I nearly redialed her on the phone, intending to tell her the first fantastical excuse that popped into my head. I couldn't go on a date with her this Friday because it would conflict with my already scheduled vacation. I'd just come down with a horribly infectious disease and the doctors were locking me up in a quarantine ward in the hospital for the rest of my life. I was actually a ghost, and had died on the Stone mansion grounds more than two hundred years ago. I could only appear for a single forty-eight hour period once every decade, and I used up all my spiritual energies in pleasing her in bed last night.
Hell, my finger was halfway to the redial button before I managed to snap myself out of that brief but strong bout of insanity. "I need to talk to someone," I said aloud, chucking the phone away from me, down towards the other end of the sofa. "That's what I need to do. Richard will have answers for me."
Feeling a little unsteady, I got up and headed out of the sitting room, searching through the oversized house for its other inhabitants.
I didn't come across Richard, but I entered the main kitchen of the mansion – the kitchen on the ground floor, for use by the lord and lady, rather than the more industrial kitchen in the basement to be used by servants for catering massive banquets – and saw a figure on the other side. I briefly considered turning around and retreating right back out, but sharp ears caught the sound of my footsteps on the hardwood floors.
"Tanner," Linda Stone said, turning around and piercing me with her keen gaze. "Good of you to show up once again. We were about to send out the search parties."
I winced. "Yeah, I'm sorry that I ducked out on the party last night. Hopefully things didn't get too out of control."
Linda looked down for a moment, her lips twitching. "I suppose it wasn't as wild as some of the crazy bashes that Sebastian tells me about, but people definitely cut loose and let go of most of their inhibitions by the end of the night."
"Anything get too broken?"
"Only a couple bits of antique furniture," she said, with a little smile that communicated far more than her words. I guessed that, even if those bits of furniture hadn't broken last night, they still would have found their way to the dumpster in short order, more victims of her ruthless redecorating campaign. "We will likely also need to repaint a couple of rooms, and I suspect that the rose bushes in the front yard may need a gardener's attention, if they don't end up needing to be replaced completely."
"What happened to them?"
She shook her head, a mother despairing over the recklessness of her wayward children. "Some idiot actor named Jake Burne apparently decided to live up to his last name, tried to demonstrate how to breathe fire."
"And he did it?" I asked, impressed.
She scoffed. "Not exactly. He took a mouthful of very expensive bourbon, held up a lighter, and then set most of the rosebush on fire. Would have fallen into the burning bush, too, had Richard not had the presence of mind to haul him back."
I winced. "Again, sorry I wasn't there."
"And on that topic, care to explain why?" In a flash, she'd spun my words back around to wield against me, probing for answers. Before she married Richard, Linda had worked as a psychiatrist, specializing in helping military veterans. She knew exactly how to turn the screws on a reluctant man and convince him to open up and spill his deepest secrets. Those interrogative skills had, if anything, grown even sharper since she joined the Stone family and began dissecting the psyches of the absurdly rich and powerful.
"I, uh, met someone." I wondered how much of last night I should share with Linda. Right on the heels of that thought, I wondered how much I could hope to keep back from her.
"Interesting," she said. She leaned back slightly against the counter, lifting a cup of steaming tea up to her lips while regarding me over its brim. Linda had enough height to meet my gaze directly, not needing to tilt her head back. "And things went well, I take it?"
"Yeah, really well." Unbidden and unwelcome, another flash of memory burst in my head. I remembered my muscles straining and flexing as I lifted Helen O'Callahan's naked body up so that I fully supported her, feeling every inch of our bare skin come together. The memory was accompanied by a sudden surge of lust that made my knees tremble. "And I drove her home."
"From which you didn't return until today," Linda finished, easily connecting the dots. "Well, I'm glad to hear that you met someone, although the timing could have been better."
"Thanks." For a second, I thought I might be able to get away without her digging out everything.
Not likely, of course. "But there's something else," Linda added lightly, her eyes still boring into my brain over the lip of that teacup.
I groaned. "Come on, Linda, can't you let a guy keep a couple secrets to himself?"
"Of course I can," she replied immediately, not missing a beat. "But I've found that, most of the time, the guy wants to confide in someone."
Oh, fine. She'd get it out of me, one way or another. "Helen O'Callahan," I said softly.
Linda's eyebrows drew slightly together, and she opened her mouth to ask another question – but then, before she could get it out, the name finally clicked inside her head and triggered the right recall. Watching her face, I saw a flurry of different emotions – surprise, concern, doubt, shock, curiosity – all pass over her fine-boned features before she opened her mouth to speak again.
"Helen O'Callahan," she repeated carefully, softly, "as in..."
"As in the Black Widow, yeah," I confirmed miserably. "I didn't know who she was, just saw her step outside and look like she was upset. I went over to comfort her, started chatting, and one thing kind of led to another."
"Led to you taking her home," Linda said. "And sleeping with this woman, I'm guessing?"
"High five?"
She shot a glare at my upraised hand, so I reluctantly lowered it. "Look," I said, "if I'd known who she was, I wouldn't have done it. But it happened, and you know what? She wasn't nearly as bad as everyone makes her out to be. She was very nice, and I think that she's kind of lonely. She listened to my novel ideas, and really helped me develop them."
"So you weren't just bringing her home to get laid?" Linda questioned.
"Can I not do both?"
She sighed, shook her head at me in the same way that you might sigh at a family pet that had just gone digging in the garbage can. "Well, it's not the smartest decision you've made, Tanner, but I don't think your intentions were bad. It probably won't result in anything happening."
That was it, right there. My chance to escape, get away from Linda without having to tell her everything. My brain commanded me to seize the opportunity – but my mouth, apparently totally confused about what was happening, kept on rambling.
"She called me this afternoon, a few minutes ago."
Dammit, stupid mouth. Why did you have to go ahead and say that? Linda raised her eyebrows, no longer willing to let me get away. "And?"
Aw, hell. Might as well just get it all out now. "And she asked me out on a date for this Friday," I went on, miserably spilling the beans. "And I said yes. And I think she got the impression from last night that I was another guest at the Poverty Ball, not someone helping out with it."
There. That was everything. And as a tiny silver lining to the rain cloud hovering over my head, I got to see Linda's face reflect true shock for a second.
"Well," she finally managed, sounding a little faint. "That's... quite something."
"Yeah." I moved further into the kitchen, reaching out for the handle of the refrigerator. At least, while she yelled at me, I could get something to eat, satisfy my growling and complaining stomach. The interior of the fridge was stuffed with leftover hors d'oeuvres from the previous night, and I loaded up my hand with half a dozen little bites from different trays.
When I closed the refrigerator door and turned back around, Linda had her arms crossed over her chest. "And now what are you going to do?" she asked, clearly now already over her brief little moment of shock.
/>
"Wait for you to tell me what I need to do?" I tried hopefully, as I slipped a mini-quiche into my mouth.
She sighed. "You need to tell her the truth. As soon as possible, too."
"Really? Do I have to?" I hated the thought of having to confess to Helen that I'd lied, or at least misled her. "Couldn't I just bury that in the past and distract her by sleeping with her a few more times?"
Linda didn't rise to this bait. "Tell her the truth," she repeated. "The longer this goes on, the worse it's going to be when the truth finally comes out on its own. And you can't keep up this deception forever."
I hadn't intended on keeping up the deception forever. Just for the relationship to run its course, that was all. After all, the truth was that Helen and I came from entirely different worlds, moved in totally different circles. We'd never have enough in common to keep a long-term relationship going. The best that I could hope for was that we'd get to have sex a few more times, I'd get to add a few more memories of her glorious naked body to my mental spank bank before she dumped me.
"Fine," I gave in, although I still hated the idea, and even Linda, who was always right, telling me to do it wasn't fully convincing me. "What do I do about Friday, then?"
"What do you mean?"
"For taking her out." I swallowed the last bite of quiche in my mouth, reached for another of the hors d'oeuvres balanced on my palm. "She's going to think that I'm rich, but not once I take her to someplace like Burger Barn. How do I find a way around it?"
Linda's brow wrinkled. "Didn't she see that awful excuse for a truck you drive when you took her home last night?"
"I told her that it was because, as a writer, I need to connect with the common man."
Linda's wince made it look like that last comment put her in physical pain. "You're an awful person, Tanner McCallister."
"Yeah, I'm aware. But really, what do I do about this date?"
Linda took a step closer to me. "Like I said, you tell her the truth." She reached out to snag a small skewer of cherry tomatoes and fresh mozzarella from my hand, raised her eyebrows at me as she popped the tomato off the end and into her mouth. "Maybe also wear a cup, just in case she decides to take immediate physical revenge."
I winced at the thought of her knee slamming into my privates. "You think that she'd do that?"
Linda smirked. "I would, if I were in her shoes." She bit down on the tomato, and I cringed at the sound of it popping. "Now, you can either go help my dear husband with the party cleanup to make up for dipping out on us last night, or you can stay here and let me start psychoanalyzing why you're sexually attracted to a woman suspected of murdering her husband. There's quite the trove of juicy possibilities about what could be wrong with your brain..."
"Sorry, was that Richard calling me?" I interrupted, hastily shoving the last of the little bites into my mouth, smooshing them all together and struggling to swallow the heavy lump. "I think it was! Talk to you later, Linda!"
She twirled the skewer in her fingers as she watched me leave. I winced at the thought of what she could do with that sharpened bit of bamboo. "We're not done talking about this," she called after me.
That's what she thought.
Tell her the truth, Linda had said. Hah! I already knew before talking to her that it was the 'right' thing to do – but god, it was still going to be awful. But then again, I did have a whole week until the date. Surely, I could think up a better way to handle this whole sticky solution by the time that Friday rolled around...
Chapter Fifteen
HELEN
*
"So, it's date night!" Champagne cheered as soon as I opened the front door for her, which, surprisingly, did nothing to help my nervousness. "Are you ready?"
"Not at all," I confessed as I let her inside. "And I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm glad that you're here. I've been staring into my closet and panicking for the last hour or so, trying to figure out what to wear."
"Well, your troubles are over, girl!" Champagne sauntered in past me, looked around, and sighed. "You're not going to invite him back here, are you?"
"I don't know. Why?"
She turned back to me, giving me an eye roll that had to be exaggerated. They practically fell out of their sockets! "Because it's bloody filthy in here, that's why! You've been floating around on air all week and didn't have time to clean up?"
"I cleaned my room up, at least?" I offered, grimacing. She did have a point; I saw dust and cobwebs everywhere I looked. I had intended to get to it, but there were so many other areas of the house that needed attention, and so much that I'd been neglecting over the last few months, that it didn't quite manage to get handled! "I've been cleaning up my garden more than the house, I suppose. And actually, now that I've been trying to figure out what to wear for tonight, I've kind of made a mess in my room, too."
"Well, one problem at a time." Champagne marched upstairs towards my bedroom, her shoulders thrown back in determination. "Let's find you an outfit that makes you look so sexy that this Tanner guy, whoever he is, starts drooling and doesn't even notice your disgusting, dirty house." She glanced back at me. "Seriously, how about hiring a few new maids?"
It was a sensible solution, most likely, but I didn't want to even think about it right now. "Too late to hire them tonight. Just help me choose an outfit, please."
"Yeah, yeah, you'd be totally lost without me. I get it." Champagne arrived at the doorway to my bedroom, let out a whistle. "Wow, you weren't kidding about trying on every outfit that you own, were you?"
"It's not that bad..." My words trailed off as I looked at the piles of clothes that I'd tossed out of my closet and dresser and discarded. Actually, it was that bad. And I still didn't feel any readier for this date than when I started!
Champagne carefully picked her way through the piles of clothing, taking mincing little steps in her high heels. "Right," she said, drawing the word out. "It's good that I'm here, then. Let's see about finding an outfit that you can go out in."
My best friend turned her attention to the already half-ravaged closet, digging with clear purpose through the remaining racks of clothes. She tossed quite a few things carelessly back over one shoulder to add to the piles on the floor.
"Are these for me to try on?" I asked, watching yet another dress land on the floor amid its compatriots.
"No, darling. Those are for you to burn or donate, get rid of in some way and never think of wearing again." Champagne held up her arm, over which she'd draped a few items of clothing. "These are for you to actually try on."
I considered objecting to being told to throw out half my wardrobe, but bit my tongue. Better to get this outfit set than to waste time arguing over how fashion didn't always need to be the foremost thing on my mind when getting dressed in the morning! I accepted the outfits that Champagne deemed potentially acceptable and struggled into them.
"There," Champagne finally remarked, half an hour later, standing back to review me approvingly. "That should get this mysterious Tanner person interested in you, if he wasn't already."
I had to agree, looking in the mirror, that Champagne had done a better job of dressing me than I could have managed on my own – but it still wasn't enough to fully offset the butterflies fluttering inside my stomach, bumping against the walls of my throat and filling me with frantic nervousness.
A little part of me couldn't even believe it – I was nervous! For a date with a man! I, a woman with a respectable nine figures of wealth to my name, last time I checked with my accountants, felt nervous about seeing a man for dinner! A plain, ordinary second date!
Except it wasn't plain and ordinary, my mind whispered back to me, conjuring up memories of Tanner from that first night, the way that he'd looked at me... how could I describe it?
He looked at me like I was someone who truly mattered, just for being myself. That was the best way I could phrase it, even in my own head. He didn't look at me and see the Black Widow, the woman that society errone
ously accused of murdering her husband in cold blood. He didn't see a gold digger, a trophy wife adrift without her husband, a cast-off toy. He saw me as my own self, totally separate from the baggage that the rest of high society saddled upon me.
Ever since Marcone passed, I couldn't remember anyone ever looking at me like that. I felt scared by it – but at the same time, almost like an addict, I craved more. I didn't want his eyes to ever leave me, not for the entire night.
The car I requested was waiting at the front door of my mansion, and I climbed carefully into the backseat. Although Champagne initially shot down my intention to wear basic, form-fitting, suitable for any occasion black, she eventually relented – although not without insisting upon adding her own touch. Offsetting the black dress was a sparkling, shimmering belt covered with thousands of pinpoint-small little crystals. I couldn't ever remember buying this belt – how did it end up in my closet at all? – but she insisted on adding it.
"Men are like magpies," she declared, digging through my jewelry box. "They're attracted to shiny things, and easily distracted. We need to make sure we keep Mysterious Mr. McCallister's attention during the night."
"Why do you keep calling him mysterious?" I asked, wincing as Champagne held up first one set of earrings next to my ears, then a different pair, each time semi-accidentally poking me with the ends of the studs.
She pulled back for a minute, just to make sure I saw her single-raised-eyebrow expression. "Because I honestly can't find anything on the man," she said. "Whoever he is, he's a ghost – either foreign, and I mean really foreign, or he's got ways of keeping his money hidden from high society, if you know what I mean."
I had no idea what she meant. "Like good accountants?"
That earned me an eye roll, and another prick from the earrings. "Like accountants as crooked as a three-dollar bill, honey. Here, try these ones on."
"Three-dollar bill..." I puzzled over the words as I slipped the earrings into my ears. She'd picked the biggest and gaudiest pair that I owned, of course, with dangling, flashing diamonds almost the size of dimes. "Wait, you don't mean that he's a criminal, do you??"
For Love of Passion (Stone Brothers Book 4) Page 10