Despite all David’s maneuverings and machinations, he’d been unable to finagle a seat by Maria on the plane. In fact, he saw so little of her, sandwiched as she was between Tweedledee and Tweedledum, that he wondered if Maria hadn’t been hustled into WITSEC and diverted to another plane without his knowledge.
By the time the plane had touched down at LaGuardia, everyone was a little snippy, to say the least.
Thereafter followed a tense limo ride to the hotel, where the Queen Bee didn’t care for her floor, suite or gift basket from Sturgis and Molly, a tense dinner at Le Cirque, where the table’s location wasn’t quite up to snuff, and a tense return ride to the hotel. By the time David had fallen, exhausted, into his bed, he’d had a headache so bad that decapitation seemed like a viable option to stop the pain. All in all, the day had been one of the most unpleasant he could recall in recent memory.
Today promised to be worse. Much worse.
Crossing his arms and ankles, David leaned against the wall and watched Maria try to work her magic with Authorzilla. For the day of the big interview, Maria wore a wispy little purple summer dress that did more for his feverish imagination that a thousand issues of Playboyever could. Filmy ruffles dipped low between her breasts, drawing his attention in that thrilling direction every time he looked at her. Purple was shaping up to be his new favorite color.
Except when he saw Anastasia wear it. Today she wore a purple suit that was actually tasteful, praise be—much better than her usual selections. They’d had a fashion summit, which had been so painful, frustrating and boring for him that it defied description. Anastasia had insisted on modeling most of her thousand other purple outfits, and they’d had to sit, watch and diplomatically tell the most thin-skinned woman on the planet that most of them made her look like a purple beached whale. The task was made exponentially worse by Anastasia’s stylist, an annoying sycophant who, in addition to having awful taste in clothes, set David’s teeth on edge. As far as he was concerned, the stylist should be fired, and then, for good measure, taken out back and fed to wild dogs. At least she hadn’t come to New York with them.
Anastasia made an irritated noise and scowled at her reflection in the mirror.
“Is, ah, something wrong, Anastasia?” Poor Maria, who’d been hovering at Anastasia’s shoulder all morning, shot David a quick look that was part annoyed and part frazzled. “Something else,I mean?”
“My arse,” Anastasia drawled as she dabbed her face with powder from her compact, “is still itching from those lousy scratchy sheets at that mangy hotel.”
“I…see.” Maria didn’t seem to know what to make of this pronouncement about the amenities at the five-star hotel where they’d spent the night. To her credit, though, she kept her game face on and acted like she cared. “Well, like I said, they swore at the front desk that those sheets had an eight-hundred thread count—”
“Nonsense.” Anastasia shut her compact with a decisive snap and worked herself into a righteous, snarling rant. “Sandpaperis softer than those sheets were. If the cheap bastards here at ‘Sturgis & Molly’ ever want to see me here again, they bloody well better cough up the money to put me in a better hotel—”
A middle-aged blonde strode into the room, whereupon Anastasia snapped her jaw shut and watched her expectantly.
“Anastasia?” the woman said, holding out her hand. “How are you? I’m Karen Robbins, one of the producers.”
“Karen,”Anastasia cried, gripping the woman’s hand in both of hers and shape-shifting right before their eyes. Like magic, she came out of her Anastasia the Diva Demon from Hellpersona and dove into Anastasia the Sweet, Gracious and Charming.“How are you, darling? Thank you so much for having me in. What a thrill for me.”
“How was the flight? Was the hotel okay?” Karen asked.
“Marvelous,”Anastasia crowed, practically levitating now with joy and excitement. “First class in everyway. Everyone’s treated me like a queen.”
David and Maria exchanged disgusted looks. Uri hovered, smiling, in his usual position at Anastasia’s elbow.
The women chattered for a couple more minutes, and then Karen left. In scurried another woman, this one with a headset and clipboard. “Two minutes,” she told Anastasia. “Right after this commercial.”
They all looked to the blaring flat-screen TV mounted in the corner. Sure enough, the show’s theme music played and led into a deodorant commercial. The room as a whole surged with adrenaline. Anastasia sucked in a deep breath and exhaled through her mouth. Uri grabbed both her hands in his and squeezed them.
Maria put a hand on Anastasia’s arm, catching her attention, and David watched her work, silently pulling for her.
“Anastasia,” she said around a sweet, nonthreatening smile, “remember what we talked about in our prep session, okay?”
Anastasia peered down at her, one eyebrow raised, her hands still gripping Uri’s.
“I know you’re such a professional, and you’ve done this millions of times before,” Maria continued, “but I have to say this to all our clients.” She nodded discreetly at David and lowered her voice. “He’s, ah, watching to see if I do a good job prepping you, so…”
Anastasia broke into a beatific smile. “Don’t fret, love. I’m going to be fine, aren’t I? I’ll have young Millie—”
“Molly.”
“—eating out of the palm of my hand in no time.” Pulling free of Uri, she swept Maria close for an air kiss. “Never fear.”
The assistant herded them like cattle out of the green room and down the hall toward the set, where blazing overhead lights created a blinding glare through which David could barely see. Squinting, he saw pixieish Molly perched on one of those tall, stool-type chairs, sifting through a stack of blue note cards while a hair person fluttered back and forth, fluffing Molly’s glossy, honey-colored hair.
“So, you know,” Maria whispered, trotting alongside Anastasia to keep up with her long-legged strides, “stay on message, don’t bad-mouth anyone, remember to be upbeat—”
“Never fear,” Anastasia repeated, smoothing her wig, straightening her shoulders and adjusting her enormous bosom by putting her hands underneath her girls and pushing them up. Turning to Uri, she opened her mouth, stuck out her tongue and waited. Uri, who’d apparently been through this drill before, reached up and double-spritzed her with a tiny tube of spearminty breath spray.
David stifled a snort.
Suddenly the show’s theme music blared again and the audience clapped and whooped as if they expected Tiger Woods to appear. Molly ditched the note cards, sat up straight and flashed her million-dollar smile as the hair person took her brush and dove for the shadows in the wings.
“Break a leg, beautiful.”
Sturgis, a wiry, toothy, unrelentingly cheerful man of about seventy, paused to peck Anastasia on the cheek as he left the set, having evidently been excused from this segment. David sighed with longing. He stared after the lucky man as he wove his way back through the various cameras, cameramen and monitors, and wished he could also leave the vicinity before the inevitable—and it wasinevitable—disaster occurred.
The applause and music died down, and Molly stared into the camera and began her spiel about the book. David didn’t listen. Why listen when watching Maria was so much more interesting? Vibrating with barely concealed excitement, she gave Anastasia’s arm a supportive squeeze and clapped harder than anyone when Anastasia strode across the stage, waved and took a seat next to Molly. Then she paced away and, clasping her hands together under her chin as if she was praying, watched Anastasia on the monitor the way a soccer mom would watch her child in a match.
God, how he needed her.
The need grew daily, stretching and growing until he thought he’d die of it. If the frustration didn’t kill him first, of course. He’d gone on like this for weeks, and wasn’t sure how much more he could take. Barely seeing her, barely talking to her, never touching her. He thought he’d made some progress the
other day at the signing, but that was two long days ago and now he felt like he was right back at square one. What would Maria have said if Anastasia hadn’t interrupted them? He felt sure she’d been on the verge of some sort of admission, something that could have led to a breakthrough, but now he’d never know, would he? Add that to the growing list of reasons why he couldn’t stand Anastasia.
His reasons for admiring Maria, on the other hand, defied quantification. The change that had come over her lately was nothing short of miraculous, and he couldn’t get over it. She’d been working nearly as hard as he had and, in Anastasia’s case at least, was more invested in a client than he was. Amazing. And he still laughed every time he remembered his and Ellis’s reaction when she’d driven up with her new car. She’d had the well-deserved last laugh that day, hadn’t she? He loved to see Maria so self-confident and strong. If he’d had anything—even the tiniest thing—to do with her transformation, then his coming back to Cincinnati had been worthwhile.
He walked over to stand beside her, eager to take advantage of the opportunity to speak with her, even if it was brief and semiprivate. Now that he’d made his desires clear and dispensed with the pretense, it was a pleasure to stare openly at her profile, to stand near her even if she was determined to ignore him. To touch her. Reaching up, he smoothed the baby-fine hair away from her temple and enjoyed the telltale hitch in her breath and corresponding heave in her breasts.
Chapter 16
Chapter 16
“I’m proud of you, Ree-Ree,” he whispered. “Good work with her.”
“Shh,” she hissed, her gaze on Anastasia, who was gushing about her book. “This is a liveshow.”
Because she didn’t move away, he decided to take a few more liberties. He traced the curves and ridges of her ear, and then slid his eager fingers down the silky line of her neck. She shivered.
“What were you going to tell me the other day at the signing before Anastasia interrupted?”
She stiffened and stared fixedly at the monitor. “I don’t remember.”
“Liar.”
He paused to see what Anastasia was up to on stage. Her and Molly’s happy chattering, punctuated by frequent bursts of laughter and applause from the audience, reassured him. No one here could see or hear him with Maria, and he meant to take full advantage.
Stepping closer, he caressed his fingers around to the back of her neck, thrilled when her breath caught and didn’t resume.
“I want you. I know you want me, too.”
She gasped, and vivid color flooded her cheeks. Still not looking at him, she started to shake her head, but he sifted his fingers up under her thick, satiny, fragrant hair to her nape, stopping whatever denial she’d meant to make.
“Ah-hh, Maria, you feel so good.” Sighing, he tried to focus, to remember where they were and that he couldn’t just pull her all the way into his arms like he wanted to.
“We’re over,” she said in a weak, pleading voice. “We both know—”
“Nothing’s over.”
Throwing all caution to the wind, he grabbed her hand and, ignoring her squawk of protest, pulled her backward and into the delightful privacy provided by several rows of heavy black stage curtains in an unlit corner. She squirmed a little, in a token attempt to get away, but he was having none of it, not when he had her in his arms and she felt just like he’d remembered—like heaven. Like home.
Clamping his hands down on the lush curves where her hips flared away from her waist, he rested his forehead against hers and held her close. The smell of lemons on her skin saturated his senses and immediately made him high as a soaring kite. He felt certain he could flap his arms and fly to the moon, if only she’d keep letting him touch her.
“I’m tired of pretending, Maria—”
“No.”
“—aren’t you?”
Her only answer was a whimper, but maybe he wasn’t playing fair. He’d slid his lips to her ear and, once there, given in to the impulse to taste her. To his delight, she swayed on her feet and her hands settled around his neck and then ran through his hair.
Heaven.
“Have dinner with me, Ree-Ree.”
“No.”
“You’re right,” he whispered, rubbing his lips back and forth across that smooth, warm cheek. “We don’t have to wait that long. Come to my room after the show—”
“No.”
“—and let me make love to you.”
She froze except for the rise and fall of her breasts caused by her panting.
A half second of sanity slowed him down. He really needed to cool it, because he had no idea what was going on with the show. He’d heard the theme music again, so he figured they’d gone to commercial and would finish Anastasia’s segment in the next five minutes. Thank goodness they had a little time because at that moment he was physically incapable of letting Maria go.
“Don’t you want me inside you, Ree-Ree?” he whispered, nipping her ear.
“No.”
“No?”He slid his hands lower, until he palmed her lush, toned butt, and ground against her. At the contact with this soft, secret part of her at the cradle of her hips, he swelled even further. If she could resist the heavy ridge of his erection straining for her, then she truly had changed and he no longer knew a thing about her. “Are you sure?”
“Ah-hh, David,” she cooed helplessly, and in the second before her lids slid closed and she raised her face to his, he saw unhappy surrender in her eyes.
It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except this moment and this fire that still raged between them, hotter and brighter than ever.
With a low, feral growl, he kissed her, taking everything he could get, tasting mints, tea and Maria,all sweeter than they’d ever been before. She melted, fusing with him, filling the vast emptiness inside him that’d been four years in the making and that only she could fill.
And then, just when he’d slid his hands up to the plump sides of her breasts, and just when she’d begun to undulate against him, Anastasia ruined everything, just like he’d known she would.
“Molly, darling,” she said, her voice getting louder and slamming through the hushed studio with the force of a burning meteorite falling from the sky, “I’m branching out a little for now. Growing as a writer. You understand.”
“Say it ain’t so,” Molly shrieked in her chirpy little voice. “Are you telling me there’s not going to be a sequel to Hip-Hop Hottie?Are you kidding?”
The audience murmured, sounding unhappy with this prospect.
Maria wrenched out of David’s arms and they stared at each other, panting. Maria looked horrified, but David felt happy and triumphant.
“Maria,” he began.
“You have lipstick all over your mouth.”
As if he cared about that. Still, he wiped it off with the back of his hand and made sure the flaps of his suit jacket covered his arousal.
“Let’s go,” she snapped. “There’s no telling what she’ll say next.”
“We’ll finish this later,” he warned, taking her hand as they hurried through the curtains.
Snatching her hand away, she didn’t answer, but he didn’t need an answer from her lips. Her body had just told him everything he needed to know.
They rushed to mingle with the gathered crowd of technicians, producers, makeup people and untold others who’d gathered at the edge of the set like gawkers at a crime scene. David wondered wildly if he couldn’t pull the fire alarm and clear the building before Anastasia said something to America’s Sweetheart on live TV that would irrevocably damage her career.
“You can’t just leave all your fans hanging,” Molly said in a singsong whine. “What’s going to happen to Shemar? When will he get his own book?”
Anastasia’s smile tightened. “Really, darling, I want to talk about Blue Endearment.”
“Forget it!” Beaming and playful, Molly turned to face the audience and began to chant like the former cheerleader she was. “Se-qu
el. Se-quel.” Flapping her arms, she encouraged the audience to join her and soon hundreds of people had joined in the fun at Anastasia’s expense. “Se-quel. Se-quel.”
David had a very bad feeling, although Anastasia’s good-sport smile never slipped. He watched as the director gave Molly the wrap-it-up gesture, and prayed Anastasia would make it off the stage without blowing up.
“Well, thank you so much for coming.” Molly, as syrupy sweet as a pitcher of Miss Beverly’s tea, took Anastasia’s hand in both of hers. “I just love your books. You’re wonderful. Please come back.”
“Love to, darling.” All flashing teeth and sparkling eyes, Anastasia pulled Molly’s hands and the two leaned in to exchange air kisses. “Best to the children.”
As the theme music played and the audience clapped, Anastasia stood to walk off the stage and David began to breathe again. The unbelievable had just happened, hadn’t it? Anastasia had made her TV appearance, she’d been perfectly pleasant, and now it was all over. Their New York mission had been a complete success.
But then Anastasia’s smile disappeared as though someone had held up a vacuum hose and sucked it off her face. Sneering, she looked Molly up and down with open hostility. Molly, America’s sweet pixie, saw the sudden change of mood and flinched.
Anastasia’s lips pulled back in a feral grin, and when she spoke everyone in the studio heard because her mic was still on. “How’s the divorce coming, Molly?” she snarled, referring to the subject about which the tabloids had been gloating for weeks. “Has the hubby taken up with any more of your personal assistants?”
With that, Anastasia wheeled around and stalked off the set, leaving shocked silence in her wake. Molly, aghast, with cheeks flaming, stared after her. The last thing David and Maria heard as they raced off to follow Anastasia was the audience’s growing rumble of outrage.
Sweeter Than Revenge Page 19
