Читать книгу Flirting With Temptation - Cara Summers - Страница 9

JACK PULLED INTO HIS SLOT in the underground garage of his apartment building and opened the door. Before he could close it, Franco Rossi, his old college roommate and current landlord, hurried toward him.

“Well, do you think she got on the plane?”

During his globe-trotting years, Jack had met his share of colorful and eccentric characters, but Franco still remained at the top of the list. For the past eight years Franco had lived in New York City, subsidizing his acting career with a job as a doorman at a posh Central Park West apartment building, and he’d acquired an…unusual wardrobe.

“She told me she was coming, and I have a feeling that once Corie Benjamin makes up her mind, she sticks to it.”

“Wonderful!” Franco rubbed his hands together. “Wonderful!” This morning he was wearing a bright red kimono, a souvenir from his performance in an off-Broadway production of Tea House of the August Moon. Beneath the spiked hair and the orange-rimmed sunglasses, who would suspect that there lurked a man who was a black belt in karate? And Jack was pretty sure no one would guess that Franco owned the apartment building he lived in. The lovely old Painted Lady had been his sole award in a palimony suit against his former longtime lover.

Franco whipped a notebook out of his pocket. “What else do you know about her? I’ve decided she’s the perfect heroine for my screenplay.”

Jack urged Franco back into the building. “You say that about every woman you meet. Your place or mine?”

“Yours,” Franco said, glancing at his watch. “My Monday-Tuesday tenant hasn’t moved out yet. Besides, you have better coffee, and I just French-pressed a pot of your Arabica.”

“Make yourself at home,” Jack said dryly as Franco used his passkey to let them in. Until he sold his screenplay, Franco had decided to live as frugally as possible. Therefore, he was presently renting out his second-floor apartment on a per diem basis to two women who lived there on different days of the week while Franco had moved into the old maid’s quarters in the basement.

Franco poured two cups of coffee and settled himself on the couch that swept around two walls of the sunny living room while Jack filled him in on what he knew about Corie Benjamin.

“So, the opening scene is eleven-fifteen at the airport. I can see it now. Sun pouring down through all that glass as our heroine walks wide-eyed through the gate into a brave new world.” Grabbing the notebook that was never far from reach, Franco began to jot down notes.

“This isn’t a movie,” Jack said.

“It will be. Corie Benjamin’s perfect—a shy little country mouse coming to the big city. My agent will be very excited about it.”

“I thought he was interested in the other two plots you’re hatching,” Jack said.

“Those too.” Franco waved his hand, then continued to scribble notes.

Jack moved to the window. Across the street, the construction workers were taking their places on the scaffolding that decorated two houses. In a matter of moments, a cacophony of ear-numbing noises would begin.

Turning back to Franco, he said, “I told her that she could use your apartment for the entire week and perhaps more, if she decides to extend her stay.”

“No problemo. I spoke with the two women who use the apartment now on different days, and I’m sure she can work something out with them.”

“There’s just one more thing.” Jack ran a hand through his hair. “She wants a makeover—the kind they’re always doing on TV talk shows. Do you know what she’s talking about?”

Franco glanced up. “A makeover! That will be perfect. It’s just what I needed—a Pygmalion theme. Eliza Doolittle meets Vito Corleone! That is sooo high concept! My agent will definitely be able to sell it!”

Jack crossed to the couch and sat down. Sometimes his friend needed a firm hand. Taking Franco’s notebook and pen, he then set them on the table. “Forget about the screenplay for a minute. Can you handle the makeover for me?”

Franco’s brows shot up. “Is rain wet? Do flowers bloom in the spring? When my mother first read me Cinderella, I didn’t want to be the prince. I wanted to be the fairy godmother. I’ve always wondered why I wasn’t born with a magic wand in my hand.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “You’re going to do it yourself?”

“Heavens no. I’ll be her advisor, but I’ll probably enlist the help of Lorenzo. He’s currently doing my hair.”

Jack frowned. “I don’t think she is envisioning spikes.”

“Relax. Lorenzo is one of the top hair designers in San Francisco. He does all the movie stars when they visit. Our little Corie will be in good hands.”

Jack’s frown deepened. “That’s just it. She’s not our little Corie.”

Franco studied Jack for a moment. “For someone who spent the past two weeks convincing our little Cor—librarian to board that plane tomorrow, you don’t look very happy.”

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Jack began to pace. “If there was some other way that I could gain access to the Lewis family, I wouldn’t have involved her.”

“You worry too much.”

“Maybe I haven’t worried enough. I still don’t know who sent me the anonymous e-mail, telling me about her and where to locate her.”

“Why don’t you ask your friend at Cop Central to help you out?”

Jack had thought about that. His friendship with Captain D. C. Parker went back to their high school days. “I couldn’t ask D.C. to do anything illegal. He’s on the political fast track in the department.”

Franco shrugged. “Who says he’d have to get involved? All you need is a name—someone who’s had a few brushes with the law….”

Jack paused in his pacing to study his friend. “You know, with a devious mind like yours, you’d make a good journalist.”

Franco threw up his hands. “Not on your life! I’ll stick to my screenplay, thank you. And I think you really ought to relax about this. Even if all your suspicions about Benny Lewis turn out to be true, he’s worked too hard to build his reputation as a pillar of the community and a philanthropist to risk even the barest hint of scandal at this point. Our little Corie is going to be perfectly safe.”

“You’re right. I know you’re right.” But… Jack barely kept himself from saying the word out loud.

Franco leaned back against the cushions on the couch. “You know, I’ve never seen you this concerned about a woman before.”

Jack considered that for a moment. He made a point of never becoming too involved with a woman. He’d always told himself that it was because he was never in one place for long, and he had no business taking on the responsibility. But he didn’t have to go to a shrink to figure out that he didn’t trust long-term relationships. He’d lost his parents when he was five and his aunt when he was eighteen. Nothing lasted. Therefore, it was just…easier not to get involved. And he didn’t intend to get involved with Corie Benjamin. It was just that… “I’ve never met anyone like her before. She’s different. And she wouldn’t be coming out here to meet her father if I hadn’t called her.”

“Is she pretty?” Franco asked.

“How would I know? I’ve never seen her.” But he wanted to. For the first time, it occurred to him that he was looking forward to meeting Corie for reasons that had nothing to do with his pursuit of the truth surrounding his aunt’s disappearance. Suddenly, he frowned.

“Well, well, well. I never thought I’d see the day that a woman would tie you up in knots,” Franco said.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Corie Benjamin is not my type.”

“Anything you say.”

“I’m just feeling a little guilty because I never told her about Benny’s early connections to the mob.”

Franco’s eyes widened. “That’s a biggie.”

“I kept telling myself that I’d do it as soon as she got out here. And now I feel responsible for her. If something should happen…”

“What could happen? You have labored under the suspicion that Benjamin Lewis had something to do with your aunt’s disappearance far too long. The man’s a pillar of the community, for heaven’s sake. Sure, he supposedly had past mob connections, but not since he moved his family out here almost thirty years ago.” Franco rose from the couch. “But just in case our little librarian is in any danger, I have the perfect backup plan. I thought I would store it here while my apartment is in use.” Rising, he strode to the hall closet and drew out a hanger. “This,” he gave the hanger a little shake and for a moment the black skirt hanging from it seemed to catch the light, “will protect her.”

Jack shifted his gaze from the skirt to Franco. “That’s a skirt.”

“Indeed, it is—but it’s a very special skirt. The fiber was woven from the lunua plant that grows only on this one island, and whoever wears the skirt has the power to draw men like a magnet. I’m trying to get in touch with the original owner, Torrie Lassiter. She lives here in San Francisco and I’m trying to track her down for an interview. Supposedly, she started everything by tossing the skirt instead of her bouquet at her wedding. Since then, this little skirt’s become an urban legend.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Jack asked.

Franco raised his right hand, a solemn expression on his face. “I would never joke about this skirt. I’ve seen it in action. Since I’ve moved out here to San Francisco, I’ve given some thought to wearing it myself. Getting back into the dating scene is tough. It’s a real wasteland out there.” Franco shifted his gaze to the skirt. “Still…I’m not sure I’m ready. The skirt comes with a little catch.”

“Most things do.” Jack studied the skirt. It looked ordinary enough—simple, black, basic.

“Whoever wears this skirt will draw her true love to her,” Franco said.

Jack studied his friend. He’d known Franco long enough to know when he was joking. But he was serious. And he was sober. “Just how is a man-magnet skirt supposed to protect Corie Benjamin? She isn’t coming out here looking for a man.”

Franco held up a hand. “On the contrary. She is looking for one—her father. And the interesting thing about this skirt is that it has different effects on different men. It’s been known to get some of the women who’ve worn it out of very tough scrapes—including ones involving guns and knives.”

Moving forward, Franco spread the skirt out on one of the couch cushions. “I was going to talk Corie into wearing it anyway. Now I’ll just fit it into the makeover. The skirt is the hook I’m using in my screenplay.”

“Franco, I don’t know…”

“What can it hurt?”

Reaching out, Jack fingered the material. For a moment, he was almost sure he caught a scent that reminded him of the kind of exotic flowers that would only grow on a tropical island. That was almost as ridiculous as the feeling of being watched that he’d gotten on the pier earlier.

Outside on the street, there was a loud sound like a gunshot. Dropping the skirt, Jack whirled back to the window in time to see a large black car give one lurch, then, tires squealing, race toward the corner.

Franco patted him on the shoulder. “That car was just backfiring. You should take something to calm your nerves.”

But it wasn’t the car or the backfiring that bothered Jack. It was the man he’d caught a glimpse of in the front seat of the car. A man wearing a hat and sunglasses with a dog on his lap. For a second, he was almost sure that it was the blind man he’d seen walking his dog at Fisherman’s Wharf.

CORIE STEPPED OUT of the jet way and blinked at the bright sunlight streaming through the windows that ran along both walls of the airport. Well, she was here. Too late for regrets, she told herself as she pressed a hand against the mix of nerves and excitement bubbling away in her stomach.

Tightening her grip on her duffel bag, she glanced at the overhead signs and followed the arrows toward baggage pickup. Jack Kincaid would be there, and her San Francisco adventure would begin. She was determined to make the seven days count.

Eagerly she studied people around her, noting the tiny Chinese woman in the slim black pants and sandals, the Indian woman in a colorful sarong, a luxuriously built redhead in pencil-thin heels and a blue silk business suit that Corie bet cost more than she made at the library in a month. Only by force of sheer willpower did she keep herself from glancing down at her shapeless navy dress and serviceable shoes. In Fairview, she fit right in. In San Francisco she was a walking, breathing 9-1-1 fashion emergency.

Straightening her shoulders, she stepped onto the escalator that promised to take her to baggage claim. She was going to change her image as soon as she could, but for now, she had to focus on meeting Jack Kincaid and his friend with the unusual wardrobe. As she scanned the heads popping into view, she spotted the man who had to be Jack’s friend.

Skimming her gaze over the lime-green walking shorts, orange polka-dot T-shirt and orange-rimmed sunglasses, Corie couldn’t prevent a smile. The whole outfit seemed to work somehow. Then she shifted her attention to Jack Kincaid who was taller than his companion and dressed more conservatively in jeans and a tan linen sport coat. The two men made a very odd couple indeed. The shorter man placed a hand on Jack’s arm, and Jack leaned closer to listen.

For the first time, it struck her that they might be just that—a couple. Jack had said he was bringing a “friend” to the airport, and this was San Francisco, after all. As she watched, Jack grinned at something his companion was saying. Then the dimple that she hadn’t been able to keep from touching on his book jacket was there, too, appearing and disappearing as his grin deepened or faded. What would it feel like to press her finger into that dimple?

The thought had her stopping dead in her tracks.

It wasn’t wise to be thinking about touching Jack Kincaid. Especially since it appeared that he already had someone to touch his dimple. Besides, hadn’t she decided that Jack was just the kind of man her mother had warned her about? “He will lie to you, and you will believe him.”

Well, she wouldn’t believe him—not entirely. In the two days since she’d made her decision to use the plane ticket Jack had sent her, Corie had clarified her goals, and she had a notebook full of doodles to prove it. The library had given her one week off, and she was determined to make the most of it. Not only was she going to meet the man who might be her father and find out why her mother had run away to hide, but she was also going to live it up while she was in San Francisco. She was going to do things she might never have the opportunity to ever do in Fairview—not with Muriel Ponsonby and the quilting circle hovering over her. One thing she was sure of. When she returned, no one was ever going to even think of her in the same sentence as Harold Mitzenfeld again.

Moving forward, she caught what the two men were saying.

“You’ve got to tell her,” the man with the green shorts was saying.

“I’m going to just as soon as I find the right time—after she settles in a bit,” Jack replied.

Corie saw the other man’s brows rise above the orange-framed sunglasses. “There’s a right time to find out your family has a lurid past?”

Corie stepped forward. “Why don’t you tell me right now?”

For a moment, the two men stared at her, and Corie had the sensation that she was being studied as thoroughly as a biologist might study a smear on a slide. No one had ever looked at her quite this closely back in Ohio. It made her wonder it she’d put her dress on inside out.

And then she made the mistake of looking into Jack’s eyes directly. They were steel-gray, cool and very intent. Where in the world had she gotten the idea that he was charming? Without the dimple and the smile to distract her, she could see that this was an intense and driven man who watched and measured everyone. He reminded her a little of a Brontë hero—Rochester right after he’d nearly run Jane Eyre down with his horse.

Jack’s friend was the first to recover. Holding out his hand, he said, “Franco Rossi, at your service. I’m Jack’s landlord and yours, too. Welcome to San Francisco.”

Pulling her gaze away from Jack’s took some surprising effort, but Corie managed it, then beamed a smile at Franco. “Thank you, Mr. Rossi.”

“Franco, please. We’re going to be neighbors.”

The moment Franco released her hand, Corie extended it to Jack. “What is it that you should have told—” The minute his hand clasped hers, her heart felt as if it had turned right over in her chest. Perhaps it was because she was drowning in those eyes. The longer she stared into them, the more they reminded her of fog hanging thick and dark over the cornfields in Ohio. It wasn’t until he released her hand that she felt the weakness in her knees.

“Are you all right?”

It took her a moment to realize that Franco had asked the question, and another minute to grab on to a thought. Those Brontë heroes might have been short in the charm department, but she was sure her mother would have included them in her first commandment.

Gathering her scattered wits, Corie managed to drag her gaze away from Jack’s and smile at Franco. “It must be jet lag. I felt a little dizzy there for a minute. But I never faint.”

“Good to know,” Jack murmured.

She risked a quick look at him and was pleased to note that this time her heart stayed right where it belonged. “What was it that you were going to tell me, Mr. Kincaid?”

“Jack, please.” He smiled at her. “It’s just some of the evidence that I told you about. We can talk about it over lunch.” He glanced at the nearby beltway that had begun to move. “If you’ll just point out your luggage, we’ll be on our way.”

Very smooth, Corie thought but she knew it was a lie. She was almost sure that Franco had been pressing him to tell her about Benny Lewis’s past.

“This is my luggage,” she said, indicating the duffel she was carrying.

Franco took it from her. “Then we’re off to lunch and after that to Lorenzo’s. He does my hair.” He gave her a little shove into the revolving doors.

When Jack joined her on the street, he said, “Franco says Lorenzo is the top choice of the Hollywood starlets when they come to town. And I told him that if you end up with spiked hair, I’ll have to kill him.”

She couldn’t prevent the laugh. And this time when she met his eyes, it was her stomach that seemed to lurch and then tighten. She threw all her effort into dragging her gaze away from his, and that was the only reason that she saw the man with the gun.

Later, she would recall the other details—that the man holding it was standing by the open door of a car, that he wore a hat and dark glasses and a dog sat patiently next to the white cane he was holding in his left hand. But, at the moment, all that fully registered in her mind was the gun.

A woman screamed. “He’s got a gun!”

“A gun!”

There was another scream and people at the curb began to scatter. As they cleared, Corie had enough time to see the man raise his hand and point the gun into the air. Then someone pushed her into Jack. It was like colliding with a brick wall.

“Get down,” she said.

The sound of the shot split the air, drowning out her words, but Jack was already shoving her to the ground.