by Anne Stuart
He slid his hands down her back, cupping her buttocks and yanking her against his body. She could feel the beginnings of arousal through his polyester suit, and almost gnashed her teeth in frustration. She’d thought she would have been flat on her back, the dirty deed accomplished, by this time. Chambers had certainly been quick about the business.
“Oh, honey,” Jeff murmured thickly, his tongue sloshing in her ear. “I can’t believe this. You’re so smart and so sophisticated. And you can cook, too.” And with that he scooped her up into his arms and started across the room. “Where the heck’s the bedroom?”
That did it. “Stop,” Laura said, pushing him away. He dropped her, and she tripped, falling against him. “I can’t do it,” she said. “I can’t sleep with someone who says heck.” And without another word she turned and ran from her apartment, along the hallway and down the utility stairs in her stocking feet, leaving Jeff alone, confused, and most likely, slightly relieved.
Chapter Fourteen
Susan lay in bed, staring at the play of shadows on her ceiling. New York City nights were never still—even at this late hour they were a ballet of light and sound and people, invading her apartment through the tightly shut wooden shutters and enveloping calico priscilla curtains. She turned her head, watching the tendrils of light invade the darkness of her bedroom, and thought back to the strange events of the earlier evening.
“You’re being blackmailed?” she’d echoed, staring at Frank in horror. “You call that a little tiny bit of a problem? What qualifies as a major disaster?”
“Losing my livelihood.” His voice was flat, unemotional, but Susan immediately bit her lip. “Besides, the whole thing’s ridiculous. I’m being blackmailed for something I never did. A few years back the merest hint of it would have scuttled my career, but since that’s already vanished, I don’t really have anything to worry about. What I am worried about is who’s blackmailing me, and who else this person has decided to hit on. Not to mention where they got their information.”
“What are you being blackmailed for?”
He grimaced. “When you start out in the modeling business you aren’t too choosy about getting jobs, and you’re not too particular about your body. It’s a tool of the trade, used to sell things.”
“I don’t think I want to hear this,” Susan began, starting to get up, but Frank pulled her back.
“Sorry, but I don’t exist simply as part of your fantasy life. I’m real, I’m human, and I’ve made mistakes. If you prefer your lovers to be faultless, you picked the wrong man.”
The hand on her arm was too strong, the lines around his mouth were too deep, belying the bland expression, and suddenly Susan was ashamed of herself. “You forget,” she said. “I’ve known you for four years. I’m already aware of one or two faults.”
He grinned, and the tension in his body faded slightly. “This is a bit more than an excess of narcissism or a tendency to forget bills. I was in a porn movie.”
Susan took a deep breath. “Okay. What else?”
“God bless you, darling. I wasn’t even doing anything in it. Just part of the crowd scene in an orgy. They wanted good-looking bodies, and I had one. Unfortunately I wasn’t much use to them except for scenery. That sort of thing just doesn’t excite me.”
“I wouldn’t have thought that was all that hideous. A little sordid, perhaps, but nothing criminal.”
“That’s where it gets a little iffy. I was in the one scene, just standing around watching. But later scenes involved things that were more than sordid. They were disgusting. And criminal. And while there’s no way to prove that I was anywhere around when they shot those later scenes, any prospective employer would think twice before hiring someone who’d appeared in a movie like that. And no, I’m not going to tell you what was in those scenes. I tried to watch it once, and I threw up. I expect your stomach is even a little more delicate.”
Susan managed a shaky smile. “Who knew about this?”
“Laura.”
“You don’t think she...?”
“Of course not.” He offered her the half-empty glass of Drambuie, then drained what was left. “She knows better than anyone that it’s now just an empty threat. I don’t have any money, and I don’t have a career to jeopardize.”
“I don’t understand why she didn’t tell me.”
“I went to her in private when this first came out. A friend of mine with bent tastes happened to see the movie at a private showing, and he told me about it. I figured I owed it to Laura to warn her what might happen. I offered to let her out of our contract.” He leaned back, running his hands through his sunlit hair. “Of course she told me not to be ridiculous. If it came out she’d stand beside me, bless her heart. It never did, thank heavens.”
“But why didn’t she tell me?”
“We decided it might upset you too much. Also the fewer people who knew, the better. Laura had her lawyer send a letter to the movie’s distributors, demanding that they either withdraw the film from the limited circulation it was enjoying, or else disguise my face so that I wouldn’t be recognized. They opted to do the latter, so only my former lady friends would recognize me. And actually, given my state of boredom, maybe even they wouldn’t know me.”
“This isn’t something to joke about,” Susan said sternly.
“What else can I do? I certainly can’t come up with ten thousand dollars by tomorrow morning.”
“Ten thousand dollars? That doesn’t sound like very much.”
“Maybe not, but I don’t have it.”
“No, I mean it doesn’t sound like very much for blackmail money. Whoever is doing this doesn’t have any idea of the kind of money a model can usually command. Since he doesn’t know you’re not working, he should think you’d be able to come up with a lot more money.”
“An interesting point. Academic, however, since I’m not entirely sure I can come up with ten dollars at this point, much less ten thousand. And of course, there’s no reason to pay.”
“If you were still working, would you have paid?”
“I doubt it.” Frank leaned back on the sofa, stretching his lithe body. “I don’t like the idea of someone taking my money for nothing. With all the prints altered on the film, they would have had a hard time proving anything.”
“But all the prints mustn’t have been altered. Otherwise how would your blackmailer have known about it? Unless you told someone...?” The thought of petulant, beautiful Tracey Michaels entered her head, but she dismissed it, knowing it was the product of jealousy rather than justifiable suspicion.
“No one knew. The friend who mentioned it to me died last year, and I doubt it made enough of an impression on him to have mentioned it to anyone else. No, that’s not where the information came from. It came from Laura’s office.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I know every square inch, every piece of paper at Glass Faces. If I didn’t know about it, how could someone else find out?”
“Darling, I don’t know. All I know is that Laura had a copy of the legal agreement we made with the film’s distributors. The blackmailer sent me a photocopy of it.”
“Have you talked with Laura about it?”
“She keeps disappearing. Every time I’ve tried to catch her, she’s been on the run somewhere. You have any idea what’s going on?”
“She’s in love,” Susan said glumly.
“With whom?”
“She thinks she’s in love with Marita’s ex-fiancé. She’s been so busy chasing him that she hasn’t had a chance to notice that she’s really in love with Michael Dubrovnik.”
Frank let out a long, low whistle. “That doesn’t sound very promising.”
“It’s doomed. She’s probably better off chasing after Jeff Carnaby.”
“Unless the face of the New Face decides she wants him back.”
“Why should Marita do that? She could have her choice of a dozen men, men of power and influence and money. Why should she settle for a Midw
estern farmer?”
“Maybe those choices will evaporate.”
“I can’t imagine why they should. She’ll only get more famous, more sought after as time goes on. You don’t like her much, do you?”
“Not much,” Frank said, his voice flat and noncommittal.
“Why not?”
“Look into her eyes sometime. Look really deeply, and you’ll see what I mean.”
“When did you look really deeply into her eyes?” She couldn’t help sounding jealous, but Frank simply laughed, stretching out on the sofa and pulling her down on top of him.
“It’s easier to see if you’re used to it, my sweet. I didn’t get any closer than five feet, and that was close enough. Besides, it’s you that I’m concentrating on.”
She made a very slight effort to struggle. Not enough to free herself, but just enough to let him know it wasn’t going to be that easy. “But what about your blackmailer?”
“As Scarlett said, I’ll think about that tomorrow. I have an idea or two.”
“But...”
He stopped her mouth with his, a slow, leisurely kiss that left her breathless and mindless, the specter of Frank’s blackmailer fading in the early-evening twilight. When he finally lifted his mouth from hers, his eyes were bright with warmth and laughter. “You were saying?” he prompted.
It took her a minute to regain her senses, especially since one of his hands was cupping her breast through the frustrating layers of clothing.
“Frank...”
“Yes?” He was rubbing his thumb over her nipple, distracting her further.
“Frank, what are you doing here?”
He laughed, sliding his arms around her and pulling her close against his taut body. “Making love to you, dearest. Where else would I be?” He looked down at her, some of the humor fading. “Didn’t you think I’d be back?”
“I didn’t know.” She tried to stare down at the carpet, but his hand beneath her chin forced her face up to his.
“Susan, we’re friends,” he said. “We’ve been friends for four years, and damned good ones at that. I’d hate to think that last night changed that.”
“Of course it changed it. It changed everything. You can’t have sex and then assume that everything is just as it was. It isn’t that simple. It...”
He cupped her face with his long-fingered hand, his thumb touching her lips lightly. “It wasn’t sex, Susan. If we’d had a nice, casual roll in the sack it might have been, but it didn’t end up that way, and you and I both know it. I don’t think I’ve ever felt that way before. But I don’t want to lose you as a friend. I’m greedy, I want both. I want your friendship and I want your love. Is that so much to ask?”
Susan shut her eyes for a moment, drinking in the sound of his words, the feel of his thumb against her lips. “Oh, God, Frank, you have it already,” she whispered. “But what are you offering me in return?”
“All of the above,” he murmured. “I want to marry you. I want to have babies with you. I want to get old and fat and saggy with you. But don’t panic. I won’t rush you into anything. We can live together for a few months beforehand. Your place or mine?”
“Frank.”
“My place is bigger.” He considered the matter, ignoring her scandalized expression. “But your location’s better, and you don’t have cockroaches.”
“Everyone in New York has cockroaches,” she said faintly.
“Well, yours aren’t as big as mine. Mine could bite your head off. When you get pregnant, let’s move out to the country. I bet they don’t have cockroaches in Connecticut.”
“Don’t count on it,” she said faintly.
“Don’t count on the cockroaches? Or don’t count on you?”
She couldn’t fight it anymore. No woman could, not when everything she ever wanted had been dumped into her lap. She was afraid, mortally afraid he was going to break her heart. But if she refused to take a chance, to risk the pain for the sheer glory of it, then she deserved to be miserable.
“Frank,” she said. “If you break my heart, I’ll kill you.”
He grinned at her. “Same to you, darling. How about a Christmas wedding?”
Running away was never a good idea. For the first time Laura could understand why cowardice was a mistake. She was on the third-floor landing of the utility stairs, barefoot, no purse, no money, no coat, no key. Upstairs waited a man she’d rather die than face. And she had no options. Well, almost no options. The Petronelli Employment Agency had been in the building since the early forties—old Mr. Petronelli was still in command, though his savvy young daughter was probably going to revitalize the business, the moment he finally retired. He still left a key over the ledge of the doorway, innocently secure in his faith in mankind and in the Glass House’s night watchmen. She could go in there and hide for a while. Long enough to regain control of her stupid emotions, her hammering heart, her ridiculous panic. Besides, Gina Petronelli was a coffee snob. There was an espresso machine that was kept in perfect running order. A cup of coffee and a few minutes of peace were all that Laura needed to regain her equilibrium.
Unfortunately the Petronellis’ office was on the east side of the building. She had a perfect view of the ugly pit of the excavation beside her, the squat, malevolent shapes of the bulldozers shrouded in moonlight. She could make out at least two figures moving around—the Whirlwind had decided to lock the barn door after the horse was stolen. Beefed-up security wouldn’t help him, Laura thought, sipping her espresso. She’d simply have to go at him from another angle. That is, if she was able to deal with the threat that had crept up behind her.
The blackmail letter had been short and succinct.
If you don’t want Dubrovnik to see the Williams Engineering Company’s report on the Glass House, you will have ten thousand dollars in small, unmarked bills ready for me. Instructions will follow.
Hell and damnation. That report was locked up tight in her private file—no one, not even Susan, had access to what lay in there. Not that she’d suspect Susan, even for a minute. She’d as soon suspect her mother.
As a matter of fact, her mother was a likely suspect. Jilly never had enough money, and she certainly had no qualms about going through her daughter’s belongings.
But Jilly wouldn’t have been naive enough to ask for a measly ten thousand dollars. She knew that her daughter could liquidate any number of holdings in fairly short order, up to and including the Glass House. The sale of that building would have suited Jilly just fine, and ethical considerations wouldn’t have slowed her down for even a second. Jilly wouldn’t ask for ten thousand dollars, any more than she’d ask for cab fare. She always played in the major leagues.
Then who was it? It couldn’t be Michael—he had nothing to gain. Once he got his hands on that damning report, it would be all over. The building would be closed as a safety hazard until the stress points could be evaluated, she’d be fined for covering it up, and she’d have to surrender.
She knew one person who needed money quite desperately, and who had unlimited access to her office. She didn’t even like to consider it, and Susan would kill her if she knew what she was thinking, but Frank Buckley was the only likely suspect she could come up with. He was desperate for money, his career had dried up in front of him, and he knew better than anyone about the locked file in her office.
But ten thousand dollars seemed puny, even for Frank. And while she didn’t pride herself on being a particularly good judge of character, she couldn’t really believe that Frank would do that to her. To Glass Faces, and to Susan.
She wasn’t going to pay ten thousand dollars to an anonymous bully. She was going to stall, stall like crazy, until she could figure out who was behind this. If worse came to worst she could always hock Grandma’s emeralds, though she would hate to do it. Her grandmother had loved the Glass House, despite its history. She wouldn’t have minded her jewels being sacrificed in its defense.
All Laura could do was wait and see.
Too much had happened today, and she was desperately tired, vulnerable beyond belief. All she wanted was to go and hide in her own apartment, to be alone.
She could hear the elevators in the vast stillness of the almost empty building. She didn’t know who was using them—her own security, what there was of it, took the stairs. She had no guarantees that Jeff had done the decent thing and taken his leave, sparing her the embarrassment of ever facing him again.
Life wasn’t usually that kind or convenient. And she couldn’t spend much more time in the Petronellis’ office, swilling espresso. She was wired enough as it was. She needed her own apartment, her own view, high up, looking over the lights of the city. She needed peace, for just a few short hours. Though she suspected that her thoughts would refuse her that peace.
Leaving a note for Gina, she switched off the silver espresso machine, filling her cup and taking it with her as she started back up the stairs. Her stockinged feet were silent, and six flights later she wasn’t even winded. She seldom bothered with health clubs—her stairs gave her workout enough.
She passed Dubrovnik’s floors with her face averted. She knew where Michael was. In Marita’s bed, most likely, Laura Winston and the Glass House miles from his consciousness. With luck he’d be so bemused by Marita’s charms that he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on his pet project.
Jilly had always called her the Mayflower Madame, unable to differentiate between pandering and finding jobs for models. Right now she felt more like a madame and less like a businesswoman. And she couldn’t help but feel like a woman who’d stabbed herself in the back.
A neat trick, she thought with a wry smile. Only a contortionist could manage such a thing. Please, God, make Jeff have left already. Please let my apartment be empty.
He answered the second part of her prayer. Her apartment had to be empty, because coming down the stairs front her apartment on the floor above was a decisive pair of male legs.
