Drop Dead Gorgeous (20 page)

“All right. Tomorrow.”

She'd feel sane tomorrow. “T. Larry, I have a question.”

“What?”

“If heads you win, and tails I lose, how was I ever supposed to win the toss?”

A corner of his mouth lifted. “Don't think about it now, Madison. Just think about this.”

Then he kissed her again, and she had a bad feeling, a really bad feeling that he'd won the toss because she'd wanted him to.

 

“I'
M NOT INVITING YOU IN
.”

“I can wait until you're ready.” Laurence realized Madison was now running scared. He'd wanted to buy her a nice meal in a swanky restaurant, but she'd insisted on fast food, which she generally avoided. In fact, she was avoiding him, cutting their date short and turning their kiss into a distant memory instead of little over an hour ago.

“I don't think you should get your hopes up.”

Laurence pulled in beneath a streetlamp outside her apartment. “Something's definitely up, and it's not just my hopes.”

She blushed. Madison had the prettiest blush. Then she turned in her seat. “T. Larry, what's gotten into you? I've never heard you make a sexual innuendo. In fact, I've always thought you were
asexual.
”

Christ. If she wasn't careful, he'd show her just how asexual he was right on the front seat of his car. Or maybe he'd just beat his head against the steering wheel. He had to say something to keep from strangling her.

“When are you seeing him again?”

“Tomorrow night.”

He'd been hoping she'd say never. Laurence restrained himself, but his fists ached with clenching the wheel. “So you're driving yourself in to work.”

She nodded.

“Carry your car keys between your fingers so you can poke out the eyes of anyone coming close to you.”

“T. Larry.”

“And have Squeaky walk you to the elevators.”

“T. Larry.” More strongly.

“Promise.”

She gave him a you-pitiful-man look and huffed. “Promise.”

He'd still worry, but didn't know what else to do, besides tying her to his bed. Hmm, not a bad idea. “I'll walk you up.”

“You don't need to do that.”

“I always walk a lady to the door and see her safely in.”

“You aren't going to kiss me, are you? It confuses me.”

“I won't kiss you.” He smiled to himself because her admission seemed a point in his favor. “Unless you beg me to.”

She snorted, then climbed out, her fanny outlined in the delicious dress. Just that sight, her smile and those kisses were worth everything. At the foot of the stairs, she waited.

“Ladies first,” he murmured with his hand extended.

She narrowed her eyes. “I know what you're doing.” But she preceded him, tugging at the bottom of her dress.

At the top of the stairs, she squatted to retrieve a key from beneath the mat, eyes on him over her shoulder. He took it from her hand when she rose.

“What the hell are you doing leaving a key under your mat?”

“My brother was going to fix my sink.”

“Anyone could have found it, not just your brother.”

She frowned. “Why would anyone care?”

Because she was young, beautiful and very kissable. “I'll check inside before you go in there.”

She pursed those kissable lips. “I'm not inviting you in.”

“I told you I wouldn't kiss you if you didn't want me to.” He wondered how long it would take to make her beg. “This is about your safety. Is sex all you have on the brain?”

She snorted again, an oddly petite and dainty sound.

“Stay in the doorway while I check that everything's okay.”

She rolled her eyes, said nothing, but waited for him on the doorstep.

The shade by the window where he'd kissed her was down. He crossed the room, snapping it up, letting street light swamp the room. Pink-and-green neon stripes flashed across the ceiling. She'd cleaned, her clothing was put away and the magazines straightened. A single rose unfurled in a bud vase in the center of the coffee table.

No monsters lurked behind the couch. Laurence moved down the short hallway and stopped at the bathroom door. Gleaming pink-and-gray tile adorned the walls and countertop. Her jewelry sat in a bone china cup resplendent with blossoming blue roses. Scents abounded—strawberry hand lotion, a bottle of honeysuckle shampoo, lilac bubble bath. Eyes closed, he breathed deep of her essence.

“Are you done in there yet?” she called from the front door, exactly where he'd told her to stay. A first. Madison doing what he told her to do without much of a fight.

“I'm just checking to make sure there's no psycho behind the shower curtain.”

“Get out of my bathroom.”

He rattled the plastic curtain. “Looks like you're okay in here. I'll just check the bedroom.”

“Stay out of my bedroom.”

Neon shone through her unshaded window. A thick comforter covered the bed, matching pillows scattered with artful display along the headboard. Another red rose on the dresser, in a blue bud vase, lightly scented the air. She'd stuck photos of nieces, nephews, brothers and so on along the edge of the mirror. A silver-handled comb lay in the center of a square lace doily. Pots of makeup lined the back of the vanity.

He wanted to touch her feminine things, hold the lace of her nightgown, which was laid out on the bed, to his nose, drink her in.

“Are you done?”

In a moment, he'd be the one begging. “I'm just checking the closet.” He slammed the door. “No monsters in there. I guess it's safe. Wait, I forgot the kitchen.”

“Don't you dare go in my kitchen.”

When he made it back down the short hall, she was standing in front of louvered swinging doors, hands behind her back protectively.

“Do you mind not putting your back to the door like that? Someone could knife you between the louvers.”

She pursed her lips combatively.

“I have to check it, Madison.” He held out a placating hand.

She dashed through the door before he could stop her, then gasped from somewhere on the other side.

He lost a lifetime in that gasp and the “eek” that followed.

“What's wrong?” The doors hit him in the back as they swung in after him.

She stood by the sink. Light falling through the window shone across her face. Hand on the tap, she turned the water on, turned it off, back on again, then leaned to the switch and flipped on the garbage disposal.

It coughed, spat, choked and fell silent.

“Not fixed,” she muttered. “He's going to kill me because
he
had to do the dishes.”

“Your brother?”

“Uh-huh, Sean. He did the dishes to make me feel guilty for leaving such a mess and didn't fix the garbage disposal to punish me.”

Nice to have a plumber, contractor, mechanic and dishwasher all in the family. Madison never had to pay for a service.

Now all she needed was an accountant. Christ!

 

T. L
ARRY HAD VAMOOSED
like a man with a stick of dynamite where the sun don't shine. Whatever had gotten into him? Her house was clean, her dishes done and her clothes picked up. What more could a man ask for?

She put the key under the mat, closed the door, poured herself a glass of wine, then walked down the hall to her bedroom.

Sean would probably finish the garbage disposal tomorrow, and she'd make sure there wasn't one single dish in that sink.

Her bedroom smelled of roses. She flipped on the light. The bed was made, her nightgown neatly displayed, and a single rose stood on her vanity.

This really wasn't like Sean. Odd. Very odd. Unless he wanted to make her feel terribly guilty for having left a mess for him to wade through. Now
that
was like him, going overboard to make a point. Still, cleaning her entire apartment, not to mention picking up her nightgown off the floor and folding it on the bed, was a very strange form of punishment even for Sean. And the rose. With this amount of effort, he must have been livid and probably wouldn't be back to do the garbage disposal for weeks. She should have felt awfully guilty, but how could she when she now had such a lovely clean apartment?

Switching on the small lamp, she slid onto the stool in front of her vanity mirror and reached automatically for the brush that wasn't there. She picked up the silver comb instead, sliding it through her hair, pulling on one or two tangles.

She sipped from her glass, licked her lips, and tasted T. Larry. Oh, she really was all mixed up, she thought as she pulled on her nightgown.

By the bedside, her phone rang. After ten, it couldn't be Sean, nor any of her brothers, not even her mom. Crawling onto the coverlet, cradling her wine to her breasts, she reached for the phone.

“Hello?” She answered with a hint of trepidation. It might be T. Larry to confuse her again.

“Madison?”

“Richard.” She'd relented, giving him her number last night.

“I just called to say good-night.”

“You called to see if I was home from my date with T. Larry.”

The silence, except for cell phone static, was short but telling. “Last night you said it was just an ‘outing.'”

That was before T. Larry talked about sex. “I don't know quite what it was, Richard.”

A sigh. “Does this mean you don't want to see me anymore?” A pathetic note crept into his voice.

T. Larry demanded, steamrollered and teased. He did what he wanted and her desires be damned. He was anything but pathetic.

Poor Richard. Despite his beautiful face, he needed her. T. Larry didn't, unless it was to type his latest office protocol. Ah, the crux of the whole thing. Part of falling in love was feeling needed, and much as she told everyone T. Larry needed her, she knew he'd toddle on through life quite well without her.

“I want to see you again, Richard.”

“Tomorrow is still on?”

“Of course it is.”

His relief and his smile slid across the vast airspace between them. “I have another surprise, better than the picnic.”

Surprises eventually led to bells. “I love surprises.”

“I'll meet you in the lobby of your building at five.”

“Make it five-fifteen. The elevators are slow.” And she'd need to touch up her makeup in the bathroom.

“Great.” A pause, then, “Uh, Madison?”

“Yes, Richard?” Her mind strained toward his voice, waiting for…something.

“Is everything else all right?”

What was he fishing for? “Sure.”

“You're sure you're okay?”

“Don't I sound okay?”

“Yes, but…I just worry about you.”

“Whatever for? Do I sound strange or something?”

“No.” He stopped. Could he hear the residual T. Larry tingle in her voice?

“I'm fine, Richard. I'm looking forward to tomorrow night.” Traitorous thoughts, she was looking forward to seeing T. Larry tomorrow morning.

“Until then.”

Richard hung up first.

She sipped her wine, a vague tightness in her chest. The scent of the rose, while sweet, was overpowering. Madison climbed from the bed to open her window. A touch of fresh air in, a taste of gagging flowery air out.

Quiet filled the street, though a hint of traffic, both foot and vehicle, drifted down from University Avenue. Richard was like the glow of her neighbor's neon bathing the narrow road with color. Flashy without depth. T. Larry was like the cinnamon from the bakery below wafting on a slight breeze. Understated yet tantalizing.

She had to do something to turn the tables on her feelings. She had to do something about
herself.
She had to…

Make over her hair. Yes. Absolutely.

On the corner, a figure stood just beyond the circle of lamplight. Her lights were off, but the neon glow would frame her in the window. Not that being seen bothered her; the lace of her nightie was pretty and the cut sexy. But T. Larry would expect a bit more decorum from her. Goodness, she was thinking too much about what T. Larry wanted.

Setting her wine on her nightstand, Madison burrowed back beneath the covers.

She dialed BeeBee, who never slept—except if you counted the hours between 1:00 and 3:00 a.m. She was a whiz with color. Magic flowed from her fingers. Hair magic.

“BeeBee, I need help with a capital
H.
”