“Oh, Angie, I won’t go if it upsets you.”
“Upsets me? I just wish it were a real date. You need one. You would understand better about…oh, never mind.”
“I’d understand better about Josh if I did, is that right?” She hadn’t meant to allow her voice to become so tight.
“Yeah,” Angie said. The word closed a door.
“Angie, I don’t dislike Josh.”
“You just don’t like me seeing him, just because we’ve had some fights. Well, we made up. I’m seeing him tonight, after the rehearsal.”
“Great,” Aurora said. She stood, looking at her hair in the mirror, running a brush through it, not really seeing what she was doing.
“Great? You don’t mean that all.”
“You’re right, I don’t. He’s going to see you for a few weeks, tell you that you’re wonderful and beautiful and that he adores you, and then he’s going to call one afternoon with other plans, because you’re not worth it to him.”
“We’ve already been back together for weeks now, Mom.”
“Oh, good, then the phone call is coming.”
“Not this time.”
“Not this time, not the last time, or the time before that. Angie, there are other people in the world. Nice people, guys who will realize that you’re a beautiful and gifted young woman, and will appreciate you!”
“Mom, I’ve tried. You don’t just go out and see someone, find him attractive, like shopping for groceries. I can’t help it. It’s idiotic, maybe. But I’m in love with him.”
“Then you ought to fall out of love with him.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“Meaning?”
“You just don’t need anyone.”
Aurora stared at her daughter, her eyes narrowing.
“Well, you don’t. The rest of the world craves companionship. Even Gran. There’s nothing so adorable as Mike and Gran. But you…well, you’ve forgotten what it’s like to love someone. To need them in your life.”
“Love and need are not the same thing, Angie. Love shouldn’t be based on need. Love is an emotion.”
“Whatever. You’ve gone without it for too long.”
“That’s ridiculous. I love you, I love Gran, I have great friends I love….”
“I rest my case,” Angie said with a sigh.
“Don’t mistake hormones for love,” Aurora said, more sharply than she had intended.
“Don’t mistake breathing for living,” Angie countered.
Aurora was disturbed to feel as if she were on the defensive. “Angie, life is responsibility more than anything else. When your dad died, I had to make a living. I’m really happy in what I do. And I think I’ve raised a beautiful, intelligent daughter, as well.”
“I know, I know, wait until I’m really trying to make it in the world, wait until I have children and a mortgage and all the rest.”
“It does change the picture.” Aurora felt the tension in her jaw. Then her anger seemed to fall away like a cloak, and she shook her head. “I love you, Angie, and I admit there was a time when you were my whole life, maybe more than was healthy. I don’t want to burden you with this now, when you’re right at the age when the world will be opening up to you. So trust me when I say, I love what I do, I’m happy and well-adjusted, and I know love isn’t something you can order over the Internet, or go out and find just because you’ve decided you need it in your life. But I don’t like to see you hurt—and this guy hurts you all the time. You owe yourself—not me—more.”
Angie nodded gravely. “Advice heard. May I give you some?”
“Go on.”
“You don’t go out looking for someone, but don’t shoot him down if he happens to come along.”
Aurora stared at her daughter.
“Dad is dead, Mom. And he wasn’t perfect. He was a great guy, but he wasn’t perfect.”
Aurora found herself staring at her daughter.
“Well?”
Aurora nodded. “Advice heard.”
The doorbell rang, and they both jumped.
“Damn,” Aurora swore.
“That’s him?” Angie’s eyes widened. “I’ll get it!”
Max was startled by the girl who opened the door. She was somewhere between seventeen and twenty years old, in jeans and a T-shirt, with such perfect features that she could have been on the cover of any magazine. Actually, he realized, she was like a copy of Aurora Beck, just a bit younger.
“Hi. Come on in. You’re Mike’s grandson, right?”
“Max,” he said, nodding. “Max Wulfson. Are you… Aurora’s sister?”
She smiled. “Mom would like that. She’s ready by the way—good old Mom, always punctual.” The girl spoke the words with a sniff, as if habitual timeliness was annoying, but there was affection in her tone. “I’m Angie, by the way. Make yourself at home. I’ll get my mother.”
So Aurora had a child who was more or less grown-up. Aurora couldn’t be quite as young as he had first estimated.
Not that it mattered, since she wasn’t really after Mike, just tormenting him for his presumption.
She had done a good job, but now it was his turn. Ah, the taste of revenge.
He smiled at Angie. “Thanks.”
The girl disappeared. Max, left in the living room, appreciated the air-conditioning and looked around.
It was pleasantly chaotic. Though it wasn’t located on the beach, it had the look of a beach house. The furniture was light pine, the cushions deep and comfortable on the sofa, love seat and armchair. There was an entertainment center that housed hundreds of books, DVDs, CDs and tapes. The draperies were light, in shades of yellow and blue. The floors were hardwood, with area rugs.
It wasn’t the home of a sophisticated bloodsucker preying upon an older man. He wondered if he would have realized that when he arrived here, if he hadn’t already learned the truth from Mike.
Maybe not. Maybe he’d been so protective and self-righteous that he couldn’t see a thing before his own eyes. He noted a shelf of bound plays and movie scripts. His interest piqued, he walked over to the entertainment center, hunkered down and began to look through them.
“Mom!”
Angie said the word with the same passion she had expressed in her cry for help over the roach.
Aurora spun around to see her daughter standing in the hallway. “What’s wrong? Did he do something to you? Was he rude to you? He’d better not have been.”
“Mom, he’s—he’s hot!”
“What?”
Angie took a soaring leap onto the bed. “He’s handsome. Tall. Dark. Great voice. He’s…well, he’s hot,” she repeated.
“Great vocabulary, Angie.”
“Hey, when a word fits… You know, you really shouldn’t blow this.”
“Blow this? I’m only going because he’s a pompous idiot and I want to take him down a peg or two.”
“He’s still one darned good-looking pompous idiot.”
“Looks, my dear, aren’t everything.” She looked at her watch, “You’re supposed to be at rehearsal.”
“And you’re supposed to be on a date.”
“It’s not a real date, and it is a real rehearsal.”
“I’m out of here. You can have the house.”
“No, wait, we’ll leave together.”
Aurora preceded her daughter out of the bedroom. Max Wulfson was seated on the sofa, a pile of her bound plays and scripts at his side as he leafed through one.
He looked up when she came into the room. His smile was pleasant. He really was good-looking, she realized. Dark hair, a little shaggy despite the combing it had obviously been given. Features craggy, but handsomely arranged. A smile that did something to the ebony darkness of his eyes.
“This is great,” he told her.
“What?”
“This is yours, right? It has ‘by Aurora Beck’ written on it.”
“Yes, it’s mine.” She found herself flushing slightly, and wit
hout thinking she walked over to retrieve the play, close it and slide it back in place on the shelf.
He stood. “Is that what you do?” he inquired. “Well, when you’re not pursuing old men, of course. Are you a playwright?”
“I own a little theater,” she murmured, then noticed that her daughter had come up behind them. “Angie, get to rehearsal.”
“I’m going.”
“And we have reservations, right?” Aurora asked Max.
“Yes, we do,” he agreed. They all walked out together. Angie gave a wave as she headed for a beige Saturn. Aurora waved back and started toward her own little beat-up van, but then she saw the blue sports car in the driveway and altered course. He was right behind her.
She realized—after she’d opened her own door and slid into the passenger seat—that he’d been about to open the door for her. It had been a long time since she’d been out on anything that resembled a date. She was out of practice.
He made no comment but smoothly walked around to the driver’s side. A moment later, he was shifting into gear.
“Great car,” she said.
“It’s all right for a rental. Actually you’re right. It’s pretty great for a rental. By the way, you have a really beautiful daughter.”
“Thanks.”
“How old is she?”
“Young. Eighteen.”
He grimaced, inclining his head slightly as he drove. “Well, who knows? Maybe, when I’m in a nursing home, she’ll come after me.”
Aurora shot him the most contemptuous stare she could manage.
“Well, my grandfather is quite a bit older than you are.”
“Yes, but it’s different.”
“How?”
“I’m old, too. At least, I’m not…”
“You’re not your daughter?” he said quietly.
“Exactly.”
“So, tell me about your theater.”
She shrugged. “I own the Paradise Playhouse.”
“You own it?”
“Well, the bank and I own it.”
“Still, that’s quite impressive.”
“How do you know? It could be a barn.”
He shook his head, a slight smile curving his lips as he drove. “Nope, I’ve heard of it. Don’t know why I didn’t think of it right away when I saw your scripts.”
“Oh?” Aurora couldn’t help but feel a bit pleased. She looked out the window, though, and said, “You were preoccupied with other matters. Like a younger woman trying to fleece your grandfather.”
“Well, at least now I understand.”
“What do you mean, you understand?”
“You need the money for the sake of art—to keep your playhouse going. So I have a new proposition for you.”
“And that is?”
“My answer will have to wait. There’s the restaurant.”
She didn’t have to make a decision regarding whether she should or shouldn’t wait to let him open the door for her; a valet did so, and then Max Wulfson came around to take her arm and escort her into the building.
The décor was beautiful. Chandeliers, deep blue carpeting, soft toned walls, candles, silver and flowers. They were seated at a small table in a little alcove that looked out on a small bubbling fountain. The sommelier was the first to arrive at the table, and Max listened carefully as the man listed the contents of the restaurant’s cellar. Max smiled at her across the table. “Do you have a preference?”
She hadn’t recognized a thing the man had said, but before she could reply with “White wine”—which would have been her answer—Max made it easier.
“Well, we haven’t looked at the menu yet. I think we’ll make the decision between meat and fish first, shall we?”
“Lovely,” Aurora murmured.
“Well, I can tell you now that if you are fish lovers, we have an excellent broiled dolphin with a shrimp and lobster sauce tonight.”
“Are we fish lovers?” Max asked Aurora.
“Absolutely.”
“Then the California merlot would be an excellent choice.”
“Merlot sounds divine,” Aurora said.
The tuxedo-clad waiter hovered behind the tuxedo-clad sommelier. Their dinner order was taken. Water and the wine arrived. Max tasted the wine without appearing affected—she had to grant him that much. He approved the bottle, and their glasses were filled.
Suddenly they were alone.
Max lifted his glass. “To becoming related.”
She lifted hers in turn. “I thought you came out tonight to stop the wedding?”
“Ah, yes, of course. Well, then, here’s to stopping you from marrying Mike.”
“And I’m supposed to drink to that?”
“Okay, then, here’s to a night in Paradise.”
“We’re only out for dinner.”
“But it is night, and it is Paradise. Are you always so argumentative?”
She flushed.
“All right, let’s toast to dinner. This is an excellent wine, after all.”
“Imagine that. In the backwoods of Florida.”
“Amazing. Can we toast yet?”
Aurora lifted her glass. The wine was excellent. Probably the best she had ever had. Smooth, crisp, not too dry. It went down like water. She warned herself to slow down. “What’s your proposal? Or proposition. Or whatever.”
“That you don’t marry Mike.”
“That’s not a proposal, that’s merely a statement of what you want. A proposal would be explaining to me what you can offer that would keep me from marrying Mike.”
He leaned close to her across the table. “In the long run, I’m worth more.”
She nearly fell off her chair. “What?”
“All right, you need money, so you’re marrying Mike. But his money is all tied up. Despite his marriage, it will come to me.”
“You might want to check Florida law.”
He waved a hand in the air. “Trust me. I’ve had lawyers all over this.”
“So…?”
“So I can make it worth your while not to marry Mike.”
Aurora delicately trailed her finger around the rim of her wineglass. “That would be the check you offered to write.”
“Not exactly.”
“Oh?”
He leaned back in his chair, sipping his wine. Aurora felt as if she were being studied as thoroughly as he might study a car he was considering purchasing.
And he was giving away nothing of what he thought of the merchandise.
“Oh?” she repeated.
“Salads.”
“What?”
“Our salads are here. I think we should enjoy them first.”
Frustrated, she sat back as the waiter appeared, bearing iced salad forks and their salads.
Max seemed inclined to eat without talking. She took a bite herself and was instantly amazed that anyone could make lettuce and a few garden vegetables taste so good. She realized then that she hadn’t taken the time to eat all day, and that she was famished. The salad was so good that she had finished the entire thing before she realized he had been watching her for some time, attempting, without much success, to conceal an amused smile.
She set her fork down. “That was very good.”
“Yes, it was. This place has gained its reputation through good food and service, rather than pomp and price.”
“Oh, I think the prices are up there.”
“Maybe. But stick with me on this and it won’t matter.”
She remembered the role she was playing and leaned forward, fingers drumming lightly on the white tablecloth.
“Well,” she said, giving the single word a husky edge. “Just what are you proposing?”
“You turned down my first offer.”
“But I haven’t heard the second.”
“My first offer was flat-out money.”
“Yes. But then, at the time, I had no idea that Mike’s money was tied up.”
“I see. So if I came up
with an offer now, just for money, you might accept it?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I do love him, you know. And guess what? I never even suggested marriage. Mike was the one insisting on it.”
“So I gather. But then again…” He leaned closer. “I can see where he was simply driven to distraction. Willing to do anything for your company.”
She felt a frown crease her forehead. His voice had grown as husky as her own. She edged back a little in her seat.
“Just because he’s old and I’m young?”
“Just because you’re…you.” The last word seemed to hang on the air, filled with all kinds of implications.
Those dark eyes could be as cold and hard as an ebony pit. She had learned that already today. She had also learned that he could be calculating and ruthless.
But he could wear many faces. Now he had a better set of bedroom eyes than any soap star she’d ever seen. The wine seemed to burn like a lava fire in her stomach. She felt like a Southern belle of old, as if she might have the vapors. She needed a fan to flutter away the disturbing heat.
It had been far too long since she had dated.
“I really don’t understand at all what you’re getting at, Mr. Wulfson.”
“Max. Please, you’ve got to call me Max. And surely you must understand what I’m getting at. Don’t you?”
“Just what—”
“Fish.”
“What?”
“Our entrées are coming.”
The man must have had a secret pact with the waiter, who had indeed appeared, the two covered plates balanced expertly on his arm. He set the food down and was joined by a second server so that their entrées were presented as one.
The aroma of the food was another shot of sensual bliss, and she found herself reaching for her wine.
Max had raised his glass once again. “To the simple pleasures in life.”
She toasted with him. His fingers brushed hers, and she was again startled by the sensations that swept through her. She really needed to get out more. Wine and a meal and a nasty man out to ruin her grandmother’s life were coming together to make her feel orgasmic. She was going to get through this, get through the wedding, then work on her social life.
Not easy when her customary circle contained mainly of geriatrics, devastating males of a different sexual preference, and a few married co-workers.
“I’m still waiting,” she said.
With a Southern Touch: AdamA Night in ParadiseGarden Cop Page 13