Game On (27 page)

“He did, Lyds. It was hard and I was a mess, but he was understanding, compassionate, and all around wonderful.”

“I’ll alert the Vatican. In the meantime, what did he say about his ex-lover campaigning against you?”

“Naturally, he offered to deal with her, but I told him I fight my own battles. With your help, of course.”

“And possibly an anvil dropped from a very high place,” Lydia said with the barest trace of humor. “Us against the world, darling. Now, my question is, does a week from Thursday work, or is that too early for you? I can try and push her into the following week if you like.”

Clara’s hands and forehead went clammy. Next week was… too soon! “I’d love for you to push for the following week, Lyds, but I hate to have you on hold like this. Aren’t you supposed to be job hunting?”

“Never mind me, darling. My only concern is that if we make Valentina wait too long and she gets pissy for any reason, we run the risk of her tattling to Kingsley Bartel.”

Clara sighed. “No, you’re instincts are spot on. I think you should stick to next week Thursday and I’ll have to pray she’s satisfied and backs down.”

“Right. I don’t suppose you’ll still be in New York then, in case I need an accomplice?”

“No, sorry. Washington or Atlanta, I believe.”

“Good luck then, darling, and don’t worry about a thing. I’ll speak to you anon.”

Riley, bless his cotton socks, was waiting for them at the restaurant when Clara and Luc arrived for lunch.

“You are a sight for sore eyes, Miss Bean,” he said as he hugged her.

“I’ve been reduced to a cliché, Mr. Sutter?” she said and kissed both his cheeks, French style.

“I can’t help it. Your beauty stuns the originality right out of me.”

He turned to give Luc a man-embrace, the one where they don’t get close but sort of bang on each other’s arms. “Frogman. Ever tried sleep? Or are you hoping your laundry will fit in those bags?”

“Lumpy mattress,” Luc replied.

“Ah gee, princess…did you check underneath it for a pea?”

Clara beamed, so damned glad to be back in the middle of The Luc and Riley Show. They made her laugh out loud and forget her worries, and their conversation more than made up for the unremarkable food. West Rosa’s, by unanimous decision, was declared a gastronomic dud, but that didn’t prevent them from wiling away the rest of the afternoon over pitchers of passable sangria.

“Excuse me, gents,” Clara said, excusing herself from the table when her phone rang. “I’ve got to get that.”

Expecting Lydia’s voice didn’t prepare her for the shock of hearing Valentina on the other end of the line saying, “You two aren’t playing me, are you?”

All the blood in her body seemed to rush to her head in throbbing waves. “What are you talking about?”

“Next Thursday? What the hell am I supposed to do for ten days?” she demanded. “You and Lydia better not be screwing me around, Clara Bean, because I’m going to call Brastow’s secretary and if I find out he has so much as five minutes free before next Thursday, I’m going to have a chat with Kingsley.”

Clara pushed through the restaurant’s main door and sucked in a chest full of cool air. “No one is screwing you around, Val,” she said and leaned against the brick exterior to support her shaky knees. “If Lydia says Brastow isn’t available until Thursday, then he’s not available. And trust me, neither of us wants this to play out longer than it needs to,” she lied.

“Fine, then. That still leaves me hanging for over a week. Sure hope you like chatting with me, Clara dear, because I’ll have to fill the time somehow. Or hey, you know what’s better than a daily phone call? I’ll join your little blog tour!”

“I don’t think so,” Clara said, peeking into the front window of the restaurant at Luc and Riley, who were laughing about something. Damn it, she was missing another good story, thanks to Miss Bitch-America. “Three’s a crowd.”

“I can call Shelagh, find out your travel schedule…in fact, why don’t I meet you at the restaurant for dinner tonight?”

She wished she had something to stick needles into, like a blonde-headed doll. “Yes, why don’t you? We’ll be at West Rosa’s around seven tonight. If we’re late, just go ahead and order. I hear the halibut is scrumptious. Ta!”

Clara pushed through the glass door and paused at the hostess stand. Maybe pissing Valentina off wasn’t her wisest move. “Would it be possible for me to leave a message for someone coming in for dinner this evening?” she asked.

The rest of her afternoon was ruined.

“Everything alright, love?” Luc asked as they were leaving.

“Fine.”

“Now see…when someone really is fine, they don’t say ‘fine’ between clenched teeth.”

Clara forced herself to smile brightly. “Fine! Better?”

“Not really. Who was on the phone? Charlie?”

“No,” she said, keeping her tone light. “Nobody. Doesn’t matter.”

She didn’t want to bring it up in front of Riley. Or Luc, for that matter. She hated that Valentina made her feel vulnerable, and that brought out her inner bitch. “I just want my carriage ride through Central Park now, please. And maybe a taxi tour around the city before you shuffle me off to another hockey game.”

“Oh, hey, speaking of the game,” Riley said. “Mind if I join you?”

This time, Clara’s smile was genuine. “Nothing would please me more, Mr. Sutter.”

Luc stormed past the sleepy concierge with a curt, “I’m expected,” and proceeded to the elevator that would take him to the penthouse level.

He had waited until Clara’s breathing was deep and steady before sneaking out of bed and making his way uptown to Bartel’s New York apartment. It had bothered him earlier, when Clara wouldn’t share whatever had upset her at the restaurant, so while she showered before leaving for the hockey game, he checked her cell phone history of incoming calls. Yes, it was wrong, but when he recognized Val’s number, he felt his invasion of privacy was justified. She might not want his help slaying the beast, but he felt somewhat responsible for introducing the beast into the story.

A phone call on the way over confirmed the King wasn’t in residence. Not that his presence would have stopped Luc, but it would have made the confrontation rather awkward.

“Explain.”

Valentina knew he was coming, but hadn’t bothered to dress. She opened the door in nothing more than a short robe, tied loosely around the waist, the neckline plunging to reveal her nakedness beneath.

“Hey baby,” she purred. “Come on in.”

“This isn’t a social visit, Val, and I have no interest in coming in.”

Val gave her head a toss and laughed like she had the world by the balls. She pivoted on her toes and began to walk away. Luc, blood pounding in his head, grabbed for her arm but caught only the thin material of her robe.

Mistake.

“Oh baby,” she said, not bothering to cover her exposed breast. “I didn’t know you liked it rough.” She fingered the knot in her belt. “Shall I? Or would you like to rip it off me?”

“Stop playing games, Val,” he said, concentrating on her face.

“Well, stop acting truculent and shut the door,” she said and walked away.

Luc scrubbed his face with his hands and followed. He needed to rein in his anger, get control of the situation, or he’d lose it.

He found her in the living room, pouring amber liquid from a crystal decanter, the wall-to-wall windows behind her showing off a spectacular view of the skyline.

“Well, if you’re not here to fuck me,” she said, handing him a tumbler, “I’m guessing this must be about your girlfriend.”

Luc took a swig of Bartel’s exquisite single malt and let the burning in his throat dull his annoyance before answering. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I can.”

“Don’t you get tired of using people?”

“Oh blah, blah, blah. You sound just like her.” She laughed again. “Please don’t tell me you buy that naivety act.”

Luc said nothing, clenching his back teeth so hard, he worried his molars would crack.

“Baby, you know better than anyone that you can’t get to the top without breaking a few rules.”

“She’s not like that, Val. And any rules I ever broke were part of a game, not this real-life, destroy-someone’s-future shit that you’re pulling.”

Val took a small sip of her drink, made a face, and set her glass down. “How can you boys drink this? It’s like lava.” She strode to the windows and closed the blinds. When she turned to face Luc, her robe hung open, revealing her breasts and clean-shaven pussy. “Let’s make up a new game then, shall we, baby?”

“Val, stop.”

She sauntered over, letting the robe slip from her shoulders, not an ounce of modesty in her movement. “You give me one night and I’ll go to my grave with Clara’s little secret.”

“Why?”

“Because I miss you.”

“So this is about me? All this scheming and manipulating is to get me back?”

“Good heavens, no. Really, Luc…the
ego
.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed her nakedness against his thin tee shirt. “This is about opportunity, about getting ahead, about power and lust and great sex. You and me, baby. Just tonight.”

Luc stiffened, every muscle in his body tensed to the extreme. Sensing it, Valentina pushed him away and hid her shock with another laugh. “Oh. My. God. You’re in love with her.” She shook her head. “I don’t get it, baby.”

Luc picked up her robe and handed it to her. “No Val, you wouldn’t.”

She slipped it on but didn’t bother with the belt. “You’re wrong about me, you know. I’m not heartless. I tried to tell her that, too. I’ve just never been foolish enough to let simple emotions stand in the way of my success.”

“Clearly.”

“I suppose I should be impressed. If she managed to snag you, she must be okay.”

“She’s more than okay.”

“I was surprised to see her, though. She’s not a shark like her friend Lydia, and nothing like I’d pictured.”

“What exactly did you expect?”

“I don’t know. A lazy eye, a speech impediment, a facial tic.”

Luc narrowed his eyes. “Why would you think that?”

“The brain damage,” she said, giving him a look of impatience. “I thought it would be more obvious.”

She doesn’t know.

And incredible stroke of luck he hadn’t anticipated.

“You don’t know what’s wrong with Clara and yet you blackmailed her with it?”

“Well, I knew it was something serious when I asked Charlie what happened to her in Rome and he got all flummoxed. A few hours later, he calls, begging me to not say a word about the incident to Kingsley. He’s such a bumbling fool, isn’t he? Like a caricature of himself.

“What’s her deal, anyway? Incapacitating headaches? Violent mood swings? Split personality?”

She doesn’t know.

Luc’s mind buzzed. He had to come up with an affliction that wouldn’t hurt Clara’s reputation in the long run. “She, uh, suffers from the occasional seizure.”

Val’s mouth formed a moue. She wasn’t buying it.

“In her job, she has to be able to drive. She goes all over Europe, you know. And they don’t let you have your license if you’re prone to seizures, and she’s been driving without the doctor’s approval.”

Her face relaxed.

Luc drained the tumbler, thanked Val for her um…hospitality, and was halfway to the door when she blocked his path.

“Before you go,” she said in a provocative whisper

Unlike Clara, she didn’t have to stand on her tiptoes to reach Luc’s mouth. All she had to do was lean into him. All he had to do was pull back.

But he didn’t.

Stomach churning, he let a stunningly naked and unarguably beautiful woman kiss him. Her pouty lips brushed his. The hot tip of her tongue swiped the seam of his mouth, probing, pressuring, begging for access.

Chapter 30

“W
hat’s up your ass, frogman?”
Riley asked as they walked through the departure terminal at JFK. Clara had noticed it, too. He’d been off his game since they awoke this morning, and he’d been uncommonly quiet during the ride to the airport.

“Haven’t had a coffee yet,” Luc replied, uncharacteristically missing an opportunity to trade a pre-breakfast insult with his best friend.

“Ah. And I thought it was ‘cause the Habs got trounced last night.”

Luc scowled.

“Habs? Who’re they?” Clara asked.

“Montreal Canadiens,” Riley answered since he was the only one paying attention. “It’s what they call them up in Canada.”

“That’s a strange nickname.”

“It’s a French thing. I won’t bore you with the story.”

“Speaking of…I believe I still owe you a story, Mister Sutter,” Clara whispered conspiratorially as Luc, incognito in dark glasses and ballcap, loaded their luggage onto the departures carousel. “It slipped my mind until just now, but Lydia did give me permission to share her past.”