Christmas Star (Contemporary, Romance) (8 page)

“Stanley, this is silly,” Starr hissed. “SeLi knows exactly how to jerk your chain. If you didn’t react, she’d quit doing it. Come on, finish your lunch. The spinach fettuccini here is to die for.”

“Oh, here you are!” Another waitress, the bubbly one Starr had seen fawning over Clay, rushed up and handed him his steak plate. Stanley was more or less hemmed in. “How nice,” the young woman cooed, her eyes only for Clay. “You found someone you knew. And to think you’re only visiting San Francisco. It’s a small world, I always say.”

The woman’s Pollyanna sweetness grated on Starr’s nerves, as did the way she gushed over Clay. Oh, he made a show of nonchalance, but Starr knew he loved every minute. “Sit, Stanley,” Starr snapped. “You’re making a scene.”

“Me?” he sputtered.

Clay calmly cut into his very rare steak and carried a piece to his mouth.

Stanley turned a sort of puce green. “How can you even watch this...this cannibal eat?”

“Don’t rush off on my account,” Clay said around a winsome smile. “Finish your tie, er, your lunch.” His grin spread.

Stanley pulled back, looking miffed. “I can’t believe you’re friends with someone so uncouth, Starr.”

Clay gestured with his fork. “Oh, we’re not friends. It’s more of a fraternal affiliation, I’d say, given her close association with my brother.”

“And who might your brother be?” Stanley tore his gaze from the meat and sneered. “Dracula?”

Clay’s smile faded. “Harrison McLeod.
Senator
Harrison McLeod. The rules are simple while he’s in office. What’s his is mine, and what’s mine I keep.” His cool blue gaze raked Starr.

She seethed.

Clay sat back. Under the table, his thigh brushed hers.

She went hot, then cold, then hot again.

“That does it!” Stanley hailed his waitress and asked her to box his lunch. “Being lied to, as well as insulted, is more than I can take. If the
senator’s brother
knows so much about your plans, let
him
get your gel-plates.”

Starr had to shut him up before he inadvertently let any more slip. Harrison would have a fit. “Stanley, people are watching.”

“Let them watch. I’m calling a cab. Are you coming or not? Leave your
non
friend the tab—he can certainly afford the prices here. In fact, I believe I’ll send him a bill for my tie.”

Without waiting to see if Starr followed, Stanley pushed past the waitress and headed for the door.

“Will he be back?” the confused woman asked Clay.

He shrugged and deferred to Starr.

Her response was to request the check. As the waitress pulled a sheaf of bills from her apron pocket and thumbed through them, Starr did her best to ignore Clay.

“So that’s your daughter’s idea of a stud?” he said the moment the waitress left. “You should really pay more attention to her education, Mom.”

Uncomfortably aware that every eye in the place was trained on them, Starr scooted out of the horseshoe-shaped booth, choosing the long way around. “You are—”

“Despicable?” he filled in, standing when she did.

“Did you follow me just to make my life miserable?”

His dark brows drew together with chilling speed. “I told you, but you don’t seem to get it—I want you out of my brother’s bed. Instead, it sounds as if the two of you are planning a rendezvous on my turf.” His arm snaked out and he caught Starr’s chin. “Tell me, Starr. How does Stanley fit in? Or does he simply make a good cover?”

Her lips parted and her cheeks burned. It was all she could do not to blurt out the truth, Harrison and his secrets be damned. She wanted to smack that know-it-all smirk right off his face—except that as she stared into his eyes, she found herself slipping again. Found herself wanting his kiss.

If she stood on tiptoe, their mouths would be mere inches apart....

Clay groaned. “This is insane,” he muttered, his senses tumbling like a barrel going over Niagara Falls. “Let’s get out of here. Now.”

Laughter from the next table penetrated the fog that clouded Starr’s reason. She blinked, then savagely bit her lip. How could she have let this happen? And in so public a place. “No.” She wrenched herself back, only to discover that no bonds held her in check.

Clay flushed. “You feel the chemistry between us. Don’t try to deny it. Forget my brother,” he said, lowering his voice. “He has a
family,
dammit.”

He sounded anguished. And that was why Starr wanted to say
something.
Wanted to make him understand—without revealing any of Harrison’s secrets. “The senator and I... We...” Clutching her purse, she shook her head. After all, what could she really say?

With a distressed cry, Starr reached into her purse for some cash and threw it on the table. Mindful of the curious stares of other diners, she hurried from the room.

Clay sank back against the cushioned seat, and wondered how he always managed to provoke her when that hadn’t been his intent. And it wasn’t as if he hadn’t given her every chance to explain, damn her.

Caught in a maelstrom of doubt, Clay stood and matched the cash she’d left, then added some more to compensate for the mess.

“Goodness,” someone gushed behind him. It was Miss Congeniality, the waitress who’d handled his order. “Your friends weren’t very hungry,” she said. “Oh, I see the gentleman had an accident.” She lifted a corner of Stanley’s soggy tie.

“Yes. Do you have something you can clip the label out with? I feel responsible, and I’d like to buy him another tie.”

“Well, aren’t you the sweetest man? Sure, give me a minute.”

Clay didn’t feel very sweet as he waited for her to return with scissors. Her eyes invited more than the thanks he gave her, but Clay pretended not to see. His mind refused to rid itself of a certain red-haired temptress.

* * *

S
TARR TRIED
to regain control of her senses during the solitary cab ride back to work. Stanley’s taxi was just pulling away from the curb when hers arrived. If only she hadn’t stayed to fight that losing battle with Clay McLeod, she might already have made her peace with Stanley. They’d been friends since college and had always worked well together.

For the first time, Starr wondered if Stanley felt more than friendship for her. If so, it wasn’t because she’d offered any encouragement.

Not that she encouraged Barclay McLeod, either. Nor would she. Ever. She knew his type—a talented womanizer like her father. She loved her father, but she’d never tolerate that kind of husband for herself. Reportedly, Samuel Lederman dallied with every starlet who walked onto one of his sets. Yet, true to double standard, he didn’t want his wife so much as talking to another man. Starr had watched her mother live with the rumors—and realities—of his infidelities.

Women, young and old, threw themselves at her father. The man she’d just left back at the restaurant exuded the same kind of sexy charisma, Starr thought grimly as she paid her fare.

“Too sexy for my own good,” she murmured aloud placing blame where it belonged. She dashed into the building.

At first the date to start Harrison’s project had seemed impossibly close; now SeLi’s Christmas break didn’t seem close enough. Better to be camping at Idyllwild beyond reach of both McLeods than to be here, stuck in the middle of their family squabble.

Leaving the elevator, Starr walked right on past Stanley’s closed door. She’d had all she could take of sulky men for one day.

Starr rolled up her sleeves and set to work filing. As a rule, she didn’t mind filing volumes of lab slips or filling out reports in triplicate. Today her mind drifted to other matters, and she grew bored.

Budget cuts—which gave some indication of the shape their state was in—were responsible for a shortage in support staff. If Starr truly wanted to get back into Stanley’s good graces, all she needed to do was volunteer her clerical services for a few hours.

By midafternoon Starr decided it was the least she could do, considering it was her daughter who’d come up with the silly name. Friends were important; Clay McLeod was a virtual stranger.

But
was
she guilty of using Stanley to keep the wolves at bay, as Clay had insinuated? If so, she wasn’t proud of herself. She tapped on Stanley’s door and poked her head inside.

“Stanley, I’m sorry. I do value our friendship. Could you use some help filing lab slips?”

Stanley didn’t wait for her to change her mind. Nothing she offered could’ve worked half as fast at alleviating his hurt feelings. By the end of the day he’d even handed over the gel-plates.

“I still think I deserve your honesty,” he grumbled. “You know I’m a team player, Starr.”

Starr nodded and glanced at the clock above his head. “Wow, I didn’t realize it was so late. Thank goodness Darcy picked the kids up from school. I guess SeLi can play with the boys until I get home. Thanks for the plates, Stanley. I’ve gotta split.”

“Yeah. Go on. I’ll put the kits on your desk.”

Starr didn’t like keeping secrets. It helped ease her guilt a little to get out in the fresh, rainwashed air. She more than half expected to see Clay McLeod’s rig at the door and was at a loss to explain her disappointment at its absence. “Darn,” she muttered, climbing onto the bus. His inconsistency threw her into a tailspin.

By the time her bus made the requisite twenty-two stops, darkness had fallen. Though the rain had all but disappeared, a thick fog had settled over the city. Until now, Starr hadn’t realized how draining the day had been.

With any luck, Darcy would have fed SeLi along with the twins. On Saturday maybe she’d reciprocate—take the kids ice-skating, and let Darcy sleep late.

“Hi, Miss Lederman.” Blevins rushed out of his office to open the heavy door. “You’re later than usual tonight.”

“Yes. It’s that darned bus. By the way, SeLi and I are going to be heading out of town during Christmas break.” Starr shook water droplets from her wildly curling hair. “I may borrow my dad’s motor home, and it takes up two parking spaces. I’m telling you this in case anyone complains—like the owner,” she said sarcastically.

Blevins chuckled. “Not much rattles young Mr. McLeod. Although he may not like hearing that you’re leaving. Asked a lot of questions about you the other night. Mrs. Blevins thinks he’s smitten.” The old man winked when he saw Starr blush. “She feels sorry for him,” he confided, “being saddled with that snooty wife of his brother’s and all,”

Starr snorted. “I suspect your concern is greatly misplaced, Blevins. I doubt Barclay McLeod does anything that isn’t self-serving.” Voicing the thought left her surprisingly depressed as she rode the elevator to her floor.

To top it off, her key stuck in the lock. By the time she got the door open, her mood had disintegrated further. But that was nothing compared to the way it dropped off the scale when she stumbled into her living room—and onto an unexpected scene of domestic tranquillity.

There, on her floor, in a room she had every reason to assume would be empty, sprawled Barclay McLeod. All six feet of him—amid a circle of noisy children. He wore blue jeans and a cable-knit sweater in muted earth tones. One elbow was planted on her deep-pile carpet, and one smooth-shaven cheek rested on his open palm. Feet bootless, hair appealingly mussed, he looked for all the world as if he belonged.

“Mom!” shouted SeLi excitedly. “Clay’s teaching us how to play Monopoly!” She waved a fistful of play money. “He says I’m a real ty...tycoon.”

Starr’s gaze skipped over the assortment of children and locked on Clay’s lazy smile.

Instantly she resented his easy familiarity with
her
child. She resented the way he looked so at home in her living room. She resented the pain that ripped through her heart. In all her childhood, she’d never once experienced the joy of such familial warmth. And deep down she resented Clay McLeod for showing her the very thing Wanda Manning harped about most.
This
was what SeLi missed by not having two parents.

It was all Starr could do to hold back a sudden rush of tears.

“E
VERYTHING ALL RIGHT
?” Clay asked, sitting up, a concerned expression on his face. “SeLi expected you home earlier.”

Starr didn’t want him to know how affected she was by his presence. “I—I’m fine. Traffic moves slowly in this weather.”

Several pairs of eyes chastened Starr for her untimely interruption.

“You’re screwing up our light, Mom,” protested SeLi.

“Yeah,” complained Kevin. Or was it Mike? Starr could never tell Darcy’s twins apart, even when they were side by side. Between the twins sat a child she’d never seen before. A thin boy with flaxen hair, who stared apprehensively at her from pale blue eyes. Any moment she expected him to take flight like a frightened sparrow.

Starr removed her coat and hung it in the hall closet. “I wasn’t expecting company. As I recall, Monopoly can take hours.”

“I’m winning,” SeLi bragged. “I have all the railroads, Park Place and loads of money.”

“Beginner’s luck,” scoffed Kevin glumly, counting a small stack of money tucked under his edge of the board. “It’s Morgan’s game, and he doesn’t have any property at all, and less money than me.”

Starr shifted her gaze back to the thin blond boy.
So this is Harrison’s son,
she thought. The boy seemed little more than an anemic shadow. No wonder his father was worried.

Aloud she asked one of the twins, “Where’s your mother, Kevin? Why aren’t you kids upstairs?”

The twin she’d been certain was Mike answered with a self-conscious giggle. “‘Cause Dad got home early. He and mom are in the bedroom doin’ whatever they always do when he comes back from a long trip.”

The boy’s mirror image chuckled and threw a punch his way, “Shh, Kevin. That’s private stuff.”

Starr blushed and glanced at the only other adult in the room. She expected him to make some typically male comment, but surprisingly he didn’t even meet her eyes. It was the kids who snickered and Clay who put a stop to the laughter and changed the subject.

“Morgan finally met Mike and Kevin today. This seemed like a good way to break the ice, plus give Darcy and Joe time alone. We would’ve used the penthouse,” he said, “but Vanessa is in bed with a migraine. When SeLi offered your place if I’d chaperon, it made sense.”

His dark eyes asked for her approval. She remained silent, and he spoke again, “SeLi’s a natural. I can’t believe the kid’s never played Monopoly before. She has a mind like a steel trap when it comes to figuring money.” His gaze slid back to the girl. “She said her mother never finished school. Perhaps SeLi’s talent comes from her father.”

Tired as she was, Starr resented his chitchat. Though his last remark was stated flatly, his tone implied a question, and it was none of his business, anyway. While she searched for an appropriate end to the conversation, SeLi chimed in with, “Hey, Mom. Are you gonna stand there all night shootin’ the breeze? You’re bugging us.”

The child flopped onto her stomach and rested her chin on one hand. It was obvious she was copying Clay. Even more so when the girl dismissed Starr with a wave of her bare feet and demanded, “Whose turn?”

Following SeLi’s lead, the others settled back into their game. Even Morgan McLeod appeared to relax.

Clay lifted a shoulder and an eyebrow simultaneously.

“What about dinner?” Starr demanded tightly. “Did anyone think about food?”

“Yeah, sure.” SeLi raised her head, momentarily distracted. “Clay’s gonna get us all hamburgers and french fries when we finish here.” She tossed her mother an impish grin. “He promised not to tell Wicked Wanda I was eating takeout again.”

Starr almost choked. What did
he
know about her ongoing battle with SeLi’s social worker? She pressed a hand to her temple. Maybe she was overreacting. Why would he care? After all, he’d set this up for Morgan—or so he claimed. The man gave her a bad case of nerves, that was all. Starr closed her eyes and extended the minimassage to both sides of her head.

“Do you have a headache, too?” Clay asked, sounding genuinely sympathetic.

Starr dropped her hands and retreated a few steps. “No.”

Clay sat up and made a slow survey of her body. He paused longest on her face. “A hot shower does wonders for tension.”

Sympathy was the last thing Starr wanted from him. She opened her mouth, intending to send the bunch of them packing.

“Look,” Clay said, anticipating that she was about to toss them out. “The kids are really having a good time. Let them finish this game. Maybe by then, Darcy and Joe will have completed their, ah, whatever.” Almost without volition his gaze strayed to Starr’s lips and clung there a moment. “I’ll take care of the food. Maybe we’ll forget the hamburgers.” He ignored a chorus of moans. “I make a mean spaghetti dinner.”

Starr felt herself slide under the spell of his lopsided smile. She smiled back, even though every nerve in her body rejected his plan. He was dead right about her needing that shower. Although she doubted mere soap and water could wash away all her tension. Especially since he was responsible for a large part of it.

She sighed. “Finish your game. A shower would be nice. By then I’m sure Darcy and Joe will want the boys home for a family dinner.”

“Agreed,” Clay said. “Don’t rush. Kevin just bought Marvin Gardens and put up a hotel. That may slow SeLi down. I’ve tried to tell her not to get too cocky, because in this game moguls come and go.” He laughed.

As Starr escaped into the safe haven of her bedroom, she thought about the easy way he dealt with children. Whenever
she
had SeLi and the twins, she was constantly breaking up arguments. Barclay McLeod’s charm obviously spanned all ages. Senior citizens like Blevins and his wife, the young waitress at the restaurant and now an assortment of kids. Starr was careful not to include herself in his fan club.

And she was careful to lock her bedroom door. Charming he might be, trustworthy—not. The way his eyes had assessed her a moment ago told her his mind wasn’t only on Monopoly.

Starr made short work of shedding her clothes. She gave a heartfelt sigh as she stood beneath the soothing spray of the shower. Her mind, however, refused to be soothed.

So the coolly beautiful Vanessa McLeod suffered migraines. Well, Harrison’s little brother needn’t look to
her
for consolation.

Liar, liar,
hummed the water beating down on her tired shoulders. She didn’t want to feel anything for him except dislike. But in truth, every time she thought she had him pigeonholed, he did something unpredictable.

Wrapped in a fluffy towel, Starr stared into space and considered the problem he’d presented by suggesting they dine together. Cooking for someone seemed so...so
personal
to her. Maybe that was an old tape, though. Her mother had always ordered the cook to fix gourmet meals for Samuel Lederman whenever he roamed. Starr had never been able to eat those meals. It was all such a farce. She still hated polite pretense.

But darn it, the man who was making himself at home on her carpet had been the reason she’d missed both breakfast and lunch today. She wasn’t about to let him ruin dinner, too, she decided, vigorously brushing her auburn curls until they crackled with static. She was ready for dinner. More than ready. How long would it take a budding tycoon to win her first game of Monopoly?

After pulling on comfortable slacks and a baggy sweater, Starr realized she did feel better. Good enough to face an unwanted guest. Besides, the sooner they decided what to eat and got it eaten, the sooner Clay would leave.

The moment Starr stepped into the living room, she was hit by a flying body. “Mom, Mom, I won! I won!” SeLi hugged her mother around the waist.

“Good for you, honey.” Starr returned the warm squeeze.

“I just love games, Mom. Moe says he has lots more. He said he’d teach me to play every one. Isn’t that bitchin’?” Her jet eyes danced excitedly.

“SeLi!” Starr clapped her hand over the child’s mouth.

Kevin and Mike weren’t fazed. They were busy putting away game pieces, and from their long faces, it was easy to see they didn’t share SeLi’s delight. Morgan had a dejected slump to his shoulders, which told Starr he hadn’t expected to win. Something about his resignation touched her heart.

She looked for the boy’s uncle and found him seated comfortably on the couch, his arms draped carelessly over the back cushions. He was absorbed in watching something on TV. A football game. Once again Starr was struck by this homey scene.

It was more than a little unsettling. She’d neatly labeled him arrogant, egotistical and most assuredly a playboy. Anything but the relaxed family man he now appeared to be. Shaken, Starr deftly disentangled the girl’s arms. “Win or lose, SeLi, everyone cleans up,” she said, pointing at the scattered play money. “When you guys get this stuff put away, we’ll decide what to do about dinner.”

Clay turned and studied her dispassionately. “We took care of it while you showered. If you hadn’t locked the door, SeLi might have checked to see if our plans met with your approval. The way it stands, Joe and Darcy went out to pick up hamburgers. Joe said it was a small price to pay for an hour alone with his wife. Surely Witchy Wanda can’t object to burgers, fries and milk shakes. That would be un-American,” he teased.

“
Wicked
Wanda...and you don’t know her,” Starr said. “She’ll stop at nothing to take SeLi...” Catching herself, Starr let the sentence drift off.

Clay recalled his morning visit with the social worker and suffered a momentary stab of guilt. But nearby sat the reason for that visit. Two children. One dark and brimming with vitality, the other fair and timid. Each desperately wanting, needing a father. Clay hardened his heart. If Harrison was to blame or, more to the point, if he was in trouble of some kind, who better than his brother to have both kids’ interests at heart?

Joe and Darcy’s timely arrival kept Clay from pressing Starr for answers. If his brother had erred, Clay didn’t understand why he’d risk repeating his mistake. Except that when Clay looked more closely at Starr, with her creamy skin, her stunning hair, her beautiful eyes, he knew. The thought of Harris spending nights here, wrapped in her arms, left him wanting to shake them both.

* * *

C
LAY’S MOOD
seemed to shift once he’d helped Joe and Darcy carry their burden of food into the kitchen. Starr was puzzled by it and thought, if he was going to turn surly, she wished he’d take Morgan and leave. Or she did until she saw the boy’s first tentative smile. Then she relented. Morgan wasn’t to blame for his uncle’s roller-coaster disposition.

The noise level rose as all four children squeezed into her small breakfast nook. Nor did it taper off after they had their food in hand, which prompted Darcy to shout, “Why don’t we take ours to the dining room, Starr?” Without waiting for an answer, Darcy and Joe picked up the remaining burgers and shakes and spread them out on the dining table.

Starr stepped between her friends to pass out plates and napkins. She noticed Joe and Darcy holding hands beneath the table like young lovers and felt a momentary stab of envy. Almost as quickly, she shook it off. It was SeLi’s fault—all this talk of wanting a father.

The adults had no sooner begun to eat than Joe started relating a funny story. The phone rang, forestalling his punch line. Starr would have excused herself to answer it, but sank back into her chair when she heard SeLi grab the kitchen extension.

“Mom, it’s a man,” she announced, poking her head around the door. “You wanna take it here?” The receiver dangled from one catsup-covered hand, a mashed hamburger from the other.

Starr grimaced. “You guys go ahead. It’s probably a salesman with one of those deals I can’t refuse.” Studiously avoiding looking at Clay, she rewrapped her burger and stood just as Joe finished his joke.

Starr tried unsuccessfully to stifle her laughter as she picked up the phone and said hello. Joe’s jokes were always silly, and she was always taken in.

“If I’m catching you at a bad time, Starr, I can call back. SeLi should have said you had company.” The low masculine voice threw her for a minute.

“Senator?” she squeaked, her gaze unconsciously flying to his younger brother. Instantly she flushed, although there was no reason. Cupping a hand around the receiver, Starr lowered her voice.

Clay was watching her.

“Joe arrived home earlier than expected,” Starr murmured. “He, Darcy and the boys are here for dinner. It’s noisy. Let me take this on the extension in my room.” She purposely left out mention of Morgan and Clay so as not to hurt the senator. Did he even know his family was still in town? she wondered.

“SeLi, hang this up, please. I’ll take it in my room where it’s quieter. A business call,” she added for the benefit of the adults, who’d fallen silent.

Leaving the room, Starr could feel Clay’s eyes burning into her back. She prayed Joe would start another of his funny yarns.

Clay’s misunderstanding of her dealings with his brother—even if his brother had created that misunderstanding—was reason enough to take the call elsewhere. Not only that, the very nature of their business necessitated privacy. Starr sat on her bed and reached for the phone. “I’m back.”

“I understand you’re already assembling equipment.” The senator began without preamble. He explained which lab would be running the tests, said he’d arranged for airplane couriers, then at the end exclaimed, “Oh, say, Starr. Judge Forbes called about something—an unrelated matter—and in the course of our conversation, I cleared SeLi’s travel with him. It’s quite all right.”

“I wondered how that came about. I thought I told you I’d talk to Wanda.”

“Sorry. I hope it didn’t cause you any problems.”

She recalled her bitter exchange with the social worker. “Nothing out of the ordinary,” she muttered.

“Good. Good. Everything’s running right on schedule, then.” Harrison spoke with the assurance of a man long used to being in control. “Now about the weather—that’s a different ball game. Unusually cold. I’m told it gets up to about thirty degrees in the mountains during the day and down to minus ten at night.”