Vivien opened her eyes and looked up at Spence Whitley-Shuler. Other than a quick hello and thank-you earlier, she hadn’t seen or spoken to Spence in years. He’d lost his suit jacket and had loosened his tie. “Tired.”
“You did a good job with your momma’s funeral.” He sat beside her on the small couch. “Macy Jane would have liked it.”
“Thanks.” He took her hand in his and squeezed her fingers.
“You’re as pretty in person as you are in your movies.”
If she didn’t know better, she’d think she’d fallen into an alternative universe. One where the Whitley-Shulers were nice to her, called her “darlin’,” and squeezed her hand.
“If you need to,” he paused to pat his shoulder, “you can cry it out right here.”
“Are you flirting with me, Spence Whitley-Shuler?”
“Of course,” he admitted through his jovial smile. “I’m a bit offended that you had to ask.” He didn’t look offended at all. “Where’s your wife?”
“Underneath Hardy Townsend, I imagine.” He laughed at her surprise. “We’re almost divorced. She’s marrying Hardy as soon as the ink is dry on the divorce papers.”
“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t know.”
He shrugged. “She’ll be better off. We married for the wrong reasons.”
“What reasons?”
“Her daddy and my mother thought it was a wonderful idea.”
Of course Nonnie had picked Spence’s wife. No doubt, she’d pick Henry’s, too.
Spence hit her with his elbow. “And it didn’t hurt that her feet are always in the shade. If you know what I mean.”
Vivien laughed and felt some of the day’s tension ease the back of her neck. Perhaps because she’d known Spence as the Whitley-Shuler who smiled and laughed easily, she felt comfortable with him. The kind of comfortable she’d never felt around Henry. “Next time, choose a wife for more than her bra size.”
“No next time.” He shook his head even as he grinned. “Have you seen that photo of Henry holding up your bra?”
“Yes.” She bit the corner of her mouth to keep from laughing. “Has Henry seen it?”
“That blue bra hanging off your finger was the funniest damn thing I’ve seen in a real long while.”
Henry moved his gaze from Hoyt Colicut’s smiling eyes to his brother and Vivien. “Don’t you have something better to do than surf gossip sites on the Internet?” Spence chuckled and Vivien gave him a smile that lit up her pretty face. Henry thought of her tears at her mother’s grave, and the grief she could no longer hold inside. The sound of her breaking heart had almost broken his.
“Not when my boss is on TMZ ‘fondling’ Vivien Rochet’s bra.”
Henry returned his attention to his employee and younger apprentice. The photo was on just about every tabloid site, and a dozen or so people had mentioned “that bra photo” throughout the day. Hoyt making it a dozen and one. “Don’t you have a wife and new baby waiting for you at home?”
“Yeah. Before I go, I wanted to ask you if I should keep working on Miss Macy Jane’s table.”
“It’s almost done, but there’s no hurry.” Not that there ever had been a rush. Macy Jane had designed the pineapple pedestal table but never planned on using it. Henry and Hoyt talked about the plans for a renovation on Lamboll and by the time Hoyt left, the mourners had dwindled to a few dozen of Macy Jane’s friends and members of her church.
Henry walked to the old oak bar and poured a shot of bourbon over ice cubes in a lowball glass. He raised his free hand to the tension in the back of his neck as the sound of laughter spilled through the thinning crowd like sunshine and honey. He didn’t have to turn around to determine the source of the laughter. He knew.
“I don’t like that.”
Henry looked across his shoulder at his mother. He didn’t have to ask what she meant. He knew that, too. “It’s harmless.”
“You know your brother lately.”
Yes, Henry knew Spence was behaving like a prison escapee, determined to experience all he’d missed before he got caught and was locked back up.
“It would be a disaster if those two became involved.”
Henry raised his glass. “You’re assuming Vivien wants to get involved with Spence. She’s got her issues, but I don’t think she’ll fall for Spence’s shenanigans.”
“Grief can make people behave in regrettable ways. When my momma died, your uncle Gavin was so distraught, he just fell in bed with a waitress from the Golden Skillet.”
“No one just falls in bed. You make it sound like an accident.”
“Well, all I know is that his wife was so beside herself she considered getting a tattoo out of spite and rebellion.”
“I wouldn’t worry about Vivien. She’s leaving in the morning.” The bourbon warmed the back of his throat as he swallowed.
“That still leaves tonight.”
Henry turned and looked beyond his mother to Spence and Vivien, seated on the empire settee across the room. She put her hand on Spence’s shoulder and gave him a little push. His brother grinned like he’d won the Lotto. Again the sound of laugher spilled from Vivien’s lips. Red lips that had preoccupied Henry’s head with thoughts of pressing his mouth to hers through that damn black netting.
Nonnie put her hand on Henry’s forearm. “You have to do something.”
Henry pulled his gaze from Vivien’s mouth and pretty face, once more lit up with laughter. “What do you think I can do about it?”
“You have to distract her. Charm her so she won’t be interested in Spence.”
“What?” He scoffed. “What makes you think I can charm her at all?” He wasn’t sure she even liked him any better now than when they’d been kids.
“You’re just like your father.” A blonde brow rose up her forehead. “You can charm anyone if you put your mind to it.”
His father. She wasn’t talking about Fredrickk Shuler. He looked into his mother’s insistent green eyes and searched for the woman who’d cried in the backyard. The woman who had a soft core surrounded by a steel shell. “Don’t ask me to do something so underhanded.”
“I’m not asking you to seduce the girl.” She folded her arms beneath her breasts. “Just spend time with her until she leaves.”
Once again, it was up to him to protect his family from his mother’s secrets. Most of the time, he filled his role without question. He was the oldest and responsible for holding it all together and making sure there were no fractures, but this was too much. This time what his mother asked of him felt sleazy, no matter the reason. He took a drink and filled his mouth with the hard liquor. Sometime he disliked his mother almost as much as he loved her.
“You owe me twenty bucks.”
“I do?” Vivien put her hand on her chest. “For what?”
“The Stroll,” Spence answered. “I watched the whole movie. I figure you also owe me two hours of my life that I can never get back. Ten dollars an hour should cover it.”
“The film wasn’t that bad.”
He raised a brow. “It was up for a Razzie.”
She was surprised he’d paid such close attention to her career. “Yes.” She laughed and held up one finger. “But it didn’t win.”
“Well, it made the Worst Film Ever Made list.”
“That’s not true.” She took a drink of her wine. “You always were a big fat liar, Spence.”
“Me? You were a bigger liar than me.”
That was probably true. “I’m sure you lied more.”
“Remember the time we all thought you broke your leg?”
“No.”
“You wrecked your bike in the driveway and you laid out there screaming your head off and holding your leg. I think you were probably nine or ten.”
She wrecked on her bike a lot.
“Tears were pouring down your cheeks. You tried to stand up several times but kept falling down again in a pathetic little heap.” He chuckled. “Even Henry was convinced you we
re really hurt. Macy Jane was frantic and Mother volunteered to drive y’all to the emergency room.”
It was coming back to her.
“Then like that,” he paused to snap his fingers, “you stopped wailing and cocked your head to the side. Your ears perked up at the sound of an ice-cream truck driving past the front of the house. Then you were off like a shot, running across the backyard yelling, ‘Wait for me, Mr. Koolie.’”
Yeah, she remembered that day. “I was a regular on his route.” And a loyal customer. “Even now, I crave a Sno Kap whenever I hear ‘Little Brown Jug.’”
Spencer patted her leg just above her knee. “You were always a great actress.” His fingers brushed her leg. “And pretty as a September peach.”
“Spence.” She put her hand over his to keep it from wandering any farther up her thigh. “I think of you as a brother.”
“I’m not your brother.”
“I know, but it still feels creepy.”
“Think of me as a kissing cousin until it doesn’t feel creepy anymore.” He laughed and was so nonthreatening she smiled. “A third cousin twice removed.”
“Hello brother.” Vivien and Spence looked up at the sound of Henry’s voice. “Mother needs to talk to you.” His gaze moved from Vivien’s face to his brother.
Spencer frowned and took a drink from his glass. “What does she need to talk to me about?”
“I couldn’t tell you.”
Spencer patted Vivien’s knee. “Don’t run off. We need to catch up some more.”
Henry watched his brother walk away then turned back to Vivien. His eyes looked into hers, as sharp as black diamonds, and his lips were compressed in a firm line. He was the exact opposite of his brother in every way. “Come with me,” he said and held out his hand. Then his gaze softened and the corners of his mouth curved into a warm smile.
“Why?” She’d been around plenty of actors who could learn a thing or two about turning on the charm from Henry.
“Because you look exhausted and need a break.”
That was true. She needed a long break in her momma’s bed. She slid her hand into his, feeling rough calluses against her palm as she rose. He had the hands of a blue-collar man, yet he’d been raised to sit behind a desk while manual workers did his bidding. “I need to tell everyone good-bye.”
“They’ll understand.” He moved his rough palm to the middle of her back and escorted her through the kitchen and out the back door.
Even when she was in four-inch heels, he was still several inches taller than her. Vivien assumed they were walking to the carriage house, but instead they moved toward a row of parked cars and stopped next to a deep blue Mercedes Roadster. “Am I going somewhere?”
“I thought you might like a little fresh air.”
While Spence’s touch had felt like a brother’s, Henry’s did not. His warm hand resting in the middle of her back heated up her skin through her dress.
Maybe it was the stress of her mother’s funeral. The exhaustion of standing strong and the gnawing fear that she was totally alone, but she wanted to give in. She wanted to curl into Henry’s solid chest and fall asleep on someone who was stronger than she was, but that was absolutely a bad idea. She wasn’t thinking straight if she thought Henry Whitley-Shuler was a comfortable place for Vivien Rochet to land.
Henry slid a pair of Ray Bans on his face and gave her that beautiful smile she’d seen the other day. The one filled with charm and a flash of white teeth. “I double-dog dare you.”
Chapter 9
Henry pulled the Roadster into the two-car garage next to his truck, hit the control button, and shut the door behind him. Next to him, Vivien reclined in her seat, her eyes closed behind her sunglasses. Her breasts rose gently in sleep and her black dress had slid up her bare thighs. Once they’d slipped out of the city, he’d put the top down and she’d quickly fallen asleep. Somewhere over Wappoo Creek, the hat lifted on the breeze and he would have bet money that it was going to fly off her head, but it didn’t. The thing was obviously fastened to her hair with pins that could withstand a hurricane.
He cut the engine and, for a few moments, he watched her steady breath as she slept. He’d done the right thing. The necessary thing, like always, but he didn’t feel any better now about putting distance between Vivien and Spence than he had when he’d walked up to her and extended his hand. He’d watched Vivien and Spence laughing and joking and had planned to do absolutely nothing. Then his brother slid his hand on her knee, and he’d known he didn’t have a choice.
“Vivien.” He touched her arm, her smooth skin cool to the touch. This time doing the necessary thing not only felt like a burden, it was complete torture. “Time to wake up, darlin’.”
Her eyes fluttered open and she turned her head to look at him. Confusion furrowed her brow and creased her fair forehead. “Are we home?”
“Yes. My home.”
“What?” She sat up straight and glanced around the garage. Her hat finally gave up and fell to one side. “Where am I?”
“My house on John’s Island.”
Her head whipped around and she put a hand to her hat. “Why are we here?”
Because his mother wanted her as far away from Spence as possible. “Like I said, I thought you could use a break.”
“I have to go back.”
Henry opened his door and stepped into the dimly lit garage. “You don’t have to do anything.”
Her gaze followed him as he moved around the front of the car. “I have to thank people who brought funeral food to Momma’s reception.”
“Are you a masochist?” He opened her car door.
“No.”
“Then why would you want to sit in Mother’s parlor until all the church ladies are talked out?”
The corners of her mouth twisted up as she turned and placed one foot on the concrete floor. Her dress slipped farther up her smooth thighs and his gaze followed. For one moment, his brain froze in anticipation of a flash of her underwear. “I can’t just up and leave without so much as a good-bye.” Her second foot joined the first and she stood.
“Why not?” He shut the door behind her and figured he had his mother to thank for making him feel as if he was back in school, dying to see a girl’s panties. Dying even more to see her out of them.
“I don’t want people to say I have the manners of a savage.”
There would be no removing Vivien’s underwear. That wasn’t in the plan. “Do you really care?”
“Of course.” She put her chin on her chest and slid her fingers beneath her hat.
Her answer was a surprise. As a child, she’d behaved as if she didn’t care what anyone thought, especially if their last name was Whitley-Shuler. He was a little disappointed that she cared now.
She pulled pins from her hair and added, “Nonnie has been helpful with everything, and I just don’t feel right leaving her to clean up.” The black hat came off in her hands and she raised her gaze to his.
His mother never “cleaned up” anything. She always had hired help. Vivien knew that. “Are you kidding?”
“Do you always grill your guests with a dozen questions before you uncork the wine?”
“Not usually.” He chuckled and turned toward the back door. “But I do have one more question.”
“What?”
“Red or white?”
“White when it’s so damn hot outside.”
He held the door open for her. “I have a really good French chardonnay.”
“I’m not a wine snob,” she said as she moved past him. The top of her head barely reached his nose as she brushed past, and he breathed in a faint trace of flowers and fresh air caught in her hair. He shut the door behind them and led the way through the laundry room to the kitchen. The heels of her shoes tapped across the kitchen floor, and he couldn’t help but wonder what she thought of his modest home. It was a far cry from the estate where he’d been raised, and the Tribeca apartment he’d rented in Lower Manhattan,
but he felt more comfortable here than any place he’d ever lived. It was his. A reflection of the man he was now and nothing like the man who’d once blazed through life like his ass was on fire because it was expected of him.
Henry opened his refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of wine. He set it on the granite top of the island that separated the living room and kitchen. Before he’d moved into the home, he’d torn down walls and eliminated negative space. It was simple and small. A far cry from the complicated and enormous life he’d led for the first thirty years.
He twisted the corkscrew and his gaze followed Vivien as she walked to the fireplace. Her head tipped back as she looked up at the abstract painting above the mantel. “I bought that from a local artist,” he said as he pulled the cork from the bottle. “It’s called Holy City.” Free-form shapes and swirls of purple and blue paint depicted imagery of churches and bright yellow crosses.
“That looks like St. Michael’s,” she said and pointed to a white, watery image in the center.
“It is.” He poured two glasses of wine, then shrugged out of his suit jacket. He hung it on the back of a kitchen chair and pulled his tie from around his neck before he grabbed the glasses off the island and walked toward Vivien. Patches of evening sun poured through the windows and pinpricks of light spun across the rim of the glass he handed her. “St. Mary’s is near the left corner.” He pointed to the left side of the painting.
She looked across her shoulder at him. “Who’s the artist?”
“Constance Abernathy.” He took a drink, and the rich spicy wine lingered in his mouth after he swallowed. His gaze moved from Vivien’s beautiful green eyes to her pretty red mouth.
“You know her?”
“Yes. In fact, she was at Macy Jane’s memorial.” Even though he’d been around Vivien for several days now, it was still somewhat a shock to stand so close to her and see how much she’d changed from the chubby little brat he’d known.
“Tall? Blonde?”
He turned his attention back to the painting. “Yes.” It was an even bigger a shock to have the woman whose bikini poster hung on the walls of teenage boys around the world, casually drinking wine in his living room. Her strange fans would be camped out, hands in air, across the street if they knew she was here. Only they didn’t. Henry was the was the only person on this planet and the next who knew Vivien Rochet stood in his small home, looking as sexy as hell.
Just Kiss Me Page 9