Читать книгу The Foreigner's Caress - Kim Shaw - Страница 7

The abrupt flash of a photographer’s camera snatched Madison and Steve from their private thoughts, bringing them back to the crowded roomful of people, music and laughter. Before either could react, they found themselves flanked on either side by reporters and cameras.

“Madison Daniels, rumor has it that now that Felicia Worthington has withdrawn the divorce papers, you and Edward Worthington have taken it as a license to resume your relationship. Care to comment?”

Madison’s eyes were trained on the smiling, fire-enginered lipsticked mouth of the reporter who was thrusting a black microphone into her face, almost touching her nose with it.

“Wha-what?” she stuttered, unable to compose herself.

“Hey, what’s going on here? Get that thing out of her face.”

“So, Madison, does Edward Worthington know that you’ve taken up with Stevenson Elliott, son of the billionaire Gregory Elliott? Isn’t he a little young for your tastes?” the reporter persisted, her mouth twisted into a nasty sneer.

The light from the camera pointed at her by the cameraman was bright, illuminating her and the bewildered Steve. The scene quickly drew the attention of the entire room of well-appointed people.

“What are you talking about? I’m not in contact with Edward Worthington and I don’t know anything about him and his wife,” Madison stammered.

The reporter was poised to ask another question when, with the same swiftness as the woman and her crew had descended, security approached what had now turned into a melee of sorts. The band had stopped playing and every eye in the room was trained on the center of the dance floor. Steve roughly shoved the microphone away from Madison, causing the reporter to stumble backward, nearly losing her balance. The cameraman moved in, lowering his camera to his side, and Steve challenged him to make a move. The reporter stayed her guy with a hand on his arm, while Steve’s fist remained tightly balled at his side. He draped an arm protectively around the speechless Madison, and as security harshly removed the reporter and the two cameramen, Steve began moving her away from the action.

Joseph Daniels approached, yelling at either the security guards or the reporters or both; it was unclear. He followed the group out into the lobby area, his outrage at the press’ insinuation into his daughter’s privacy apparent. Steve kept his arm around Madison and was steering her in the opposite direction of security, the press and her father when his own parents intercepted them.

“Stevenson, it’s time for us to leave,” Gregory Elliott said sternly, approaching from behind them.

Steve whirled around. “Dad, I—”

“Now, Stevenson.”

Gregory Elliott was a couple of inches shorter than his son, his portly belly and balding head of graying hair indicative of his approach to middle age. Yet he had a power and a commanding nature that not many people would dare to defy.

“Dad, I’d like you to meet Madison Daniels,” Steve insisted, looking his father squarely in the face.

Reluctantly, Gregory pulled his gaze from his son, turning toward Madison for the first time. His eyes bored into her, taking her in from head to toe and back to head again.

“Ms. Daniels,” he said, by way of a greeting, his head nodding slightly.

“Mom, this is Madison,” Steve said, turning to his mother, who had just joined their circle.

“Young lady,” Janice Elliott said with her face set in a hard mask.

The ensuing chill in the air was noticeable, although the room itself was quite warm. Madison, who was slowly coming back to herself after the shock of the confrontation with the press, found her tongue again.

“Mr. and Mrs. Elliott, it is my pleasure meeting you.”

She did not wait for a response, but merely turned to focus her attention on Steve. “Steve, thank you for your help. It was very nice meeting you as well. Take care.”

With that she spun in a half circle, stepping out of Steve’s embrace. She moved quickly away from the trio, her head high and a no-nonsense swagger in her hips. She heard Steve call after her, although she pretended not to. Outside the ballroom, Madison encountered her father with the hall’s manager, who was apologizing profusely for his security having allowed the press to sneak into the affair. It turned out that the individuals were from one of the sleazy gossip rags and had managed to create a diversion outside to enable them to slip past the security guard when he was pulled away from the door.

“Dad, I’m going home,” Madison said as he approached, his face distorted with concern.

“Maddie, are you all right, dear?”

“Yes, Dad, I’m fine. I’m just going to go home and forget about this night,” Madison sighed.

“Why don’t I drive you home? I’ll have the valet get the rental and—”

“No, no, Dad. It’s okay. I’ll catch a taxi. You should get back in there with Mother. You know how she gets. I’ll stop by the hotel to see you guys Sunday afternoon before you leave, okay?”

Madison kissed her father brusquely on the cheek and moved past him, before he could protest.

Upon losing sight of Madison’s quickly retreating frame, Steve turned on his parents. “That was disgraceful. How could you guys be so rude to her—as if she’d done something to you?”

“No, son, what’s disgraceful is the scene this young lady just caused and, furthermore, pulled you into. How utterly embarrassing!” Gregory stormed.

“You don’t even know what happened,” Steve protested.

“We heard enough. Unless you’re going to tell me there’s been some sort of mistaken identity, that reporter indicated that that young lady has been caught up in some sort of sordid sex scandal. Judging from the overexposed manner in which she was dressed, I can’t say that I’m the least bit surprised. Now let’s go home.”

“I’ll catch up with you guys later,” Steve said.

With that he walked abruptly across the floor, very aware that his father had taken a few steps after him before his mother stopped him by squeezing his forearm.

Once on the street, the valet hailed a yellow taxi and within minutes of her departure from the hotel, Madison was safely ensconced in the backseat of the sedan. There was a line of departing cars ahead of them, all waiting to make their exit out onto the busy Manhattan street. She closed her eyes and ears to block out the cacophony of the world that existed outside her cab, tilting her head back against the seat as she willed the tension from her body. How long she would have to pay for the mistakes of her past she didn’t know. But what she did know was that she was tired of people looking at her as if she were damaged goods.

Her thoughts immediately traveled to Stevenson Elliott. He was one smooth operator, and there was a time in the not too distant past when she would have matched his charm and wit, tit for tat, and enjoyed every moment of it. Yet Madison realized that if she was serious about propelling her life into a direction that was far removed and decidedly different from the one it had been headed in, she could not jump to attention at the sight of every charming and good-looking man she met. Once upon a time, discretion had not been a word with which she maintained any level of familiarity, and this lack had cost her more than it had gained. If there was ever any hope of being seen for the person she truly was inside, she needed to lead a personal life that did not alert the media bloodhounds that seemed to be attracted to her like flies to cow manure.

A sudden sharp rap against the back window startled Madison. She sat upright in her seat, her eyes popping open. At first glance, all she could see was the black tuxedo jacket of a man, as the cab had resumed inching its way down the driveway toward the street. Suddenly, the body outside the taxi lowered itself and she was astonished to find the handsome face of the man she had just been willing herself not to think about smiling through the glass at her. She blinked, looked at him with a dumbfounded expression, yet made no other movement. He rapped on the window again, and then wiggled two fingers in an up-and-down motion, indicating that he wanted her to bring down the glass that separated them.

“Yes?” she asked as she pressed the lever just long enough to allow for a two-inch crack through which warm spring air brushed her forehead.

“I was wondering if we could share a cab. It’s quite busy out here,” Steve said.

“Share a cab to where?” she asked sardonically, her eyebrows a knot of genuine confusion.

“Well, I could have the driver drop you off first and then take me to my destination. Won’t you open the door or are you going to leave a poor stranded foreigner out in the cold?”

He smiled that scorching smile again, the one that could melt a frozen block of dry ice in zero-point-two seconds flat and leave it sizzling like bacon over an open flame.

“First of all,” she replied slowly, “it’s not the least bit cold out there.”

Steve’s mouth turned into a boyish pout, and that look was twice as deadly as his smile. Madison could not stop the laughter that bubbled up from her stomach and spilled from her lips. She clicked the lock and slid to her left to allow room.

“Boy, are all American woman as immovable as you?” Steve asked once he was securely inside the vehicle.

“Don’t start or you’ll be bounced back out of this taxi and onto the pavement so fast that your visitor’s visa will feel the shock!” Madison warned.

Steve held up two fingers in the peace sign, beaming warmly at her.

“I find it amazing that for such a little thing, you move very fast! I ran out after you and barely caught a glimpse of those beautiful legs as you slid into the taxi. Another five seconds and I would have missed you completely.”

“Steve, what do you want from me?” Madison asked.

The old Madison would have had something twice as coy and cultured to say, but at this point, as engaging as this tall, dark and handsome man was, she was not in the mood. After the outrage of her encounter with the press, the cold shoulder she’d received from Mr. and Mrs. Elliott and the enraged outburst of her father, she’d had enough for one night. She was tired and annoyed.

“Why do you automatically assume that I want something from you?”

“That’s because most men do want something, especially the wild ones who chase women out into the street.”

“Touché. Okay, I do want something from you. I’d like an hour of your company—just one hour to be spent over coffee perhaps. I’d like to talk to you and listen to you and have a mere sixty minutes more of the pleasure I find in being in your presence.”

Just when Madison had believed that at the age of twenty-five she had heard every line from every guy, had memorized the instruction manual of the quintessential player trying to play her and could never again be caught off guard by anything, Stevenson Elliott entered her taxi and threw her completely off balance. This was especially true because of the fact that somehow she instinctively knew that the words he had just spoken were authentic and not just those of a smooth-talking Mac dropping sweet lines to hook some fresh catch.