by Laura Breck
She moaned softly into the phone. “How can I resist?”
He was hard instantly. Phone sex. “I’ll cook.”
“See you around five tomorrow?”
“I’ll be waiting for you.”
She gave a sexy hum. “I’ll be thinking about you.”
“Ciao.”
“Ciao, bello.”
He hung up. What would happen tomorrow night when it was time for him to leave for the strip club? He wouldn’t know what time it was. The minute she stepped into his house, he’d dedicate himself to getting her into bed. And keeping her there all night.
****
Valerie met her mother at the Fashion Show Mall on The Strip. Dena was sitting in Starbucks, sipping her tea, and Valerie plopped down in the chair across from her.
Her mother slid a steaming cup toward her. “You look tired. I have herbal tea for you.”
“Thank you.” She stifled a yawn. “It’s been a long day. I’ve been looking forward to this all afternoon.”
“A lot of patients today?”
“Not many, but the ones I saw were very needy.”
“Anyone I know?”
She couldn’t disclose patients’ names. Her mother was just making conversation.
“I think you’d recognize all of their names.”
“Interesting?”
“Challenging.” She sipped the orange-flavored tea. “A lot of different people with a lot of unique problems.”
“It’s wonderful you can help them. You’re making quite a name for yourself.” Her mother’s smile lit her face.
“You saw the magazine?”
“Yes. I have it right here.” She reached down into her tote and pulled out a Las Vegas magazine containing an article about the best local doctors. Valerie made the list as one of the top three psychologists. “We are very proud of you.”
Not so long ago, her parents tried to discourage her from starting her own practice. Did her mother’s pride come from having a daughter recognized in a magazine, or from the actual work Valerie did? She shook off the negative thoughts.
“Thank you, Mom. I can’t imagine how I could be one of the top three in only a year. I think Monica had something to do with this.”
Dena laughed. “She e-mailed everyone she knew and asked us all to vote for you. And for her. She’s in here, too.”
“She’s always in there. She is very good at what she does.”
“You two make a great team. She heals the outside, you heal the inside.” Dena flipped to the page she marked and handed the magazine to Valerie.
“Very profound, Mother. You should be our publicity agent.” She took the magazine and looked at the headshot of herself.
Should she have gone with a more professional look?
Wearing a blouse, her hair left long and straight—the smiley pose reminded her of a college yearbook photo. She shoved aside her uncertainty. Something about being with Dena always made her second-guess herself.
“Oh, I am. Unofficially. I talk you two up every time I’m with the girls or at the club or at the office.”
Dena’s face showed affection. Valerie loved her mother, but she didn’t know her well. Spending so much of her life in boarding school and away at college, her mother seemed more like an acquaintance. This last year, since she moved back to Vegas, she took every opportunity to spend time with her.
Dena finished her tea. “What do you need to shop for?”
“The usual. Shoes, dresses, bargains.”
“Me, too. Let’s get started.”
Valerie followed her mother to her favorite store. They tried on a couple dresses, modeling for each other in the dressing room, and each bought one. They found a sale at two shoe stores and a clearance on business suits at Ann Taylor.
As they walked around the mall carrying their bags, Dena was unusually quiet. She touched Valerie’s arm, stopping outside Victoria’s Secret, and pointed to a sexy undergarment, taking a deep breath. “Do you need anything here?”
Valerie was surprised, and her face warmed. “No. I can’t think of anything…”
“Dear…” Her mother waited for a couple to pass by then tipped her head and asked quietly, “I just wondered if you and your new man-friend have advanced your relationship to that stage yet.”
Slightly amused, slightly annoyed, she shook her head. “We don’t know each other very well yet, Mom.”
“Good. I’m glad, dear.” Her shoulders visibly relaxed. “You’ve been so careful, and I want to make sure you don’t jump into anything too quickly.”
She started walking. “I’m confident I’ll know when it’s right.”
They strolled, looking in windows, turned into Neiman Marcus, and headed to the restaurant.
Dena stopped walking again at the bridal shop. “Isn’t this beautiful?” She pointed to a Vera Wang.
“Lovely.”
“Valerie, Monica told me what happened.”
Damn, what had her sneaky sister done now? “And what was that?”
Dena put her hand on Valerie’s arm again, her eyes filled with worry. “She told me a few things about this new guy you’re seeing.”
“His name is Antonio, Mom. You spent an evening with him, and you didn’t seem too concerned.”
“Well, Monica has some concerns.”
“What did she say?” She made a mental note to find Monica and throw her off the Hoover Dam.
“That you broke up with Troy for this man.”
“Mom…” She looked at the people walking by them. “Can we sit down and talk about this? Let’s go into the restaurant.”
When they were seated, Dena gave a half-smile. “I’m treating for dinner tonight, dear.”
Valerie mumbled, “Tanstaafl.”
“What?”
“Sorry. It’s a saying. There’s no such thing as a free lunch.”
Dena looked at her blankly. “Meaning you’re going to have to listen to me lecture you?” She snapped her menu shut. “Fine. I will. Your sister thinks you should be with Troy, not Antonio.”
She looked at her menu, not really seeing it. “Of course Monica sees it that way. She set me up with Troy.”
“Yes, she told me. You and he were a perfect couple.”
“We were in many ways, but I didn’t have the feelings for him that I have for Antonio.”
“Monica told me what kind of feelings you have for him.” Her face tensed into an uneasy grimace. “But that’s not something you can build a life on, like marriage and children. It’s just…” She lowered her voice and leaned forward. “S—e—x.”
She would usually laugh at her mother’s spelling that word, but today she felt more anxiety than amusement. The waitress arrived and took their order, and, though tempted to have a double vodka on the rocks, she echoed her mother’s request for a glass of pinot grigio.
Valerie folded her hands in her lap. Her first instinct was to tell her mom to mind her own business, that she was an adult and could make her own decisions. But the best way to ease her mother’s worries would be to confide in her. “It did start out that way, but we found it’s deeper. Unexpected. We connect on so many levels.”
“Please, be careful. Monica is worried about you, and I am, too. You’ve led such a sheltered life, I can see this man trying to take advantage of you.”
“I’m going into this relationship with my eyes wide open, Mother.”
“Yes, but sometimes men have a way of…luring you to do what they want. Your hormones take over, and pretty soon, you’re…” She leaned forward again and whispered, “…pregnant. And alone.”
“Yes, Mother. I watch soap operas, too.”
She pointed her finger. “Don’t discount this, Valerie. Antonio was a gentleman that evening at your house, but I just don’t know that he’s the right kind of man for you.”
She furrowed her brow. “What kind of man do you think is right for me?”
“Well, a professional, for instance—another doctor, or someone
with a higher education.”
“Antonio has a Masters in Creative Writing.”
Dena waved a hand as if that degree didn’t count. “I know, but I mean a business professional. Upscale.”
“Writing bestselling novels is not professional enough?” She looked down at her hands, not realizing she’d been nervously wringing her napkin under the table. She smoothed it back onto her lap.
“You know what I mean. He’s the arty type. Moody, unstable, no real place in the community.”
“I don’t find that an issue.”
Dena put her hands palms up on the table. “You should be dating someone who’s made a name for himself the way you and Monica have—a prominent citizen.”
“I see what you’re saying, but I don’t agree.”
“Okay.” Dena sat back in her chair. “Imagine marrying Troy and having children. What a good father he’d be. But now imagine marrying Antonio.”
Oddly, she couldn’t. She wasn’t able to picture herself walking down the aisle toward Antonio.
Dena continued. “From what Monica said, he’s not the marrying kind. And even less the father figure you’d want for your children.”
Her mother made a good point. Their dinners arrived, and she pushed her squash ravioli around her plate. What was she doing chasing after a man like Antonio? Could she imagine him evolving, changing into a person she’d want to marry? And have children with?
She sensed her mother watching her.
“Valerie, please just promise me you’ll think about this a little more. I don’t want to see you hurt. Maybe there’s a man out there who can give you everything you want: a romantic life and a family life, too. Someone who embodies the best features of Troy and Antonio.”
Taking the easy way out of the conversation, she nodded. “I’ll think about it, Mom.”
“Really?” Dena patted Valerie’s hand. “Oh, I’m so glad, dear. Monica and I are very concerned about you.”
But despite Dena and Monica’s best intentions, all they did was feed the kernel of doubt that was already planted in Valerie’s mind.
Chapter Sixteen
Valerie headed to Antonio’s after work on Thursday. She punched in the code he gave her for the underground parking, pulled into the empty spot next to his garage, and rode the elevator up. She smiled and carefully tucked the card with the codes into her purse. Silly, but it meant a lot for him to trust her with access to his home.
When the elevator doors opened, she stepped out and saw him walking toward her in his usual T-shirt and worn jeans. Barefoot, sexy, and more determined than she ever saw him before. He advanced on her, and she felt a chill ripple through every nerve. Her nipples hardened, and her blood pooled in her belly. God, he made her hot.
He pulled her into his arms, put his hand in her hair. “Baby, I’ve missed you.” His eyes searched her face like he wanted to memorize her features. He touched his lips to hers, once gently then, with a groan, he took what he wanted. His lips molded hers, his tongue entered her mouth and found hers, teased it, circled it, touched her teeth. He spread his legs apart, put a hand on her bottom, and pulled her hips to his. His hard arousal pressed against her muff.
Her purse hit the floor. She grabbed on to him, overheating, every inch of her skin sensitive. She wanted to be in his bed, tangling naked in the satin sheets. Another shiver rippled through her body, and she felt herself becoming wet between her legs.
“Burning,” he said against her lips.
“Yes,” she whispered. How could he tell? She teased his lips with her tongue.
“My dinner,” he clarified. “It’s burning.” He laughed softly, removed his lips from hers, and smiled.
She felt the room tilt. “Oh.” She smelled the aroma of something spicy and mouth-watering. “Sorry.”
He picked up her purse and put his arm around her shoulders. “We’ll get back to this later.” He led her into the kitchen, pulled out a barstool, grabbed her waist, and lifted her onto it. Standing at the stove, he moved pans around.
She bit her lip, tempted to ask him to turn the burners off so they could get back to it right now, but she held back. Something always held her back with him. What was it?
“What is it?” she asked instead. “It smells wonderful!”
“I’m making for you…” He thickened his Italian accent. “…my own recipe for Cacciucco.”
“Tell me what that is.”
“It’s a fish stew from Tuscany. Wine?”
“Yes, please. May I help?”
He handed her a glass of white wine. “This one’s all mine. You just sit there and look beautiful.” He leaned over the counter, she leaned forward, and they kissed. It was the sweetest kiss she’d ever shared.
He went back to cooking.
She closed her eyes for a second and sniffed. “I smell onion and garlic and…parsley?”
“Very good. And I added tomatoes, red wine, and hot red peppers.”
“Spicy.”
“Like me?” He turned from the stove and winked at her.
“Si. Tonto spinto.”
He gave her a look. “After we eat, I’ll show you how spicy.”
Her breath came faster, her body tingled.
He took thick slices of toasted bread out of the oven, rubbed garlic on them, and set them in the bottom of two deep, white bowls. “I hope you brought your toothbrush, bella. You’re going to have a lot of garlic on your sweet tongue.”
She reached in her purse on the back of the chair and held up a toothbrush. “Yup.”
“Mmmm. What else did you bring?”
She teased, “I used your packing list. Toothbrush, bathing suit, condoms, and clean underwear.”
He stopped, completely still, and stared at her. “You test me, woman.” His voice came out deep, quiet. “A man can only stand so much.” He turned back to the stove.
She sipped her wine and taunted, “Before what?”
He looked at her, fire sparking in his eyes. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, jitters of anticipation making her stomach tingle. Yes, she would find out very soon.
He set two steaming bowls of red chowder on the counter, refilled her wine, and sat next to her.
Lifting his glass to hers, he stared deep into her eyes. “Tonight, Valerie.”
She smiled. “Tonight.” Touching her glass to his, the ting of crystal buzzed like the excitement she felt. The intensity of his gaze potently reminded her what would happen. Tonight.
“Eat,” he said. “Tell me how you like it.”
She took a hot spoonful, blew on it, and tasted. “It’s fabulous! Spicy hot. It’s delicious.”
“I’m glad you like it. I haven’t made it in a while. Thought I forgot the recipe.”
“I’d love to have it. I’d like to publish a cookbook someday.”
“When you’re ready, I’ll have my agent contact you. We’ll get you on the shelf in record time.”
She loved how he took charge of situations. “Did you write today?”
“A few pages.”
“How far along is the book?”
“Almost half finished.”
“Really? You write fast. May I read it?”
He avoided her gaze and sipped his wine. She could feel his sudden withdrawal. When he finally looked at her, his brows drew together. “It’s difficult for me to let anyone read—” He stopped when his phone rang, got up and picked it up off a side table, and looked at the caller ID. “Huh. Odd. It’s my parents. Do you mind if I take this?”
“Of course not.”
“Pronto!?”His face creased with worry. “Is he all right?” He asked it in Italian.
Something was wrong. She got up and stepped quietly from the kitchen into the living room and took stock of the masculine, modern furniture. She’d be more comfortable on the couch in the bedroom. Wandering in, she glanced at the bed.
“Tonight.” He’d promised her that, and she co
uldn’t wait to take him up on the offer.
She sat on the ottoman and picked up a couple magazines from the table. The issue with her name in it sat on top, and papers were sticking out of it at the page where, next to her photo, she was listed as one of the top psychologists in Vegas.
A small slice of unease had her heart beating faster.
She glanced at the paper. She’d taken handwriting analysis classes as part of her holistic approach to her doctorate. His cursive told her exactly what she already knew about him: bold, masculine, creative. Something caught her eye. The word “psychologist.” She looked at the top. Never Too Famous to Die, outline.
This must be the outline of his book. She read the first sentence. “Las Vegas’ Psychologist to the Famous, Mallory Tate, has kept her patients’ secrets long enough.” Was this about her?
She looked out toward the kitchen and heard him speaking in Italian. She didn’t want to snoop, but her curiosity got the best of her. The outline went on to detail how Mallory burned out mentally dealing with the narcissistic stars she counseled. She listened to their selfish whining too long and decided it was time to end their suffering.
Mallory began videotaping the sessions with her famous patients and blackmailing them.
“Oh, God, no.” That slice of unease swelled to a breathless panic.
Once she accumulated millions in her Swiss bank account, she left a trail as though she skipped town. Disappeared. But she was still here. Her sister, a prominent Las Vegas plastic surgeon, remade her face so she could continue to live in Vegas as a rich widow. Then the murders started. With her sister’s help, Mallory began killing the stars one by one.
Valerie was shocked. Did this prove that Antonio was the blackmailer? All this time, was he was playing her, using her profiles and the personal things she told him about herself to write his book?
She started breathing too fast and her gaze shot around the room. Maybe her mother was right. Who was this man? What did she really know about him? Who had she gotten herself involved with? Was he some kind of psychopath?
She scanned the outline again, her heart racing, a sick, numb sensation creeping under her skin. Her brain snapped into a dizzying panic mode and headed for an anxiety attack. She pinched her wrist where the reflexology would stop the attack, and she fought to get her breathing under control.