by Francis Ray
“Go back to sleep or have another cup of coffee,” Sebastian advised, closing the car door. “Antoine makes the best.”
“That’s the trouble,” she told Sebastian, walking to the car.
Sebastian frowned up at her. “Don’t you like his cooking?”
“It’s marvelous and fattening.” Sighing, she put her hands on her hips. “I’ll be a butterball if this continues.”
Slowly, like caressing fingers, his gaze ran over her. “There’s nothing wrong with your figure. All of you is absolutely perfect.”
Hope flushed with pleasure and tried to keep her thoughts together. “Sebastian, I ate an omelet the size of Texas this morning. I have no willpower sometimes, but especially when it comes to food.”
His gaze heated, narrowed on her lips. “I’ll remember that.”
Her throat dried.
“I like Antoine, Mommy.” Jeremy had crawled back across the seat and was looking out Sebastian’s window at her.
“Let him stay, Hope. You’d be doing me a favor.” Sebastian started the motor. “He always complained in the past that I don’t let him truly express himself in the kitchen because I ate the same things or was seldom at home for him to cook for me. Cooking for the three of you makes him happy. Good chefs are hard to find and harder to keep. I’d hate to lose him. Please let him stay.”
“Please,” Jeremy chorused.
How was she supposed to fight both of them? “He can stay, but if I get to be the size of Rhode Island, you two are to blame.”
Sebastian chuckled. “You won’t, but even if you did, we’d still care about you. See you tonight.”
“’Bye, Mommy.”
Sebastian drove off, leaving a shaky Hope on the sidewalk staring after them. Sebastian had used the word care so casually. But did he care about her as a woman or as an actress? She certainly cared about him, and it had nothing to do with him being a director and everything with him being a man.
Hope was running late. She had decided to lie down for a few minutes and had overslept. If Eli hadn’t rung the doorbell, she’d still be asleep. Thank goodness she only lived a couple of miles from the salon.
Not waiting for Eli to open the limo’s door, Hope dashed out of the car and rushed across the sidewalk and opened the door to Della’s. Every eye in the place converged on her. Something was up.
It didn’t take a genius to figure Sebastian was behind whatever it was. In the past week alone, Sebastian had sent a balloon-a-gram, a mime to act out that she was to get a full body massage and aromatherapy facial after work that day, and a ten-pound box of Swiss chocolates for her to share with everyone in the shop. Whatever it was, she didn’t have time today. Mrs. Kent, her eleven o’clock appointment, was already there. Hope closed the door.
The music of “You Keep Me Hanging On” filled the air. A man with a top hat, cane, and tails came out from behind the receptionist’s counter, where he had apparently been hiding.
Taking Hope’s hands, he sat her in a straight-backed chair in the middle of the floor, handed her oversized black handbag to Tianna, and struck up a pose. The music changed to “Fame.” The trim young man began to move his shoulders up and down, his eyes fastened on her startled face. At the first burst of “Fame” from his mouth, people in the salon began to clap and keep time with the music.
Hope’s worried gaze flew to Della standing near the receptionist’s counter. She was clapping as loud as anyone. She approved. Della had personal knowledge of a woman wanting to be an actress. Her own daughter, Chauncie, had been bitten by the acting bug. Settling back in her chair, Hope prepared to enjoy herself.
The singer poured his heart into the lyrics. Whether he expected it or not, other voices joined in. People were dancing, popping their fingers, tapping their feet. Hope was doing the two latter and grinning like a nutcase.
For the finale, from fifteen feet away, the singer slid to her on his knees, his upraised white-gloved hands holding his cane and top hat. The music ended as he stopped a scant five inches away. “Be Eleanor and fame is just the beginning.”
Hope momentarily palmed her face, outrageously delighted.
“What shall I tell Mr. Stone?” the singer asked, lowering his arms.
“That he’s getting there.”
“Perhaps this will help.” He snapped his fingers and stood.
The rising murmurs of oohs and aahs from behind Hope had her twisting around in her seat. Two powerfully built men in skin-tight black leather pants, their hard muscles rippling across incredibly wide, bare chests, were moving through the crowd passing out long-stemmed yellow roses and candy kisses from baskets held by two attractive dark-haired women in long black dresses. If the group came to a man, one of the women would give the flower and chocolate.
Finished, they passed by her without stopping. Hope sighed. Sebastian certainly knew how to put on a production. The singer bowed and left as well.
She was about to get up when a lush white rose appeared over her left shoulder. She jerked her head around and stared up into Sebastian’s piercing black eyes. “Sebastian.” His name trembled over her lips.
“Hope.” He handed her the rose. “Perfection for perfection.”
Aahs and oohs came again, but this time Hope barely noticed, her entire attention on Sebastian. She was unaware of rising from her seat or of reaching toward him until their hands touched. She quivered as lightning zipped from her to him and from him back to her.
Someone began to clap and others joined. They jerked and glanced around self-consciously. The sensual spell was broken.
People gathered around them, but Hope wanted to tell them all to go away.
“Sebastian, I should cry foul,” Della said, putting her arm around a shaky Hope. “How am I to compete with keeping one of my best stylists if you keep tempting her this way?”
“He can tempt me any day,” said a female voice. Murmurs of agreement followed.
“You can say that again,” agreed another female.
Sebastian heard the conversation as if from a long distance away. He was too busy trying to deal with his own erratic emotions and trying to decide if he had actually glimpsed naked desire in Hope’s black eyes or simply saw what he wanted to see. Because, heaven help him, that’s exactly how he wanted to see her. Naked and flushed with desire.
The knowledge hit him like a sledgehammer. He felt lightheaded and something close to fear. Why hadn’t he seen this coming and what was he going to do about it?
“The floor show is over, everyone. Back to work,” Della ordered, using hand motions to send everyone about their business. “And you, Sebastian, leave so Hope can do Mrs. Kent’s perm.”
“Certainly. Right away.” With barely a glance in Hope’s direction, Sebastian fled from the shop.
Della frowned. “What’s got into him?”
Hope flushed and looked away. She’d embarrassed him with her wanton thoughts. Usually she was able to keep a better lock on her growing fantasies about him. “Maybe he had an appointment. I better start on Mrs. Kent’s perm.”
Trying to maintain a pleasant expression on her face, Hope escorted Mrs. Kent to her workstation. As she passed her coworkers and their clients, she was regaled over and over about what a fine brother Sebastian was, and if she didn’t want the part or the man, give them a chance.
Having heard it all before, Hope said nothing. She had told them numerous times there was nothing remotely romantic in Sebastian’s attention toward her. He was simply trying to persuade her to play Eleanor.
Sitting Mrs. Kent in the chair, then draping the young woman, Hope wished she had paid better attention to her own words. She hadn’t. Now she had to face the consequences of caring deeply for a man who looked at her as a challenge, not as a woman. Worse, he knew exactly how she felt about him.
SEVEN
Hands deep in the pockets of his tailored slacks, head down, Sebastian paced in front of his cherrywood desk in his Manhattan office. This couldn’t be happening to him
. He liked his life the way it was, uncomplicated. He went where he wanted, did what he wanted. He answered to no one in his personal life, and few people in his professional one.
His life was too full. He simply did not have time for this.
It was just a fluke. It wouldn’t happen again in a hundred years. A million years.
Satisfied he had solved the problem that had caused him to flee Della’s, he rounded his desk and sat down. The sight of the slender blue leather jewelry box stopped him cold. He stared at the box a long time before he picked it up and lifted the lid.
Diamonds winked and glittered. The ten-carat necklace and matching earrings were stunning. He’d seen them yesterday while shopping for his mother’s birthday gift. It had been a simple matter of obtaining the jewelry on loan for Hope to wear to the party tonight. Stars did it all the time. But this was the first time he had initiated the request.
All the time that the papers were being prepared, he had envisioned the surprised delight on Hope’s face, then her resistance to wearing them. He already had a story made up that they were fake. He’d take great pleasure in putting the stones around her neck, feeling her soft skin beneath his fingertips.
He enjoyed introducing her to new and different things, enjoyed seeing the open pleasure in her face, enjoyed making life a little easier for her. He’d catch himself smiling at her for no particular reason except it just felt good.
It felt right.
Rearing back in his chair, he took the box with him. That should have been his first clue. He tended to be serious. Everyone, including his baby sister, who thought he was “da bomb,” often told him he needed to lighten up. And while he’d like to think he had treated the women in his life well, he couldn’t truthfully say he relished each and every moment with them. Even during the last couple of days when he went a little overboard in trying to persuade Hope to take the role and she became annoyed with him, he was smiling inside.
Face it, Sebastian, this has gone way beyond you trying to entice an actress to play a part.
The door to his office burst open and his dark head came up abruptly. Dana, his secretary, glanced at him briefly, then brought her very perturbed gaze back to the woman beside her, Margot Madison.
“Mr. Stone, I’m sorry. I tried to tell Ms. Madison you were busy.”
Leaning forward in his seat, Sebastian snapped the top closed on the jewelry box and set it aside. “That’s all right, Dana. I’ll take care of it.”
With one last glare at the other woman, Dana left, closing the door behind her. Margot didn’t move. Sebastian knew it was calculated on her part.
In the theater, timing was everything. So were the effects.
She had gone all out today to present herself as a theatrical star and a temptress. She was a striking woman with long auburn hair. At five feet nine, she still had enough confidence to wear four-inch heels. Her mahogany skin was flawless, her body voluptuous. Over the years she had learned how to use every asset she possessed to her full and merciless advantage.
The one rectangular pearl button on the severely tailored jacket of her Valentino ivory suit positioned just above her navel provided an unimpeded view of the curve of her generous breasts and flat abdomen. Most men would have probably been salivating. Sebastian was pleased to note he wasn’t among them.
He dispassionately studied the jaunty hat with a curved ostrich feather, the Kieselstein-Cord brushed gold metal sunglasses with faux tortoise plastic temples, the textured calfskin bag and heels from Hermès. Dangling from her ears were sterling silver jewelry with rectangular mabe pearls set in fourteen-karat gold. On her wrist was a hinged cuff bracelet to match. On the other wrist a twenty-four-karat gold Cartier watch. Not counting the diamond rings she loved to wear on almost every finger, he was probably looking at forty thousand on the hoof. He’d take Hope’s simplicity and honesty in a heartbeat.
“What is it, Margot? As Dana told you, I’m busy.”
Taking the shades from her eyes, she crossed to him and leaned over his desk. The jacket opening widened. The scent of her cloying perfume wafted out. “There was a time when I could make you forget about being busy.”
“Long ago and long forgotten.”
Her practiced smile slipped for an instant, then blossomed again. Her voice lowered to a suggestive purr. “Why don’t I refresh your memory?”
“I’d rather not.” He leaned away from her and the heavy scent. He’d forgotten how much he hated her perfume. Hope smelled of sunshine and a scent that was uniquely hers.
Margot’s attractive face hardened. She came upright and sneered, “I suppose it’s that nobody little hairdresser you’ve been seen with lately.”
A muscle leaped in his jaw. “Watch it, Margot.”
The practiced smile returned. “Sebastian, you can’t possibly be thinking of letting that woman star in your play. I was born to play the role of Eleanor. It’s ludicrous to risk millions on a nobody because you’re angry with me.”
“Margot, this may surprise you, but the world does not revolve around you,” Sebastian said.
She came around the desk, her attractive face filled with entreaty. “I’ve never stopped caring for you. If—”
He laughed and watched shock, then anger sweep over her. “Give it up, Margot. Even if Hope doesn’t take the part, I’d break my contract before working with you again.”
“I want that part,” she practically hissed.
“Read my lips. You’re not getting it.” He picked up the signed contract for the male lead from his desk. “You know the way out.”
“What’s this?” Before he could stop her, she snatched the jewelry box from his desk and opened it. A strangled gasp escaped her. “Is this for her?”
Standing, Sebastian held out his hand for Margot to return the case. “That is none of your concern.”
“They are, aren’t they?” At his continued silence her expression went from fury to scorn, then hatred. “She must be really something in bed.”
Angrily, Sebastian plucked the box from her hands and slipped it into his coat pocket. “Unlike you, she has enough character and talent not to stoop that low to get a part.”
“Why, you!” Margot’s bejeweled hand swept back in a wide arch.
“Don’t let dramatics ruin your career, Margot,” Sebastian warned coldly. “Try to keep what dignity you have left and leave quietly.”
Her raised hand clenched, then lowered. Her eyes chilled. “I promise you. I’ll find a way to make you pay for treating me like this.”
“You have no one to blame but yourself. I’m one man you don’t want to have as an enemy.” Planting both hands on the desk, he stared across its wide expanse at her. “Don’t make the mistake of taking weakness as the reason why I never bothered to try and correct the lie you spread about who broke off the relationship. It simply didn’t matter. This does.”
Without another word, she stalked angrily from the room. Seconds later he heard the outer office door slam.
Dana appeared in his office doorway. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stone. Is there anything you need at the moment?”
He started to say no, then felt the jewelry box in his pocket. “Yes. See that this is returned.”
“Yes, sir.” The door closed behind her.
If nothing else, Margot’s visit had helped him remember he had lousy taste in women.
Getting ready for her date with Sebastian, Hope vacillated between panic, fear, and hope. She didn’t want to look into Sebastian’s eyes and see pity or, heaven forbid, wariness that she’d pounce on him. Perhaps he really did leave in a hurry because he had an important appointment.
She didn’t understand what came over her when she was around him, she thought as she straightened her sheer lace top stockings, then snapped them to the garter belt. Who would have believed the quiet and proper Hope would turn into a love-starved, aggressive woman in her mid-thirties? She’d loved Douglas as much as she thought any woman could love a man, enjoyed their lovemaking,
yet somehow her feelings for Sebastian were more intense, more needy.
Sighing, she reached for the shimmering gold dress with none of the enthusiasm she’d experienced when she had first seen it in the store. While thankful to Cynthia for her generosity in giving her carte blanche with her clothes, tonight Hope wanted to wear a gown no one else had worn.
The reason made her sigh again. She wanted her friendship with Sebastian to blossom into a new and exciting experience for both of them.
The long dress slid over her head and bare skin, shaping itself to the contours of her body as it drifted downward, then flaring out dramatically at the knee. Reaching behind her, Hope zipped, snapped, then stepped into her heels.
The doorbell rang.
Her gaze went to the clock on the radio. Eight-thirty. Sebastian was prompt as usual.
Trembling fingers gathered the silk organza stole and small gold beaded bag from the dresser. Without giving herself time to think, she swept out of the room, cutting the light off as she went. At least she didn’t have to meet him with Bridgett and Jeremy watching.
Thankfully Bridgett had gone to her weekly Friday night bridge party and taken Jeremy with her. A couple of the other players had grandchildren and the women enjoyed spoiling the children when they got together. Jeremy had probably already eaten his third powdered-sugar lemon cookie, a batch of which Antoine had made for the occasion.
Halfway down the stairs, her hand paused on the hardwood rail. Through the frosted etched glass in the front door she saw the silhouette of a large man. Too large to be Sebastian. She stood poised on the stairs until the peal of the doorbell had her moving again.
Opening the door, her gaze went beyond Eli’s burly body to the black limo parked at the curb. Sebastian wasn’t standing by the car. The tinted glass prevented her from seeing inside. Her heart began to race.
He tipped his hat. “Good evening, Mrs. Lassiter.”
“Hello, Eli. Where’s Sebastian?” She hated the almost panicky note in her voice, but she couldn’t seem to help it.