by Ann Major
“Give me the eyeliner. I’ll just thicken the other eye.”
“Better idea. Why don’t I just scrub it all off.”
“Because the heavy eye makeup goes with the lingerie. So hold still, kiddo.”
When Mandy finished painting her eyelid, they both looked at Lizzy’s reflection. Her face was so white, her red lips and heavily made-up eyes seemed garish, at least to Lizzy. Lush breasts swelled invitingly above the shiny red fabric. Her waist was incredibly tiny, her hips wide and curvy.
When Lizzy looked woeful, Mandy smiled reassuringly. “If I didn’t know you…I wouldn’t know you.” Mandy moved behind her and began to fluff Lizzy’s wild, corkscrew curls. “Am I good, or what?”
Every time Mandy made her hair poof out another inch, Lizzy pressed her hands onto it and mashed it flatter.
“Quit—” They both spoke at once.
Lizzy took a deep breath and stared at herself in the mirror. Usually she looked so innocent and wholesome. But not tonight.
“Now, give me those earrings and the bracelets,” Mandy said. “This is fun, kiddo.”
“For you maybe.”
“This was your idea, remember?”
Lizzy handed her the jewelry, and soon the gypsy earrings and bracelets flashed against her ears and throat.
Lizzy groaned. “I look so cheap.”
“Sexy. Say, I look sexy. Affirmations. Positive thoughts.”
I can do this, Lizzy thought, taking another sip of Chardonnay. I can do this.
But could she?
I love the new, exciting me, she repeated.
Mandy scooped Vanilla into her arms. “Gotta go. And so do you, or you’ll be late.”
“Walk down with me…at least as far as Columbus,” Lizzy said. “I’m afraid to go out like this alone.”
“Finish your wine. Definitely finish your wine…”
Lizzy bolted what was left in the glass.
Downstairs, in the crisp, cool twilight, Lizzy shivered because of her inadequate clothing. At the same time she could feel the faint warm stirring inside her that had to be the effects of the wine. She hoped that soon she would relax and see this as a game.
But it wasn’t a game. Her heart was broken. Like a desperate gambler, she was rolling the dice in a last ditch, all-or-nothing shot to get the man she loved back.
“Work the hips, kiddo,” Mandy whispered as Lizzy stepped onto the sidewalk. “Work ’em.”
Just as she began to make her hips sway, a tall, dark, lean, male figure in the shadows of the building a few doors down took a step toward her and then tensed the instant she saw him.
Although she could only see his outline, something about him felt vaguely familiar. The air felt thin suddenly. Even when she looked away, pretending to ignore him, her nerves fluttered so badly she could barely breathe.
The man stood up straighter, and she realized he had to be well over six feet tall. He was broad-shouldered, much bigger than she was. She felt his eyes sweeping her from head to toe.
Don’t look at him.
Even so, she knew he was looking at her, and the skin on the back of her neck prickled. Then heat rushed over every bare inch of exposed skin.
Had he been watching her door, waiting for her?
Ridiculous thought. Still, she continued to observe him out of the corner of her eye as intently as he watched her.
Yes, there was something vaguely familiar about him.
A crowd of teenagers in masks and costumes raced together on the opposite side of the street toward Columbus Avenue. Somewhere an ambulance screamed. The sounds seemed magnified, but at the same time they were hazy and unclear. Was that the wine dulling her senses? Making her vulnerable?
Mandy, in her harem girl costume that was cut so low in the back her dragon tattoo was clearly visible, was carrying Vanilla and taking such long strides she was getting ahead of her. Not wanting to be left alone with the stranger, Lizzy called to Mandy and ran to catch up with them. Not that it was easy wearing high heels that made frightened little hollow taps on the concrete.
When she heard heavy footsteps behind her, her stomach muscles constricted. Oh, God. In a panic she pulled her flimsy red shawl over her breasts and knotted both ends.
The dress was for Bryce. Not for some tall, dark stalker who might take her for a real street walker. The party was a long subway ride from her apartment. Why hadn’t she brought a coat or something other than her flimsy shawl? What if he caught her before she reached the party?
“Mandy, I think someone’s following us,” she whispered breathlessly.
“Will you quit with this nervous little girl routine? How are you ever going to seduce Bryce if you don’t play the siren, kiddo?”
“I’m serious.”
Mandy laughed and then turned around to check. “Nobody’s there, silly. Would you relax?”
Lizzy turned around, too. Mandy was right. The man was gone. Across the street a pumpkin and a large gorilla were walking behind the teenagers.
She sighed. As usual her imagination was running away with her.
“It’s just a costume,” Mandy said. “Have fun with it. A lot of girls dress like that all the time. They come in the shop. You wouldn’t believe the things they buy.”
“Like edible undies?”
Mandy shot her a look that said grow up. “Do you want Bryce back or not? Guys like Bryce want a nice girl to show off in public and a whore in the bedroom.”
Lizzy, who didn’t want to be a whore anywhere, closed her eyes and prayed for courage. Repeating a few more affirmations, she lifted her chin and squared her shoulders and kept walking.
At Columbus, there were hordes of people on the sidewalk, some in really weird costumes. The pumpkin was hailing a cab. The gorilla was leaning in a doorway studying his handheld PDA.
Nobody even looked at her. Feeling a little less spooked, she hugged Vanilla and told Mandy goodbye. But the instant they were gone, she felt unseen eyes watching her again.
She stared wildly at the crowd rushing past her searching every face for a glimpse of the tall dark stranger. The pumpkin got in a cab without looking back at her. The gorilla was still clumsily studying his PDA. Three ballerinas crossed the street together.
Nobody was paying the slightest bit of attention to her. Then a cool breeze blew over Lizzy’s hot, damp skin, reminding her again of just how little she had on. Goose bumps pricked, and she felt her imagination begin conjuring stalkers again. She couldn’t let go of the uneasy feeling someone was watching her.
She had to get to that party and find Bryce fast.
Houston, Texas
Joanne
In college, Joanne had been fascinated by her friend Electra, who’d been so willful, exciting and daring. Dread filled her now as Joanne peeled off the last of the brown paper. Slowly she lifted the cardboard lid. Inside was a leather-bound book. No, not a book exactly. A photocopied manuscript.
Not a manuscript exactly, either. She flipped a page and recognized the loopy handwriting as that of her former best friend, Electra Scott.
Somebody had sent her a copy of what appeared to be Electra’s journal. But who? Why?
She was mortally sick of Electra. Sick to death of her.
As she thumbed through more pages, a photograph of two young girls with blond hair fell out. Next she saw that some passages had been highlighted with a yellow marker, so that even if she didn’t read the entire journal, she wouldn’t miss these.
She began to read. “Twins. Girls.”
At first Joanna thought she was talking about Mia and Lizzy, who hadn’t really been twins at all even though she and Caesar had told everyone they were fraternal twins. But the dates on the pages didn’t match the dates when Lizzy and Mia had been born.
No… These girls were a little younger.
Electra wrote about Caesar coming to Columbia to rescue her when she’d been kidnapped. She’d been weak and vulnerable, and Caesar had saved her. Neither had been able to resist
the other even though they’d tried.
In the end, she’d slept with the lover of her youth again. The daring rescue had taken a week. Caesar had stayed with her a whole week. They’d made love constantly, which Electra wrote about much too vividly Joanne thought.
While I was home alone…not alone…raising our children.
Afterward, when Caesar had gone home to his wife, Electra had given birth to twin girls, but she’d never told Caesar.
Joanne looked up from the journal.
Caesar had betrayed her. Cherry wasn’t the first. What else had Caesar done?
Joanne slammed the journal shut. She had tried so hard to make their marriage work. Had Caesar ever really tried at all?
Where were his other daughters now?
What did this mean for the ranch? For her own children? Lizzy had been enough to swallow.
Electra. Always Electra and her camera. And to think, I brought her here to the ranch. They met because of me.
Then Jack had died, and Electra had gone away. Joanne had found out she was pregnant and had told Caesar. He, in turn, had learned Electra was pregnant and didn’t want to raise the baby herself or to marry him. At the time, a marriage of convenience had seemed the best solution. She and Caesar would raise both children as their own. They had sworn it would be a real marriage and that each of them would view both children as his.
Those promises had been easier to make than to keep. Having her own children had made Joanne know how differently she felt toward all others. Especially her rival’s. Although Electra had once been her best friend, she’d been so vital and colorful, Joanne had felt diminished when around her. There had always been an element of competition in their relationship, as well.
Joanne clenched her hands. Oh, my God. Caesar, how could you? How could, when you promised…
Joanne opened the book again and studied the dates. She remembered those two weeks all those years ago. Caesar had said he needed some time alone to think about their marriage. When he’d come back, he’d said he’d keep trying. Joanne had thought he’d been in Houston or Dallas. When she’d pressed him for details, he’d refused to talk.
Twins?
They were out there…somewhere…and someone knew. Maybe lots of people knew. What would Caesar’s secret daughters want when they learned of their heritage?
What could she do about it?
For no reason at all, Joanne felt furious at Lizzy.
Seven
Manhattan
Cole
Behind the hot gorilla mask, Cole felt like his eyes were sticking out on stems. He was rock-hard, riveted. His carefully planned speech to Lizzy about her dad was blown to smithereens by the city… No. Admit it—by that tight skimpy red dress. By her breasts and legs. His brain, never in perfect shape these days, felt scrambled. He forgot his purpose. He couldn’t focus on anything else but her.
The city’s roar blasted him like the blows of a giant, angry beast as he leaned back against a corner building and watched Lizzy through the slits in his gorilla mask. The blare of horns, the squeal of brakes, the hustle-bustle of heels on concrete and of too many bodies jostling for position on the sidewalk made him wince. At the same time he felt like an ant trapped in the maze of an alien ant bed jammed with too many self-important ants all desperate to get somewhere.
He was used to wide-open spaces, to big skies, to grass blowing in the wind, to silence. Didn’t any of the people here get it? They were all going nowhere.
How the hell could he ever figure out now how to tell Lizzy about her father when he couldn’t get past the way she was dressed? For the life of him he couldn’t quit staring at her breasts and legs—even though doing so had him hard and pissed because he figured the other guys who saw her got hot for her, too. He felt jealous and possessive even though he had no right to.
Why the hell didn’t Lizzy just unzip that tight red dress, shimmy out of it and get naked right here on Columbus and 69th? Some guy would jump her. Cole would attack. He’d prefer a brawl like that to this infernal traffic and his raging lust.
Cole frowned. With her teased white-blond hair, glittery bangles, bulging bosom and long shapely legs in black mesh hose, Lizzy didn’t look a thing like the shy, sweet girl he knew.
One minute Lizzy was hugging her cheap-looking girlfriend and Vanilla. Then in the next, the redhead with the tattoos on her breast and all the piercings sashayed off, up Columbus Avenue toward The Plaza.
With Vanilla!
Vanilla! Lizzy didn’t show a shred of concern about the baby.
Confused, he took a step after the baby that was supposed to be his daughter and then stopped. Hell. He had to trust Lizzy’s judgment when it came to baby care.
He’d come to see Lizzy. To tell her about her father. Only how he’d ever manage that now, he didn’t know. All he knew was that he’d better stick with Lizzy. She seemed vulnerable, and dressed like that, she could damn sure get into trouble. The girlfriend could definitely handle herself.
Why hadn’t he buzzed her apartment the minute he’d gotten there and told her about Caesar? Because he knew how close she was to her father, because he hated the thought of how the news would affect her, because he’d needed time to work up his nerve to talk to her.
If he’d known she was going to prance out of those double doors dressed like a hooker, he’d have bounded up those stairs like a jackrabbit first thing.
The plastic gorilla mask was beginning to make his face drip with sweat. His wet hair felt plastered to his head, and his jeans were too tight.
Maybe the mask was uncomfortable, but he was glad as hell he’d bought it along with that canvas hat with the long black ponytail from that fast-talking vendor in Central Park, who’d grabbed his arm and all but forced him to buy both disguises for Halloween.
Lizzy suddenly glanced straight at him and Cole started. She squinted and stared at him harder. Quickly he lowered his head and typed on his PDA so clumsily he dropped it.
When he knelt to get it, she bolted down the stairs that led to the subway. Dashing after her, he kept to the middle of the throng, bought a subway pass, and managed to catch the same train.
Every time they stopped at a station, he jumped off and watched for her. When he began to perspire underneath the gorilla mask again, he took it off and put on the canvas hat with the long black ponytail.
She got off in the Village, so he did, too. Blending into the crowd again, he followed her down streets and sidewalks that were jammed with laughing, shouting people, who wore garish makeup and masks.
Music blasted from most of the bars and crowded restaurants. The Village pulsed with people and holiday spirit. Girls in sparkly dresses undulated together outside one bar to the heavy beat of drums while a crowd of young men clapped and ogled.
Lizzy paused near a streetlight and studied a piece of paper in her hand. When she glanced up at the street numbers uncertainly, her gaze swept over him and then returned, lingering even after he’d stepped deeper into the shadows. She continued to stare into the darkness. The streetlight froze her heart-shaped face with a cold marblelike clarity that made his heart pound. He wanted her, and he hated himself for the weakness because he knew how she felt about him—probably for good reason. He grimaced, not liking the role he was playing very much.
Her huge eyes told him she was scared, but she was so damned beautiful, he couldn’t stop looking at her.
Lusting after her, asshole.
When he turned, pretending an interest in a violin for sale in the shop window, she ran.
He’d scared her. He hated that, but he kept up easily, relentlessly, following her down the dark streets.
A stalker was after her! If only she could find the party and find Bryce; then she’d be safe.
Lizzy was so tired from running in the tight corset and heels, she was gasping for every breath. Her heart had been racing ever since she’d spotted the tall man in the shadows.
He was like a vicious cat stalking a mouse. No ma
tter how fast she ran or how cleverly she’d tried to evade him, his legs were longer, and his body powerful and his mind focused on her with the deadly determination of a true predator.
Suddenly, she found herself halfway down a blind alley. When she turned, she saw him at his end of the alley, standing statue still. When she cried out, she thought he laughed.
Not that he came closer. He knew he had her. Like a cat, he savored her fear. He was playing with her. But surely she was close, very close to the address on the invitation. Maybe…maybe…
At least he didn’t seem to be in a hurry. He just stood there, almost patiently, waiting for her to give up.
Good—the delay gave her time…a chance…to think…
Her eyes climbed the brick buildings on either side of her. They were tall, at least five stories. Tall enough to shut off all moonlight. Since there were no streetlights, it was very dark. In the utter blackness, she couldn’t see much of the man who had chased her through the ever-narrowing streets, but she heard his slow, measured tread on the asphalt when she ran deeper into the alley. Stumbling into a doorway before she got to the end, she prayed again that she was at least on the right street. Or maybe someone on the other side of this door would let her in and she could call the police.
Leaning against the rough, unvarnished door, she stood still, gasping for every ragged breath even as she listened to his heels clicking, the hollow sounds growing louder as he moved slowly toward her.
She began to beat against the door.
“Open the door!” she screamed.
Above her cries as she pounded the rough wood, she heard running footsteps in the alley.
She screamed. The door opened, and a beefy fist snatched her inside. The last thing she heard above the deafening roar of the music as she was pulled across the threshold was a sexy, vaguely male baritone, drawling her name.
Then the door slammed and she found herself in a small room with a man who had heavy features, leering black eyes and a cold grin. If the stalker hadn’t been outside, she would have bolted.
“The password?” the door man said.
