His Golden Heart (6 page)

Beau covered the mouthpiece. “Chandra is no longer my fiancée,” he said with finality.

“Could have fooled me.” Shayna guffawed. “That hasn’t sunk in apparently. I’ve been reading up on you. Your engagement was front-page news. You were America’s most high-profile couple.”

“What’s my personal life have to do with you?”

“Everything about you is now my business. You made it my business when you hired me. You’d be surprised how much it can affect one’s progress. You’ve become my pet project.”

Beau harrumphed. “I’m no one’s pet, princess. Like I told you before, things are on hold between Chandra and me. Our engagement is temporarily off.”

“Then why is she hunting you down?” Shayna challenged, her skepticism showing.

“Because we’re still friends.”

“Right. You’re single, just not available.” Her laughter was a throaty sound. It mocked him. He had the sudden urge to kiss her and shut her up at the same time.

“Don’t even go there,” Beau snapped, turning away to speak into the phone.

Chapter Five

Milan was Milan. What could Chandra say? The city was upscale, glamorous, thriving, much like her. She was the center of attention here. She was wined, dined, and admired by the glitterati, though not necessarily in that order. All that was lacking was a man.

Even as a child Chandra had believed she was special. She’d convinced herself that a case of mistaken identity had left her one of seven siblings. The poor farmhands that called themselves parents were caregivers, she’d decided. She’d been aware of her unusual looks when at the tender age of twelve she’d successfully seduced the farmer’s son. The teenager had been blond haired, blue eyed, and eighteen, and had somehow managed to forget that she was jailbait.

Their torrid affair had lasted a full two years until she’d met Elan. He was a scout for the Ford Modeling agency and she’d met him at a concert. He’d spotted her and literally stood there and gaped. It was she who’d approached him, knowing the effect she had on men, knowing that before the evening ended, he’d be eating out of her hand. They’d had a whirlwind courtship and despite her parents’ protests she’d gone with him to New York. There she’d become an expert at turning her exotic good looks into big bucks. After Elan had been Drew and a host of others. She’d kept using every bit of ammunition to get her way. Now seven years later she was a household name, her face gracing some of the more upscale magazine covers. Anyone who didn’t know who she was had to be born under a rock. They needed an education.

Chandra Leon planned on taking the world by storm. She planned on being bigger than Tyra, Iman, or Naomi. Poor Beau, useful as he had been or might still be, providing he regained use of his legs, wasn’t to be considered. What was she going to do about him?

Chandra looked up from the book she was signing and flashed her cover-girl smile her fan’s way. “Your name?” she asked the pretty Italian girl outfitted in Versace.

“Anna Maria. Please write something nice.”

Chandra graced her with another phony smile and hastily scribbled
Stay Beautiful, Anna Maria.

At the same time she spotted an elegant man in an expensive suit. Chandra tossed her full head of hair and turned the wattage up. He was an important man, she sensed. Not only important but monied. Somebody. The cut of that suit, the way he held himself, the entire package appealed to her. The brief eye contact they shared had communicated interest. He’d reacted, his color heightening, the light in his eyes signaling she turned him on. Time to pounce before someone else did.

Chandra turned her attention back to the book signing. It was a Bellissima-sponsored event and had been set up in the fragrance and cosmetic department of one of the swankier stores. A nice-sized crowd lured by free fragrance samples and her name, of course—Chandra preferred to think it was her name—had turned out to stand on a line that wrapped twice around the floor. Already she’d sold more than a hundred copies of
Chandra’s Kind of Beauty
. She could sell more.

“How are you?” Chandra asked, turning her attention to the next person in line and accepting the book the middle-aged woman proffered. She threw the mystery man another smile, mindful that there were only three women between them. The man’s arms were loaded with books. Her books. Chandra wondered if he planned on giving copies to all of the women in his life. She cast him her seductive smile and he held her gaze. She completed her business with the three women quickly and faced Romeo, upping the wattage on her smile and twirling a lock of store bought hair. “That’s quite the pile you have,” she said by way of greeting.

“So I’ve been told.”

The voice was accented. Italian. He was about as brazen as they came.

“I’m not here to talk about books, bella,” he continued. “You are a delight to look at. Bee-au-tiful. Perfect”

His liquid gaze and that heavily accented voice were a tum-on. She smelled the testosterone coming off him. No question, she wanted to jump his bones. Chastity was for the birds.

Chandra’s new acquaintance set the entire pile of books down in front of her, and placed his palms on the table, leaning in. He smelled of an expensive and erotic fragrance. Familiar yet foreign. Walking, talking sex.

“Shall I autograph those for you?” Chandra asked, enjoying the way his eyes caressed her as they shared secret looks. Looks that clearly said he wanted her. She counted at least a dozen books in his hand, translating the amount from Euro into US dollars, and silently whistled. You had to be well heeled to spend $600 on books.

“My name is Franco Santana,” he said, presenting a well-tended hand that was obviously used to manicure.
Santana.
She’d heard that name before. It clicked. She’d hit the jackpot.

“Franco, how manly. What does it mean?”

“In Eeeenglish it’s Frank. It means Frenchman.”

“But you’re not?” With slightly parted lips she looked to him for further explanation.

“I am as Italian as they come,” he said. “I am also heir to the Bell-eee-see-ma fortune. But I can tell you more about that over dinner.”

A flash of white teeth indicated he was certain her answer would be favorable.

She did not disappoint him. “What time will you be picking me up?”

“My man will come for you in a black limousine. We will be dining at my vee-lla.”

He took a Mont Blanc pen from his inner pocket, scribbled a note on a piece of paper, and turned it over. “My address.”

Chandra quickly scanned the note. Address? A likely story. He’d written:

Dress comfortably. Don’t make it difficult for me. Tonight we start something new.

Chandra eyed him ruefully. Darn sure of himself, wasn’t he? Beau Hill was now a thing of her past. Franco Santana was her man. He could do something for her. Boy, could he do something for her.

* * *

“You’ve missed your curfew and tomorrow’s a school day,” Shayna said, as Reggie slunk in. “You’re grounded.”

Reggie hung his leather jacket on the coatrack and muttered, “Sorry, something came up.”

“Sorry isn’t good enough,” Shayna said, getting in his face and blocking his progress. She waved a hand, fanning her nose. “Wheeew. You’ve been drinking.”

“Have not.”

Shayna grabbed a fistful of Reggie’s designer shirt. “Don’t lie to me. I can smell the beer on your breath. You’re seventeen. You have no business drinking.”

“Come on, sis, give it a rest.” Reggie yawned, clearly bored. He tried to get around her but she hung firmly on to his shirt. What did it take to get through to him?

He was an all-right kid. He just didn’t exercise good judgment and was easily led. Lately he’d started hanging with the wrong crowd.

Shayna tried another tact. “Look, you’ve got a court case pending. Till then it’s important you keep your nose clean. I can’t have you wandering the town, in and out of bars, involved in another scrape. I don’t want my brother in jail.”

“Come on, Shayna, you know I was set up. I’d never break in to someone’s place and steal their stuff. I’d never hurt anyone. My lawyer believes me, why can’t you? He says I probably wouldn’t even have to do time. Maybe some community service but I have no past criminal record.”

“He was making you feel good. We’re all worried. You aren’t exactly squeaky clean. There was the time you got caught red-handed with Mrs. Lewis’s purse…”

“That was a prank. I didn’t steal the old lady’s money. I gave it back to her. Can I go to bed? I’m exhausted.” He belched loudly.

Shayna sighed. What was the use in reasoning with him? Her parents had all but given up, washed their hands of Reggie. His antics had made them prematurely gray. They’d been delighted when she’d moved to Denver and taken him with her.

“Fine,” Shayna said, moving aside. “But you’ll be up at six. The bus arrives promptly at seven. You’ll want breakfast and I want you on that bus.” She hoped to God he wasn’t cutting school, that he would graduate and go on to college.

“Yeah, yeah. Right.” Brushing her aside, he raced up the stairs of the rented condominium and headed for his room.

Shayna plopped down on the chocolate leather couch that had been the first piece of furniture she’d bought since moving to Denver. She rested her feet on the antique chest serving as both coffee table and storage. What was she to do with Reggie? Teenagers came with their own set of issues, and Reggie’s were no different. Her job, energy draining as it was, required compassion and patience. Playing parent to Reggie on top of that was wearing her down.

She debated turning on the television, then decided against it, opting instead to light an aroma therapy candle. She picked up the scanned newspaper articles she’d brought home from the library, and began to peruse them.

The soothing scent of eucalyptus relaxed her, and she slowly began to focus. She’d read everything she could about Beau Hill. His accident still didn’t make sense. Why had the man become an obsession? Some might even call him a worthy or unworthy pastime. She continued to read about Beau’s many accomplishments, the charities he’d donated to, his involvement in the community, and began to get a very different picture of the athlete. Would the real Beau Hill emerge eventually? How could she reach him?

Shayna had heard from others, and now the newspapers confirmed, Beau had been an all-around nice guy. A down-to-earth type, friendly and open. He’d been referred to as charming. That description certainly didn’t fit the man she knew. Beau was belligerent, cantankerous, and determined to make the staff’s life hell.

Shayna visualized that rare smile she’d been the beneficiary of. Could anyone who looked as good as Beau be all bad? She read on. Beau had been one of the more popular athletes, a certainty to bring home Olympic gold. An experienced skier, completely at home on the slopes. He’d been a shoo-in to win the downhill. Yet one fluke accident, a faulty binding or something like that, the papers speculated, had caused him to topple.

Some reporters had alluded to sabotage. Many speculated that an envious teammate, or one of his competitors, might have tampered with his bindings. Some even fingered the winner of the downhill, a German man, allegedly a bigot, as the responsible party. That was as far as it had gone. There had been no formal investigation. No one named with certainty.

Shayna rose to the challenge. She had a certain responsibility to put Beau back together mentally and physically. From experience she knew his healing could only come if he let go of his anger and focused on walking again. She’d hoped he’d read
Turning Hurts Into Halos
, knowing that would help.

The ringing phone got her attention. Who would be calling this late? She reached for the receiver and said somewhat impatiently, “Hello.”

“Hi, honey, how are you doing?”

Her mother on the other end, thank God. Shayna cradled the receiver between chin and shoulder and made herself more comfortable on the couch. “Hi, Mom. I’m doing okay. Just tired. Reggie’s wearing me out.”

“That boy needs discipline. I told you we should have sent him to military school. Can we talk about something else for a minute? Have you met anyone in Denver?”

It was an old question, one her mother continued to ask. She’d been disappointed when Shayna broke up with Michael. Little did she know the scum had cheated on her.

“I’ve told you I’m not looking for a relationship, Ma. I’m putting all of my efforts into my career.”

“Oh, come now, every woman’s looking for a relationship. If you’re open to it, the right one will come along. You’re in a new city, forget about Michael and move on.”

Shayna had dated Michael for two plus years. He’d been someone she thought she loved and might still love. Except Michael hadn’t been ready to commit. She’d found out she was one in a series of women he’d led on. Armed with that knowledge Shayna had tossed him to the curb. Moving to Denver was supposed to help put him behind her.

“Michael’s my past, Mom,” she said, with some finality. “As I mentioned before, I’m focusing on work. Want to hear about my new patient? He’s a challenge.”

“You’ve always liked a challenge,” Kara DaCosta answered. “I remember you at age three, eyes glued to the television, imitating everything those gymnasts did. You’d tumble. Do back flips. Scared us to death. We decided to enroll you in gymnastics school. You just loved it and we knew you were special.”