by Lori Foster
He barely saw them. All that mattered was Fiona. Erudite, saucy, completely compatible with his needs in bed. When he could get her there.
He’d never met a woman like her before, and probably never would again. Maybe he should get out of their affair now, before he really lost it.
If he hadn’t already.
Oh. Hell, no. He wasn’t capable of feeling. Didn’t want to be. Would never be.
His father had taught him well. Not that Jimmy McIntyre had made it a point to show his son how much love hurt. In fact, the man had tried to hide it for a while.
After Mom had left because of all those arguments about money and other things Sean didn’t grasp, his dad had continued with life for a while—marching into his Chicago law firm on a daily basis with his morning cup of coffee in hand, making sure Sean and his sisters were well-provided for. But one day, when Sean had ditched high school early, he’d found out that Jimmy Mac had been living a lie.
He’d discovered his father at twelve noon, sitting in a kitchen chair near a window that overlooked the driveway, dressed in his business suit, obviously watching for Mom. He’d avoided all questions and, when Sean had asked one of his father’s business associates what was going on, the man had told him that Jimmy had been fired from the firm a few weeks ago.
From that point on, Sean and his sisters had done their best to run the household, living off their father’s unemployment while it lasted. Then they’d moved on to his sister’s paychecks for the next few years until they married their way out of the household.
Sean had eventually gone to a local college where he could keep an eye on his father, who continued to wait for Mom, no matter how many years passed. His time in front of the window decreased, but the look in his eyes never changed. In his mind, he was obviously still watching for her.
Now, years later, Sean continued to send money home while Katie and Colleen took turns checking on Dad. Sean visited once in a while, but he couldn’t stand to see his father still waiting in front of that window.
He backed away from his own view, shaken. There was work to do. Lots of it.
“Sean?” asked a voice through his speakerphone. Carly, his trusty assistant.
He pressed the answer button. “Yeah?”
“Fiona Cruz wants to know if you’re available.”
His stomach jumped. She’d come to work? “Tell her to get in line.”
“Um…” Pause. “Okay.”
He shouldn’t have growled at Carly. The poor girl had nothing to do with his thwarted sex drive.
He left his office and passed Carly at her desk on his way down the hall to Fiona’s, nodding to the assistant. Note: Get the woman some flowers to tell her how much he appreciated her hard work, then their slate would be clean again.
As he walked the hall, he caught the aroma of lunch: hot dogs, burritos, hamburgers. Heart attack food. Come to think of it, he needed a meal himself. Might as well encourage the inevitable.
When he drew up to Fiona’s office, he stopped short.
There she was, one long, black-stockinged leg thrown over the other, body encased in a deep purple suit with gypsy ruffles. The only reminder of last night’s tummy troubles was a trace of white tinting her skin. Was she trying to ignore the weakness she’d shown?
A healthy lunch—salad, chilled water and fish tacos—waited on the opposite side of her desk. And she was reading something, hardly bothering to hide the book cover.
The Sensuous Woman, by “J.”
“You’ve clearly recovered,” he said.
“Fit as a fiddle.” She stretched a little, her supple body reminding him of what he’d missed out on.
That’s okay. He could contain himself. “I thought you’d stay home today.”
She pulled an unconcerned face. “Not to worry. I’m a trouper.” She smiled a little. “Thanks for…well, helping me out.”
“All in a night’s work.”
She hesitated, as if wanting to say something else. But instead, she set down The Sensuous Woman, gave it a gentle pat.
Sean shook his head, then took a chair.
“This is nice,” Fiona said, tearing off a slice of flour tortilla and putting it in her mouth. She squinched her face. “Lunching with you. Braving the corporate atmosphere.”
He watched her chew with that disgusted expression on her face. “What happened to ‘let’s keep sex out of the office’?”
“I am.”
He grabbed a taco, decided he might as well eat. “Come on. You’re making damned sure I know you’re reading that book.”
“Oh. That.”
“You’re not going to break me down, no matter what you have up your…” He grinned. “Sleeve.”
“I’ve got more than you bargained for.” She ran her fingers over the book’s nondescript cover. “When I was about twelve, I found a drawer in our living room that had all these naughty novels in it. All I remember now was Mandingo and this one.”
“Mandingo?” He polished off the first taco.
“Long story. Anyway, I used to sneak into the living room and pretend to be listening to the stereo while I was really reading.” She tilted her head, lifting one eyebrow. “And learning.”
“Twelve years old?”
“Don’t worry. I didn’t start putting my knowledge into practice until college. But we’re not going there, remember?”
“Especially here.”
“Exactly.”
Forget past relationships. Were they even supposed to be talking about dirty books? Sean definitely didn’t want to ask. This was too entertaining. Besides, he could handle the erotic prodding.
Really.
“Where was I?” She tapped a red nail against her lips, drawing his attention to them.
Lips. The ones he hadn’t felt since…
“The book,” he choked out.
“Right. When you came in the office, I was just reading about a little something called The Butterfly Flick.”
Oh, damn.
“Stop,” he said.
“I’m discussing literature with you over lunch.”
“Fiona…”
She sent a wicked grin at him. “Just reminding you that I’m in charge, Charles.”
Sean lifted a finger to make another point. Something about her not being the one who was driving this revved-up bus to hard-on-ville, but his cell phone rang before he had the chance to say it.
He glanced at her, and she gave him an unconcerned shrug. Go for it.
After unholstering the phone, he answered. “McIntyre, here.”
“It’s Lakota.”
Great. He shot a look to Fiona, and she knew who it was right away. She leaned forward, narrowing her eyes.
“What can I do for you?” he asked, raising a wry brow at his co-worker.
She smiled in appreciation, nodding at his double talk.
“Well…” Lakota hesitated, and he knew this wasn’t going to be good. “I was wondering if we could meet today. You know. Right now, actually. To plan strategy.”
Good God. Did Lakota think she was his only client? “Know what? I can put your manager through to Carly, and she can make an appointment. I’m swamped today with the work I should’ve been doing yesterday. You know, when you called me to the photo shoot.”
“Oh, that.” Another pause. “Um…”
Fiona’s phone rang, and she picked up. “Hello?”
Lakota spoke. “I’d really like to talk to you. Show my appreciation for all the work you’ve done. You deserve a bonus for putting up with me.”
Fiona leaned back in her chair, gesturing toward her phone while she listened to her caller. Clearly it was either Lincoln or his manager.
“What’s going on?” Sean asked Lakota.
“All right. Lincoln Castle and I got into a bit of a tiff at a restaurant near the studio.”
“And…?”
“And a columnist for Soap Serial Online was there. Karen Carlisle.”
Sean cursed. “
When is this crap going to stop, Lakota?”
“It was a long day and…” She started to cry.
Cry?
Why couldn’t she bother her manager with this garbage?
“Calm down,” he said, gentling his tone.
“I hate Lincoln Castle. Do you know what it’s like having to work with him?”
As she bitched further, Sean glanced at Fiona, but she’d gotten out of her chair, all business, and was pacing the carpet. He grabbed a pen from her desk, a piece of paper. Then he wrote, “We’ll talk about literature later. Lots to work out.”
With a burst of resigned frustration, he got out of the chair, leaving the rest of his lunch. Fiona turned around, and he pointed to the note.
She lifted her hand at him in a lazy goodbye, then returned to her call.
Sean stood there for a moment, emptiness lining the pit of his stomach.
Lakota’s voice intensified. “So what should I do?”
He turned to go, chancing one last glance at Fiona, who still had her back to him. Dismissed.
As he made his way through the halls, back to an office filled with work he’d have to ignore until he returned tonight, he clutched the phone, almost to the point of throttling it.
“Let me contact Karen Carlisle while I drive to meet you. We’re going to talk this out. Once and for all.”
“Thanks, Sean. You’re the best, and I won’t forget this.”
He hoped she wouldn’t. If she became the star he thought she could be, her devotion would amount to his comeback.
She continued. “Meet me at Moulin Rouge Lingerie on Abbot Kinney Boulevard in Venice. I’m on my way.”
And he was, too, even though he’d left Fiona and last night’s strange bond behind.
Chapter Six
LAKOTA STOOD in front of the cute cottage that housed Moulin Rouge Lingerie, knowing she’d messed up yet again.
What was it about Lincoln that drove her nuts? The fact that he’d so quickly gotten back into the good graces of the soap fans while she’d had to work her butt off to merely garner their attention? The way everyone on the set seemed to love him and cater to him, even though he hadn’t earned it yet?
Or maybe she was so upset with him because she still had a tender spot in her heart for the guy.
There. She’d admitted it. She’d never gotten over Lincoln. Even after that horrific breakup, where she’d accused him of stepping out on her and he’d denied it, she still adored him.
Why? It wasn’t logical, wasn’t smart.
Sean McIntyre pulled into a curbed parking space in his timeworn gray Jeep. Thank goodness he was here. She could always count on her publicist, even more than her co-workers and friends, manager, agent, personal assistant, makeup artist…
Okay. So maybe he looked a little put out.
“Hey,” she said, smiling brightly, peeking out at him from underneath the baseball cap she used as camouflage.
He didn’t answer, just ambled toward her, features etched in bristled weariness.
A little nervous now that he was actually here—boy, had she been putting him through the wringer—Lakota started to climb the steps that led into the shop.
“Thanks for meeting me.”
“I’m not going in there.” Sean rested one hand on his holstered cell phone, immovable.
Lakota stuck out her bottom lip in a pout. It didn’t work with Sean, of course. “They’ve got the cutest selection. Indulge me? Please?”
With a disbelieving chuff, he walked away from her. Lakota hopped off the stairs, intent on catching up to his long stride.
“I talked to Karen Carlisle on the way over,” he said. “She’s not going to report your spat with Lincoln.”
“Oh. That’s good news. Isn’t it? I mean, he and I are supposed to adore each other and—”
“—You’re giving her a tour of your house next week. You’ll have tea on the balcony and reveal all the sweet dreams that dance around in your head. You’ll tell her how much you respect and adore your co-star.”
Lakota stopped in her steps, but Sean kept going.
“Wait!”
“I’m not licking your boots, Lakota.”
She used her sweetheart voice. “But I pay you to do that.”
This time he did halt. Even though he wore a starkly chic Armani suit, he still seemed scruffy around the edges. A wild card.
He held up a finger, leaned toward her. Ten feet away, and she shrank back anyway.
“There comes a point in a man’s life where he doesn’t give a shit anymore.” The finger came down, and he should’ve seemed less intimidating. But he wasn’t. Not with that bar-brawl gaze he was leveling at her.
“I’ve reached my limit,” he said, resuming his unhurried gait. “At least for today.”
Had he just told her off? Ever since months ago, when Lakota had started inching up the fan marketing polls and getting guest spots on prime time, no one had talked to her like this. Could PR people do that? She’d never had her own rep before, and Flamingo Beach’s publicist was too busy to sass her.
Maybe Sean McIntyre really didn’t care about kissing his clients’ butts. She’d heard about his fire-in-the-belly ambition from another actress and, in an effort to spin herself into a starring nighttime role soon, she’d seized the opportunity to work with him.
Thank goodness. With his guidance, her numbers had exploded, allowing her to recently renegotiate for an unbelievably lucrative contract. Prime time was around the corner. Just as it’d once been for Linc.
Her manager and agent told her that a hungry, ambitious man like McIntyre would come cheaper than the rest, that he’d work his tush off for her in order to get back on top. And he did work like a madman. But she’d never expected to feel so comfortable with him—like she was the little sister and he was the big brother who gave all her prom dates the third degree.
He was a keeper, all right.
Sean was about a block away now, and he hadn’t backtracked. Left her behind, had he?
Hmm. Maybe she was only twenty-two, pretty much a kid in many ways. But couldn’t he take her seriously?
Lakota speed-walked after him, taking care to appear that she wasn’t exerting herself in the least. As she closed the distance, two teenage girls did a double take at her. She chanced a quick smile at them then ducked under the bill of her hat.
Maybe Sean had superhero senses, because he glanced over his shoulder, hardly surprised she’d run after him.
“You left me standing there,” she said.
“I suppose I did.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Lakota caught sight of the teenagers, who were huddled together, whispering.
Sean nodded approvingly. “Recognition. Good. But I’m surprised they know it’s you.”
“Why?” Usually, she loved to chat with her fans. But she wanted to be herself right now—not Rita Wilde, her soap character. Lakota started speed walking in the other direction.
Sean easily kept up. “It’s that sophisticated stage makeup you wear on the show. Without it, you look about seven years younger. And, anyway, who’d expect Flamingo Beach vixen Rita Wilde to be walking around in a flannel shirt and jeans?”
Lakota felt herself blush. Most actresses wore full makeup and a snazzy wardrobe in public. Not her. “Once I take off the slinky dresses and get back into my street clothes, I leave the soap behind. Just like I thought I’d left Lincoln.”
“Ah.”
He didn’t say anything more, and she didn’t know if she wanted to, either. Would he laugh himself silly if he knew she still carried a torch for Linc?
Well, she wouldn’t tell him, that was for sure. Nobody needed to know about that particular embarrassment. Their time together had been brief—an emotion-packed two months—but it’d marked her forever.
They passed Abbot Kinney’s funky boutiques, art galleries, neon green fliers taped to the lampposts announcing a clean needle program for drug users. L.A. rocked.
A pa
rticularly attractive vintage shop caught Lakota’s eye, and she tugged on Sean’s sleeve to guide him inside.
“I thought you wanted to talk game plans, not piddle around,” he said, crusty as ever.
“Admit it. You’re crazy about me, just like siblings in the back seat of a car during the family trip. Sure, you want to kill me right now, but if I really did end up getting hurt, you’d be all torn apart.”
Lakota finished with one of her perky grins. A real one.
He relented, and once inside the vintage shop, Sean, seemingly bored, muttered something beneath his breath and got busy lounging next to a wicker basket overflowing with faded pictures. She poked through the lot of them, snapshots of more interesting lives than hers. Family vacations, children with slicked-back hair and lacy collars smiling into the camera.
She grabbed one. A girl from the sixties, wearing a page-boy, a graduation gown and a dazzling smile. She stood between her parents, holding a diploma.
Flashing it to Sean, she said, “Might as well get a life, right?” Her voice cracked.
Concern cocked his brow. “You okay?”
“Oh, sure.” Lakota impulsively grabbed a pair of cranberry suede boots. Too big, but maybe she could stuff the toes with newspaper. Then she fingered some neckties dangling from a hanger, choosing a vivid peacock-blue one. She could be so Annie Hall.
She unloaded the items on a glass-topped counter, and the owner smiled at her from under his salt-and-pepper mustache. When she glanced back down, the photo consumed her focus.
A family. A mom and dad who cared, who were proud of their diploma girl.
Lakota’s midwestern mom had always said she was an idiot. Pretty, but how far was that going to get you? Her father… Let’s just say he’d never been in the picture. Any picture.
Agitated, she proceeded to flit around the shop. Lakota could feel Sean watching her while she inspected brooches, bridesmaid dresses, pillbox hats and a shiny Boba Fett lunch-box. In a dusty corner, she even found a music box that played the theme from Love Story.
Music boxes.
She swallowed, cradled it to her chest with the other purchases.
When she returned to the counter, she caught Sean staring at a 40s movie star nightgown, his gaze naked with repressed fire.
