Show and Tell Page 23

  She was not a stupid person, yet she donned a mask she thought men wanted, what made them feel bigger, better. Needed. Even Faith had accused her of “dumbing herself down.” For God’s sake, she had a college education. She wanted men to accept her for herself, but she’d never even shown a man who she really was. Not even Scott. For him, she’d played the mysterious femme fatale like Matty in Body Heat.

  Her mind returned to her surroundings, as if she were floating back down into her own body. His head cocked, Scott watched her, perhaps waiting for the next zany remark.

  She slipped on the face men wanted, hooked them by playing a role, let them call the shots, and gave them the control. Yet despite all that, she hadn’t tried to manipulate Scott. He had no right to trick her. There were rules to their relationship—and yes, they did have a relationship, even if it was odd—and he’d violated them. His insistence on changing things so soon pissed her off even more. Yes. Pissed. Her. Off.

  She should have walked out, but his girls didn’t deserve the scene. Instead, she stayed, dropped the ditzy Valley girl act, enjoyed the meal, made scintillating conversation, pretended she was in the here and now.

  Yet all the while, she plotted ways to show him she was in complete control of this relationship.

  “HOW long have you known Jessie, Dad?” Brooke struggled to keep her tone conversational, even Scott could hear that.

  “Three months.” The three was correct, the number of months a lie. But when discussing your sex life with your daughters, a few fabrications were in order.

  “And how do you feel about her, Dad?” Lexa poured a soda from the fridge. They’d gathered in the kitchen. Since he’d already been over the hill, Brooke had driven the two of them to the restaurant, and he’d followed them home when dinner was over.

  “She’s great,” he said, a noncommittal answer.

  He shouldn’t have surprised Jezebel, a tactical error on his part. He’d jumped the gun and set her off. Women could be temperamental, and he had to admit, she had a right. He’d stepped over the bounds and tricked her, as she’d pointed out. Was the damage permanent? He hoped not, but he figured he’d have to dig himself out of the hole he’d dug.

  Seating herself on one of the stools at the center island, Brooke held out her glass for Lexa to fill. They actually liked each other, at least once they’d both graduated from high school. Before that, the house had often been a war zone when someone borrowed something they shouldn’t have touched.

  “But Dad, how well do you really know her?” Brooke asked what both girls wanted to know.

  He almost laughed, but cut off the sound. “We’re getting to know each other.”

  “Okay, now I don’t want you to think we’re ganging up or anything. ” Brooke eyed her sister. “But we talked about it on the way home, and we’re worried she might be a gold digger.”

  This time he did laugh. “A gold digger? Where did you hear that old-fashioned term?”

  Lexa shrugged. “Gold digger, fortune hunter, money-grubbing blond bimbo, we’re trying to make sure she’s not after your investments or anything.”

  It was on the tip of his tongue to say it was his body she wanted, not his money, but . . . they were his little girls. “Thanks for worrying, sweetie, but I’m a big boy, and I’ll make sure I keep my assets intact.” He knuckled the top of Lexa’s head.

  She grabbed his hand. “Hey, you’re mussing my hair.”

  “It’s not your assets we worry about.” Brooke ducked away when he went to knuckle her head. “It’s your heart.”

  “Honey, I promise my heart’s not in danger.” That wasn’t entirely true. He’d claimed over and over that he wanted more than what she was giving him. Just as he’d gotten a taste of her loyalty and vulnerability over a Greek dinner, tonight he’d touched off her ire. She had emotions and feelings, and she could get pissed off and act out just like any other human being. The question was did he value the mystery over the reality.

  Even after her antics tonight, the answer was yes. He still wanted a chance to see what could grow between them. “Did you at least like her a little bit?”

  Neither of them said a word, Brooke studiously concentrating on the soda glass.

  It was a stupid question. Jessie had gone out of her way to act the blond bimbo. He had to admit it had been his screwup for tricking her, just as she’d said. But she’d done such a damn good job of appearing like a brainless tart. He’d found himself wanting to laugh even as she made him look like a fool in front of his daughters. That should have pissed him off royally; instead, he’d enjoyed the sparring. Maybe she did make him a little crazy, because most fathers would hold that against the new lady in his life. Yet he’d asked for her little punishment.

  Finally, his youngest piped up. “She’s a bit of a twit, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah, Dad,” Brooke joined in. “What do you see in her?”

  Lexa slapped her elbow. “Duh.”

  The allusion to sex lay on the island counter between them.

  Brooke stuck her fingers in her ears. “Ewwe. I don’t want to hear.”

  “It’s not that, girls.” It was more. She made him feel alive, and he hadn’t had that in a long, long time. Were his emotions about the woman herself, or more about what was going on with him at this stage of his life? Probably a bit of both.

  “Right, Dad,” Lexa scoffed. “You might be old, but it’s not like you’re totally ancient.”

  “I’m not listening, I’m not listening,” Brooke chanted, until Lexa pulled her fingers out of her ears.

  “We’re wondering”—Lexa smiled as if her question needed softening—“if you’re thinking marriage or anything.”

  “We aren’t there, sweetie.” Marriage was a giant step beyond a mere relationship. “But she has this view of life that’s amazing.” He stopped. Telling his daughters how Jezebel affected him was like trying to describe a sunset to a blind man. “I wanted you to meet her. And like her.”

  Though he’d blown that one. He could only hope he hadn’t completely blown the rest of what he wanted, which was more of the way his mystery Jezebel made him feel.

  Would he retain this sense of vitality, of truly living life, with another woman? Scott didn’t know for sure, but he wasn’t willing to let her go until he found out.

  15

  AT the end of the workday on Monday, Trinity sent him a message. “Happy After Valentine’s Day. Meet me for drinks.”

  It was appropriately snarky after the way Scott had tricked her on Friday. If he was smart, he’d expect a trick. She named a time, allowing her to get home after work, change into her night’s costume, and arrive half an hour early, this hotel different from the one at which they’d met twice before.

  Elevator music played, and candles burned in red vases. Trinity chewed a cashew. The hotel bar wasn’t crowded, even for a convention. She’d found a seat at the far end of the counter, and a willing victim. Norman was older, but she liked older men, as evidenced by her attraction to that rat, Scott Sinclair.

  “And what do you do?” she asked. Men always found themselves to be the most scintillating topic of conversation.

  “Software engineer.” He had the slightly soft belly of a desk worker to prove it, though he was handsome, with sandy salt-and-pepper hair, blue eyes, and a nice smile.

  “And you’re in town for . . . ,” Trinity trailed off, raised a brow, and smiled, though Norman didn’t appear interested in her smile. He liked her cleavage in the low-cut slut top. The Lycra darn near bonded to her chest. And wow, when she’d stood in front of the mirror, she had breasts.

  “The convention here at the hotel,” he managed.

  Trinity recrossed her legs, and Norman’s eyes dropped to the brevity of her tight black micromini skirt, or rather the thigh her skirt revealed.

  “You must be so intelligent, charming, and articulate,” she murmured, “to talk all day about your software.”

  He sat straighter on his barstool and smooth
ed his tie. “Well, not everybody has the technical knowledge.”

  “I’ll bet not. You must have a doctorate.” She gave him a little moue. “Dr. Norman. It has such a ring to it.”

  “No, no. I only have a masters degree.”

  She sighed and gazed at him with wonder. “Only a masters? Please, that’s such an accomplishment.”

  Norman preened. “You almost have to have a masters these days to get anywhere.”

  She nodded sadly. “I wish I’d gone to college. But it seemed so hard.” All right, she was donning a mask, but this time it was for a good cause, a little Scott tease. Picking up her margarita, she licked the salt along the rim.

  Norman went bug-eyed, and a drop of sweat rolled down his temple. “Here, let me get you another.” He waved at the bartender without taking his eyes off her mouth.

  “Why, thank you, Norman. I surely do appreciate that. I’m so thirsty, for some reason.”

  Norman looked positively parched as he ordered another rum and Coke and her margarita refill. The bartender, black-haired, black-eyed, and younger than she was, eyed her with boredom, as if he’d seen the pickup too many times.

  When he was gone, she trailed her finger along the back of Norman’s hand, a half inch from actually touching him. “Now, back to you and your fascinating job. Are you here all week?”

  He gulped. “Yes.”

  “How wonderful. You should see something of San Francisco,” the implication being that she could show it to him.

  She and Scott used the expression cock teaser, and tonight she deserved the title. Poor Norman. It wasn’t nice, she was a total b-it -c-h, but Norman was human payback. Twisting a little, she imperceptibly glanced at her watch. Her quarry wouldn’t dare be a second late.

  “I don’t know that I’ll have time to make it up there.”

  “Oh, Norman.” She pouted, her lips puckering. “It’s a forty-five -minute drive from here. You must see the city.” She batted her eyelashes. “I live up there.”

  Norman had a small stroke and seemed incapable of speech for a moment. The bartender slid their drinks across the bar, and she was tempted to wrap Norman’s fingers around the glass so he’d have something to ground him.

  Beyond his shoulder, Scott slipped into a chair at a table in the corner, his dark gaze settling on her.

  Trinity swung her foot, the back of her stiletto heel slipping off. In train fantasy parody, she leaned down to slowly slide her hand from her knee along her calf, tipped the shoe back on, then let her fingers glide all the way back up.

  She didn’t even notice Norman’s reaction until he choked, coughed, and finally caught his breath. Deliberately, she put a hand on his arm and squeezed. “Are you all right?”

  Norman’s gaze seemed riveted to her red nail polish, and she glanced at Scott. Sitting back, his elbows on the chair arms, his fingers steepled, he raised his mouth in a slight smile.

  She tipped her lips up in acknowledgment.

  The waitress brought him an imported beer. He watched, drank, watched. Unfortunately, Trinity was too far away to see his eyes, and the expression on his face revealed nothing.

  But he’d see you were mine.

  His very words in the theater. She was not Scott’s. She was her own woman and did what she pleased. No man owned her. Harper had a chance, and he’d blown it. Her anger had grown exponentially over the weekend. Or maybe it was determination not to play the fool for a man ever again.

  Except when she meant to sound like a bimbo, as she did with Norman. “So, I’m dying to hear more about you.” She puckered once more and flagged her finger at him. “Where do you live?”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Scott stand and head to the bar.

  Norman tugged at his collar as if it were suddenly too tight. “Chicago.”

  “Oh, I’ve never been to Chicago. The Windy City.” She laughed as if she’d made a joke.

  “You never said you wanted to go to Chicago, sweetheart.” Suddenly right there, almost between them, Scott trailed a hand down her arm, then grabbed her hand. “I’d have taken you.”

  Eyes wide, terrified, Norman had nowhere to go, trapped on one side by Scott and a wayward barstool on the other.

  Scott held up her ringless left hand and stared at it. “Where’s your wedding ring, honey-sweetie-girl?”

  Norman made a noise. Trinity feared a real stroke.

  Yet she smiled oh-so-sweetly for her husband. “I thought you told me not to wear it if I went out to a bar by myself. Or men wouldn’t want to talk to me.”

  She was glad their end of the bar was empty. It was one thing toying with Norman, but she didn’t want eavesdroppers.

  Scott raised her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles, then he turned his smoky dark gaze on Norman. “Some men don’t care if a woman’s married. Right?” He raised a devilish brow. “I didn’t catch your name.”

  “It’s Norman,” Trinity said, because Norman didn’t answer.

  “You don’t mind, do you, Norman?” Scott insisted with a smile.

  The man’s face colored deeper than her father’s on his worst conniption-fit day.

  “Stop teasing him,” she admonished. “The poor man will think you intend to beat him up.” She eyed the bartender, who stood next to the house phone in case he needed to make an immediate call.

  Scott clapped Norman on the back. “Jessie’s right. I’m teasing. Don’t worry. I never bust a gentleman’s chops when my wife comes on to him.”

  “I think”—Norman found his voice—“I’ll call it a night.”

  Scott held the man’s shoulder, his gaze meeting Trinity’s, fire in his eyes. “Tell him we don’t want him to leave yet.”

  What on earth was he up to? Trinity decided to play along. “Please don’t leave yet, Norman. I like you.”

  Easing closer to her side, Scott slipped his arm around her, bending down to nuzzle her temple. Norman now had room to escape, yet he didn’t, suddenly fascinated by the scene.

  “Yeah, Norman, she likes you.”

  She stroked Scott’s chest. “And he’s not the jealous type, Norman. He’d never try to own a woman or tell her what to do.” She gazed up at Scott fondly. “Or manipulate her or trick her.”

  He slipped his hand under the fall of her hair, caressing her nape. “No. I give her every freedom her little heart desires.” Then he turned to Norman, and blinked, very slowly, as if he were assessing the man’s worth in that length of time. “I even let her be with other men when she wants to.”

  Trinity’s heart stopped. She couldn’t stop the next words out of her mouth. “You let me?”

  He lifted her chin and kissed her hard on the lips. “I forgot.” He glanced at Norman. “Men don’t let her do anything. She’s woman enough to do whatever she wants.” His mouth kicked up in a smile. “Then again,” he added, relentlessly holding her gaze, “if she’d rather have another man watch us, I’d like that, too.” Once more, he slid his gaze toward Norman. “We both like it a lot when someone watches us, don’t we, sweetheart?”

  The theater wasn’t the first time he’d conjured up the image of being watched. She’d participated fully in the role-play. It even made her wet. But he couldn’t mean it for real. Could he?

  “Would you like to watch, Norman?” Scott turned back to Trinity, kissing her nose. “Unless she doesn’t feel like it tonight. I would never trick her, manipulate her, or force her into doing something she didn’t want to do.” He tipped her head with his thumb beneath her chin. “Because while I think of her as mine, I’d never say I owned her.” Back to Norman he went, as if he were eyeballing a tennis match. “She likes her freedom. I wonder how much freedom she wants to take advantage of?”