Almost To The Altar

by Neesa Hart

  “Yeah, well—” be rubbed more polish on the grille “—good thing I know a great lawyer.”

  “You’re nuts if you think I’d defend you.”

  He slanted her a wry look. “You’re nuts if you think you wouldn’t.”

  Elsa frowned at him. “Why do you have to make everything so hard?”

  “It’s easier that way.” He turned his attention back to the Alvis. “Besides, I give Mr. Two-Thousand-Dollar Loafers about ten more seconds before he cries uncle. There’s no way he understands that report.”

  “Try to cooperate, Wil,” she said. “We can get this over with a lot quicker.”

  “Elise.” Without either of them noticing, Brandy had joined them at the side of the car. “Do I really need to be present for this?”

  Elise shook her head. “Not if you don’t want to. I just thought you might be interested in knowing what was said.”

  The other woman brushed a lock of her strawberry-blond hair off her forehead. “I don’t care what’s said. I don’t care if you give every cent of Chester’s money to Edgar. I just want this finished.”

  Elsa cast a hasty glance at Rich and Edgar. While she understood Brandy’s distress at the messy way the estate liquidation was proceeding, she wasn’t about to let the woman sell her future just to appease Chester’s irresponsible son. Reaching out, she squeezed Brandy’s hand. “I know, Brandy. I’m sorry it had to be this way. Why don’t you go on back to the house? If you trust me to handle the details, there’s no reason you need to stay for this.”

  With a sigh of relief, Brandy glanced at Wil. “Thank you. I’m so tired of all of it.”

  “I know,” Elsa said.

  “Wil, why don’t you come by and see me one afternoon? I’d really like to visit with you.”

  He gave her one of his lopsided smiles. “I’ll do that. How’s Thursday?”

  “Thursday’s great. Can you come for lunch?”

  “Sure.”

  “And bring your father,” she added. “I could use the company.”

  “I’ll see if he’s free.”

  Brandy looked at Elsa once more. “Thank you again, Elise. In case I haven’t said it recently, I really appreciate everything you’re doing.”

  “It’s my job, Brandy.”

  “No, it’s not. It’s your job to liquidate Chester’s estate. Being thoughtful doesn’t necessarily come with the terri-!!tory.”

  Without waiting for a response, Brandy left the garage. Elsa frowned at the way Edgar’s gaze followed his stepmother’s progress from the building.

  “Nick’s right,” Wil said near her ear. “He’s a yutz.”

  “Yes.” She watched as Rich continued to study the reports. “A yutz with a very good lawyer.”

  Rich was approaching the car, with the computer printout in his hands. “I have some questions here.”

  Elsa gave Wil a final warning look, then squared her jaw. “What’s the problem, Rich?”

  “I was under the impression that all these cars were in working order when Chester died.”

  “That’s right,” she said.

  “Then I’d like to know why this—” he scanned the report “—this engine redress on the ‘37 Cord was a neces-!!sary expense.” He glanced at Wil. “And why it cost seven hundred and fifty dollars.”

  ‘Yeah,” Edgar said, sauntering over to join them. With his hands in his pants pockets, he looked more like a recalcitrant child than an adult. “Why does it cost over seven hundred bucks to clean some chrome?”

  Elsa stifled a groan. They were talking about nearly three million dollars in merchandise, and Proliss wanted an explanation on a seven-hundred-and-fifty-dollar invoice. It was going to be a very long day.

  “I can answer that,” Wil said. He indicated the Cord with a wave of his hand. “A lot of these cars Chester drove on a regular basis. He had definite favorites, like the Alvis. Some, though, he didn’t like so much, and they sat for long periods of time. Older engines weren’t designed for that. If a car wasn’t cranked every so often, the oil ran out into the splash pan, and dry lock could set in.”

  Rich blinked. “Dry lock.”

  “Hmm.” Wil tilted his head in the direction of the Cord. “I guess I’ll have to explain it to you.”

  Elsa punched him in the back. He ignored her as he strolled to the Cord. When he lifted the hood, the newly cleaned and polished eight-cylinder engine gleamed in the artificial light. Elise leaned on one of the pontoon fenders and peered into the car with a look of pure delight. Wil’s body tightened at that look. Nothing had ever turned him on like the way Elsa appreciated an engine.

  “Here,” he said, pointing to the gleaming engine. “That’s a redressed engine.”

  Rich laid the printout down on the fender opposite Elsa, then leaned in to look at the car. “The object here, as I understood it, Mr. Larsen, was salability. Not cosmetics. If I’m supposed to be impressed by how shiny the parts are, I am. If I’m supposed to see the need for spit and polish—” he gave him a dry look “—you’ve lost me.”

  Wil glanced from Rich to Elsa. Her eyes sparkled as she rubbed one finger along the wraparound exhaust pipe. “It’s gorgeous,” she said, her voice a breathy whisper.

  His gaze remained focused on the butterfly touch of her finger on the chrome. “It’s about lubrication,” he. told Rich, deliberately emphasizing the last word. Elsa was wreaking havoc on his nerve endings» and as far as he was concerned, turnabout was fair play.

  “Lubrication?” Edgar frowned at him.

  “Um-hmm.” He rubbed his hand on the oil cap. “In an engine like this, the oil is force-fed. It only works if the engine is running.”

  “Or dry lock?”

  “Or dry lock.” His gaze met Elsa’s in the engine’s reflection. He saw her tongue dart out to wet full lips turned apparently dry. Sensing victory, he leaned closer to her, letting her feel his heat. “The oil leaves the pump,” he continued, still speaking to Rich, “and divides into two streams. The first stream goes through the shaft to the large connecting rods.”

  He saw Elsa’s knuckles turn white where they gripped the side of the fender. Deliberately he ran his hand along the exhaust pipe. “The second stream,” he drawled, enjoying the way the color began to rise in her face, “runs through the camshaft. When the engine is in good condition—” he traced his hand along the line of the fender “—the oil can slip through slowly. Everything gets properly lubricated.”

  “I see,” Rich said.

  “I don’t,” Edgar added.

  No doubt, Wil thought.

  Elsa looked as if she were about to faint. Wil caught her gaze and held it. “But if the bearings are loose, or the oil is cold and sluggish, the system has insufficient pressure. That can deprive some parts of the necessary lubrication for proper function.” He wet his lips, and didn’t think he imagined the way Elsa swayed toward him. “The oil also travels from the camshaft to a hollow member which supports the valve rocker—”

  Elsa coughed. “Really, this is all very technical.” She gave Wil a quelling look. “Edgar, you and Rich can’t possibly find this interesting.”

  Edgar gave her a dull look that said he’d been lost since Wil had begun the explanation. Rich seemed oblivious of the undercurrents. “I can see I’m going to have to have an expert run over these invoices.” He straightened his vest points with a sharp tug. “Which I will.”

  “Oh, please do,” Wil drawled.

  Rich’s mouth curved into an unpleasant expression. “Don’t worry. I shall.”

  Elsa hastily stepped between the two men. “I know you wanted to do a visual inspection of the autos, Rich, but as I already explained to you and Edgar, the upgrades are necessary to bring them to showroom quality.” Her expression brooked no argument. “If you think you’ve seen enough here, we can probably finish the rest of this at my office.”

  “Let’s go,” Edgar said. “I’ve seen more than enough.”

  Rich seemed to hesitate. “I suppose—
”

  Before the other man could finish, Wil interrupted. “I need to speak to you for a minute before you leave,” he told Elsa. “About the billing.”

  Her head moved in an almost imperceptible denial. “Can’t it wait?”

  “It’ll only take a minute.”

  From the corner of his vision, he saw her hands fist at her sides. “I will call you on Monday.”

  “Now would be better.”

  “I’m busy.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “So am I. I need to settle this before I can finish up the work on the Suiza next week.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  He glanced at Edgar. “I’d rather discuss it with you alone.” She looked ready to protest, so Wil held up his hand. “I think you’d have to agree it’s not a good idea for us to discuss finances in front of an audience.” Wil jerked his head toward the small room at the far end of the garage. “Now works for me,” he told her.

  He’d trapped her. He knew she couldn’t discuss business in front of Edgar and Rich, and if she refused him, she’d look childish and irresponsible. At all costs, Rich Proliss had to know that she’d handled every detail of the estate liquidation with nothing but professional detachment. She didn’t doubt for a minute that Wil was doing this because of what had happened last night. Trust him to deliberately put her on the spot with a client. Once again, nothing was as important as what he wanted, when he wanted it. It didn’t matter that she was the one under pressure, or that he was putting her in an impossible situation. He had to have his way, and he’d go to any lengths to get it.

  With an irate look, she stalked past him. If she hadn’t known better, she’d have sworn he winked at her.

  Once inside the confines of the narrow room at the end of the garage, Elise wrestled with her temper. Shelves lined the dingy room. Oil bottles, gas cans, plug wires, assorted bulbs and parts, littered the available space. The glorified closet was cramped, and when Wil entered it behind her, then shut the door, she immediately felt closed in.

  The feeling escalated when he turned the key in the door with a sharp click. Elise sidestepped him when he would have, backed her into a corner. The smell of oil, grease and ‘rags gave the room a thick feel that the weak light from the small window did nothing to dispel.

  “What do you want, Wil?” she asked.

  “What do you think I want?”

  Her gaze met his, and the air turned molten between them. “I think you want something you can’t have,” she said, her voice a breathy whisper. “If you think I was fooled by that charming little speech you gave on oil lubrication, you’re wrong. I know exactly what you were trying to do to me.”

  “Did it work?” He took another step forward.

  She ducked beneath his arm and retreated to the other side of the closet. “Stop trying to change the subject. This is not funny.”

  “Believe me, baby, I’m not changing the subject. I haven’t thought about anything but the subject since last night.”

  He was standing so close to her now, she could smell his clean, intoxicating scent. Somehow it reached her through the stuffy confines of the small room. She still held her auction file, and her fingers clutched the thick sheaf of papers like a weapon as her temper kicked up a couple of notches. “You think this is all really amusing, don’t you?”

  “Oh, yeah. I think it’s hilarious. I’m just about to die laughing that you’ve got me tied up in knots.”

  With an irritated huff, she moved toward him several paces. “Drop the sarcasm, Wil. It’s not working. I know exactly what you’re trying to do to me. I can’t tell you how amused I was by that little stunt you pulled today. It ranked right up there with your lesson on premature ignition at the Art Institute fund-raiser. You’re a real laugh a minute.”

  In the dim light, the angles of his face looked sharper, more pronounced. He looked predatory. And dangerous. She knew him well enough to know that his temper was nearing volcanic proportions. “At least I’m not the one denying what’s going on here.”

  She glared at him. “I’m not denying anything.”

  “No? Then look me in the eye and tell me you’ve had one good night’s sleep since last Tuesday.”

  “I haven’t,” she said, and was gratified by the shocked expression on his face.

  “You haven’t.”

  “No. I haven’t been able to sleep, or think, or work, or even breathe right, since you kissed me Tuesday afternoon. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

  This time, he was the one who retreated a step. “El-!!sa-”

  She moved forward with measured precision until his back was pressed against one of the rickety bookshelves. “You want to know that you’re making me miserable? You want to know that all I can think about is how much I used to love you? You want to know that my skin tingles every time I remember what it felt like to have your hands on me?”

  He swore, softly and succinctly.

  “Is that going to make it better for you?” she asked, closing the distance between them. “I wonder. Because it’s making it hell for me.”

  “I didn’t mean…”

  At the idea that she’d managed to ruffle his normally unflappable calm, a heady power rushed through her. “You don’t like not being in control, do you, Wil?”

  “This isn’t about control.”

  His eyes had taken on a wild look that both excited and terrified her. “No? You’re the one who’s always tossing around the innuendo. You’re the one who wants to keep me off balance and confused. You’re the one who makes all the plans, creates all the strategy. Well, maybe I’ve had just about all of that I’m going to take.”

  “What are you—?”

  “Oh, shut up, Wil. For once in your life, just shut up.”

  She didn’t give him time to react. If she’d given him time, she’d have lost her nerve. Instead, she closed the remaining distance between them, then covered his mouth in a kiss that lacked some of the ferocity, but none of the passion, of the one they’d shared the night before. Momentarily he went stiff with surprise, holding his mouth immobile under hers, but when she stroked his lower lip with her tongue, he groaned and tunneled his fingers into her hair.

  In a dim corner of her mind, she heard the heavy file she carried drop to the concrete floor, and the skittering noise of scattered papers. The feel of his fingers rubbing erotic circles on her scalp quickly chased the thought away. One of them gasped. She wasn’t sure which.

  He molded her mouth beneath his with expert precision, giving and taking in equal measure. She’d started this to teach him a lesson, but somehow, she’d lost the purpose. Now, a deep, spiraling need to touch him was searing a path to her hands, driving them upward to wend around his neck. Her fingers threaded through the silken weight of his hair. Her lips parted beneath the urgency of his tongue. She couldn’t get enough of him. Driven by a desire, a need, to consume, she deepened the kiss, plundering his mouth until his lungs screamed for air and her body hummed with a quickened energy that threatened to explode. Only when the need to breathe overrode her need for the taste of him did she manage to tear her mouth from his.

  With a low moan, Elise dropped her head to his shoulder. Wil guided his mouth along the smooth skin of her jaw, her neck. The pattern of his moist breath on her throat made her shudder. He gripped her scalp, guiding her head to one side to allow himself better access.

  When he found the spot at the base of her throat that memory must have told him had once been so sensitive to his touch, he laved it with his tongue. Elise sucked in a ragged breath at the shocking impact of the caress. Time had done nothing to lessen her sensitivity to his touch there. He pressed a gentle kiss to the shadowy hollow before trailing a wet path to the whorl of her ear.

  When his tongue traced the delicate shell, Elise tugged slightly at his hair. “Wil, please.”

  “Please what?” He nipped her earlobe. “Please stop?” He pressed a hot kiss to the spot behind her ear. She shuddered. “Please
don’t stop?”

  With a soft moan, she leaned her head away from him to whisper, “Please stop.” Elise stepped hastily away from him, heedless of the papers beneath her feet.

  As she struggled for breath, a conflict between a shocking sense of victory at having made him respond to her as he had and a deep mortification at her own lack of control warred in her spirit. Urgently she needed Wil to understand that just because the physical chemistry still burned between them, that didn’t mean they weren’t both responsible for how they reacted to it. She’d allowed him to goad her into losing control.

  It must not happen again.

  In vain she tried to control the irregular beat of her heart. The second she touched him, her pulse had shot through the roof. She pressed a protective hand to the base of her throat, where the feel of his lips still lingered. “Wil, I—”

  Before she could finish, he shook his head. “Don’t apologize,” he said. His voice sounded ragged and harsh. “Whatever you do, don’t apologize.”

  “I wasn’t going to.”

  “Good.”

  Because she couldn’t decipher the intense look on his face, she turned her attention to the scattered papers. “I— I wish you hadn’t come today.”

  “Do you regret kissing me?”

  She met his gaze again. “Of course.”

  “I sure as hell don’t regret it.” He raked a hand through his hair in an attempt to restore order to the unruly waves she’d mussed with her fingers. “It was like holding dynamite, Elsa. It’s always been like that.”

  “And can’t be that way again.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it can’t. You chose, and I chose. It’s that sim-!!ple.”

  He muttered a curse. “I can’t look at you without wanting you.”

  “Wil—”

  “It’s true. Every time I look at you—hell, every time I think about you—I want you.” His jaw seemed to harden into a tight line, and the indentation she’d never had the nerve to call a dimple deepened at the side of his mouth. “In some ways it’s like nothing has changed, and in other ways, everything has. I can’t stop thinking about you. If you want to know the truth, I could strangle you for it.”