“Get your yearbook,” Kelly insisted, popping open the can and taking a swig.
Angela snatched the drink away from her sister and poured the contents into the thermal container. “It’s in the attic, and I need to leave here in—” she checked her watch “—five minutes.”
Kelly pulled up a bar stool. “Then dish quickly.”
“There’s nothing to dish.” She concentrated on the leak-proof cap, careful to cover the understatement. “We had a great time, and now it’s over.”
“Can you be any more vague than that? I mean, you shouldn’t just give out the deep, dark intimate secrets of your life like that, sis.”
“Ha, ha. It’s just…Well, try as I may, I can’t get the guy out of my head.”
Kelly rolled her eyes, then brushed an errant brunette curl out of her face. “It’s little wonder. You haven’t had a real relationship for I don’t know how long.”
“I go out,” Angela insisted, checking her answering machine and grabbing her car keys from the wooden key rack Dani had made at camp the previous year.
“On business. Since you adopted Dani, you only ask me to baby-sit for occasional one-time-only dates and a couple of client kiss-up dinners. Oh, wait.” Kelly enhanced her exaggerated words with her hands palms up as if attempting to stop a speeding car. “There was that time two years ago when you dated the same guy twice. Of course, that ended after he hired your firm to promote his restaurant. I stand corrected.”
“Cut the sarcasm.” Angela escaped to the foyer. Sarcasm or not, Kelly was right. Since Chryssie’s death, and maybe even before, Angela hadn’t put much energy into her social life. So many other things came first—college, career, then Dani. When she did date, she tended to judge the men as potential fathers rather than as potential lovers. She hadn’t regretted her choices until this weekend. Maybe if she’d been more experienced, Jack’s effect on her wouldn’t be so powerful.
“I admit I don’t get around much.” She checked the contents of her briefcase then snapped it shut. “I don’t have time for meaningless dates. I’ve got a daughter to raise and a business to run.”
“A daughter who might benefit from a father.” Kelly joined her in the foyer, leaning on the doorjamb between the kitchen and the front hall with the same unwavering expression she wore whenever they broached this topic.
Angela glanced at her watch again. She had two minutes to navigate herself out of dangerous territory. “Dani doesn’t need a father. She has Garrett for her male role model.”
“It’s not the same, Ange. Uncles are great, but she needs a father, preferably her own and preferably one who loves her mother.”
Land mine number one.
“Speaking of fathers,” Kelly continued. “Did Richard Lassiter show up at the reunion?”
“He graduated ahead of us. He had no reason to go.”
Kelly nodded and Angela swallowed hard, feeling suddenly hot and stuffy in her breezy summer suit. Over a year ago, she’d tracked down Chryssie’s ex-boyfriend, confident he was Dani’s biological father. Chryssie never claimed he was, refusing to discuss the matter. But who else could Angela suspect? Then she’d found out about Richard’s sterility, information she had shared with no one.
Kelly handed Angela her drink. “Have you decided whether or not to contact him about Dani?”
“I told you, Kelly, I’m going to abide by Chryssie’s wishes. She didn’t want Dani’s father identified, so until I have a good reason, I’m letting the subject drop. Now look—” she changed the subject from one perilous topic to another “—do you want to know about my weekend or not?”
“How much time do I have left?”
“Sixty seconds and counting.” She slung on the shoulder strap of her briefcase and poised her hand on the doorknob.
“Okay then tell me one thing about this guy you can’t get out of your mind. Did you have a good time with him?”
A tingling sensation filtered through her. She’d had the most unbelievably delicious weekend of her life. “Like never before.”
“Then see him again.”
“Even if he may not be good for me? Or Dani?”
Kelly walked forward and placed a comforting hand on her sister’s shoulder. “Leave Dani out of this for now. If you had a good time with him and he’s male, he’s good for you. Play the rest by ear.”
Smiling indecisively, Angela opened the door and waved a wordless goodbye. The thick summer air coated her with wet warmth, making her squirm in her silk and linen. Play the rest by ear. The old Angela would never do that. She was too prepared, too analyzing, too cautious. Even in business, what may have looked to others as a bold and risky move would actually be a precisely calculated and executed plan.
The new Angela, the woman she’d become in Jack’s presence, the sensual creature who craved Jack’s touch, thrived on chance and uncertainty. The old Angela may have erased Jack from her system, but the new one had not. Unfortunately, the new one had to put her needs aside. Some risks were too dangerous to take.
* * *
BEFORE EXITING the car, Angela flipped open the vanity mirror on the sun visor. Staring straight into the depths of her hazel eyes, she pumped up her resolve. This is it, Angela. As much as you hate to admit it, you need this man. You need him now. Go get him.
Too bad what she needed him for was business.
Her meeting with David Styler of Styler Jewels had been a bust. Randall Hautman, her former associate, had done a world-class number on the guy. He’d convinced Styler beyond a doubt that Harris and Associates didn’t understand his company’s objectives and could no longer fulfill his marketing needs. Of course, Randy had also misinterpreted crucial numbers and inflated the value of his worth to the future of Styler Jewels.
Angela decided to look on the bright side. The account had never been her favorite. David Styler was a flake. She had to constantly cajole, entice and insist he make the right decisions for his company’s well-being. Most of the time he listened. Sometimes he didn’t. And now he’d proved his shortsightedness.
But she couldn’t afford to lose Whispering Palms or its parent company, Davenport Homes. Allistair Davenport was no flake. The man was experienced. Savvy. Wealthy. His newest resort and housing community promised to make him wealthier, and Angela needed a piece of the action. She’d worked for over a year to win Davenport’s attention and six months more for a tentative agreement on a contract. She wouldn’t let Randall abscond with this client and destroy her business without a war. An informant from Randy’s new firm verified a meeting between Davenport and Hautman for the end of the week. If Angela launched an attack, she would have to plan and execute her idea by Wednesday at the latest.
And what better ammunition could she unload than Jack Sullivan, the hottest photographer to emerge in years?
She flipped the mirror closed and checked the empty parking lot before she got out of her Pathfinder and set the security alarm. Though Jack’s lot was well lit, Ybor City on a Monday night echoed with deserted silence. The one-time heart of Tampa’s Latin community had experienced a marked rebirth, but on weekdays, the activity in the business district died after the sun went down.
The building, a renovated, three-story warehouse, had few windows in the bottom floors, with the exception of a storefront still under construction. Conversely, the top story had a consistent row of rectangular eyes all awash with light. As instructed, she knocked on the unmarked door to the left of the storefront.
A moment later, Jack answered.
“What’s the password?” He blocked the doorway with his arm across the threshold. His biceps strained against the soft blue cotton sleeves he’d rolled to the elbows.
She held up a paper bag. “Spaghetti marinara from Cesare’s and sangria from my refrigerator.”
“Home brew?” He took the bag from her as she entered. “Your mom’s recipe?”
“Who else’s? You used to have a naughty habit of sneaking a glassful or two from our kitchen way ba
ck when.”
He shut and locked the door behind her. “And it was worth your sister’s wrath when she caught us.”
“Caught us? Caught you.” Angela laughed at the memory, but only briefly. That had been the first incident to put Jack on Kelly’s “less than good enough for my little sister” list.
Jack laid the food and drink on an antique oak table that also seemed to serve as a desk. He swept a few near-empty cardboard take-out boxes into the garbage can and stacked several neatly labeled file folders. “Imagine what she’d say if she saw us now.”
“I’d rather not.” Play the rest by ear. Though her sister’s words echoed in her mind like a mantra, she knew Kelly never meant her advice to be taken with Jack. “So, you’ve been working all day without a decent break.” Angela noted his appealingly rumpled clothes and the distinctive five o’clock shadow giving his rugged chin a golden hue.
His smile was crooked, like that of an unrepentant child caught with a chocolate-chip cookie just before dinner. “My project was important.”
“Oh, what are you working on?”
She half-listened while he outlined the details of the few commitments he had left to finish from projects begun overseas. Her interest was on the converted warehouse. Boxes marked either Personal or Photo Equipment lined the brick walls, painted white to intensify the flow of light into the large space. Except for a loft on the far wall, the place had been gutted.
The space was sparsely furnished with errant desks, tables and boxes. The primary focal point was the room’s expansive center, dominated by a tall rigging hooked to several backdrops. Lights, some small, others immense, a few with colored gels, towered like dinosaur skeletons in a museum. Props ranging from a handpainted antique carousel horse to a gleaming Harley-Davidson motorcycle sat on the canvas-covered floor.
She walked over and eyed the Harley more closely. She’d never ridden one, but like most good girls, she had a secret desire to straddle the symbol of ultimate freedom and hit the open road.
“That’s a potential prop for my new project.” Jack grabbed plastic forks and mismatched souvenir wineglasses from a file cabinet drawer.
“New project? Already? You haven’t even settled in.”
Damn. Angela had hoped to lure Jack into helping her by offering the challenge of starting his first project at home with an old and trusted friend. Zap Plan A.
“Tell that to my agent. Besides, we made this deal over a year ago, and I have a commitment. My advance paid the bills for the move and the warehouse.”
She’d checked the prices of real estate lately. His going rate must be enormous. Though she wasn’t offering peanuts, neither was she handing out Godiva-covered macadamias. Scratch Plan B—luring with money.
He had the table set with makeshift appointments, and again, the simple complexity of the man touched her. After the articles she’d read in the rags, she would’ve bet the bank a man who once dated Lily Dee didn’t even know what a paper plate was. She, however, as a single working mother, seriously considered purchasing stock in Chinette.
Jack drew Angela away from a stuffed rack of clothes tucked behind a Japanese screen.
“Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had Cesare’s?” He twisted the top on the glass carafe and poured them each a generous goblet of sangria. “Even in Italy I couldn’t find food that good.”
Angela shrugged out of her short-sleeved suit jacket and draped it over the back of her chair. “Pasta from Cesare’s is a staple at the office when we’re pulling an all-nighter.” She carefully separated the cardboard covers from the aluminum containers. The heavenly aromas of tomato, garlic and onion wafted up amid the steam. “This is the ultimate comfort food.”
She exchanged a serving of spaghetti for a glass of wine.
“I guess I should have brought silverware,” she admitted after several failed attempts to get a decent mouthful onto her plastic fork.
With ease, he successfully twisted a generous portion onto his utensil. “Here. I seem to have a flair for it.”
Cupping his hand beneath the serving, he offered her his biteful. She considered declining such a personal sacrifice, but the temptation of mouth-watering pasta served by Jack proved irresistible.
She leaned forward, unconsciously licking her lips before he slipped the steaming food onto her tongue. Closing her eyes, she savored the rich flavor as Jack’s hands lingered near her mouth.
“How is it?” he asked.
She swallowed with an appreciative sigh. “Words cannot describe the sensation. Let’s see if I can show you.”
“I love a woman of action.”
Their gazes met before she looked away to manipulate the al dente pasta onto her fork. He didn’t have a clue how much action he was in for. After capturing a decent helping, she offered the twirled spaghetti.
He took it in a ravenous swallow. “Just as good as I remember.” He wiped an errant drop of sauce from the corner of his mouth. “Too bad this isn’t finger food, though. We’d have all the makings of an interesting situation.”
Though she considered dipping a finger into the red marinara and seeing what they could cook up, she decided otherwise. Business had to come first.
“Well, if our meeting tonight is successful, we could have plenty of opportunities for meals together, fingers and all.”
“Meeting? I thought this was just a dinner between friends.” His words were innocent. His expression was not.
She ignored his upraised eyebrow and tore open a packet of Parmesan. “It is.” She sprinkled cheese on her pasta. “But I have a business situation I need your input on.”
He took a sip of wine. “Angela Harris, asking for my help? I’m intrigued.”
Smirking, she took a swallow of sangria. “I’m self-sufficient, Jack, not stupid. I’ve learned to utilize my friends’ talents to get ahead. They benefit, and so do I.”
“And you do know that the two of us working together is a very risky business.”
Risky was an understatement. It was downright dangerous.
His words evoked a long-forgotten memory of a time the school newspaper, of which she was editor, and the yearbook, where Jack served as head photographer, tried to work together on a special edition for the school’s silver anniversary. While the finished product won numerous local and state awards, the process nearly wrecked their relationship. They both had definite ideas about how and when things should be done. Unfortunately, those notions rarely matched.
Angela couldn’t concern herself with whether or not the Davenport project would destroy the tentative connection they’d established. It was better if it did. As long as she won this lucrative account, nothing else mattered.
Did it?
“I don’t know. If business progresses as I’ve planned, we might accomplish two goals at once.”
They continued eating dinner while Angela explained Randall’s deception and the importance of the Whispering Palms account. Jack listened intently, asked few questions and threw out no accusations or blame. She couldn’t help feeling flattered at his assumption that she’d done the best she could for Harris and Associates.
“Every once in a while, the good guys get duped. Happens to the best of us.” He punctuated his observation with a hearty mouthful of wine. “But I don’t see how I fit in.”
“I need a hook.” She gathered empty food containers while he refilled their wineglasses. “I have a meeting scheduled with Davenport tomorrow afternoon. I have the pitch in mind, but I need an unusual angle to make it irresistible. I need you as my director of photography.”
“I was hoping you needed me for something beyond business.”
The tingly effect brought on by the wine emboldened her. “Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t. I prefer to look at this as the perfect opportunity to find out.”
His left eyebrow shot up skeptically. “Are you implying that our weekend fling may be more than a weekend fling?”
“Take whatever implication you want, just tak
e my offer, too.”
He slid his chair back and downed the last of his sangria before standing. He seemed to be mulling the idea over as he glanced around the studio.
“I foresee a four-color brochure, some slick ads for top architectural magazines, a few thirty-second spots, all featuring your work and highlighting your involvement in the visual design of the homes. Davenport is known for his high-priced condos and multimillion-dollar mansions, but he has a different market to hit with this development.”
Jack’s eyes began to glaze, so she moved on to her ace in the hole. “Whispering Palms is some of the most gorgeous real estate left in Florida, right down to the nature preserve and wetland bordering one side of the golf course.” She paused, knowing she’d intrigued him with the information about the land. Nature shots were his forte. “Of course,” she added, “maybe the commercialism of this assignment is too gauche for you. You are an artist, after all.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He scanned his converted warehouse as if searching for something. “A smart artist knows a solid commercial gig can pay for a hell of a lot of avant garde projects. That assignment I mentioned earlier is for a calendar celebrating scantily clad women and different forms of art. The carousel and the Harley are for the backgrounds.”
Angela stood, holding her wineglass. “I understand the horse—it’s obviously hand-carved and painted. But the motorcycle? How is that art?”
“Have you ever ridden one?”
“No,” she admitted reluctantly.
“That’s why you don’t understand.”
Angela wandered to the machine and ran her hand over the supple leather seat. The gleaming chrome and metal caught the bright studio lights like icicles with sunshine.
“Care to educate me?”
She turned just in time to catch the blooming of his suggestive smile. “Oh, yes. But not like you think.”
6
“JUST WHAT do you have in mind?”
Though casually spoken, her question suggested both fear and curiosity—just as Jack hoped. He took the wineglass from her unsteady hand and set it on the floor beside the bike. As he stood, she crossed her arms over her chest and shifted her weight to one hip—cocked and ready for battle.
Seducing Sullivan Page 8