Hot & Bothered Read online

  Too many. And she’d blown her single excuse for slipping away from this one by already making sure the servers had everything they needed to make the reception run smoothly. Crap.

  “Yeah,” John agreed dryly. “Clearly the word hasn’t gotten out yet that DeeDee didn’t inherit a bundle.” His expression was unreadable as they both watched a couple fawn over Victoria’s youngest-ever stepmother.

  Moments later, however, Tori found herself thinking sardonically that she ought to be a little more careful about the things she let bug her. The bottleneck at DeeDee suddenly broke free and the line poured toward her and John. Invisible’s not the worst state to be in.

  Many of the faces were unfamiliar, but several others she remembered from those awkward days of her youth. The intense scrutiny, which the latter group subjected her to even as they paid lip service to expressing condolences, threatened to plunge her back into old, familiar feelings of inadequacy. And that she refused to let happen. She’d worked too hard over the years banishing those feelings to allow them to gain a new toehold now.

  For all that no one seemed to miss Ford very much, curiosity apparently still ran rampant about how she was handling his loss. Vivien Boswell, who back in the bad old days used to murmur, “And what size shoes do you wear now, darling?” instead of just coming out and saying, “My, what big feet you have,” eyed Victoria’s stylish Manolo Blahniks a moment before raising her gaze to ask how long she intended to stay in Colorado Springs.

  Roger Hamlin, who had once rushed to console Ford in the wake of her father’s public lament that he simply couldn’t fathom how two such graceful people as he and Victoria’s mother had ended up with a daughter so gawky, reminded her of the incident, then jovially commented that Ford must have been pleased she’d finally grown into her arms and legs. His gaze lingered on the latter several seconds longer than it should have.

  Perhaps in retaliation, Mrs. Roger Hamlin informed her sharply that having Esme out of wedlock had broken her father’s heart. Then she demanded, “Now, who was the child’s father again, dear?”

  Old Mrs. Beck merely gave Victoria’s hands a there-there-you-poor-thing pat and leaned forward to whisper, “My dear! DeeDee’s behavior! What do you plan on doing about it?”

  Victoria presented the unflappable manners that had been drummed into her since childhood and walked a fine line by responding to rudeness with courtesy while not actually divulging any real information. But she was relieved when Pam Chilworth appeared in front of her.

  “Fun crowd,” her friend murmured. “And rough day. Anything I can do to help?”

  “No, but bless you for offering.”

  “If you think of anything, just let me know.”

  “I will.” Victoria gave her a fierce hug. “Thank you.”

  She had ignored the others’ curiosity about John and merely introduced him by name. But Pam gave him a glance and then pinned Victoria with a look that made her realize she’d be hearing from her friend soon and she’d better be ready to supply details. The corners of Tori’s lips curled up as she gave Pam a slight nod of acknowledgment. She knew she could trust her old confidant not to spread tales.

  She was still smiling when her hand was taken by yet another person, and she pulled her attention back to her duties. But when she turned and saw who held her fingers, she froze.

  But only for a moment. Gathering her composure, she forced one more impersonal smile to her lips and slid her hand free of the two smooth ones sandwiching it at the same time she gazed coolly at the elegantly attired, outrageously handsome man standing in front of her. As usual, he hadn’t so much as a single gleaming blond hair out of place. Once upon a time, such uncanny ability to remain untouched by the same elements that inevitably ravaged her had charmed her silly.

  But that was long ago. She offered him a clipped nod. “Miles.”

  “Victoria.” Where her voice had been brisk, his dripped intimacy and he reached out a beautifully manicured hand. Ignoring her slight recoil, he walked his fingers up her bare arm with ridiculous familiarity, strolling a path from her wrist to the crest of her shoulder. “It’s been too long.”

  Oh, no; she begged to differ. It hadn’t been nearly long enough. But before she could say anything she might regret when she regained a grip on her manners, John’s arm snaked around her waist and jerked her firmly against him. His body heat, radiating all along her left side, melted a portion of the old feeling of betrayal that swamped her and she turned into him slightly, smiling gratefully up into his dark, expressionless eyes. “John, this is Miles…” She turned back to the other man. “I’m sorry, I fear I’ve forgotten your last name.”

  Anger flared in his eyes, but he said smoothly, “Wentworth.”

  “Of course. How remiss of me. Miles Wentworth, let me present John Miglionni.”

  The other man tried to look down his aquiline nose at John, but as the two of them were about the same height, he simply couldn’t pull it off. Instead he demanded icily, “And your relationship to Victoria is—?”

  “Her fiancé,” John said.

  Victoria jerked in shock and gaped up at him. But he smoothly absorbed the slight movement by tightening his arm around her and disguising it as a hug, while bending his head to press a quick kiss upon her lips. When he lifted it again, his eyes held a warning even as he stroked residual moisture from her bottom lip with a tender thumb. Then he turned his attention back to Miles.

  “Sorry. I can’t seem to keep my hands off of her.”

  Miles’s lip curled and he gave the sleek black ponytail that fell down Rocket’s back a disdainful glance. But he merely nodded at Victoria before turning on his heel and walking away.

  Tori promptly forgot all about him as she tipped her head back to stare up at John. For just an instant she thought she saw some unfathomable, male satisfaction deep in his eyes. But his arm giving her waist a squeeze and his long hand splayed out on her hip divided her attention.

  He flashed her his most charming smile. “Well, that went pretty well, don’t you think?”

  “Are you out of your mind?” She rammed an elbow in his side and jerked away from his loosened grip. “Fiancé?” she demanded with lethal, low-voiced frigidity. “What the hell are you thinking?” It took every ounce of control at her disposal to resist drilling a furious finger into his chest.

  “Hey, this is actually an excellent idea.”

  “Really?” She folded her arms over her chest. “So dazzle me with your reasoning.”

  “I will,” he assured her with a bland smile, taking her elbow as the next person in line arrived in front of them. “Later.”

  People passed by in a blur, and as Victoria dealt with each of them with automatic courtesy, she slowly began to relax. Okay, so he said something in haste. But it was to one person and considering who that person is, it’s not likely to go any further than that. You can put a stop to whatever wild scheme Rocket’s hatched before the rumor—

  “Engaged?”

  —has a chance to spread. Damn! The word could be heard moving faster than a speeding bullet down the receiving line and Victoria’s heart sank right down to her toes. She looked up at John in horror. “My God. What have you done?”

  His face, as usual, displayed no overt expression, but his voice was authoritative when he commanded, “Play along. I do have a good reason for this and I’ll be happy to explain it to you later.”

  What else could she do? She feared, however, that when he splayed his long fingers around her hip again and turned her to face the crowd, the smile she pasted on her lips looked every bit as phony as it felt. And when the assembly spontaneously broke into applause, her only thought was, I’ll kill him.

  Feverishly seeking a Band-Aid to slap on the situation until she could find a more permanent remedy, she held up a hand and waited for the applause and murmuring to die down. “Please,” she began softly, only to be cut off by John.

  “We meant to keep this to ourselves for today,” he said c
oolly.

  Implying there was something to keep secret. She could have smacked him. But she forced her stiff lips to keep smiling and contented herself with raising the spiked heel of her left shoe, swivelling it a fraction of an inch, and bringing it down on his toe. She shifted all her weight onto that leg. “What he means is, today is intended strictly for memories of my father. John and I insist that nothing interfere with that. Right?” she demanded, staring up at him.

  “Oh, absolutely.” He bumped his kneecap into the hollow behind her knee, buckling her leg and causing her foot to drop away from where she was furiously attempting to drill a hole through his dress shoe.

  Smiling through gritted teeth, she reached across her body, slid her hand over the one he had wrapped around her hip, and sank her fingernails into his wrist just beneath his crisp white cuff. “I beg of you,” she said to the enthralled audience, “pretend you didn’t hear a thing. I’d never forgive myself—not to mention John—if this day became about us.” Several people nodded approvingly and she exhaled a small sigh of relief.

  Then DeeDee stepped forward, tapping her silver teaspoon against the side of the delicate china cup she held in her other hand.

  Damn. DeeDee knew exactly who John was and here was the perfect opportunity to put herself squarely back in the limelight, while at the same time making Victoria look, at best, like a fool, and at worst like a conscienceless liar. She shot a glance at Rocket’s calm face. I’m going to wrap my hands around your throat and squeeze and squeeeeeeze until your pretty black eyes bug out of your—

  “Victoria is right,” DeeDee said. “This is Ford’s day. But just let me be the first to extend to all of you, my dear, dear friends, an invitation to her and John’s engagement ball. I’ll furnish you with all the details at a later date.”

  For the second time in too short a space of time, shock ran up Victoria’s spine. She didn’t have a clue why DeeDee had deigned to play along with the counterfeit engagement, but it couldn’t be for any reason she was bound to like. Tori smiled weakly at the inquisitive crowd, then gazed up at Rocket with limpid eyes. “You’re a dead man,” she murmured.

  She watched in frustration as he slipped away just before the reception line broke up a short while later. But learning the futility of anyone actually respecting her wish for a moratorium on questions, she became much too busy fending off avid inquiries about the two of them to warm herself with thoughts of Rocket’s slow and painful dismemberment. Feeling a definite kinship toward the fox at a hunt, she was soon harried almost beyond bearing.

  But when she glanced away from yet another of the women-who-lunched set to see Esme hesitating in the doorway, holding the hand of her nanny, Helen, it was as if a breath of fresh air had blown through her world. And just like that, her slipping composure settled back into place.

  Her daughter stood with one small patent-leather Mary Jane stacked upon the other while she searched the crowd. Tori smiled to see Esme’s eyes light up the moment she spotted her and watched as her child broke away from Helen to make a beeline across the room.

  “Hullo, Mummy!” The little girl flung herself against Victoria and gave her a big hug. “I missed you. Was the memorable terribly sad?”

  “Memorial, sweetie. And yes, it was quite gloomy.” She kept the details to herself and simply squeezed her daughter the way Esme’s ebullience always squeezed her own heart. Observing Es’s high-spirited openness never failed to thrill her. She was everything Tori hadn’t been allowed to be as a child and she reveled in her child’s exuberance.

  Esme planted her chin against Victoria’s diaphragm and stared up at her. “You should have let me come with you, Mummy—then you wouldn’t have been so sad.”

  “But then you would have been.” Tori gently pried Esme from her front and stooped to straighten her daughter’s little black sundress with its oversize hot-pink flower applique. Tenderly, she brushed a loose tendril of hair away from Esme’s soft cheek and looked into the child’s big, dark eyes. “And that would have been much worse.”

  “Still, I should prob’ly stay for the rest of the afternoon so you don’t get sad again.”

  “Well, aren’t you a dear,” said the woman with whom Victoria had been conversing.

  “Yes, she is,” Victoria agreed, even though she recognized Esme’s statement for the sly attempt it was to gain a concession on an already agreed-upon negotiation point. She bit back a smile. Must come from her father’s side of the family. “But I’ll be fine, sweetie. And you already know my feelings about little girls being subjected to funerals or wakes.” Not that this was the former nor even a proper latter, as that implied bonhomie, drinks and affectionate stories of the deceased. Not to mention how Father would turn in his grave to hear it described as such. But that was semantics. “Look around you, Es. Do you see any other children?”

  “Noooo.”

  “There’s a reason for that, and if you recall we discussed it at length both last night and this morning. So you may say hello to Rebecca’s mother before we fix you a plate at the buffet. Then you and Helen may have a picnic lunch on the grounds, just as I promised you.”

  Esme studied her for a moment, then blew out a gusty sigh. “’Kay.”

  Victoria smiled at the wealth of weary disgust she managed to pack into that single syllable, but took Esme’s hand and turned her toward the woman with whom she’d been speaking before her daughter’s arrival. “Say hello to Mrs. Bell, sweetheart. Bettie, this is my daughter, Esme.”

  The little girl immediately brightened. “Hullo, Mrs. Bell.”

  “Hello, dear. You’re quite a self-possessed little thing, aren’t you?”

  Esme clearly didn’t have a clue what that meant, but she nodded enthusiastically just the same. “Uh-huh. Mummy says I’m very bright.”

  Tori saw a glimmer of genuine humor in Bettie Bell’s eyes as she smiled down at Esme.

  “I can see why.” The older woman turned to Victoria. “I can also see you’re trying to juggle a lot of responsibilities at once, so I’ll let you go. I am sorry about your father, dear. He wasn’t much of a man, but he was your dad and I imagine you’re finding it quite difficult adjusting to his loss.”

  “Thank you.” Then excusing herself before Bettie could add something about her so-called engagement, she turned Esme toward Pam Chilworth, who stood with a group down by the fireplace.

  As she passed a small knot of people near the buffet tables she heard one of them murmur, “This is one of the last great estates left in the Broadmoor area. I wonder if the heirs will parcel it out now that the old bastard’s kicked the bucket? Wouldn’t that be ironic, considering how hard he fought to keep development here to a minimum?”

  She glanced toward John, who was carrying on a low-voiced conversation with Jim McMurphy in the corner nearest the French doors. Despite her wrath, she made a mental note to pass on the overheard snippet of information. She recalled her father’s fury over the development of the resort community some years back. Considering how unsuccessful his attempt to stop it had been, the conversation she’d heard probably meant nothing.

  Yet she wouldn’t dismiss it out of hand, for it was also possible it was worth further study.

  She overheard several other less-than-flattering assessments of her father’s character as Esme spoke to Rebecca’s mother and again as Victoria escorted her daughter through the buffet. She was anxious to get the little girl out of here before she, too, overheard something that made her realize the lack of affection in which her grandfather was held. While it was true Ford had never been a very attentive grandparent, Victoria didn’t see the point in inflicting the nasty reality of his personality upon her daughter. Neither did she care to have Esme overhear the news of her mother’s faux engagement before she could find a way to explain it to her.

  She quickly dished up two plates and turned them over, along with her child, to Helen’s affectionate care. Then, with a sigh, she went back to her role as co-hostess.

  It w
as shaping up to be a long afternoon.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “WELL, SO MUCH FOR YOUR BIG ‘Going to our respective corners, where we keep things nice and professional’ speech.”

  John looked up from the notes he’d been writing to see Victoria stride into his office. Although she softly clicked the door closed behind her, she somehow managed to give the impression that she’d slammed it with all her might. Coming to stand over his desk, she crossed her arms beneath her breasts and glared down at him, her eyes flashing a truer green than usual, her cheeks hotly colored. He clicked his pen shut, rocked back on his chair, and gave her his undivided attention. The woman was clearly pissed.

  Big news flash, Ace. He spared the ruddy crescent-shaped grooves that indented his wrist a quick glance before looking back up at her. “We are going to keep things professional.” Somehow.

  “By pretending to be engaged?”

  The incredulity in her voice that all but added “to you?” lashed at a secret little insecurity he hated to even acknowledge existed and he tossed the pen and notepad filled with his impressions of the various people he’d met this afternoon onto his desk. Sliding his feet off the desktop where he’d had them propped, he dropped them to the floor and sat up. “I don’t suppose it occurred to you that I might actually have a good reason for suggesting it.”

  “Well, certainly. That was the first thing to pop into my head. And you know what I came up with? Because you saw another dog showing interest in a bone you used to find attractive.”

  She had a point. He’d seen that clown Wentworth finger-walking her arm and some primal, territorial gene had kicked in, making him leap to mark his claim first and think second. “There’s no ‘used to’ about it. You know damn well I’m having a hard time keeping my hands to myself. But the truth is, babe, I don’t do that possessive, branding-what’s-mine-against-all-comers crap.” Or he hadn’t until he’d met her, anyway. He’d never understood that sort of behavior, didn’t like it, and he sure as hell didn’t trust it.