“I believe you. You’re waiting and searching for the kind of man you just described? Surely you’ve met countless men?”
“I’m not searching, Steven, and I’m not waiting with bated breath. As romantics claim, he simply enters your life at some unexpected moment and sweeps you off your feet. Love is said to be charted and ruled by destiny. Fated lovers? Romeo and Juliet . . . Cleopatra and Mark Antony . . . David and Bathsheba . . . Scarlett and Rhett . . . Wallis Simpson and King Edward . . . Superman and Lois Lane . . .”
They both laughed. “What’s been wrong with all of those you’ve met so far? You must be very selective,” he teased, leaning forward and propping his chin on his folded elbow, absently rubbing his forefinger over his lips.
“Probably the same flaws you discovered in all of those women which you cast aside,” she tried her same ruse once more.
“This story is about you, not me. You said earlier that women should have the freedom to express their views and opinions on any subject,” he jested with a devilish twinkle in his mocking blue eyes.
“I didn’t mean it to sound like that, Steven. Let’s see now, what have my choices been so far? There’s the spoiled, selfish brat type—he’s usually a little boy who hasn’t grown up yet, or a weakling who feels threatened by a woman with my personality or success, or a bully who wants to rule my life as if he owned it and me. Then, there are the phonies who are either after the Brandy Alexander who is supposedly the real-life model for one of my heroines or who constantly pretends he is what he is not. Then, there are the fortune hunters who want to cash in on my fame and success. There’s the man who still believes his wife should be meek, silent, and servile. There’s the man who feels I should give up everything, including my writing and traveling for him . . . settle down, have babies, and wait upon him hand and foot. There are those macho men who feel threatened by my confidence or aggression, those who resent me and my success. There are those who dislike my style of life and would insist on changing it and me. That should pretty well sum up the countless choices I’ve been given so far. Frankly, I’ve met few real men who possess the strength, pride, confidence, and personality which could—” she laughed as she dramatically paused before finishing “—sweep me off my feet.”
“In short, you really dislike men in general,” he concluded aloud, just to vex her into revealing more information.
“Heavens no! I normally get along better with most men than with most women. I was referring to the romantic angle which you were inquiring about—possible suitors. Most men are charming and interesting; they’re thoughtful and chivalrous. A friendship with a male doesn’t involve that fierce, feminine competition which you frequently find in relationships with other females. If a man accepts you as an equal, the friendship can be rich and stimulating, as with me and Nigel. Both parties can learn and profit from a mixed relationship like that. With men, the conversation can be witty and interesting. You can discuss more than children, shopping, clothes, new hairstyles, makeup, and other necessary trivia. See?”
At his skeptical expression, she added, “Of course, few men will permit such an amicable arrangement. They seem to have difficulty seeing past a shapely body or pretty face. Others let their fear of being mocked by other men stand in their way. Then, others still feel the woman’s place is in the home. I think if a man is strong and confident in his masculine role, he won’t feel threatened or resentful towards modern women,” she stated smugly.
“Doesn’t such aggression and assertiveness take away from your femininity and warmth? Don’t you find it boring or costly to be friends and equals with men?”
“You’re a better judge of my femininity and warmth. I hope I’m not damaged by my personality. Most of the time, I try very hard to conceal such opinions because they seem to offend both men and women. I prefer to be myself. I only bare my claws when I’m forced to defend myself or my rights as a person. I can only hope that doesn’t make me appear mannish or hostile. I’m a woman, and I love being a woman. But I also want to be successful, which sometimes forces me to be aggressive or assertive. Why is that so different from a man wanting to be or to do the best he can in his chosen field? Actually, I think women feel more resentful and hostile at being forced to become that way in order to accomplish their hopes and dreams. Why should it be a man’s world? Why should we be denied the same pleasures, rewards, or sacrifices which your sex enjoys simply because we’re women? Am I any less talented than I would be had I been born a man? Are you any more intelligent than you would be had you been born a girl?”
He chuckled at that frightful thought.
“Naturally there’re many differences between us. Physical strength, for one thing. We aren’t equal in lots of ways, and I don’t want that to ever change. Yet, there are lines drawn in certain areas which need to be erased . . . or adjusted. In all honesty I do sometimes become cold and haughty. When a man refuses to be discouraged, I behave that way. Like with that asinine and conceited Dr. Ross in Vegas—you remember him, don’t you? He practically tossed you out of my room that first morning. He asked me out at least six times each day. In such cases, they become the hostile ones! I’ve been called many names which I won’t repeat to anyone. I suppose I have the most trouble with being likened to my heroines. People force a conflict between my wanting to be myself and their demands of what I should be.”
At his intense, silent study of her, she began to shift nervously beneath his intoxicating stare. She challenged, “Don’t you find many of those same things true in your life? And you don’t have the additional problem of being a female. You can do what you please, where you please, how you please, and when you please. You aren’t judged less of a man because of such decisions or actions. Isn’t wanting and needing to be yourself at times the reason for Lance Reynolds’s existence? I simply want to be me,” she declared softly and honestly.
He smiled mysteriously, but simply shrugged his shoulders in feigned indecisiveness or nonchalance. She boldly locked gazes with him and resolved to have some answers. “From what I perceive, Steven, you’re from the old school of thought which still confines a woman to the home with her respectful tongue and meekly obedient manner. You dislike career women, don’t you? How do they threaten or harm your masculinity? Does it antagonize you when one isn’t awed into silence or mesmerized into hot pursuit? Tell me, how lacking is my warmth and femininity because of my personality and position?” she dared him to answer. “How do I repulse or offend you?”
He threw back his dark head and flashed her a seductive smile as lusty chuckles escaped his throat and broad chest. “Why would a beautiful woman like you want to compete in a man’s world? You couldn’t find happiness with a good husband and a houseful of children? Why not?” he asked, ignoring her previous questions, as if he hadn’t even listened to her explanations.
“I didn’t mean to insinuate I don’t want a husband or some children. I just haven’t found the right man to share that much of myself with. Marriage is very serious and special; it should last for the remainder of your life. Such a joint venture requires work, patience, and the right two people. Most of all, I feel it requires a lot of love, trust, and unselfishness. When I do locate such an irresistible man, I’d be willing to marry him in the flicker of an eye,” she confessed without a modest blush.
“What about your beloved career?” he probed.
“I would still be a writer.”
“Why?” he asked seriously, leaning forward to catch each word and to study her tone of voice and facial expression.
“Because of what it does for me as a person. I’m happier. I’m a more interesting person, more well-rounded. Surely a happier, more vital woman makes a better wife and mother? I would want to discuss more than my children, home, husband, and chores. I would want to visit more places than the PTA, pediatricians, grocery stores, other bored housewives for coffee, and all those other necessary tas
ks which mothers and wives must perform. I want to see other places, do exciting things, meet interesting people. I want to be respected and accepted for who I am, not for whom I’m married to or whose mother I am. I want and need my life to be rich, full, and settled before I attempt to control the lives of others. That’s a big responsibility, a frightening one. I have to be Brandy before I can successfully become Mrs. So-and-So. Besides, writing is like a smoldering fire inside. If I didn’t control its power and size by letting off flames with each book, I would be consumed and destroyed. I wouldn’t be worth a damn to anyone, including myself.”
“You’re very perceptive and intelligent, Brandy—a lot smarter and more sensitive than I gave you credit for. You have far more depth and angles than I realized. That is, if you’re being honest and sincere . . . Have you ever been in love with any man or tempted to marry one?”
Brandy flushed a deep red and hastily lowered her long, lush lashes to conceal her vivid emotions. As she obviously hesitated, he remarked, “Was he married? Or did you sacrifice him for your beloved career?”
Her startled eyes jerked up to meet his fathomless ones. She panted indignantly, “No! I would never put myself in such a humiliating position. And no, I haven’t received an irresistible proposal yet.”
“But you have been flooded with offers?” he taunted almost cruelly, jealousy gnawing viciously within him.
“That wasn’t your question. No proposal is tempting if it doesn’t come from a man you love,” she replied, slowly and coldly enunciating each word.
If she hadn’t been so unsettled and angered, she could have read the naked look upon his face which clearly exposed his pleasure and astonishment. “Would you marry a man who fits your demands and description?”
“Love isn’t something to be turned on and off like a faucet, Steven. Either you feel it or you don’t. If we loved each other and were compatible, of course, I’d marry him.”
“What if your dream man wanted a perfect wife, but not a career woman?”
Brandy tried to puzzle out this riddle. She was irrationally vexed with the persistence of this handsome man before her who was the answer to his own question.
Ignoring his loaded question, she went back to another point. “Since we’ll be spending so much time together, it would be more relaxing and enjoyable if I knew more about you. Introduce me to the real Steven Winngate,” she softly coaxed. “How old are you, Steven?”
“I’m thirty-seven years old. As for your other demand, I would prefer for you to draw your own deductions and conclusions about me. I dislike prejudice and foregone conclusions. You can get to know the real me while I study the real you, if you’re interested. That way, our findings will be based upon facts, not fantasies, or gossip.”
She sweetly argued against his logic. “That’s impossible. While you remain a total mystery to me, you’re well acquainted with my life. That puts me at a definite disadvantage. How can I get to know you if you constantly refuse me any information or answers? As for being interested, of course I am. You saved my life, and now you’re saving my reputation and happiness. You’ve accomplished an awful lot for such a young man, especially since Nigel’s already told me you didn’t inherit your status and wealth. I’m very heavily indebted to you for both rescues. But what I know about you could easily be contained within one long sentence.”
He laughed and denied her dramatic words. “I only know what you’ve told me and I’ve perceived. As for what the story for Glitter claimed, we both know it’s a complete fabrication.”
“I was referring to your claims of ‘prejudice and foregone conclusions,’ Steven. From your past actions, I’m forced to believe you’re already biased against me,” she stated as she sipped the tiny glass of Courvoisier cognac.
“Perhaps I was in the beginning,” he admitted to her surprise. “Yet, I promise you an open mind and genuine sincerity during these next two weeks. You’ve just explained your views on men. As for Laura’s other deductions, I know you well enough to deny them. I’ll admit I did come on to you rather strongly. Can you blame me? You’re a very attractive, intelligent, exciting, and charming female. One thing is crystal clear—I’ve only seen the tip of the iceberg where Brandy Alexander is concerned.”
She smiled, her eyes glowing with pleasure and gratitude. “That suggestive statement could be said about you, Steven. Except,” she added with a sly smile, “I doubt I’ve even viewed your complete tip as yet. You appear to be just as private and selective as you claim I am. I’m looking forward to discovering the elusive Steven Winngate.”
“In such light, this trade of information should prove to be a most intriguing and interesting vacation.” His eyes eased over her in a manner which said he knew what lay beneath those clothes and air. His gaze was appreciative and stirring.
“I fully agree, Steven. Who knows, you might—”
Her sentence was rudely cut in half by a venomous voice from behind her. She did not have to turn to see who was gracefully poised there. The annoyed lights which glittered within Brandy’s darkened gaze told Steven of her inner feelings where Camille was concerned. And he couldn’t blame her one bit.
Lunch had been over for a long time. They had been chatting with such concentration and enjoyment, they had failed to note the swift and lengthy passage of time. It had reached the cocktail hour, that time when Steven had absently invited the sultry model to join him for a drink. He had not expected his luncheon with Brandy to be so intriguing and fulfilling. Yet, he did not reveal his aggravation and disappointment to either female. He smiled provocatively as he arose to seat Camille. “Have a seat, Cam. Brandy and I were just finishing our meeting.”
Brandy could not decide what angered her the most: that warm glow in Steven’s eyes, or the surly contempt in Camille’s tone and expression, or her own singed pride and painful dismissal. Clearly this was not an accidental meeting, not from their remarks to each other! She inwardly fumed at this disruption by a rival. She scolded herself for feeling imperfect and inadequate when in such close proximity with this particular woman. Surely their many differences would stand out to Steven. Brandy didn’t realize how accurate she was, not that she could easily win a competition with this woman.
As those two exchanged polite banter and social amenities, Brandy quickly reassessed this hostile beauty. She looked about twenty-two. She was a slinky five-feet-nine inches tall. Her perfect weight enhanced her with a svelte, stunning figure. Camille was dark and sultry with her coal-black hair, dusky complexion, and velvety brown eyes which were nearly black. She knew how to dress, walk, talk, and move. She had a sophistication and wily knowledge which Brandy could not help but envy. Yet, her savoir-faire was not innate; it had been carefully learned and was used to the fullest upon her victims, male and female.
Brandy wondered how men could ignore such vanity and coldness from a woman, no matter how beautiful and sexy. Why did they exchange warmth, spontaneity, and intelligence for such a perfectly groomed, falsely charming, and haughty woman upon their arms? Women like Camille demanded attention from other men and envy from women. She was a perfect companion for an important evening.
Yet, the Camilles of the world brazenly stole other women’s confidence and rightful attention. They possessed the unfair knack of making other females feel inferior, drab, or homely. They seemed to give off a cold-blooded, arrogant aura. They felt no qualms about humiliating or belittling other women. They felt no misgivings about using men for any purpose which suited them. Following her assessment of Camille, Brandy felt lighthearted and confident. She was delighted she wasn’t like Camille, and she never wanted to be.
Brandy stood up. She smiled at the striking female clad in a dusty rose dress of the softest, clingiest material ever developed for the fashion industry. Camille did not return the affable offering. Instead, storms of disdain and fury flickered warnings of encroachment and animosity w
ithin her narrowed eyes. Brandy grinned as a funny thought came to mind. Tell her it causes wrinkles to scowl like that!
Camille tossed her head as she dismissed Brandy. She addressed her words and attention to Steven alone, making her feelings about both of them as vivid as her mauve lipstick. Her sultry voice crooned petulantly, “Sorry to make you wait so long, darling. I hope you weren’t too bored and impatient,” she stated, making her insult to Brandy clear.
“Not at all,” Steven cordially stated. “I had some business to discuss with Miss Alexander,” he declared formally. “We were having a most pleasant interlude. In fact, we completely lost track of time.”
Business! Interlude! “If that’s all, Mr. Winngate, I’ll leave you two alone. I’ll see you about seven in my room,” she added, just to annoy that hateful snit. “Oh, yes, it’s casual dress.”
Camille’s eyes shot fiery daggers at the audacious girl before them. “Steven, love, are you forgetting our engagement with the Zartoffs this evening? We did promise to escort them around town tonight.” Camille intentionally didn’t reveal it was a business obligation, just like this meeting. Damn Steven and his constant rejections!
Steven reasoned for a time, trying to decide which date to break. He wished Brandy hadn’t mentioned their plans before he could find some logical and polite way of canceling those with Camille and the Zartoffs, part-owners of the company which would soon handle the cosmetics firm he had just purchased. If he had known Camille and her modeling would be included in that deal, he wouldn’t have entered what was claimed an easy way to earn a fortune, which he didn’t need, only the challenge of something new and different. He recalled how one of his past investments into movies had thrown him and Camille together. Since that day, she had stuck to him like a leech. At times, she had presented him with an excellent date for special occasions, but she was wearing thin. One set of arrangements had been made first. To cancel them now would give both women the wrong idea; or worse, the right one!
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