Lethal Seduction (15 page)

“Of course.”

“Good,” Jamie said. “But that doesn't mean you get out of meeting Peter's friend.”

“I'm not doing it.”

“We'll see,” Jamie said, smiling mysteriously.

“No, we
won't
see.”

“Peter says you'll like him a lot.”

“Peter doesn't know my taste.”

“What
is
your taste? It's been so long I've forgotten.”

“Hmm . . .” Madison said thoughtfully. “Someone strong and truthful—oh yes, and definitely faithful. And he has to have a finely tuned sense of humor plus a great butt!”

“Sounds
exactly
like Peter's friend,” Jamie said, grinning.

“Bullshit!”

“How do
you
know that he hasn't got a great butt?”

They both began to giggle.

“This reminds me of when we were in college,” Madison said. “The mainstream of our conversation was—”

“—guys, guys, guys,” Jamie chimed in.

“Yeah, well we didn't do too badly, did we? They were lining up outside
your
door.”

“And they would've been lining up outside
yours
if you'd let 'em,” Jamie said.

“No, I scored the nerds,” Madison said, grimacing. “I was The Brain, remember?”

“You also scored a few professors. I seem to recall a certain hunk who taught art history—did he have the hots for you!”

Madison smiled reflectively. “He seemed so old to us then, didn't he?”

“He was.”

“The man was forty,” Madison exclaimed, shaking her head. “Which reminds me—I'm going to be thirty in a few weeks.”

“I'm not far behind you,” Jamie remarked gloomily. “Old, isn't it?”

“Not really,” Madison said. “Thirty's old when you're twenty. When you're thirty, forty is old. And I guess when you're forty,
fifty
is old—and so on.”

“It sure beats the alternative,” Jamie said cheerfully.

“You got it,” Madison agreed.

“So,” Jamie said. “Are we on for dinner?”

“Don't
do
this to me,” Madison groaned.

“Why? You'll have a great time.”

“Says who?”

“Me.”

“Ha!”

“Tell you what,” Jamie said. “Meet this guy, and I'll do the condom thing for you. How's that for a deal?”

“Hey, let's get this straight—you're not doing the condom thing for
me,
you're doing it for yourself.”

“That's true, but—”

“Okay, I'll come to dinner, I'll meet the great guy with the perfect butt, and we'll get married and have six wonderful children. Does that make you happy?”

“Stranger things have happened.”

“Sure!”

They returned to the table still laughing.

“What do you women
do
in there?” Peter complained. “You've been an hour.”

“We have not,” Jamie said, playfully punching him on the chin. “If you must know—we were talking about
you.”

“Good choice,” Peter said. “I'll be the first to admit that I'm a fascinating subject.”

“You certainly are,” Jamie said. “And you
love
it when you know you're being discussed.” She nuzzled in next to him, giving him a long, intimate kiss on his earlobe.

“I find these public displays of affection quite sickening,” Anton complained.

“I know,” Madison agreed. “You'd think they'd have something better to do with their time.”

“We do,” Peter said with a dirty laugh. “That's why I'm calling for the check.”

•

Back at her apartment, Madison could hear the phone ringing as she unlocked her door. She burst inside the exact moment her machine picked up. Slammer jumped all over her as she grabbed the receiver. “Hi,” she said breathlessly, thinking it might be Michael, or maybe Kimm with some information.

“Gotcha!” Jake Sica said. “I was about to hang up.”

She recognized his voice immediately. “How are you?” she said, happy he'd called again. “I got your message the other day. I would've phoned back, only you didn't leave a number.”

“That's because for the last few months I haven't
had
a number,” he explained. “I've been roaming across America.”

“Sounds elusive.”

“You know how it is. I had to kind of . . . find myself.”

“I know
exactly
how it is.” A beat. “Actually, I'm going through something difficult myself at the moment.”

“Difficult?”

“Nothing to be discussed on the phone,” she said, deciding now was definitely not the time to burden him with her problems.

“In that case I'd better take you to dinner or lunch or tea or breakfast. I'm in your city now. What are you up for?”

Would it be too forward to say she was up for all of those things? “Let's make it dinner,” she said. “I'm free tomorrow night.”

“So am I. Haven't made any other plans.”

“I'm glad.”

“Hey,” he said. “It's really good to hear your voice again.”

“You too,” she said softly, feeling ridiculously pleased to hear from him.

“Where shall we go? Your choice, 'cause I'm not familiar with New York.”

“Do you like Chinese?” she asked, thinking of the restaurant she'd eaten at earlier.

“My favorite.”

“I'll give you my address, and you can pick me up.”

“Sounds good.”

“Where are you staying?”

“Some fleabag hotel near Times Square. You know me—not into the fancy stuff.”

“What's the number? In case I break a leg or something.”

“You're not planning to, are you?”

“No.”

“Glad to hear it,” he said, clearing his throat. “Hey—I just had a thought.”

“Is that unusual?” she teased.

“How about—naw—” he said, stopping himself short. “You wouldn't want to do that.”

“Do what?” she asked, a touch too quickly.

“You must've only just come home, so you've got to be dressed—right?”

“Oh, please,” she said. “You're not about to ask me what I'm wearing, are you?”

“No,” he said, laughing. “I was thinking, how about if we go out somewhere
now
and have a drink?”

“Now?” she repeated, sounding like an idiot.

“That's what I said.”

Well, uh . . . yeah, why not?
she thought.

“Well, uh . . . yeah, why not?” she said.

“Great. I'll come by and get you.”

She gave him her address and hung up feeling inexplicably flustered. This was crazy, she hardly knew the guy, and yet her
heart was pounding. She must really be starved for decent male company.

Racing into the bathroom, she stopped and took a critical look in the mirror. She had on a white shirt, black jeans and a short black jacket. Jamie was always urging her to be a little more playful with her makeup, so with Jamie's words in mind, she grabbed a brush and added gloss to her full lips. Then she applied more mascara and loosened her pulled-back hair. She'd always wished for long, straight hair, instead of which it was wild and curly. But tonight she had to admit it looked good as she fluffed it out with her fingers.

Slammer gazed up at her expectantly, as if to say, “So? Are we hitting the streets or
what?”

She buzzed down to Calvin, the doorman. “Can you walk my dog?” she asked.

“Sure, Miss Castelli,” Calvin said. “Anything for my favorite tenant.”

He had a mild crush, which came in useful when she needed anything.

“Thanks,” she said, then nervously rushed back to the bathroom mirror.

Hmmm . . . don't like the white shirt—too severe,
she thought, grabbing a red cashmere tank from her closet. She put it on. It looked sexy.

Do I want to look sexy?

Hell, yes.

Calvin rang her buzzer. He was a short, round-faced man with bright ginger hair and startled eyebrows. She handed over Slammer, who did not seem pleased. “You look nice, Miss Castelli,” Calvin ventured, giving her a quick once-over. “Like your hair.”

“Thanks,” she said, practically closing the door in his face.

Scent. She should put on some scent. A quick squirt of Jo Malone's Grapefruit. It used to drive David crazy.
Not crazy enough to stay,
she thought dourly.

His loss. Yes, definitely.

David should have realized that nobody would love him the
way she had. Because when she loved, she was totally loyal, and that wasn't easy to come by in a relationship.

The red tank looked great, emphasizing her bosom and narrow waist. She added some gold hoop earrings, realizing she hadn't felt this good in a long time. In fact, she hadn't made this much of an effort in a long time.

The downstairs buzzer rang. “Yes, Calvin?” she said into the house phone.

“There's a gentleman here for you, miss,” he said, not sounding very happy about it.

“Tell him I'll be right down.”

Jake must have been phoning her from around the corner, because it couldn't have been more than ten minutes since they'd spoken. She took one last look in the mirror, grabbed her purse and hurried out of the apartment.

The elevator seemed to take forever to reach the lobby. She stood totally still, attempting to compose herself. “Hi, Jake,” she'd say. “How nice to see you again. Oh, and by the way—how's that uh . . . delightful call girl you were lusting after?”

No, no, no—mustn't sound bitchy! Be cool. Be nice.
“Hi, Jake, great to see you again.”

Yes. That's it. Cool and friendly.

The elevator doors opened. He had his back to her. He was bending over, playing with Slammer.

How nice, he likes dogs.

She walked over, casually tapping him on the shoulder. “Hi there, stranger,” she said.

He stood up and turned around.

It was David.

C
HAS
V
INCENT SOMETIMES WISHED
that he'd had a son. How come he'd gotten stuck with two daughters? The good seed and the bad seed. He loved them both, but Rosarita was definitely one big pain in the ass. Maybe it was all that hot Mexican sunshine when she was conceived.

Venice, on the other hand, was an angel, and so were her kids. Not that he saw much of them, but when he did, it pleased him to know that they were carrying on the Vincent bloodline, something that was important to him.

Chas Vincent had led a rip-roaring life, and he let no one forget it. He was ruler of his own particular roost. He had enemies, he had friends, but he sure was no killer, which Rosarita seemed to think he was. She was insane and deluded. How could she imagine he was capable of having a man whacked? Especially his own son-in-law.

Rosarita was in dire need of a shrink. And the sooner the better. He'd pay for it. He paid for everything else, why not a shrink for his crazy daughter too?

It occurred to him that maybe he should talk to Dexter, warn him.

Naw! Nobody would believe that Rosarita would go to her
own father to try and have her husband taken care of simply because the putz wouldn't cooperate on a divorce. No fuckin' way!

Varoomba was in the bathroom, doing whatever she did in there before she spent the night. She'd become a fixture ever since the family dinner. Having her around suited him for now, he'd even contemplated telling her to give up her job at the club and move in for a while. The trouble with that was the moment they moved in it was a bitch getting rid of 'em. And he didn't need that headache again.

His other thought was that he'd pay the rent on her apartment, that way she could stay over when he wanted her to, and go home when he'd had enough.

Varoomba emerged from the bathroom, wearing the best Victoria's Secret had to offer. He got off on sexy lingerie, a fact she was well aware of.

“Lookin' hot, baby,” he remarked, lowering the volume on the TV.

“Thanks, Daddy,” she cooed.

Daddy!
This was a new one. He wasn't sure he liked it.

“Don't call me that,” he said abruptly.

“Okay,” she said, absentmindedly pinching her left nipple. “But you told me yourself I'm younger than your two daughters. So, in a way, you could
be
my daddy.” She giggled coyly. “My
sugar
daddy!”

Those words were enough to reduce his hard-on to nothing.

Why couldn't women learn to keep their dumb mouths shut?

•

Rosarita swept into the reception area of Joel's office as if she owned the place. The same black girl was sitting behind the desk, filing those same atrocious green nails.

“Remember me?” Rosarita snapped.

“No,” Jewel said, surly as ever.

“Tell Mr. Blaine I'm here. The name is Rosarita.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jewel said, snickering. “Rosarita. Kind of an off-the-wall name for a non-Mexicana, huh?”

“What?” Rosarita said, outraged.

“You heard,” Jewel replied insolently, secure that Joel would never fire her; she knew too much.

Rosarita tapped her stiletto-heeled Gucci shoe impatiently on the marble floor. She'd had enough of this rude girl's shit. Why had she forgotten to tell Joel to get rid of this cretin?

Ignoring the girl, she strode past her toward Joel's office.

“Wait a minute,” Jewel said, scrambling out from behind her desk and chasing after her. “You can't do that.”

“Try and stop me,” Rosarita said, flinging open his door.

Joel was standing in front of his desk, jerking off, large member in hand for all to see.