“You’re letting sentiment instead of intellect steer your choices. That’s not a good idea, Sergeant.”
“They’re my choices,” Max said without heat. He’d heard different choruses of this same song most of his life. His uncle, just like his father before him, had a specific plan in mind for Max’s career. Max wasn’t playing by any plans but his own, though.
“Don’t be discourteous, Maximilian,” his mother said, uttering her first words since they’d sat down to dine. Such was the hierarchy, Max knew. His uncle, like his late father, claimed precedence. If the General hadn’t been there, Tabby would have controlled the conversation. As a child, Max had often wondered when his turn would come. Then, when he’d grown older, he’d hoped it never did.
“Darling,” his mother continued, “while you’re home, I hope you’ll find time to socialize. There are many people who’d love to see you again. And I’ve accepted a number of invitations on your behalf.”
“I’m home to help you, Mother. To look over the finances, take the car in for service, make sure the house isn’t falling apart,” he said, only half teasing. This was his job. Once a year, come home to personally make sure everything was running smoothly. It was how he justified the joy and freedom he felt the rest of the year.
“Your mother’s right,” the General put in. “Obligations are necessary, of course. But so are building the right connections.”
Connections. Both the General and Tabby believed strongly in the power of networking. The most influential people, the correct alliances, the smartest services. Every decision was weighed with an eye for how it’d enhance the St. James name and reputation, from the boarding school Max had been sent to at four to the military school he’d graduated from. His major act of defiance had been to enlist the minute he’d left high school instead of attending West Point.
“We’ll see,” Max hedged. “Mother’s books and the estate take top priority. And I’ve a number of personal obligations to see to, as well.”
He could imagine the look of outrage on Sophia’s face if she’d heard him refer to her as an obligation. Hell, he just might tell her so he could enjoy the fireworks. The woman was definitely exciting.
“Don’t be silly, darling,” Tabby said quickly, as if rushing to stave off an explosion. Since the tension in the room had reached electric proportions, she was probably smart. “I’ve got Bobby, the gardener’s assistant helping me out with all those little jobs, so you’ll have plenty of time to socialize.”
“You just said you were having problems,” the General reminded her tersely. “Over drinks, before Max arrived.”
“Well, yes,” Tabby said, looking flustered. “But nothing that requires Maximilian’s attention. The historical society has an issue with a particular building. We feel the business is too controversial and would like it shut down or moved.”
His attention was more on keeping himself from drooling over the rich wine-scented coq au vin Sterling had just set before him than on his mother’s comment. His knife and fork were in hand before her words sank in.
“You can do that?” he asked. “Shut down a business because you don’t like them?”
“Well, it’s not easy, but yes, eventually we can.”
Max grimaced. As usual, Tabby didn’t take note. Instead she changed topics right back to the list of women she’d lined up for him to date. Dates they both knew Max would avoid. Then her chatter shifted to the upcoming country club winter ball.
That, he wouldn’t be able to avoid. Maybe he could convince Sophia to go with him, though. Max recalled the way she’d hustled him out of her gallery and smirked. Right. He was pretty sure she’d just as soon ride naked across the Golden Gate Bridge than date him.
Probably on that marble cock.
5
HER SHORT, APRICOT-TINTED nails tapped an irritated beat on the wood of her desk while Ryan, her insurance agent, droned on over the phone. Sophia stared so hard at her computer screen, her eyes watered and the bright colors of her goal chart bled together.
Every few seconds she made a humming noise to indicate that she was listening.
Five minutes later, she carefully eased the phone from between her ear and her shoulder, gently pressed the Off key and, keeping a pleasant look on her face, swiveled her chair so she could set the phone in its charger.
Across the room, Gina sank deeper into the tapestry couch, chewed off the purple polish on her thumbnail and waited for the explosion.
Sophia pursed her lips as she glanced at the two pages of notes she’d taken during her conversation, then closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath.
Apparently unable to stand it any longer, Gina asked in a tiny voice, “Are they raising the rates?”
“They’re considering it,” Sophia acknowledged. “Apparently police reports add to our risk factor.”
To say nothing about how they added weight to the ugly rumors. Olivia had already called this morning to chide Sophia, pointing out that they were supposed to be downplaying the evidence for Lynn, not add to it.
“I shouldn’t have called them,” Gina said, sounding like she was going to cry. “I just thought…”
“No,” Sophia said with a quick shake of her head. “If you hadn’t called, Max or I would have.”
“I’m sorry.”
Sophia shook her head at her assistant, looking so forlorn behind her red and black striped cat’s-eye glasses. “Gina, don’t worry about it. Seriously. Ryan gave me a list of things I can do to keep the rates from increasing.”
“Like?”
“Like…” Sophia stalled for time by looking at the list. She blinked a couple of times to clear her eyes. Most of them were impossible, but Gina didn’t have to know that. “Add bars to the front windows. Install cameras and upgrade our security system. Get stronger releases from the artists.”
She gave Gina a bright, cheerful smile and flicked her finger at the last item on the list. “And the easiest? Find out who’s messing with us and have them arrested. Ryan figures since the graffiti and vandalism have escalated in the past month, it probably has to do with the upcoming show.”
“The show?” Gina narrowed heavily lined eyes. “I don’t think so. This is personal, if you ask me. Do you think this is all happening because of your money-grubbing slut status?”
“Huh?”
“All those rumors about your competency, about you being a tramp who pushed your husband into focusing on sex statues to make money? They all started after your stepdaughter contested the will, right?”
“Right.”
“Now you’re changing the focus of the gallery. Eliminating the erotic art it’s been known for. You’re showing all new artists. You’re trying to bring in a totally different clientele.” Gina talked so fast, her high-pitched words almost tumbled over themselves on the way out of her mouth. “We both know that for all Joseph’s sex-sells philosophy, the gallery wasn’t doing so well the past couple years. But if you turn it around, reclaim its former glory, Esprit’s going to be huge again. I’ll bet Lynn’s furious about that.”
Tears blurred Sophia’s eyes so fast she didn’t even have time to blink. God, she was tired of this. For eight months she’d been fighting Lynn for Joseph’s estate. She’d struggled with fear over every damned choice, every freaking decision.
Sniffling, she glanced at her computer screen, her goal board a blur of colors.
“You’re right. She probably is behind it all. But I can’t prove anything. I’ve told Olivia my suspicions, and she’s told the police. All anyone can do is watch and wait.” Sophia clenched her fists in frustration. Always, it seemed, she was stuck in the passive role. “Meanwhile, I can’t give up. I deserve my dream, don’t I? I’m willing to work for it. To fight for it.”
She pushed away from her desk, stepping barefoot toward the hall where she could see her once again spotlessly beautiful gallery.
“I’ve wanted this since I was ten. When I helped out at the cantina, I’d spend
my breaks sitting at the table by the window, wearing my brother’s hand-me-downs and watching the fancy people coming and going through the gallery.”
“What was it like? Glamorous? Ritzy? All artsy and bohemian?” Gina asked, anxiety forgotten as she drew her knees up into story time pose.
“Bohemian?” Sophia laughed, her tears forgotten as she curled up on the couch next to Gina. “Just how old do you think I am?”
Gina rolled her eyes and waited.
“It was incredible,” Sophia said softly. She stared at the photos framed on the opposite wall. “The beveled glass windows were like jewels on an elegant lady. In the evening, between the lunch and dinner hours, the sun would hit the brick of the building, turning it the color of a soft rose. It was just so romantic-looking.”
She smiled, the memories flooding back. “It was pretty casual during the day, but for shows? Oh, man, it was gorgeous. The women would wear fancy dresses, the men suits. It just screamed class to a girl with dishpan hands and a bowl haircut to match her brothers’.”
Gina giggled. With good reason, Sophia knew, since she’d once shared a pitcher of margaritas and childhood pictures with the other woman. She’d been raised by her father and six older brothers; it hadn’t been until she’d left for college that she’d learned the finer points of being female. At ten, she’d been just one of the boys.
“My dad used to let me come over once in a while and I’d stare at the photographs. The way they were displayed, the stories they told. I wanted to be a part of this world so badly,” Sophia admitted, tracing one finger over the patterned fabric of her sofa. That’s why she’d taken up photography. The first time she’d looked through the lens of her dad’s old camera, she’d known she’d found her passion. She’d saved for a year to buy her first camera. “I think I saw it as nirvana. A little piece of heaven.”
“And you got it, right?” Gina said, sounding unsure.
“In a way. Joseph bought the gallery as a wedding gift. A way for me to have my dream and still keep an eye on my father. This was before he’d sold the cantina.”
Sophia remembered how naively thrilled she’d been, believing that Joseph had actually meant that the gallery would be hers.
“So you’re going to recreate that world?”
“It’s all I ever wanted for the gallery. I mean, c’mon, erotic art? Penises and orgies? That never screamed elegant or classy to me, you know?”
Gina nodded. Sophia had hired her despite Joseph’s protests, finding a kindred spirit in the wild younger woman. Gina had been at the gallery for about a year before Joseph had died. She knew firsthand what kind of man he’d been.
“Well, you have to admit that diamond-tipped bust of, well a bust, was pretty elegant.”
“Girls with Grills?” Sophia winced, remembering how hard it had been to convince Joseph not to buy it himself. By that time, they’d not only been in separate bedrooms but entirely separate wings of the estate. But still… “Bling does not elegance make.”
“I know,” Gina gushed. She leaned forward in her best gossip pose, humor glinting in her eyes. “Like the current trend of bedazzling your coochie. Vagazzle. Talk about overkill.”
Sophia’s laugh gurgled out.
And just like that, all of her stress and anger dissipated. That was one of the things Sophia loved about Gina, her ability to enjoy the absurd in life. And to make Sophia want to do the same.
“Exactly,” Sophia agreed enthusiastically, pointing her finger in agreement. “I mean, what’s wrong with good old-fashioned girly bits without rhinestones?”
“Nothing, if you ask me,” a man’s voice offered, laughter lurking behind his words.
Gina jumped so hard, she slid off the couch. Apparently deciding three was a crowd, she stood and hurried out of the room.
Nerves suddenly on full alert, Sophia shivered. All her life, she’d figured lust was the thing of romance novels. Now she found out lust was not only all too real, it could be ignited with just the sound of Max’s voice.
Just the man she’d been trying to pretend she didn’t want to see. She gave herself five whole seconds—an eternity, in her mind—to gather her control, and to struggle to put her sandals back on. One hand on her stomach to try to calm the horde of horny butterflies zinging around, she sucked in a breath, then opened her eyes.
“Sergeant, I didn’t hear you come in.” She stood, smoothing her skirt and offering a hand that barely trembled. He looked…delicious. She’d told herself he couldn’t be as sexy as she’d thought. That it’d just been the tequila, the upset over the vandalism, that’d skewed her perception.
And then she’d spent all night dreaming about him.
“It’s Max, remember?” He took her hand in his, subtly pulling her a little closer. The move doused her passion like a cold shower. The man was such a control freak; he even took over the simple greeting.
“Right.” She slipped her hand from his and stepped back. Enough to show she was in control. And almost enough to keep her knees from melting. “I’m surprised to see you again. I thought we said our goodbyes yesterday? Or did you have another message for me from my brother?”
There. She smiled, pleased. That should put him in his place. Which was out of her reach, clearly marked off-limits and dangerous.
“The police suggested that your problems are probably due to a grudge or vendetta. They don’t have the personnel to stake out the gallery,” he reminded her. Sophia’s smile faded. “I went ahead and pulled a few strings. Three of the top private investigative firms in the Bay Area are coming by this afternoon to talk to you and offer bids.”
“What? You…? No way…” She was so shocked at his audacity, she couldn’t even finish a sentence. She tried to catch her breath, sure that when she could breathe again, the spots would fade from her eyes and she could glare properly.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” she finally sputtered. “What possessed you to presume such a thing? Do the women in your world always expect you to shove them aside so you can take over?”
His friendly look shifted to confusion. She felt bad. She knew she was taking her own issues out on him. That wasn’t fair. He probably didn’t mean to be pushy. Here she was jumping all over him—and not in a good way—and he probably thought he was being considerate.
“I wouldn’t say I expect women to let me take over,” he answered with a puzzled shrug. “At least, no more than the men do. I mean, if I’m the best person for the job, it doesn’t matter who steps aside to let me do it, right?”
“Step aside? Best person?” All of her conciliatory intentions flew out the window as his words set fire not only to her issues, but her temper. Before she could grab that control she kept telling herself she wanted, she exploded.
MAX LEANED BACK AGAINST the wall, his eyes narrowed as he watched Sophia rant, her hips swinging with a little Latin flair as she paced the room. She tossed her lush hair, punctuated her accusations with huge arm waves, cussed in both English and Spanish.
She was incredible.
He let her words wash over him, instead letting the delightful view finally calm the churning that’d been making a mess of his gut since the previous night’s meal. By dessert, his mother had tried to arrange three dates for him, dumped the company’s audit on his shoulders and begged for his help with her little historical society complication.
A complication called Sophia.
If there was one thing he knew, it was that any connection between his mother and a woman he had sexual designs on meant only bad things. Tabby was like the kiss of death to Max’s sex life.
A mother’s fondest wish, he figured.
“Look,” he finally interrupted. “Not that I’m not enjoying the show, but the first guy’s going to be here any minute now. Maybe you can yell at me later?”
Sophia stopped pacing so fast he was surprised she didn’t fall off those sexy heels. Strappy sandals today, he noted, in a hot red leather in the exact hue of her toenails. Delicate little
toes and smooth arches wrapped in criss-crossing bands. He wanted to slide those shoes off her feet and scatter soft kisses along her delicate ankle. Up her smooth calf. Along the sensitive flesh behind her knee.
He shoved his hands in his pockets, wondering when the hell he’d developed a foot fetish.
“Did you listen to a word I said?” she snapped, the demand in her tone pulling him from his contemplation of how it’d feel to have her toes work their way over his body. “Were you even paying the least bit of attention?”
“Sure,” he lied, adding a charming smile to lend weight to his words. “You don’t want a P.I. poking into your history or embarrassing you by asking your friends and family nosy questions. Esprit is your business and if you wanted an investigator, you’d hire one yourself. And as for who I think I am, I’m assuming that was rhetorical since we both know I’m the guy your big brother sent to look out for you.”
Max’s smile slid into a smirk. He couldn’t help it. She just looked so cute standing there, her fists on her hips and her mouth working like a fish trying to breathe. After what she’d told him about growing up with her overprotective brothers, he knew brandishing the Rico card was pushing his luck. But hell, he defused bombs for a living. He was used to playing on the edge.
“You’re…” She just stared, her hands waving around as if she was trying to grab the right words out of the air.
“A great guy? Yeah,” Max said, straightening from the wall and stepping forward until he was a few inches away. Close enough to really appreciate the way anger made her eyes go a deep blue.
And close enough for her to smack him good if he didn’t watch his step.
With that in mind, he wiped the grin off his face and tempered his words as if he were talking to a shock victim. “I’m here to help, okay? I’m not trying to take over or to ignore your authority. I’m just doing what I do, fixing messes before they do damage.”
He waited for her to soften.
She squared her shoulders and crossed her arms over her chest.
Uniformly Hot! Volume 1 from Harlequin: Letters from HomeBreaking the RulesComing Up for Air Page 21