by Maggie Wells
Without conscious thought, he stepped closer, drawn by the sheer magnetic pull of her. He wanted to sink his hands into her hair, but he couldn’t. Not when those wild waves were so ruthlessly tamed. Tentatively, he lifted a hand and ran his fingers over the side she kept clipped short. Instead of the ripple of soft bristles, he encountered stiff clumps of hair gunk.
“Where’s the blue?” The question slipped out without permission.
Her nose wrinkled adorably when she smiled at him. “I had to stuff the genie back in the bottle.” She raised her hand to his shoulder and gave him a squeeze. “I believe we’re parking on the dance floor. We may get a ticket.”
He shook himself like a wet dog, then slipped a hand around her waist in time for the band to slide into a slow-burning rendition of “The Way You Look Tonight.” She came to him willingly, her small, curvy body fitting against his like they were a nested set. She curled her hand around the cradle of his thumb and forefinger. They slipped into the rhythm of the dance seamlessly. He sighed as she pressed her cheek to his lapel.
At a loss for anything appropriate to say, he blurted, “Blue is my favorite color.”
He felt her cheekbones rise in a smile. “Tomorrow.”
Mike chuckled. “I’ve missed you.”
She stiffened slightly. “I’m not a halfway kind of girl, Mike.”
“I understand.”
“We’re either in each other’s lives or we’re not.”
He spotted Colm and James watching them, their expressions unreadable. “I don’t know how to have someone else in my life. I mean, not how my life is now.”
She sighed and pressed her cheek to his jacket again. “We can figure things out as we go.”
They moved together for a few more bars. Mike closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to risk catching sight of his partners—or anyone else. All he wanted to do was dance with Georgie. Be with Georgie. He didn’t want to think about his kids, or the business, or doing the smart, safe thing. There was only one person he was inclined to make happy. Well, two, if he assumed Georgie wanted the same things he did.
“How long do you have to stay?” he asked gruffly.
She chuckled. “Are you kidding? I’ve already outstayed my welcome.”
“Hard to believe.” Tucking his chin to his chest, he tried to get a glimpse of her face. “You and your brother seem to be close.”
“Gerry’s the best, but I wouldn’t say we’re close,” she admitted. “Not as close as we used to be.” Her voice was soft and wistful but warmed with affection. “My mother is the head honcho.” She gave a dry, humorless chuckle. “She demands I make the requisite appearances, because God forbid someone ask where the daughter is, but she doesn’t want me to stay long enough for anyone to actually talk to me. I’m unreliable. A free spirit,” she added with an exaggerated shudder. “All hell may break loose if I don’t tout the party line.”
“Why do you bother?”
“Purse strings,” she answered simply. “My business is solid for now, but I’m counting on money from a trust to be able to grow and expand.”
He jerked as the full ramifications of her true identity sank in. “You’re a trust-fund kid.”
She sniffed, then gave him an arch look. “I prefer the term ‘heiress.’ Sounds so much more powerful.”
“No shit,” he managed to mutter. But she spoke the truth, she was an heiress. From a few different sources, he figured. And he’d also be willing to bet his net worth was a drop in the proverbial bucket compared to the interest on those trusts. The reality of her true identity was so staggering he actually did miss a step.
“Whoa,” she cautioned as she deftly moved her foot out from under the toe of his shoe. “Hang on, there.”
But there was no hiding from the enormity of who she was. He scanned the ornate ceiling of the ballroom. The ballroom of Carson House. The ancestral manse. “Oh my God,” he whispered to the painted heavens above.
Georgie’s grip tightened on his hand and his shoulder. “Don’t wig out on me,” she ordered, her voice low and urgent. “I’m still me. Still Georgie.”
“But…you’re not,” he managed at last, searching her undecorated, tastefully made-up face.
“I am,” she insisted.
To his dismay, she pushed off. He stopped moving as she gripped his arm hard and bent at the waist. Next thing he knew, she was removing those sexy, strappy shoes, her movement hampered by the snug skirt of the dress. A hiss of relief streamed from her teeth as she stepped out of one shoe and went to work on the other.
“What are you doing?”
“Pretending the clock has struck midnight,” she answered, scooping up both shoes by the straps.
He was trying to figure out how to frame the remark in the proper context when she shoved the pointed toes of both shoes into his sternum. He reached for them automatically. “Why are you—?”
But she was three steps ahead of him. Literally. He stared in helpless confusion as she was swallowed by the crowd. By the time he snapped to his senses, she was gone and James was standing at his side.
“What’s happening?” he asked.
Mike blinked a few times as he stared at the shoes in his hands. “No idea. She said something about the clock striking midnight, and poof! She was gone.”
James glanced from Mike’s face to the shoes. “Clock striking midnight?”
Mike could only shrug, as baffled by the strange look on his friend’s face as Georgie’s sudden disappearance. He was missing something, but he’d be damned if he could figure out what. Not while he was standing in the middle of a dance floor in the Carson House ballroom holding a pair of women’s shoes.
“What?” James shot him an incredulous glance, and his patience snapped. “What? What the fuck am I missing?” Mike hissed.
James rolled his eyes. “You’re the one with the girl kid, and you can’t figure out a Cinderella bit?” He nodded to the shoes. “You’d better dust off the Disney collection.”
“Cinderella?” he repeated. He looked from the shoes in his hands to the sprays of lavish bouquets decorating the opulent ballroom, and everything fell into place. Dropping his gaze to the strappy, sparkly sandals with their ridiculously high heels, he swore as realization broadsided him. “Shit.”
“Go,” James said gruffly.
The order shocked Mike out of his paralysis. “Huh?”
“Fucking go. Shit, Mike, this might get complicated on Monday morning when we start sorting things out, but go. Don’t overanalyze everything. Go be with her. I’ll take the kids home with me tonight.”
“You will?”
James shoved his hands into his pockets and backed off a step. “Oh, you’ll owe me, but yeah. Go.”
Mike didn’t have to be told one more time. Hooking his fingers through the straps of the shoes, he spun on his heel and shoved his way toward the nearest exit. His car was valet parked. He grimaced as he pulled the ticket from his suit pocket and showed it to the kid in the foyer. “How long to get this?”
The kid looked at the ticket and shrugged. “Five or ten minutes, maybe?”
Mike glanced at the line of taxis idling at the curb outside. “What happens if I leave my car here and take a cab?”
Valet boy smirked. “As long as you’re here by eight, you’re okay. At eight, the day rates for the garage kick in. Leave it twenty-four hours and they tow.”
Mike pushed past the valet and out the door. The cab was stuffy. The heater blew full-blast through a dryer vent hose fed through the Plexiglas opening. Mike grimaced and slid to the far side to avoid the cannon blast of heat. He cracked the window as he called out the names of the intersection closest to Getta Piece.
As the taxi sailed through the yellow lights at full speed, he ran his finger under one of the blue satin straps. The sparkly bits glued onto the fabric shimmered und
er passing streetlights. Chrissie would love shoes like these. Without the nose-bleed heels, of course. His daughter loved all things shiny and spangled. Though he felt inadequate most of the time, he loved having a little girl. Even if girls came with a thousand glittery things.
He lived for the feel of her chubby arms around his neck. Her sloppy kisses. The warm, limp weight of her when she fell asleep in his lap. He loved buying her hair bows and frothy dresses. His favorite color might be blue, but pink ran a close second. Though he thought he’d fallen when he met Laurel, he was wrong. He never truly understood what love was until he held his first child. Never trusted his whole heart to a female until Christine blinked her big blue eyes at him. He was her willing minion. The princess to whom he’d vowed his undying loyalty.
And now there was another woman claiming his attentions.
Part of him felt like he was betraying his daughter. A larger part worried he was being selfish overall. Neglecting his kids. Putting his own wants and needs before theirs. Something he hadn’t done in so long he almost resented them for the guilt these conflicted emotions stirred. For two years, they’d ruled his every thought—morning, noon, and night—and he’d been okay with living for them. Then, one day, a crazy woman with the filthy pastries popped out of her magic kitchen and completely bamboozled him.
She wasn’t at all the kind of woman he envisioned for his life. Sure, the kids seemed to take to her well enough, but come on. What kid wouldn’t? She looked like a cartoon character with her colorful hair, radiant face, and crazy clothes. She wasn’t the kind to sit through parent-teacher meetings. Her idea of a reasonable punishment was probably no frosting on a cookie.
Setting his jaw, Mike stared into the blur of passing businesses without a single one of them swimming into focus. Parenting was serious business. She had to understand he couldn’t set everything aside to go club-hopping, or whatever people did on dates these days. He sure didn’t have the time or inclination to chase a barefooted wild woman all over the metropolitan area.
Not any old, run-of-the-mill wild woman.
A goddamn heiress.
No wonder she had no trouble cutting and running. She was probably used to men hopping to whenever she stamped her boot heel. And, here he was. Beating a path to her door because she looked at him with those big gray eyes and crooked her finger.
He might as well stamp Exhibit A on his forehead.
Freaking Georgianna Carson.
Her brother could can them, costing them a contract they could ill afford to lose. Worse, her father, mother, uncle, and probably second cousin twice removed had enough clout in this city to drive a piddling business like Trident Security into the ground. He raked his hand over his face, erasing the thought. James was right. Monday would be soon enough to settle the business. He needed to get this thing between him and Georgie straight.
His cab slowed at the curb in front of the bakery. When he checked the building, he found the first floor was dimly lit by security lights, and the second pitch black, but a soft pinkish light spilled from the topmost floor. The glow made his heart stutter-step. Craning his neck, he stared at the warm, welcoming light as he passed a couple bills through the slot in the partition.
“Keep the change,” he murmured as he yanked on the door handle.
“Hey, thanks, mister,” the young man replied with enough enthusiasm to make Mike wonder how much he’d actually pulled out of his wallet.
He stumbled onto the sidewalk, too fixated on the heavenly light from above to be bothered worrying about money. Not when he was picturing her unbuttoning her dress, pulling the pins from her hair, possibly walking around in nothing but some see-through lingerie and those dangly earrings. Soft-core scenes playing out in his head, he rapped hard on the glass door. When she didn’t fling the door open within seconds, he shoved his aching hand into his pocket and fumbled for his phone.
Tapping the screen like a madman, he panted as he finally hit the right combination and pressed the phone to his ear. After an interminable pause, the number rang through. And another ring. At last, the call connected.
“Hello?” he said, too anxious to wait for her greeting.
“Hello,” Georgie replied.
But her voice didn’t come through the phone. She was standing there in the doorway, a barefoot siren in a maddening china doll dress. The sequins caught the spare glints of light, turning the fabric into a deep, dark river of silk clinging to her spectacular curves.
“Hi,” he squeaked, his voice jumping to prepubescent heights. He coughed deeply, ended the call. “Hey.”
“What took you so long?” She let one hand travel high on the doorframe and shot her hip out to the side. As if the sight of her standing flat-footed wasn’t enough to incite a riot.
“Valet.” Without waiting for an invitation, he stepped onto the threshold and waited for her to give way.
She did with a sly smile. “I thought I saw you getting out of a cab,” she said as she flipped the locks behind him.
“You did. Like I said, the valet was taking too long.” He extended his hand, letting the provocative sandals she’d left behind dangle from his fingers. “I believe these belong to you.”
The small, smug smile she wore blossomed. Watching happiness overtake her face made him think of those time lapse videos of a flower opening. First, a mere glimmer of teeth, then cheekbones rose high and delight lit her eyes.
Georgie slid a hand over his tie, wound the tail end around her fist, and pulled. “Come upstairs.”
He followed without the slightest hesitance, not even protesting when she started toward the back of the shop, his tie still clutched in her hand. She could have yanked his head clean off his body and he wouldn’t have cared. Not when he could bite the dust while watching her hips sway as she climbed the narrow wooden staircase.
At the landing at the top, he dug in his heels. When she cast a puzzled glance over her shoulder, he gestured to the small alarm panel mounted outside the apartment door. A red light glowed. Her brand-spanking new system was as disarmed as he was.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?”
Georgie gave an indulgent huff and went back to the panel, his tie wrapped tight around her hand. “So sorry, officer.”
He watched as she punched the number one five times, then depressed the red button to activate the system. An annoyingly high-pitched beep pierced the air. “Seriously? One-one-one-one-one? That’s your code?”
“Shh.” She held a slender finger to her pursed lips. “Don’t tell anyone. I stole the sequence from one of my favorite TV shows.”
“You’re supposed to reset from the default,” he argued.
“I know. Brilliant, right? No one will ever suspect I didn’t reset the code.” She winked. “There. Now, we don’t have to worry about the boys in blue getting their panties in a wad and busting in the door.”
Still leading him by his necktie, she swished her way over to the vintage Formica dinner table at the center of the kitchen-slash-dining area. The expensive watch she wore to the party lay discarded in an empty fruit bowl. Next to the bangle were the dangling earrings. Georgie relinquished her hold on him and collapsed gracefully onto one of the chairs upholstered in glittery red vinyl, one leg crossed over the other.
Her toes were polished the same navy blue as the dress. A fact he hadn’t registered earlier. Little wonder, when there were so many other things going on. But still, he couldn’t help but stare at them now. She’d fled the ballroom without shoes. “How’d you get home so fast?”
“Gerry’s car service.”
“Oh.”
He recalled the line of black luxury sedans and limousines queued alongside the old mansion. No valet garage for this girl. He wasn’t even sure if she owned a car. Hell, she probably had six. Maybe she opted to use the car service because none of her fleet matched her outfit.
“Mike?”
He jerked, the husky tone of her voice shooting through him like he’d grabbed a high-voltage wire bare-handed. “Hm?”
She wet her red-painted lips and looked at him from under mascara-darkened lashes. “I’m hoping I’m the right girl.” Something hard and achy lodged in his chest as she tilted her face to look him straight in the eye. “Let’s see if those shoes fit. Shall we?”
Chapter 9
Georgie stuck her foot out and wiggled her toes, staring up at him expectantly. Mike seemed to have been struck stupid the minute he saw her up on the stage. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t pleased by his reaction. Obviously, she hadn’t been expecting to see him, but catching a glimpse of his handsome face certainly ranked as one of the highlights of her evening.
Right up there with watching her beloved big brother declare his candidacy for the office he’d been groomed for since the day he was conceived. Unlike her, Gerry never shied away from parental aspirations. As a matter of fact, he thrived on meeting and exceeding them. His talent was rewarded with loftier and loftier goals. The system seemed pretty rigged to Georgie, who’d started thanking God she’d been given girl parts at the age of ten and hadn’t stopped since.
There wasn’t enough approbation in the world to make her jump through those flaming hoops.
Georgie acquired her first piercing the year Hillary Clinton made her initial run at the Oval Office. She’d added the stud in her nostril and the cupcake tattoo to ensure local party officials never came nosing around her in their quest for an estrogen-fueled candidate. So far, her antiestablishment talisman had worked like a charm. Problem was, in another five or ten years, the powers from on high were going to have a hell of a hard time finding suckers who were unmarked and lacked puncture holes.
She let her gaze travel down Mike’s lean body and up again. He was one of the great untouched. They could take him and his Men’s Suit Store wardrobe, stick him behind a podium, any podium, and he’d secure at least one-third of the popular vote on clean-cut looks alone. Hang a sign around his neck proclaiming him a new breed of single parent—the kind with the boy parts—and he’d jump another six to eight points in the polls. Maybe even ten, if the union guys decided they could get behind a man who got his hands dirty changing diapers.
