“You shouldn’t use that word, young lady,” Fletcher shoved a foot in the door before she could get it closed.
She turned, screeching, “Mo-om!”
I leaned against a pillar watching Fletcher haul a companion into the workshop. I wondered who he was, but really didn’t care enough to ask. I set my hands on my hips, preparing for battle. “It’s okay, Nat,” I called down to my daughter. “I don’t expect you to be able to guard the door against the wolf and his packmate.”
Fletch raced past Natalie, shoved through my cadre of workers, and shot to the foot of the spiral stairs in three seconds flat. My breath caught in my throat, and my heart pounded. What had I done? What was I in for?
He took the steps two-by-two, dashing to the top. The heavy pound of his shoes slammed through me like bombs dropping on a defenseless city.
He grabbed me by the arms. “Now,” he said through his teeth, “I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me you think I vandalized this workshop!”
“I didn’t lie to you!” I yelled back, glaring into his fiery amber gaze. “Look at this place! Don’t act as though I’m nuts, don’t condescend to me, and don’t tell me what to think! And don’t assault me!” I stamped down hard on his shoe with my heel. I was wearing the red and black leather boots I’d worn at the April show, and they had nice high stiletto heels.
I nailed him on the instep. Small satisfaction if he’d been the asshole who’d trashed my workshop, and if he wasn’t responsible, he deserved it anyhow.
Yelping in pain, he let me go and jumped back. “Dammit, Cara, can’t you wear normal shoes? Why the hell do you cram your feet into those thigh-high slut heels?”
A giggle interrupted his tirade. “That’s what I told Cara.” Natalie entered the loft behind Fletcher’s unknown companion. “She’ll never get anyone nice if she wears those boots.”
I compressed my lips into a thin, tight line. “Natalie, please get your book bag and start your homework, pronto. Use one of the empty desks downstairs.”
My daughter’s body language expressed the sentiments of children all over the world when excitement was in the air. Something was going on with the grown-ups in the loft, and she wanted to be there. She took a few tiny steps in the vague direction of the staircase as her eyes darted from one adult face to the next.
I wasn’t having any of it. “Now, Nat.”
“You heard her,” Fletcher said. “Where’s your bag?”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” she flashed. “You’re nothing to me.”
“Natalie!” I snapped. “Now, I said.”
She poked out her lower lip, found her bag, which sat by the teal leather armchair, then slouched downstairs.
As soon as she left, I turned on Fletcher. “Do not,” I said through gritted teeth, “do not, under any circumstances, ever attempt to discipline Natalie. You know nothing about this child. Leave her to me, okay?”
“Just trying to be helpful.” He shrugged.
“I don’t need your kind of help.”
“I didn’t vandalize your workshop, but I see that someone did.” His gaze took in the unnatural emptiness of the atelier. Gone were the trashed mannequins and the destroyed machines. I’d even had to lay off some of my people, which made me feel even worse about the situation. He continued, “It wasn’t me. Damon, my brother, is here to tell you that we haven’t been to New York all week.” He gestured to a slender man who greatly resembled him, except younger, with sable hair and eyes as green as today’s contact lenses. Instead of a business suit like his brother’s, Damon wore jeans and a black leather jacket, which gave him a dark and dangerous look.
“Ah, yes. Damon.” I said sweetly. “Or should I call him, Damon the delinquent? I heard about Damon from the investigator I had to hire. She found that dear Damon has a criminal record from eight years ago for stalking and vandalism. I take it back, Fletcher Wolf. I’m sure I did, indeed, wrongly accuse you. Your delinquent brother is now my prime suspect. Where were you two nights ago, Damon Wolf?”
He went white to the lips. His fists clenched, and every muscle in his taut body tightened even more. For the first time, I feared for my safety, but Fletcher intervened. “Hey, Big D, I’ll handle this. Go down to the car. I’ll be right there.”
Damon gave me a long, thoroughly nasty scowl before he stomped down the stairs. If looks could kill, I’d have been pushing up daisies in seconds flat. Concern crossed Fletcher’s face, quickly repressed, and that bothered me even more. Did he know something about his brother’s hot temper that I didn’t? Yikes.
An uneasy silence reigned until the slam of the metal front door told us that Damon had left.
Fletcher immediately started in on me. “Look, you don’t have the monopoly on anger and guilt-tripping. Just to let you know—not that it’s really any of your business—Damon’s arrest when he was in college stemmed from a situation with a girlfriend. The young lady became pregnant. Rather than marry my brother, which was what he wanted, she instead chose to terminate the pregnancy. Damon didn’t take it very well. Yes, he did vandalize her car, trying to prevent her from getting to the clinic where she got her abortion. Yes, he stalked her. He followed her to the clinic. He’s not proud of what he did, but my brother’s no criminal.”
Shit. I’d totally misjudged the situation, and Damon. I turned and sprinted down the stairs. Though my high, spiky heels weren’t designed for running, I nevertheless took the narrow metal staircase as quickly as I could, then dashed outside, letting the metal security door fall closed behind me.
I found Fletcher’s car easily. Parked less than a half-block away, the long, shiny limousine stuck out like a sleek black panther in this scuzzy part of Manhattan. To my surprise, Damon wasn’t alone. Ella Langer, her blond hair teased to a cloud, stood with her back to me. Even so, I knew who it was. She had a distinctive body and stance, one that had made her one of the most successful plus-sized models in history. From my angle of approach, I could see his green eyes riveted on Ella, who was dressed in a peach linen suit and heels.
Then his gaze met mine. His eyes turned chilly as an icy mountain stream.
Turning, she stretched out her arms. “Cara, darlin’! I came over as soon as I heard.”
I gladly fell into her warm embrace. “Bad news travels fast. Who told you?”
“Andrea Covarrubia. Darlin’, I’m so sorry. You must be devastated.”
I tried to smile. “I’ve had better weeks.”
“But the fall show will go on, won’t it?” She squeezed my hand.
“Oh, yes. We have plenty of time. This setback won’t destroy us.” I looked past her to Damon, whose scowl would have suited a death-row inmate about to sit in the chair.
“Oh, good.” Her relieved expression said it all. I could expect a parade of models rolling in to politely ask if a source of income had dried up. I couldn’t blame her. Though she was at the top of her corner of the profession, I doubted that she earned as much as her skinnier colleagues regardless of her talent and sweet nature.
“All right,” she continued. “I’ll just run along. I’m sure you’re very busy. Lunch next week?”
“Love to.” I let my smile fade as she flagged down a cab and left.
Alone with another of the mysterious Wolf clan, I had to face Damon. According to the investigator, even a third Wolf ran with the pack, Griffin. Although he wasn’t on the suspect list, I hoped I’d never meet Wolf Number Three. The first two Wolf brothers were trouble enough: thorny, prickly, difficult, unpredictable menaces.
Damon, a younger version of his brother, leaned against the hood of the limo, staring moodily into space.
I hesitated. What approach could I take, after having said something so unforgivable? “He told me. I’m sorry.”
He scowled. “I’m none of your business, and I don’t need your pity.”
His fury felt like a slap to the face, but perhaps I deserved it. I held myself steady as I said, “You don’t have it. I like to think
of myself as an honorable person, Mr. Wolf. I’m merely doing what’s right.” I turned and went back into the workshop. My conscience was cleared but I still had a mystery to torment me. If not the Wolf or one of his littermates, then who?
Looking up to the loft as I re-entered the building, I inadvertently met Fletcher’s eyes. As usual, they revealed nothing, but the strong lines of his face seemed softer, as if he sympathized with my plight. Why? I approached the steps to my office with a mounting sense of confusion and helplessness roiling in my belly. Another panic attack threatened, and I fought to keep my mental balance.
I passed Natalie seated at an empty desk, working on what must have been one of her last homework assignments of the school year. “Good girl, Nat,” I murmured and stopped to stroke my daughter’s hair, which had fallen out of her French braid. I started to fix it. “I’m sorry I yelled at you, sweetheart.”
“It’s not your fault. He’s to blame.” She jerked her thumb at Fletcher, who stood scrutinizing the scene with the attitude of a sultan surveying his domain. When our eyes met, he smiled down at us and disappeared.
“I’m not so sure. I’m starting to believe that neither Fletcher nor his brother’s responsible.” I finished the braid and wrapped the scrunchie around the end.
“He sued you, Cara. He wants to put you out of business. If not the werewolves, then who?” She fiddled with the braid.
“I don’t know, sweetie. But we’ll figure it out, you and me. Okay?”
“Okay.” She returned to her homework, but I could tell she wasn’t in a positive frame of mind. When she chewed the end of her braid, she wasn’t happy.
I clumped heavily up the metal stairs, and when I reached the top, I thought I could see Fletcher moving away from Maggie’s desk toward my drafting table, eyeing today’s design. But he had a distant expression in his eyes that suggested to me that he wasn’t admiring the feather-trimmed evening suit I’d created. What had he seen on her desk?
This could be serious. Maggie was my executive assistant, and ran everything pertaining to the business end of Cara Fletcher Couture. I didn’t particularly want Fletcher Wolf in possession of any potentially damaging information about my company, from which money had been draining like a dam’s glory hole.
I strolled over to check, finding nothing amiss on Maggie’s desk. Briefcase closed, laptop shut with no lights flashing; no papers strewn around her desk with red figures marching in bleak columns.
“So what happened?” he asked.
Oh, yeah. “I apologized, he was surly, and so’s Natalie.” I let myself collapse into the cracked leather chair near Maggie’s desk.
“He certainly isn’t more upset than I am. Look, you just can’t call people up and make wild accusations, no matter what your attorney says.”
Embarrassment heated my face and neck.
He noticed, of course. “Gotcha, honey.”
I narrowed my eyes and pressed my lips together. He sat down beside me, perching on one of the wide arms of the chair. “How much did you lose?” His voice was soft.
My body jerked with shock before I could control myself. “I’m not sure I should discuss this with you, Fletcher.”
He smiled. “I’m glad you used my first name. Did you know it’s the first time?”
I closed my eyes. “No, I haven’t thought about that.”
“My nickname is Fletch. Feel free to use it.”
“Whatever.” I flapped a limp hand in the air.
“Tell me.” He rested a warm palm on my shoulder, and I didn’t flinch at his touch. He felt good. Too good. “How much did you lose?”
I glowered at him.
“I can find this out if I want. Secondly, of what use could this information be to me in the context of our case? Come on. Tell me.”
I sighed. “Peace of mind, worth billions. Equipment...I’m not sure. Eighty thousand or so. The books…” I rubbed my face. “There were some expensive items there.” I waved at my now-empty bookcase.
“Oh, all your beautiful books. I’m sorry.”
He sounded sincere, and somehow, his empathy touched me. I tried not to cry. “I had antique tarot cards, signed volumes by Cartier-Bresson...oh, perhaps ten thousand? Clothes for the fall show—worth easily over a hundred thou.”
“That much? I had no idea.”
“Well, yeah. Think about it. I’ve got twenty people. The designs and clothes made during the last six weeks were trashed. It’s simple mathematics. I’m not counting overtime, my time, or Maggie, either.”
“Where is Maggie, anyway?”
“Out purchasing new computers.”
I let myself slump back into the comfy old chair. Part of me knew that revealing my vulnerability to Fletch was a big mistake, and more of me just didn’t care. I just didn’t have the energy to fake womanpower at this moment.
I closed my eyes, and a finger stroked my jawline.
My eyes popped open.
His golden gaze was steady, calm. “Do you remember when we nearly kissed?”
My heart jolted, banging against my ribs. “Yes,” I whispered.
“Then how could you think I’d tear this place apart?”
Mind blank, I didn’t have a word to say.
“I’ve let this situation ride for too long. You need a reminder.” Slipping his hand over my nape and into my hair, he eased my head back, tilting my chin toward his lips. Our eyes met. His gaze was gentle, yet mesmerizing. His other hand trailed along my collarbone, exploring the neckline of the poet’s blouse.
My skin tingling, I sucked in a breath.
He teased one button out of its hole and helped another slip free, then slid one finger between my breasts.
The tingle became a sizzle. I lifted my face toward his and we kissed.
Heaven, the warmth of his mouth on mine. Then a more intense pleasure as our lips opened, and we began to soul-kiss as naturally as children licking lollipops.
I grabbed his lapels to bring him in closer. Our tongues met in a languorous dance, and my sex-starved imagination took flight. I pictured myself seated on him in the comfortable old chair, my legs spread wide over the padded arms, while he rocked in and out of me, deeper and deeper, his golden eyes, reaching inside me, deeper and deeper…
My body clenched with need, and my hips involuntarily bucked. A husky moan broke from his throat. Jolted out of my x-rated fantasy, I pulled away.
He looked as startled as I was. He’d shared my intensity, and I knew he’d been as shaken as I by the kiss.
“Remember.” He ambled toward the stairs. Before he left, he turned and winked at me, jaunty as a sailor on leave.
I chuckled. The man sure as hell didn’t lack gall. My instinct that he hadn’t been the culprit behind the vandalism firmed into a certainty. But he had a reputation for boldness and manipulation, didn’t he?
But I didn’t really know him. He could be the kind of nutcase who was capable of ordering the destruction of the workshop and then kissing me as though he was a diabetic and I the insulin he needed to survive.
I’d never been kissed with such intentness, such savagery. His mouth devoured, devastated… The caress of his fingers, the flick of his tongue in my mouth… I closed my eyes, unable to resist wondering if he were as talented in bed as he was out of it. Good God. This man had the potential not only to rip my world apart, but to tear my heart into tiny pieces that could never be put back together.
If he wanted me, he’d have me. My body would never resist his if he truly wanted to seduce me. I’d fall like the proverbial virgin on prom night.
Chapter 8
It had taken a whole lot of effort, screaming and cajoling, but I had managed to hustle Natalie out of bed early enough to catch the train to upstate which would leave Penn Station at seven-forty in the morning. We’d showered the night before, with me adding purple streaks to my black hair. I wore matching contacts for a fun, witchy look.
Clutching her pack, Nat leaned against me while we waited in the
long line for tickets at seven o’clock. I had just my satchel, because I planned to stay only one night. For that, I needed just fresh panties, extra socks and another top. I’d wear the same black skirt and Converse high-tops two days in a row, and could borrow toiletries from my mom. Nat, who would stay longer, wore jeans, a denim jacket and had God-knows-what stuffed into her pack. I hadn’t time to monitor what she’d picked, figuring it didn’t matter. The Finger Lakes aren’t a Third World country, and if she needed anything, we could buy it for her.
Penn Station, always busy, looked like a “Where’s Waldo” picture this Saturday morning. Most schools had closed for the summer, so I bet that folks wanted to leave the city for vacations. Because tomorrow was Father’s Day, a lot of people planned to go out of town to see their dads.
New Yorkers came in all shapes, sizes, colors and cultures, and at least one of each type—or more—crowded Penn Station. I checked out kids in leather billed caps, like baseball caps, glittering with fake bling. A new trend? A street person ambled past, keeping a weather eye out for station security. The scent of pastries wafted from a vendor’s stand, and my stomach rumbled.
Finally at the head of the line, I fumbled for a credit card and withdrew my VISA.
The woman behind the window tinkered with some of her electronic playthings and, after a few moments, said, “I’m sorry, ma’am. The credit limit to this card has been exceeded.”
“What? You must be mistaken. I pay this card off monthly, and I haven’t used it for weeks.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I can’t accept this card.” The woman handed it back. The plastic clicked against the shelf separating us.
“I don’t get it,” I muttered as I put the card back and pulled out the Discover card. “Okay, no problem. Try this one.”
The woman went through the same routine while I found one of my purple pens in the satchel. Ready to sign the slip, get our tickets and board the train, I could already taste the excellent coffee I wanted to order in the club car to sip as we watched the countryside go by on the way to Syracuse. “Umm,” I hummed, imagining the flavor of fresh French roast.
Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015 Page 158