She gave up on the Great Love Story and went back to obsessing over sex. Did Kevin speak English while he was doing it or had he memorized a few handy foreign phrases? With a groan, she buried her face in the pillow.
After only a few hours’ sleep she awakened to a cold, gray dawn. When she looked out, she saw that Kevin’s Ferrari was gone. Good! She took Roo outside, then showered. While she dried off, she forced herself to hum a little ditty about Winnie the Pooh, but as she pulled on a well-worn pair of gray pants and the Dolce & Gabbana sweater she’d bought before she gave away her money, the pretense of pretending she was happy faded.
What was wrong with her? She had a wonderful life. She was healthy. She had good friends, a terrific family, and an entertaining dog. Although she was nearly always broke, she didn’t mind because her loft was worth every penny it cost her. She loved her work. Her life was perfect. More than perfect, now that Kevin Tucker was gone.
Disgusted with her moodiness, she shoved her feet into the pink slippers the twins had given her for her birthday and padded down to the kitchen, the bunny heads on the toes waggling. A quick breakfast, then she’d get to work.
She’d arrived too late last night to pick up groceries, so she pulled a box of Dan’s Pop-Tarts from the cupboard. Just as she was slipping one into the toaster, Roo began to bark. The back door opened, and Kevin came in, his arms loaded with plastic grocery bags. Her idiotic heart skipped a beat.
Roo snarled. Kevin ignored him. “Morning, Daphne.”
Her instinctive burst of pleasure gave way to annoyance. Slytherin!
He dumped the bags on the center island. “Supplies were running low.”
“What difference does it make? You’re leaving, remember? Vous partez. Saiga.” She enunciated the foreign words and was gratified to see that she’d annoyed him.
“Leaving isn’t a good idea.” He gave a hard twist to the cap on the milk. “I’m not making any more waves with Dan right now, so you’ll need to go instead.”
Exactly what she should do, but she didn’t like his attitude, so she let her inner bitch take over. “That’s not going to happen. As an athlete, you won’t understand this, but I need peace and quiet because I actually have to think when I work.”
He definitely caught the insult but chose to ignore it. “I’m staying here.”
“So am I,” she replied, just as stubbornly.
She could see that he wanted to toss her out but couldn’t do it because she was his boss’s sister. He took his time filling his glass, then settled his hips against the counter. “It’s a big house. We’ll share.”
She started to tell him to forget it, that she’d leave after all, when something stopped her. Maybe sharing wasn’t as crazy as it sounded. The quickest way to get over her fixation would be to see the Slytherin beneath the real man. It had never been Kevin as a human being who attracted her because she had no idea who he really was. Instead, it was the illusion of Kevin—gorgeous body, sexy eyes, valiant leader of men.
She watched him drain the glass of milk. One belch. That’s all it would take. Nothing disgusted her more than a man who belched… or scratched his crotch… or had gross table manners. Or what about the losers who tried to impress women by pulling out a fat roll of bills held together with one of those garish money clips?
Maybe he wore a gold chain. Molly shuddered. That would do it for sure. Or was a gun nut. Or said, “You duh man.” Or in any of a hundred ways couldn’t measure up to the standard set by Dan Calebow.
Yes, indeed, there were a million pitfalls awaiting Mr. Kevin I’m-too-sexy-for-my-Astroturf-green-eyes Tucker. One belch… one crotch scratch… even the slightest glimmer of gold around that gorgeous neck…
She realized she was smiling. “All right. You can stay.”
“Thanks, Daphne.” He drained the glass but didn’t burp.
She narrowed her eyes and told herself that as long as he kept calling her Daphne, she was halfway home.
She found her laptop computer and carried it up to the loft, where she set it on the desk, along with her sketch pad. She could work on either Daphne Takes a Tumble or the article “Making Out—How Far to Go?”
Very far.
It was definitely the wrong time to work on an article about any kind of sex, even the teenage variety.
She heard the sound of game film being played below and realized Kevin had brought video with him so he could do his homework. She wondered if he ever cracked a book or went to an art film or did anything that wasn’t connected with football.
Time to get her mind back on her work. She propped one foot on Roo and gazed out the window at the angry white-caps rolling over the gray, forbidding waters of Lake Michigan. Maybe Daphne should return to her cottage late at night only to find everything dark. And when she walked inside, Benny could jump out and—
She had to stop making her stories so autobiographical.
Okay… She flipped open her sketch pad. Daphne could decide to put on a Halloween mask and scare—No, she’d already done that in Daphne Plants a Pumpkin Patch.
Definitely time to phone a friend. Molly picked up the phone next to her and dialed Janine Stevens, one of her best writing pals. Although Janine wrote for the young adult market, they shared the same philosophy about books and frequently brainstormed together.
“Thank God you called!” Janine cried. “I’ve been trying to reach you all morning.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Everything! Some big-haired woman from SKIFSA was on the local news this morning ranting and raving about children’s books being a recruiting tool for the homosexual lifestyle.”
“Why don’t they get a life?”
“Molly, she held up a copy of I Miss You So and said it was an example of the kind of filth that lures children into perversion!”
“Oh, Janine… that’s awful!” I Miss You So was the story of a thirteen-year-old girl trying to come to terms with the persecution of an artistic older brother who’d been branded as gay by the other kids. It was beautifully written, sensitive, and heartfelt.
Janine blew her nose. “My editor called this morning. She said they’ve decided to wait until the heat dies down, and they’re going to postpone my next book for a year!”
“You finished it almost a year ago!”
“They don’t care. I can’t believe it. My sales were finally starting to take off. Now I’m going to lose all my momentum.”
Molly consoled her friend as best she could. By the time she hung up, she’d decided that SKIFSA was a bigger menace to society than any book could ever be.
She heard footsteps below and realized that the game film was no longer running. The only good thing about her conversation with Janine was that it had distracted her from thinking about Kevin.
A deep male voice called up to her. “Hey, Daphne! Do you know if they’ve got an airfield around here?”
“An airfield? Yes. There’s one in Sturgeon Bay. It’s—” Her head shot up. “Airfield!”
She vaulted out of her chair and made a rush for the railing. “You’re going skydiving again!”
He tilted his head to gaze up at her. Even with his hands in his pockets, he looked as tall and dazzling as a sun god.
Will you please burp!
“Why would I go skydiving?” he said mildly. “Dan’s asked me not to.”
“Like that’s going to stop you.”
Benny pumped the pedals of his mountain bike faster and faster. He didn’t notice the rain falling on the road that led through Nightingale Woods or the big puddle just ahead.
She raced down the stairs, even though she knew she should stay as far away from him as possible. “Don’t do it. There were flurries all night. It’s too windy.”
“Now you’re tantalizing me.”
“I’m trying to explain that it’s dangerous!”
“Isn’t that what makes anything worth doing?”
“No plane’s going to take you up on a day like today.” Except th
at celebrities like Kevin could get people to do just about anything.
“I don’t think I’d have too much trouble finding a pilot. If I did plan to go skydiving.”
“I’ll call Dan,” she threatened. “I’m sure he’ll be interested to hear just how lightly you’ve taken your suspension.”
“Now you’re scaring me,” he drawled. “I’ll bet you were one of those bratty little girls who tattled to the teacher when the boys misbehaved.”
“I didn’t go to school with boys until I was fifteen, so I missed the opportunity.”
“That’s right. You’re a rich kid, aren’t you?”
“Rich and pampered,” she lied. “What about you?” Maybe if she distracted him with conversation, he’d forget about skydiving.
“Middle class and definitely not pampered.”
He still looked restless, and she was trying to think of something to talk about when she spotted two books on the coffee table that hadn’t been there earlier. She looked more closely and saw that one was the new Scott Turow, the other a rather scholarly volume on the cosmos that she’d tried to get into but set aside for something lighter. “You read?”
His mouth twitched as he slouched into the sectional sofa. “Only if I can’t get anybody to do it for me.”
“Very funny.” She settled at the opposite end of the couch, unhappy with the revelation that he enjoyed books. Roo moved closer, ready to guard her in case Kevin took it into his mind to tackle her again.
You wish.
“Okay, I’ll concede that you’re not quite as… intellectually impaired as you appear to be.”
“Let me put that in my press kit.”
She’d set her trap quite nicely. “That being the case, why do you keep doing such stupid things?”
“Like what?”
“Like skydiving. skiing from a helicopter. Then there’s that dirt-track racing you did right after training camp.”
“You seem to know a lot about me.”
“Only because you’re part of the family business, so don’t take it personally. Besides, everybody in Chicago knows what you’ve been up to.”
“The media make a big deal out of nothing.”
“It’s not exactly nothing.” She kicked off her rabbit’s-head slippers and tucked her feet under her. “I don’t get it. You’ve always been the poster boy for pro athletes. You don’t drive drunk or beat up women. You show up early for practice and stay late. No gambling scandals, no grandstanding, not even much trash talk. Then all of a sudden you freak out.”
“I haven’t freaked out.”
“What else can you call it?”
He cocked his head. “They sent you up here to spy on me, didn’t they?”
She laughed, even though it compromised her role as a rich bitch. “I’m the last person any of them would trust with team business. I’m sort of a geek.” She made an X over her heart. “Come on, Kevin. Cross my heart, I won’t say a thing. Tell me what’s going on.”
“I enjoy a little excitement, and I’m not apologizing for it.”
She wanted more, so she continued her exploring mission. “Don’t your lady friends worry about you?”
“If you want to know about my love life, just ask. That way I can have the pleasure of telling you to mind your own business.”
“Why would I want to know about your love life?”
“You tell me.”
She regarded him demurely. “I was just wondering if you find your women in international catalogs? Or maybe on the Web? I know there are groups that specialize in helping lonely American men find foreign women because I’ve seen the pictures. ‘Twenty-one-year-old Russian beauty. Plays classical piano in the nude, writes erotic novels in her spare time, wants to share her dandy with a Yankee doodle.’ “
Unfortunately, he laughed instead of being offended. “I date American women, too.”
“Not many, I’ll bet.”
“Did anybody ever mention that you’re nosy?”
“I’m a writer. It goes with the profession.” Maybe it was her imagination, but he didn’t look as restless as when he’d sat down, so she decided to keep poking. “Tell me about your family.”
“Not much to tell. I’m a PK.”
Prize kisser? “Pathetic klutz?”
He grinned and crossed his ankles on the edge of the coffee table. “Preacher’s kid. Fourth generation, depending on how you count.”
“Oh, yes. I remember reading that. Fourth generation, huh?”
“My father was a Methodist minister, son of a Methodist minister, who was the grandson of one of the old Methodist circuit riders who carried the gospel into the wilderness.”
“That must be where your daredevil blood comes from. The circuit rider.”
“It sure didn’t come from my father. A great guy, but not exactly what you’d call a risk taker. Pretty much an egghead.” He smiled. “Like you. Except more polite.”
She ignored that. “He’s no longer alive?”
“He died about six years ago. He was fifty-one when I was born.”
“What about your mother?”
“I lost her eighteen months ago. She was older, too. A big reader, the head of the historical society, into genealogy. Summers were the highlight of my parents’ lives.”
“Skinny-dipping in the Bahamas?”
He laughed. “Not quite. We all went to a Methodist church campground in northern Michigan. It’s been in my family for generations.”
“Your family owned a campground?”
“Complete with cabins and a big old wooden Tabernacle for church services. I had to go with them every summer until I was fifteen, and then I rebelled.”
“They must have wondered how they hatched you.”
His eyes grew shuttered. “Every day. What about you?”
“An orphan.” She said the word lightly, the way she always did when anyone asked, but it felt lumpy.
“I thought Bert only married Vegas showgirls.” The way his eyes swept from her crimson hair to linger on her modest chest told her he didn’t believe she could have sequins in her gene pool.
“My mother was in the chorus at The Sands. She was Bert’s third wife, and she died when I was two. She was flying to Aspen to celebrate her divorce.”
“You and Phoebe didn’t have the same mother?”
“No. Phoebe’s mother was his first wife. She was in the chorus at The Flamingo.”
“I never met Bert Somerville, but from what I’ve heard, he wasn’t an easy man to live with.”
“Fortunately, he sent me off to boarding school when I was five. Before that, I remember a stream of very attractive nannies.”
“Interesting.” He dropped his feet from the coffee table and picked up the pair of silver-framed Revo sunglasses he’d left there. Molly gazed at them with envy. Two hundred and seventy dollars at Marshall Field’s.
Daphne set the sunglasses that had fallen from Benny’s pocket on her own nose and bent over to admire her reflection in the pond. Parfait! (She believed French was the best language for contemplating personal appearance.)
“Hey!” Benny called out from behind her.
Plop! The sunglasses slid from her nose into the pond.
Kevin rose from the couch, and she could feel his energy filling the room. “Where are you going?” she asked.
“Out for a while. I need some fresh air.”
“Out where?”
He folded in the stems of his sunglasses, the motion deliberate. “It’s been nice talking to you, but I think I’ve had enough questions from management for now.”
“I told you. I’m not management.”
“You’ve got a financial stake in the Stars. In my book that makes you management.”
“Okay. So management wants to know where you’re going.”
“Skiing. Do you have a problem with that?”
No, but she was fairly sure Dan would. “There’s just one alpine ski area around here, and the drop is only a hundred and twe
nty feet. That’s not enough challenge for you.”
“Damn.”
She concealed her amusement.
“I’ll go cross-country, then,” he said. “I’ve heard there are some world class trails up here.”
“Not enough snow.”
“I’m going to find that airfield?” He shot toward the coat closet.
“No! We’ll—we’ll hike.”
“Hike?” He looked as if she’d suggested bird-watching.
She thought fast. “There’s a really treacherous path along the bluffs. It’s so dangerous that it’s closed off when there’s wind or even a hint of snow, but I know a back way to get to it. Except you need to be really sure you want to do this. It’s narrow and icy, and the slightest misstep could send you plunging to your death.”
“You’re making this up.”
“I don’t have that much imagination.”
“You’re a writer.”
“Children’s books. They’re completely nonviolent. Now, if you want to stand around and talk all morning, that’s up to you. But I’d like a little adventure.”
She’d finally caught his interest.
“Let’s get to it, then.”
They had a good time on their hike, even though Molly never quite managed to locate the treacherous path she’d promised Kevin—maybe because she’d invented it. Still, the bluff they crossed was bitterly cold and windy, so he didn’t complain too much. He even reached out to take her hand on an icy stretch, but she wasn’t that foolish. Instead, she gave him a snooty look and told him he’d have to manage on his own because she wasn’t going to prop him up every time he saw a little ice and got scared.
He’d laughed and climbed up on a slippery pile of rocks. The sight of him facing the winter-gray water, head thrown back, wind tearing through that dark blond hair had stolen her breath.
For the rest of their walk she’d forgotten to be obnoxious, and they had far too much fun. By the time they returned to the house, her teeth were chattering from the cold, but every womanly part of her burned.
He shrugged out of his coat and rubbed his hands. “I wouldn’t mind using your hot tub.”
This Heart Of Mine Page 4