"I love your stuff, Anthony," she gushed causing everyone within earshot to inhale sharply to which she, of course, was oblivious. Angelique's social deficits maddened and intrigued Wyatt. His investigator had discovered that she was on a full scholarship to the university having scored a perfect score on her SAT test, at the same time she'd confessed she hadn't gone to school since she was eleven. "I read a lot" had been her somewhat barmy explanation for that one too. Soon she didn't even bother with concocted machinated explanations (a/k/a convincing lies) with Wyatt anymore, as she learned they only resulted in his scorching glare.
Angelique, Wyatt discovered, didn't know how to operate a smart phone, but she spoke fluent Latin. She didn't know how to drive a car and had no license, but she wrote and recorded glorious symphonies, then sold them on her website for a dollar. Sometimes her unbalanced and unpredictable gaps and talents were astounding, sometimes they were infuriating, sometimes annoying, but always they were jolting. Basically, he saw, Angelique solved problems by not recognizing they existed.
"No one ever taught me how to drive," she sniffed at him grumpily one afternoon.
"I'll teach you," he said, his lips parting into a smile.
"Don't be silly, one of us would end up in a body bag."
Wyatt's assistant, Johnson, who was driving them in Wyatt's car, cleared his throat loudly.
Johnson taught Angelique how to drive, but being more than a bit obsessively pedantic, took it upon himself to do more. Johnson was Wyatt's assistant but his true specialty was security and he took one look at Angelique and saw trouble. He also saw the woman who'd somehow pulled off the miracle that had saved his son's life (an incident sensibly never mentioned between them) and so he took Angelique to a Defensive Driving Course also known as five thousand dollars worth of anti-terrorist driving school. (She didn't get charged. Johnson had friends, lots of friends.) She practiced a bootlegger turn twenty times (pure Dukes of Hazard). She learned a J turn, how to properly jump a curb (thirty to thirty-five degree angle, no more than thirty-five miles per hour) and how to knock a vehicle off the road whether it was in front of her, behind her, or at her side (pure James Bond). She crashed a lot of old clunkers on the course and loved every riotous moment. Johnson prayed she'd never have to use any of it. She got her driver's license and her photo looked great but they spelled her name wrong.
"Darn," she complained to Johnson, "everyone always leaves out the silent 'e' in 'Reising'." She'd toyed with the idea of outright changing her name to 'Rising' but given her rather atypical origins, she thought that might be a bit supercilious. Johnson got her license fixed without even having to go back and stand in line. (Johnson didn't just have "friends," Johnson had friends in the Department of Motor Vehicles and it doesn't get any better than that.)
Through the two weeks they dated, Wyatt struggled mightily to keep his hands off Angelique. He'd known from his investigator that her birthday was in two weeks and somehow waiting and bedding a twenty year old sounded light years better than bedding a nineteen year old, a teenager, given the fact that he was twenty-nine. But damn, sometimes the things she said to him didn't sound like any teenager, they sounded mature, wise even, but then he'd have to explain to her what an app was. Totally incongruous. Inconsistent.
Exasperating and fascinating.
But he could not stop himself from kissing her. At first she was stiff, surprised, but underneath Wyatt could feel the willing in her. She improved from stiff to fumbling. And a few nights before her birthday she suddenly let loose and it was all Wyatt could do not to take her on his kitchen countertop.
Angelique had been studying him while he'd attended the culinary duty of preparing a lobster salad for them. She'd felt his power and had fought to resist it, but I like him had finally inwardly exulted.
Sometimes he's difficult, cold, dictatorial, and then he's warm and funny with an easy familiarity. I almost want to show him my secrets. Even when he's scolding me, which is a lot, there's always an element of affection in his voice. His eyes seem to pour a strange safe, protective aura over me, I'm so loopy when I'm with him. So free, which is crazy because he's too possessive, he makes me uncomfortable but then, shoot, I don't want to be anywhere else. I'm thinking I don't have a hope here.
The magnetism between Wyatt and Angelique confounded her.
She lunged at him in overheated irrational eagerness. Her heartbeat pounded as she took him off guard, her lips fastening on his, he recovered, and he was there, the tip of his tongue touching hers. She felt his arms wrap around her, his fingers digging into her flesh. An electric thrill surged through her, she was tingling, this was so right! It was Wyatt who broke it off, breathless, his face crinkling into a smile, warm and appreciative.
"If I'd known you could kiss like that," he smiled ruefully, "I'd have kidnapped you off the Gala floor and had you exhausted in my bed before midnight."
"I should hope so."
"Not until you're twenty, Angelique, it will ease my conscience some." Like he expected applause. His tone was earnest and soft as he pulled her to him in reassurance.
"That's too long."
"It's three days."
"But I'll be in Las Vegas! Will you at least come to my birthday party cruise tomorrow night? I'm taking the Sunflower down the river a bit and back. I'll introduce you to Robert, my boyfriend, he's coming."
That of course was designed to get a rise out of him, but Wyatt's investigator had been pretty thorough and he knew she had no boyfriend.
"I'd be interested to meet him," he said, caressing her face lightly with his fingers.
"Okay, he's not actually my boyfriend. He's my former dance partner. He wants to be a movie star so he moved to Los Angeles and got a role in a big movie that's coming out. But he's back visiting his family and he's coming to my party. He," she teased in inscrutable mischief, "is a good kisser too."
She got the rise she'd been angling for.
"I'll come," he said lured by her appeasement.
He already knew he loved her.
Chapter Four
Wyatt jumped down onto Angelique's houseboat the last to arrive, just as the dock line was untied and the boat began its soft chugging journey out onto the great empty river. The boat was fairly large as houseboats went and Wyatt saw dozens of partygoers standing about on its decks laughing, smiling (and to a certain extent groping) amidst the glittering party lights that ran all along the boat's railing and high above along the boat's roof. The night air was damp, almost sultry, as the last scent of springtime floated on the breeze and iridescent dragonflies hovered about swaying party lanterns. Wyatt looked up and saw a silhouette in the pilothouse, a tiny room above the second floor, then he went in search of Angelique. He did not have to look however, as she was right inside the door, anxiously waiting for him worried that he had, quite literally, missed the boat.
"There you are," she said in relief, her face alabaster caught in a shaft of moonlight. "I got your cases of wine for the party. Thank you. But I did say no presents."
Wyatt's mouth twitched in a mock apologetic smile as he glanced about the living room at her guests, all ardently downing his wine.
"What makes you think that's my birthday present?" he said, holding his hand out to her in a sweet, affectionate gesture. "You look stunning by the way."
Before she could respond a man materialized behind her instantly snaking his arm around her waist with the proprietary air of ownership. She startled. Robert Wyatt understood at once. The man, Wyatt saw, looked totally L.A., had the about-to-be-movie-star-sure-of-himself easy confidence of mega Hollywood success written all over him. He was young, in his very early twenties, with the kind of onscreen face that made girls swoon, halfway between pretty and rugged. Robert was tall and thin but not weak looking, solid. Wyatt's eyes fastened on Robert's arm around a slightly squirming Angelique.
I could take him easily Wyatt's face flashed in ferocious unblinking stare that with masterful restraint he transformed into a l
evel (and entirely illusory) friendly gaze.
"Oh," Angelique erupted obviously surprised by the arm. "Robert, this is Wyatt --I told you about him." Wyatt could see she was trying to angle her body away from Robert's grasp which tightened.
He may not be her boyfriend but he sure wants to be.
With a benign expression Wyatt knew doomed any introduction, he thrust his hand out to Robert. Robert responded with the big smile treatment but then frowned, realizing the trap too late. He had no choice, he disengaged his arm from around Angelique and shook Wyatt's hand. He turned to Angelique.
"Happy birthday, May-May," Robert said holding out the birthday present that had occupied his other hand. "Don't open it here [he gave her a naughty wink purely to pay Wyatt back for the handshake], put it away upstairs in your bedroom and open it later."
She hesitated. Angelique didn't want to leave Wyatt and Robert alone together though she couldn't really ascertain why not.
"Thank you, Robert, but doesn't anyone pay attention to my no-presents rule?"
"No," both men responded.
She tutted, took the present, and disappeared up the narrow staircase.
"Why do you call her May-May?" Wyatt asked, "Angelique is such a lovely name."
"Well, it's the only from-before thing she's got."
"From-before?"
Robert was gleeful, relishing the moment. Angelique hadn't told him.
"You don't know what happened to her? I'm surprised, everyone knows. You haven't noticed how she's a bit... unusual?"
Wyatt hated having to concede that, no, there was obviously a large piece of information Angelique had not shared with him and his investigator had apparently missed, but Wyatt wanted that information even if he had to get it from Robert.
"Apparently not," he said, the cool edge in his voice revealing his irritation.
"She was in a car crash with her parents when she was eleven. They were killed and she woke up with no memory at all."
"What?"
"She has no memory of anything before the age of eleven. Except for one name: May-May. She figured it must have been her nickname so she started using it, but she also looked for it. She finally found it. It's the name of a character in a novel."
"What novel?"
Robert's face clouded.
"She won't say."
Wyatt tried to conceal a half-smile; apparently Robert wasn't quite the confidante of Angelique he tried to appear.
"So she doesn't remember her parents, her--"
"Nope. Nada. Life for May-May began when she woke up in a hospital. That's why she can be a bit odd at times. I'm surprised she never confided that to you," Robert said smugly.
"Don't be an asshole, Robert, wait'll your movie comes out, then you'll be entitled." It was Anthony, he had joined them.
"Ah, Anthony," Robert laughed, "you know I don't have asshole in me. Dork maybe."
"Did you bring it?" Wyatt asked.
"I sure did and it's gorgeous! She's gonna flip! I hid it upstairs in her closet."
"What are you two talking about?"
"Robert darling, this dear man had me design the most fabulous dress in the universe for May-May's birthday. It is ahh..." Anthony didn't seem to be able to finish his sentence, unable to find suitable words to adequately describe his creation. "The beadwork--"
"How thoughtful," Robert said in a voice that suggested anything but.
"When she runs it'll be the one thing she takes with her, you watch--"
Both Robert and Anthony froze. After a moment of silence, Robert spoke.
"Looks like I'm not the only dork here, Anthony."
"Sweet Jesus, I didn't mean it. It's just--"
"What do you mean 'when she runs'?" Wyatt interrupted.
"You said it Anthony, you explain it," Robert said, turning and leaving.
"Oh Jeez, Wyatt, me and my mouth. But that's what May-May --Angelique-- does. It's not her fault. You know she was a runaway for years, she told you. The way she survived was to book it whenever she wasn't sure of a situation, or it got in the least bit hinky --not understandable to her. And she still does it. She doesn't try and deal or sort a situation out, she just runs. Like she did at the Gala. And, well, sooner or later chances are that you are gonna be a situation."
Wyatt thought of her desperate escape from the hospital after she'd saved Cory, and her silent sunrise disappearance from his house.
He couldn't have that. She was his. He had to find a way to nail her down. Keep her. And keep anyone else i.e. Robert from ever taking her away from him. And from the look on Robert's face as he was so obviously scanning the stairs for her return he needed to do it immediately.
"So this is the guy who's making May-May's heart go pitter patter --finally," Wyatt heard a velvety voice purr. He looked to his side and standing there was the other woman who had sung at his Gala.
"Leave him alone, Lexa," Anthony commanded, "he's not ready for you."
"You know she's on the pill, right?" Lexa said crisply in the world's most obvious premeditated ploy.
"Lexa!"
"Well he needs to know, lovebug. All of us are. It's the performances. You know how ghastly it is getting your period right before you step onstage? Messy! And painful. So we all take the pill and when we need to take a few extra ones to postpone the blessed event, we do. The contraception is an added bonus. You might want to try getting some use out of it."
"Lexa, you get enough use out of it for the entire Company."
"Oh lovebug, what I could do to you, turn you into a Sherman tank. I hear you're coming to Vegas with us in the morning. For the costumes?" she asked eyeing him doubtfully.
"The secret to conversing with you, Lexa, is to dive off the boat," Anthony responded with a cagey quirk of his eyebrows knowing she could pester an answer out of granite.
Vegas, Wyatt let his mind roam. Yes, that was the answer the devil half of him said decisively. Don't even need a blood test to get married in Las Vegas.
He needed to get online.
*****
Malcolm Cochran sat in his one hundred year old mansion, in his study, nursing a snifter of cognac and a steaming displeasure. He'd heard of a gorgeous girl working at the Center but always that she was young, a teenager, so Malcolm had never bothered checking her out. And now his nephew had stolen her right out from under his nose, once again the thief stealing from him what was rightfully his! He sipped the cognac. He had introduced Wyatt to cognac and to so much else. Some of his lessons took, others, well...
And now the girl.
He pictured Angelique, that creature of light, writhing under him, trying to escape, begging...
He threw his cognac glass across the room where it shattered against the wall. His housekeeper would have to clean it up. He didn't care, his housekeeper had cleaned up messes of his far worse than this, that was the good thing about illegals, they kept their mouths shut.
No, he ordered himself, don't think of it as a rout, it's just a slight setback.
He would wait. Wyatt's romance with the girl would run its course and then he would move in, take her, make her one of his private arrangements. In the meantime he would ready for her, start by getting Wyatt to tell him what her favorite color was.
He'd have the secure chamber redone for her. He preferred it when his reluctant guests were calmed.
In the beginning anyway.
*****
Angelique knocked on the suite door and Wyatt opened it eagerly, his face alight at seeing her.
"Hi," he brimmed with a sweet joy at the sight of her despite the ungodly hour and he kissed her lightly, "how did your performance go?"
"Wow," she answered entering his hotel suite, "this is opulent. A lot nicer than the hotel I'm in. The show went fine, too many ovations though, I was almost late for my poker game."
"And how did that go?" he pursed his lips in disapproval.
"Great! I stopped at three hundred thousand dollars, Anthony was disappointed, he wanted m
e to keep going, he needs it for his summer fashion show but..." she paused, obviously quite pleased with herself but realizing that she was looking at him in a way she shouldn't.
Wyatt too knew why she had paused and why she was blushing so. Angelique had left the game to come to him her eyes impassioned for one wicked intention.
"You put your cash in the hotel safe, didn't you?"
"Um no. I gave Anthony his and I put mine under my pillow in my hotel room."
There was silence for a full five seconds and then Wyatt said "Shit." And, "For the luvva---" escaped him as well, "how many people saw you leave the game with that cash?"
"Oh... maybe a dozen. Gee, I didn't think of that."
He was on his phone.
"Get her things," he was saying, "all of them. Check her out of that room. Bring them here to my suite. She left a hundred thousand dollars cash under her pillow... I know, I know... Put it in the suite safe. Right."
He hung up.
"Give me your room key card, Johnson is going to move you over here. I don't want you going back there."
There was a knock at the door, Wyatt opened it.
"Morning, Ma'am," Johnson said politely but Angelique saw from his stern expression that he too wanted to talk to her, she could see the words forming.
"I'm sorry to have woken you up, Johnson," she said by way of mollification. It was three o'clock in the morning.
"I wasn't asleep, Ma'am," he said, leaving.
No, she didn't think Johnson slept. Ever. Johnson looked like a well-groomed forty year old Viking that men esteemed and foolhardy ones attempted to emulate.
"Are you hungry?" Wyatt asked.
He saw the words, the joke, come right to her lips, she opened her mouth to say them then wisely changed her mind.
"Angelique," he said softly, cupping her face with both of his hands and tilting her up to meet his gaze, "are you sure you want to do this?"
"Yes. But... I gotta tell you something. I... I've never... I mean..."
Angelique Rising Page 5