Born to Be Wild

by Berg, Patti

  “It’s not the jewelry he’s interested in.”

  “Then what?”

  Lauren could see the tightening in Max’s jaw. “He’s fourteen and recently discovered the female anatomy, particularly breasts. It’s not the necklaces he’s looking at, it’s what’s beneath them.”

  Charles offered an uncharacteristic chuckle, but instantly wiped the mirth from his face. “I would be happy to keep an eye on him for you, sir.”

  “That won’t be necessary. I’ll have a little talk with him right this minute.”

  Max stalked off before Lauren could say another word, which was just as well. She’d already divulged too much. What was it about Max that made her pour out her heart and soul, not to mention far too many of her secrets? How could he so completely draw her under his spell? The man, not to mention her feelings for him, was totally perplexing.

  She took another sip of her champagne as she watched Max disappear into the throng of guests.

  “Miss Endicott’s wedding is going quite well,” Charles said, “and I’ve heard several guests comment on the delectable canapés. I believe Mr. Wilde was the perfect choice.”

  “Yes, he’s very good at what he does,” she admitted, wishing she’d had the opportunity to try out a few more of his skills.

  “If there’s nothing I can do for you now, I’ll see to your guests.”

  “Before you go, Charles, tell me, have you ever wanted to be something other than a butler?”

  “I don’t believe I have. My father was a butler. His father and his father before him served the finest of families. It’s what I was born to do. Why do you ask?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” she said, taking another quick taste of bubbling wine. “I was born to this, too, but sometimes... sometimes I wish I could let my hair down and be a little more wild.”

  “I may have been born a butler,” he said, crossing his arms behind him, “I may love my work, but that doesn’t mean I dress in formal clothes and serve people on my days off.”

  “What do you do, Charles? You’d think I’d know after twenty-eight years together.”

  “I bird watch, occasionally I fish, and I’ve been known to sit in with one or two jazz bands around town and play piano. I quite enjoy it.”

  This was a side of Charles she’d never imagined, and now she wondered why he stayed with her when he had so many other interesting pursuits.

  “Have you ever thought of playing piano for a living?” she asked.

  “I did once or twice when I was younger. In the end, I chose what made me happiest, and that was taking care of you. I still have my love for playing the piano, though, and that gives me the best of both worlds.”

  She smiled at his heartening sentiment. “Do you think I could have both worlds?”

  Charles nodded. “I do believe you could have anything you wanted.”

  “Thank you,” she said, lightly kissing his cheek, an uncommon gesture, for sure, but one that was long overdue.

  “You’re quite welcome, Miss Remington,” Charles said, a slight blush tinging his cheeks. “Now, I believe I should see to your guests.”

  Charles was gone in an instant, and not for the first time, Lauren realized how blessed she was to have him in her life.

  Slipping away from the palm, Lauren mixed into the crowd, trying to look as if she’d always been there. Her mother was deep in conversation with Chip, the waiters were walking about, serving the guests as if it were something they did every day, and Max was inconspicuously escorting Ryan away from Bunny Endicott, whose hand was clasped across her chest.

  Of all people, why had Ryan picked on Bunny?

  Breezing between guests, greeting everyone in her wake, thanking all the ladies who commented on the beauty of her seafoam-green silk crepe Valentino sheath, Lauren finally reached Bunny’s side. “Hello, Bunny.”

  “The strangest thing just happened,” Bunny whispered, her face registering complete and utter disbelief. “There was a child here asking all sorts of questions about my necklace. You don’t think he could be a front, do you?”

  “What do you mean, a front?”

  “One of those people who scout out parties, looking for jewelry and other expensive things to steal, before he calls in his accomplices.”

  Lauren laughed lightly. “I’m positive he’s not a front. Your necklace is stunning, and I’m sure he just wanted to check it out.”

  “Yes, the necklace is stunning,” Bunny quipped, “but the child was absolutely obsessed with staring at my chest. And that, of course, made me think he might be doing something else.”

  “What?”

  “This might sound rather vain, and you know I’m not the least narcissistic, but I do believe he might have been checking out my... breasts.” Bunny whispered the word as if it were sacred.

  If it was anyone other than Bunny, Lauren wouldn’t have been able to smile. But this was Bunny Endicott, who’d not-so-secretly gone under the knife and went from a 32AA to a 34C, and was anxious for everyone to notice. How could Ryan possibly pass up the opportunity to ogle the woman who walked around with her 34Cs thrust forward for everyone to see?

  Bunny clasped her hand to her chest again. “Do you think anyone else has been staring at my... breasts?”

  “I should hope not.”

  Bunny drew her shoulders back a little further, trying to make her 34Cs look like 34Ds. “It’s quite embarrassing to think people are looking, so why don’t we keep this our little secret?”

  “I wouldn’t think of telling a soul.”

  “You are such a dear,” Bunny said, then sailed across the patio, more than likely in search of Celeste, Lady Ashford, who loved to share anything the least bit scandalous.

  At the far side of the pool Lauren saw Max’s daughter picking through the desserts, the same thing Lauren had done when she was a child. She hadn’t met Jamie yet, and wondered if she was half as precocious as her brother, although that seemed highly unlikely. Walking toward the little girl, Lauren plucked a glass of champagne from Jazz’s tray, and complimented her on doing such a nice job.

  “Thank you,” Jazz said, a touch of animosity apparent in her soft voice.

  When she’d seen Jazz at the Hole all she’d noticed was her platinum hair and wealth of tattoos. Now Lauren saw that Jazz had big blue eyes, a long, graceful neck, and elegant hands.

  Lauren took a quick sip of the Dom Perignon, and attempted to make amends with Jazz for all the horrid things she’d thought about her. “I suppose Max told you I had my doubts about you and Gabe working here today.”

  “He told us,” she bit out.

  “You must despise me for that.”

  Jazz shrugged. “I meet all kinds of people in my line of work, and I’ve been called more names than I can count.”

  Lauren frowned at her statement. “What kind of work do you do?”

  “Stand on street corners and solicit unsuspecting souls.”

  Lauren’s eyes widened. She’d never met a prostitute before, let alone been served by one. She downed the glass of champagne, put the empty on Jazz’s tray, and grabbed another. “Are you happy in that line of work?”

  “Can’t think of anything I’d rather do.” Jazz grinned. “It pays well, the work’s stimulating, although it’s sometimes exhausting, and sadly I can’t handle more than two or three men a night.”

  “You’ve taken care of two or three in one night?” Lauren asked, completely aghast.

  “My record’s six, but I was able to handle three at once.”

  Lauren felt faint. “Do you ever get frightened?”

  “Rarely. I’m trained in martial arts and I carry a gun.”

  “Isn’t that against the law?”

  Jazz grinned as she took Lauren’s second empty glass of champagne and handed her another. “Not when you’re a vice cop.”

  It took merely half a second for the words vice cop to register. “I have an annoying way of jumping to conclusions. I can’t begin to tell you how sorry
I am.”

  Jazz’s blue eyes warmed, and she touched Lauren’s shoulder lightly. “I’m afraid I’m the one who should apologize this time. I led you on.”

  “I suppose I deserved it.”

  “Then why don’t we consider ourselves even,” Jazz said, holding out her hand in friendship and Lauren grasped it tightly.

  “I’ve been thinking of teaching the girls at the Hole how to spot come-ons and pick-up lines,” Jazz said. “Most of them live in a rough part of town and they’re susceptible to far too many jerks. Maybe you’d like to help?”

  “Me? I don’t know the first thing about teenagers, and I’m afraid the only thing I could teach anyone is how to pour tea and serve watercress sandwiches.”

  “It wouldn’t hurt for the girls to learn some manners. You could start out slowly, volunteer an hour or two a week.”

  The thought of being with all those kids sounded... interesting. But she wasn’t a teacher, hadn’t been good in school, so how could she possibly help the kids at the Hole? “Could I think about it? I’ve got a lot of work with my business and—”

  “Thinking’s quite all right,” Jazz told her.” The kids are tough, most of them—including the girls—spout words that would turn your ears scarlet, and sometimes they’re a little intimidating. They need encouragement, not to mention role models. But the job’s not for everyone.”

  “Why do you do it?”

  “I grew up on the streets. So did Gabe, but neither one of us wanted to settle for the life we knew. We went to school, I became a cop, Gabe a social worker, and we both ended up back on the streets, trying to help others.”

  “What about Max and Bear?”

  “Max was on the streets, too, until Philippe—his foster dad—took him in. Bear was a renegade rich kid. He ran away from home, ended up living off and on with Philippe and Max, and finally realized he didn’t want to. be broke. He went back home then headed for college and became a dentist.”

  So that was the reason behind Bear’s picture-perfect smile! She should have known.

  A few moments later Jazz went back to work and Lauren took another sip of champagne, embarrassed by all the wrong thoughts she’d had about people. Meeting Max and his friends had been an eye-opening experience, gave her insights into a part of the world far removed from her own.

  Taking another sip of champagne, and tucking away thoughts about working at the Hole until later, she headed for the table where Jamie had parked herself. She couldn’t help but notice the young girl’s bright, sparkling blue eyes, the smattering of freckles bridging her nose, or the abundance of golden-blond curls pulled into a ponytail. She was cute right now, but in a few more years she’d be a knockout and probably a handful for Max.

  Setting her glass down not far from Jamie, Lauren studied the array of pastries and tarts. “I’m partial to chocolate,” she stated, wanting to draw Jamie into an easy conversation. “What do you like?”

  “The chocolate baskets filled with lemon cream.”

  “Have you tried any?”

  “I’m not supposed to touch these. Max said they’re for the guests and he’ll make some especially for me tomorrow or the next day.”

  “My mother didn’t allow sweets in the house when I was growing up,” Lauren said nonchalantly, “and I wasn’t supposed to touch them when I went to parties.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” Tilting her head toward Jamie, she grinned. “But I didn’t let that stop me.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I’ll show you.” Lauren swept her finger through the lemon cream filling and quickly shoved it into her mouth, licking away the deliciously sticky concoction.

  Jamie giggled. “Max would murder me if he caught me doing that.”

  “So would my mother, I’m afraid, so why don’t we do it the right way.”

  Lauren took a dessert plate from the table, scooped up two chocolate baskets, and set them in the center of the delicate china plate. She took two forks and napkins and sat on a cushioned wrought-iron bench near the end of the table. “You know, Jamie, I’ve taken much more than I can eat.” She smiled at Jamie. “Would you mind helping me?”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Quite.”

  Jamie sat next to her on the bench, took the fork Lauren offered her, and dug into the dessert. Lauren followed her lead, finding the creamy concoction even tastier than it looked.

  “I’m Lauren Remington,” she said, taking a second bite.

  “I know,” Jamie said, licking lemon cream off her lips. “I keep track of all the women Max dates, even the ones he’s just thinking about dating.”

  “Are there a lot of them?”

  “Hundreds.”

  Hmm. Lauren easily recognized the young girl’s jealousy. She remembered having a similar conversation with one of the many blond bimbos her father had dated when she was young. Reece Remington, an All-American retired rancher with whom she’d spent a few weeks out of every summer, still dated blond bimbos, usually two at a time. Max, however, didn’t seem like the blond bimbo type. That could, however, just be wishful thinking on her part.

  Lauren helped herself to another bite of lemon cream. “Which one of Max’s girlfriends is your favorite?”

  “I don’t know,” Jamie answered. “Probably the stripper.”

  Lauren coughed, nearly choking on the filling that had stuck in her throat. “A stripper?”

  “Yeah. Max says he likes her moves.”

  Oh, dear!

  Jamie pushed up from the bench. “Well, I’d better get back to the kitchen. If Max sees me out here having fun when I should be working, he’ll have my head.”

  The little girl skipped off, leaving Lauren all alone with her lemon cream, thoughts of a nearly naked buxom woman suggestively hugging a pole, and the sound of footsteps that came to a stop behind her.

  “I’ve been looking for you.”

  Lauren spun around, a dizzying feeling hitting her when she did. She closed her eyes a moment, wishing she hadn’t had so much champagne, then opened them slowly, focusing on the man standing over her. “Gerald?”

  “I’m glad you haven’t forgotten me completely.”

  “Of course I haven’t forgotten you.” That would have been an impossibility. Her mother had brought up the name Gerald Harcourt in nearly every conversation they’d had in the past few days.

  Rising slowly, Lauren wobbled and was grateful when Gerald offered a helping hand. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Gerald Harcourt was one of the most distinguished-looking gentlemen she’d ever met, and she’d met quite a few. Tall and slender, he wore Armani like a champ. The black and white tux looked rather nice against the richness of his tan, one he’d probably gotten lying in a thong on the sun-drenched Fiji island he’d purchased. The last time she’d seen Gerald, his hair had been dark brown; now it was mostly silver. One thing about him definitely hadn’t changed. His hands were warm and far too skilled, and she couldn’t forget that he liked women. A lot of women.

  “Would you care to dance?” he asked. “It’s been a long time.”

  She looked about her, finding it difficult to believe that she hadn’t noticed other people dancing, that she hadn’t heard the orchestra, that she hadn’t observed Max standing near the kitchen door. Watching her. Glaring at Gerald.

  “I really should take care of my guests,” she said, trying to pull away, but Gerald held on to her hand and playfully spun her against his chest.

  “Nonsense,” he whispered against her ear. “Everything’s well under control.”

  Again she looked toward the kitchen, but Max had disappeared, and her heart sank in disappointment. She’d wanted to dance with him, but she had guests to entertain, and he had guests to serve.

  “You look troubled,” Gerald said. “The best way to deal with that is dancing.” He led her far too easily to a place near the pool where at least a dozen couples swayed to the music. Sliding his hand
behind her back, he pulled her closer than she wanted to be held. It was only one dance, she told herself, and he was her guest.

  “You’re very beautiful,” Gerald said, as he swept her about in a dizzying circle. “I’ve thought of you often over the years.”

  “How could you possibly find time to think of me? Mother tells me you’ve been terribly busy.”

  “It doesn’t take all that much time to purchase a summer house on Martha’s Vineyard or an island in Fiji, it merely takes money. Both places are quite lonely, though.”

  “Then why did you buy them?” she said, not really interested, but trying to be a good hostess.

  “I’d hoped to share them with my wife.”

  Or one of his many girlfriends, Lauren imagined, but she was far too polite to make that comment. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out between you and Jessica.”

  “Sometimes marriages work, sometimes they don’t. She was a beautiful woman and I enjoyed her company. Unfortunately, she had a deathly fear of flying and didn’t like accompanying me on my trips around the world.”

  “You could have stayed home.”

  “I did in the beginning. I gave her everything I could—my time, homes, beautiful jewelry. But I missed traveling, seeing my friends in other countries. Long separations led to other troubles I needn’t bother you with. Surely you understand?”

  “All too well.”

  His mouth moved close to her ear. His breath was warm. Too warm. “We’re very much alike. You realize that, don’t you?”

  “Champagne?”

  Lauren jerked away at the sound of Max’s voice. “I’d love some.” She took a glass from his tray, relieved that he’d rescued her. She smiled, but met nothing but Max’s blank stare.

  “And you, sir?” Max asked, holding the tray toward Gerald.

  Gerald’s lip almost curled as he stared at Max. It was just a flash of animosity that turned quickly to a polished smile. He took a glass and in his most gentlemanly voice said, “Thank you.”

  “You’re quite welcome, sir.”

  Max turned to Lauren, his expression still cool and detached. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

  What on earth had she done to annoy him this time?