Christmas Star (Contemporary, Romance) (3 page)

Starr had thought SeLi understood that she no longer needed to steal. Recently, though, she’d had to let SeLi know she couldn’t have
everything
her heart desired. But why on earth would she take another girl’s purse when she had two of her own?

Someone pounded on Starr’s door. Standing there in her slip, she suffered a moment’s panic at the thought of company catching her half-undressed. Then, just as quickly, she relaxed. SeLi was forever losing or misplacing her keys.

The hammering grew louder.

“All right, hold your horses, young lady!” Starr yelled. “I’m coming.” She snatched her silk robe off a hook and raced toward the door. Lord, where had the time gone? She wasn’t half-prepared. SeLi had a way of closing out the world when she didn’t want to talk, and Starr wasn’t looking forward to weaving her way through the girl’s defenses.

Out of breath, one arm still groping for a sleeve, Starr muttered a few impatient words as she yanked open the door. An unfinished epithet died, a small “Oh” on her lips, to escape a moment later in a soundless scream as the dark-haired stranger she’d glimpsed downstairs pushed his way in and slammed the door.

“Who are you? What do you want?”

She scrambled into her robe, her hands shaking. In all her life no one had ever looked at her with such loathing. Stunned, she somehow found the courage to take command. One hand clutching the robe over her breasts, she pointed the other imperiously toward the door.

“Get out,” she ordered, her voice not quite as strong as she’d like. “Leave this instant or I’ll call the police.”

One corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk.

Starr made a dash for the phone in her living room.

For an unbridled moment Barclay McLeod savored the full beauty of the woman he’d come to buy out of his brother’s life. That she was even more exquisite up close than she’d been at a distance didn’t really surprise him. Harrison had always had an eye for beauty. What Clay had in no way expected, however, was the sudden stab of lust that set his own heart racing.

Starr Lederman, the manager had said. A fitting first name he thought—for a call girl. For that was all she was, Clay reminded himself, as he leapt to block her path. Bought and paid for with McLeod money and who knew how much from innocent taxpayers. Especially as the manager’s wife—the bookkeeper—mentioned Lederman held a state job. No doubt something Harrison had set up.

Clay had needed only a quick peek at the ledger to identify the token monthly payments for this place. She was a kept woman, plain and simple. His brother’s mistress, housed in luxury. Only she was
his
property, as well. McLeod property.

“Don’t hurt me.” Starr shrank from his touch.

Clay would be damned if he’d be sucked in by her outraged-virgin act. He yanked her back flat against his chest. Spinning her around to face him, he suddenly found her trembling lips far too close and far too attractive. His fingers flexed in the soft flesh he could feel beneath the silky material. Unable to help himself, he pulled her closer as he stared into her wide aquamarine eyes. Eyes darkened with what he assumed was a desire to match his.

The simple truth was, he wanted his brother’s mistress more than he’d wanted any woman in a long, long while.

A heartbeat before Clay indulged in what he’d thought would be a mutually satisfying kiss, it registered in his addled brain that she might
not
be willing, that she was, in fact, trying to scratch his eyes out. Horrified, he broke away. Reining in his runaway lust, he drew back, trying not to breathe in her intoxicating scent. His scowl grew blacker. Partly because of the way she’d flattened herself against the wall, acting for all the world as if she thought he planned to rape her. But mostly because the damn woman looked sweet as sugar candy.

Sweet?
Ha! Sweet women didn’t have afternoon tête-à-têtes with married men. Clay had a very clear picture of what went on in this apartment after dark, on nights when Vanessa thought Harrison was out of town. Adultery was neither sweet nor innocent.

Disgusted, he stepped back and pulled from his jacket pocket the check he’d already made out. He recounted the zeros scribbled after the ten. Considering how close he’d just come to compromising his own principles, Clay McLeod was very glad he’d decided to be generous. A woman like Starr Lederman probably placed a hefty price tag on every favor she chose to dispense. And judging by the pricey artwork on her walls, his brother had enjoyed plenty of favors.

S
TARR KEPT HER BACK
flattened against the wall. Her heart beat furiously. In spite of her panic, she saw him take a paper from his pocket, put it back and pat his pocket as though satisfied. Rape instructions? She almost laughed hysterically, but swallowed, instead, as he swept off the hat she’d admired earlier and tossed it onto her coffee table.

He studied her again and she felt his renewed anger. It created a nameless dread in her. Moments ago she’d have sworn he intended to kiss her. Had the circumstances been different, had they at least met before, she might have let him.

Now what? Her gaze tracked him as he prowled the room. His eyes came to rest on her, and Starr automatically tightened her grip on the robe. Apparently without need. Something about her living room had made him frown again.

Starr frowned back. There was nothing wrong with her furnishings. Everyone said she had good taste. Twin Wedgewood blue chairs were comfortable, as was a large, overstuffed burgundy-flowered couch accented artfully with the same blue tones.

Perhaps the brass-and-glass tables were too modern, but they didn’t intrude. Ah—the signed Monet prints that had belonged to her grandfather. Starr relaxed—a little. So, he was nothing more than a common thief.

Common, but discriminating. She felt the urge to laugh. What would her thief say if she offered to pay him to take them off her hands? She’d never liked the muted pastels or their god-awful gilt frames. It was her mother who’d insisted they be hung.

Actually Patrice Lederman had brought her decorator of the month over to do the job.

Picturing the dramatic fit her mother would pitch when she swept through on one of her rare visits and found them missing did make Starr laugh.

Her laughter drew the stranger’s angry gaze.

By now, however, Starr was pretty confident that if he’d intended her bodily harm, he’d have already done it. Trying but failing to control her relief, she waved a hand airily. “Take the paintings. Please. I’ll give you a head start before I report them stolen.”

“You think I’m a thief?” Clay’s jaw tightened. “I was simply calculating their worth—wondering how a...civil servant can indulge such expensive tastes. But then, we
know
how, don’t we?”

The news that he’d poked into her personal life galled Starr. Trying to shake up his arrogance, she said, “Well, maybe I have a sugar daddy.”

“Do tell.”

He’d obviously missed the sarcasm. “Hey—that was a joke.” She gripped the back of the chair defensively. But the way his eyes raked her, she felt as though she’d been tried and convicted of something slimy. Moving back, Starr clutched her robe again. “I’m serious about the prints. Take them and get out. I’m not likely to give you a proof of purchase for the IRS.”

“Cute. Very cute. And since you brought it up, how does your tax form read on these little—what do you call them?—perks.”

Starr blanched. Was this about taxes? Oh, Lord. She had to wait until she was thirty—a year from now—to get her trust fund. Her grandfather had set it up for her through his bank, so she’d thought the fund’s administrators had paid the inheritance tax. Maybe they hadn’t....

“Are you from the IRS?” she demanded, all levity gone. “I mean, am I being investigated?”

“I’m not from the IRS, sweetheart, but I fully intend to have you investigated. You know, you amaze me. Don’t you feel a shred of guilt, knowing your ‘sugar daddy’ is a married man?”

Starr closed her eyes. Good grief, the man was a full-blown fruitcake, after all. Wanting to appear casual, she edged toward the phone. If she could punch in a one-number code, Blevins would summon the police.

“What’s your name? Do you have ID?” she asked, trying to buy time. Her smile felt wooden. But crazies responded to smiles and gentle voices, didn’t they?

Suddenly her heart froze. What if SeLi came down into the middle of this? Terrified, Starr made a wild lunge for the phone.

Clay read her intent and with ease fenced her against the wall.

Their eyes locked. Starr was the first to look away.

“All you need to know,” he said, his tone dangerously soft, “is that I’m someone who plans to throw a monkey wrench in the senator’s little game.”

“Senator...McLeod?” Starr’s mind raced, though her voice squeaked. “Oh, my goodness!” Her gaze again tangled with the stranger’s ice blue glare. All at once things fell into place, and Starr felt less of a personal threat.

“Who sent you?” she asked. “Wildlife advocates or environmentalists?”

Clay fought her attempt to throw him off track. God, but she had that look of innocence down pat.

“Don’t BS me, sugar.” Clay dug the check out of his jacket pocket and waved it under her nose. “I think this should clarify my position.”

Starr had to cross her eyes to see what he was holding. It looked like a check. But he didn’t keep it still long enough for her to be sure.

“I trust this is enough to get you out of the senator’s bed and out of town. A long, long way out of town,” he drawled.

It was indeed a check, Starr saw now. A very big check if she’d seen all those zeroes correctly. And seeing her name on the line beside them made her gasp. Her gaze flew back to his. Heat clawed its way to her cheeks. This arrogant cowboy was offering her a bribe.

“You snake,” she hissed. “How dare you try to compromise Senator McLeod in such a sleazy manner!” Forgetting that her robe wasn’t secured, Starr drew back a hand to slap the smirk off his face.

Clay saw it coming. Without effort, he blocked her swing and pressed her hand to the wall.

The air between them crackled like a live wire. For a moment the only sound in the room was their combined breathing.

Clay moved a fraction of an inch back. “It’s a waste of breath to deny it. I followed you two today and saw everything.”

He’d followed her? Starr raised her chin haughtily. “You saw nothing, you baboon. Our lunch today was business.”

Clay threw back his head and laughed. “Yeah, right. A state senator always does business with low-level state employees. I suppose the kissy-face when he dropped you off was business, too?”

“Let me go!” She tried kicking him. What she wanted to do was throw him bodily out of her apartment, but he was too big. Too big and too solid. And she was shaking in fury. “What rock did they turn over to find you?” she spat, twisting to and fro. “Even if you have no regard for the senator as a politician,” she panted, “think of what smear tactics like this will do to his family. I suppose you took incriminating pictures, you louse!”

The moment the words left her lips, Starr had another terrifying thought. Harrison’s family wouldn’t be the only ones hurt by such muckraking. If the people responsible for sending this thug went to the press, Wanda Manning would have SeLi out of here in a wink.

She quit fighting. Maybe they could bargain. But, no. His eyes were cold. Starr thought then that both the senator and she were doomed.

“Have you no shame?” He forced her to look up. Damn, he wanted to see her eyes, to see her contrition, if only for a moment. Except that when their eyes met, Clay wished he’d paid her and left. Her lips, now a scant inch from his own, looked exceedingly soft and kissable. And her eyes—they were huge and dark with something other than remorse.

Desire? Clay slid under her spell. Lord help him, but he could see why his brother transgressed.

He felt himself sinking. “Forget the senator,” he growled. “Let’s talk about you and me.”

Starr nodded, although she hadn’t the vaguest idea what it was she was agreeing to. Being this close to him made rational thought impossible.

Suddenly Clay had visions of carting her away from the life she’d fallen prey to. He had visions of helping her turn her life around. Damn Harrison. Charming and rich, he’d blinded her. Led her astray.

“I’m not without influence,” he said. “Give me a week. I’ll find you a real job. How about in San Diego? You can start over.”

Starr watched a range of emotions streak through the electrifying blue eyes like fruit flipping through a Vegas slot machine. Earlier she’d seen fury on a short leash. Then she sensed an intense internal struggle. Now, underneath, something she couldn’t quite identify.

He clearly thought the offer should please her.

A job, he’d said. But he knew she had a job with the state. A shiver of fear danced up Starr’s spine.
Harrison’s project...

Oh, God. Starr tensed.

He did the same, and they both waited.

For what? Starr was drowning in a sea of confusion. His eyes did that to her. Looking into them was like staring into a lake. Hypnotic, deep. And they did funny things to her insides. “Uh...could we sit and discuss this, uh, job?” she ventured, feeling her knees caving in beneath her.

Clay tried to disconnect from her, but his body wouldn’t obey. At the restaurant he’d thought her skin had been made up to look youthful and dewy. Up close it gleamed like satin cream. Freckles dusted the bridge of her nose, and a few more traced the lush valley between her breasts.

Clay shivered. No, he couldn’t completely blame Harrison. As if from a distance Clay heard himself ask, “This check plus how much?”

“Pardon?”

He gestured with the check, then forced it into her hand. “You know, what will it take?”

“Take to what?” He was talking in riddles. She gripped the check, finding the crinkle of paper comforting.

“Help me out, please,” he asked nicely, then felt foolish. “Hell, I’ve never done this before. I’ll offer the same deal you have with Harrison. Better,” he hastened on seeing her frown.

He looked so boyishly embarrassed and sincere that Starr wanted to smile. She and the senator hadn’t discussed salary. But no way was a week of research worth this kind of money.

“Do you two have a contract or what?” he asked.

Starr felt the term
contract
like a slap in the face. What was she doing? Maybe this man was killing the sheep. She shoved at him and was appalled when she accidentally scratched his face.

Clay touched a finger to the welt. “Wildcat, huh? Look, if that was too blunt, I’m sorry. I don’t know the protocol for relocating a mistress.”

Mistress?
Suddenly the truth dawned. Starr didn’t know when she’d felt so murderous toward another human being—if indeed he
was
human and not some subspecies. She’d thought this was about the senator’s project. Surely this dolt didn’t think that she and Harrison...that they.S.. Her mouth dropped open. That was
exactly
what he thought.

Purple with rage, she waved the check beneath his arrogant nose before she ripped it to shreds and flung the pieces in his face. “Get out!” Her body shook. “You’re despicable. No, you’re worse than despicable.” Her voice rose hysterically right before it cracked. “Get out!”

Pieces of the check drifted over him like snowflakes before Clay gave vent to his frustrations, caught her arms and pinned her slender body to his.

Both were breathing hard. “Dammit, woman, when I tell Harrison everything I know, he’ll leave you cold. You’d be wise to listen to me.”

Before Starr could kill him, or at least do him major bodily harm, the door flew open and in rushed SeLi Lederman on a whirlwind of motion. Her long-sleeved plaid shirt was only half-tucked into slim jeans, and her twin, jet black braids snapped against the shirt’s hem like whirling dervishes.

The man abruptly released her.

Starr read a host of questions in SeLi’s lively almond eyes. Eyes that took in her normally conservative adoptive mother’s disheveled state, then moved quickly to assess every inch of the tall dark stranger who’d had her mother wrapped in his arms.

Starr knew how it must have looked. Her choked protest was lost, however, in SeLi’s unladylike whistle.

Clay flinched and took several steps back.

Starr made haste to escape. “Ah, SeLi, you’re home,” she said inanely, giving a nervous toss of her auburn curls.

The child skidded to a halt near one of the blue chairs, where she nonchalantly dropped her bright purple book bag. She continued to regard the male in their midst with frank curiosity.

Clay refused to be intimidated. Instead, he challenged the girl’s amused gaze. She was, after all, just a kid.

“Totally awesome.” SeLi tipped her head to gain a new perspective. Another low whistle. “I don’t know where you found him, but this dude beats Stanley Stud hands down. It’s okay by me if you keep him, Mom.”

Mom.
Clay did a fast double take and said aloud, “Mom?”

Starr rushed to stand protectively beside her child. Of SeLi’s two pet names for Stanley, Starr couldn’t help wishing the girl had chosen Stanley Stupid this time. Not that either was acceptable, but they were working on the problem. It would’ve been nice if SeLi had kept quiet altogether. Lord only knew why, but this stranger already labored under a mountain of misconceptions. And somehow, some way, he was tied to Harrison’s proposed project.

“You have a daughter?” Trying to recover from his shock, studied first the girl, then the woman.

“Oops!” SeLi clapped a hand over her mouth. “Didn’t I say if you’re ever gonna snag a husband, I oughtta call you Starr?”

Before Starr could gather her wits, the child thrust a small hand at the man and said around a lopsided grin, “Don’t worry, mister. She’s not married.”

A growling sound gurgled from Starr. “To your room, young lady.” She pointed. “The
gentleman
was just leaving,” she said, doubting the man had ever a passing acquaintance with the term. “I know you have homework.”

“Aw, Mom. You said we’d get out the Christmas decorations today.”

“Yes, well, that was before I had an unexpected chat with your teacher.”

Sullen, the girl buried her hands in her back pockets.

Starr knew that look. But she could be stubborn, too. “You heard me, SeLi. And not another word.”

Starr might as well have saved her breath, because SeLi obviously wasn’t finished talking to their uninvited guest. “Judge Forbes said I could use Starr’s last name till the ‘doption’s square. ‘Cause it will be...soon.” She paused to shoot Starr a troubled gaze.