The Playboy in Pursuit

by Miranda Lee

  ‘Either. I like them both.’

  ‘You trust me to choose the wine for you?’ He sounded surprised.

  ‘But of course. I’m sure wine-choosing is something you’re very good at. Amongst lots of other things…’

  He closed the folder with just a hint of exasperation. ‘Are you having a shot at me again?’

  Lucille shrugged. ‘I was merely telling the truth.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘That a man of your…shall we say…experience?…would be very talented in all things sophisticated.’

  ‘You sound like you don’t approve of my…experience.’

  ‘Not at all. I think experience in a man is very attractive.’

  ‘In that case, it’s me personally you don’t approve of,’ he concluded thoughtfully.

  Lucille could not bring herself to deny what was a very true statement.

  He frowned at her silence. ‘I would have thought a woman as intelligent as yourself would not swallow all that garbage journalists write about me,’ he ground out.

  Lucille almost laughed. Surely he wasn’t going to try that old chestnut, was he? ‘Are you saying you and all the women you’ve been romantically linked with were just good friends?’ she challenged.

  ‘No. But my dear father often put around false rumours of affairs between me and the stars of our shows because he thought it was good for business. Perversely, it was. People gobble up that kind of gossip.’

  ‘I find it hard to believe that all those stories about your stormy love-life with leading ladies were put-up jobs.’

  ‘No, of course they weren’t. I’ve had relationships with several leading ladies over the years. Some of them quite stormy.’

  ‘And none of which lasted for very long,’ she pointed out drily.

  He shrugged. ‘I’m a man, not a saint. And not always a gentleman, either,’ he added drily. ‘So, yes, I’ve been to bed with a few of the ladies in question. But believe me, they always knew the score. There were certainly no broken hearts left behind afterwards.’

  ‘You were never in love with any of them?’

  ‘I was possibly a little in love with all of them. They were passionate creatures, and passion is something which always gets me in. But, no, being truly in love is something I haven’t had the privilege of experiencing as yet.’

  Lucille suspected he wasn’t losing any sleep over the fact.

  ‘What about your father?’ she asked tartly.

  ‘What about my father?’

  ‘Were a lot of the stories of his affairs over the years just clever advertising for his shows?’

  ‘I do not wish to discuss my father’s affairs,’ he grated out. ‘Not that I think of him as my father any more. Once my commitment to the present show is over and done with, I will have no more to do with him. I’m finished with Seymour Productions, and Max Seymour!’

  Lucille was startled by the barely held fury in his voice. No wonder he empathised with passion. He was an incredibly passionate man. Suddenly, she could see his Latin American half in his body language. His hands moved expressively as he spoke, the red leather wine folder waved about whilst his black eyes flashed and blazed.

  He got a grip with difficulty, but Lucille feared dinner was in danger of being spoiled. She was spoiling it with her cynical probing. And she really didn’t want to do that. Despite everything, she was rather enjoying herself in a kind of perverse fashion.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said swiftly. ‘I shouldn’t have asked. It’s none of my business, just as your love-life is none of my business. As you said, this is just a dinner date.’

  He glowered at her across the table before shaking his head and exhaling a frustrated sigh. ‘At least I now know why you were hesitant in coming out with me. You think I’m a heartless womaniser, just like my father.’

  Lucille did, but decided it was wise to hold her tongue at this juncture.

  ‘I am nothing like my father,’ he ground out. ‘That man should have his heart cut out. He has no conscience. All he knows is his own selfish wants and desires. He doesn’t care who he hurts, just so long as his own enormous ego is gratified. I had no idea the man was such a monster till this last weekend.’

  Lucille could not contain her curiosity. ‘What did he do?’ she asked with deceptive quietness. Inside, she was simply dying to know.

  His black eyes blazed. ‘What did he do? He betrayed a trust, that’s what he did.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘To put it bluntly, he seduced a young woman I’d introduced to him, without caring how much it might hurt me, his son, the son he claims to love.’

  So there it was. A virtual admission of what had transpired that weekend. Father and son wanting the same woman, with the father the victor and the son left with a bruised and battered ego.

  For what else could it be? The concept that Val might be deeply in love with Flame didn’t fit either his reputation or his own admission that he’d never been in love.

  Still, she couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. He did look distressed. And hurt. And disillusioned. To lose a girlfriend was one thing. To lose her to his father had to be hard to take.

  Although not impressed with either father or son’s lifestyles, Lucille could appreciate how it felt to have a parent let you down. She’d felt let down by hers. They’d never taken her side during her divorce. They’d never asked about or tried to understand what Roger had done to her. They’d just judged and criticised.

  ‘You’re talking about Flame, aren’t you?’ she said with compassion in her voice. And, yes, in her heart.

  His eyes snapped up to hers. ‘What in hell do you know about Flame? Has Erica been gossiping to you?’

  ‘No! No, I just guessed. I saw the picture of her with you and your father in Sunday’s paper. There was a large article about the dance show you’re producing, plus its star.’

  His scowl carried frustration. ‘I’d forgotten they were printing that stupid story this weekend. Another of Max’s brilliant ideas to advertise the show. I dare say the papers used that disgusting picture which made it look like we were having some kind of kinky ménage à trois. Well, we weren’t! But, yes—yes, I’m talking about Flame. Though that’s not her real name. It’s Angela.’

  ‘I presume this Angela was your girlfriend till this last weekend, then?’

  ‘What? No. No, nothing like that,’ he dismissed irritably. ‘Hell, no. Is that what you’ve been thinking? Damn and blast. My father has more to answer for than I realised.’

  He scowled and shook his head, his expression was one of black frustration. ‘How to explain this without breaking confidences?’ he muttered. ‘Look, my relationship with Angela goes back a long way. You know I’m illegitimate, I presume?’

  When she nodded, he laughed drily. ‘Who doesn’t? Max never hid the fact. I dare say you also know my mother was Brazilian. A nightclub dancer. Very beautiful. Very…flashy. Specialised in the tango. Anyway, my father had a brief affair with her one summer in Paris. He didn’t know of my existence for twelve years. When my mother found out she was dying of cancer she contacted him and asked him if he’d take me. I don’t think she thought he would, but she was desperate. By then she was very poor, you see. No longer dancing. No longer all that beautiful. No longer capable of working at all. She was back living in Rio and we were so darned poor. There wasn’t the welfare payment there that people have in this country, you see.’

  Lucille didn’t want to hear the details of Val’s early life. She didn’t want to feel compassion for him. She didn’t want to start understanding him, or liking him too much. She was already having difficulty resisting him.

  ‘Where does Angela come into all this?’ she asked a bit curtly, hoping to stop the flow of feelings he was evoking with his wretched story.

  His eyes bored into her for a few seconds, then he shrugged. ‘Angela’s mother and mine lived in the same house. We were like brother and sister. I used to mind her sometimes, when she was just a tin
y tot. I became quite fond of her. When my father shocked everyone by actually turning up and taking me back to Australia to live with him, I kept in contact by letter but didn’t see her again till recently. I’d heard about Brazil’s latest dance sensation and decided to see if I could talk her into coming to Australia. You have no idea how shocked I was when Flame turned out to be Angela.’

  ‘How old is she now?’ Lucille asked.

  ‘Twenty-five.’

  ‘Hardly a child, Val.’

  ‘Maybe not. But she’s many years younger than my father. I thought she would be safe in my own home, but I was wrong. Hell, was I ever! I’d like to kill the bastard. Once this show is done I’m going abroad; I don’t ever want to see him again.’

  ‘Why don’t you cut all ties now, if you hate him so much?’

  ‘I wish I could, but I’ve given my word to produce this dance spectacular and I don’t want to let people down.’

  ‘People, Val? Or Angela?’

  ‘There are many people involved, but, yes, I’m more concerned with Angela’s future than the others. If I keep in personal contact with her, maybe I can coerce her out of my father’s clutches.’

  And into yours?

  Lucille believed Val when he said Angela hadn’t been his girlfriend first. But she suspected he’d wanted her to be. You only had to see the girl’s photo to know that any man would be smitten by her darkly sensual beauty. It was obvious Val hadn’t given up the idea of still having her for himself. Maybe that was another reason why he wanted to rent such an impressive—and very convenient—apartment. To have somewhere nearby to take this Angela between rehearsals, somewhere snazzy and seductive.

  ‘I see,’ she said.

  Val’s eyes narrowed at the cynical tone of those two little words.

  ‘No. No, you don’t see, Lucille. But I do. Well and truly.’ His face took on a closed look, his eyes freezing to an icy black. ‘Under the circumstances, there’s absolutely no point in continuing this particular conversation, or in my trying to change your perception of me, or my character. I have one strict policy in life. Never to go—or stay—where I’m not wanted. Which is why I left my father’s house. And why I am going to order the wine and get on with this dinner.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE evening was spoilt after that. Totally spoilt. Lucille went through the motions of drinking the wine Val ordered. And the meal she ordered.

  But she might as well have been eating cardboard.

  The conversation—what there was of it—was very general, and somewhat stilted. They touched briefly on the economy, real estate, the recent referendum. Even that old polite standby…the weather.

  ‘Been raining a lot lately, hasn’t it?’

  ‘Do you think it’s global warming?’

  ‘Not much one can do about it, is there?’

  ‘Buy shares in an umbrella company, I guess.’

  By the time dessert was served Lucille wished she was anywhere else but there. A crypt would have been warmer than the atmosphere around their table. Val no longer looked at her with male admiration but with utter boredom. He’d emotionally and mentally removed himself to a distance from which he showed not the slightest real interest in anything she had to say.

  ‘Do you want tea or coffee?’ he asked idly when the waiter hovered once more.

  Lucille couldn’t bear the thought of prolonging this torture.

  ‘No, thanks. I don’t drink caffeine this close to going to bed.’

  ‘Anything else, perhaps?’ came the polite but offhand query. ‘A liqueur? Cognac?’

  ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘Fine,’ he said crisply. ‘The bill, please?’ he asked the waiter.

  Five minutes later they were in a taxi, speeding towards North Sydney.

  ‘Don’t worry about coming over to the apartment in the morning,’ he said coldly when they were nearing her street. ‘As you said, I can place a grocery order on the Internet.’

  Lucille felt even more wretched, if that were possible. ‘What will I tell Erica if she asks?’

  ‘Tell her you did it. Tell her whatever you like.’

  Suddenly, Lucille couldn’t bear his coldness. Or was it his indifference she couldn’t bear? ‘Please don’t be angry with me, Val.’

  He sighed. ‘I’m not. Not really. I’m more angry with myself. I never realised before tonight the price I would have to eventually pay for selecting the wrong man as my idol as an adolescent.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Surely he wasn’t truly in love with Angela.

  ‘Nothing,’ he muttered. ‘I mean nothing. We’re here. Do you want me to walk you to your door?’

  ‘Only if you want to.’

  ‘I’d like to come further than your damned door,’ he muttered, then threw her a bitter smile. ‘But, as I said before, I don’t go where I’m not wanted.’

  She stared at him. She could send him away, or take what he was subtly offering. It was entirely up to her.

  Her mind struggled to find a balance between her pride and her physical desire for this man. If she had sex with Val she knew she would regret it in the morning. But if she didn’t she had an awful feeling she might regret it for the rest of her life.

  Maybe she’d never feel like this ever again. Maybe Val was what she needed to put the ice princess to bed once and for all. Erica had said as much, and she should know. She’d been in the same boat.

  All Lucille had to remember was that it was just sex. Nothing more.

  ‘Would you like to come upstairs for a cup of coffee?’ she asked, pleased that her voice sounded pretty normal.

  He stared at her, astonishment blending with wariness.

  ‘I thought you said you didn’t drink coffee before you went to bed.’

  ‘That’s only when I’m planning on sleeping.’

  He stared at her even harder, then shook his head. ‘Damn, but you’re one complex lady.’

  ‘Aren’t we all?’

  ‘Some are more complex than others.’

  ‘Are you coming up or not?’

  ‘Hell, honey, you don’t have to ask me twice.’ He paid the driver with a twenty-dollar note, then bundled her out of the taxi with almost indecent haste.

  He really didn’t give her much time for second thoughts as he steered her up the front steps of the building and over to the glass doors. But if her mind was momentarily bamboozled, her body wasn’t. It was already up and running, her blood roaring around her veins, heat zooming into every erogenous zone she owned.

  ‘Got your key handy?’ he whispered, his lips brushing her earlobe.

  Somehow, she found her key in her purse. He took it and did the honours, for which she was grateful, because she was fast becoming incapable of anything which required skills such as digital co-ordination. She could walk. Just. But inserting keys in locks was far too difficult a task for her desire-addled brain. All she could think of was Val, and how soon he would be kissing her, touching her, undressing her.

  A violent shudder racked her whole body.

  ‘Cold, sweetheart? Not to worry. I’ll have you all warmed up in no time.’

  She stifled a groan. How confident he was. How sexually assured. Whereas she…

  What kind of lover was she?

  A good one, she thought, once upon a time.

  Certainly neither of her two boyfriends before Roger had ever complained. But then…they’d been mere boys. Still, Roger hadn’t complained either, to begin with. In fact he’d seemed fascinated by her tendency to get really carried away when she was turned on. He hadn’t been able to get enough of her in the beginning.

  Yes, Roger had seemed more than happy with her passionate nature—till after they were married. Then everything had begun to change, both in bed and out…

  ‘What floor?’

  Lucille blinked back to reality to find them standing side by side in the lift, with Val’s hand hovering over the potential buttons and his eyes steadfastly on hers.

  ‘Oh. Er�
�first.’

  He pressed the right button and the lift doors whirred closed.

  ‘What on earth were you thinking about just then?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing important.’

  ‘Nothing nice, I suspect,’ came his dry comment.

  ‘I was thinking of my ex-husband.’

  ‘Then don’t think about him. Don’t think about anything. Just kiss me.’

  ‘Kiss you? Here?’

  When the lift stopped Val held down the button to stop the doors from opening. ‘I’m not leaving this lift till you kiss me,’ he said with a dead serious face.

  Lucille tried to stay calm, despite a madly galloping heart. ‘You have a thing for kissing in lifts?’

  ‘I have a thing for you. And it can’t wait another moment.’

  She stiffened. ‘If you expect me to do it in a lift, then you can think again.’

  ‘Don’t go all ice princess on me again, honey. I prefer the secret woman I keep glimpsing, the one whose smouldering green eyes tell me a vastly different story.’

  ‘Smouldering?’ Lucille was taken aback by the word. She’d honestly thought she’d hidden her desire for him.

  ‘You have no idea. Sometimes, those gorgeous green eyes of yours are so hot they burn right into me.’

  Embarrassment curled Lucille’s stomach and flushed her cheeks. ‘I…I didn’t realise.’

  ‘I know. That’s what makes you so intriguing.’

  She shook her head. ‘There’s nothing intriguing about me.’

  ‘You’re wrong there. You’re very intriguing. But I’m not about to play twenty questions with you just now. All I want for now is for you to kiss me.’

  She wanted to too. She really did. But she just couldn’t bring herself to take such an initiative. It had been too long and she felt too…insecure.

  ‘I…I can’t,’ she choked out. ‘I just can’t.’ She crossed her arms and hugged herself defensively. ‘The truth is, Val, I…I haven’t done anything like this before. And I’m just plain scared.’

  ‘You’ve never done what before?’ he asked, frowning.