Playing Dirty (20 page)

So he took more care with women’s feelings these days. But he’d sure never fancied himself in love.

And yet…

He felt…happy…around Ava. When he could make her flash those dimples or—even better—laugh, something inside of him just lit up. She had a way about her, as if the simplest little thing delighted her, and a kindness that nurtured. He’d never known anyone like her.

He looked at her and wished he had some artistic ability, because that coloring, that body, deserved to be commemorated.

And it wasn’t simply that she had pretty breasts or a stunning ass. The other night, he’d spent a solid ten minutes caught up in admiration of the taut, satin sheen of the skin covering her damn collarbones.

Which, added to wanting to
immortalize
her on canvas, for God’s sake—given he couldn’t draw a stick figure with a ruler—pretty much indicated he had it bad.

Sitting here until she came home, however, was not only pathetic, it was stupid. He had work he should be doing back at his place, and, reaching for the key, he fired up the car. After allowing himself an additional couple of minutes to get the heater pumping out some warmth, he put the rental in gear and pulled away from the curb.

He was headed down the beach when he thought he recognized the shape of her headlights in his rearview. Pulling over, he watched in the mirror as the car drew closer, then blew out a quiet breath when it turned into her condo garage.

Pulling a Uie, he drove back and parked across the
street. He’d barely had time to turn off his headlights before lights started coming on in her apartment. He watched her cross back and forth in front of the window a couple times.

Then, feeling lighter knowing that she was home safe and sound, and thinking, since they’d had no plans, that it was probably better not to show up on her doorstep like some stalker, he put the car in gear and drove away.

“I
MISSED YOU
last night.”

At the sound of Cade’s voice, Ava looked up from the notes she’d been keying in her iPhone. She hadn’t heard him approach over the muted thumps, bumps and scrapes of the production crew working in the ballroom overhead. But there he was, leaning against the door-jamb of the second-floor room she had taken over for a couple minutes of alone time.

A flash of pleasure suffused her and she rose to her feet, smiling at him. This might not be true love, but she couldn’t deny she enjoyed his company. “I had a girls’ night with Jane and Poppy that came up at the last minute.” She hesitated, then added, “I’m sorry, I probably should have told you. I guess I’m not quite sure how involved we’re supposed to be.”

His dark eyebrows drew together. “This isn’t just about the sex, Ava.”

“No, I realize that. We’re friends.”

Those brows stayed knitted. “Friends,” he said, almost as if he’d never heard the word before.

She laughed. “I know, it sounds weird, doesn’t
it? Given all our history, who’da thought
that
would happen?”

His face softening, he pushed away from the doorway and sauntered over to her with that easy walk of his. “I love it when you laugh. It punches those pretty dimples right here…and here.” He wiggled the tips of his forefingers into the twin indentations under discussion.

It was a purely platonic gesture, yet heat pooled deep and low. She took a step closer.

Cade’s cerulean eyes turned to midnight.

“There you are!” Gripping the doorjambs in either hand, Beks leaned into the room, the bouncy fans of her high, short pigtails—streaked with blue today—still shimmying after the rest of her had stilled. With a clear case of tunnel vision, she locked in on Ava. “Any chance you got those chandelier candles I asked you about the other day?”

“Yes. There are four boxes in the pantry. But I thought night filming wasn’t scheduled until the day after—”

She found herself talking to an empty doorway. Beks had pushed back as abruptly as she’d appeared, the clomp of her boots down the hallway the only thing to mark that she’d been there.

“—tomorrow,” Ava finished dryly and turned raised eyebrows on Cade.

“That was the other thing I came in to talk to you about,” he said with his crooked smile. “We had to switch up the night shoot schedule and I wondered if you could come in late the next few days, then work part of the evenings.”

“Sure. Spencer’s Specialties has had a rash of calls
the last couple days, so it will actually give me time to take care of some of my own work.”

“Excellent.”

“It is,” she agreed, then shot him a smile of her own. “You’re probably talking about my ability to adapt to your schedule, but I’m really pleased that my business is picking up. But what does any of this have to do with the chandelier candles and changing the night schedule?”

“I don’t know if you knew that Heather—you know, who plays Agnes?—attends the U-Dub. She scored the lead in their drama department’s new production and they start evening rehearsals on Monday. So we’re changing some things around.”

And just like that, she melted. This was one of the reasons she found herself liking Cade so much. Great sex was…well, great. Her lips curled up. Okay, more than great. But how many other producers in Cade’s position would have switched things around to accommodate an unknown actress’s schedule so she could star in a university drama production? Ava wanted to plunge her hands in his hair, hold him firmly in place and plant the hottest kiss on him the world had ever seen.

Instead she straightened and found herself blurting, “My folks are going to be back Saturday morning for my father’s birthday party that evening. If your night filming is finished by then, would you like to be my date?” She stilled.
Okay, freaking out a bit here.
Because where had that come from?

But she pushed the question aside and merely raised her eyebrows at him. Because it felt right.

He took a step that brought him so close she had to tip her head back. “Yeah,” he said, looking down at
her. “I would like that. Hell, I’d like a whole lot more than—”

He cut himself off. Rolling his shoulders, he took a step back. “Sorry. This isn’t the time or place and it sure isn’t getting my work done. And if I’m gonna finish up in time for our date night, I’d better get my ass in gear.”

A laugh erupted from his throat. “Jesus.” Self-deprecating humor laced his tone as he turned and strode for the door. “Date night. Now there’re two words I never expected to hear coming out of my mouth.”

S
ONOVABITCH
! C’mon, move it, move it, move it!

Trying to clamp down on the frustration that threatened to obliterate his self-control, Tony recited multiplication tables in his head as he watched the crew mosey from the mansion in a slower-than-a-possum lazy-ass trickle. But his concentration kept slipping, and it took more effort than he’d ever before had to expend just to slap a lid on his growing temper. As quickly as he stuffed one mental imprecation down, another popped up to take its place.

Goddamn, motherfu—

He held himself very still. Tried to make his mind go blank.

Failed. Curses screamed through his head as he mentally urged the crew to get a fricking
move
on. It seemed to take forever before he finally locked the door behind Beks, who was the last to leave. Through the kitchen door window, he eyed her retreating, as usual black-clad butt, then punched in the security code and listened to the sound of car engines firing up on the back drive and out on the street. Not until the last one had finally faded into the distance did he relax his rigid posture.

“I’m taking off now, too.”

Shit! How had he forgotten about Selena, his day shift replacement? “Okay.” Clearing his throat, he looked over at her as she pulled her mousy brown hair out from beneath her coat collar. “Have a good night.”

He let her out the back and reset the alarm once more.

Then rammed his fingers through his hair. Jesus. He was so wired, so hacked off, he could barely see straight.

He knew better than to let anger get the better of him, knew that he had to get past it, to let it go.

Even so, he couldn’t seem to stop himself from lashing out and kicking a kitchen chair across the floor so hard it bounced off a cupboard, leaving a chip behind. “Goddamn, flaming shit, son of a syphilitic
bitch!
”

Dropping his hands to his sides, he blew out a final emphatic breath and squared his shoulders. Now,
that
had felt good. A helluva lot better than any of that pansy-ass zen breathing shit. Because, Christ on a cracker, he couldn’t frigging
believe
his rotten luck!

This job was supposed to have been so easy. Hell, for the first time since he’d pulled his initial con at nineteen, he didn’t need to slap on the charm every damn second of the day. Didn’t need to play nice and lie through his teeth to get some stupid old broad to fork over her money. All he’d had to do—hypothetically anyway—was waltz in, liberate himself a fortune in jewels and waltz right back out again, then head for the nearest airport to jump a plane for the destination of his choice.

Yet not one goddamn thing had gone right and he was good and pissed.

Pissed at Uncle Mike, who’d gotten him all excited about the Wolcott Suite diamonds, only to go and die on him before he’d gotten around to handing out better
advice than that fucking useless, “Look behind the ornate woodwork.”

Pissed at all the stupid people crawling all over this stupid pile of bricks.

Pissed at having his plans dicked up every time he thought he’d finally get a chance at the damn woodwork.

Most of all, though, he was pissed at himself. He’d had two entire nights to find the stinking secret compartment, but had he done so?

He had not. Hell, he hadn’t even made it to the midpoint of the wall yet. He’d blown too much of the first night when he’d fallen asleep halfway into his shift. Sure, he’d worked two back-to-backs that day, but he should have knocked back a pot of coffee, slipped out to buy some No-Doz, done
something
to keep his sorry ass awake.

Instead, he’d leaned back against the sitting room wall to rest his eyes for just a few minutes—and hadn’t woken up again until he’d heard the first crew members stomping up the stairs nearly five hours later.

Last night he’d picked up inspecting the fancy woodwork from the point where he’d left off. But given the necessity of going over it inch by meticulous inch, he’d only managed to examine maybe a third of it.

And had come up empty on what he
had
managed to go over. It didn’t help that he didn’t have a clue exactly what it was he was looking for—although he imagined it was some sort of pressure release switch he would recognize when he felt it.

But if he didn’t find the damn thing tonight, he didn’t know when he’d get another opportunity. Because, starting tomorrow, they were changing to goddamn
night
filming.

How the hell could one guy’s luck be so bad? Here he’d thought that John returning before he could accomplish his mission was his biggest problem. But it turned out he’d been worrying in the wrong direction.

It didn’t help that he’d painted himself into a damn corner by rhapsodizing over the benefits the night shift would have on his nonexistent college career.

He might appreciate the irony that a two-bit actress’s real college career was responsible for the change in plans—if it hadn’t screwed him in the process. Without the K-Y.

Who the hell had thought it would be this hard? He’d never carried a gun in his life until the security firm had issued him one. His M.O. had always been to finesse someone out of a fortune, not to strong-arm them out of it.

If he had the slightest belief, however, that it would somehow help his cause, he’d shoot that Heather bitch right between the eyes.

Instead, he’d probably be wiser to get his ass in gear and make use of whatever time he had left.

Then hope like hell that sometime between now and when Selena arrived to relieve him in the morning, his stinking luck took a turn for the better.

W
ITH A MUCH
more critical eye than usual, Ava inspected the fit of the dress she’d donned for her father’s birthday party. A smart woman would no doubt focus on the fact that she’d maintained her weight for more than a decade. But the sad reality was she still had moments, like now, when she looked in the mirror and saw her “fat” self instead of the perfectly fit size twelve/fourteen body she had today.

Most of the time she cut herself some slack. She was never going to be runway model slender, but she had worked like the devil to both achieve and maintain her current weight. And, overall, she thought she looked pretty damn good.

Not everyone was as enamored of her accomplishment, of course. There would always be people who thought she could do better, diet herself thinner. She tried not to let their opinions matter. Men, bless their hearts, tended to be less critical than women. Not all of them, of course—some still looked at her and saw chunky. But she’d discovered over the past dozen years
that more guys than not actually
liked
women with a generous booty and boobs.

Her issues tonight, however, had nothing to do with men’s opinions. Rather, they stemmed from knowing that her mother was CEO of the Ava-could-do-so-much-better-if-she-only-
tried
contingent. And it did no good telling herself not to let it bother her. Anytime she knew she’d be seeing her mother, it just seemed to color her view of herself—with or without a mirror.

So she checked her image front, back and sideways to make sure her silk Ralph Lauren cocktail dress skimmed her body as she remembered it doing the last time she’d worn it. She loved this dress; with its simple sleeveless sheath cut, it was an updated version of something Audrey Hepburn might have worn. Its neckline was high and gently rounded in front and sported a wide V in the back. The knee-length skirt flared slightly from the pleated knot detail at the waist. It was subtle and elegant—the perfect little black dress—except that this was a deep elderberry purple. She usually felt like a princess in it.

So why was she pretty sure her abundant curves were just wrong, wrong, wrong for it tonight?

“Well, if they are, it’s too damn late to do anything about it now,” she muttered. Cade would be here in ten minutes to pick her up; she didn’t have time to change yet again.

Shaking her misgivings aside, she went into the bathroom to put the finishing touches on her makeup, then rummaged through her closet for the right shoes. Locating a pair that were little more than four-inch heels, a narrow alligator-embossed leather ankle strap and a
few matching straps that crisscrossed her toes, she sat on the side of her bed to put them on.

She had just plucked a small pair of gold, silver and bronze twisted wire hoop earrings from her jewelry box when her doorbell rang. She took one final look at herself in the mirror, blew out a breath and went to answer it.

“Hey,” she said a moment later as she opened the door to Cade. “Come on in. I’m just finishing up.” Her head tipped to one side, she slipped the remaining hoop’s wire through her ear and snapped it into its back closure.

“There!” She gave him her full attention. “Don’t you look spiff.”
And then some,
she thought, checking out his elegant gray Italian suit and an Ed Hardy tie her mother would hate.

She grinned at him over the latter. But her smile faltered when she found him simply staring at her silently in return. Oh, crap. The dress
was
all wrong.

“And you,” he said slowly as if unsure what to say. He cleared his throat. “You look…beautiful. God. Incredible.”

But she’d caught the hesitation. She tried not to let it hurt, but it reinforced every insecurity she’d been struggling with tonight.

Still, she forced a wry, who-cares smile. “Um-hmm,” she agreed lightly. “Not bad for a Reubenesque woman, huh?” She turned away to get her coat.

“What?” Wrapping a hand around her forearm, Cade turned her back to him. “No, wait,
no
.” He gave her a little shake. “For
any
woman. You look beautiful—full stop, period.” He stepped closer, and she stared, mes
merized, as his gaze drilled into hers with a blue-hot intensity.

Because she saw in it a no-bullshit sincerity that caused her heart to trip all over itself.

“Jesus, Av,” he said in a low voice, “you have got to know by now that I love your curves. I’ve
always
loved your curves.”

Now that was going too far. “Uh-huh.”

His fingers tightened slightly on her arm. “Yes, dammit, I acted like an ass in high school—are you
ever
going to let me get past that? Because I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again. Even then you knocked me on my butt. Your skin, your hair, those dimples. And that’s before I even got to the killer tits and ass.”

“Why, you romantic silver-tongued devil, you.” Still. It might not have been the way she’d have phrased it, but she felt much better.

“Fine, breasts and…no, I flat-out refuse to say buttocks—it’s too
Forrest Gump.
You’ve got killer breasts and ass. Or butt, if you prefer.” He shook his head. “That’s not the point. I would have said you were a Botticelli woman, myself. Not his Madonnas, though. More
Birth of Venus. Reubenesque,
” he said with a snort. “Where the hell did that come from?” His eyes narrowed. “Oh. Wait. Let me guess. Your mother, am I right?”

“I’m sorry. It was dumb.” She shrugged, unable to admit he was smack-dab on the money, and turned away once more to get her coat from the closet. “I still suffer an occasional ‘fat’ moment.”

“Well, knock it off,” he ordered and took the wrap from her. He held it for her to slip her arms into, then curled his hands over her shoulders. Holding her in
place, he stepped close, his breath feathering the hair next to her ear. “You look too amazing, you
are
too amazing, for that shit. Don’t let anybody make you doubt that.” His fingers tightened. “Not your mother, not me, not even you. Because you are so goddamn beautiful, Ava, inside and out.”

She felt the warmth of his words surge through her, but all she could do was murmur, “If you say so.”

“I do say so. And you damn well better remember it.”

C
ADE STOOD
in Ava’s parents’ living room forty-five minutes later, chatting with a group of people she had introduced him to. He sipped from the glass of champagne in his hand and shouldered his share of the conversation. But most of his attention was focused on Ava.

She was buzzing around, chatting here and there with the guests while unobtrusively directing the production of her father’s sixtieth birthday party.

And a production was exactly what it was. Those candles he’d helped her look for a while back glowed from myriad surfaces in myriad holders, casting a warm shimmer on everything they touched. A string quartet played by the fireplace, and flowers brightened a table here and an étagère shelf there. A minibouquet sat on the open bar in the library.

He accepted a stuffed mushroom cap from a circulating waiter and looked through the archway to the dining room to admire the dessert table with its champagne fountains, arrays of works-of-art desserts and its centerpiece multitiered cake that Ava had called a mad hatter, presumably because each layer was a slightly tipsy-looking irregular shape decorated with fancy frostings
of varying patterns in a palette of pale gold and white. Flowers topped it, with a few scattered on a layer here or there and along a portion of its bottom edge.

As he watched, she stopped to tweak the arrangement of alternating metallic silver and gold cocktail napkins at one end of the table, used a crumpled one to discreetly blot up a spill, then swept what he supposed were some scattered crumbs into her hand—all the while showing every indication of paying attention to a woman chattering in her ear. She interrupted the other woman for a moment to catch a server’s attention. She spoke to him briefly as she lifted the table’s cloth to dispose of the used napkin and crumbs in a wastebasket hidden beneath, then went back to her conversation with the guest. The server disappeared, only to return a moment later with a platter of chocolate-dipped strawberries to replenish the half empty one on the table. Ava gestured for the woman to try one and reached out to touch the arm of a gentleman who had come over to peruse the offerings, somehow getting him involved in conversation with her companion.

This was the woman who had to be convinced she was beautiful? Who thought she was
fat?
How could someone so accomplished, so deft at reading people and nuances be so clueless as to her own desirability? A slight rueful smile tugging up his mouth, he shook his head.

“You don’t agree?”

“What?” The question jerked his attention back to the stylish sixtysomething woman with whom he’d been discussing the latest crop of films. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Bueller. My attention wandered to my date for a moment.”

“Please, call me Beth. And who’s your date, dear?” Then, obviously tracking the direction in which he’d been looking, her eyes lit up. “Ava? Oh, how lovely! I didn’t realize when she introduced us that you were here with her. She is such a sweetheart—and this ’do simply has her stamp all over it, doesn’t it? She puts on the most amazing parties.”

“Yeah. She’s pretty amazing, period.”

She laughed in delight, then turned to her husband, who was standing on her other side talking golf with a couple other men. “David, did you know that Cade here is dating Ava?”

The man leaned around his wife. “You are, huh? You’re that big Hollywood director, right?”

“The jury’s still out on the big part, but I am a director,” Cade agreed.

The older man gave him a brisk nod. “Well, you’re a lucky man, sir. Ava is a
fine
young woman.”

He grinned. “I couldn’t agree more.”

A
VA FOUND
Cade an hour or so later shooting pool with her father and a group of his cronies down in the billiards room. She watched him sink several of the solid color balls. “May I steal my date away for a few minutes?” she asked when the blue two-ball his cue sent rolling toward a side pocket rimmed it instead of dropping in.

“If you must,” her father said. “But don’t keep him long. He’s the main reason we’re ahead.”

She gave her father a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll try to be brief,” she promised and led Cade away.

When they reached a relatively private corner, she turned to him, placing a conciliatory hand on his jacket
lapel. “I am so sorry,” she said guiltily. “My intention when I invited you to come with me tonight truly wasn’t to drop you in a house full of strangers and leave you to fend for yourself.”

He shrugged a wide shoulder. “I’m a big boy—I can entertain myself. Besides, I’ve had fun watching you do your thing.” Cupping warm-skinned fingers around her nape, he bent his head to press a soft kiss on her lips. Straightening, he swept his thumb down her cheek. “You are something else, Ms. Spencer. Not only are you universally revered around here for your event skills, I’ve been warned by more than one party that I’d better not do you wrong.”

She laughed. “I’d be happy to tell them you’ve been doing me right quite regularly if you’d like.”

“Tempting.” Shooting her a smile, he shook his head. “But maybe not. I’m afraid that might be too much information where most of them are concerned.” He leaned in. Lowered his voice. “But I’d be happy to do you right again as soon as you can shake loose from here.”

“Ooh. Give me half an hour. I’ll go tell my mother she’s on her own after we cut the cake.”

“Deal.” Then he sobered. “Hey, before you go, though, I didn’t get the chance to tell you that I nearly finished up today. I’ve only got about two hours worth of filming left to do tomorrow, then I should be done—at least with that part. I know this is short notice, but could I get you to organize the food and drinks for a wrap party tomorrow night? Or Monday, if that works better for you.”

“Your documentary’s done?” She’d known it was
coming, of course. She simply hadn’t expected it to be so soon.

“I’ve still got a good week or two of post-production work, but the filming portion is the next best thing to finished.” He grinned at her. “Looks like we’re going to be either a little ahead or right on schedule. Bonuses for both of us.”

It was exactly what she’d wanted when she had agreed to this job. Her balloon payment was secure—that was the important thing, right? She could quit worrying about losing her condo. That was definitely good news. As she left Cade to go looking for her mother, she told herself she’d be happy to get back to her real life.

And she would.

As soon as this low-grade churning in her stomach eased up.

She tracked down her mother in the library, where she was chatting with some of her bridge group. Ava strode across the room to the small group and leaned in. “I hope everyone’s enjoying themselves?”

There was a chorus of “Wonderful, magnificent, fabulous party!” and she flashed them a delighted smile. “I’m so glad you’re pleased with it. And I hate to interrupt, but may I borrow my mother for a moment?”

Jacqueline glanced forcefully at a friend as she allowed Ava to lead her away. “Not a word until I return, Nance.”

Then she focused on Ava. “What is it, dear?” she asked as she followed her daughter out of the room and into a much quieter alcove at the end of the hall. “Rumors have been circulating recently that the Wilsons are getting a divorce and Nancy—who is Susan Wilson’s sister-in-law, you’ll recall—was just about to
give us the…what do you children call it these days—the lowdown? I don’t want to miss that.”

“This will only take a minute. I need to know when you’d like to cut Dad’s cake. I’m leaving after that, but the caterers are beautifully trained, so there shouldn’t be much for you to do. The quartet is scheduled until eleven and the bar will stay open as long as you want it to, but the bartender’s rate goes up considerably after midnight. So if people are still here at that time you might consider switching strictly to the champagne fountains. There are an extra half dozen magnums in the pantry just in case.”