Wicked & Willing: Bad Girls (5 page)

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.

T
ROY 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?”

She didn’t say anything at first, and Troy almost regretted baiting her. Neither of them needed to be reminded of the sexy conversation they’d shared on the balcony, nor of their erotic kiss. Had the circumstances been different, they may very well have been driving to a hotel right now. And they both knew it.

He could almost hear her breaths deepening in spite of the sounds of traffic and the purr of his car’s engine. A quick look confirmed her sudden confusion—obviously she was thinking of that sultry, electric connection they’d felt from the first moment. Her eyes were wide, her lips parted. Seeing the tightness of her nipples under her clingy cotton shirt, Troy suddenly felt hot in spite of the
steady stream of cool air emerging from the car vents. He remembered how her breasts had felt against his chest, the way his mouth had hungered for them. His body hummed as he reexperienced the way she tasted, the softness of her skin. He shifted in his seat, willing himself to forget her deep, seductive laugh, and the way the sun turned her long hair into living, red-hot flames.

Off-limits or not, con woman or heiress, she still attracted him like no one had in a very long time. “Cat got your tongue, Ms. Messina? Just whose lap do you think you were sitting on less than an hour ago?” he finally said, almost regretting the suggestiveness of the words as soon as they left his mouth.

“A body double,” she finally mumbled.

Considering he was an identical twin, that amused him. “My body double wouldn’t have asked at all. Trent tends to go for what he wants without thinking about it first.”

She edged closer to her door, giving him a wary look. “Do you have a split personality? Like that guy in
Psycho?
”

He laughed again. “No, just a twin. He lives in Florida.”

“Oh, great, two of you. Is he quick to judge, like you?”

Quick to judge? That’s what she thought of him? The accusation was almost funny, considering how he and Trent always viewed one another. Trent leapt without looking. Troy viewed a situation from every angle before deciding on a course of action. “We’re not much alike,” he admitted, “other than physically. What about you? I take it you have no siblings?”

“No biological ones. I stay in touch with some of the other foster kids I grew up with. And my foster mom has
four great kids right now who think of me as a big sister. I get back to see them as much as I can.”

The note of affection in her voice couldn’t have been feigned. She made no attempt to hide her background, seemed completely accepting and comfortable with the way she’d been raised—another detail that didn’t quite gel with the image of her as a clever con woman. “So, you say you don’t want money. Why don’t you tell me what it is you’re really after?”

“I’m not after anything. Leo asked me to come, to meet Max and consider the possibility of us being related.” She turned in her seat, facing forward and shaking her head. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “It sounded simple.”

“A simple con?”

She groaned in frustration. “
Not
a con. At least not by me. Leo made it sound like it could be true, and I owed it to myself, and Max, to check it out.”

He raised a brow. “Checking it out. Yes, that would certainly explain the big reunion scene, culminating with the introduction of the long-lost granddaughter.”

“You really can be a snot, can’t you?” she snapped back.

Though he’d just changed lanes in heavy traffic, Troy couldn’t help jerking his head to look at her. “Did you just call me a snot?”

She answered only with a smirk.

As he had from the moment he’d met her, Troy felt completely unsure how to react. The woman was outrageous and confident. Brazen and funny. Cocky with moments of vulnerability. A complete contradiction. She confused him. She aroused him. She angered him. He’d never met anyone like her. He still wanted her so much it nearly caused him physical pain.

As if completely oblivious to his reaction, Venus
reached for the stereo and flipped it on. She punched a few buttons until a loud rock song filled the car. Then she closed her eyes and crossed her arms, silently dismissing him.

Troy reluctantly shook his head and focused on the road. He’d been called a lot of things in his life, by a lot of different women…some of whom had been hurling objects at him as well as words.

But he’d never known a woman whose insults made him want her even more.

V
ENUS GOT HER FIRST
real indication about just how much Max Longotti might be worth when she saw his house. House, though, probably wasn’t the right word. Friggin’ mansion would be more appropriate.

Her jaw fell open as they drove up the long, tree-lined driveway of the estate, which was just north of the city in a pretty, trendy area called Buckhead. “Holy crap, the old guy with the mail-order business lives
here?
Or is this a hotel?”

“No, Max lives here. Alone. Longotti Lines is a little more than a mail-order business,” Troy replied, sounding amused. “It’s one of the top catalog retailers in the U.S. Right up there with Land’s End and the other biggies.”

She whistled, tilting her head back to look to the top of the graceful, two-story house with the thick, round columns across the front. Maybe her Scarlett act hadn’t been so far off. The place did remind her of an old-fashioned plantation house, surrounded by rolling green lawn and lush landscaping.

A small balcony with an intricate lattice railing ran across the entire front of the building, above the porch, and curved around the sides as well. Huge French doors provided access from what were probably upstairs bedrooms.

A queasy knot formed in her stomach. She could al
ready picture a forty-foot-long dining-room table, each place set with a dozen metal torture devices masquerading as silverware. There’d probably be an obsequious waiter standing behind every diner, ready to swoop down on anyone who dared to lick a little drop of gravy off her finger or, heaven forbid, sneeze into a pressed linen napkin.

“I feel sick,” she whispered.

Though she was speaking more to herself, she realized Troy had heard when his hand touched hers. The contact was fleeting, over so quickly, she almost suspected she’d imagined it. But when she saw his warmly concerned expression, she knew she hadn’t. “You’ll be fine, Venus. It’s just a house.”

She shook her head. “I know that,” she said, trying to sound confident. “I just don’t particularly care for the highbrow set.”

He looked like he didn’t believe her, as if he’d seen the moment of panic she’d tried to hide.

She laughed lightly. “Believe me, this is no sweat. But I am much happier slinging beer at Flanagan’s, and I should be pounding the pavement to find a new job.”

“Who are you trying to convince? Me or yourself?”

She shot him a glare and crossed her arms. “I should have known better than to accept a free trip from a guy I knew was too smarmy to be legit from the minute I laid eyes on him last week. Because this free vacation obviously came with a whole bunch of pricey strings attached.”

He stared at her intently. “You just met Leo last week?”

She nodded, glancing back at the house. “Last Wednesday. And I knew from the minute I saw him he was up to something.”

“Yet here you are.”

She shrugged. She wasn’t about to explain to this man, who already thought so badly of her, that she’d accepted Leo’s five thousand dollars for this trip. Whether she’d taken the money to help Maureen and the kids and to keep a roof over her own head or not, he’d still think her an opportunistic money-grubber, especially if she admitted she really did not believe she was this old guy’s long-lost grandchild.

Who cares what Mr. Stuffed Shirt thinks?

As much as she hated to admit it, even to herself, Venus did care. That was a strange feeling for her, considering she seldom gave a rat’s ass what other people thought of her. She’d long ago decided she was comfortable in her own skin, happy with the person she’d turned out to be. Maybe a little loud. Maybe a little too friendly with too many guys. But still, a smart, hardworking, loyal woman who, until right now, had never been intimidated by anything as silly as a big ol’ house in an unfamiliar city—which probably had diamond-studded chandeliers and gold-plated toilets.

“I need a drink,” she muttered.

“Good, you can make us both one,” Troy answered as he opened his door to step out. “Let’s see how good you are at your job.”

“It’s just a night job,” she clarified as she got out, not waiting for him to open the car door, though he’d come around to do so. “A temporary one until I can find something more permanent again.” Then she thought about what he’d said. “You’re staying for a while, then?” She nibbled her lip, glancing back and forth between Troy, who was at least somewhat familiar, and this house, populated probably by a bunch of absolute strangers.

He answered with a secretive smile, “Oh, yes, I’m staying.”

“Suit yourself,” she murmured, trying not to let him know she was pleased at not being dumped at the door.

Max Longotti had obviously phoned home and informed his housekeeper, Mrs. Harris, of Venus’s arrival. The woman was welcoming and professional, greeting Troy with familiarity and Venus with unexpected warmth. Venus managed to keep her mouth closed and her eyes in her head as they walked through the huge tiled foyer. Fancy sculptures stood on tiny tables. Even fancier pictures hung on the walls. The predominant color seemed to be bluish-purple, even right down to some immense flower-filled vases that stood as high as her chin.

“Wonder if that’s where they stash the bodies,” she muttered.

Mrs. Harris gave her a curious look over her shoulder, and Venus bit her lip.

When Troy informed Mrs. Harris they wanted to step into Max’s office for a drink, the woman took them there, telling Venus she’d be back shortly to show her to her rooms.

“Rooms?” Venus said when she and Troy were once again alone in an office that was bigger than the apartment she’d grown up in. She walked around it, trailing her fingertips across the spines of dozens of leather-bound books lining built-in mahogany shelves. The room was furnished with exquisitely detailed antique furniture; she was almost afraid to sit down.

“There are some nice guest suites upstairs. I’m sure Max has left instructions for you to be given one of them.”

“Do you think he told the servants…” She lowered her head and glanced away.

He leaned a hip against a brown leather sofa, watching her, looking as comfortable in these surroundings as anyone born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Unlike Venus, in her too-skimpy, too-tight shorts and her suggestive shirt, who probably looked like she should have come in through the service entrance.

“Told them what?” Troy asked. “Who you are? Or, who you
might
be?”

She nodded, hoping he’d say no, that she wouldn’t have to act out this charade in front of a bunch of servants who might very well have known Mr. Longotti’s long-lost son. The last thing she needed was to be watched by every person in the place, her every move evaluated, her every word analyzed.

“I doubt it’s common knowledge,” Troy said, making her hopes rise. “But I would imagine Mrs. Harris knows. She’s worked for Max for decades.”

She sighed and glanced at the closed door through which the housekeeper had exited. “She was awfully nice. Do you think she knows…knew…Max’s son?”

He nodded. “I would imagine.”

“Great,” she muttered. “No wonder she was friendly.”

“So,” he said, raising a questioning brow, “you’re trying to tell me you’re really
not
anxious to be greeted as the prodigal granddaughter?”

She snorted and shot him a look telling him just how stupid he was even to have asked. He didn’t seem offended. Instead, he walked toward her, crossing the room in a few long strides. His hard body did lovely things for the well-tailored suit.

Though she’d more often dated men who wore jeans and leather, there was something intoxicating about see
ing a thoroughly male animal—with an occasional hint of wildness in his eyes—wrapped up in an elegant, sophisticated package like Troy’s conservative gray suit. It almost challenged a woman, as if luring her into stepping closer to a beautiful but caged tiger. Until the woman found out the cage door was open and the magnificent animal ready to spring.

She’d tried to tell herself Troy Langtree was a stuffed shirt. But she couldn’t erase what had happened on the balcony when they first met. He’d been smooth, charming, intense. Sexy as pure sin. His kiss had completely seduced her. While safe in his arms, she’d wanted to make love with him more than she’d wanted to draw another breath.

Just because he’d repressed that part of himself ever since finding out who she was didn’t mean it no longer existed. She saw it in his eyes, in the self-assured way he carried that long, lean body. For some wicked reason, it only made her more determined to find it again. Someday, when she had her confidence back.

“Are you curious about him?” Troy asked. “Max’s son?”

Crossing her arms tightly over her chest, Venus forced herself to take a deep breath. She sat on the arm of a high, wing-backed chair and feigned nonchalance. “I suppose. Wouldn’t anyone be?”

Instead of answering, he gestured toward a massive wooden desk near one of the huge arched windows overlooking the side lawn. The late-afternoon sunlight dripped in, illuminating the fine grain of the wood on the desktop, which was almost the same color as his thick hair. She noticed the back of a decorative, silver picture frame just as Troy said, “There’s a photo of him on the desk.”

She tightened her arms, almost hugging herself. “I don’t think so. Maybe later.”

Venus was the one who was supposed to make the drinks, but instead Troy moved to a discreet corner bar and poured two shots of whiskey. After returning with them, he handed her one. “You can impress me with your bartending skills another time. You look like you could use this.”

Though she hated confirming how wildly unstable her emotions were, she took the crystal glass gratefully. She tossed it back, feeling the warmth of the amber liquid ooze through her body almost instantly. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath.

“Good Scotch.”

“Another?”

She shook her head.

When he took the empty glass from her hand, his fingers brushed against hers, sending more heat rushing through her body than the alcohol had. He seemed just as aware, standing close, holding the empty tumbler in his fingers and staring at her intently. Finally, he leaned over to place their glasses on a small, decorative table. His body was so close to hers, for a brief moment she could feel his breath on her cheek and his pant legs brushing her thigh.

He straightened, but didn’t move away. “I would think if you were really curious you’d want to see what he looked like,” he said softly. “So do you really not care?” He narrowed his eyes. “Or is it that you’re afraid?”

“I’m not afraid,” she insisted.

But even as she said the words, she knew she was lying.

She
was
afraid—though probably not for the reason
Troy thought. She couldn’t explain it to him, though. Hell, she could barely admit it to herself.

He might think she feared looking at the picture and seeing a stranger with not one feature like hers. Feared not having any support for Leo’s claims. In actuality, Venus dreaded the thought of her own eyes staring back at her. She didn’t
want
to recognize the curve of the man’s smile, or think his chin resembled hers. She couldn’t bear it if the widow’s peak on her forehead had been inherited from him.

This whole idea—a fat paycheck for an all-expenses paid vacation—had never seemed more dangerous than right now.

No, she was nowhere near ready to look at that man’s picture. Not when seeing it might provide more evidence of the death of a parent she’d never met. She’d remain happily in the dark for as long as she could. Hopefully long enough to fully earn the five grand and hightail it back to Baltimore, with a nice, friendly wave to an elderly gentleman who was
not
her grandfather!

Stepping within inches of her body, Troy made a quiet assessment of her face, looking searchingly into her eyes, which, she suspected, were overly bright right now. Finally, he tilted his head and said in an almost wondering tone, “You’re afraid you’ll see something you recognize, aren’t you? You really
don’t
want it to be true.”

He didn’t say another word, letting his words hang there between them. He didn’t expect her to answer, obviously knowing what she’d say.

“Why, Venus?” He shook his head, still appearing surprised by his own insight. “I don’t get this.”

She had no doubt of that. Troy wanted to figure out why a woman from the wrong side of the tracks wasn’t rubbing her hands together in glee at her current situa
tion. Most women would probably be thrilled to discover they could be an heiress. Most would at least be happy finally to know the truth about their parentage.

But Venus wasn’t like most. Never had been. Never would be.

“I don’t fit in here. I belong in this world about as much as a priest belongs in a synagogue,” she said with a dry chuckle, giving him only part of the explanation. She wondered why she bothered trying to make him understand even that much, why she cared what he thought. “I don’t know the language. I don’t know the customs. I don’t have the right clothes, the right speech, the right hair or the right attitude.” She shook her head. Voicing these minor misgivings almost made her forget the major ones. “At this moment, Troy, I’m seriously wishing to God I’d never come. This was a stupid idea and I was nuts to go along with it.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just continued to look at her. It was unnerving, having all that intense, masculine attention focused squarely on her face. His shimmering green eyes darkened as he stared at her. Her heart sped up in her chest, reacting to his closeness, to the warmth of his body and his spicy scent.

Remembering the way he’d tasted on her tongue.

Venus had never once, not in her entire life, wanted to melt into a man’s arms only to be held and taken care of. She’d been in men’s arms for passion. For possession. For desire. For need. And yes, she knew she wanted all those things from this man she’d only known a matter of hours.

But, right now, his tender concern seemed pretty damned attractive, too. Particularly when he reached up to brush a long strand of hair off her brow, his touch innocent yet crackling with electricity.