He shook his head. “Not for that. Remember that carnival we passed on the way over here?” When she nodded, he went on. “Let’s go there.”
“To a carnival?”
“Yeah. It’ll be fun. Festive. We are celebrating. When was the last time you went to a carnival?”
“I . . .” She frowned, cocked her head, thinking. “I don’t think I’ve ever been to one.”
“Oh, well, then that’s settled. I’ll be your hero and win you big stuffed animals on the midway. Maybe we’ll find one of those fortune machines like in the movie Big.”
“You want to be transformed into a little boy?”
He held his hand out to her. “No, Viv. I enjoy being big way too much.”
The drive to the fair took less than ten minutes. Lance parked the Jaguar away from the other vehicles to avoid scratches and dents on his car.
He helped Viv out of the car, then noticed her shoes. High-heeled sexy numbers that reminded him of the pair in which he’d first seen her. He grew hard just thinking about that night.
“Uh, can you walk in those?”
Viv kicked up a foot and laughed. “I used to be a model. I can walk in anything.”
“If you say so.” He took her hand and they followed the crowd and the music toward the carnival set up in the huge parking lot of an abandoned home and garden store.
“Ooh, look. There’s a Ferris wheel. I rode the one in Paris, near the Champs Elysees for a shoot there. But never for fun.”
“Then we’ll be sure to ride the Ferris wheel.”
CLAYPLAY: So are you just going to keep teasing me?
VAVAVOOM: Maybe we should break this off.
CLAYPLAY : I’m sorry, VaVa. I don’t want to lose you . . . even as a friend. It’s very frustrating. This whole anonymity thing. I’m starting to think you’re either married with six kids or you’re a guy getting off on this.
Vicki bit her fingernail. She’d let this go too far. The last time she’d almost sent him a photo, then chickened out at the very last minute. Now though . . .
VAVAVOOM : Hold on a sec.
CLAYPLAY : I’ve been holding on for months now, VaVa.
VAVAVOOM: I mean literally . . .
She attached the file with the already scanned photo. And then, with a prayer that everything would work out all right, she pressed the Send key.
VAVAVOOM: A picture is coming to your e-mail right now. And by the way, my name is Vicki.
This would, she knew, change everything. She knew how he’d respond. She’d seen it happen too many times with Viv. All she could think about were the stories Viv told her of men who insisted they knew her. Of men who wanted nothing more than to claim a notch on a bedpost. Vicki wanted so much more. But she’d been handicapped with her looks. She and Viv were twins, but there was nothing she could do about the way she looked.
So she waited, while Clay got and opened the jpg. It took longer than she expected to hear back from him. But when she did . . .
CLAYPLAY : Damn woman! Is this really you?!?!?
Vicki smiled. But the smile was a little sad. Things would go downhill from here. Now, he’d press to meet her, then she’d really have a problem.
VAVAVOOM: Yeah.
CLAYPLAY : Now I know why you call yourself VaVaVoom.
Lance bought wristbands that would enable them to ride all the amusements. Then, with a boyish grin that Viv found surprisingly compelling, he led her to the Ferris wheel. Once settled and secured in their seat, Lance laced his hands with hers on the safety bar.
“I declare the rest of tonight a stress-free, work-free zone. No talk of the store or business or anything that even remotely smacks of seriousness.”
Viv laughed. Then nodded. “It’s a deal.” They shook on it. The car lifted as the ride moved to allow other revelers to get on board. A few minutes later, they dangled at the top of the Ferris wheel, high above the temporary amusement park. Looking out at the night and the city, they seemed cocooned together in a world made only for them, existing only for them.
Lance brushed back a wayward strand of hair at her temple. “When I was a kid I always wanted to stop at these kinds of roadside fairs. My mother would indulge me sometimes.”
“Where is she?”
“My mom? In Florida. She moved there a few years ago. The weather and the company suit her fine.”
“The company?”
“She lives in an adults-only condo. Loves it.”
“And what about when you finally show up with grandkids in tow?”
Lance threw his head back and laughed. “That’ll be the day. I’ve got nothing against kids. And somewhere off in the future—like way out there—I can see myself with children. But now”—he shook his head—“that’s not anywhere in the plan.”
“What’s the plan?” she asked.
He glanced at her. “If I tell you, I’ll be breaking the rule we just set for the evening.”
“You mean the one about work and stress?”
When he nodded, Viv tipped her head. “Then let’s talk about that giant stuffed animal you’re gonna win for me.” As the Ferris wheel began to make its circuit, she pointed to the midway. “See, down there. That one. That’s the one I want.”
Lance peered over the railing. “Which one? They all look like ants to me.”
Viv laughed.
Lance did win her a big stuffed animal—a large yellow, red and purple dragon that took about forty-five dollars worth of balls tossed at milk cans and shots fired at moving targets to finally achieve.
“This is fun,” Viv said. “I’m glad we stopped.” While Lance toted the dragon that Viv dubbed Sirgal, short for Sir Galahad, Viv held a small sombrero that had been Lance’s reward in his first effort at winning the dragon.
“Me, too.”
They passed a concession hawking cotton candy. Lance raised an eyebrow. “Why not?” she said. “The diet is shot to hell.”
His gaze roamed her body, slowly, appreciatively. He lingered at his favorite places on the female form. “You, Vivienne, are perfection. Don’t lose an ounce.”
She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “I see why you get all the ladies.”
Lance paid for cotton candy they shared. “You wound me.”
“Hello, Vivienne. Well, I see why you haven’t called.”
Viv turned.
Julian.
Her glance, guilty, darted from Julian to Lance.
“Hi, Jules. I’ve been tied up with the store. Let me introduce you to the man who . . .”
Lance cut across her. “Lance Heart Smith. Nice to meet you. You and Viv are friends?”
Julian shook Lance’s hand, the other man’s grip surprising Lance. He shook hands like he meant business, lethal business. But he never even looked Lance in the eye. Vivienne was his total focus. “Is that what she told you? That we were merely friends?”
Suddenly feeling both predatory and territorial, Lance wrapped his free arm around Viv’s waist. She held herself rigid, stiff in his embrace. “Actually, she’s never mentioned you at all.”
“Lance.” Her tone carried a warning even as she tugged free of him. They hadn’t been like this all night, now with Julian, everything again turned to male-female domination. “Lance is investing in Guilty Pleasures. I told you about him.”
“Investing, hmm?”
With no words spoken between them, the two men sized each other up and declared war.
“Are you here with your nieces?”
“No,” Julian said. He hadn’t missed the tug-of-war between Lance and Viv and his gaze turned speculative. “The company running this carnival, they’re one of my clients.”
“Oh,” Viv said. She had nothing else to add. Running into Julian reminded her that she had ignored him. Not quite what she’d planned. But everything with the store and Lance’s investment had kept her pretty intent on things other than Julian’s potential hurt feelings. It would be easy, she knew, to soothe his ruffled feathers. Once she
got him alone.
That would come later.
She leaned forward, kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll call you this week. We’ll get together.”
“Yeah,” Julian said. “We’ll do that.”
The two men nodded at each other and Julian stomped away in a huff.
“He your boyfriend?”
“Don’t be juvenile, Lance.”
“What? I’m just asking a question. He’s the one who jumped all up in my face.”
“He didn’t jump in your face. Let’s just go, all right.”
A shadow had fallen over the evening’s fun. Lance dumped the remaining cotton candy in a trash can and they headed toward the parking lot. A stream of other revelers were headed in the same direction. Though encircled by people, awkward moments of silence surrounded Lance and Viv, each lost in his or her individual thoughts: Lance dismissing Julian as a threat or competition; Viv wondering if she settled for Julian— or someone like him—would she always pine for someone like Lance.
Danger appealed to her. And Lance was danger with a capital D. He was impetuous, and Viv responded to that on several levels. For Viv, Julian was a reminder of everything she was trying to do—clean it up and straighten it out. Settle down. Make a home.
But Julian had never made her laugh the way Lance did. And in bed, Julian had never, ever taken her to the heights Lance had during their one frantic night together. Lance had been spectacular in bed. Was that the norm or had it been the moment, the spontaneity of it?
She glanced up at him, then put the sombrero on his head. Lance grinned. Then he stole a kiss.
Instantly, the fire raged, hot and furious. What started as a light gesture, turned into an inferno.
“Lance.”
He deepened the kiss, silencing her words of either protest or plea. Lance wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her close. So close, Viv knew without a doubt that, yes, he wanted her.
And she wanted him.
Catcalls came from a group of teenagers. “Whoo-hoo. Gimme some of that.”
“Get a room!”
They did break the kiss, but they held hands the rest of the walk to Lance’s car. He shut the door then walked to the driver’s side, tossed the sombrero on the backseat and settled behind the wheel.
Kissing Viv was all he had on his mind. But when he leaned toward her, instead of a soft, feminine body, he came face-to-face with the boldly striped stuffed toy instead. “Hmm, I see you have a dragon guarding the gates.”
She patted the toy snout. “Sirgal knows how to get the job done.”
Lance took her hand. “I really enjoyed myself this evening, Viv.”
“I’m sorry about that scene with Julian. Normally, he’s so . . .” Tame came to mind, but it sounded so lame. “Normally, he’s very calm. And no, he’s not my boyfriend. I haven’t had one of those since . . . well, in a long, long time.”
Lance read between the lines. She didn’t have boyfriends, just lovers and sugar daddies. Did she plan for him to play both roles?
With a woman like Viv as the object of his desire, it didn’t matter much to Lance. As long as she eventually—sooner rather than later—landed back in his arms . . . and his bed.
Like tonight.
“When the attention of a beautiful woman is at stake, men get a little intense.”
“I’m not a prize, Lance, something you or anybody else can win at a carnival.”
“I didn’t say you were. And that’s not what I meant.”
“Well, what did you mean?”
Lance shrugged. “Look at us, Viv.” He adjusted the rearview mirror and leaned over so they could see their images in the small rectangle. “You’re beautiful. You don’t need me to tell you for you to know that. And I know I look good. I always have.”
Viv smirked, not because he spoke an untruth, but because he was so confident in his appearance. “Vanity.”
He shook his head. “Not at all. Just fact. We’re good-looking people.”
“Ergo?”
“Some people are threatened by that. Your pal, what was his name?”
“Julian.”
Lance rolled his eyes. “Yeah, Julian.” He said the name extending the first syllable.
Viv’s brow creased. “So, let me get this straight. What you’re saying is that because we were lucky enough to be born looking this way, the rest of the world has some sort of obligation to defer to us?”
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far. But think about history. Beauty is always preferred. It’s even in the Bible.”
Viv stared at him, incredulous. “And you really believe this?”
Lance started the car. “What’s not to believe? Look at political campaigns. Voters don’t care about issues. They look to see who’s the best-looking candidate. That’s why debates are so important. It’s not what they say, it’s how they look. In one of my undergrad classes, we looked at some historical footage of a debate between Richard Nixon and JFK. Anybody could tell that Jack Kennedy, young, sharp, handsome and smiling, was trouncing Nixon who looked pasty, uncertain.”
“Judging people by the way they look is unfair. It’s discriminatory.”
Lance glanced at her before going through the light. “That may be,” he said, “but this culture, our society, is all about image. Youth and beauty over age and wisdom.”
“That is so shallow.”
He shrugged in a so-what gesture.
“You’ll get old one day.”
“That day isn’t now and won’t be for a long time.”
“What if that car right there crashed into us? What if your looks were completely destroyed?”
“Viv, honey, that’s why God made plastic surgeons.”
Shaking her head, Viv rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe you’re so shallow.”
“You’re just mad because I’m right.”
“No,” Viv said quietly. She looked out the window. “It’s just so unfair.”
He reached for her hand. “Vivienne. You are gorgeous. That’s not going to change.”
Vivienne started to pull free, but something in his voice calmed her, that and the thumb that caressed her hand. She’d like to believe she’d always look the same. But Viv knew the futility in that hope. Men had it so much easier. Age increased their appeal. A little gray at the temples, a few wrinkles at the eyes, even a few pounds—for a man, those things indicated character, experience, power. For a woman, it only spelled the end.
She raised his hand and placed a kiss on his palm.
“Thanks, Lance.”
“How’re your feet doing?”
Viv looked down. “To be honest, they’re killing me. So if you’re about to suggest clubbing, forget it.”
He chuckled. “I don’t understand why you all put yourself through that torture.”
“It’s simple, Lance. We put up with it, because you like it. Sexy shoes were made for the enjoyment of men. Besides, admitting that your feet hurt is not a part of the profile.”
“The profile?”
“The ‘be cute’ profile.”
He grinned. “You’d be cute—no, beautiful—even if you weren’t wearing sexy shoes. And it sounds like you could use a foot soak and massage.”
She glanced over at him. “And you’re, of course, offering your services.”
“I aim to please.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“I can take care of that.”
She looked at him. She took in his dark brown eyes, eyes she’d come to expect as filled with laughter, but now, held nothing but desire. For her. Her body ached for his touch, for the release she knew he could and would bring to her.
Just this once.
Maybe she’d get him out of her system if they spent a night together instead of a single, fast romp.
The rationalization rang hollow. And Viv decided to be honest, with herself and with him.
“I want to sleep with you.”
“It’ll take forty minutes to get to my place from he
re.”
“There’s a Comfort Inn over there.” Across Military Highway was the black sign.
Lance got in the left lane then turned the Jaguar into the hotel parking lot. Check-in took no time at all. And a few minutes later he closed and locked the door.
“You’re not going to run out on me this time, are you?”
Viv smiled. “I don’t think so. It’s hard to get a cab from here. And my car’s back at the store.”
She walked backward into the room while Lance advanced on her.
“I’ve been thinking about moving to this side of the water,” he said. “It would save a lot of driving since I spend most of my time over here.”
“South Hampton Roads has lots going for it. The beach, great restaurants and shops.”
“And you,” Lance said. He snaked an arm around her. “Come here.”
Viv willingly went into his arms. She was ready for him. For some reason, she was always ready for Lance. “One of these days, we’ll do it in a real bedroom.”
“Um-hmm,” Lance said as he nibbled at her neck. “You smell good.”
“It’s that Wanton perfume.”
“Order a case of it for me. I want to make sure you always wear it.”
She smiled into his kiss. “Silly man.”
He took her hand and guided it to the thick erection pressing against his slacks. “There’s nothing silly about this.”
She stroked him. “No, I don’t imagine there is.” Her hand wrapped around him. Lance trembled. “I love it when you do that.”
She reached for his belt buckle, unfastened it then slowly slid the zipper down its track. His hard-on thrust boldly through the navy-blue briefs he wore. The tip of her finger outlined the ridge.
“Ah, see, men do wear sexy undies,” she murmured. “Maybe Guilty Pleasures should carry a line of boxers for men.”
“If your mind is on the store, we must be doing something wrong,” he said.
Viv’s soft chuckle sounded like a purr. “I don’t think so,” she murmured. “You forget, the name of the shop is Guilty Pleasures. How about I demonstrate a few guilty pleasures?”
Enchanted Heart Page 17
