by Leslie Kelly
He’d chuckled and held her until she fell asleep. Then, not wanting to risk discovery in the morning, he’d left her warm bed and gone back to his own. As much as he’d wanted to say goodbye to her this morning, he hadn’t gotten the chance. He’d call her from the office in a while, just to hear her voice. Of course, that sounded sappy as hell, so he’d have to pretend to be calling to see if his package had arrived.
Venus would know, anyway. The woman could read him better than anyone ever had.
While thinking of the package he was expecting today, he reached for his cell phone. Max had mentioned another event—a semiformal party—scheduled for Friday night. Venus would be no more prepared for that than she would for tonight’s dinner at the club. He quickly dialed his brother’s home number.
“This is starting to become a habit,” Chloe said when he identified himself.
“I’m glad I caught you. I was afraid you might have left for the store already,” he replied.
“Doctor’s appointment.” He heard a crunching sound and knew she was eating while holding the phone. Trent had told him Chloe had constant cravings for apples. He hoped his godchild liked them since that and Doritos were about all Chloe had sent down to the poor kid in the past several months.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“Did you get the stuff for me?”
“Uh-huh. It’ll be there by three.”
“Great. I need another favor.” He told her what he wanted.
She whistled. “Very nice. I’ve seen that dress and thought about using my employee’s discount myself.”
“I think you need to be shopping in another department,” he teased.
“Yeah, the beached whale department,” she said. “I swear to God, if the doctor’s wrong and this is twins, I’m going to kill you and your brother.”
“Whoa, I didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“Damn right you didn’t.” Trent’s voice. He’d picked up on another extension.
“Aw, hell, why are you home?” Troy asked. “Shouldn’t you be out pulling weeds or something?”
“I’m taking Chloe to the doctor.” Then, as expected, his twin tossed an insult right back at him. “What about you? Sounds like you’re stuck in traffic. Shouldn’t you be sitting at a desk getting fat and pasty?”
“Oh, and Troy,” Chloe said, ignoring the insults, “I nixed the stockings. The shoes you picked cry out for bare legs.”
Venus with bare legs. That worked.
“Tall woman?” Chloe asked, quite obviously fishing.
“Yeah. How’d you know?”
“The shoe size. Is she a blonde?”
“Redhead.”
She let out a long “ahh,” which probably meant something to her, or to anyone with a uterus, but which he didn’t get at all.
“Does this mean your self-imposed celibacy is over?” Trent asked. “And you’re out of this miserable mood you’ve been in?”
He frowned. “I haven’t been in a miserable mood.”
“Yeah, you have,” Chloe said. “Ever since that dingbat got you all tied up in knots because you asked her to lunch and didn’t show up with a wedding ring.”
Troy was so startled by Chloe’s comment that he nearly cut off a semi loaded with beer in the next lane. The driver laid on his horn, and Troy jerked the steering wheel. He gave the guy an apologetic wave and got flipped off in return.
“You there?”
“Sorry,” he muttered. “Now, what are you talking about?”
“Oh, come on, Troy. You’ve been doing the self-flagellation thing for months. I could understand if you’d done anything to deserve it.” She muttered something under her breath, which sounded suspiciously like as usual. “But this time you didn’t. You took her out, it didn’t work, and she got all whacked out about it. You just wanted to spend some time with someone you thought was ‘nice’—for a change—and she turned out be a loony.” She crunched her apple again while Troy thought it over. “What I don’t get is why you went out with her in the first place,” she mumbled between bites. “You must have caught some of my pregnancy hormones and temporarily lost your mind.”
“They’re catching?” he asked.
“Oh, yeah,” Trent said. Troy had forgotten he was on the extension. “Women turn into goo-gooing know-it-alls who want to rub Chloe’s stomach and tell her how to breast-feed.”
He could definitely get into the breast thing, but that’s about as far as he could relate.
“And men look at me like I should be strutting because the whole world knows I actually had sex with my wife at least once.”
“Hopefully not in the store after hours,” Troy said with a wicked chuckle, reminding them of one of their premarital dates.
“Trent Langtree, you are a dead man,” Chloe said, suddenly sounding incensed. “How could you tell him about that?”
Troy let his twin sweat and sputter for a minute. “I didn’t say he told me.” He heard Trent’s relieved sigh, then decided to pay his brother back for the fat and pasty crack. “Maybe he just forgot to turn off one of the security cameras.”
He hung up as Chloe shrieked, figuring he’d admit he’d lied later. Trent would never kiss and tell—he’d always played his romantic cards close to the chest. Troy had put two and two together when the security guard had admitted Trent had bribed him to leave them alone in the store one night last summer.
Picturing his twin trying to convince his wife of that, he laughed all the way to work. Damn, he really missed his brother.
When he arrived, the first thing Troy took care of was a quick call to the rental office of his new apartment building. They expected him to move in tomorrow, but he made an excuse and put off the move until Monday—after Venus left.
Since he’d only known her a few days, he couldn’t quite understand the flash of dread he felt at the thought of her leaving. Still, it was undeniable. He might not have known her long, but he knew he wanted every minute he could get with her. So he’d have to stay at Max’s through the weekend. Max wouldn’t mind. He’d been trying to talk Troy into staying on anyway. After last night, he didn’t think Venus would mind, either.
Hit with a crisis involving a flooded mailing center at their north Georgia warehouse, Troy got so wrapped up with work that he forgot about calling Venus that morning. He thought about it while heading out for a lunch meeting, but since he was with the sales rep of one of their big textile providers, he decided to wait until he got back. They’d just sat down at their table in a nice restaurant in the Atlanta underground when he heard the trill of his cell phone, which he’d been about to turn off. He apologized and hit the answer button.
“Troy Langtree.”
“You got a big package,” Venus said.
He couldn’t prevent a truly amused chuckle from escaping his mouth. His lunch companion eyed him curiously, and he turned slightly for privacy. “Thank you. Glad you approve.”
She snorted. “Ha. I meant in the mail.”
“Sure you did. Come on, you set that one up on purpose.” He practically dared her to deny it.
“Okay,” she admitted. “I did. And you went right for it, you dirty-minded thing.”
“Just call me Mr. Black Kettle, Miss Pot.”
She feigned offense. “Are you calling me dirty minded?”
“I would never do such a thing,” he replied, knowing he sounded every bit as insincere as she had.
“While we’re on the subject…”
“Yes?” he prodded.
She paused, then lowered her voice to a sultry, very satisfied-sounding whisper. “Wow.”
He turned farther, almost covering the mouthpiece of the phone with his cupped hand. “Wow? Is that a good wow?”
“A most excellent wow.” She sighed so deliberately it was almost a purr. He could suddenly picture her stretching out, extending her long, slim arms over her head, making her beautiful breasts rise up for his mouth, as she had last night.
He cle
ared his throat. “Wow works.”
Seeing the sales rep glance at her watch, he murmured, “I should go. As for my…ahem…package, don’t open it.”
She sighed audibly. “It’s from your department store.”
“I know.”
“It says it’s from the Ladies’ Department,” she hinted.
He held back a chuckle. “I know.”
Silence. She was probably trying to think of a way to get him to let her open it. Finally, she went for bluntness. “How will I know if I want to wear it if I don’t get a chance to see it?”
“You’re wearing it.” His tone allowed for no argument.
Obviously not the tone to use with Venus. “Well, for your information, if it’s a boring, typical little black cocktail dress, I’m so not wearing it.”
Before he could reply, the sales rep leaned over and asked him if he knew where the ladies’ room was. When he pointed, she got up, leaving him alone at the table. He knew Venus had to have heard the woman’s voice. And of course karma was never kind enough to provide a bad cell phone connection when he needed one. Sure, it’d die out during an important business call, or if he broke down in the middle of the night somewhere. But certainly not right now when he had a woman on the line prepared to leap to the wrong conclusion.
“Where are you?” Her voice no longer sounded playful.
“At a lunch meeting. With a sales rep.”
“A sales rep. A female one. Is she sixty and wrinkly?”
“No,” he said, almost enjoying the flash of jealousy. “Probably thirty. Petite.”
“Oh, thanks so much for sharing,” she snapped.
“You asked.”
“Which I shouldn’t have. It was none of my business. I was just curious about whether last night released you from your spell, and you’ve gone back to your full dogginess.”
He didn’t know whether to be amused or offended. Knowing Venus could be a lot more easily hurt than even she would admit, he replied with honesty. “Venus, she’s happily married with kids, and she’s a nice lady. This is a business lunch.”
“Okay,” she murmured, not sounding completely convinced.
“I’m damn sure not a saint…”
“No question,” she muttered.
“You wouldn’t want me so much if I were.” He dared her to deny it—she stayed quiet. “I can honestly tell you, however, that I’m not interested in anyone except you.”
She harrumphed into the phone, obviously not believing him. “It’s not like it’s any of my business, anyway. We had sex. We’re not lovers or anything.”
That really made him laugh. “Oh, honey,” he said between chuckles, “we are definitely lovers. We’ve been lovers since the moment I touched your foot on the balcony Monday afternoon.”
He heard her slow breaths as she absorbed his words, took them in, accepted them. They were, after all, nothing but the truth.
Then, finally, she whispered, “I won’t open the package.”
But he knew she would.
VENUS SWEATED for about nineteen and a half minutes after her conversation with Troy, then she finally tore the brown wrapping off the damn package. “He knows I will. He expects me to,” she told herself. The realization should have made her more determined not to open it. Uh-uh. She just couldn’t resist.
When she opened the box and found a plastic-wrapped bundle of emerald-green silk, she cooed. She pulled the dress out, breathless as she admired what Troy had selected for her.
She should have known the man would never go for something as simple as a little black cocktail dress. This was a glittery silk sheath. Slick and straight, it would fit like skin. Shot with gold threads, the fabric caught the light and sparkled like a jewel. It wasn’t low cut, in fact it would fit tightly up around her neck. Judging by the high slit, however, what it didn’t show in cleavage, it would make up for in leg.
The box contained everything else she’d need for tonight. Strappy, high-heeled sandals, along with a green silk bra and underwear so soft and silky they would feel like liquid against her skin. The man had very good taste.
Though she was dying to try everything on, she decided to shower first. It was already after one, and Max said they’d need to leave for the club by six. So, really, she’d done Troy a favor. Imagine she had waited for him to get home from work, and the dress hadn’t fit? It wasn’t as if she could have just pulled something out of her suitcase. Hmm, the red spandex catsuit or the leopard-print halter and black leather miniskirt?
That would have made for an interesting evening.
Besides, when Troy saw her in the dress, he’d forget he’d asked her not to open it. She hoped.
After showering, she dried her hair and took her time doing her nails. As she reached for the dress to try it on, someone knocked on her door. When she opened it, she saw the housekeeper, Mrs. Harris. The older woman smiled. “I wanted to see if you needed anything for tonight.”
Surprised and touched by the offer, Venus shrugged. “Well, I don’t think so. I have the dress.” She nodded toward the closet door, where the dress was hanging.
“Beautiful,” Mrs. Harris said with an approving nod. “Absolutely the perfect color on you.”
“I do love emerald,” she admitted, wondering how Troy had known her exact favorite shade of green.
“Of course, with your eyes, you would,” the housekeeper replied. “Just like Miss Violet.”
Venus raised a confused brow. “Who?”
“Mrs. Longotti.”
“Her first name…was Violet?”
“Yes, didn’t you know?”
No, she hadn’t known. Max had never said anything. Then again, he’d been going out of his way to avoid talking about his son, or their possible relationship. So, of course, he hadn’t talked about his wife either. “She died a long time ago?”
The woman nodded. “Yes, very long ago.”
Venus sat on the edge of her bed. “She had green eyes?”
Mrs. Harris’s expression conveyed her fondness for the woman. “Exactly the same shade as yours. And Max Jr.’s.”
Max Jr. The reason she was here.
Somehow, in the excitement of getting to know Max, and, of course, of becoming involved with Troy, she’d nearly forgotten why she’d come to Atlanta. Since Leo hadn’t been around for the past couple of days to remind her, she’d almost been able to convince herself this was simply a vacation. She hadn’t sat down to think about what she was doing here—to determine if Max Longotti really could be her grandfather.
Somehow, though, as she considered the idea right now, in this home where she’d been so warmly welcomed and where she’d met two men who had become special to her, she couldn’t say she minded the idea as much. That didn’t mean she completely believed it. For the first time, however, she was willing to concede it might not be so awful. Yes, finding out it was true would mean giving up on her dream of someday finding her real father. But it would also mean that Max really was her family.
She honestly couldn’t say she preferred to hold on to a phantom father when it was possible she might have a very alive, very real, very lovable grandfather. Venus swallowed hard. “Thank you for offering, Mrs. Harris, but I think I’m covered.”
The woman began to walk out of the room, but paused to glance over her shoulder. “Would you like me to do your hair for you, Ms. Messina? I used to do Miss Violet’s, and I believe I can still remember a few tricks.”
Venus couldn’t remember the last time anyone had done her hair for her. Other than color jobs or cuts, it had been ages since she’d sat still while someone brushed and curled and put her hair up. She nibbled her lip. “To be honest, I’m pathetic when it comes to anything except a basic braid or big, puffy curls. I’d love to put it up and do something fancy with it.”
The broad smile on the other woman’s face told Venus she hadn’t been offering just to be polite. She really wanted to do this. She stared at Venus’s head, lifting a long strand of hair, and no
dding her head. “Yes, up in the back, with long tendrils beside your face. Perfect with the neckline of that dress.”
“I should warn you, use a ton of spray on it,” she said as Mrs. Harris led her to the vanity table. “This southern humidity has been killing me and it’ll probably all be flat in no time.”
“Oh, you’ll get used to it,” Mrs. Harris replied as she began going through Venus’s hair supplies. “The best thing to do for the heat is to go for a late-night dip in the pool.”
Venus felt a blush rising in her cheeks, but saw no secret meaning in the other woman’s expression. “I’ll have to do that.”
If all her swims were as fabulous as the one the night before, she had a feeling she’d be doing a lot of swimming.
Over the next couple of hours, they joked and gossiped. As carefully as she could, Venus tried to draw the woman out about Max’s family. His wife. His son. The kind of life they’d shared. The kind of man Max Jr. had been.
Apparently, quite a wonderful one.
Hearing stories about Max Jr.’s childhood—the way he could set anyone at ease, make even the most reserved person laugh—she very much wished she’d had a chance to get to know him.
Venus found herself enjoying the housekeeper’s company. Mrs. Harris might have claimed not to have much experience with hair, but she knew a lot more than Venus did. She managed to create the kind of style Venus had never even attempted before—namely, simple, elegant and classy.
“Perfect,” the woman said when Venus emerged from the bathroom, dressed, made-up, curled and primped to within an inch of her life.
Venus turned to look at herself in the full-length mirror, and froze. She knew the face, knew the features, but felt like she was staring at a stranger. She’d started the day as a bartender, and ended it as a red-haired Grace Kelly. “Well, Fairy Godmother, I think you should call me Cinderella. Wow.”
The hairdo was a mass of swirls and curls, all tucked in at the back of her neck, with the exception of two long tendrils hanging over her shoulders. Her makeup was more subdued than she usually wore, but made her face look smoother, her lips fuller and her features more refined. The dress was a dream, as she’d known it would be, and it emphasized the green of her eyes.
