Experiment In Love (2 page)

Walking along without noticing the admiring stares that came her way was as natural to Vicky as three-piece suits were to the average go-getter executive. She was a mixture of diverse elements, completely contemporary in some ways, unbelievably innocent in others. She never walked when she felt like running, and she could not be organized. She could understand why a person would want to swim with all their clothing on, just as she could if they wanted to swim nude, but why would they spend hours worrying about how a swimsuit looked only to sit on the edge of the pool for fear of messing up a hairdo? To Victoria, it just didn’t make sense. That kind of propriety was for those who wanted to miss out on the joy of living. It was also for those who had one foot in the grave and the other foot firmly planted on the guilty consciences of their youth.

Only the living could make mistakes and learn from them.

It was a philosophy that had many holes, but it was hers - and that was all that mattered. Her friends overlooked her eccentricities and forgave her sometimes Victorian ideals.

Downtown Los Angeles was, for a change, bright and sunny. No haze hung in the air, no yellow mist clung to the tops of the buildings. No beer and bourbon smells on the sidewalk from the night visitors. She hummed as she walked beside Gina. Suddenly she stopped and raked through the bottom of her purse for loose change, then retraced her steps toward the newspaper stand and the latest copy of the Anderson Report. She might as well see what she had just advertised herself in.

***

“But your parties don’t require my presence, Julie. If you wanted me there so badly you should have informed me earlier so I could have made arrangements,” Kurt said coldly. “I have other plans.” He sat comfortably in his executive chair, his eyes scanning the list of figures in front of him as he listened with only half of his attention to the woman on the other end of the telephone. Eventually he hung up without saying anything more and focused his complete attention on the latest financial report.

Margie peeked around the almost-closed door, sensing before seeing the scowl that brought his brows together. “Mr. Hampton’s here and the ‘newspaper’ we discussed last week just came out with its new issue.” Of all the people in the twenty-story building, she was the only one who wasn’t afraid to face him in a bad mood.

“I thought I told you that I’d think about it,” he bit out.

Margie shrugged.
“All right. Then let me give the assignment to someone else. It’s a story that ought to be exposed.”

“We have four reporters in Washington, three reporters each in New York, Chicago and Dallas, several in every major country in the world and you’re telling me we ought to do an expose on a small, locally run singles newspaper.”

Margie’s brow lifted as she cocked her head in question. “The Anderson Report is already in Houston and San Francisco and will be moving into Chicago and Atlanta soon. That’s considered small?” Irony was heavy in her voice. She knew when to push and when to leave well enough alone. This was push time.

Kurt stood and straightened his tie, his eyes shooting sparks at her. “Send Mr. Hampton in, Margie,” he said, ignoring her question as he waited to greet one of their biggest advertising buyers.

By the time Mr. Hampton had left Kurt was furious with himself. Throughout the entire meeting he had actually been thinking of that damn dating rag. He sat quietly for a few moments, then flipped the switch on the intercom that connected him with Margie’s desk.

“Margie, bring in the Anderson file and the newspaper. Make sure it’s a current one.” His voice was clipped and efficient, his manner all business. He might as well give her idea a try. After all, if he could handle a business concern this large he could certainly handle one lonely-hearted woman looking for a little excitement in her life.

Margie’s broad grin was like a beacon as she walked into her boss’ inner sanctum, the newest Anderson Report in her hand. “Well, Mr. Morgan, you have enough ads to choose from in this issue to keep you busy for the next month. Do you want to decide which ones would make ‘the perfect date’ or should I check them out for you?”

“Weed through them, Margie. Dismiss any who can’t spell their own name, then delete the ones into leather or anything else out of the ordinary. I want the average types.” He sounded preoccupied.

Margie grinned. “That eliminates most of them right off the bat. I thought you were trying to find the average woman who advertised in this rag, not the average woman, period.”

“Just do your job, Margie,” he muttered.

“I already have.” She grinned smugly at his surprised look, holding out a page with four of the ads circled in black. “Now write your letters. And after that you need to buy some new clothes.”

“I have enough, thank you.”

“Oh, yes. Three-piece suits, cashmere sweaters, designer shirts and tailor-made slacks.” Margie sniffed. “And just what do you think those women are going to think when they see you coming? That they’ve managed to hook a very wealthy one, that’s what,” Kurt frowned as she continued. “You want to get them to talk to you, not have them so awed they can’t speak.”

“My clothes awe women? And all this time I thought it was my charm,” he teased, a twinkle in his eyes.

“And your money. Don’t forget that,” she cautioned, and he sobered.

“How right you are,” he muttered under his breath, a vision of Julie’s latest clothing bill looming in his mind.

“So give the girl a break and buy something off the rack, preferably sexy, but understated.”

“Such as?”
Now he was grinning.

“
A nice tweed blazer, dark cords, kind of quiet-looking You’re supposed to need help meeting a woman, remember.” She screwed up her face in thought “You need to look as if you have enough money to buy good clothes but are still suffering from a lonely heart. In other words, you have to look average.”

“Right.
Set me a date with…” he scanned the four circled ads, scratched out two, and handed the paper back to her, “with these two women. Let’s see what happens.”

“Any particular night?”

“No, any night my calendar is open.”

“What about Julie?”

His face clouded. “What about her? This is business, Margie. Now, get going.”

She grinned despite his frown. “Yes, boss.” she said demurely, swinging her arms as she walked slowly out of the office, her ample body shaking with silent laughter. Julie was obviously on her way out Thank goodness!

***

Victoria checked the mirror one more time to make sure that her makeup wasn’t overstated, her dress was demure enough and her glasses weren’t fogged with passion. Her hair was pulled back in a long ponytail, a style that was as old as time and, she hoped, looked about as sexy as a new mop. She didn’t notice the fact that it emphasized her high cheekbones and showed off her small earlobes with their tiny earrings. Or that her mouth looked sensuous with its touch of nothing but pink gloss. She doubted that her “date” would be able to see the large gray eyes behind her
heavy glasses, or notice the impish grin that constantly wanted to pull up the comers of her mouth and show off her deep dimples.

Her hands were clammy. Just yesterday she had looked at the first of the emails that had answered her ad. Most had been courteous, some forward and a few downright lewd. She had chosen the first and fifth emails and had written to the rest, telling them that she had found the man of her choice. If the emails continued to come in at this rate she’d be forced to get a secretary! How many lonely people were out there, for goodness’ sake?

Once more she looked down at the letter from, candidate number one. He said he was a real estate salesman in Orange County and had been looking “for someone like you.” How could he possibly be attracted to a twenty-word ad? She had made it as brief as possible: If you are sweet, kind and enjoy almost anything, then call on me. I’m single, under thirty, lonely and looking.

“Oh, good grief!” she groaned, for the first time seeing her ad as others would see it “Did I really say I enjoyed almost anything? Am I in
trouble!”

Before she could think any more about the trouble she was in, the doorbell rang. With a stiff upper lip and a quivering chin, Victoria marched to the door. If worse came to worse she could always use karate . . . as soon as she learned how. Meanwhile, if the need were great, she could probably fake it.

Later that night Victoria walked back into her apartment, ready for the deep sleep boredom could so readily bring about. Date number one had been the epitome of what Victoria had expected: a total dud as far as she personally was concerned, but perfect for her interview. He’d lied about his height and age. He was not quite five foot five, had acne carried over from his youth and he had admitted to being in his mid-forties. Forties? Hah! In his dreams! Even so, the evening went smoothly, as did the interview. If the others were as easy as that, she’d have her article in no time. Although she still hoped to uncover something out of the ordinary to make it special.

Her first date had been almost too pat, too much the stereotype of what she had expected to encounter. And that bothered her. Was she unconsciously choosing a particular type of man from the letters she received because she wanted to prove her own theory of what the typical man involved with a dating service was like? If that was the case, then she should pick someone totally different or her article wouldn’t be completely fair or terribly interesting. The easy way out wasn’t always the right way.

She nibbled on her finger as she glanced through the almost thirty emails that had been sent to her by potential dates. Her second date was already chosen, but for her third date she would pick someone totally unlike the others. One email was written as if it were a business correspondence, jumped out at her. This…she glanced down at the signature, squinting to decipher the name Kurt Wentworth, was a businessman who loved to listen to women talk and was interested in a multitude of subjects; he especially liked opera and was a motorcycle enthusiast.

She grinned. She didn’t have a motorcycle, but her moped, a two-wheeled bike with a lawn-mower motor, was her main source of transportation. She appreciated it more with every rise in gas prices.

“Well, Mr. Wentworth,” she murmured, “let’s see what makes you tick!”

CHAPTER TWO

Victoria opened the door for her third date, one hand ready to slam it shut if the man standing in the hall wasn’t wearing a brown shirt, the agreed upon identifying mark of her date. He was. It took a minute for her eyes to focus on anything other than the
vee of a very tanned chest that showed between the open lapels of his shirt. She finally glanced up further to meet his eyes and was left almost breathless by his looks. His hair was a dark teak color streaked with golden blond, his eyes a rich chocolate brown that seemed reserved. He was a little haughty, slightly uncomfortable at being stared at and just as puzzled as she was. He had a classically square jaw that jutted with determination, cheeks that were slashed with lines that showed a definite sense of humor and a full, sensuous bottom lip that contrasted with his thinner top lip.

“Mr. Wentworth, I presume?” She
smiled, knowing it probably looked more like a grimace, and hoped her voice didn’t sound as disbelieving as she felt inside. What on earth was this man doing getting dates through a newspaper? Anyone as good-looking as he was could stand on any random corner of Los Angeles and pick up five women in just as many minutes! Her eyes widened with an alarming thought Was he…abnormal or something? The something had her stumped.

“Am I allowed entrance?” His
mouth quirked in response to her stare as he tilted his head to see the rest of her. Right now only a portion of her head was showing through the crack in the door.

The opening slowly widened and she reluctantly allowed him in, following him past her small kitchen and into the slightly larger living room. His gaze took in everything in a matter of seconds. Vicky was instantly reminded of a computer, he had assessed her furniture, the bright posters pinned to the wall, her slightly worn imitation oriental carpet and the desk and typewriter sitting in the nook that should have held a dining set. Then his eyes veered toward her, taking in the bulky navy-blue sailor suit, tightly pulled-back hair, too-large glasses that seemed to slip down her very petite nose every time she got agitated and the brown shoes that made her look as if she had just stepped off a mountain hiking path. Suddenly she wished she was wearing gold, silk, high heels and a very sexy smile. At least she could have worn her contacts!

Perhaps she had overdone the camouflage routine?

“The room is very attractive.” His voice was low. Was he comparing her dull looks with the vibrancy of her decorating? Damn!

She took a deep breath and smiled sweetly, determined to make the best of this. She pushed away all thoughts of quickly changing into something he would notice with appreciation and walked with a determined step toward the small kitchen. “Thank you. Would you like a glass of wine before we leave?”

One dark brow rose and a smile continued to tug at the comers of his mouth. “Yes, please.”

In the kitchen she deftly poured two glasses of a California chablis, taking a quick gulp before heading back into the room. She would need fortification if she were to get through this night with aplomb.

He sniffed the golden liquid suspiciously,
then sipped cautiously, rolling the coolness on his tongue. “Very good,” he pronounced.

“Did you expect something else?”

“I didn’t know.” His eyes raked her once more before he turned to stare at an art poster, then he glanced back at her again, obviously puzzled.

“It’s good, but it’s not an imported wine. I’m into keeping American money in America,” she said almost defiantly, quickly forgetting that she had promised herself never to give personal opinions while doing research.

His mouth twitched. Was he smiling? “Admirable, I’m sure.”

“This is going to be quite a night,” she muttered under her breath, for the first time wishing she had never started this.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I
said, I love America with all my might” She smiled brightly at the wide-eyed stare he gave her. “Would you care for more?” Then she noticed that his glass was still half-full and a blush lit her cheeks. “No, I guess not.” she mumbled. What was the matter with her? She had never met a man she couldn’t deal with, so why was he getting to her like this? She was acting like a stage-struck school girl!

Though she promised to pull herself together, the next words just slipped out of her mouth. “Are you trying to get into the movies?”

Once more he looked confused. Perhaps startled would have been a better word. It was obvious that he thought he had just walked into a mad hatter’s party after the tea had been served!

“No. Why?”

“I was just wondering. I mean, it’s unusual to find such a good-looking man in tinsel town who isn’t waiting for that ‘big break.’ ”

She took another gulp of wine. At this rate she’d be saying goodbye just minutes after saying hello.

“No, I’m a businessman, like I said in my letter.”

“What kind of business?” Please, let it be
respectable
!

“I. . . I’m in the paper industry.” Now it was his turn to take a large gulp.

“How interesting!” She hoped her eyes had that “my, isn’t that wonderful” look. If she could only make it through the next two hours she could call this interview quits. For some reason his dark brown eyes seemed to see right through her. It wouldn’t be too long before he recognized her disguise for what it was and began to wonder why any woman would make herself so unattractive. “I’m into using file covers made from recycled paper, myself.”

“I understand,” Kurt said, apparently fed up with both the conversation and the wine. He placed the almost empty glass on the bar and turned to her expectantly. “Are you ready to go? I have reservations for seven.”

“Right. Just let me freshen my makeup and grab my purse. Make yourself at home. I won’t be a minute.” Victoria almost ran down the small hallway to her bedroom and shut the door behind her, taking several deep breaths as she leaned heavily against it.

That man was potent! His entire body reeked of class, not to mention that latent sex appeal! Her mind whirled until possible reasons why he would need to find a date this way. He must have something wrong with him.
But what? There was a definite mystery about him.

She chanced a look in the mirror, squinting through her glasses to see herself,
then moaned aloud. He must really think she was nuts! There wasn’t a spot of makeup on her face to replace or repair!

Mentally bracing herself, Victoria reached for her purse and the doorknob. She might as well face the man and get it over with. After all, she couldn’t wait until he came into her bedroom looking for her to interview him. For the first time in her twenty-four years she wondered why not.

“… but Watergate proved that we have to keep politicians under constant surveillance! Apparently we’re doomed to repeat our errors. ” She punched her point home in triumph, leaning back in her plush dining chair to sip the wine Kurt had ordered to accompany their Italian dinner. They had been arguing politics and current events all evening and it had been a stimulating discussion. They were both opinionated and knowledgeable — and on opposite sides of the fence. All in all, it had been the best date of any sort Victoria had had in a long time.

Kurt thumped his hand on the table. “Politician is just a label we give to people. It’s no different than saying teacher or writer. It’s how each individual uses that title that makes the difference. You can’t condemn all for one. It would be like saying that if one teacher secretly hates children, all teachers must secretly hate children. As my secretary would say, ‘You’re glumping.’ ” He grinned at her and suddenly the thread of the conversation was lost as she grinned back. Her face was flushed from the good food and wine, and the better conversation.

He glanced briefly at his watch before looking back at her ruefully. “Do you realize we’ve been talking almost four hours straight?”

“I had no idea.” She laughed. “And I’m a working girl who has to be up at the crack of dawn.”

They walked out a few minutes later, his hand disturbingly warm on her arm. “What do you do for a living? I forgot to ask.”

“Wh-what?”

“I noticed your computer was open and up and you had already-printed paper in your printer. Are you a secretary or a budding novelist?” he teased.

“Oh, both,” she stated airily. “I’m a typist by day and a novelist by night” At least that wasn’t too far from the truth.

“What’s your novel about?” He opened the door of his slightly shopworn Ford and she slipped in, waiting until he reached his own side before answering.

“Romance. What else?”

“Isn’t that a little trite?
Especially in this day and age of promiscuity?”

She stiffened, on the defense. “And what’s the last novel you’ve read?”

He named a best-selling spy novel.

“And isn’t it a little silly to read about an ordinary man who does such extraordinary things with so little talent or knowledge? He outwits every master spy and he’s never been in the business before! I’d say your style of book is far more
unlikely than mine. At least romance happens every day in someone’s life. Exactly how many spies do you know?”

His chuckle was deep, vibrating through the interior of the car. “I give up.”

Victoria stared at his profile, loving the slash lines that grooved his cheeks when he smiled. He was a stimulating man with more than his share of sex appeal. It just didn’t fit.

He broke into her reverie. “Do you mind if I stop for a minute and get a pack of cigarettes?”

“It’s your life.” She shrugged, trying to act unconcerned. “But it seems a shame to cut it short with a habit that’s both distasteful, dangerous and smelly.”

He groaned.
“Oh, no. Don’t tell me - you take vitamins, too.”

Her eyes glittered with hidden laughter, but she answered in a totally sober voice.
“Of course. Fourteen of them, all different shapes and sizes a day. Then at night I take one iron and two vitamin Cs. After all, I have to take something to keep up with the male vitamin - Viagra.”

His low laughter played along her spine. When his hand reached out and clasped hers she felt
a sudden warmth flowing through her veins.

“Oh, Vicky!
One thing I can say is that you’d never be boring! Opinionated, yes. Boring, no.”

He pulled into a small all-night grocery store and opened the door. “And just to humor you, I’ll buy a lighter brand than I usually do,” he teased. “I’ll taper off gradually.”

She watched him walk with catlike grace toward the glass doors, her eyes following him inside, trying to imprint the image of him on her brain. This might be the last time she saw him, but she knew she’d never forget him. Too bad about the smoking, but she wouldn’t be the one who carried his oxygen tank anyway, so why care?

She fiddled absently with the lock on the glove compartment, her mind elsewhere until the latch snapped open.
Another puzzle. The compartment was immaculate except for a single folder. Without thinking she reached for it, her reporter’s instinct ahead of her muddled thinking. The cardboard folder read STAR RENT-A-CAR in big bold letters. But before she could open it Kurt was walking out the glass doors and toward the car, so she quickly shoved it back where it belonged.

Why did he rent a car? Didn’t he have one of his own? After all, the paper business couldn’t be all that bad. In fact, the clothing he wore was expensive and the meal hadn’t been cheap, either, even if he had chosen an out-of-the-way restaurant in a section of town she wasn’t familiar with. Somehow she didn’t think he had been there before, either. He had paid too much attention to the street names as they drove.

He gave her a slow, intimate smile before turning the key in the ignition. “Ready?”

For what?
she wondered. “Yes.”

The dim interior of the car gave the planes of his face a slightly sinister look and she involuntarily shivered.

“Cold?” Without asking he took her hand in his and placing it on his thigh. His thumb stroked the top of her fingers. Warm, masculine and extremely sensuous. If it had been anyone else, she probably would have pulled her hand back. But she couldn’t. Instead, she just enjoyed it.

“I bet you miss your motorcycle,” she murmured, attempting to ignore looking at him by glancing out the window at the only starry night they had had in weeks.

“My what?” His look was incredulous. Victoria stared up at him, clearly puzzled.

“Your letter said you love motorcycles. I have a moped myself. I use it to save gas when I’m in town and don’t have to travel the freeways.”

“Is that very often?”

“What?”

“That you need to drive the freeways.”

“No, thank goodness. Gas eats heavily into my budget as it is. I spend at least fifteen dollars a week on gas now.”

“Is that all?” Once more his glance her way was shock.

“That’s enough! I don’t know how much you spend, but sixty dollars a month is enough of a financial dent for me!”

“How frugal.” He smiled a small secret smile before openly grinning at what must have been a private joke. His light squeeze on her hand took her mind off the fact that she had been asking about his own mode of transportation.