Insatiable (21 page)

5:00
P.M
. EST, Friday, April 16
910 Park Avenue
New York, New York

M
eena, after carefully scoping out the lobby of her building, realized it was countess-free and made a dash for the elevator.

She couldn’t believe it. She had actually made it past the doorman—
not
Pradip, thankfully, as he wasn’t on duty—and to the elevator without running into her neighbor. This week had been such a roller coaster—plummeting from best to worst to best again—that she wasn’t quite sure what to expect from moment to moment. Right now, she appeared to be on another upswing.

Except that, just as the elevator doors were about to shut, a too-familiar, heavily diamond-ringed hand appeared to keep them from closing all the way.

And then Meena heard Mary Lou’s southern-accented voice cry, “Yoo-hoo! Meena?”

The door opened to reveal the countess standing there, looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, wearing a peach-colored suit with a matching picture hat and holding several armfuls of shopping bags from Bergdorf Goodman.

“Oh,” Meena said. She could hardly hide her disappointment. She was glad she’d cinched her trench coat so tightly. Maybe Mary Lou wouldn’t notice she was still wearing last night’s little black dress. “Hi, Mary Lou.”

“Well, look at you,” Mary Lou cried. “Aren’t you looking rosy cheeked and pretty as a picture? You know, I was just thinking about you. I saw your brother Jon leaving earlier and asked how you were and he said he didn’t know, that he hadn’t seen you yet today.”

Meena made a mental note to kill Jon when he got home from BAO with Jack Bauer. “Oh, uh…,” she said intelligently. She wished the elevator floor would drop open and allow both of them to plummet to their deaths.

No such luck, however. The door closed, and they began the long ascent to the eleventh floor.

“So you liked the prince?” Mary Lou asked completely unnecessarily.

Meena would have thought it was obvious she liked him since she’d clearly spent the night with him. “Oh,” she said, giving up. What was the point? She was in love with Lucien Antonescu. The whole world was going to find out soon enough if they kept seeing each other. “I liked him, all right.”
Did that sound too needy?

“I’m so glad,” Mary Lou said, beaming. “I knew you would. Isn’t he good looking? And nice. I just think he’s so
nice
.”

Then Mary Lou, of all people, looked worried that
she’d
said the wrong thing. “But not too nice, you know?” Mary Lou added. “I mean, he’s no pushover. I’ve seen him do things—well, they’d make your hair curl, let me tell you.”

Meena raised her eyebrows. She had no idea what the countess could be talking about.

“Oh, never mind me. Emil says I have a tendency to run my mouth. I just meant Lucien is a real man’s man, if you know what I mean.”

Meena knew exactly what she meant. She had the chafing to prove it.

Meena realized this little girl-talk might be a good opportunity to learn a thing or two about the prince. They had only six floors left though, so she figured she’d better hurry it up.

“I thought there was a little something…melancholic about him,” Meena said.

“Melancholic?” Mary Lou looked as if she wasn’t sure what the word meant.

“Yeah,” Meena said. She knew she had to tread carefully. She didn’t want to say anything that might send the countess yapping to Lucien, saying Meena had been talking about him behind his back. She needed to be subtle. But not too subtle. God, she’d forgotten how hard it was to be in love! “Like something might have happened to him…maybe in his childhood…that might have made him sad?”

“Oh,” Mary Lou said, rising to the bait like a champ. “You bet. His dad was a real monster. But his mother! Couldn’t have asked for a lovelier woman. A living saint. I never met them, mind you; they passed away before my time. This is just what Emil told me. But anyway, yes, his father—”

“Did he used to beat him?” Meena asked, dropping her voice even though they were alone on the elevator.

“Yes,” Mary Lou whispered back. “From what I hear.”

Meena’s heart wrenched for Lucien as she recalled his expression in the museum as they’d stood looking at the portrait of Vlad Tepes. What did it mean, she wondered, that he was so interested in a national hero who’d treated his sons the way Lucien’s own father had apparently treated him?

And no wonder he hated the show
24.
It must have brought back horrible childhood memories.

The poor man! It was amazing how far he’d come in the world since his obviously traumatic beginnings.

“So what do you two have planned for tonight?” Mary Lou wanted to know. “Don’t tell me he hasn’t asked you. It’s Friday night!”

Meena felt herself blushing. She really was going to have to get over this blushing thing where the prince was concerned if they were going to be an item, at least for however long he was in town. “We’re going to the symphony,” she said.

“The Philharmonic?” Mary Lou shrieked. “Oh, how great! I got him those seats, you know. I mean, they’ve been sold out for months. But I know someone who knows someone. I’m so glad you’re going with him; it will be good for you both. You two have so much in common, you don’t even know. You both work way too hard. And you both need to
relax
a little, take some time off to actually enjoy life. That’s why I thought you’d be such a good couple. Now,” Mary Lou said as the
elevator reached the eleventh floor and the doors opened, “you have to borrow this vintage Givenchy of mine for tonight; it will look like a knockout on you. I know I’m a little bit bigger than you, but I didn’t used to be, believe it or not.”

Meena opened her mouth to protest that she didn’t need to borrow anything to wear, but Mary Lou wouldn’t hear of it. There was no putting her off. She dragged Meena into her apartment and then her walk-in closet (which was as large as Meena’s bedroom) and dithered around in there until she found the dress she was looking for—an admittedly gorgeous vintage Givenchy cocktail dress, covered all over in hand-sewn ebony crystals that caught the light and shimmered like black diamonds.

“You’ll need to wear a slip with it,” Mary Lou said critically, holding the dress up to the lights that shone above the mirror of her built-in dressing table. “I forgot how sheer it is. Do you have a slip?”

At the sight of the gorgeous dress, Meena forgot all her protests. She was going to look fantastic in it. Even if she knew Lucien was going to be more interested in how she looked out of it.

“I do,” she said. She had a black slip she’d bought to wear beneath the dress she’d worn as Leisha’s maid of honor.

She didn’t know what was happening to her. She was turning as girly as a teenager getting ready for her junior prom. She had never spent this much time discussing clothes.

Love. It had to be love.

“Don’t worry about hurrying to return it,” Mary Lou said, walking Meena to the front door. “Keep it as long as you want. I’m glad someone’s finally getting to enjoy it after all these years. You know, I don’t think I’ve worn that thing since the sixties.”

Meena laughed. “You mean when you were a fetus?”

“Wait, did I say since the sixties?” Mary Lou laid a beringed hand on her chest and laughed. “I meant it was
made
in the sixties. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Thanks, Mary Lou,” Meena said. She really did feel grateful to the older woman. Some of the antipathy she’d harbored lately toward her was starting to ebb away. “And thanks for introducing me to Lucien. He really is…well, what you said. Very nice.”

This was the understatement of the decade.

“Oh, hon,” Mary Lou said, leaning down to kiss Meena on the cheek. Meena caught a strong whiff of the countess’s perfume. “I’m so happy for you. You don’t even know. I just knew it would all work out between you two the minute I saw your eyes meet across the room last night. It was almost like you’d met before or something.”

Meena swallowed back her almost instinctual
Oh, but we had
. “Thank you, Mary Lou,” she said again, the dress tucked over her arm. “I…just thanks.”

She had to flee across the hallway before the sudden pricking of tears she felt at the corners of her eyes overflowed. What was the matter with her? She was never this emotional about anything. Well, except what was going on with Leisha and the baby. And her job, of course.

Oh, God, her job. She had to sit down and get to work on her proposal for the Romanian vampire-hunting prince who was going to kill Shoshona’s vampire and end up as Cheryl’s love interest. If she didn’t finish it by Monday, she knew there’d be no hope of the story line ever being accepted. Once Maximillian Cabrera won over viewers’ hearts, she’d never be able to convince Fran and Stan—let alone the network and CDI, which was obviously investing a lot into this whole vampire thing—to kill him off.

What was it about Stefan Dominic that rubbed her the wrong way? The moment she’d seen him standing there by the elevators Meena had known—just known—that she’d seen him before.

And not, as Shoshona had suggested, out with Shoshona.

No, Meena knew Stefan Dominic from somewhere else.

And not somewhere good.

Unlocking her door, Meena let herself into her apartment, which was mercifully empty. Jon was still out fetching Jack Bauer. Meena almost sagged with relief to be alone, at least for a little while. Hanging her bag and coat on the hooks by the door and throwing her keys into the tray she kept on the table, she went to place Mary Lou’s dress carefully in her closet.

Then she changed into her “writing clothes” (a pair of leggings and one of Jon’s old sweatshirts), grabbed her laptop, pushed up her sleeves, and curled up in her favorite comfy armchair to work.

And just sat there, staring at the empty screen.

How was she supposed to work when all she could think about was Lucien?

She’d have thought this would have helped her creative process, since she was writing about him. At least in theory.

But instead of writing, she could only sit there and remember the possessiveness with which Lucien had snatched her up and kissed her the night before…the way he’d seemed almost to devour her, even his dark-eyed gaze consuming her every time he’d looked down at her before kissing her, again and again…the taste of wine on his lips.

And then she’d recall the paths those strangely cool lips had traced across her skin as he’d dragged his mouth from her high round breasts, to her rib cage, to the soft curve of her belly; the way his hands had molded and pressed and squeezed her skin, silently demanding things she was more than willing to give because he, in turn, was so giving; the way he’d cradled her against him afterward, as if he’d been afraid she might slip away from him in the night.

How could she think about anything else? Her skin still felt singed in all the places he’d touched it.

She was kidding herself if she thought she was going to get any writing done. She Googled him instead and read about the books he’d written (she’d have ordered the books, but they were all in Romanian). She was still reading about him when she noticed the time, swore, and jumped up, rushing to the bedroom. She had to start getting ready if she was going to look absolutely stunning and still get to the Upper West Side in time to meet him.

She was adding a last layer of lipstick when the door opened and Jon came in with Jack Bauer.

“Why are you so dressed up?” he asked, leaning down to let the dog off his leash.

“My date with Lucien,” she said. “Remember?”

“Oh, right,” he said.

The dog ran up to Meena excitedly, ready to throw himself against her knees. She jumped up onto the couch, not wanting her pantyhose ruined.

“No,” she said, firmly. “
Down.
”

Jack Bauer looked confused and disappointed.

“Jon, can you feed him or something?” she asked him. “He’s—”

It was right then that the buzzer to the apartment’s intercom sounded, startling Meena half out of her skin. She leapt off the couch and reached for the receiver.

“Yes?” she asked.

“Hey, Miss Harper,” Roger, the day doorman, said. Pradip still hadn’t come on duty. “Delivery for you.”

Meena, bewildered, said, “I didn’t order anything.” She looked at Jon. “Did you order something?”

He shrugged. “Like what? I just got here.”

“We didn’t order anything,” Meena said into the receiver.

“You didn’t?” Roger sounded as bewildered as she did. “It’s a messenger. With a big box from Bergdorf Goodman.”

“Oh,” Meena said. Maybe something Mary Lou had ordered, mistakenly addressed to her apartment instead. “Well, send him up, I guess.”

“Will do, Miss Harper,” Roger said, and hung up.

“What did you order from Bergdorf Goodman?” Jon asked after Meena, too, had hung up. “I thought we were broke.”

“
We
are,” Meena said, going to her purse for a tip for the delivery guy. “And I didn’t order anything.”

“Then where’d you get that dress?” Jon asked. “I never saw it before.”

“Mary Lou lent it to me,” Meena muttered.

“What was that?”

“Mary Lou loaned it to me,” Meena said more loudly.

Jon hooted. “Wow,” he said. “Aren’t you two chummy? What are you gals going to be doing next? Going for mani-pedis together? Tea at the Plaza?”

“Shut up,” Meena said. “She’s not so bad.”

“Well, this is a change of pace,” Jon said. “Lately you’ve been going out of your way to avoid her. I guess a roll in the sack with a prince gives you a whole different outlook on life, huh? Suddenly your snooty neighbors with the summer castle aren’t so bad after all.”

“Seriously,” Meena said, going to the door to unlock it. “Shut up.”

“How much you think that thing set her back? Three grand?”

“No,” Meena said. “It’s vintage. From the sixties.”

“Well,” Jon said, “it does look good on you. I’m not kidding. Lucien is going to pass out when he sees you. You look like a princess.”

Meena beamed. Her brother rarely paid her compliments on her looks, so this one meant a lot.