Читать книгу Wicked & Willing - Leslie Kelly - Страница 9

OF COURSE? CERTAIN? TRUE?

Venus wanted to strangle Leo Gallagher. So much for his assurances that this would just be a “visit” to see if it was “possible” she could be the person he claimed she was. He’d obviously presented it to the old man as a done deal.

Well, it wasn’t a done deal, not in her book. Five grand or no five grand, she’d never agreed to outright lie.

“Actually, my name’s Venus,” she said, hearing an edge in her own voice. She shot Leo an angry look before turning her full attention to Max Longotti. “Venus Messina.”

The old man, with a thick head of brilliant white hair and piercing gray eyes, met her unflinching stare. “Messina. I see. How old are you, Ms. Messina?”

“That’s a nice way to start a conversation with a woman,” she tossed off, still annoyed at being manipulated. “You gonna ask me my bra size next?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Leo wince, then draw his brow into a frown. He’d warned her to be discreet.

Not a good start. Especially since if it weren’t for her really keen sense of hearing, she would have been caught making out with the hired help three minutes ago.

“I’m not so old that I can’t make a fair guess at that,” the old gentleman said, his tone droll and amused.

Venus chuckled. Score one for Grandpa.

Beside Leo, Troy watched silently. He leaned casually against the balcony railing, arms crossed in front of his chest, absorbing every word they said. The bright sunlight cast bits of gold on his dark brown hair, and she was again struck by the sheer handsomeness of the man. Amazing to look at, and hands down the best kisser she’d ever known. Her lips and tongue still tingled.

As if he read her thoughts, he met her eye and smiled slightly. We have a secret, don’t we? his smile seemed to say.

She wondered what he must think of this whole thing. It seemed like science fiction even to her.

“Now,” Max Longotti continued softly, “will you please tell me exactly when you were born, young lady?”

She rattled off her birth date, hating to admit being almost thirty in front of Troy. Not that it mattered, she reminded herself. Before that unreal kiss, she’d decided he was off-limits. And after it, well, he’d still be off-limits…after she got at least one more kiss from the man…or two…or…

Max nodded. “And you say your father was actually my son?”

“I didn’t say jack,” she retorted, dragging her attention away from the hottie with the intense look on his face. “Since I never laid eyes on my father, he coulda been Jimmy Hoffa for all I know.” She gestured toward Leo. “But your nephew here seems to think it’s possible.”

Leo’s subsequent frown would have scared small children.

“Maybe I should excuse myself,” Troy finally said. “This appears to be a family matter.”

“Yes,” Leo began.

“No,” Max Longotti insisted. “An outsider’s viewpoint might be useful here.” He turned back to Venus. “I know what my nephew thinks. I want to know what you think, Ms. Messina.”

Sensing her answer was very important to the man, who suddenly appeared a little less strong and sure than he had at first, she admitted, “I suppose it’s possible. Stranger things have happened. I mean, who’d have ever thought fat-free potato chips would actually not taste like cardboard?”

She saw Troy’s lips curve slightly.

“But you personally don’t think it’s true. You don’t believe my nephew’s claims,” the old man prodded.

Leo touched his uncle’s arm. “Max, the evidence…”

Max ignored him. “What happened to your mother?”

“She died when I was eight.”

“Then who raised you?”

“I was lucky enough to be placed in a really good foster home. My foster mother raised me until I left home at eighteen.”

“Your mother had no family?”

Venus shrugged. “None who wanted me.”

She didn’t glance at Troy, not wanting to see a look of pity on his face. She’d never pitied herself, and she’d damn sure never wanted it from anybody else. Especially not a man with whom she was in serious lust.

“So, judging by your birth date, it is very likely you were conceived during the weeks my son spent in New York. If he was, indeed, your father, your parents’ relationship would have to have been a very…brief one.”

She tensed, waiting for him to make one crack about her mother’s morals. Venus might not know much about her biological father, but she’d adored her always-smiling mother until Trina had drawn her last breath. If this stranger spoke one negative word about her, Venus would be out the door so fast he’d think she’d fallen off the balcony.

He didn’t. “So it is possible that your mother never knew my son by any other name than the one he adopted for the stage.”

“There’s that word again…possible,” Venus said, surprised at the relief flowing through her veins just because the old man hadn’t passed judgment on her mother.

He continued softly, talking almost to himself. “And it’s also possible she had difficulty reaching him to tell him about you. She must have been desperate.” He glanced at the sky, continuing to formulate his theory aloud. “Perhaps she sent your picture, with the name Violet on the back, to a club in Los Angeles. The letter might have had only his stage name on it. It could have taken a long time for it to catch up to him.” He returned his gaze to Venus. “But when he did receive it, it changed everything. He was coming back.”

“More could haves and might haves,” she insisted, knowing the man was speculating. She still couldn’t bring herself to believe this scenario. It was too farfetched. Too coincidental.

Too damned heartbreaking.

Venus didn’t want to believe her father had died within days…maybe hours…of finding out about her. She didn’t want to think of her mother—who’d said she’d fallen ass over elbows in love with the man when they’d bickered over a cab in the rain—wasting the last eight years of her life waiting for someone who was already long gone. She couldn’t bear to think of Trina pining for a man who’d gotten her message, planned to come back to them…and then died before ever being able to do so.

No, the whole thing was too sad. And Venus wasn’t into sad.

Feeling moisture in her eyes, she swung around, turning her back to the three men. She stared out at the sky, blinking rapidly, groping for control. Then, she felt a hand on her shoulder, a supportive squeeze, a tender offer of reassurance.

Turning her head, she saw Troy standing there. He didn’t say anything, didn’t offer trite, nurturing words. He just let her know she wasn’t alone, with a small nod and a look of intense concern on his face. She took a deep breath, sucking up his silently offered strength. Then, crossing her arms in front of her chest, she faced Max again. “Let me ask you something now.”

He waited expectantly.

“If all this is true—and I think that’s a big humongous if—why’d it take almost thirty years to find me?”

Max glanced at Leo. “My nephew apparently thought of something I never did all those years ago. We assumed Max, my son, had been involved with someone in California. We focused our search efforts there. And, of course, we used his real name.”

Leo smiled. She thought he was going for self-deprecating, but his expression looked self-congratulatory instead. “I’m so sorry I didn’t think of the possibility of him meeting someone in New York long ago. Nor of having a private investigator search birth records in the northeast to see if Max Longotti or Matt Messina turned up as a father during that time.”

She immediately latched on to his words. “Birth records. So you have seen a copy of my birth certificate?”

Leo’s jovial expression never faltered. “No, I left it in the hands of the investigator. He is the one who obtained those records, then tracked you down. I simply utilized the address he provided.”

Smooth. Reasonable. But she didn’t completely buy it.

“Is he going to send you those records?”

A slight narrowing of his eyes indicated his annoyance. “I’m sure I’ll receive them now that the case is concluded.”

Wanting to gauge the man’s reaction, Venus said, “My foster mother said she does have some paperwork, after all. She’s digging it out and mailing it to my home in Baltimore.”

Leo stared at her for a moment, then his smile thinned. “Good.”

Troy, who’d been standing quietly for several moments, cleared his throat.

“You have something to contribute, Troy?” Max asked.

Troy raised a brow. “It seems you’re at an impasse,” he offered. “You may discuss dates, pseudonyms and birth certificates all afternoon and never come to an agreement.”

He sounded like a businessman brokering a big deal. Venus almost rolled her eyes, wondering where the flirty hunk who’d kissed her until she was brainless and limp had gotten to.

“Wouldn’t it be simpler to just conduct a DNA test?” he finally concluded.

“I’ve already thought of that,” Leo interjected. He touched his uncle’s arm. “Of course, knowing your mistrust of newfangled science, I made sure to contact one of the experts in the field. When I hear back from him, we’ll bring him to Atlanta and have him conduct the test.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Max agreed. He raised a quivering hand to his brow, looking out of sorts. “Splendid. That’s much more conclusive than any birth records, which aren’t entirely reliable. DNA. Marvelous thing.”

DNA tests? Conclusive proof? Things were going too fast for Venus’s taste. She hadn’t decided if she liked this old guy, and she definitely hadn’t decided if she even wanted to know the truth!

She cocked her head and raised her hand, wiggling her fingers in a little wave. “Hello? Anybody going to ask me if I’m willing to roll up my sleeve and let some stranger poke needles into me? What if I don’t particularly like needles?”

“Actually, I think they swab your cheek,” Troy explained.

She shot him a glare that told him to mind his own business. “Oh, you’ve undergone these tests before? Have lots of potential illegitimate junior executives running around out there, do you?”

As he stiffened, Venus cursed her quick temper and sarcasm. Troy had only been trying to help, after all.

Her barb had obviously angered him. His eyes narrowed. “You don’t seem very anxious to confirm your claim, Ms. Messina.”

“It’s not my claim.”

“Perhaps not,” he admitted. “Or perhaps you want Max to think you don’t believe it. Throwing your arms around him and calling him Grandpa might have made him suspect your motives. This insistence that you’re not may make him more sympathetic.” He stepped closer, until the tips of his shoes almost touched her toes. She forced herself to stay still, so close to him she could smell his warm cologne and see the beating of his pulse in his neck. She could think of nothing except the way his mouth had tasted against hers, just minutes before.

“And generous,” he finally concluded.

Venus didn’t follow at first. She was too focused on her instinctive reaction to him. The heat radiating from his body, the coiled strength concealed beneath the conservative suit. And, unfortunately, the absence of the warm, tender concern that had been in his eyes just minutes before.

“Generous?” she asked, hearing the breathiness in her voice.

“I wonder what your motives were in coming to Atlanta,” he said softly, as if merely speculating aloud. “They didn’t have anything to do with money, did they?”

Money? He thought she’d come here to try to scam money off the old man? She was about to tell him to take a flying leap off the balcony when she remembered she had been paid—and paid well—to take this trip. She swallowed her angry words and lowered her eyes, her whole body stiffening as she acknowledged the partial truth of his accusation. He made a sound that could have been a sigh, then stepped away from her.

“Mr. Longotti,” she said, turning her back on the annoyingly handsome man who suddenly had such a low opinion of her, “I’m being straight with you here. I don’t think I’m who your nephew says I am. I don’t even know if I want to be, if you can dig that.” She shot a look over her shoulder at Troy, who still watched with suspicion and distrust. “But I am willing to talk to you about it some more. And, perhaps, to consider a test if we both decide it’s what we want.”

The elderly gentleman blinked, then stared at her, his gaze looking sharper and more direct. He seemed to be looking for something in her eyes, a gauge of her honesty, perhaps? Or some reminder of the son he’d lost? Finally he nodded. “Agreed.”

“Yes, excellent. These things do take time,” Leo murmured, holding his elderly uncle by the arm. “Uncle Max, you look very pale. Perhaps we should go now?”

“I’m fine,” he snapped. “I want to visit with my…with Ms. Messina here.”

“But your doctor’s appointment,” Leo continued. “You said you were supposed to see the doctor this afternoon.”

“Oh, yes,” he murmured. “I’d forgotten. That’s what I was planning to do until you almost shocked me into a heart attack with this news.” Max frowned at his nephew. “I can reschedule. I want to get her settled in at home.”

“I can take Ms. Messina over,” Troy interjected. “Max, you go keep your appointment, then head home and meet us there. I think it might be good for everyone to have a little while alone before any further conversation, don’t you?”

He shot Venus a look daring her to disagree. Not that she would. She wanted to be alone, to reconsider just what she’d gotten herself into here. Things suddenly didn’t seem as simple as they had this morning, when she’d thought she’d take advantage of a paid vacation in the south.

More than ever, she thought Leo Gallagher was up to no good. It looked like he planned to use her for whatever it was he wanted. The way he’d presented her to his uncle—so unlike how they’d agreed—was a clear indication he couldn’t be trusted.

For the first time in ages—probably since she’d first been taken into custody by the state, been told that her mother’s distant family didn’t want her and that she had to go to a foster home—Venus began to feel very alone. In Baltimore, at least, she had friends—Lacey, Uncle Joe and many others. She was completely comfortable in her world, even if that world consisted only of her apartment, her cat and Flanagan’s. There were a dozen people there she could call if she needed help…or just a sympathetic ear.

Here, though, she had only three men, three near strangers. Leo, who apparently wanted to use her. Max, who likely wanted her to be someone she was not. And Troy, a man she was incredibly attracted to, but couldn’t have. A man whose kiss had made every thought flee her brain and made her body willing to do absolutely anything so long as he kept touching her. A man who, at this moment, wasn’t too impressed with her.

That knowledge, more than anything, made her stomach knot and her body tense. She had a sinking feeling Troy was going to be the most difficult situation of all.

TROY WAS GLAD to get Max Longotti and his undoubtedly scheming nephew out the door. He wanted to be alone with Ms. Venus Messina, or whatever her name was. He had a few things to say to her. A few things to get straight.

The woman was easy to read, almost an open book. She wore her feelings on her face, and was obviously ruled by her emotions, as many passionate people were. As an observer, a thinker, Troy had long ago learned to pay attention to other people’s expressions and body language. He gauged reactions of others before deciding on his own actions.

Hers—when he’d confronted her about the issue of money—had been damning. Troy couldn’t shake the strong feeling of disappointment he’d felt when he’d seen a flash of guilt in her eyes. She hadn’t been able to meet his stare for more than ten seconds. Her shoulders had stiffened and her lush bottom lip had disappeared as she sucked it into her mouth in dismay.

Yes, money definitely had something to do with Venus being in Atlanta.

And no matter how much he wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her again, he knew he couldn’t do it. Maybe the old Troy wouldn’t have given a damn if he’d gone to bed with a thief or a liar. This Troy did. As much as he wanted her—really wanted her—he wasn’t going anywhere near the redhead until he figured out what the hell she was up to.

Troy remained silent as they exited the building. Good manners dictated that he hold the door for her, and the sight of her folding her long legs into his low-slung sports car hit him in the gut with the intensity of a punch. Five more minutes on that balcony and he might have felt those legs wrapped around him.

Enough. More than likely, the woman was a con artist. Or else she was Max Longotti’s grandchild. Either way, she was off-limits. If she was Max’s granddaughter, having a hot affair with her would likely ruin his relationship with his new boss.

If she was up to no good with Max’s nephew, they could hurt the old man, whom Troy had grown to care about. Max reminded him of his own grandmother, Sophie, whose strict, controlled exterior hid someone fiercely loyal to family. Unlike Sophie, Max had no close family. With the exception of Leo, a few assorted cousins, and now this mysterious redhead, he had no one.

Given Leo’s attitude since Troy’s arrival in Atlanta, any plan would probably also involve the company. Meaning it involved Troy directly. He liked Longotti Lines and saw tremendous potential for a merger or an outright sale to his family.

Troy had been paying careful attention to a major merger that had taken place last year between a national retail chain and a popular outfitter catalog company. This current deal could have the same result, each firm benefiting by tapping into the other’s strengths. Longotti Lines was known for its southern-themed products for the tasteful home, but had all the standard problems with distribution and marketing as any mail-order business. Langtree’s was quickly becoming renowned as an upper-crust department store in south Florida, but wasn’t as far-reaching as it should be due to its geographic limitations.

A merger could be a perfect marriage. It could also be the perfect opportunity for Troy to bring something new and fresh to the Langtree family business. Since his father had returned to manage the stores, Troy wanted something of his own, something to take on and make successful. It wasn’t that anybody in his family expected him to prove anything to them, and he didn’t feel the need to. This was more a matter of proving something to himself.

He wanted this catalog acquisition to happen. And he wanted to make it a triumphant success for both companies. Because if he didn’t, he honestly didn’t know what he would do with his career.

After pulling out of the parking lot of the office building, he kept his eyes on the road, not on the sexy legs of the woman in the passenger seat. He had no intention of getting into an argument with her here in the close confines of his car. Hell, just the warm smell of her musky cologne was enough of a distraction—he didn’t want to kill them both in a wreck. They would have time to talk when they got back to Max’s estate up in Buckhead.

She, apparently, had no such reservations. “You’ve got a fat lot of nerve, mister,” she snapped.

He shot her a look out the corner of his eye. She was turned in the seat, facing him, arms crossed and steam practically coming out of her ears. “I beg your pardon?”

“You think I’m a con artist, don’t you?”

Focused on navigating the traffic-filled street, he shrugged. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to. Your attitude said it. You think I’m up to something, just because I’m not falling all over myself to get tests to prove I’m related to someone I haven’t even decided I want to be related to.”

“A very wealthy someone,” he replied easily, not allowing her to bait him into raising his voice.

“All the more reason for me to not want to be here. Do you think I don’t know how out of place I am with the Max Longotti types? You think I intentionally want to throw myself to a pack of rich wolves who’d tear me apart because I don’t know a salad fork from a dessert fork?”

“They’re interchangeable, unless they have distinct triangular points at the ends of the outmost tines,” he explained, not even thinking about it. “Then it’s a salad fork.”

Silence. He glanced at her, seeing her staring at him as if he had two heads. “Gag me,” she finally muttered.

Troy bit his lip to hide a grin, entertained again by her forthright personality. He couldn’t make sense of the woman, who outwardly appeared very open and sometimes shockingly honest. That just didn’t gel with the image of a deceptive con artist.

They rode in silence for a few minutes. Then, stopping at a traffic signal, he finally turned to meet her stare, forcing himself to focus on what she was up to, not the way she looked—not the pale curve of her cheek, the fullness of her lips or that tantalizing hollow in her throat.

He stiffened, mentally ordering his body to stop reacting to her when his mind didn’t trust her one bit. “You must admit, money is a large motivation for a lot of things, Ms. Messina.”

She held his eye, not turning away or blushing. “I’m not after Max Longotti’s money, Mr…. Vice President!”

Her reaction was different than when the money issue had come up before. So either he’d misread her earlier, or else she’d better prepared herself to answer the question. He honestly couldn’t say which he believed more. “My last name is Langtree.”

She snorted. “Figures.”

He was almost afraid to ask. “Why?”

“Because it sounds rich and uptight. Like you.”

“I didn’t seem too uptight for you up on that balcony when we met,” he said softly, daring her to disagree.

“No, then you were oily and pompous.”

He couldn’t prevent a small laugh from spilling across his lips. The woman was damned stubborn and fiery as hell. Surprisingly, he found himself liking the combination, even when she was hurling insults at his head. “So,” he asked, “which was I when we kissed? Uptight, oily or pompous?”