through his. They were leaving, but Maximo stopped them by the door and turned back as if he’d forgotten something. His face was set in a scowl, until his eyes met hers. Emily’s first instinct was to run and hide. He’d caught her standing there like a starving orphan with her nose pressed against the bakery window. His pace slowed and he stopped. Their gazes held for an endless moment while the universe took a breath. In the next heartbeat, the purple people eater captured his arm again and tugged him away. He patted his jacket pocket and nodded. He hadn’t forgotten anything after all. Turning back
into the sunlight, the sparkling couple left in another sequined burst.
The door slammed against Emily’s heart and she raced back to her corner in the casting room. All the emotions—love, hurt, anger, and frustration—tumbled out of her neatly cubbied mind and shattered at her feet. Seated before the sculpture, she thumped a fist on the smooth plaster chest. Longing made her open her hand and smooth it over the ridges of its stomach until she held “Fred’s” penis. She shut her eyes and relived the scene of Beverly’s kiss on Maximo’s cheek with its pink lipstick smudge. Jealousy surged.
“Dammit!” Emily railed at the ceiling. Now, Monday morning she’d have to apologize again and try to convince Crystal “Fred’s” penis had been loose.
Chapter Eleven
“You look incredible.” The sound within the back of the stretch limousine was oddly deadened. Beverly crossed one leg over the other after handing him a glass of champagne from the bottle set in ice before him.
“A tuxedo does that.” He drained half the flute in one swallow.
“I’m excited about tonight. I think you’ll be pleased with how things work out. You’ll see, by morning you’ll be flooded with commissions.”
“We shall see.”
“You certainly are a man of few words.” She sipped her drink and wiped the lipstick off the rim with her thumb.
“I don’t do, how you say, the chitchat.”
She laughed.
He hadn’t tried to be funny. He put two fingers into the tightness of his collar and tugged. He hated ties. He hated suits. He hated champagne and he wasn’t overly fond of limousines either. The last time he rode in one, he was nine and it was his grandfather’s funeral. His Grandma Vega cried the entire ride.
“Not to worry. I’ll do all your chitchatting for you. That’s why you’re paying me.”
According to the percentage figures, chitchat was going to cost him plenty. He studied the woman before him. She was perfect in every aspect. Perhaps that was the problem, she was too perfect. There were no visible flaws. He should compliment something. Wasn’t that the usual protocol? It would be if this was an actual date. But this was nothing more than a business meeting. Her perfume was giving him a headache.
Rock Solid Page 8
