Twice the Temptation

by Francis Ray

  Charlotte’s small chin inched higher. “Because you acted as if I was a contaminant, and I foolishly tried to get back at you.”

  Unfolding his arms, Vincent placed his hands palm down on his desk and stared across it at the woman who stirred something not quite tame in him despite his best efforts. Reluctantly he had to admire her courage. Not many people stood up to him. “Is that how you usually react when someone doesn’t like you?”

  The question was deliberately provoking. “No.”

  He kept his gaze steady. To let it wander was dangerous. The white dress draped seductively over her voluptuous body. Whoever thought white was virginal hadn’t seen Charlotte in that dress that fluttered, whispered, beckoned with each graceful movement. “Then why me?”

  For the first time she seemed to lose her cool and bit her lip. Something he’d very much like to do for her. He tried to look sterner, but it was difficult with this heat coursing through his veins.

  “Poor judgment on my part.”

  Vincent straightened. If Brian was correct, poor judgment was not a characteristic people associated with Charlotte. So there had to be another reason.

  There was a brief knock on his office door. There was only one person in the company who Millicent would allow to disturb him. Vincent rounded his desk. “Come in.”

  The words were barely out of his mouth before the door opened and the CEO of Ora-Tech and his boss, Sidney Hughes, entered. Hughes wore his sixty years well. Despite the ups and downs of the oil industry, his silver hair was as thick as it had been thirty years ago. His shoulders were arrow-straight beneath his crisp, pointed-collar white shirt. The shirt was open at the throat, the sleeves rolled up to reveal a thick gold watch on one tanned wrist.

  In contrast, Vincent’s blue-and-white-striped cotton shirt was buttoned, his woven silk weave tie with discreet flower motif in periwinkle was knotted precisely, his sterling silver cuff links fastened securely in the French cuffs. Beneath his gray, pinstriped double-breasted jacket were silk braces. Dressing was the one area Vincent had no intention of altering.

  “Hello, Sidney.”

  “Hello, Vincent,” Hughes greeted in his Arkansas twang. His gaze had already shifted to the woman standing just behind Vincent.

  It figured, Vincent thought in rising irritation. Charlotte attracted men like a steel magnet drew metal shavings. Any man who was interested in her would always have to worry. “Charlotte Duvall, please meet Sidney Hughes.”

  Hughes was already reaching out his large manicured hands and smiling. “No need for the introduction, Charlotte and I are old friends.” He gently squeezed her soft hands in his. “It’s nice seeing you again.”

  “Hello, Mr. Hughes, nice to see you too,” Charlotte said. “How’s Mrs. Hughes?”

  “Helen is bursting with happiness. That dealer in Europe finally located that antique Chippendale table and chairs she wanted.”

  “I love antiques! Especially Chippendale. The rich carving is bold and energetic, yet beautiful,” Charlotte said.

  “You said it. I warned Helen that the housekeeper might quit when she saw the chairs and table with all that fancy carving, but they trade off days dusting.” Sidney shook his head in obvious puzzlement. “In any case, we’re having all of the executives of the firm and their spouses over tomorrow so she can show them off.”

  Charlotte twisted her head to one side. The gold hoops in her ears glittered in the afternoon sun. “And you just adore her and enjoy giving her what makes her happy.”

  “She keeps life interesting,” Hughes said, his green eyes twinkling. He looked at Vincent. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “You didn’t,” Vincent reassured his boss. “Charlotte and I were finished.”

  Sidney’s keen, intelligent eyes went from one to the other. “I didn’t know you two knew each other.”

  “We just met last night. His cousin is marrying one of my dear friends. I’m the maid of honor and Vincent is the best man,” Charlotte explained, aware that Vincent had just given her her walking papers. She might have known that the first time he said her name he’d have his nose out of joint.

  “Helen can’t wait for the day our children decide to settle down.” Sidney shook his head. “I just got off the phone with her and promised I’d remind Vincent in person about tomorrow night. The last time, he got there when everybody was about to leave. Almost missed out on the barbecue.”

  “I’ll be there and on time.” That night he’d been caught up in finishing an analysis and lost track of time. He didn’t plan for that to happen again. In the business world, socializing was a necessary part of the climb. Vincent considered it a necessary evil.

  “You said that before.” Sidney rubbed his chin thoughtfully and stared at his newest executive. “You still dateless?”

  “Yes,” Vincent answered slowly, hoping Sidney wasn’t about to do what he thought he was.

  “Well, then I have the perfect solution to ensure you get there.” The older man smiled and turned to Charlotte. “Why don’t you come with Vincent? Helen would love to see you and show off her latest acquisition.”

  “I’m sure she has other plans,” Vincent quickly interjected. He could see why they called Sidney the Silver Fox. He had left Arkansas with nothing and had amassed a fortune in the oil industry with brain, grit, and ingenuity.

  “I do have plans,” Charlotte said dutifully, not meeting Vincent’s gaze.

  Hughes’ shrewd eyes narrowed on Charlotte. “There’s going to be a lot of people there. Some of them you may not have met. Fertile ground, Charlotte. Might be able to get a few donations. You know the political coffer could always use money and the excitement of new blood.”

  Charlotte didn’t have to think long. People working in the political arena often became discouraged and fell by the wayside. If there was a chance to benefit the party, she couldn’t turn her back on it. Vincent might be upset, but business was business. “I can be there later, if that’s all right.”

  Hughes’ green eyes sparkled with triumph. “We’ll see you when we see you.”

  “Until tomorrow night, then. I won’t keep you from business.” Bracing herself, she turned to Vincent and almost sighed. Did he ever smile? His black eyes didn’t look too happy behind his silver-rimmed glasses. “Thank you for seeing me. Good-bye.”

  “Good-bye.”

  “Good-bye, Mr. Hughes. I’ll see you Saturday night.”

  “I’ll call Helen when I get back to my office and give her the good news.”

  Charlotte stole another look at Vincent and caught him scowling at her. She offered him an apologetic smile. His expression didn’t change.

  Sighing, she walked from the office, aware that Vincent watched her with disapproval. Stopping briefly at Millicent’s desk, she found out the affair was formal. Helen Hughes intended to show her eighteenth-century table and chairs off to their best advantage. Waving good-bye to Millicent, Charlotte headed for the elevator, her mind going back to Vincent.

  Despite the hard gaze and occasional dark look from behind his glasses, Charlotte couldn’t help but notice his handsome face and the lean, rugged body in beautifully tailored clothes. Vincent was one fine brother.

  He was also trouble.

  Impatient and somewhat annoyed with herself, she jabbed the elevator button. She didn’t like the thoughts going around in her head or the answer to Vincent’s question of why she had reacted to him the way she had. Leave it to a Yankee to cause a Southerner grief.

  Saturday night Charlotte was typing on the computer and talking on the phone headset with the campaign manager for their party’s candidate for city council when the red light by her keyboard began to flash. The doorbell.

  Not for the first time did she experience mixed feelings about having the electrician install a signal light for the front doorbell. But she had a habit of tuning everything out when she was working on a project and had missed several important deliveries.

  Not that there had been a ch
ance of that happening yesterday or today. No matter how hard she tried, her mind kept straying. She knew the reason and it irritated her all the more because she knew he wasn’t thinking about her.

  She was in the middle of ten things as usual, but unlike usual she wasn’t doing any of them well. Ending the phone conversation, she pulled off the headset and saved the list of possible donors to a fund-raiser for Senator William Upshaw.

  The clock on the computer read 7:15. By eight-thirty she could probably get dressed and go to the Hugheses’ party. She’d get there by nine-thirty, spend an hour socializing, then slip out. She didn’t want to impose on Vincent’s territory any more than necessary, but she had a duty to her party.

  The doorbell rang just as she stepped onto the cool sandstone marble tile in the wide foyer. “Coming. Keep your shirt on.”

  Throwing the two dead bolts, she yanked the door open. “What is—” That was as far as she got. On her porch, in a tuxedo that sculpted his wide shoulders and long muscled legs perfectly, was the man who had distracted her all day.

  She snapped her mouth shut. “Why aren’t you at the Hugheses’ party?”

  “Because Helen and Sidney think the only way to get us both there is if we come together.” His gaze unhurriedly tracked her from her mussed hair, to her white oversized blouse, to her black stretch pants and stopped at her bare feet. Her toenails were painted the same electrifying, eye-popping red as her fingernails gripping the door.

  He lifted his head. “It seems she was right.”

  Charlotte’s toes curled on the cool floor and she wished she had her heels on. It was a distinct disadvantage when craning your neck back to stare up at a man who easily topped six feet when you wanted to stare down your nose imperiously at him. “I have never missed an engagement and not called to cancel.”

  “Helen asked me to stop by to pick you up to make sure. She said she had called twice and your line was busy.” He slid his hands into the pockets of his black pants. “It seems you don’t have call waiting.”

  The way he said it made it seem like an accusation. “I do on my personal line, not on my business line. A person who calls me has my undivided attention.” Why did the handsome ones always have to have something wrong with them? Vincent was too rigid and too judgmental.

  The phone rang. The perfect excuse. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to answer that. Good night. I’ll let Helen know you dropped by.” She started to close the door, but his hand stopped her.

  “I think you better answer that first.”

  “The machine will get it.”

  “It might be Helen.”

  “I’ll call her back once you leave.”

  “You’re missing the point.” Vincent frowned down at Charlotte with open impatience. “She wants you there tonight. She’s as determined in her own way as Sidney is when he wants something. She says you liven up a party and Mary Lou wanted you there. I’m to bring you.”

  Charlotte’s hazel eyes widened. “Mary Lou is back from the spa?”

  “Isn’t that what I just said?”

  Charlotte thought of giving Vincent a look that would set him back on his polished heels, but the prospect of seeing Mary Lou was too delightful. Mary Lou was Sidney’s eighty-nine-year-old mother. She was a hoot and a half. Mary Lou Carlaise from Pine Bluff, Arkansas, was a diamond in the rough and a very free spirit. “Why didn’t you say so earlier? I wouldn’t miss it.” She started to close the door again. Again, Vincent’s hand stopped her.

  “You’ve delivered your message,” she said pointedly.

  His black eyes narrowed. Charlotte could almost hear his teeth grind. “As I said, I’m to escort you.”

  Her eyebrow went up. “Sugar, since when did vice-presidents begin to double as escorts?”

  “Since now, so just get dressed and we can leave.”

  Folding her arms, she stared up at him. “I don’t take orders very well.”

  “Sidney said to remind you of the fertile ground.”

  He’d slipped that in nicely. Charlotte could almost admire him if he didn’t irritate her. “I don’t need you to take me.”

  “I never said you did.” Vincent looked at the gold watch on his wrist. “I don’t like being late, please get dressed so we can leave.”

  “Sugar, you must be hard of hearing, because I’m not going anyplace with you.”

  The scowl Charlotte expected didn’t materialize. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t you the one who came to my office yesterday offering words of apology? Was that just talk or did you want us to be friends?”

  Charlotte gazed into the black eyes watching her and felt an unmistakable tug in the region of her heart. She honestly didn’t know what she wanted them to be. “I’m sure you must be a busy man.”

  “That didn’t seem to stop you from coming to my office and getting Millicent to let you stay so you could see me.”

  He had her there. What the heck? “It’ll take thirty minutes for me to shower and get dressed.”

  “I was prepared to wait forty-five.” He lifted a laptop.

  Charlotte burst out laughing, then stepped aside. Perhaps there was hope for Vincent to lighten up after all. “Come on in and make yourself at home. Would you like something to drink?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “The kitchen is this way. You can set up on the dinette table.” She led him through the living room of comfortable overstuffed chairs, crystal, and fresh floral arrangements. “I’d hate to see you hunched over and getting a crook in your neck.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  Since he had said the words without his usual sarcasm, Charlotte let them ride. “If you change your mind about something to drink there’s an assortment in the refrigerator. Glasses are in the cabinet next to it.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “Somehow I don’t doubt that. I’ll call Helen and tell her we’re coming.” She turned away and went to get dressed.

  Vincent placed the carrying case on the round glass dining table, took out the laptop, and booted it up. He didn’t get much further. It was difficult to work with abstract facts and figures when he was visualizing a very full dimensional figure getting dressed.

  He slipped the single button free on his tuxedo and worked his shoulders. He wished she hadn’t mentioned the part about taking a shower. The other night at the restaurant he might have thought she had done it on purpose, but now he wasn’t so sure. Sidney was no fool; neither was his wife—or his secretary, for that matter. A woman of loose morals would not be accepted in any of their lives.

  Leaning back in the chair, he glanced around the neat celery green and creamy oyster kitchen, then into the living room that carried out the same color scheme. The house was warm and inviting. The kind that you feel comfortable in taking off your shoes and kicking back. There was nothing showy or loud.

  He’d been in enough homes to know that money couldn’t buy taste. There were even a couple of antique pieces of furniture, including a Queen Anne corner chair and a Hepplewhite demilune table mixed with art by Arthello Beck, Jr., and Carole Joyce. And the style worked.

  She hadn’t been blowing smoke when she’d said she loved antiques. Oftentimes people trying to impress you said what they thought you wanted to hear or things to ingratiate themselves or to show how intelligent they were. He was forced to admit that apparently Charlotte did none of those things.

  Who was the real Charlotte Duvall?

  Rubbing the back of his neck, Vincent went back to the laptop, determined to complete the financial data for the benefits programs. If there was a way to reduce costs and still give the employees excellent coverage, it would be done. If not he’d look elsewhere. A company was only as good as its employees. He wouldn’t jeopardize their health.

  “Thirty-seven minutes.”

  Vincent looked up and was suddenly glad he was sitting down. The lady packed a wallop.

  She wore a long, strapless black dress that fit over her lush breasts. Her hair was pull
ed back, silhouetting her beautiful face. Her lips, lush and inviting, were painted the same eye-catching red as he’d seen earlier on her nails. Long black gloves that reached almost to her shoulder completed the outfit.

  She was elegant and alluring—and trouble.

  Vincent did the only thing he thought safe. He turned back to the laptop and concentrated on shutting it down instead of gawking at the striking woman a few feet from him. Placing the laptop back in the case, he stood, picked it up, and finally turned to Charlotte.

  “Do you need a wrap?”

  Her smile wavered for a split second. “In the living room.”

  “Shall we go?” He walked toward her, but was careful not to touch.

  “Certainly, we don’t want to be late.” Swirling, she went to the sofa in the living room and picked up her purse and a black silk chiffon scarf.

  Vincent followed, his eyes somehow straying to the easy sway of her hips. Charlotte Duvall, as he had thought, definitely looked as tempting going as she did coming.

  THREE

  The smooth voice of Ella Fitzgerald filled the silence in the car as Vincent drove to Sidney and Helen’s home. Charlotte, usually a brilliant conversationalist, could think of nothing to say. From the overhead lights on the freeway, she snuck peeks at Vincent. She came to the same conclusion she had when she first saw him: He was a handsome brown-skinned devil. And after so many men had tried to get her attention, it rankled a bit that he didn’t seem to notice her …

  There it was, she thought, finally admitting the reason for her inexcusable behavior at the restaurant. She hadn’t liked being judged and dismissed by a man she found attractive. She could blame it on melancholy from Emma’s impending wedding or blame it on what it was, a lapse in common sense. Vincent got to her. Of all men, why did her body have to pick a stuffed shirt? She sighed in frustration.

  “You all right?”

  “Yes,” she quickly told him, and searched her mind for something to say to keep the conversation going.

  He nodded and returned his attention to the busy traffic on Central Expressway. He drove competently and smoothly.