Читать книгу My Secret Life - Lori Wilde - Страница 8

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FOR MOST of his adult life, Liam James had been all about the job. Nothing mattered more to him than the real-estate company he’d built from the ground up and molded into a multimillion-dollar empire by the time he was thirty.

He loved his work and excelled in a crisis. It was the worrying beforehand and afterwards that did him in. He was always on the lookout for trouble. And in an odd way he was relieved when it came.

Troubleshooting was what he knew. Lack of trouble made him uneasy. Edgy anticipation. That was his true nemesis. It threw him off his game.

And he was feeling edgy tonight.

Especially since he was dressed in this ridiculous Pirates of the Caribbean, Jack Sparrow costume. By the time he’d made it over to the costume-rental place, this was the only disguise left in his size. He’d already spotted three other Jack Sparrows at the party. Apparently the costume-supply companies had gone overboard on the pirate theme this year.

“What the hell am I doing here?” he muttered under his breath, and scanned the collected crowd at the Ladies League charity masquerade party.

The expensively decorated ballroom was filled with ultrathin, cosmetically enhanced women and self-important, overfed rich men in lavish costumes. The kind of highbrow shindig Liam loathed.

The question was rhetorical. He already knew the answer.

He was here to get an up close and personal look at the man whose seed had spawned him. The man who’d never acknowledged him, nor sent his mother one penny of child support beyond the three hundred dollars he had thrown at her thirty-two years ago, when he’d told her to get an abortion.

That man was Boston’s incumbent mayor, Finn Delancy. Who was up for reelection and was pegged to win it by a landslide.

For years, Liam had imagined this meeting. The moment when he introduced himself and told him, “Thanks for nothing, you worthless son of a bitch. My mother and I made it fine without you. And FYI, blue blood or not, I can buy and sell your ass three times over.”

But now that he was here, and it was the moment of truth, Liam wasn’t sure exactly how to go about it.

The mayor wore a cowboy costume—ten gallon hat, spurs that jangled, leather chaps, the whole nine yards. He looked utterly foolish but that didn’t stop a bevy of beautiful young women from collecting around him like bargain shoppers to a fire sale.

According to Liam’s mother, Jeanine, Finn had more sexual charisma than Bill Clinton and JFK all rolled into one. He gritted his teeth and fisted his hands. Personally, he couldn’t see the appeal.

“Something the matter, boss?” asked Liam’s right-hand man, Tony Gregory. Tony was dressed as one of the band members from KISS and damn if he didn’t look seriously freaky. Not at all like his normal affable self. “You seem uptight.”

Liam gave a sharp shake of his head. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“So tell me again why I’m here?” Tony cocked his head and sent Liam an assessing gaze.

“My date and I decided it was better if we just stayed friends, so she’s not coming tonight. I had the extra ticket.” He couldn’t really call her his girlfriend. They’d only gone out a few times. “There’s no sense letting two hundred dollars go to waste.”

What he didn’t tell his most trusted confidant was that he badly needed moral support. Willingly admitting a weakness wasn’t something he did, not even to himself. He’d known Tony since their days at Harvard School of Business, but he’d never told him his deepest secret—that he was the bastard son of one of the most influential men in Boston high society.

“You lost another one?” Tony whistled. “Damn, and I really liked Brooke.”

“Don’t worry. We’re still friends.”

“What the hell do you do to chase off so many chicks? You’re rich, good-looking and you bathe regularly. Why don’t any of them stick around for more than a few dates? What gives?”

“I have a low tolerance for the frivolous,” Liam said, narrowing his eyes at Finn Delancy, who had just planted a kiss on the hand of a giggling starlet.

“You’re a workaholic is what you are, and women hate coming second to a man’s career.”

“True enough.”

“Did you like her?”

“Of course I liked her.”

“But you didn’t like her enough to make an effort to keep her?”

“We both realized we’re too much alike. And while Brooke is very pretty, there was no strong sexual spark between us. Plus, she told me she needed a man who could give her his undivided attention and I’m sorry—” he shrugged “—that’s not me. Work always comes first.”

Tony stared at him, mouth dropping open in amazement. “So…you’ve never been in love.”

Liam shifted his weight, crossed his arms over his chest. “What makes you say that?”

“When a woman gets under your skin fully and completely, then you’ll willingly give up everything to be with her.”

“Everything?”

“Everything.” Tony nodded sagely, his ebony KISS wig bobbing about his shoulders.

“If that’s your definition of love, then I’m glad I’ve never been there.”

“It’s how I feel about Jess. She’s the most important thing in the world to me,” he said, an ardent expression on his face. “Nothing comes before her. Ever.”

“Not even your job as my VP?”

“Nope.” Tony shook his head.

“You’re serious.”

“As a heart attack.”

“Still? Even after five years of marriage?”

“She fascinates me more each day. She’s my lover, my companion, my best friend.”

Liam snorted in disbelief. It was sad, but true. He’d never been in love, had never met any woman who fascinated him more than his work.

Although, he’d thought he was in love once, during his sophomore year in college, with Arianna Baxter, a high-society beauty. They’d been study partners, and he’d hoped for more but never had the courage to ask her out. Her family was so wealthy, and he was so poor. Then she’d invited him to a lavish sorority party and his hopes had soared. Except when he got there, he discovered the joke was on him. It was a “pauper party,” where the sorority sisters dared each other to bring the poorest, most socially unacceptable guy they could find. The kicker was that Arianna won first prize for bringing him.

“How come you keep staring at Mayor Delaney?” Tony asked.

“I’m thinking maybe I should go introduce myself to him.”

“He’ll just hit you up for a campaign contribution,” Tony remarked.

I’d love the chance to tell him where he could stick his request for money.

“He can ask. I don’t have to give it.”

Tony glanced over his shoulder at the mayor. “You’ve got your competition cut out for you, dude. Delancy’s surrounded.”

“Yeah, but I’ll figure it out. Get to schmoozing, Gregory. We’re here for the business contacts.”

“Actually, I came for the free food. Much as I love her, my Jess isn’t much of a cook.”

“So schmooze the buffet. I’ll catch up with you later,” Liam said, and then started across the crowded room, his glare beaded on the mayor.

The closer he got, the harder his heart thumped. This was the man who’d charmed Liam’s seventeen-year-old mother, bedded her, and then left her pregnant and heartbroken. He’d denied his paternity and waltzed glibly back to his wife. All the old resentment that had been seething in Liam since childhood fisted into a knot of pure hatred.

Revenge. The dish best served cold.

And he was about to dine.

Liam had the speech prepared. He had been practicing it over and over in his head for years. Waiting for the moment when his financial success eclipsed Finn Delancy’s. Waiting for the slam dunk. The one thing he’d never envisioned was giving his speech dressed as a pirate, but what the hell? It seemed fitting.

Every bigwig in Boston—not to mention a nice collection of reporters from the media—was in attendance at the party. His goal was to shame and embarrass the hell out of Delancy in the most public of forums.

And the Ladies League ball—the biggest charity event of the social season—definitely qualified. Determined to see this thing through, Liam reached for the document burning a hole in the back pocket of his black leather Jack Sparrow pants.

It was his birth certificate.

“Mayor Delancy,” Liam said and thrust himself through the circle of women surrounding his father.

Delancy swung his gaze around to fix on him. The man’s eyes were the same color of hazel as Liam’s own. They also shared the same jawline—strong, hard, resolute. “What can I do for you, son?”

Son.

The word hung in the air weighed with a meaning only Liam understood. But soon, very soon, Finn Delancy would understand it, as well, and so would his enamored constituents. What would they think of their illustrious leader then?

“For you,” Liam ground out, and thrust the folded birth certificate at Delancy. He had to clench his teeth to keep his emotions in check so that his hand wouldn’t tremble and give away his barely cloaked rage.

Delancy stared at him a moment, clearly confused. The celebutante at the mayor’s elbow tittered for no discernable reason. Liam stood there with the folded piece of paper held outstretched at arm’s length.

“Oh,” Delancy blinked. “Gotcha.”

The hell you do. I’m the one who’s got you.

Delancy reached in the front pocket of his cowboy vest. Going for his reading glasses? Liam guessed.

But the mayor did not extract a reading-glass case. Rather, he pulled out an expensive ballpoint pen and accepted the folded document.

“Turn around,” the mayor said.

“What?”

“Turn around?”

Liam was so surprised by the request he found himself complying and felt Delancy rest the birth certificate against his shoulder blade, using his back as a support while he scrawled something on the paper.

What the hell?

“Here you go,” Delancy said, proudly.

Liam turned back around, his shoulder tingling from the touch of the man he’d hated for more years than he could count. Delancy slapped the birth certificate into his palm as two burly bodyguards stepped forward.

“Mayor,” said bodyguard number one, “your limousine has arrived.”

“Excuse me.” Delancy flashed Liam an artificial smile. “I have another engagement.”

Bodyguard Number Two took the mayor by the elbow and led him away through the crowd. At the same time Bodyguard Number One gave his arm to the celebutante. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out with whom the mayor would be spending the rest of the evening.

Confused by what had just happened, Liam stared down at the folded birth certificate in his hand.

There, written in Delancy’s shaky scrawl were words that sent shame, anger, embarrassment and hatred shooting through Liam’s veins.

It’s always nice to meet a fan. Best wishes, Finn Delancy.

Liam’s lungs constricted, and he found it hard to breathe. His hand was trembling now from pure rage that no amount of teeth clenching could abate.

An autograph!

The low-life, egotistical, jackass had just autographed his illegitimate son’s birth certificate.

By the time Katie arrived at the Hightower mansion where this year’s Ladies League masquerade ball was being held, the crowd was at maximum capacity. Even in three-inch stilettos, she still had to stand on tiptoe to see above the costumed throng packed into the foyer and snaking out through the grand hallway.

Waiters squeezed through the mob, balancing silver trays laden with flutes of fizzy champagne. The music was so loud she could barely think, and the hum of hundreds of voices was even louder.

Where was Richard?

For one brief moment, she thought about going home, but then quickly reconsidered, recalling how much money she’d spent on this seduction. She reached for a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter and took a big swallow to ward off her building nervousness.

The decadently arousing song “Ooh La La” by the British group Goldfrapp came over the speakers, oozing glam sex with a throbbing bass. She found herself twitching her hips in time to the seductive tune and scanning the crowd for anyone she knew.

But the disguises had done their jobs. She recognized no one. Feeling giddy at the weirdness of all her friends looking like strangers, she finished off the champagne and set her empty glass on a nearby table.

Body tingling with taboo sensations, Katie winnowed around Spider-Man chatting up Cleopatra, slipped past Mickey Mantle talking about the New England Patriots with Elvis Presley and then put a hand to her waist-long auburn wig to make sure it was still on straight.

The eyeholes of the wide mask that covered more than half her face were too narrow and she was having problems seeing much of anything in her peripheral vision. It was stifling hot, even though there wasn’t much to her costume, with so many people sardined into the room.

She looked for a side exit. Maybe Richard had stepped outside for some fresh air. It might take her an hour to find him in this madhouse.

Disheartened, she settled her shoulder against the doorjamb leading into the room where the buffet was laid out. The next time another waiter circled in front of her, she reached for a second glass of champagne.

Could Richard have already left the party?

For the first time she noticed that men were brazenly staring at her. Lots of men, in fact.

Katie took a quick peak down at her costume. Good gosh. When she’d dressed so hurriedly at Sharper Designs she hadn’t realized exactly how low the neckline dipped. Her cleavage was practically spilling out of her dress.

Flustered, she crossed her arms over her chest and turned away from the buffet line, only to find more ogling men. She hurried into the ballroom, heart thumping with anxious excitement.

Apparently a French-maid was every man’s fantasy. She was accustomed to masculine attention, but not this intense. Men with cloaked identities lusting after her.

Where was Richard?

Tanisha was right. Pursuing Richard at the party was a bad idea. Go home.

“Don’t panic,” Katie muttered under her breath. “This is a costume party. They don’t recognize you any more than you recognize them.”

And then that’s when she saw him.

Mayor Delancy sweeping through the crowd with his bodyguards, headed toward the front door. Even in his cowboy costume it was impossible to miss the larger-than-life mayor.

But standing in the mayor’s wake was the man she’d been searching for. The very Caribbean pirate she’d come here to seduce.

Resentment pummeled Liam’s stomach like a heavyweight boxer finishing off his wobbly-kneed opponent. Reflexively, he curled his fist around the birth certificate autographed by his biological father. The desire to punch something was so strong he could taste it.

Raw, bitter, black.

For the last twelve years he’d worked toward this moment, worked and waited, and Delancy had pulled the rug right out from under him. What should he do now?

You’ll go at him again. You picked the wrong time, the wrong place, that’s all.

His mother had never wanted him to do this. She was happy now, married to a great guy and living on a farm in upstate New York. She thought he should just forget about Finn Delancy and be proud of everything he’d accomplished without his old man’s help.

But it wasn’t that simple for Liam. He couldn’t let it go. Anger twisted him up inside. The place was filled with privileged blue bloods, no doubt many of whom thought they could treat people any way they wanted and get away with it.

Liam blazed a hard gaze around the room. Frivolous, pampered rich people throwing silly costume parties. If they really wanted to give to charity, just write a check and don’t waste money on lavish celebrations.

You’re richer than most of them.

Yes, but he’d gotten his money the hard way. He’d earned every penny of it, not had it handed to him on a platinum platter.

Adrenaline, anger and frustration coursed through him. He needed to dissipate these feelings. Needed to get a firm grip on his emotions. Exercise. He needed exercise. A run in the park never failed to give him back his sense of control.

He had to get the hell out of here.

But then something caught his eye that made Liam forget everything except the fact he hadn’t had sex in almost a year.

There, on the other side of the ballroom, stood a gorgeous vixen in a French maid costume and she was staring straight at him, as if he were the man of her most forbidden midnight fantasies.

Coyly, she tossed her auburn wig.

Liam drove his hand through his own wig.

She licked her lips.

Drawing in a ragged breath, he hooked his thumbs through his belt loop.

Her eyes widened, and he saw a telltale red flush spread from her generous cleavage up her long slender throat.

His body hardened and he shifted, widening his stance, pointing his boots in her direction.

She lowered her eyelashes, dropped her hands. His gaze fell to the creamy inside of her wrist, and then tracked up her smooth, delicate skin to her shoulders. She peeked at him again and then slyly winked. Even with the barrier of her black mask cloaking most of her face, he was absolutely certain she was winking at him.

Boldly, Liam winked back.

Why the hell not? Sex was better than jogging for blowing off steam and after what had happened before with Delancy, he could certainly do with the distraction.

And she was one fine distraction with those shapely legs encased in lust-arousing black fishnet stockings. He could easily imagine himself tugging that silky material over the curve of her calf.

She angled him a long, lingering look.

He caught it, held it.

Quickly, she looked away again, but there was no mistaking her invitation.

Come play with me.

His blood revved hot.

She turned and walked away.

The thundering in his veins intensified. Curiosity grabbed him by the short hairs and hung on tight. Who was this mysterious woman? Did he know her? Something about her seemed vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was.

She made her way through the crowd, hips rolling seductively, as aloof as the blue-blooded princess she undoubtedly was. When she got to the doorway, she paused. Her long fingers stroked the door casing as she tossed him a glance over her shoulder. She looked damned provocative, even in a room chock-full of people dressed in suggestive garb.

Follow me, her eyes whispered.

Normally, Liam wasn’t the type of guy who allowed his libido to overrule his common sense. But he was horny and desperately needing something to salve his battered ego, and she was hot and willing.

Why not go for it?

You shouldn’t let your anger at Delancy drive you to casual sex with a frisky member of the Ladies League simply to prove you can bed the social elite.

Maybe not, but his gaze was ensnared on her full, rich mouth that was clearly made for kissing. She pursed her lips, slowly blew him a kiss and then crooked her index finger.

This way.

Liam felt the impact of the gesture slam low in his groin. Simultaneously, hormones and endorphins lit up both his body and his brain. He gulped against the sheer force of the sensation. This French maid wanted to have some fun. Why shouldn’t he be the one to accommodate her?

He shook his head. What kind of spell had she cast over him? His tongue was cemented to the roof of his mouth. His eyes were transfixed by her lithe form. His nose twitched, suddenly sensitized to the scent of seduction in the air. His ears filled with a blinding white roaring noise.

She strutted off a second time.

Mesmerized, he watched her hips sway.

Liam went all Neanderthal then and lumbered after her. Must have woman.

By the time he reached where she’d been standing, she was already in the archway of another room. The place could have been completely empty. That’s how unaware he was of the crowd jostling around them.

The French maid paused again, but this time she did not look back. Apparently, she’d assumed he would follow.

She was correct.

Sending her auburn curls bouncing over her shoulders with a toss of her head, she turned to the right and started down a long corridor.

Liam made a beeline after her.

People were all around him, talking, laughing, joking, drinking, but he could have been stranded on a deserted island or trapped in a timeless vortex. He was that focused on Miss French Maid’s fanny as she slipped through the costumed throng.

She winnowed around a man the size of a boxcar dressed like Paul Bunyan and Liam couldn’t see her anymore. He quickened his pace, but at the next doorway, Paul Bunyan turned, blocking his path.

“Excuse me.” Liam stepped to his right.

Paul Bunyan moved in the same direction at the exact same moment.

Liam corrected, angling to the left.

So did Bunyan.

Was this on purpose? What was happening here? Liam frowned.

“Shall we dance?” Paul Bunyan chuckled, and Liam realized he’d been unnecessarily suspicious. By the time he got around the guy, he found himself faced with a long hallway filled with doors. His French maid had vanished.

“Dammit,” he muttered.

It’s all for the best. He was feeling much too vulnerable to be indulging in anonymous sex. That kind of solace, while great in the moment, wouldn’t fix anything. It wouldn’t make up for the aching for a real father that had dogged his bones since he was a kid.

He stood there in the corridor, staring at the doors, wondering if she was behind one, not wanting to leave in case she reappeared. A minute ticked past. And then another.

Face it. She’s gone.

He turned to retrace his steps when suddenly the door behind him opened and a hand reached out to grab him by the scruff of his collar.

Long, manicured fingernails tickled the back of his neck and the next thing Liam knew, he was being hauled into a pitch black closet.

The French maid wrapped her arms around him and covered his face in kisses. At least he hoped it was the French maid.

She murmured something in French. He didn’t understand the language, but he did get the gist of her suggestive message. He tried to take a step back to clear his head, but her fingers were frantically working the buttons of his puffy white pirate shirt.

“Slow down,” he said, or rather tried to say. His throat was twisted so tight with need the sounds came out as scarcely more than an excited groan.

Her mind-boggling aroma, which smelled like a cross between apricots and stargazer lilies, filled his nose and shot up his desire. He could see absolutely nothing in the darkness, but the rest of his senses were fully attuned and ready to be indulged.

“What…how…who…” He wrenched out the words, unable to form a coherent thought.

“Shh.” She placed an index finger over his lips. Her skin tasted forbidden.

He thought of truffles and Russian caviar and saffron, the most expensive spice in the world. His nerve endings blazed. In the back of his mind, far off in the distance, sounding as if it had been locked up in a dry, dusty trunk for centuries, his muffled conscience tried to get his attention.

Hey, sport, this seems awfully odd. Sexy babe coming on to you, no strings attached. You know there’s always strings attached. Something’s wrong. Pull your head out of the hormone soup. Think this through. Last thing you want is to be like your old man. Hey, hey…

His scruples got no further because his brain short-circuited, closing off everything except the exquisite glory of her hot little mouth on his.