Enchanted Heart (18 page)

Vicki's face lit up. “The one on Military Highway? I saw a commercial about that. It looked like fun.” She nodded toward the stuffed dragon. “A memento?”

“Yeah. That's Sir Galahad—Sirgal for short. He was supposed to be guarding the gate, but he did a poor job of it last night.”

Vicki cut her fruit into bite-sized pieces then sampled her handiwork with the eggs. “So, let me get this straight. Your business meeting turned into a date, which turned into . . .” A smile grew into a grin.

Viv, older by thirty-five minutes, gave her twin the evil eye. “Don't even say it.”

“But Viv, the words are so true.”

“I don't want to hear it.”

Vicki took her hand. “You set yourself up for failure in this. Some people are just born for pleasure. You're one of them, Viv. It'll be all right.”

A totally unexpected tear formed in Viv's eye. Another betraying twin of its own quickly followed it. She swallowed hard and swiped at her eyes.

“I don't want to be like that anymore.”

Vicki sighed. She moved the plates of food out of the way then scooted up on the bed to envelope Viv in a hug. “Maybe it's time to see somebody.”

Viv pushed away then edged out of the bed. She went to the dragon, picked him up and plopped him down. “I'm not addicted to sex. That doesn't even make sense.”

But even as she said the words, she knew that maybe they weren't true. If she weren't addicted to the intoxicating rush of emotions and sensations that coursed through her when a man held her in his arms, what was her problem?

She hugged herself, then turned to Vicki who sat on the bed regarding her. “The last time I was with Julian, nothing. Nada. Zip. I faked the whole thing. He didn't know, of course. Men are so clueless like that.”

“And with Lance?”

Viv didn't want to address that just yet. “It's been the same for a while. It's like I'm not even there. It's like I'm watching my body do these things while I'm hovering overhead, bored, ready to go home.”

Vicki pressed the issue. “And Lance is the same way?”

Viv turned stricken eyes to her sister. “No.” She wrapped her arms around her waist and her tears fell unchecked. “With Lance, it's different,” she said. “Not only do I feel, I reel and revel and . . . Yeah. Lance is different. He makes me want it. Badly.”

And that's what scared Viv more than anything else.

 

 

“My brother lost his wife about eight months ago. When I heard about this cruise,” Malcolm told Lily and Virginia, “I thought it might be a good way to get him back in circulation and out of the house where he's been feeling pretty sorry for himself.”

Lily and Virginia were still in the travel agent's office where they'd been for more than two hours. They'd struck up a conversation with Malcolm Grant while he booked the singles cruise for himself and his brother.

“May I buy you ladies a cup of coffee?” he asked. “There's a little shop a few doors down.”

Virginia scooped up her handbag. “We've taken up enough—”

“That's a wonderful idea,” Lily interjected as she laced her arm with Virginia's and gave a little tug.

With ticket packets in hand and reservations completed, the three left the travel agency and went to A Little Latte. The shop was, as Malcolm had said, just three doors down from the travel agency.

“How charming,” Virginia said as they entered the small storefront. Several black wrought-iron tables designed to sit two to four people, reminiscent of those in Parisian cafes, dotted the interior. Fresh-cut flowers in miniature coffeepots were on every table and larger pots were in the front window and along the countertop. The smell of fresh-roasted coffee, a rich Colombian blend, permeated the air. “I've never noticed this place before.”

“It's new,” Malcolm said. “I just opened two weeks ago.”

A note of pride in his voice made Virginia raise an eyebrow. “You own this?”

Malcolm nodded. He glanced toward a woman in a blue half apron who rushed over to greet them.

“Hello, Mr. Grant. We didn't expect to see you today.”

“I was in the neighborhood. A table for three, please.”

“Yes, sir.”

Malcolm got menus and handed one to Virginia and one to Lily. A few minutes later, steaming cups were placed before them. Virginia with a no-fat amaretto latte and Lily with the blend of the day, Cajun brew, a coffee flavored with chicory and liqueur.

“You make a nice cup of coffee, Mr. Grant,” Lily said.

“Please, call me Malcolm.”

Lily nodded. “Malcolm.”

Virginia just barely managed to keep from rolling her eyes at the blatant flirting. Lily had always been a flirt, so Virginia was used to the games. She had to admit though, Lily was right about the coffee.

“Are you aiming to put Starbucks out of business?” Virginia asked him.

Malcolm chuckled. “Actually, that did start off as my plan. But I recognized the futility in that endeavor. So I aimed to do something better.” His open hand encompassed the coffee shop.

“Your location isn't exactly a peak one. This shopping center—”

Lily placed a hand over Malcolm's. “You'll have to excuse my friend. She gets a little passionate when it comes to retail stores and that sort of thing.”

“Is that your background?” he asked Virginia.

“You might say.”

Lily kicked Virginia under the table. To her credit, Virginia didn't cry out, but she narrowed her eyes at Lily.

“Virginia's being modest,” Lily said. “And it's so unlike her. Her family owned Heart Federated Department Stores. Perhaps you've heard of them? They were recently sold to the Knight and Kraus chain.”

“Ah, yes. Heart. Your husband and son, I believe, ran the company.”

“My husband died a few years ago.”

“I'm sorry for your loss.”

Virginia nodded. She could have said there was nothing to be sorry about. If she hadn't suspected the photo would be on the front page of the newspaper she'd have danced at her husband's funeral. With his affairs and his mistresses and all his bastard children running around, he'd done nothing but make her life a living hell the entire time they'd been married. When he'd died at his desk banging his twenty-three-year-old secretary, it was Virginia who'd managed to keep that bit of news away from the media.

He'd paid for his shenanigans. Dearly. Even before counting the estate she'd inherited following the coronary that had killed him, Virginia was a very, very wealthy woman. During their marriage, she'd demanded from him—and received—tangible assets with every affair she found out about. As a result, Virginia got from her husband a cache of stocks and bonds, diamonds, art and real estate.

“Are you new to the area?” Lily asked. “It seems our paths should have crossed before now.”

“I moved here from Phoenix two months ago. I have a chain of these coffee shops throughout the southwest.”

“What made you head East?” Lily asked. “Many people retire
to
Arizona.”

“Like Virginia, my spouse died. Helena has been gone for five years now. Breast cancer. My children and grandchildren have their own lives. I wanted to see a new place, do a new thing, so I opted for the new place.”

Lily took a sip of her coffee. “I was just telling Virginia that she, too, needed to find a new outlet for her . . . energy. Her son is married and settled in his own life.”

“Lily, I hardly think the man wants to hear all those details.” Virginia kept a smile on her face, albeit a small, tight one. The look clearly said:
I'm going to kill you when we get alone again.

But the matchmaker remained undaunted. “How did you hear about the cruise? I saw a brochure at church.”

“You can thank my brother for that. He lives here, in James City County, actually. Someone gave it to him. I think they were trying to give him a hint. Laughing about being onboard a ship with a bunch of blue-haired ladies playing bingo, he tossed it aside.”

Lily ran a hand through her hair. “Well, as you can see, neither of us has blue hair.”

Malcolm nodded. “I'll be sure to tell my brother that.”

“Tell me, Malcolm. Do you and your brother favor each other?”

“Lily!”

He smiled, the laugh lines at his eyes revealing the good humor he shared with them. Malcolm Grant leaned forward. “Actually, Lily. He looks exactly like me. We're identical twins.”

A broad smile filled Lily's face. “Do tell.”

Later, in Lily's white Lincoln Town Car, Virginia rounded on her friend. “My God, Lily. What are you now, Barbara Walters?”

Lily waved a dismissing hand at Virginia. “He's perfect for you. You two have so much in common. You can talk about business.”

“I'm not looking for a boyfriend, Lily. I'm too old for that.”

“Who said anything about a boy or a friend? You need a lover.”

Virginia rolled her eyes. “You're disinvited to dinner.”

“Um-hmm. I love you, too, dear.”

15

O
ver the next few weeks, Lance and Viv saw a lot of each other. They managed to put their personal issues aside though Lance smarted about her disappearing act. Some of the time they discussed plans for the expansion of Guilty Pleasures. Viv hired a photographer and started booking models for the catalog. Together, she and Lance, with Dakota tagging along as chaperone, scouted local places for the photo shoots.

“We really need something tropical for the swimwear. This is nice,” Dakota said, “but it's just not the right look.”

“She's right.” Lance peered up and down the oceanfront at Virginia Beach. Everything about it said family. There was nothing sensual, sexy or scintillating about the beach. “We have a cottage on Martinique. I haven't been there for years, but I'm sure it's still maintained. Let me check into the possibility of using that.”

Dakota glanced at Viv and mouthed
a cottage on Martinique.

Viv just shook her head. “I don't want you to go to any trouble, Lance. You've already done much, much more than I—we—expected.”

“Nonsense,” Lance said. With their sandals dangling from each hand, he guided both women toward the boardwalk. “I have a stake in this. It's in my own best interests to see that things go well. Better than well.”

“What's your house like in Martinique?” Viv asked.

He shrugged. “I've only been there once. Cole, my uncle, used it as a retreat.”

“So it's secluded?” Dakota added.

“Very much so.”

Dakota pinched Viv's arm and jerked her head toward Lance. “Oh, hey. There's someone I know. I'll catch up with you guys back at the store.” She snatched her shoes from Lance and hurried off in the direction of an imaginary friend.

Viv apologized for her friend and employee. “Dakota hasn't yet mastered the fine art of subtlety.”

With the other woman out of the picture though, Lance was able to focus on what he liked doing during the majority of his time with Viv. He reached for her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her to him for a quick kiss that turned into a leisurely exploration.

“Here at the oceanfront, we have quite a selection of hotels from which to choose.”

She pushed at him. “There's more to life than sex, Lance. Grow up, will you?”

He glanced down at the crotch of his slacks. “I already have.”

Exasperated, Viv took off in the direction Dakota had taken.

“Hey, hey, Viv. Come on, now. I'm sorry, all right? I just . . . I was just messing with you.”

“Lance, I don't want you to mess with me. I want to focus on the work that needs to be done on this project. Launching that catalog for the spring market is going to take a lot of time and effort in a very concentrated period. I don't have time for games.”

Chastised, he nodded. “All right, Viv. All right.” He fell into step beside her. “Where are you parked?”

“In a lot off Twenty-first Street.”

“Me, too.” They'd come in three vehicles since each claimed errands that needed to be done after checking out the beach as a possible site for the fashion shoot.

“If your Martinique thing doesn't work out, I have a friend in South Carolina who has a bed-and-breakfast there. It's right on the water and will probably work. I've not been there, but I've seen photos. The place is gorgeous. And she keeps inviting me down.”

“You've already chosen the models?”

“Most of them.”

Lance muttered what sounded like “Damn” under his breath.

Viv stopped walking. “Lance, modeling work isn't like you see it on TV and in the movies. It's very hard. The people who take their jobs seriously put in long hours to create the illusions of perfection you salivate over. Yes, there are excesses. But those things, the part that has you salivating, come
after
the work.”

“You have me all wrong, Vivienne.”

She tapped a long nail on her chin. “I don't think so. Tell me what part I'm missing. You're a trust-fund baby, so you have no meaningful employment or work. You spend your time chasing things: cars, clothes, good times, me. You have a very active sex life because sex confirms your masculinity and your appeal. Is that about it?”

He stared at her for a long time. He didn't say a single word then he turned toward his Jaguar parked at the other end of the lot.

Viv watched him retreat, wondering if he'd be petty enough to pull the funding for the project. This was business, surely he wouldn't let their relationship get in the way of business.

But with a sinking, sick feeling, she knew he'd do just that.

“Lance!” She hurried across the gravel as fast as she could in the strappy sandals.

He didn't pause in his stride.

“Lance. Wait. Please. Let me explain.”

He did stop then. He waited for her to reach him. With arms folded across his chest and the dark glasses shielding his eyes, she couldn't see what he was thinking, but his anger came across in waves like the surf across the street at the beach.

“No, Viv. There's nothing for you to explain. You're right. I've been a jackass.”
Just like my grandfather,
he thought. If nothing else, he was living up to the family's standards of low morality and guilty pleasures. She'd nailed him all right. She'd nailed him the same way his grandmother had, the same way T.J. had, though his friend had done it in a roundabout way.

“I shouldn't have said . . .”

“You were right, Viv. And what you said needed saying. I'm not angry with you, but with me. I apologize for my behavior. It won't happen again. I'll see about arranging for the house on Martinique. You should check with your bed-and-breakfast friend as a backup.”

He walked around the car and opened the driver's door. “I'll leave a message at the store.”

A second later, he disappeared from her view. The car door shut and the engine roared to life. Before she could say or do anything else, Viv found herself alone in the parking lot, surrounded by vehicles parked for the day while their occupants enjoyed the pleasures of the oceanfront.

 

 

Lance took Viv's words to heart.

He'd heard the same thing, over and over, all his life. But somehow, hearing them from Viv, having her reduce him to nothing but a playboy heir hurt him. He thought about a video one of his dates insisted they watch: The Harrison Ford version of
Sabrina.
Lance gave Ford's role as Linus Larrabee, the hardworking totally focused multimillionaire, to Cole. While he, Lance, was David Larrabee whose entire existence was fast cars and pretty women.

He'd not set out to be so shallow. Yet, here he was. Stuck in the life he'd made for himself.

Lance knew he had to have
some
redeeming qualities. He was generous. He was fun-loving. But what did that count for? Vivienne, as beautiful as she was, donned work clothes and rubber boots to clean up the trash other people made. Cole, even singly focused as he was, was headed to Bahia, a place where his project would elevate the economic and educational levels of people who were in desperate need.

The money Lance spent on one evening wining and dining a woman he planned to sleep with was more than a lot of Brazilians made in six months. He'd even approached the so-called mentoring of T.J.'s delinquents down at the rec center with a spend-and-leave mentality—buy them expensive toys and then they'll love you.

There had to be more to this game called life than that.

The woman who'd made it all clear to him was the one who refused to let him enter her world. Sure, she slept with him. But that was hormones. Lance was very, very good at stirring up passion in a woman. But what about
knowing
the woman? What, for example, did he know of Viv? She ran a lingerie store. She was a former model. She had the face of an angel and the body of a goddess. And in bed, she turned him every which way but loose.

And that was all he knew of her.

What were her private dreams and goals? What did she do after work? How had she grown up?

Lance knew none of those things. Yet Viv, in the short time they'd known each other, had him pegged in one short, unflattering sentence: trust-fund bum with no mission except guilty pleasure.

He didn't like that assessment. Not one bit. There was more to him. He just had to figure out what it was. Then he'd let Viv know, too.

Later that afternoon, Viv was working the floor of the shop. It was near closing and she'd sent the others on home. There were few customers this time of day on a sunny Saturday. Viv straightened up a few displays. She walked to the front of the store to take another overall look at the sales floor. But a car pulling up to the curb outside caught her eye. The cream Bentley gleamed in the late afternoon light.

Viv's breath caught and that sick feeling she'd had earlier returned in full force. Sure, Lance had made a private investment, but that kind of money had to be backed by the Heart family one way or another. And now Virginia Heart had come to revoke the financing package.

 

 

Virginia waited until her driver opened the door for her. “Wait here,” she told him. “This shouldn't take long.”

“This is a no-parking zone, Mrs. Heart.”

She sent a quelling look up at him.

He nodded. “Yes, ma'am. I'll wait here.”

Dressed in a smart two-piece set of blue moire, Virginia made a striking impression. The shoes and handbag matched, of course. Dior.

But she'd come to this little underwear store armed with more than her good taste. The private investigator had returned with his report. And it was none too flattering about the woman who called herself Vivienne la Fontaine.

Like a nor'easter blowing in, Virginia swept into the store.

“Mrs. Heart,” Viv said, “what a pleasure to see you again.”

Virginia eyed the tall beauty. Of course Lance was screwing her. She'd be just his type. Female and breathing.

She prayed that Lance hadn't pumped too much money into this dump. When she'd issued her ultimatum to him, she'd had no idea that he'd head straight to the first fluff he saw and consider it an investment. Thank goodness for that fortuitous call Vivienne la Fontaine had made to the Heart corporate offices.

Virginia turned and flipped the closed sign over so it faced the street. Then, she faced Viv.

“I'd like a word with you,
Miss Jackson.”

To her credit, Vivienne didn't blanch, she didn't even blink. She hadn't been called by her real name in many, many years.

 

 

It took Lance all afternoon, but he'd finally figured out why what Vivienne said got under his skin. Unlike the usual bevy of women who filled his dance card, Viv was the one who made him think. She was magnificent in her loveliness, smart with a sharp sense of what worked for her business, and a tigress in bed. That last part he was working to downplay since it was the total package that kept him enthralled.

That and the fact that she seemingly didn't want anything to do with him.

Lance couldn't fathom that part. How could a woman
not
want him? He was the perfect catch. Granted, until meeting Viv, he hadn't
wanted
to be caught and had made pretty damn sure that no woman got him in her clutches—unless it was just for the night. But Viv was different. She wanted nothing from him but the business arrangement they'd established.

His grandmother wanted him settled. Married and propagating. She wanted little Heart great-grandchildren to mold into little domineering replicas of her. That part wouldn't happen. Lance wouldn't let it.

But the part about being with Viv—all the time. Well, that didn't send him into claustrophobic angst. As a matter of fact, he rather liked the idea. Every time one of his girlfriends brought up the C word, Lance hightailed it to the next name in his personal digital assistant that housed the names, numbers, flower, candy and gemstone preferences, and in most cases the bra and panty sizes of his favorite paramours.

He opened the PDA and looked at the alphabetized list of women who ranged from Andrea Anderson, an accountant he'd met when he'd visited his tax adviser's office, to Zenobia, a Yoruba priestess who didn't use a last name. Each woman was special. Beautiful in her own right. And Lance loved them all—lowercase l.

He'd never used the L word. It was too close to the C word. Love and commitment went hand-in-hand. And until he'd met Viv, he'd been sure that together the two would spell his doom.