by Rita Herron
"Look, you can't pull out now," Lance said. "We'll get back on schedule—"
Viranda Roth, millionaire and owner of several Italian restaurants across the states, tossed him a look of disdain, ranking him somewhere among the rats crawling underground in the city. "I'm sorry, Mr. Summers, but time is money. I want to move in this year. I've decided to settle on Hilton Head instead."
"I'm afraid at this late date, you'll lose your down payment, ma'am."
"That little paltry amount hardly matters." She wrapped her silk scarf around her platinum-blond hair and waved him off, then sauntered out of the door.
He silently wished revenge, something that would really get the snotty lady's goat—maybe for her hairdresser to screw up and turn her beehive some hideous orange the next time she went in for a dye job.
The minute her Ferrari drove away, Lance spun around, studied the planning board filled with pegs he used to indicate pre-sold lots and removed a peg, growling in frustration. They couldn't stand to lose another sale. They'd counted on the capital from the sales to get them through the first phase of building. Losing the Rothchild account meant an immediate cash loss as well as losing the chance at having one of the Roth restaurants located in the hub of the development. The business would have added a continental flavor to the area, enticing prospective buyers.
"What's that growl for?"
Wheeling around in his chair, he spotted none other than Sophie Lane standing in the doorway. Sunlight danced across her ivory skin, streaking her short black hair with golden light that shimmered and made the vibrant dark ends shine like silk. A short blood-red dress hugged every feature of her petite body, outlining her curves and accentuating her generous breasts. His body hardened and began to throb.
He forced his brain in control, reminding himself he had his family's reputation at stake. And this was nosy Sophie of Sophie Knows. "What do you want?"
She hitched out a hip and planted her small hand on the curve of her waist. Even her fingernails were painted blood-red. He wondered about her toenails. "Is that the way you greet all potential buyers, Mr. Summers?"
He swallowed his surprise at her comment. "No, but then I didn't realize you were interested in buying a house."
"Why? Did you think I came—to see you?" Her green eyes glittered with emotions—interest, mischief, amusement maybe? Or was she mocking him, because she already knew his secret?
"Show must pay you well," he said.
A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Enough."
He frowned, even more disturbed by her cheerfulness. "Somehow I don't see you as the traditional settle-down type of woman."
"And you have to be this type to own a home?"
He shrugged. "No, but I'd think an apartment in the city would be more your style."
"Oh? So you have me all figured out, huh?"
"Pretty much." He crossed his legs at his ankles, leaned back in his chair and studied her. "Art-deco style, ultramodern furniture, maybe chrome and glass. One of those icelike statues in the foyer."
Sophie tossed her head back and laughed. "Maybe I'll invite you over sometime and let you see if you're right."
His body stirred again, painful and hard. Grateful for the desk shielding his burgeoning arousal from her, he leveled his gaze straight into her eyes. He had to ignore her comment, to find out what she had in mind. Nothing like the direct approach.
"What do you want, Miss Lane? Looking for another hot scoop for your show?"
Her teasing smile widened. "As a matter of fact, I still haven't filled the spots for that 'Dating Game' show."
"I told you I'm not interested."
"So you said. Your brother seemed like he'd enjoy it though."
So, she'd use Reid, too. Or maybe she'd spill the truth to him before Lance could. He couldn't allow it. "I don't think he has time right now."
Her eyebrow quirked in challenge. "Maybe you should let your brother speak for himself."
Let her charm the pants off Reid? No way.
"He's not here right now, but I'll pass along your message."
"You do that." She moved around the room, her gaze straying to the different floor plans, the layout of the lots. "Business going well?"
"It's all right. We're keeping busy."
"So your sour mood must be related to something personal?"
Yeah, you. A pang of regret hit him for his rudeness; he'd never in his life treated a woman the way he'd treated this one. But she snuck under his skin like nobody else ever had, and he could not, would not allow her to use him to find out the juice on his father. The whole thing was too... too embarrassing. He had to protect Maddie and Reid.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude, but I've got stuff to do." He stood, gesturing toward the displays. "Are you really househunting?"
She turned and walked over to him, her small chin tipped up so she could see in his eyes. He suddenly realized how small she was, five-feet-two at the most. He was a good foot taller, dwarfed her by at least a hundred pounds. Funny, she seemed so spunky and full of energy, he'd never imagined how fragile she'd seem beside him. And heaven help him, she smelled sinful. Like roses, all delicate and sweetly pungent, the way the front porch of his mother's old farmhouse had smelled when her climbing roses bloomed. The same scent his first serious girlfriend had worn, the girl he'd given up to have more time to take care of Maddie.
"Yes, but not one of these," she said, gesturing toward the lots. "I don't quite have that much to invest. But I did buy one of the old homes in the historic section at an auction, and I want to restore it."
The renovation project sparked his interest. He loved the older homes and couldn't wait to see them refurbished. "You already bought one?"
"Yes," she said softly. "Maybe you could look at it with me sometime and help me decide what to do with it."
Spend time with her? No, that wasn't a good idea.
"Well, I'm pretty busy right now. We have this Tour of Homes coming up—"
"Too busy to turn down a business deal?"
He bit the inside of his cheek. Sounded like a challenge. "Well, no, I guess not."
"You could have your brother Reid help me."
He felt a muscle tick in his jaw. Reid was too gullible. A cunning woman like Sophie would wrap him around her little finger in a minute. "That's not possible. Reid likes to stay on site with the contractors."
"Good, that means we'll be working together." She smiled, reached for his hand and braced it between both of hers. His earlier arguments flew out of his head at her touch. Heat spiraled through him, thrumming his blood to a fever pitch. His knees suddenly wobbled.
"Right, we'll be working together," he heard himself say in a weak voice.
She gave his hand a firm shake, then released him as if she were unaffected.
"I'll get my thoughts together and be in touch." With a fluttery wave, she turned and flitted out of the door.
Lance stared, dumbfounded by desire as she glided to her car. His gaze swept toward the hidden safe where he kept the box he'd found of his father's. The box of... no, he couldn't even think about the sordid contents.
He had to figure out what Sophie Lane wanted from him. To know what he'd just agreed to. Was the beautiful talk-show host really interested in restoring a house or was she digging for a story—a story that might destroy his family?
* * *
Determined to prove she was a professional, not just a fly-by-night decorator as she'd been with other interests in her life, Maddie spent the week completing mock-up boards for the first three model homes, ordering basic furnishings, and shopping for accessories to complement the color schemes she'd chosen. The Internet expedited her workload, but only door-to-door legwork could take her into the small specialty shops to unearth the unique touches she envisioned. By Friday afternoon, she was exhausted but proud of her progress.
Her obsession with work had also enabled her to put Chase Holloway out of her mind. At least for ten or fifteen minutes
at a time. Still, on those long lonely nights, she'd sink into bed and images of him, naked and willing, danced through her head. And in none of her fantasies did he ever once refer to her as Lance and Reid's kid sister.
But she'd die before she'd offer herself to him again. Pirate eye patch or not.
She settled the roses Jeff had sent her earlier into a vase and studied the card.
"I miss you, Maddie. Call me. Love, Jeff."
She couldn't decide whether to call him or not. Could they really renew the old spark? She wasn't sure what to make of his new attitude toward her career. Could she trust him?
The phone pealed, interrupting her thoughts, and she jammed a stack of paint chips back onto the shelf of her cluttered office and reached for it.
"Maddie, you have to come with me to this party tonight," Sophie said, her voice bubbling with enthusiasm.
Maddie leaned back in her chair and rubbed her aching foot. "I'm really wiped out. I think I'll settle for a bubble bath and pizza—"
"No," Sophie declared. "This party is going to be wild. The director of a new sci-fi show, Invisible Izzy, which is supposed to air next week—"
"Invisible Izzy, what kind of name is that?"
"It's about this invisible female warrior from the planet Sexton who's into bondage—"
"Bondage?"
"Yes, you do know what bondage is, don't you, Maddie?"
Maddie flushed. "Of course I do."
"Anyway, the show is supposed to be great," Sophie continued. "And the director, Greg Pugh, is going to be there. He's one hottie. I think he'd be perfect for you."
"If he's so perfect, why don't you go out with him?"
"Because I'm still working on your brother." Sophie paused. "Besides, he loves redheads."
"I don't know—"
"You have better prospects? A hot night with Nerdy Ned, that computer geek you met Monday at Kinko's?"
"No."
"Barry, the bisexual antique dealer you met Tuesday?"
"No."
"Cameron, the control freak you met Thursday?"
God, no. He'd sauntered toward her bedroom, announced that he wanted to pick out her outfit for the night, then ordered her to change. She'd kissed him off before they'd made it to the front door.
But a man who directed a show about invisible female warriors who were into bondage.
She should call Jeff, she thought, glancing at the roses again.
"Maddie, you're not still upset over that Holloway man, are you?"
"No," Maddie said emphatically, forcing herself to remember Chase's attitude. "He's just as overbearing and old-fashioned as Lance and Reid." And he'd never send her flowers.
"Let me guess, he's not the settle-down type either?"
"Hardly."
"And if he did, he'd probably want some Stepford wife who'd be at his beck and call while he cavorted around with other women."
Like her mother.
"Yeah, probably." Maddie saw the hollow loneliness in Chase's eyes and wondered though. Would he? Or once a woman snagged his heart, would he be forever loyal to her? Passionate beyond control?
No... she couldn't think about passion—
"Maddie, you have to come. I've already told Greg you'll be there."
Maddie twirled the phone cord around her finger. When Sophie made up her mind to do something, she didn't give up. And she wasn't ready to talk to Jeff again yet. "All right. I'll go."
Sophie laughed. "Good, I'll pick you up at eight. Oh, and wear that black leather skirt with the silver tube top."
Maddie agreed, frowning as she hung up the phone. Should she bring a whip and handcuffs, too?
Chapter 12
"Look, you guys, we've got trouble on all sides." Lance shoved his hand through his hair in frustration and ordered his second beer.
Chase leaned back on the bar stool and studied Lance's worried expression. "That Roth woman backed out?"
"Yeah, and two more buyers canceled today."
"Our flooring contractor showed up with the wrong kind of materials, too," Reid added. "He has to reorder, which will set us back a few days."
"Blast it all to hell." Lance closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache.
"So, a couple of days won't matter, and you'll find new buyers," Chase said, striving to remain calm.
"Does Maddie know about the problems?"
"No, and she's not going to," Lance growled.
"We don't want to worry her," Reid said. "Besides, she's been busy all week shopping."
Chase frowned, wondering why they felt they had to shelter Maddie. "You know Maddie's a lot tougher than you think. She might be able to help."
Lance and Reid looked at him as if he'd lost his last little bit of intelligence.
"We don't need her help," Lance said.
"Yeah, we have things under control," Reid added.
"It didn't sound like it a few minutes ago," Chase said.
An angry scowl darkened Lance's eyes. "We'll decide whether or not to tell Maddie about our problems. Have you been keeping tabs on her like we asked?"
Yes, and I kissed the hell out of her the other night, and I almost made love to her on her front porch. Chase swirled his mug around, staring into the rich amber liquid, contemplating how to answer. After the way they'd parted, he'd been afraid to call her this week. She might be out every night nude dancing for all he knew. Or picking chinchilla carpet or leopard-skin couches for the tour.
"Chase?"
"She's been working on the designs," he said, praying he was right.
Reid winked at a pretty brunette who waved to him from across the room. "Good."
"Yeah," Lance said. "Maybe this job will be good for our little sister."
"Keep her too distracted to date?" Chase asked.
Lance laughed in agreement.
"I tried to call her earlier," Reid mumbled, still eyeing the woman. "But she wasn't home."
"Probably shopping for the houses," Lance said.
On a Friday night? Chase frowned, remembering Maddie's comment about dating at least twenty men before she settled down. Was she out working on house plans or working toward her dating quota?
No, surely Maddie had been joking about that list. And Lance was right, the job was good for her. The perfect venue to keep her out of trouble.
* * *
"This party is great," Maddie admitted. "To think I planned to stay home and work tonight. Music, champagne, sexy men, what more could a girl ask for?"
Sophie's eyes twinkled with laughter as she grabbed one of the lobster hors d'oeuvres from the metallic table. "That one of those sexy men would be a keeper?"
Maddie laughed, gobbling down a raw oyster and sipping her fifth soda of the night. She'd started with champagne, but realized she wanted her wits about her so she'd switched to diet cola after the second glass.
Sophie gyrated her hips to the beat of the song and scanned the crowd. "I think everyone from the station came tonight. And all these reporters, it's great for Greg."
"He is racking up publicity," Maddie agreed.
The crowd had thinned in the past hour but still several of the producers, directors and stars from some of the locally produced shows lingered, sipping drinks and enjoying the elaborate appetizer spread and pulsating music. Kicking off his sitcom's debut with this press-covered event, Greg had chosen a retro theme related to the sci-fi show. Reporters and photographers mingled through the crowd, interviewing the cast as well as jazzing up Greg's genius in producing the innovative program. Maddie had watched him pose for photo after photo. Poised.
Handsome. A Tom Selleck look-alike, he was definitely an eye-pleaser with the female crowd.
Izzy, the white-blond femme fatale of the show, exuded power, strength and beauty. Maddie could imagine her brothers drooling over the woman. Of course, they'd want to get her in the sack. Would Chase go goo-goo-eyed over her, too?
Forget Chase. Greg Pugh was a handsome, successful dol
l who obviously liked independent modern women or he wouldn't be producing a show featuring one. She'd have a little fun tonight, go back to work tomorrow and see Chase in a whole different light.
A tall blond man with a Brad Pitt face played the leading male role on the show. He pulled Sophie to the dance floor. Maddie laughed as her friend engaged in a bump-and-grind routine that had the man salivating. Greg approached, a reporter dogging him, and gestured toward the dance floor.
"Come on, I've been wanting to get you alone all night."
Maddie waved toward the crowd. "Alone?"
Greg laughed. "We can pretend."
Maddie accepted his hand, aware his palms were smooth and not calloused like her brothers' and Chase's. Because the man was a producer, not a construction worker, she reminded herself. A more exciting kind of guy. Classy, not that rough-hewn macho type. And he could dance, Chase probably couldn't even two-step.
Greg swayed seductively to the music, and Maddie slipped into the rhythm, playfully maneuvering her hips in sync with his, the crowded room fading from view. For the next hour, she felt almost smothered by his warm attention, stripped naked by his twinkling green eyes and suggestive smile. A fast beat bled into a slow song of seduction, and Maddie reluctantly allowed him to pull her in his arms.
"You're fabulous," he whispered near her ear. "I'm glad Sophie insisted I meet you."
"Thanks." She rested her hand against his chest and felt his heart beating rapidly. "She had a lot of nice things to say about you, too."
His hand stroked the small of her back, pulling her tight against his muscled body until Maddie felt the undeniable evidence of his arousal pulsating against her. The lights seemed to dim, the couples each gliding into a different, more intimate plane, but Maddie felt crowded, as if she couldn't breathe. As several couples left, Greg's gaze intensified. Uncomfortable with the lusty edge to his eyes, she tried to pull away slightly, but he accidentally stepped on her toe.
"Ouch." His shoe must weigh a ton.
"I'm sorry," Greg murmured, concern softening his voice. "Are you all right?"
"Yes," Maddie whispered. "But I need to powder my nose." And go to the bathroom. Suddenly all the Diet Coke she'd drunk was pressing on her bladder.