Lovers and Liars (47 page)
“He’ll break your heart, Belinda. He’ll use you and then he’ll walk away, just the way he did with me.”
“Like I said, I’m not you. I’m not saying I trust Jack, but I’m not you and my relationship with him is not an instant replay of yours.”
“I know that man!”
“You think you know him!”
“You think
you
know him?” Nancy was incredulous and aghast. “Oh, Belinda, stop it now, before it’s too late!”
“Look, Mom, I know Jack, all right. I know he’s a superstud, I know he’s got an ego, so I’m prepared. Okay? I’m a big girl. I’ve played this game before. I can handle it. I can handle him.”
“No, you can’t.”
Belinda stared at her mother.
“You’re a woman,” Nancy said. “You can’t handle him.”
The uneasiness that had begun with their conversation prickled and poked at her. “I’m going to be late. Do you want to have a drink with us? He’ll be here any minute.”
“Think about what I’ve said, Belinda. I’m your mother. I love you. I’m only trying to protect you.”
“I can protect myself,” Belida said stubbornly.
Her mother left.
I am not my mother, Belinda thought grimly.
Jack Ford is not going to use me.
He is not going to break my heart, because I am prepared.
91
O
f course she looked wildly sensual and stunning.
As they walked in, heads turned, and Jack was well aware of the fact that as she preceded him, she was the one precipitating the admiring interest, both male and female.
That admiration quickly changed to curious recognition as the glances then settled on him. He found himself amused—and a little bemused.
Belinda was wearing a red leather bustier and skirt. The bustier laced up the front, and she had left an enticing one-inch gap. It was hard not to keep looking at what was revealed of her breasts. The skirt zipped at an angle up the back. It was hard not to look at her perfect round buttocks when she walked in front of him. The outfit was more than provocative. It clung to her strong curves like a wetsuit. If she wasn’t dressing for him, then for who?
Jack was pleased.
Maybe a bit more so than he should have been.
Jack had half expected her to be out when he came by to pick her up, but not only had she been there she had been dressed and ready to go. She was quiet during the drive, so he found a jazz station and they zipped into town in silence. He knew she was still fighting him. And maybe herself.
Not that it mattered.
The host seated them with a flourish, at a table with great views.
“So tell me,” Jack said lightly, though his eyes were fierce, “why
did
you leave like that in Aspen?”
“The coward’s way out, of course.”
“You, lady, don’t strike me as a coward.”
“Usually I’m not.”
He smiled. “You know what? I’m going to take that as a compliment.”
“You can take it any way you like.”
“I’d like to take you any way I’d like—and every way.”
She arched an eyebrow.
He was sheepish. “I couldn’t resist.”
She smiled.
“Belinda,” Jack said, very serious now, “I want to know why I make you afraid.”
She sighed. “Come on, Jack. Don’t tell me you’ve never done that yourself. The old hit-and-run. You know it’s easier than facing a stranger on the other pillow in the morning.”
“It’s different with us, and you know it. We are certainly not strangers.”
“No? What are we, Jack? Friends? Lovers? C’mon, Jack! Don’t,
just don’t
, use your lines on me.”
He closed his hand around his water glass and studied it. She wanted the slightest chance to fight. He had to be careful. This was not in the game plan, not the way to get what he wanted. When he looked up she was studying her menu.
Jack intended to break her down. This was going to be a great evening. It
had
to be. It was time to take control and turn on the charm. And so what if it just happened to be easier because what he said was also the truth? “I don’t use lines on you, Belinda, not when I’m being serious.”
She glanced at him.
“I wouldn’t insult you or your intelligence that way.”
“Thank you.”
He reached out and clasped her hand with his. “Belinda, come on. Please relax, loosen up just a little.”
“So you can seduce me and feel macho?” But she was softening; he could feel it and see it.
“Well, I won’t deny I want to make wild love to you … kiss you all over. Your mouth, your hair, your breasts, your ni—”
“Jack. That couple is listening to every word.”
He dropped his voice. “—navel.” He grinned. “You already know that. I couldn’t care less about the other part.”
“No? You deny that your male ego is at stake here?”
“Ah, so we’re back to egos now.”
She closed her eyes and smiled.
“Do you have an ego fixation, Belinda?”
She looked at him. “What do you think?”
A long silence reigned. “I think,” Jack said slowly, “I think it’s time my ego got some stroking.”
She fought a smile. And she didn’t say no either.
“Tell me about yourself,” he said after they had ordered drinks, a merlot for her, a Perrier for him.
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything. How old are you?”
“Too old for you,” she said.
He smiled. “Twenty-eight?”
“Dead on. What, no flattery?”
“You’re too smart and too poised to be twenty-one. And a twenty-year old couldn’t write what you’ve written.”
“Thank you.”
“So, what about family? I want to know your life’s story,” Jack said. The hair on the back of his neck started to rise. With guilt?
“My mother and father live in New York,” Belinda replied.
“So you were born in New York?”
She nodded.
“Any brothers, sisters?”
“No, just me. That’s a big disappointment to my father, believe me.”
“With a daughter like you, why would he want another child?”
She smiled wryly.
“He must be very proud of you,” Jack said. “You must be very close.”
Belinda seemed to choke on her water. “You’ve got to be kidding. His daughter, a writer … give me a break! He can’t understand how I could spend my time making up stories. And Abe is close to only one thing—power.”
Jack stared, absorbing everything, the quick outbreak of defiance and the bitterness. “That’s ridiculous,” he said quietly. “Being able to write is a great talent—you’re a big talent, Belinda.”
“Tell that to Abe.”
“I don’t see how your father could not respect what you do. Everybody knows that it all starts with the writers.”
“Abe is … different. His trip is power. Whether it’s owning a studio or a refinery, all his assets are just means to an end.”
“That’s not a very flattering assessment of your own father.”
She looked him in the eye. “No, it’s not. But I don’t owe him anything—not one damn thing.”
“You don’t get along with him,” Jack said, with increased stirrings of guilt.
“No, and I never have and never will. Not as long as he sees me only as a broodmare to get him an heir for his empire.” She grimaced. “He wants me to get married. Have babies. Preferably male babies. Soon. I’m over the hill,” she explained.
Outwardly Jack smiled. She was being amusing. Inwardly every nerve went on alert. Glassman wanted her to get married.
Glassman wanted a grandson—an heir.
How would he feel when his grandson’s last name was Ford?
92
H
e couldn’t fucking believe it.
What they said was true—you couldn’t get decent hired help these days.
Abe could not believe the colossal fuck-up.
He could not believe Will Hayward was still alive.
“I want this taken care of,” he snarled into the phone. “Not today, not tomorrow, but yesterday! You understand?”
“Yes.”
“I want that stupid bastard nailed—now.” Abe hung up. He did not feel the slightest degree of guilt. Not the slightest degree.
Hayward’s days were numbered.
They’d been numbered from the moment he had dared to cross Abe.
93
“D
amn Vince!” Mary screamed. “Damn him! I don’t want a divorce! Damn him!”