Authors: Linda Francis Lee
Tags: #Romance, #Sex in the workplace, #Fiction
Sinfully Sexy (17 page)
Pleasure surged when he ran the heel of his palm over her breast, not
the nipple, but above, a teasing
that made her body respond . . . demand . . . yearn for more. What
little sense she had evaporated beneath his touch. And when his palm
dipped low beneath her nightgown, finally cupping her breast,
her eyes fluttered closed.
She had been waiting for this since the moment she walked into the
conference room and found him.
She had been waiting for his touch. Not just a kiss. Not just his arms
wrapped around her, or even
their bodies pressed together.
It was a coupling she sought, yearned for. Naked skin to naked skin. No
barriers.
He bent his head to her mouth, his hand still on her flesh. With the
tip of his tongue, he traced her lips, then nipped, just when his thumb
found her nipple.
She opened her mouth on a gasp of sensation. She felt primal and hot.
He took advantage, tasting her, touching her tongue to his. She didn't
even try to resist. Her tongue sought his, her body arching to him.
His touch was knowledgeable and commanding as he slipped her robe free.
Air hit skin, but she didn't have time to recover before his palm slid
up under the hem of her nightgown, higher and higher, his
touch searing.
He kissed her again, his need pressing against her in a slow, delicious
rhythm as old as time.
"Chloe," he whispered, his voice like gravel.
He slid his hands down her back, beneath her panties, cupping her hips.
When he pulled the thin
material down her legs, she let him. When they caught on her foot, she
kicked them off herself.
The bed was tiny, broken, and uncomfortable. But she didn't care. And
when he flipped her onto her belly she only felt a sizzle of
anticipation.
He lifted her hips until she was on her knees, his strength circling
her from behind. The primal beat
inside her pounded like an African drum, wild and uninhibited. And when
he touched the juncture between her thighs, she could only spread her
knees on the coverlet.
"Yes," he murmured against her ear, circling her secret folds.
She could feel her wetness, feel how her hips arched to him, and when
he slid his finger inside her, she cried out with the sheer amazing joy
of it.
He trailed his lips along the column of her neck. His tongue glided,
his teeth nipped as his finger dipped into her, making her want until
he slid a second inside.
She was tight, but she didn't want him to stop. She wanted moreâshe
wanted what her body understood was promised. She moved against him,
then she gasped when his thumb found the nub of her clitoris. With a
satisfied rumble, he circled and teased as the intensity in her body
mounted and grew. She squirmed helplessly, wanting, needing, until
finally she cried out when her orgasm spasmed through her.
Chloe cried out, convulsing against his hand. It felt like fire burned
along every nerve ending, as they collapsed together on the bed. He
held her the entire time, holding her close. "Yes," he said again,
cupping her as her body finally relaxed against him.
She lay there for long seconds, not wanting to move or think or do
anything more taxing than pull out a cigarette for a smoke. Not that
she had ever smoked, she mused. But she felt alive with sensation and
amazement at what she had just shared with this man, and everything
seemed exciting and possible . ..
Her mind tripped on the thought. Everything seemed possible? With this
man? Sterling Prescott? How could she even think that? She had
conveniently forgotten that he was a predatory raider, all for an
orgasm.
She tried to turn away.
"You're amazing," he said, nuzzling her cheek. "Filled with uninhibited
passion. God, you're wild with it."
Wild with uninhibited passion. Her.
She groaned in dismay, her heartbeat speeding up again, only this time
it had nothing to do with passion. If he had meant to compliment her,
he might have tried commenting on her housework.
Mortified, ashamed, and embarrassingly weak with traitorous sexual
satisfaction, she rolled off the bed.
"Chloe?"
"I have to go." With as much dignity as she could muster, she picked up
her panties and robe. Unfortunately, she had to get down on her knees
to find her slippers.
"There's no reason to be embarrassed," he said with deep kindness,
making her blush even more.
"I'm not embarrassed," she swore. "I'm just..."
Just what?
"I'm just thinking . . . about business." That was it, and it was
nearly true. She had come here about business.
"I don't want to talk about business. In fact, I don't want to talk."
He reached for her, but she leaped out of the way. "Sorry, we've got to
talk."
"I'm not going to change your mind, am I?"
"Not a chance."
Yep, orgasm over, sense returned. An ironclad resolve kicked into gear
after she needed it. She felt
dismal with disappointment in herself. How did she keep falling for
this guy?
With a groan, he fell back onto the sheets, his amazing and still-naked
body threatening her resolve. "What business?" he asked.
She forced her gaze away from his torso and said, "I'm here because we
have a problem with one of
the women."
"What kind of a problem?" He rolled out of bed. He glanced her way,
thought better of it, then pulled
on a pair of pants, though not without a grimace.
"Jessica has a boyfriend. And she's missing."
The sound of a car pulling up outside in the early morning darkness
caught their attention. They looked out the window and saw a late model
Corvette coming to a halt in front of Julia's house next door. They
could see someone lean across the seat, kiss the other person. Then the
door opened and Jessica appeared. After a quick glance around, she
waved to the driver, then ran into the backyard of the house where
Chloe knew the back door was unlocked.
"She's sneaking out at night," he announced unnecessarily.
"What should we do about her?"
"Let's see how the next taping goes."
"Fine." She started to leave, then stopped. "Since clearly you don't
know the first thing about taking
care of the yard, I'll do it. But really, surely you can clean the
house."
"Hey, I can do the yard."
She rolled her eyes.
"I can. And I will. And I'll clean the house, too. Now get out of here
before I pull you back into that
bed."
She squeaked, then dashed toward the door just as he reached out. He
caught her arm. But instead of pulling her back to him, he only looked
at her.
"Are you afraid of me?" he asked.
The question surprised her. "Yes. Or no." She shook her head. She
wasn't afraid of him. It was more
that he worried her. She didn't know what he really wanted, what it was
he was hoping to take. Or
what she wanted to give him.
"Why are you really here?" she asked.
He looked at her long and hard, some sort of a battle going on inside
of him. But in the end, he only smiled, that arrogantly sensual pull of
lips that even the fresh cuts and bruises couldn't detract from.
"The truth is, I've begun to wonder the same thing. I'm not sure
anymore why I'm here. But when I
come up with an answer, you'll be the first to know." He brushed his
lips across her forehead, then he
let her go. "The ladies will be up any minute. I suggest you get over
thereâunless you want to tell them you have an unfair advantage."
"I don't want an advantage!"
"I think we both know that I want you. And whether you like it or not,
I plan to do everything in my power to win you over. Then I'm going to
make love to you, the kind of slow sweet sex that we've
been headed for since the night we met."
The promise sent a thrill of anticipation through her. But she wasn't
about to lose her heart to this man. She was not going to let his
playfulness or sexual promise fool her into believing he was anything
other than what he was. Sterling Prescott, corporate raider, mercenary
businessman. And she couldn't afford
to believe that his strange, boyish antics here today or the way he had
brought her body to life were anything other than an even more clever
way to get what he wanted.
Truly, the man was more dangerous than she had thought.
knuckles. After he had twirled
Chloe around, his ribs hurt like hell.
Hell was right.
He still couldn't believe he had gotten into a fight like some unruly
thug. Every time he turned around these days, he was doing something
completely unlike him. All because of this town.
He shook his head. No, it wasn't the town. It was Chloe Sinclair. She
had turned him into this, he
thought unkindly. A man who went to bars with fish painted on them and
got into fights defending
her honor like he was a high school kid with an attitude.
But God, did she turn him on. He wanted herâhe didn't deny that. But he
wanted her in his bed only long enough to purge her from his mind. Then
he'd be done with this show. Done with this town. And he'd head back to
St. Louis, every trace of the strange dissatisfaction he felt with his
life gone. Chloe finally forgotten.
Surely.
He rubbed the towel over his head as he walked out of the bathroom and
about killed himself tripping over a pair of shoes. The place was a
mess, just as Chloe had said. But he'd never had to clean in his
life. He'd grown up in a house filled with servants, even when his
family couldn't afford them. Clothes
got cleaned, messes straightened, dishes done, yards . .. Hell, he'd
never given a yard a thought.
Part of him, one he didn't recognize, knew that a woman like Chloe
would be disgusted with him.
What kind of a man didn't know how to clean up after himself?
He could all but hear her disdain.
He told himself that there was no reason to be embarrassed. But before
he knew it, he had pulled on a pair of khaki pants, a shirt, and shoes
and started cleaning the house. He picked up piles of dirty clothes and
towels. He even considered fixing the bed in Chloe's bedroom. But that
would have to wait. First he would attack the kitchen. Then, just as
soon as there was enough sun, he would tackle the yard. He rubbed his
hands together at the thought of that big red mower in the garage.
The kitchen wasn't nearly as easy as the rest of the house had been.
After a grimace, and with no help
for it, he dove into the project. He threw boxes of pizza away, shaking
his head over the idea that he'd never had pizza in his life and now he
had it nearly every night. The pizza place delivered.
Next he moved on to clearing the dishes out of the sink. He broke one
cup, but that was it. Once the dishes were washed and put away, he
wiped down every surface until they practically sparkled. Then he took
the trash out. By the time he was finished, he strutted proudly all the
way to the garage to find the lawn mower, feeling amazingly satisfied
by the simple accomplishment.
In the driveway, he pulled up the single door, large hinges creaking in
protest. The garage was old, but immaculately kept. A lot like the
house.
It didn't take more than a second to find the mower. It gleamed like a
new toy. Sterling smiled like a
kid at Christmas.
Pulling the machine out into the gravel drive, he took in the levers
and pull cord. What had she said
about the clutch?
He pushed the mower out to the side yard on the opposite side from
Julia's house. If there was a learning curve involved, he wanted to
learn out of sight.
Rolling his wrists, he reached out, held in the clutch, congratulated
himself for remembering, then pulled the cord. It only took one yank
for the machine to roar to life, the vibration shooting up his arm into
his shoulders.
So far, so good. He was feeling pleased, and he estimated that he'd
have the tiny yard done in no time. Maybe he'd even get the box spring
and mattress fixed before he had to head next door for the day's
taping, he thought, just as he let go of the clutch.
With a jerk, the mower took off, shooting grass out the side as it
went. He had forgotten the grass catcher. But that was the least of his
problems. He had a mower on the loose.
He caught up easily and grabbed the handle. He exerted sheer strength
to bring the beast back in line. Then, finally, with sweat breaking out
on his brow, he guided the machine up and down the side yard. After a
few swipes, he moved on to the back. A professional couldn't have done
better. When he was done, he relished the pride in something so ...
ordinary.
Then he grumbled. Mowing a yard was hardly an accomplishment. But he
realized that it seemed like
he had accomplished something more than simply cutting the grassâit was
something deeper that he hadn't begun to grasp.
Pushing the mower around the house, sweat dripping down his back, he
had just put it away when his
cell phone rang. Tugging it off his belt, he answered.
"Hey, Sterling, it's Ben."
"I just mowed the lawn."
"What?"
"Nothing. What can I do for you?"
"I had a buddy of mine run a report on Albert Cummings and the rest of
your e-mail friends. They all look harmless. But just to be on the safe
side, I think you should keep a close eye on Chloe and the
other girls."
But before Sterling could answer, he heard the scream.
"What the hell was that?" Ben demanded over the phone.
"It's Chloe."
Sterling slapped the phone shut and started to run.
before a noise woke her.
She sat up on the mattress like a pop-up doll. Julia was still sound
asleep. When Chloe heard the noise again, she groaned, got up, pulled
on her robe and slippers.
The long hallway was lined with family portraits and original artwork
that was worth a small fortune.
The house was filled with opulence and luxury, Philippe Boudreaux
having been a man who showed the world that he was worth a lot of money.
"
You are what people think you are
,"
he had been fond of saying. And he had showed the world just
how much he was worth in big, sweeping, extravagant strokes.
She moved quietly through the front foyer, finding nothing in the
living room or dining room. Their makeshift stage was empty. But a halo
of light seeped out from underneath the swinging door that led
into the kitchen. One of the Roses must be up early.
But when she pushed open the door, a strange man was setting flowers on
the kitchen table, making
her scream.
"Oh, my word!" he cried with a start, nearly dropping the flowers. "I
didn't hear you come in."
He was short with sandy blond hair receding at the temples. He wore an
old-fashioned looking suit, but there wasn't a wrinkle or stain on it.
His smile was kind, not threatening, and the flowers were stunning.
"Who are you?" she asked, trying to understand.
"Albert Cummings. I told you I was bringing you a surprise."
"I don't know any Albert Cummings."
"I e-mailed you. Didn't you get it?"
"No."
Chloe told herself not to panic, told herself that this man was simply
foolish, not dangerous.
Footsteps came from every direction. Julia got there first, skidding to
a halt in the doorway beside her. She gasped, then seemed confused.
"Who is he?" she asked.
Albert blushed. "Chloe's biggest fan. But I didn't mean to intrude. And
I certainly never thought I'd have the opportunity to speak with such
pretty ladies."
By then, every girl in the house had crowded into the kitchen, taking
in the intruder like he was an
exhibit at the zoo.
"What a thrill to meet each and every one of you. Though I have to
admit, Chloe is my favorite." He
then launched into a critique of each girl's performance on the opening
show.
"So you're saying that you didn't like me at all?" Jo Beth queried,
tapping one long painted fingernail to her cheek.
"I'm sorry, no," Albert confirmed with serious regret. "The word
bitch
comes to mind."
"But I am not a bitch," Jo Beth said with a pout. "Nina's the bitch!"
"I am not! I just speak my mind," Nina defended herself.
Leticia had concerns of her own. "Now tell me, what exactly was it that
you didn't like about me?"
she wanted to know.
"Ladies," Chloe interrupted. "I hardly think this is appropriate." She
turned to the man. "While I appreciate the flowers, you really can't
just come into our house."
"I know, and I apologize. I had intended to set them on the back porch,
but the door was unlocked and
I thought, What could it hurt to leave them on the kitchen table?"
He shrugged innocently just as the sweaty Catch vaulted through the
back door. He stopped at the sight of the man.
"What the fuck?"
"Oh, dear," Albert stated. "I'm not sure explanations are going to work
with this man." Then he smiled, waved and disappeared out the door.
the nipple, but above, a teasing
that made her body respond . . . demand . . . yearn for more. What
little sense she had evaporated beneath his touch. And when his palm
dipped low beneath her nightgown, finally cupping her breast,
her eyes fluttered closed.
She had been waiting for this since the moment she walked into the
conference room and found him.
She had been waiting for his touch. Not just a kiss. Not just his arms
wrapped around her, or even
their bodies pressed together.
It was a coupling she sought, yearned for. Naked skin to naked skin. No
barriers.
He bent his head to her mouth, his hand still on her flesh. With the
tip of his tongue, he traced her lips, then nipped, just when his thumb
found her nipple.
She opened her mouth on a gasp of sensation. She felt primal and hot.
He took advantage, tasting her, touching her tongue to his. She didn't
even try to resist. Her tongue sought his, her body arching to him.
His touch was knowledgeable and commanding as he slipped her robe free.
Air hit skin, but she didn't have time to recover before his palm slid
up under the hem of her nightgown, higher and higher, his
touch searing.
He kissed her again, his need pressing against her in a slow, delicious
rhythm as old as time.
"Chloe," he whispered, his voice like gravel.
He slid his hands down her back, beneath her panties, cupping her hips.
When he pulled the thin
material down her legs, she let him. When they caught on her foot, she
kicked them off herself.
The bed was tiny, broken, and uncomfortable. But she didn't care. And
when he flipped her onto her belly she only felt a sizzle of
anticipation.
He lifted her hips until she was on her knees, his strength circling
her from behind. The primal beat
inside her pounded like an African drum, wild and uninhibited. And when
he touched the juncture between her thighs, she could only spread her
knees on the coverlet.
"Yes," he murmured against her ear, circling her secret folds.
She could feel her wetness, feel how her hips arched to him, and when
he slid his finger inside her, she cried out with the sheer amazing joy
of it.
He trailed his lips along the column of her neck. His tongue glided,
his teeth nipped as his finger dipped into her, making her want until
he slid a second inside.
She was tight, but she didn't want him to stop. She wanted moreâshe
wanted what her body understood was promised. She moved against him,
then she gasped when his thumb found the nub of her clitoris. With a
satisfied rumble, he circled and teased as the intensity in her body
mounted and grew. She squirmed helplessly, wanting, needing, until
finally she cried out when her orgasm spasmed through her.
Chloe cried out, convulsing against his hand. It felt like fire burned
along every nerve ending, as they collapsed together on the bed. He
held her the entire time, holding her close. "Yes," he said again,
cupping her as her body finally relaxed against him.
She lay there for long seconds, not wanting to move or think or do
anything more taxing than pull out a cigarette for a smoke. Not that
she had ever smoked, she mused. But she felt alive with sensation and
amazement at what she had just shared with this man, and everything
seemed exciting and possible . ..
Her mind tripped on the thought. Everything seemed possible? With this
man? Sterling Prescott? How could she even think that? She had
conveniently forgotten that he was a predatory raider, all for an
orgasm.
She tried to turn away.
"You're amazing," he said, nuzzling her cheek. "Filled with uninhibited
passion. God, you're wild with it."
Wild with uninhibited passion. Her.
She groaned in dismay, her heartbeat speeding up again, only this time
it had nothing to do with passion. If he had meant to compliment her,
he might have tried commenting on her housework.
Mortified, ashamed, and embarrassingly weak with traitorous sexual
satisfaction, she rolled off the bed.
"Chloe?"
"I have to go." With as much dignity as she could muster, she picked up
her panties and robe. Unfortunately, she had to get down on her knees
to find her slippers.
"There's no reason to be embarrassed," he said with deep kindness,
making her blush even more.
"I'm not embarrassed," she swore. "I'm just..."
Just what?
"I'm just thinking . . . about business." That was it, and it was
nearly true. She had come here about business.
"I don't want to talk about business. In fact, I don't want to talk."
He reached for her, but she leaped out of the way. "Sorry, we've got to
talk."
"I'm not going to change your mind, am I?"
"Not a chance."
Yep, orgasm over, sense returned. An ironclad resolve kicked into gear
after she needed it. She felt
dismal with disappointment in herself. How did she keep falling for
this guy?
With a groan, he fell back onto the sheets, his amazing and still-naked
body threatening her resolve. "What business?" he asked.
She forced her gaze away from his torso and said, "I'm here because we
have a problem with one of
the women."
"What kind of a problem?" He rolled out of bed. He glanced her way,
thought better of it, then pulled
on a pair of pants, though not without a grimace.
"Jessica has a boyfriend. And she's missing."
The sound of a car pulling up outside in the early morning darkness
caught their attention. They looked out the window and saw a late model
Corvette coming to a halt in front of Julia's house next door. They
could see someone lean across the seat, kiss the other person. Then the
door opened and Jessica appeared. After a quick glance around, she
waved to the driver, then ran into the backyard of the house where
Chloe knew the back door was unlocked.
"She's sneaking out at night," he announced unnecessarily.
"What should we do about her?"
"Let's see how the next taping goes."
"Fine." She started to leave, then stopped. "Since clearly you don't
know the first thing about taking
care of the yard, I'll do it. But really, surely you can clean the
house."
"Hey, I can do the yard."
She rolled her eyes.
"I can. And I will. And I'll clean the house, too. Now get out of here
before I pull you back into that
bed."
She squeaked, then dashed toward the door just as he reached out. He
caught her arm. But instead of pulling her back to him, he only looked
at her.
"Are you afraid of me?" he asked.
The question surprised her. "Yes. Or no." She shook her head. She
wasn't afraid of him. It was more
that he worried her. She didn't know what he really wanted, what it was
he was hoping to take. Or
what she wanted to give him.
"Why are you really here?" she asked.
He looked at her long and hard, some sort of a battle going on inside
of him. But in the end, he only smiled, that arrogantly sensual pull of
lips that even the fresh cuts and bruises couldn't detract from.
"The truth is, I've begun to wonder the same thing. I'm not sure
anymore why I'm here. But when I
come up with an answer, you'll be the first to know." He brushed his
lips across her forehead, then he
let her go. "The ladies will be up any minute. I suggest you get over
thereâunless you want to tell them you have an unfair advantage."
"I don't want an advantage!"
"I think we both know that I want you. And whether you like it or not,
I plan to do everything in my power to win you over. Then I'm going to
make love to you, the kind of slow sweet sex that we've
been headed for since the night we met."
The promise sent a thrill of anticipation through her. But she wasn't
about to lose her heart to this man. She was not going to let his
playfulness or sexual promise fool her into believing he was anything
other than what he was. Sterling Prescott, corporate raider, mercenary
businessman. And she couldn't afford
to believe that his strange, boyish antics here today or the way he had
brought her body to life were anything other than an even more clever
way to get what he wanted.
Truly, the man was more dangerous than she had thought.
THIRTEEN
Sterling stepped out of the shower and grimaced. Forget his soreknuckles. After he had twirled
Chloe around, his ribs hurt like hell.
Hell was right.
He still couldn't believe he had gotten into a fight like some unruly
thug. Every time he turned around these days, he was doing something
completely unlike him. All because of this town.
He shook his head. No, it wasn't the town. It was Chloe Sinclair. She
had turned him into this, he
thought unkindly. A man who went to bars with fish painted on them and
got into fights defending
her honor like he was a high school kid with an attitude.
But God, did she turn him on. He wanted herâhe didn't deny that. But he
wanted her in his bed only long enough to purge her from his mind. Then
he'd be done with this show. Done with this town. And he'd head back to
St. Louis, every trace of the strange dissatisfaction he felt with his
life gone. Chloe finally forgotten.
Surely.
He rubbed the towel over his head as he walked out of the bathroom and
about killed himself tripping over a pair of shoes. The place was a
mess, just as Chloe had said. But he'd never had to clean in his
life. He'd grown up in a house filled with servants, even when his
family couldn't afford them. Clothes
got cleaned, messes straightened, dishes done, yards . .. Hell, he'd
never given a yard a thought.
Part of him, one he didn't recognize, knew that a woman like Chloe
would be disgusted with him.
What kind of a man didn't know how to clean up after himself?
He could all but hear her disdain.
He told himself that there was no reason to be embarrassed. But before
he knew it, he had pulled on a pair of khaki pants, a shirt, and shoes
and started cleaning the house. He picked up piles of dirty clothes and
towels. He even considered fixing the bed in Chloe's bedroom. But that
would have to wait. First he would attack the kitchen. Then, just as
soon as there was enough sun, he would tackle the yard. He rubbed his
hands together at the thought of that big red mower in the garage.
The kitchen wasn't nearly as easy as the rest of the house had been.
After a grimace, and with no help
for it, he dove into the project. He threw boxes of pizza away, shaking
his head over the idea that he'd never had pizza in his life and now he
had it nearly every night. The pizza place delivered.
Next he moved on to clearing the dishes out of the sink. He broke one
cup, but that was it. Once the dishes were washed and put away, he
wiped down every surface until they practically sparkled. Then he took
the trash out. By the time he was finished, he strutted proudly all the
way to the garage to find the lawn mower, feeling amazingly satisfied
by the simple accomplishment.
In the driveway, he pulled up the single door, large hinges creaking in
protest. The garage was old, but immaculately kept. A lot like the
house.
It didn't take more than a second to find the mower. It gleamed like a
new toy. Sterling smiled like a
kid at Christmas.
Pulling the machine out into the gravel drive, he took in the levers
and pull cord. What had she said
about the clutch?
He pushed the mower out to the side yard on the opposite side from
Julia's house. If there was a learning curve involved, he wanted to
learn out of sight.
Rolling his wrists, he reached out, held in the clutch, congratulated
himself for remembering, then pulled the cord. It only took one yank
for the machine to roar to life, the vibration shooting up his arm into
his shoulders.
So far, so good. He was feeling pleased, and he estimated that he'd
have the tiny yard done in no time. Maybe he'd even get the box spring
and mattress fixed before he had to head next door for the day's
taping, he thought, just as he let go of the clutch.
With a jerk, the mower took off, shooting grass out the side as it
went. He had forgotten the grass catcher. But that was the least of his
problems. He had a mower on the loose.
He caught up easily and grabbed the handle. He exerted sheer strength
to bring the beast back in line. Then, finally, with sweat breaking out
on his brow, he guided the machine up and down the side yard. After a
few swipes, he moved on to the back. A professional couldn't have done
better. When he was done, he relished the pride in something so ...
ordinary.
Then he grumbled. Mowing a yard was hardly an accomplishment. But he
realized that it seemed like
he had accomplished something more than simply cutting the grassâit was
something deeper that he hadn't begun to grasp.
Pushing the mower around the house, sweat dripping down his back, he
had just put it away when his
cell phone rang. Tugging it off his belt, he answered.
"Hey, Sterling, it's Ben."
"I just mowed the lawn."
"What?"
"Nothing. What can I do for you?"
"I had a buddy of mine run a report on Albert Cummings and the rest of
your e-mail friends. They all look harmless. But just to be on the safe
side, I think you should keep a close eye on Chloe and the
other girls."
But before Sterling could answer, he heard the scream.
"What the hell was that?" Ben demanded over the phone.
"It's Chloe."
Sterling slapped the phone shut and started to run.
*Â
*Â *
Chloe had snuck back into bed, barely falling into a fitful sleep*Â *
before a noise woke her.
She sat up on the mattress like a pop-up doll. Julia was still sound
asleep. When Chloe heard the noise again, she groaned, got up, pulled
on her robe and slippers.
The long hallway was lined with family portraits and original artwork
that was worth a small fortune.
The house was filled with opulence and luxury, Philippe Boudreaux
having been a man who showed the world that he was worth a lot of money.
"
You are what people think you are
,"
he had been fond of saying. And he had showed the world just
how much he was worth in big, sweeping, extravagant strokes.
She moved quietly through the front foyer, finding nothing in the
living room or dining room. Their makeshift stage was empty. But a halo
of light seeped out from underneath the swinging door that led
into the kitchen. One of the Roses must be up early.
But when she pushed open the door, a strange man was setting flowers on
the kitchen table, making
her scream.
"Oh, my word!" he cried with a start, nearly dropping the flowers. "I
didn't hear you come in."
He was short with sandy blond hair receding at the temples. He wore an
old-fashioned looking suit, but there wasn't a wrinkle or stain on it.
His smile was kind, not threatening, and the flowers were stunning.
"Who are you?" she asked, trying to understand.
"Albert Cummings. I told you I was bringing you a surprise."
"I don't know any Albert Cummings."
"I e-mailed you. Didn't you get it?"
"No."
Chloe told herself not to panic, told herself that this man was simply
foolish, not dangerous.
Footsteps came from every direction. Julia got there first, skidding to
a halt in the doorway beside her. She gasped, then seemed confused.
"Who is he?" she asked.
Albert blushed. "Chloe's biggest fan. But I didn't mean to intrude. And
I certainly never thought I'd have the opportunity to speak with such
pretty ladies."
By then, every girl in the house had crowded into the kitchen, taking
in the intruder like he was an
exhibit at the zoo.
"What a thrill to meet each and every one of you. Though I have to
admit, Chloe is my favorite." He
then launched into a critique of each girl's performance on the opening
show.
"So you're saying that you didn't like me at all?" Jo Beth queried,
tapping one long painted fingernail to her cheek.
"I'm sorry, no," Albert confirmed with serious regret. "The word
bitch
comes to mind."
"But I am not a bitch," Jo Beth said with a pout. "Nina's the bitch!"
"I am not! I just speak my mind," Nina defended herself.
Leticia had concerns of her own. "Now tell me, what exactly was it that
you didn't like about me?"
she wanted to know.
"Ladies," Chloe interrupted. "I hardly think this is appropriate." She
turned to the man. "While I appreciate the flowers, you really can't
just come into our house."
"I know, and I apologize. I had intended to set them on the back porch,
but the door was unlocked and
I thought, What could it hurt to leave them on the kitchen table?"
He shrugged innocently just as the sweaty Catch vaulted through the
back door. He stopped at the sight of the man.
"What the fuck?"
"Oh, dear," Albert stated. "I'm not sure explanations are going to work
with this man." Then he smiled, waved and disappeared out the door.
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