Bedazzled (The Beguiling Bachelors Book 1)

by Madison Michael

  Keeli stared at Wyatt’s broad shoulders and tight behind as he disappeared into the crowd. She loved watching him walk, all cat-like grace and assuredness. When he was almost out of sight, he turned, caught her staring and broke into one of the sexiest, self-satisfied smiles she had ever seen.

  She reached for her phone as soon as she was back in the booth and rapidly dialed her roommate, Dylan.

  “You won’t believe what just happened,” she blurted in an excited rush. “Oh I can’t tell you now,” she added in frustration as a potential customer approached. But I am in big trouble. Please, please, please call that stylist friend of yours. I have a major fashion emergency.” Her nerves got the best of her and Keeli hung up without waiting for an answer.

  Fortunately, the customer entered the tent space forcing Keeli to push down her panic and go back to work.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “You met the woman. Keeli Larsen. The artist who made your new ring?” Wyatt was talking to his sister, Melissa, shouting into the speakerphone across the stark kitchen while he finished cleaning the remains of a hastily made ham and cheese omelet.

  “Oh, the redhead? She was very pretty as I recall, but not your type, Ivy. Not your type, and not the family’s type, if you catch my drift.” Her voice echoed across the granite and stainless steel, sounding annoyed. “And whatever you are doing, stop it. I can’t hear you over that racket.”

  “I am cleaning up from dinner, Missy. Ever since you fixated on that damn “Sabrina” movie, I am an expert omelet maker. I need something in my stomach before I start drinking.”

  He heard Missy laugh at his ‘Sabrina’ reference. She had enjoyed torturing him and his friends who hated sitting for Wyatt’s bratty baby sister. They were just finishing high school or home from college. They wanted to be out partying. She was almost seven years younger, still in grammar school, and begging them to watch “Sabrina” when they babysat. She had them watch the Audrey Hepburn, Humphrey Bogart movie more than once, and the Harrison Ford remake over and over again.

  “So, Bogart dates the chauffeur’s daughter and you date the starving artist. I am seeing parallels here dear brother. You need to remember that was a movie, this is life and you have Sloane to consider. How much longer are you going to make the poor girl wait?”

  “Oh man, am I in trouble. If you think I shouldn’t see her how will I ever bring her home to the rest of the family?” The image of Keeli sitting at the family dining table, chatting with his parents was vivid, and astonishingly, Wyatt was comfortable with it.

  “No, no, I really liked her stuff, and she seemed nice enough. I am just surprised that ‘love ‘em and leave ‘em Wyatt’ is interested in her. She seemed, now don’t take me wrong brother dear, but she seemed too innocent to be your type.”

  Wyatt cringed when she repeated a phrase one of the local papers penned last year when he escorted a different beauty to every event. The phrase was spot on and he could not shake it.

  “You know I hate that phrase, Miss,” he grumbled. “You might be right about Keeli. I think she is more innocent than my usual, but I really like her. There is just something about her. I am actually nervous.”

  “You nervous! Where did that come from?”

  Suddenly embarrassed by the confession, “Well, I usually date, you know, a friend of a friend, someone from school. There were those couple of daughters and nieces of the guys at the office, or Mom’s friends. They were all known quantities. I can’t remember the last time I just picked up a random girl.”

  “It’s good for you - a change. Of course, you will have to take heat from home if you hit the papers again. There are important traditions in our family and you know you are expected to uphold them.”

  “Yeah, I can avoid the papers on a Sunday, but maybe not my friends. I hate to admit it, but I am concerned about her with them. You know they are all total snobs. She really is a starving artist. She is smart enough, but they will take one look at her and write her off. I am afraid they will be rude. You saw her, those clothes were awful.”

  Although with that body, who the hell cared? He enjoyed the image, grateful that his baby sister could not see his wolfish grin.

  “You really are a snob, Ivy,” Missy chided lovingly. Missy was Wyatt’s favorite and the childhood nickname was sweet coming from her lips.

  “She always wears those awful Keds, but she has this adorable habit of digging them into the mud when she is nervous.”

  “I didn’t know you knew her that well, Wyatt,” Missy drew out the sentence as a hint to Wyatt to offer more information.

  “I really don’t. She is a complete mystery. You know she makes that great jewelry, I mean she clearly has talent. I wonder if she is successful doing these shows? She seems so grateful for every sale like there is a bit of desperation lurking there. Missy, think of it, she is doing this on her own. It must be incredibly hard work.” There was admiration evident in his voice as it trailed off.

  “All I really know is that she likes tea, not coffee, with Stevia. Oh, and she reads the classics.”

  “The classics? She's a smart girl? Definitely not your usual. She is probably better read than you,” Missy scolded.

  “Hey, wait a sec,” Wyatt jumps to his own defense. “I am no lightweight lady. I know my Shakespeare and Dickens. Besides, Sloane is incredibly well educated and you know it.

  “Oh, maybe you are right. What the hell am I doing, Missy? What if she just wants the cash? I know she is poor, she’s had told me so more than once – outright. I absolutely cannot tangle with another user. I cannot handle another women who pretends to want me but really wants my money or the Howe name.”

  Insecurity crept into Wyatt’s voice and Melissa jumped in to stop it from continuing. “Are you psyching yourself out before even giving it one date, Ivy? That is not the brother I know and love.”

  “Here is the kicker, Miss. I think she might want the money, I know she needs it, but I just don’t care. I shouldn’t tell you this, but I want her bad. She has a rockin’ bod under those bad dresses, long, long legs and an unbelievably tight a…”

  “OK, enough Ivy,” Missy cut him off. “TMI big brother. We may be close, but I am not one of the boys.”

  “Seriously, but she also has this wonderfully free laugh, and she just puts her emotions out there. She has complete belief in her work, and none left for herself. She hides in the back of that stupid booth, but when she comes out she is great with her customers, knowledgeable, friendly but not pushy…”

  Wyatt realized he had said too much and abruptly stopped his little speech.

  Then, almost as if he could not help himself he added, “And those lips, oh man, those lips.”

  “OK, down boy, down boy, I think I have heard enough,” Missy cut him off but with the indulgence of a beloved sister. “You really like her, I can tell.”

  “Well…” Wyatt dragged out the word like he was setting up a joke ”She is pretty damn hot.”

  “OK, Stud. Have a great time. Where you taking her?”

  “Chicago Athletic Club.”

  “Into all those crowds?” Before he could answer, Missy continued, ”I guess you know what you are doing. But, seriously, you better call me tomorrow with all the gory details.”

  “Not a chance. Love you Missy.” He hung up quickly, cutting off any chance for a response.

  With an hour remaining before Wyatt needed to pick up Keeli, Wyatt wandered through his apartment seeking something to occupy his mind. He was already showered and shaved. He had added gel to his hairs, hoping to control the curls he despised. The crisp button down shirt with a black/pink stripe combination that he selected was usually a hit with women. They told him the pink was a sign that he was in touch with his feminine side. All he knew was that they told him he looked good. His jeans were hip, his Italian loafers were buffed to a high shine, and a Rolex on his wrist was his only jewelry.

  He added the last of the dishes to the dishwasher. Assured that the countertop
s were clean, no giant fingerprints on the stainless refrigerator, he flipped off the lights. He slid the stool he was sitting on earlier under the dark wood breakfast bar as he left the room headed down the short corridor to his office. Perhaps he could accomplish something to keep from watching the clock.

  Oh what the hell, it’s one drink, not a damn marriage proposal.

  Wyatt picked up a trade magazine determined to concentrate. Throwing it down in exasperation, he grabbed the remote to catch up on the Cubs game instead. It managed to hold his interest – barely – for the necessary time. Checking the clock that had pride of place on his deck, Wyatt grabbed his cellphone, glad to see it was time to go. Hours ago, he had Googled directions, then, just to be safe, run Mapquest too.

  One last check of the apartment; nothing was out of place. The home office door was closed, safely off limits, the living room was perfect, but then he almost never used the professionally decorated space. The modern square-cornered cream sofas and leather ottomans, carefully scattered pillows and magazines left the room feeling a bit cold to him. He admitted that the earth tones were a perfect setting for his art, all hand picked by him from local modern artists and photographers. The room had been featured in “Chicago Architecture and Living Magazine” but he still avoided the room unless he had company, preferring the casual warmth of the kitchen or the comfort of the media room.

  Moving down the corridor, again admiring his art choices, an Asian sculpture, a large colorful modern painting, he knew the guest room would be spotless. He never used it and the housekeeper kept it company-ready. His bedroom was another story.

  He pulled once more on one corner of the hastily made bed and plumped the red pillows that brightened the otherwise neutral tones. The sheets were changed Friday and the press would have been surprised to learn that only he had slept on them since. There are no shoes or clothes on the floor or chair. Satisfied, he turned to leave the room, then returned to switch on the table lamp, keeping the light low for ambiance.

  Just in case I get lucky. You never know.

  He checked the master bath one last time. He splashed himself lightly with spicy cologne, noticed the Rolex and swapped it for a less prestigious watch, kicking off the shoes and quickly donning a slightly scuffed pair of Nikes.

  Satisfied at last he grabbed his keys and the poorly wrapped parcel on the front foyer table and headed out. He punched the elevator button and checked his reflection for the umpteenth time in the large mirror over the hallway table.

  Wyatt had lived in this condominium for more than five years, loved the building, it’s great location right off Michigan Avenue, but the elevators were slow, and he fidgeted while waiting. It finally arrived and he hit “P2” descending to the second of the garage floors where his cars were parked. The doors opened with a jarring ‘ding,’ and Wyatt headed for the far corner with a jaunty step.

  “Hey Wyatt, we on for hockey Tuesday?” Wyatt was startled to hear his old friend Geoff Willis shout his name from down the garage row. Preoccupied with Keeli, he almost walked right by without seeing him. “7 o’clock as usual?”

  The brief question helped Wyatt realize he needed to get his head back in focus before he got behind the wheel of the car. “Yep, I am going to kick your ass, as usual.”

  “Yeah, you try!” Geoff hollered back good-naturedly. “But piss me off and I might have to stiff you at your little fundraiser.”

  Oh shit! The gala for the Howe Museum is in one short week. Time flies…

  Wyatt knew Geoff was always generous so he ignored his idle threat. “Ass-kicking or not, man, you had better bring your checkbook” Wyatt volleyed back with a wave as he ducked between his Land Cruiser and his Porsche.

  Lately, every conversation with friends had ended with the ‘bring your checkbook remark,” as the Howe Foundation was hosting the art museum’s annual fundraiser. He had been overseeing committees, making phone calls and sending letters for close to a year to assure a grand success. It would be a major moneymaker for the museum and a grand event for the society magazines. He would have to get Keeli out of his system quickly and concentrate on the benefit.

  With the beep-beep of the car’s unlocking, Wyatt got the contented look of a lion that spotted his prey. His new Porsche Panamera SE was a decadent purchase, but Wyatt had not a moment of buyer’s remorse. Even after a month, he still admired the sleek machine, part sports car and all luxury. He considered it Porsche at its best. It has all the luxury of a top-of-the-line BMW married to all the high performance and sleek speed that had earned Porsche its reputation.

  It was not easy to keep the white car clean in the grime of Chicago, but for Wyatt, this was his new baby and taking care of the vehicle felt like a true labor of love. The leather interior was dust free and still had that new car smell while the exterior had been waxed to a polished shine. Wyatt ran his hand over the surfaces as he slid into the driver’s seat.

  WXRT roared to life blasting over the purr of the engine, reminding Wyatt of how loud he had played the radio earlier. He savored the fabulous sound system a moment before reluctantly turning down the volume to a reasonable level. He was clearly a man who loved his rock and roll, and loved it loud. Being exposed to Lyric Opera, Joffrey Ballet, the Chicago Symphony and jazz quartets had helped Wyatt gain an appreciation for them, but his first love remained his true love. After a moment, he cranked back up the volume and sang along with the Eagles.

  “Living it up at the Hotel California, what a lonely place…” The words came unconsciously as Wyatt wound his way up from the bowels of the building toward the city lights. Wyatt took the sharp turns of the parking garage a little too quickly, savoring the responsiveness of the high performance vehicle. It had become an addiction to drive, so much so that Wyatt had even visited his family in the suburbs more than usual in the last month. His mother had been unable to complain that she never saw him.

  Wyatt hollered a polite “have a good night” through the open window, waved at the garage attendant and edged into the sidewalk foot traffic carefully. A June Sunday night on the Magnificent Mile meant plenty of tourists still cramming the sidewalks. The numerous restaurants and small playhouses always attracted crowds here and it was close enough to Oak Street Beach that on a night like this the hearty souls who stayed until the moon rose were just heading home in sandy beach attire and flip-flops, towels and totes on their arms.

  Wyatt inched past all of them and onto side streets, cutting across town to Keeli’s address quickly, making great time, only to struggle for a nearby parking space. A summer heat shower threatened and Wyatt anticipated a run to or from the car in the rain.

  He was planning to take Keeli to the Chicago Athletic Association. It had been renovated just a few years back into several floors of restaurants and bars. The spaces were massive and very popular, but the owners had retained the original woodwork, fireplaces and ambiance in the Drawing Room that made it feel quiet and private. The lovely space was divided into conversation areas by plush rugs and held small tables surrounded by leather chairs or high backed love seats where people could be cozy and feel alone in the large space. Wyatt was targeting one of those loveseats for tonight.

  Wyatt knew they had food if Keeli was hungry, unobtrusive service and a valet to help avoid the rain that was suddenly in the revised forecast. In addition, it was very hip and Wyatt was hoping to impress her. He ran the risk that his friends would be hanging out in the adjacent huge Game Room, but he figured on a Sunday night he could avoid them by staying in the Drawing Room. They would be unlikely to be looking for him at all, and certainly not there. He wanted to keep them from meeting Keeli.

  It is not that I am ashamed of her, cause I’m not. I just want to save her the hassle…and me all the questions. Wyatt did not want to examine that thought too closely.

  A beat up Honda just two doors down from Keeli’s address pulled out and Wyatt maneuvered his Porsche into the spot easily. He hated leaving it on the street even briefly but the spot
was large and, assuming most people were at home this time on a Sunday night, he figured it would be safe for ten minutes. Hopefully, Keeli was the type of girl who is ready on time.

  He had it all planned out. He would avoid his friends and use this private time getting to know Keeli. So far, she had been friendly but a little flirty too. She was most likely looking for him to help her get ahead, fund her little operation maybe, or open the right doors for her. He had been with enough women looking to use him. He could read their intentions almost immediately and would know about Keeli quickly. Then he could decide whether to dump her fast or whether to get lost in that luscious body for a few weeks first.

  If she were just innocent and friendly, he would move on after tonight. He had enough friends, and she might complicate his feelings of friendship if he let her.

  But what if she was not a user, not just a friend? What if that pull he felt was matched in her? He knew he could get lost in her laughter, hypnotized by her unusual eyes. He knew the feel of her skin burned his and that her lips tempted him to kiss them for unending nights. He wanted her with a primitive, uncontrolled longing. Keeping his hands off her was torture. He feared that she was under his skin, that he might want more than a few weeks.

  He had felt that luscious ass almost six months ago, and thought about it ever since. He knew he should have said something about it by now, apologized.

  However, something held him back - a fear of spoiling this budding relationship.

  She hasn’t said anything either.

  Oh yeah, she had been in the back of his mind since that January day. He had been furious when he discovered he had been thwarted, that she was gone with no phone or email contact. He had been an ogre around the office until his frustration subsided almost a month later. He could not ride the elevator without reliving that moment, could not buy a coffee without longing for her presence. He was afraid of what he was starting with Keeli, but he was unable to stay away. He was in unchartered waters with her.