All or Nothing: The Lonnigans, Book 2

by Dee Tenorio

  “Who cares about the dares? Ask him.”

  Who cared? She cared. She wouldn’t be putting herself through this hell in the first place if it weren’t for their game.

  “For once in your life, trust him. He’s your friend and he’s never let you down before.”

  Yes, he had. Once. But, she admitted at the pang in her heart, she’d let him down, too. She couldn’t hold prom night against him forever.

  She ignored her sister’s oddly concerned look and stared up at the ceiling of the car while Corrine pulled into traffic. “If this is one of your idiot plots, Kyle, I’ll string you up by your own tendons, I swear to God.”

  “That’s what I’ve always liked about you, Belinda. You’re so feminine and sweet.”

  “That’s not a denial,” she chimed.

  “No, it’s not. But it’s not one of my plans, either. Fate just happened to work in your favor this time.”

  Had it? She let him end the call and waited for her sister to get nosy.

  “Something wrong?” Eight whole seconds. Had to be a record. At least Corrine was finished being angry. Nothing switched her sibling’s mood like good gossip.

  “No. Well, not for you. This is your lucky day.” Belinda fingered the numbers she’d have to dial.

  “Oh yeah? What’d I win?”

  Belinda leaned her head against the seat headrest and wished she didn’t have to do this. Trust him. Trust him. God, was there ever a harder gig on the face of the earth?

  He won’t let you down. He’s your friend. This wasn’t about being lovers or players in a game. This was simply a friend asking for a favor. Just like when she asked Kyle.

  But Lucas was never Kyle.

  And for one night, she’d have to ask him to be.

  He was really going to hate her for this one. She swallowed, but her mouth was too dry to do anything but rasp. In a vague way, she was aware of Corrine’s slight frown, but it didn’t matter. She was dialing.

  “Belinda? Hey, what’d I win?” Corrine asked again.

  Belinda finally answered before putting the phone to her ear. “Not only did you get to chew on me, now you get to hear me grovel.”

  Chapter Eight

  “You’re frowning again.”

  Lucas maneuvered his car through traffic, feeling strung tight on so many levels and they hadn’t even gotten to the damn banquet yet. “Getting it out of the way.”

  “Oh.” She was probably smiling, but he didn’t dare look over. Looking at her on his own two feet was difficult. Looking at her while he was driving…that was just suicide.

  Her hair was cut into a pixie style that made the most of the tiny wave. Her eyes were made up with graceful arcs of soft rosy peach shades and artful lines that made her lashes seem impossibly long. She was an adult version of the girl he hadn’t seen in twelve years. The dress was like sunset ice cream, if such a thing existed. Blended shades of afternoon light wrapped around her in a strapless gown so touchably soft he actually asked who she stole it from.

  She threw her purse at him and had him tie the silver skull choker she’d made around her neck, looking pleased as punch when the amber stone in its teeth glowed back at her in the mirror.

  If the night weren’t so important to her career—if he hadn’t made a vow to wait for her to admit she loved him—he’d have thrown her over his shoulder, taken her to her bed and not let her out of it until she agreed to stay with him forever.

  Instead, he’d let her tweak his tuxedo’s bowtie and swish past him to the car so he could bring her where he’d agreed to portray his brother. He couldn’t believe he was doing it. There was no way in hell he was going to be able to pull it off. They hadn’t been able to manage a switch as children. As adults their differences were stark.

  “Explain again why I have to pretend to be Kyle.”

  She’d told him three times, but it still didn’t compute. “Because they all already know him. They expect him.”

  “Why not just tell them you’re dating me?”

  “Lucas, please, this party could mean the difference between having a fountain in the middle of Balboa Park and selling chess sets made out of screws and springs for the rest of my life.”

  “I thought you hated schmoozing.” A halfhearted complaint. Her future was worth a hell of a lot more than one night in a monkey suit, acting like his brother. Kyle’s warning rang in his ears. She wouldn’t tell everyone who he was because it would imply a permanence she didn’t expect. She still planned to be rid of him, damn it.

  “I do hate it.” For the first time, Belinda sounded like the cranky woman he knew. “That’s why I drag Kyle to these things. He does all my schmoozing for me. How do you think I got invited to this party in the first place? Believe me, it wasn’t my unique style and stellar wit.”

  “You were invited because you’re an amazing designer. You deserve this commission and you’ll get it.” He didn’t have to tell her. He’d seen her finish more than one piece. Seen the satisfaction on her face, knowing each one had come out exactly as she’d planned.

  He risked a glance at her when she didn’t respond and nearly missed the brake lights ahead of him. She was smiling, her expression soft and pleased again. Her eyes were even dewy, nearly caressing him. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  He made himself concentrate on the cars ahead, gripping the wheel tightly to keep from reaching for her. “I’ve told you before.”

  “No, you haven’t.”

  Yes, he had. Sometime… He frowned, trying to think. “I…meant to.”

  Shivers ran through him at the speed of a lightning bolt when the back of her hand touched his cheek. “It means a lot.”

  She closed the gap between them and leaned her cheek on his shoulder. It made driving a little harder, but he didn’t care. He’d drive to Guadalajara if she stayed that way.

  Maybe it made him an idiot of the worst proportions, but he vowed then and there to do anything in his power to make this night work for her. After which he remembered what it entailed. “How the hell am I going to be an idiot for four hours?”

  She sat up, sputtering with laughter. “Your brother is not an idiot. If he were, you’d never have talked me into trusting him with our investment portfolios.”

  “What? You’ve never heard of a savant?”

  “Lucas.” Her chide was tinged with humor.

  “You give him twelve dollars a month to play with, Belle.” He made the turn onto Park Boulevard, easing forward on the four-lane road as too many cars slowed to turn into the parking lot. “That’s not exactly trust.”

  “Twelve dollars is all I have to spare, Mr. Moneybags.”

  He grimaced. “Hardly. Besides, I handle his accounting and his taxes. He has to be good to me. We can’t afford to screw with each other.”

  She tweaked an eyebrow in dismissal, probably realizing she wasn’t going to get him to proclaim his brother’s brilliance anytime soon. “You’ll do just fine pretending to be him. Kyle isn’t so much charming as he is friendly. You can be friendly.”

  He turned his head to look at her and inspect her head for obvious cracks. Had the bleach she’d used on her hair done some permanent chemical damage? Maybe that was what brought on all her open warmth—she’d lost her mind.

  She smiled crookedly at him. “Fine. Pretend you’re Sparky. Only you can’t lick anyone and I’ll rub your face in it if you pee on any shoes.”

  He laughed, which showed how nervous he was getting. She let him find parking, but before he could get out, she leaned across the seat and kissed him.

  For the first time since that long-ago prom night, Belinda brought her lips to his all on her own. The butterfly touch stopped his heart, his breath and his soul. Then she deepened it, her mouth widening into a smile that seduced him more than the kiss. He let his arms circle her, taking pains not to hold her too tight, so as not to wake her up from her madness.

  Or was it his?

  She pulled away, still smiling, rubbing her thumb
over his lips firmly to scuff off any lipstick.

  “Not that I minded,” he said quietly, surprised to find the windows not fogged up, “but what was that for?”

  “Courage?”

  “Is that your way of saying you don’t know?”

  Rather than answer, she slipped out of the car and left him to follow her if he wanted to find out.

  To his dismay, the outdoor gala was exactly that. The lights of the park were in full use and well-dressed people milled the courtyard. Belinda waited for him beneath the arch of the Spanish Amphitheater. Framed by the slim pillars and ornate cornices, he had to stop and stare at her for a second so he could be sure to lay it all to permanent memory. The way she looked over her creamy shoulder at him, the genuine smile lighting her eyes, clouded out the uncertainty. Then she reached out to him, offering to pull him up onto the shelf of concrete.

  If he wanted her to offer him more with that hand, he tucked the thought away for later. For someday.

  Grasping her fingers, he hefted himself up onto the curving walkway and put his hand around her waist.

  “You ready?”

  He looked down at her. Ready for this kind of thing? No. Ready to have her next to him for the rest of his life. Definitely. He nodded.

  “Okay, first, let’s scope out the competition.” She tugged on his arm to get him to walk the semicircle of arches. They passed a waiter and she pulled two champagne glasses from his tray, putting one into Lucas’s hand and sipping at her own. Her sharp gaze searched around, as if looking for prey.

  She pointed to a tall blond man with the tip of her chin. “That’s Martin Millgrew. He’s brilliant but very expensive. Odds are they won’t be able to afford him, so let’s count him out. Those are the Donnas. And over there is the real competition, Hale Riddoux.”

  “Who are the Donnas?”

  “See that cluster of women? That’s Marcia Bellows in the blue, Angelina Crane in the green and Jeanne Christiansen in the purple.”

  “They’re all wearing the same dress,” Lucas noted, vaguely remembering something about women supposedly being embarrassed to be caught dressed the same as another woman at a party. But they all looked happy about it.

  “Yup. They’re best friends. They do everything together. Really nice bunch, but I scare them.” She tapped the skull at her throat. “They’re ninety-nine percent sure I’m the antichrist.”

  Lucas let himself smile. Kyle would have laughed loud enough to attract someone, but it would do for a warm-up. “Why do you call them the Donnas?”

  “Kyle came up with that. Short for Ma-donna. They’re very into Catholic renaissance art. Beautiful designers, but they aren’t very open to alternate expression. Unfortunately, Balboa is extremely Spanish inspired. Their work could easily fit in with the park. They like Kyle a lot, so they’ll probably say hello. Just smile and nod a lot. Compliment them. The torture will end quicker if you do it up front.”

  “Be Sparky.” He swallowed nervously. This was going to be much harder than he expected.

  She chuckled. “Yes, be Sparky.”

  He moved onto the next subject while she walked next to him in a whisper of soft fabric and the gentlest of perfumes. “What makes Riddoux so dangerous?”

  “He’s good. The theme they’re looking for is art to represent the melting pot of San Diego. Riddoux is new to the San Diego scene, but he’s had some pieces sell to large-scale businesses downtown. His mosaics are incredible. You don’t know how many times I’ve wanted to dive in and get my hands on his tiles.”

  He stopped walking and frowned at her.

  Belinda rolled her eyes, grabbing his hand and pulling him along with her. “Down boy, the only man I’d wet good leather for is you.” She blinked a few times, as if surprised by her own honesty. Abruptly, she shrugged it off, slapping on a strained smile while letting his hand drop. “Besides, I’m not his type.”

  Their progress so far was worth letting her off the hook a little. “He’s not into blondes?”

  “He’s not into breasts. Not that I have much, but it’s still more than he wants. See the guy next to him? That’s Brandon LeMarche. They’ve been together for years. Kyle gets along with him, too.”

  “Who doesn’t Kyle get along with?” Lucas grumbled. The daunting task in front of him was getting bigger and bigger. If only any of this came easy to him. But no, meeting new people made the muscles in his neck tighten. After saying exactly the wrong thing at exactly the wrong time, every time, he started saying as little as possible when he was at these kinds of functions, family weddings, reunions, holiday events. Funerals were the only relief, sad as they were, because no one wanted to speak, least of all loudly.

  “Don’t think about it, Lucas,” Belinda murmured. Her fingers slid through his jacket buttons to rub little, soothing circles over the inferno in his stomach. “Take it one person at a time. Let them do the talking. It’ll be the same with everyone: smile, nod, agree a lot.”

  “No licking, no peeing,” he added grimly, relieved when she nearly choked.

  “And I promise not to maim anyone.” She said it so earnestly he momentarily forgot his own paranoia.

  “Someone here is on your violence list?”

  For the first time, her mouth curved into that wry grimace. “Councilwoman Malarkey. I wonder where she is. She’s usually front and center for maximum exposure.”

  “Malarkey can’t be her real name.”

  “It’s not, but it should be. Yvonne MacInerney. She’s the head of the board of trustees. Evil, grasping bi—”

  “Belinda, is that you?” A shrill voice asked from behind them. Lucas looked down, seeing Belinda’s closed lids and muttering lips. “I didn’t recognize you, darling. You look so…lovely.”

  He whirled, surprised to find not a blood-sucking creature of some kind, but instead a very pretty woman doing a good job of not looking too close to fifty. A petite woman, Yvonne had styled her hair into a round, brown ball of some sort. Her dress draped her from one shoulder, leaving the slightly over-tanned skin of the other bare. Glittering gray eyes looked him from head to toe, taking a little too much time at the middle for his comfort.

  “Yes, it’s me, Yvonne. So nice of you to notice.” Belinda smiled, sickly sweet. Lucas could feel the steam pouring out of her ears. “Look at you. So…brown.”

  Yvonne’s eyes narrowed, but she laughed nonetheless, choosing to pretend the comment was a joke. “Aruba, dear. You should go sometime.” The implication that Belinda shouldn’t come back home was not lost on anyone. “Oh, Mr. Lonnigan! Don’t you look dapper?”

  People still used the word dapper? “Thank you, Ms. MacInerney.”

  “Oh, we really must stop with this formality. Belinda and I are on a first-name basis and we have seen each other several times now. Call me Yvonne.”

  He extended his hand. “Kyle.”

  “Kyle,” she repeated, looking a little too much like she wanted to chew on him. Was this how lunchmeat felt? She kept shaking his hand until Belinda reached in to reclaim him, sidling up close to his side.

  “Oh look, honey,” Belinda said tightly. “There’s Councilman Clark. We have to say hello. Don’t you just love him, Yvonne? It’s so rare to find people who have true interest and a genuine eye for art. So many people just use it to try to make themselves look important. We’ll see you.”

  Lucas made sure to smile at the woman left blinking at them, pink stains on her cheeks that had nothing to do with her flawless make-up. “That probably wasn’t wise, Belle,” he whispered when they were far enough away.

  “Couldn’t help it, I hate that woman. And she was looking at you like you were edible.”

  Jealousy? From Belinda?

  So sue him for enjoying it. Sure it wasn’t the PC thing—not that he had too good a grasp on that particular school of thought—but suddenly, smiling at the people he passed wasn’t so hard.

  Belinda did take him to speak to the councilman, who was pleased to see her. Person after per
son complimented her on her “makeover”, most of them seeming to mean it. She got better at not flinching at their surprise, but it was always there. As if all they ever saw about her was the way she looked. Not her talent. Not her dry humor. How had they missed the things that made her unique?

  Had she been the one to play arm candy when she was out with Kyle at these events? Lucas wasn’t sure, but he made it a point to redirect conversation each time, somehow always finding a topic these people cared about before her discomfort showed. Thankfully, Belinda rattled on about architecture and artistic elements often enough that he was able to make heads or tails of what most of them spoke about or what everyone was hoping to achieve with their designs.

  The Donnas were nervous, as this was the night when the finalists were being named. Riddoux was friendly, once he’d established his dominance with a grip bone-crushing enough to make Lucas raise his eyebrows.

  “Don’t mind him,” Brandon LeMarche interrupted with a grin and a strong French accent to his soft voice. He looked from Lucas to Belinda twice, then murmured something in French to Riddoux. The big artist’s frown lightened to nonexistence while he animatedly discussed the trials of overheated steel with Belinda.

  “So you are the brother Kyle speaks of so often,” Brandon said quietly a few minutes later when they were collecting new drinks at the temporary bar.

  Lucas said nothing, pretty sure this was one of those times when silence was by far the smarter option.

  “I play racquetball with him every now and then and you didn’t recognize me. It wasn’t so difficult to tell. Besides, I know my friend.”

  “Oh,” Lucas replied when some sort of response was obviously required.

  “He said you were painfully reserved, but you’re doing quite well tonight. And, of course, Belinda looks radiant.”

  “Yes.” Lucas agreed because, really, she did. He finally sipped at his wine.

  “Please forgive Hale. He has difficulties concerning my friendship with your brother. He’s the jealous type.”

  And spit it back into the glass.