by Lori Foster
“With everyone’s estates coming to me, it was overwhelming. So many people, bankers and accountants and financial advisers, all wanted to meet with me.” She swallowed. “And I just wanted to grieve.”
Stack smoothed her hair, brushed her cheek with his thumb. “So you’ll join us for Thanksgiving.” Now that he was mending fences, he’d definitely be there, and he wanted her with him.
He almost choked, but he lied, “It’ll be fun.”
Vanity twisted again to see him, then laughed at his face. “Liar. I bet until this moment, you weren’t even planning on going.”
His mother did him in. “That would be my fault. I’ve showed far too much favoritism to Tabby. Stack was younger, but easier, and Tabby’s always needed more attention. It was so unfair of me.”
Odd that his mom would bring that up now, in front of Vanity. “That had nothing to do with it.”
Expression pained, she said, “But you don’t deny I’ve been unfair.”
Gently, he said, “I’m a grown man, Mom. Not a kid.”
“But you weren’t always, and I’m sorry.” She didn’t wait for him to respond before saying to Vanity, “Until all that hoopla at the hospital, Stack had vowed never to set eyes on Phil again.”
“I didn’t vow,” Stack protested. She made him sound as dramatic as Tabby. But he didn’t want to be distracted with Phil’s stupidity right now. He stroked his fingers through Vanity’s hair and said, “I’m going to Thanksgiving dinner with my mom and sister, and you’ve been invited. I’d like for you to go with me. So, what do you say?”
Encouraging her, his mom added, “It’ll be at my house. I like to cook the meal. It’ll just be Stack, Tabby and Phil, maybe my brother and his wife. Not sure about that yet.” She toyed with the edge of the throw blanket covering her legs. “We lost my husband six years ago, but he did love Thanksgiving.”
“I’m so sorry.” Vanity glanced at Stack, then back to Lynn. “I didn’t realize. I’m sure you miss him very much.”
Lynn smiled. “Yes. Tabby and I might even shed a few tears.”
“They definitely will. It happens every holiday.” But somehow Stack knew Vanity would understand.
“Those we’ve lost,” Lynn said, “are especially missed at every holiday.”
Vanity looked away. “It’s...difficult to plan that far ahead.”
Stack wondered if she preferred to be alone with her memories. Or maybe she was unsure of where their relationship would go. They were still measuring it in days, not weeks.
Lynn sat forward. “No one should spend those special times alone.” Looking insanely hopeful, as if Stack had somehow deprived her up to that point, she tacked on, “Join us. Please.”
Worried, Vanity glanced at Stack. “It’s a family event, and I don’t want to impose.” Lower, like she thought Hawkeye, aka his mother, wouldn’t notice, she added, “That wasn’t our agreement and I’m not sure we...”
He wanted to say Fuck the agreement, but just then a key sounded in the apartment door, drawing everyone’s attention as it swung open.
With twisted glee showing plain in his demeanor, Phil stepped in—and the dumbass had Whitney with him.
His mother gave a quiet gasp.
Too stunned to be mad, Stack stared at Whitney as he slowly stood, aware of Vanity scrambling out of his way.
Whitney looked exactly the same, like a brunette bombshell. Thick, dark hair hung past her shoulders and around her hefty rack. Blue eyes, as cold as her heart, zeroed in on him, and she gave a tremulous smile.
Smirking, Phil put a hand to her lower back, ushering her in. “Look who I found coming to visit you, Lynn. It’s Whitney.”
Whitney looked thrilled to be interrupting—until she spotted Vanity. Then she drew upon absurd indignation and suspicion, scowling as if Stack had somehow betrayed her.
Standing, Vanity took it all in, slipped her hand into Stack’s, and said to his mother, “I’d love to join you for Thanksgiving. Thank you for inviting me.”
* * *
IT TOOK LESS than two seconds for Vanity to know that Whitney, the voluptuous beauty standing poised before her, was pure trouble. Some women were like that, she knew. They enjoyed causing drama and conflict. No doubt, Whitney was the source of negativity between Phil and Stack.
And yet f’ing stupid Phil had dragged her in here, now, when Stack was only just reuniting with his family.
She turned to Stack—seeing six feet, 185 pounds of badass ability. But in that moment, she wanted to defend him.
Not her place. Not yet anyway.
Would she let that stop her? Nope.
Only after she’d hugged up to Stack’s arm did she extend a hand toward the other woman. Putting on her airiest blonde bombshell attitude, she said, “Hi, Whitney. How are you? I’m Vanity.” And yeah, Stack is mine. So eat that.
Eyes narrowed, Whitney took her hand. It’d be best if Whitney had no clue of her backbone, so Vanity kept the shake deliberately limp.
That earned her a strange look from Stack.
“Vanity?” Whitney asked with a mocking surprise. “Odd name.”
“Yes.” Another demonstrative squeeze to Stack—and another “WTF” look from him. “It’s funny how I got the name. See, my mama says I was a beautiful baby with curly blond hair and big blue eyes, smiling at everyone. She and my aunts decided that I was so cute, vanity would be my vice, so I might as well be named that.”
Unimpressed, Whitney gave a malicious smile. “And are you?”
“Cute? I like to think so.” She tipped her head back against Stack. “He certainly thinks so.”
Playing along, Stack kissed her forehead and said, “Cute doesn’t begin to cover it.”
Vanity beamed at him. “I’m proud,” she continued to Whitney. “But not narcissistic. Overall my worst fault is that I’m possessive. Very, very possessive.”
Lynn choked but turned it into a cough that turned into a laugh.
Using it as an opportunity, Stack freed his arm from Vanity’s grip and snagged up his mother’s tea glass. “I’ll refill your drink.”
Vanity watched him stride to the kitchen. You can run, but you can’t hide. She was onto him now. No, she didn’t know the details. Had Whitney cheated on him with Phil? Betrayed Stack in some other way?
She wouldn’t pry. When he was ready, he’d tell her. She hoped.
In the meantime, she’d do her best to behave.
“Where’s Tabby?” Lynn asked. “Shouldn’t she have been home by now?”
Very disinterested, Phil rolled one shoulder. “She’s working overtime and then hitting up the grocery store. Past due, by the way. There’s nothing here to eat.”
Vanity tipped her head at him. “You don’t grocery shop?”
The direct challenge—given nicely—threw him. “Tabby likes to do it.”
“After working overtime. Wow, she’s like superwoman. I bet that’s intimidating at times, being with someone so strong.” She smiled after delivering that barb.
It took Phil a bit to come up with a reply, and then, sounding like a petulant boy, he snapped, “Tabby knows I’m strong, too. She always says we’re a good match.”
Ignoring that was the worst insult she could give, so that’s what Vanity did. Eyeing the other woman, who still hovered near the door, she said, “Whitney, did you want to come in?”
Lynn smiled at Vanity. “You’re a very good hostess. I don’t know where my manners have gone.”
“You’ve always been a wonderful hostess,” Whitney gushed, while casting a mean look Vanity’s way.
As Whitney stepped farther into the room, the dogs moved to greet her. “No, go. Git.” Whitney swatted at them on her way to sit by Lynn.
“I’ll close them in the bathroom,” Phil offered.
“No,” Vanity said, not bothering to hide her temper. “You won’t.” She held out a hand, and the dogs returned to plop down by her feet. “It’s all right, babies,” she told them. “Not everyone likes d
ogs.” Because not everyone has a heart.
Phil stood there glaring at her—and again Vanity ignored him while listening to Whitney coo and gush—oh-so-falsely—over Lynn. Had Stack been in love with that vile woman? Did he love her still? She couldn’t see it; it took little time in Whitney’s presence to know she wasn’t a nice person.
Yet Phil had brought her here for a reason, that much was plain. Did he expect Stack to weaken in Whitney’s presence?
Vanity figured she should probably come up with a plan. She was good at plans, at creating them and following through. It’s what she’d done when Carl passed, when she’d lost her family, and when her best friend left California and moved to Ohio.
What she’d done when she decided she wanted Stack.
If you thought things through, there was usually a way to make your goals happen. Plan. Carry through. Voilà—success.
She glanced toward the kitchen and saw Stack, his back to the room, his cell phone to his ear. The conversation was low, so she didn’t know who he’d called, but she did know not to intrude.
Whitney, apparently, didn’t.
Standing, she told Lynn, “I’ll just go see what’s keeping Stack.” Then to Vanity, “Stay put. I’ll take care of it.”
“Really?” Vanity said, all sarcastic sugar. “Thank you. I’ll treasure this moment of respite.”
Confusion had Whitney searching the room for an ally, but Phil was nowhere around, and Lynn just smiled at her. Without another word, Whitney hustled away. Vanity watched as the woman approached Stack, as her hand went to his back—as Stack stepped out of her reach.
Whispering, Lynn said, “Ignore her. Stack is smarter than that.”
Vanity nodded. She hoped so, but when it came to easy conquests, men could be ridiculous.
Lynn patted the seat beside her, so Vanity joined her on the sofa. So did the dogs. And unlike Whitney, she and Lynn enjoyed their company.
“Is there anything I can get you?” Vanity asked, then clarified, “Other than a drink, because no way am I walking into that kitchen.”
“Pride,” Lynn said with a grin. “I love it. And I like you. A lot. You say you’re wealthy...?”
“Yes.” It still embarrassed her a little to explain how easily, and how awfully, the money had come to her. She hadn’t earned it. And she had no one special to share it with.
“You don’t act like someone who is rich.”
Her dislike of stereotypes made it impossible for Vanity to keep the protests to herself. “Have you known many wealthy people?”
Lynn shrugged. “No. But I listen to the news, and I see how they’re portrayed in movies.”
“It’s mostly bunk. People are people, good and bad. Some poor and some privileged. But I’ve known really good people at every income level. My parents were...distant. My aunts, too. But I had friends who came from very close families. And some of my parents’ associates were major philanthropists. Very involved, not just by donating money but their time also.”
Looking more pleased by the moment, Lynn said gently, “I stand corrected.”
“I hope you don’t think I’m lecturing—”
“Not at all.” She took Vanity’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “But I’m starting to think you’re one of those philanthropists.”
Heat rushed into her face. “I wasn’t trying to brag, either.”
“I know that.” With a final squeeze, Lynn released her. “I’m just tickled pink that you’re joining us for the holidays.”
* * *
PHIL STOOD JUST around the corner, out of sight but within hearing range. And he’d heard plenty, enough that his mind churned with ideas.
So Stack’s new squeeze was rolling in dough? Fucking awesome. There had to be a way for him to use that to his advantage. Maybe with Whitney’s help—although that stupid bitch had already allowed herself to be done in.
Maybe it had been a mistake to use her to irk Stack. Maybe all he needed was to get on Vanity’s good side. She was so clueless, it shouldn’t be too tough.
Clueless, but incredibly hot.
He’d find out where she lived, pay her a visit and see what he could work out. Very, very soon.
* * *
WHEN SHE HEARD Whitney laugh in the kitchen, Vanity made up her mind. She was a pragmatist but not a masochist.
Time for her to go.
Hoping to make a strategic exit, she whispered to Lynn, “If you need anything, anything at all, please, let me know. And again, thank you for the invitation to Thanksgiving. I’m honored to be included.”
Then it struck her. The invite could be rescinded if Stack reunited with Whitney!
Just as quickly, she shook her head.
Stack wouldn’t. As Lynn said, he was smart. Whatever reasons he’d had for breaking things off with the woman, they would have been valid. He was not a weak man, not in any way.
He wouldn’t be easily fooled by Whitney’s nonsense.
Watching her, Lynn laughed and patted her arm. With a nod toward the kitchen, she said, “You have nothing to worry about from that one. Stack isn’t Tabby. He knows how to take care of himself.”
Maybe. But Vanity sensed that Phil was up to something, and she didn’t like it.
“Thank you.” Vanity started to rise, but Lynn pulled her in for a hug. And it felt so good, so motherly, that Vanity soaked it up, lingering a second or two longer than she should have.
Deciding she’d imposed long enough, she thanked Lynn again, gathered the dogs and, being as quiet as she could with two unruly midsize animals, snuck away.
* * *
“HOLD UP.” OUTSIDE the apartment, Stack saw Vanity continue across the street. He knew she’d heard him. Just as clearly she planned to ignore him. Rather than chase her down, he stopped, whistled, and the dogs, which he liked more by the minute, nearly pulled her off her feet when they turned back to him.
Vanity didn’t face him, but he saw her shoulders slump in acceptance of the inevitable. Got you now.
The things she did, and the reasons she did them, often eluded him. She’d staked a claim in front of Whitney—a claim she’d probably deny—and then had hightailed it out the door the minute Whitney tried to get clingy with him.
As Stack strode across the street toward her, the wind picked up her long hair and made it dance to the side. She didn’t shiver. She didn’t move at all except for when the dogs tugged at their leashes, making her stumble. She just stood there, her back to him, waiting.
He’d have walked her out, damn it, but she’d waited until Whitney trapped him alone in the kitchen and then snuck off like a thief. Somehow she’d even kept the dogs quiet.
If it hadn’t been for his mother alerting him, he’d have returned to the room to find her gone.
Thinking of Whitney’s hands on him, how she’d stared suggestively at his mouth, then his crotch, made him want to shower.
Or maybe just rub himself all over Vanity’s naked body; replace the bad with the good.
Yeah, that idea appealed more.
When he reached her, he stepped right up to her slender back, slipped his arms around her, and kissed the back of her neck that the wind had nicely exposed.
Now she shivered. “Wanna tell me why you ran out on me?”
One shoulder lifted in a halfhearted shrug. “I didn’t run.”
“No, you tiptoed.”
She didn’t deny that. “I just had to go, that’s all.”
He could read nothing in her tone, but her posture said a lot. “Come on.” He relieved her of one of the leashes and led the way to her car. Many times now he’d admired her new-model Mustang convertible. The car suited her—classy, beautiful and far from wimpy. “That’s an awfully nice ride for dogs.”
Totally missing his point, she said, “Thanks,” as she unlocked the door and, with total disregard for the buttery soft leather seats, urged the dogs into the back.
After the dogs got situated, Stack took her upper arms and pulled her into his ches
t. “Kiss me.”
She looked up in surprise. Street lamps added interesting shadows to her face; the cold turned her nose and cheeks pink. “Here?”
Meaning it, he said, “Anywhere you want.”
And damned if her gaze didn’t drop down his body.
The effect of her interest was far, far different from Whitney’s.
Stifling a groan, Stack urged her closer. “Yeah, don’t get me going if you can’t follow through. I’m in a bad way already.”
Pleased, she grinned up at him. “You’re the one who wanted to talk so much this morning.”
He could feel her warming, softening, and it spurred him on. “We talked about you. Fascinating topic. How could I resist?”
Her husky laugh sharpened the ache. “I was offering sex.”
Against her lips, he whispered, “Offer it again.”
She stared at his mouth, teasing busy fingers over the neckline of his shirt, occasionally stroking his skin. “I want to.”
Kissing her seemed like a really good idea, so he did. Softly, barely there. Except that as he leaned away she followed, then licked his bottom lip in invitation.
Which he accepted.
Drawing her in, he turned his head and fit their mouths together for a prelude-to-sex type kiss. The wet warmth of her mouth reminded him of wetter, warmer places. His dick remembered, too, and now the unruly bastard wanted to salute.
Stack tried to think of something other than Vanity’s body, but her hands fisted in his open jacket, then moved to his shirt.
Then under his shirt—and he lost it.
Someone beeped, and Stack lifted his head to hear cheers from the passing carload of high school boys.
“Damn.” He kissed her lips again, the corner of her mouth, her throat. “I need you, Vanity.”
“You do? Still?”
“Hell, yeah. We could have had sex this morning and this afternoon, and I’d want you again.” And again and again and again. He held her face so she couldn’t look away. “Let’s put the agreement aside.”
Eyes widening, she breathed faster. “Meaning...?”
“I don’t want a stopwatch ticking in my ear.”
Fascinated, she again looked at his mouth, then back up to his eyes with yearning. “What do you want?”