Читать книгу Going For It - Jo Leigh - Страница 11

CHASE SETTLED more comfortably into the black leather armchair and cradled the phone between his ear and shoulder. Rupert Davidson, his business manager, did like to talk. And talk. If Rupert wasn’t so good with money, Chase would have fired him years ago. No, that wasn’t true. Rupert had been part of his life for too long. He had been his father’s closest friend, and he’d taken care of Chase and his mother after Jack had died. What everyone except Rupert knew was that he’d fallen in love with Chase’s mother. Nothing would be done about it until after a proper mourning period, of course. Rupert would never disgrace Jack’s memory.

Chase almost thought of Rupert as his stepfather, which he could have been if he’d only asked. But his mother couldn’t or wouldn’t urge him on, preferring the romanticism of an unrequited lover to anything real. It was an odd drama, played out over the years, one which he’d learned to accept.

“…I want to roll the CDs over. I’ve done some investigation about GF Labs, and it’s risky, but I think it might be worth it—at least for a few hundred thousand.”

“Do it.” Chase looked at his coffee. It was on the ebony-and-teak coffee table, out of his reach. He’d have to move to get it, and he’d just gotten comfortable. So what was more important? The way the chair molded perfectly to his back and shoulders? Or caffeine?

“Have you read the prospectus?”

“I don’t need to. I have you.”

“Dammit, son, don’t you think it’s time you accepted some of your responsibilities? Even one? You’re thirty-one. You can’t keep living like this forever.”

Chase disagreed, but he didn’t say so. He grabbed hold of the phone and leaned forward, bringing his coffee back with him. He tried to find the same position as before, but it was gone. He sipped the Kona blend, disappointed to find it was lukewarm. “Rupert, do we have to talk about this now? It’s not even nine o’clock. I promise I’ll call this afternoon, and we can fight all you want.”

“I don’t want to fight.”

“Right. You just want me to do things your way.”

“Not my way. The sensible way.”

“Rupert, you’re the most goddamn sensible man in New York.”

“That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” He liked Rupert, in his old-fashioned suits, with his antiquated sense of honor and obligation. He was refreshing, in an odd sort of way.

“How long are you here for this time?”

“A couple of weeks. Just till the racing season starts in Europe.”

“You’re going to see her, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“And not just for an hour. She was hurt by that, Chase.”

He closed his eyes, remembering the last visit with his mother. He loved her, but sometimes it wasn’t easy to like her. To say she wasn’t thrilled with his lifestyle was an understatement. She wanted him to be like her, like his father. To get married, have some kids. She’d told him he embarrassed her. That he was disgracing his father’s name.

“I’ll try, Rupert.”

“Don’t try. Do it. She’s the only mother you’ll ever have.”

“Okay, Yoda. I promise.”

“Yoda?”

“Never mind. You go ahead and put my money where you think best. I trust you, Rupert. You’ve never steered me wrong.”

“Thank you, Chase. But I’m not crazy about doing so much without your input.”

“I know about fast cars and women, old man. You have a question about either one, I’m the guy you come to.”

“Amusing. Very amusing.”

“You take care, Rupert. And, for God’s sake, propose to my mother already, would you?” Chase smiled as he heard the sputtering on the other end of the line. He decided to do Rupert a favor and hung up.

Cars and women. He’d said that last night, hadn’t he? It was true. He’d put restrictions on his life just like his mother had put restrictions on hers. No wonder they clashed. They were too much alike.

He got up and went to the window. He liked to watch Manhattan wake up. His suite was on the top floor of the Four Seasons hotel, and he stayed here every time he came to New York. They knew him here, and they made sure he was comfortable. It was easier this way. Maids, room service, desk clerks. That’s what he was used to. He had a place just like it at the George V in Paris, and another at the Chateau Marmont in L.A.

His gaze moved to the park. He loved it there, with all the kids on roller blades and the pigeons and the women with their strollers. Central Park always made him feel better, regardless of the season. Some of his favorite walks had been in the snow among the naked branches.

As he stared at the blanket of trees, ripe green at the height of summer, he thought about Jamie. He’d decided last night to call off the ridiculous stunt. He didn’t need the aggravation, or the publicity. Sure Jamie was hot, but there were a million hot women in the city. He would call her today and tell her. She’d be relieved. He would be, too. Although, there was one thing he’d regret. He wanted to understand why he scared her so. Animals and children liked him. So what was she afraid of?

Such a paradox. The way she spoke was at complete odds with the way she looked. In fact, she was full of contradictions, and that certainly had its appeal. He enjoyed peeling back the layers. Not his own, mind you. But an interesting woman—that was something to be grateful for.

Those eyes of hers. One minute, radiating confidence enough to take on the world. The next, as frightened as those of a little mouse. Which was it? It occurred to him that he wanted to find out.

So okay, maybe he wouldn’t call her. Maybe he’d go in person. She’d probably be up by now, right?

JAMIE STRUGGLED OUT of her dream and realized the banging she heard wasn’t a demented jailor pounding on her cage, but someone knocking on her door. She glanced at the alarm clock on her nightstand. Eleven-fifteen. Odd, she never slept in. Her routine was to finish up her show at eleven, be home just after midnight, in bed by one, and then up at nine the next morning.

Another round of knocking spurred her out of bed. She padded across her wooden floor from the bedroom to the living room, then to the door with its five locks. Up on tiptoes, she looked through the peephole.

No one was there. That was weird. She undid each of the locks, poked her head outside the door. Nope. The hallway was empty. Had it been her nightmare? Her dream about being locked into something from which she couldn’t escape had obvious connections to real life. She’d think about that later. Right now, her mind was on other urgent business. She closed the door and locked the dead bolt, then scurried to the bathroom.

Just as she was lifting her mouthwash to gargle, she heard the knocking again. She wiped her mouth with the back of her arm, then returned to the front door. This time when she looked through the peephole, the hallway wasn’t empty.

Her heart thudded as she recognized the man standing at her door. Oh, God. What in heaven’s name… He wasn’t supposed to be here. She rocked back on her heels and ran her hand through her hair, which, thank you, made her look more like a porcupine than a person when she first got out of bed. To say nothing of her caked eye makeup, or the nightshirt that may have been snazzy back in 1994 but had gone straight downhill after that Laundromat incident in college.

She wouldn’t answer. She didn’t have to. He should have called. Because there was no time to shower, let alone buy a new outfit.

He knocked again. Then just as she thought he was leaving, she heard voices and she cringed. What if he knew she was here? That she was completely undone by his presence?

She lifted herself to peephole level again. Mr. Wojewodka, the super, stood next to Chase. He had out his master key chain. The thing was monstrous, and when hooked, it pulled his belt and his pants down a good inch. Why was he searching through them now? Mr. Wojewodka was always harping on her to lock her doors, to carry pepper spray, to call him if she was ever in trouble. And now—

With a familiar squeal, the key entered the door. He was letting Chase into her apartment!

She’d never make it to the bedroom. Was the living room clean? No. Not important. Hiding was more important. Oh, God, the closest hiding place was the closet, and she made it there in two seconds flat. After a few more spent flailing about the knob, she pulled the door closed behind her. She forced herself to stand perfectly still, even though she was shaking with adrenaline, and listen as the two men entered her living room.

“She’s a good kid,” Wojewodka said in his thick Polish accent. “Gives me no trouble.”

“Not even with her men friends?”

“What men friends? The girl is like a monk. She doesn’t see anyone, except her crazy brother.”

“Really?”

Jamie rested her forehead on the cool wood of the door as she plotted ways to kill her superintendent and Chase Newman. If she couldn’t kill them, she’d sue their tails off. Talk about invasion of privacy! Or breaking and entering. Yeah. That was worse. But she didn’t think they did any breaking. Just entering. Was entering against the law? Had to be.

“I really appreciate this, Max,” Chase said. “I didn’t like the idea of leaving this outside.”

“I just hope she doesn’t get mad at me.”

“She won’t.”

Like hell. Jamie hadn’t noticed Chase carrying anything. What was he leaving? She tried to see through the crack between the door and the frame, but that was useless. Maybe if she could get higher. She reached for the doorknob to get some balance, but even on tiptoes she couldn’t see squat.

She gripped the knob with her hand as she flattened her feet, noticing something as she did so. A big, scary lump formed in her chest. The knob hadn’t budged. She closed her eyes and said a short prayer, then she wiggled it. The knob didn’t wiggle. It didn’t do a damn thing.

Locked. How? Why? No, no, no. This wasn’t funny. Wait. There had to be a way to unlock it, right? She ran her hand under the knob, over the wood, her movements growing faster as the repercussions hit her. No, no, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. She’d be trapped. Better trapped than caught by Newman, though. The thought of how she’d look set her cheeks on fire.

Wait a minute. Maybe she should let him set her free. Then he’d have to explain what he was doing entering her apartment. But first, she’d have to explain what she was doing in her closet. Or would she? A person had a right to be in her own closet.

She lifted her hand to knock, then let it drop again.

“That’s a big box,” the super said.

“Yep.”

“You gonna tell me what’s in it?”

“Nope.”

So Chase hadn’t been putting on an act last night. He really did talk like Gary Cooper.

“I get it,” Mr. Wojewodka said. “It’s a surprise.”

“Right.”

Footsteps, followed by a creak of the front door. They were leaving. If she didn’t do something now, she’d be locked in here for who knows how long—which would have been okay if only she hadn’t decided to brush her teeth before taking care of her…other business in the bathroom this morning. Clenching her teeth and vowing revenge, she knocked on the closet door.

“Did you hear something?”

She didn’t hear a response. Mr. Wojewodka must have shaken his head.

She knocked again, louder this time, cursing Chase, Darlene Whittaker, Fred Holt and everyone else connected to this malarky.

“Wait a minute.” That was Chase’s voice. “It’s coming from the closet.”

“Nah, couldn’t be.”

“Just hold on.”

His boots sounded terribly loud on her floor. It was like listening to the firing squad take their positions. She wished like crazy that she’d at least had time to brush her hair.

He pulled on the door, unlocked it, pulled again—and this time the door swung open. She crossed her arms over her chest.

Chase looked at her with a completely calm face, as if finding her in the closet was the most normal thing in the world. But after a few seconds his head tilted slightly to the right. “Are you trying to tell me you’re gay?”

“No, I’m not.” She stepped around him, making sure they didn’t touch. Wondering if anyone had ever died of embarrassment. Perhaps she would be the first.

“I mean, if you are gay, that’s all right.”

“I’m not gay,” she said, not daring to look at him.

“Ah. So actually being in the closet wasn’t symbolic or anything.”

“No. I was…” She cast about for an explanation, any explanation. “I was looking for my cat.”

“You got a cat?” Mr. Wojewodka asked.

She whirled around to find the building superintendent at the front door. Great. A witness to her humiliation. It would be all over the building by rush hour.

“Did I say cat? I meant hat. I was looking for my hat.”

Mr. Wojewodka looked at Chase. Chase looked back.

“Which,” she said, raising her voice, “is completely beside the point. Care to tell me why you broke into my apartment?”

“I didn’t.” Chase nodded at Max. “He was nice enough to let me in.”

She frowned. “Why on earth would he do that?”

“Because I didn’t want to leave that outside.”

She turned to where he pointed—to a long, gold box perched on her couch. Flowers. It had to be. Because what else would be in a flower box?

Quelling her urge to race over and rip off the top of the box, she faced Chase again. “Sometimes when a person doesn’t answer the door, there’s a reason.”

“Right. I should have figured you were locked in the closet.”

“I wasn’t.”

His right brow rose.

“It doesn’t matter where I was, or what I was doing. My home should be private.” She marched over to the door and Max, her bare feet slapping on the hard wood. “Mr. Wojewodka, I’m surprised at you.”

He had the decency to look embarrassed as he leaned toward her. “Do you know who he is?”

“Yes, I do. Do you?”

“Yeah, sure. He’s the top-seeded race-car driver in America. In the world.”

“And this makes him able to enter any apartment he wishes?”

“He was your friend. I did him a favor.”

“He’s not my friend.”

“Right,” Chase agreed. “I’m just supposed to seduce her. That’s all.”

Jamie winced. “About that…”

Chase moved over to the couch. It was a normal couch, but when he sat down it looked very small. She’d gotten it at an estate sale four years ago, along with the matching wing chair. She’d had them reupholstered in a cheery floral print, which Chase’s presence also changed. She’d never realized the material was so feminine.

“About last night—” she continued.

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“What? I wasn’t going to.”

“Oh, okay.” He smiled at her, and his teeth were slightly crooked, which for some reason made him even sexier. His eyes were perfect and so was his hair and his chest. The fact that his nose was a little crooked didn’t detract from his face. On the contrary, like the small flaw of his teeth, it made him look more ruggedly handsome than if it had been straight.

“What do you mean, apologize?”

“Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does.”

“I just figured, with you being in that bind and with me volunteering to help you out…”

“I wasn’t the one who asked you to play this game. That was Whittaker, remember?”

He nodded. “She would have done it, you know.”

“Done what?”

“She would have smeared your reputation, made sure there was plenty of bad press about you. She doesn’t much care for you.”

Jamie’s hands fell to her sides. “Why? I never did anything to her.”

“Don’t tell me you don’t get it. You’re too smart to play dumb.”

“Oh, you think she hates me because I’m successful? Because people listen to me?”

“That. And the other.”

She wasn’t about to ask what he meant. This whole conversation was going poorly, and the smart thing to do would be to stop right here, right now, and get Chase and his number-one fan the hell out of here.

She put her hands on her hips and opened her mouth to tell him to leave, but before the words came out, his gaze moved from her face to her chest. As he blatantly stared, his face changed. He smiled. Devilish, wicked, hungry. She felt her nipples harden and poke at her flimsy T-shirt.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice low and seductive.

She turned away, crossing her arms once more. “Please leave. And take the box with you.”

Max stepped outside the door, leaving her with Chase. She wanted him gone, too, even as his compliment swirled inside her head. He thought she was beautiful. It wasn’t that she saw herself as ugly…but beautiful? That wasn’t what mattered about her. She was smart, and she was ambitious, and she was able to talk to people. She’d never gone after beauty. Oh, she’d had compliments before, but as her mother was so fond of saying, beauty was the shallow refuge of incompetence.

He came up behind her, and her heart beat so hard she thought it might burst. When his hand touched her shoulder, her knees weakened and she forgot how to breathe.

It was nuts. Crazy. Why was she feeling like this? Chase was just a man. No big deal.

He turned her around until she faced him. Her arms were still covering her breasts, but from the way he looked at her, it was too little, too late. He’d seen her reaction. She closed her eyes.

“Jamie.”

She shook her head. “Please, go.”

“Jamie, look at me.”

She didn’t want to. But she couldn’t help it. Her eyes opened to find him closer still, close enough for her to see the gold in his dark brown eyes.

“I was going to call it off,” he whispered. “Then I started thinking about you. By the time I got here, I’d changed my mind.”

“Why?”

He smiled, and her tummy got tight with a wave of desire. “There’s something about you.”

“What?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know yet. I’ll tell you when I find out.”

“You don’t have to. The hell with Whittaker and her magazine. I don’t care what she says about me.”

“Neither do I. But I do want to spend the next two weeks getting to know you, magazine or no magazine.”

“I don’t see why. You’re a big-shot racing guy. You date movie stars. You live a different kind of life than me. Frankly, I’d bore you silly.”

“You let me be the judge of that.”

“What if I don’t want to see you?”

He leaned forward until their lips almost touched, pausing for an instant, and then he captured her lower lip between his front teeth. A second later, he let her go, only to steal her breath with a kiss, his soft lips on hers, his tongue teasing her mouth open. Her eyes fluttered closed and her arms moved from her chest to his back. With gentle pressure, he rubbed his chest against hers, sweeping against her nipples. Pleasure and heat flowed from her breasts down to her stomach, and then lower still. She squeezed her thigh muscles, but the feeling didn’t go away.

He did something terribly wicked with his tongue, thrusting it inside her, then pulling back, as if showing her what he wanted to do to her body. Goose bumps covered her flesh as vivid pictures came to mind. Him, naked—oh lordy—thrusting into her, making her scream.

She whimpered. He moved his lips from her mouth to her ear. “I’m going to explore every inch of you, Jamie,” he whispered, his hot breath making her shiver. “I’m going to know you better than you know yourself. And I’m going to give you pleasure you’ve never even dreamed of.”

Then he stepped away, and, before she could catch her breath, she heard the front door close.

When she got it together enough to walk, she went to the couch and took off the top of the gold box. Two dozen red roses were flared beautifully, the long stems stripped of any thorns. She picked up the small card lying to the side of the flowers: “Dear Jamie, I dreamed about us. You had roses. See you tonight, Chase.”

She picked up the box and brought it to her face so she could smell the flowers. His scent lingered, despite the sweet aroma of the gift. She could still feel his hard chest, his big hands, his soft, talented mouth.

Oh boy. She was in trouble. Bad trouble. She headed for the kitchen and a vase. Her first flowers, ever. And they were from a man who was from a completely foreign world, a man with enough experience to host his own radio sex show.

She put the box on the counter and stared out her window. The view from here sucked. It was just another building. And when she looked down, all she saw was a walkway where no one ever walked.

She couldn’t let him into her life, not even for a moment. He was dangerous. He did scary things to her body. To her mind. Given even the slightest opportunity, he’d find out. Even if he never touched her down there, he’d know. He’d see it in her eyes, feel it when she trembled in his arms. And if he found out—the rest of the world would find out, and where would she be then?

No one had ever given her roses before. Because no one had ever been close enough before. She’d been busy with school, with the radio show. She’d never dreamed things would happen so quickly for her, or so publicly. But they had, and here she was.

Whittaker was right. She was a fraud. The honorable thing to do would be to quit. But that would kill her. She’d never loved anything the way she loved her show, loved its callers. And she knew she was helping. Honestly.

There was just the one problem, the one that could ruin everything if it ever got out. The fact that she was, at the ripe old age of twenty-six, a virgin.