Drop Dead Gorgeous

by Jennifer Skully

  Though he kept a stocked liquor cabinet for entertaining, he didn’t usually drink. He drank tonight to blot out the feel of Madison in his arms. It hadn’t worked. Her call made it worse.

  If he touched her again, he was doomed.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  MADISON WOKE Thursday morning with a plan, two plans, in fact—goodness, she sounded like T. Larry. What a wonderful thing sleep was, bringing about a complete attitude adjustment as if by a miracle. On the way to the train, Sean once again promised to change her locks out that day as she handed him her only remaining apartment key. She was positive he wouldn’t look in her bedroom closet. The lock crisis settled, a great weight off her mind, she made the commute into work with accomplishment on her mind. First, Harriet, guilty or not guilty. It would take digging to figure it out. Then T. Larry. Talk wouldn’t do. He required action. In his office. Despite his rules. Only eight days until her birthday, she wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  She stowed her purse in her desk drawer, then, trays of Jigglers in her hand, rounded her desk en route to the coffee machine. Just as she stepped into the hall, the reception door opened to admit Richard’s charming visage. So good-looking. But she’d made her decision. He needed to respect that.

  “Richard, what are you doing here?” She set the Jigglers on the desk beside her.

  The flowers in a plain brown paper bag said it all. He shouldn’t be bringing her flowers. He shouldn’t be here, period.

  “I brought you these.” He jostled the bag at her.

  She tried to ignore the flowers. “Rhonda shouldn’t have let you in unescorted.”

  He eased closer. She backed up to the cubicle opening.

  “Don’t blame Rhonda. I told her I wanted to surprise you.”

  He was too sweet, too eager to please, too unsure. Guilt tied her stomach in knots. She’d sensed he was fragile during their first date, and she never should have continued. Still, she had to end it. “Richard, I thought you understood last night.”

  He pushed at that endearing lock of hair falling over his forehead. “I was hoping you’d changed your mind.”

  She really disliked uncomfortable situations. “I’m sorry.”

  His mouth drooped at the corners, then just as quickly he smiled again. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

  Madison tried to keep the relief off her face, but she wasn’t good at hiding things.

  Richard read her thoughts. “It’s all right. Our timing was off. I do understand.”

  Or T. Larry’s timing was right on. “I really am sorry.”

  He sighed heavily. “Will you promise me one thing?”

  “If I can.” Which left her an out once she heard what he wanted.

  “If you figure out he’s not the right one for you, call me?”

  She’d never confirmed T. Larry was the “he” she’d chosen over Richard, but there was a tension in the air that said he knew. But what was the point in denying it? “I can promise that.” She dipped her head. “Do I still get the flowers?”

  That was a bit rude. It was equally rude to refuse them.

  Richard smiled, and the smile dazzled. It just didn’t make her tingle the way T. Larry did.

  “They’re yours. Do you have a vase to put them in? I’m sorry I didn’t have time to get one.”

  “A vase?” She looked around her office awash in file folders and correspondence.

  “How about your coffee room? Maybe someone left one behind.”

  He was amazingly sure of himself, suggesting, leading, not quite the Richard of Friday or Monday night. Or even a few moments ago. “I’ll look.”

  Madison sidled by him and headed down the hall to the copy-coffee room where she was sure she’d seen a vase in the cupboard under the sink. Glancing at her watch to find it almost eight o’clock, she realized T. Larry would be up from his workout any minute. Best to get rid of Richard ASAP. She ran water in the green glass vase and hurried back to her cube.

  Richard had set the bag on her desk and was busy removing the wrapping from the flowers, a profusion of pink, blue and red carnations. Their sweet fragrance overwhelmed the cubicle, a little too sweet, almost sickly. The reception door opened. Madison held her breath, but the footsteps, muffled by carpeting, headed in the other direction.

  Richard handed her the plastic wrapping. She dropped it.

  “Are you all right, Madison?”

  She was terribly nervous about T. Larry’s reaction. Which was silly because he’d never made her nervous before. But then he’d never touched her that way before, either. “I’m fine. But I’m running a little late this morning.”

  “I’m sorry.” A little boy’s hurt crept into Richard’s voice.

  “I’m not rushing you or anything—”

  “But you don’t want him to walk in and find me here.”

  Her fingers arranging the flowers, she looked up to find his smile gone and his lips tense. She went for honesty since anything else might give Richard the idea he still had a chance. “It does make me a tad uncomfortable.”

  He contemplated his feet. “Yeah. Sure. I better go.”

  “I’ll walk you out.”

  “You better not. Wouldn’t want him to see us together.” He folded the paper bag and tucked it beneath his arm instead of throwing it away in her trash can.

  The door opened again. She knew T. Larry by the sound of his footfall, heavy on the heel, a determined step, unfaltering. Then he was in the doorway of her office.

  His nostrils flared and his gray eyes smoked, the only signs of emotion. He stared at Richard. Richard stared back at him. Like two gunslingers. Then without a word, T. Larry went into his own office and shut the door. Extra quietly.

  Still staring at T. Larry’s closed door, the slight disturbance of air currents warned her Richard had moved around her. He stood at her cubicle entrance, his face impassive and unreadable. “Goodbye, Madison.”

  “Thank you, Richard.” She didn’t walk him out, just watched him disappear into the lobby, sure she’d missed something in the little episode.

  LAURENCE COULD HAVE beaten the younger man to a pulp. Then he could have dragged Madison into his office.

  Thank God he had more control. All he had to do was keep his door closed and tell himself he didn’t care what was going on outside.

  It was a good thing he was already bald; he didn’t have any hair to tear out.

  BILL TAPPED HER DESK. “Hey, beautiful.”

  “Hey, handsome.” She didn’t look up from the pile of yesterday’s correspondence she was editing.

  Bill didn’t move on as he usually did. “Where’d you get the flowers?”

  “Secret admirer,” she quipped, still without looking up.

  Bill made a noise, perhaps a snort, sniffed once, then three more times in rapid succession.

  “Yes, the coffee’s ready,” she told him.

  “What’s that smell?”

  “What smell?” She sniffed, too. Something sweet, yet laced with a hint of…meat slightly off? Could it be her meat loaf sandwich? Nah, that had been less than a week old. She’d noticed the smell when Richard brought his flowers. She hated the thought of throwing them out. “Maybe it’s the Jell-O Jigglers I left on the counter in the copy room.”

  “Jigglers?”

  “In the shape of body parts. And creepy crawlers. When you move the wax paper they’re sitting on, they jiggle,” she said with a smile.

  “Has anyone ever told you that even as cute as you are, you’re a very scary person?”

  “Just you, Bill.” And her brothers. Her mother. T. Larry. Just about everyone.

  He laughed and headed for the coffee, his voice floating back to her. “I like scary.”

  She didn’t want to know what Bill liked. T. Larry had kept his office door closed against her and hadn’t asked her for a single explanation about Richard or the flowers. Well, we’ll see about that, Mr. T. Laurence Hobbs. But first, there was Harriet.

  She beeped Rh
onda. “Have you seen Harriet?”

  “She came in half an hour ago.”

  Madison went prowling the cubicles. There weren’t enough to go round and no assigned work spaces, partners and managers excluded, primarily due to the fact that many days the accountants themselves were out at the clients. When in the office, he or she took what she could get.

  Harriet had secured the corner cube, outside Ryman’s office, on the opposite side from Madison and T. Larry. Her fingers flying over the calculator, she didn’t hear Madison’s approach.

  “Harriet, can I talk to you?”

  She finished adding the column of numbers twice before turning. She’d been crying recently, evidenced by puffy eyes and too much makeup to cover them. “No.”

  She’d replied. That was a good sign. Well, not exactly good, but a step above hopeless. Madison persevered. “I really, truly want to apologize for whatever I did that offended you.”

  With little emotion, Harriet’s gaze flicked over Madison’s long black skirt and turtleneck. Thank God for air-conditioning or she just might boil over on another warm June day, the long-sleeved turtleneck was one of the few things she had left.

  Lips thinning, Harriet muttered, “Apology accepted,” and returned to her numbers.

  Now that was good, even though Madison didn’t believe it. She needed more if she was to be sure Harriet hadn’t been in her apartment with a knife. “Will you tell me what I did wrong? I’m still not clear on that.”

  “You were born.”

  Okay. That definitely fell on the not-good side. Madison took the direct approach. “Do you hate me?”

  Harriet swiveled on her chair, venom in her eyes, her nostrils flared and her lips parted.

  Madison smelled Bill’s coffee before she saw him. Darn. He stopped beside her in the cubicle opening. “Slumming, Madison?”

  Knowing precisely who the cutting remark was aimed at and that it didn’t fall under T. Larry’s office protocol, Harriet’s face flushed.

  Bill really was an ass.

  Madison leaned over to look in his coffee cup. Very white, a lot of cream. “Is that really hot?”

  He gulped, looking at her the whole time. “No.” Then he smiled, all slimy and sexual. “But not due to a lack of effort on your part.”

  “Good.” She elbowed him out of Harriet’s cube, hitting his hand holding the foam cup and sending coffee flying across the front of his white shirt.

  She cupped her hand to her mouth. “Oh, look what I’ve done.”

  He backed up, holding both arms out to survey the damage. His already swarthy complexion turned beetish. “You did that on purpose.”

  Harriet stared, her mouth open.

  Madison smiled, clasped her hands beneath her chin and said sweetly. “Why yes, I think I did.” She batted her eyelashes. “And if you apologize to Harriet, I’ll apologize to you.”

  Wide-eyed, he sputtered, “Apologize to her for what?”

  “That ‘slumming’ remark.”

  “I didn’t mean anything by it.” His head shook as he spoke.

  Madison tipped her nose. “Yes, you did.”

  His chin went down. A line formed between his brows. “I was just kidding around.”

  “We didn’t think it was funny.”

  His gaze flipped from Madison to Harriet and back. “I…well, I guess I’m sorry then.”

  Madison looked to Harriet, whose answer was merely a tight nod of acceptance.

  “I’m sorry I dumped your coffee all over you. I was just kidding around, too. Do you want me to wash your shirt out?”

  He held his hands up, empty coffee cup in his right. “No, no, don’t touch me.” He left down the center hall, hands still surrendering in the air.

  Harriet sat in silence.

  “Now what were we saying?” Madison prompted.

  “You asked if I hated you.”

  “Yeah.” Madison nodded. “Do you?”

  Harriet stared for the longest time, head tilting left, right, then she gave a slight shake. “I don’t know.”

  WELL, THAT WAS SUCCESSFUL. At least Madison thought it was. Harriet hadn’t reacted with glee, or even a smug knowing smile, when she saw Madison’s skirt and turtleneck. By the end, she’d seemed stunned. Madison knew body language, and Harriet’s wasn’t that of someone who’d just torn through a closet full of clothes.

  Nope, Harriet hadn’t done it. Madison held her I’d Rather Be Skydiving coffee mug in her hands for warmth against the sudden chill. So who had? Maybe it was time to call the police. Except that they’d scream and yell because Madison had shoved all the clothes into the bottom of her closet, touched practically every doorknob and almost certainly destroyed any fingerprints that might have been there.

  For now, she was safe at work. She’d worry about the rest when it was time to go home. “Procrastination is my middle name,” she chimed under her breath. Besides, she had to brave T. Larry in his office.

  Putting her coffee down, she squared her shoulders, knocked on his door and opened it.

  “I don’t recall saying come in.”

  With the light streaming in through the window behind him, his arms folded over his chest and his hands dark against his white shirt, he reminded her of Buddha. He wasn’t granting her an audience. She closed the door behind her, then leaning against it, she flicked the lock in place.

  He heard the faint sound. “What are you doing?”

  Madison looked at the couch, and the slow pump of her blood increased fractionally. With a few steps forward, she stood opposite him with her hands on the back of his leather guest seat. She pointedly ignored the fact that Richard had been in her office. “We have to talk about yesterday.”

  “We already decided last night that it was a mistake.”

  “You decided it was. That’s not the same thing.”

  His lips bleached. The overhead lights reflected off his glasses. “All right. Unlock the door and we can discuss it.”

  She moved around his desk, trailing her finger along the dark wood, turning until she stood on his side of the desk, right in front of him. His breath quickened in the silence. Her flesh went all goose pimply. Her hands were suddenly cold, and her rings slipped around on her fingers. She didn’t know if she could do or say the things she’d concocted in her mind.

  As she inched closer, T. Larry rolled back. She leaned down to grab the arms of his chair. “Let’s leave the door locked so we won’t be interrupted.”

  He swallowed with effort. “I’m glad to see you’re wearing more appropriate clothing, but didn’t you wear that skirt Monday?”

  She looked down, her hair falling forward, the ends brushing his belt. “It’s the only one I had left…I mean, that was long enough.”

  The pulse thrummed visibly at his throat. He was barely hanging on, despite the almost neutral quality of his words. “Perhaps you should shop this weekend.”

  She pulled her gaze to his and pursed her lips in a pouty little smile. “Don’t you want me, T. Larry?”

  Behind his glasses, his eyes went wide and dark. His mouth worked, but she’d robbed him of speech.

  Very good. “You said you wanted me the other night at mini golf.”

  “I got over it.”

  She lifted one leg and set her knee beside his on the chair. He jerked. “Are you sure? It didn’t feel like you’d gotten over it yesterday when you had me on your lap.”

  His hands went to her arms, but he neither pulled her in nor pushed her away. “Yesterday I was insane. I apologize. It won’t happen again.”

  She might have believed him except for the tremble in his touch and the uniquely hot male scent rising off him like a mind-altering vapor. Madison pulled at her skirt, slid her knee along the chair, then straddled him before he had a chance to act.

  “Jesus Christ, Madison, what are you doing?”

  She wriggled on top of him, adjusting her legs and skirt in the tight fit between the arms of his chair and his thighs. He groaned. “T. Larry,
it feels like you want me.” She pressed down on the issue for proper punctuation.

  His hands flexed convulsively on her arms. “Madison,” rasped past his vocal cords.

  “You said I should forget about Richard. I have.”

  “Then why was he here?”

  Ah, she had him. “He just showed up. I told him to leave.”

  His eyes got all smoky hot. “What about the flowers?”

  Wonderful reaction. She smiled. “I’ll throw them out.”

  “It doesn’t matter to me.”

  She knew by the set of his lips that it did. But enough about Richard and his flowers. This was about T. Larry and her. “You said I should give you a chance. I will.”

  “It’s impossible. This is the office. We’re breaking all the rules.”

  She smiled brightly, shaking off his touch to loop her arms around his neck and lean closer. His hands fell to her hips and settled there, clutching, kneading, stroking.

  “I’ve only got a week until my birthday. T. Larry, you’re my only hope.”

  “Couldn’t you fall in love with Bill?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Yuck. He torments Harriet. I couldn’t love a person like that.”

  “What about Zach?”

  She rolled her eyes. “He can’t even look me in the face when he asks for a peanut butter cup. I scare him.”

  “You scare me, too.” His hands worked the flesh of her hips, sliding down to cup her bottom, then up her sides to the swell of her breasts, setting off the most delicious little tingles. “Don’t you know anyone else who can help you? A friend of one of your brothers?”

  She smiled, then swooped in to rub her nose against his. “Nope. Just you. And it’s your duty since you made me tell Richard I couldn’t see him anymore.”

  “I can’t.” He sounded half-strangled. “I really can’t.”

  “Maybe you should try kissing me.”

  His grip fell once more to her hips, his eyes closed, and the lower half of his body surged against her, perhaps involuntarily. Oh yes. Oh goodness. Her panties and the material of her skirt were barely any barrier against the hard ridge of his penis.