Drop Dead Gorgeous (6 page)

“Kim?” Richard looked blank.

“The girl you thought I was when you called.”

“Oh, Kim.” He laughed, lackluster, almost nervous, and his gaze centered on his plate rather than her eyes. “No, she's just a friend.”

She smelled a rat. Though Madison liked to believe the best about people, she was neither gullible nor stupid. All she did was look for motivation as to why a person might be compelled to lie or treat someone badly. She might stretch a bit to find a reason if she had to, but she did need some explanation for bad behavior in order to forgive it.

She speared a piece of lettuce. “
Kim
thinks you're her boyfriend, doesn't she?”

T. Larry would have been proud of her for pushing the issue. Speaking of T. Larry, he was taking that woman's card. She wondered how smart it was to move this fast, the evening wasn't half over. T. Larry was a bit of a babe in the woods when it came to dating. And bars. You just never knew what you got.

Not like Richard, of course. She hadn't met him in a bar. Their meeting had been a fluke, an accident, a slipped digit when he punched in a phone number, which surely meant heavenly tampering.

She'd almost forgotten the question when Richard finally answered. “Not exactly.”

Oh yeah, about Kim not giving up on him yet. “Could you define not exactly?”

“Kim sort of dumped me, not the other way around.”

It was the last thing she expected to hear, but confession was good for the soul, both for the confessor and the confessee. Madison put her fork down, lacing her fingers beneath her chin. Richard toyed with his salad. He needed a little push. “And?”

“When I called you, I was hoping Kim hadn't really meant it.”

Using a burst of laughter from a nearby table as cover, she said, “So you asked her what color underwear she was wearing?” Which was not a particularly sterling lead-in to asking a woman if she was sure she wanted to dump him.

It was something Madison might have said in similar circumstances, however, if for nothing other than the shock value.

“I didn't ask that. Did I?” Just enough pause to show he wasn't certain.

“When a man asks a woman what she's wearing, she doesn't immediately think he's referring to the cut of her business suit.”

“Oh.”

Waiting for more, she buttered a small piece of sourdough bread.

When Richard didn't offer further explanation for questioning her attire on the phone, Madison offered a reasonable excuse with a sympathetic smile. “You wanted to know if she was dressed for a night on the town with a man or just a movie with girlfriends.”

“You were right the first time.” His head down, but his eyes raised to hers, his mouth crooked on one side with a faintly bad-boy smile. “Well, Kim sort of liked phone…” He cleared his throat instead of using the word.

“So you thought you'd change her mind if you started a little phone…” Madison cleared her throat delicately.

Richard busied himself with his own piece of bread, then finally gave her the answer she'd been waiting for. “Yes.”

God, she loved honesty in a man. He'd just bared his soul, revealed his insecurities and let her see the real Richard Lyons.

He also liked phone sex.

She cocked her head. “I'd have changed my mind if I were her.”

“You would?”

Building his confidence before their main course even arrived was the least Madison could do. “Especially with your voice.”

“You like my voice?”

She adored his voice. Deep, but not too deep, with a hint of mischief over the phone. Most of all, it was that tinge of uncertainty he had right now. “Kim's going to figure out she made a really big mistake.”

He pushed his salad away. “Maybe there's something wrong with me.”

Nothing Madison couldn't fix.

 

L
AURENCE REALIZED
with a jolt that he had Ronnie's card in his jacket pocket and her hand on his thigh. High on his thigh. Damn close to his…Conversation hummed pleasantly around them, the baseball game was over and the music no longer split his head in two, but Ronnie's hand made him extremely uncomfortable. After all, they'd merely exchanged idle chitchat while he kept an eye on Madison.

He looked pointedly down at her long pale fingers tipped in crimson. “I don't think I know you well enough for that.”

Her jaw dropped open in a very unfeminine gape. “Excuse me?”

“Your hand. On my thigh. I don't think that's appropriate at this stage of our acquaintance.”

She snatched her hand back as though he'd touched it with a cattle prod.

“I realize that I must seem like some Neanderthal, but I just don't think I'm up on this new dating protocol. How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“When will you be twenty-eight?”

Eyeing him warily, she answered. “At the end of the month.”

God, Madison's age to a tee. Did that mean Madison would soon be putting her hand on Dick the Prick? She'd better not. Laurence wouldn't be answerable for his actions. “I'm a good ten years older than you, and when I was your age, it was the man who put his hand on a girl's thigh.” He thinned his lips. “Then the girl was supposed to slap him.”

Something feral flickered in her eyes, and her nose tipped to a haughty angle. “Are you going to slap me?”

He had the oddest feeling this wasn't going his way. “That wasn't what I meant. I just meant that ladies used to possess a certain decorum that
some
women seem to have lost these days.”

She put a hand to her mouth, the same one that had recently been on him, but something nasty had happened to her eyes. “Oh, you mean that in your day, women weren't the aggressors.”

In
his
day? Didn't she know it was
still
his day? He was only thirty-eight, for God's sake. “Men
are
the aggressors.”
Was
that what most women believed? Surely not Madison.

Obviously Ronnie did have a prejudice. “Who says they're the ones who get to decide when a sexual move will be made?” She had daggers in her eyes just for him.

He tried to clarify. “It's as inappropriate for a woman to put her hand on a man's thigh as it is for a man to do it to a woman.”

“Men are chauvinists. Men are pigs. Women have just as much right to make the first move.”

Perhaps it was the uncalled-for attack when he'd only been trying to explain to her a little about how men felt. Perhaps it was the snarl disfiguring her lips. Perhaps it was Harriet's harangue earlier in the day. Or maybe it was the fact that Madison's hand
had
disappeared beneath the white linen tablecloth. Whatever it was, Laurence suddenly lost control.

His eyes never leaving Ronnie's twisted face, Laurence reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out her card. “I'm sure I won't be needing this.” Then he ripped it in half.

He saw it coming and didn't flinch.

Her hand smacked his jaw with a slap that cut through every word, every voice, every snippet of conversation, every peal of laughter and even the music blaring overhead. Silence.

Then she threw her drink in his face, and the entire place erupted. Or maybe it was just Madison coming like a whirlwind to his rescue.

He thanked God Ronnie had already grabbed her purse from the bartop and stormed from the raging bar in staccato-heeled fury.

Madison's touch on his arm was heaven. He didn't like scenes, couldn't believe he'd participated in this one, had actually encouraged it.

“Are you all right, T. Larry?” She dabbed a napkin at the wine on his face, his cheeks and his lips. He closed his eyes.

Voices buzzing around them became a din. He hated being the center of attention. “I didn't handle the situation well.”

“T. Larry, you're a wonder of understatement. I knew letting you sit by yourself in a bar was a bad idea. I should have sent you home immediately.”

“Is this your brother?” Dick the Prick was on her heels, his face a ghastly shade of white.

Laurence put one foot to the floor and came half off his seat, fists clenched. “No, I'm not her brother—”

Madison didn't let him finish. “He's my boss. He's had a bad experience. We'd better walk him to his car.”

“We?” he chorused with Dick, then slumped back onto the stool.

She put a perfect little hand on the bastard's sleeve. “We were just finishing, weren't we, Richard?”

“Uh, uh, yeah,” Dick stuttered, presumably because they clearly couldn't have finished.

Madison went on. “We'll drop off T. Larry, then you can walk me to my car.”

Laurence saw red. “I'll walk you to your car, and Dick here can find his way to his own vehicle.”

“He goes by Richard, not Dick.”

Laurence took a deep breath. He wasn't jealous. The ginger ale had gone to his head. Or he'd lost his mind. There was no other explanation, not for this incredible need he had to smash every bone in Dick's face, nor for the earlier embarrassing scene with Ronnie. “I think I'm having a nervous breakdown.”

Madison patted his arm. “You'll feel better after a nice hot shower.”

Only if she were in it with him. And
not
near Dick the Prick in any way, shape or form.

Laurence rose, holding his head in his hand, Madison's soft, perfumed touch doing yet another number on his brain. Pulling out his wallet, he yanked out two twenties, enough to cover Ronnie's tab as well as his.

The bartender held up his hand. “It's on me, bud.”

“But…”

The man leaned his belly against the bar. “You said it for us all, man. Did us guys proud. You never gotta pay for another drink inside these doors as long as I'm here.”

Madison gripped his arm, her breath sweet with champagne. “What did you
say,
T. Larry?”

The bartender slicked back his thinning hair, puffed out his chest, then put his hand to his heart. “He upheld male honor everywhere.”

Laurence grabbed Madison's hand and made a dash for the exit amidst a deafening roar of applause, slamming the door on a refrain of “Way to go, dude,” which almost drowned out the female answer of “Lynch the dirty bastard.”

Too bad they hadn't managed to leave Dick on the inside.

Seemed Madison hadn't forgotten her date, either. “Oh, Richard, I left my purse at the table. Will you get it?”

“Of course.” The pompous bastard oozed charm.

“Did he pay the bill?” Laurence wanted to know as soon as the door closed after him.

“I didn't notice since I was rushing over to you.”

Ah, she hadn't noticed Richard the Lionhearted in the dash to be at
his
side. Good, very good. He'd have dragged her away right now if she hadn't left her purse behind.

“How old is he?” Laurence indicated the door with a thumb over his shoulder.

“Thirty-three.”

“I'm five years older.”

“Yes, I know.” She put a hand to his forehead. “Did she scramble your brain when she hit you?”

“It was only a slap, not a hit.” What the hell was taking Dick so long? Throw some bills on the table, get the purse and leave.

The door burst open once more, and there the Prick was, all flushed, Madison's huge purse under his arm. She took it with a grateful smile. Laurence growled, grabbed her arm and pulled her along with him.

“T. Larry,” she said, while his feet ate up the concrete. She tugged on his hand to slow him down, touching the still-burning mark on his face. “What did you say to her?”

He looked back at Dick the Prick. The creep was following them. He thought about where Madison's hand
might
have been. “She put her hand on my crotch, and I told her to remove it.” The slight exaggeration didn't bother him in the least. Madison would have done the same to make a point. Just today she'd told him little white lies for a good cause were acceptable.

“You told her to what?” That was Dick.

Laurence had eyes for only Madison. Hers were deeper than green, as fathomless as the sea. “I told her to take her hand off my crotch.”

He'd left off the other bits because the end had really come about when he hadn't responded the way Ronnie wanted him to. Madison understood. “You insulted her woman power.”

He'd do it again. “What should I have done, Madison?”

Madison beamed at him. “I think you did just the right thing, T. Larry.”

All he could think was that if it had been Madison's hand…