Just Toying Around… Read online

  Nick had imagined that he’d someday fall in love, want to marry and have kids. Have the whole, “Honey, I’m home,” dream. But it had always been just that. A vague fuzzy dream with only obscure shadows where his future wife and kids would be. Time hadn’t been a factor. After all, he was still young, only thirty-two.

  But now the dream had gelled. Come into sharp focus, and Desiree and chubby apple-cheeked little girls with chocolate curls and pouty lips had replaced the shadows. A sense of urgency had gripped him, compelled him to act now before the dream slipped away.

  He was in love with her, Nick thought again, totally head over heels. If she didn’t return his feelings, he’d make her just as she’d made him. Nick firmly intended to make her a permanent part of this life.

  And he’d do whatever he had to do to protect her—he wouldn’t let Ron ruin her.

  No matter the cost.

  MEG WAITED until the connecting door had closed softly behind Nick before she got up and resolutely made her way to the shower. She adjusted the tap and slid beneath the spray. Let the hot water wash away the musky scent of sex, mix with the silent tears that leaked from her lids. Emotion welled, her throat constricted and pain fisted in her chest.

  It was over.

  Bittersweet memories of last night flashed through her mind like a runaway projector, bringing into clear focus all they’d share and would never share again. Nick’s kiss…the exquisite feel of their joined bodies…and the brilliant baptism of release.

  Limited experience aside, Meg knew that what they’d shared transcended the physical—they’d connected on a spiritual level, an emotional plane that defied anything she’d ever dreamed of. At least, for her it had. Regret pricked her heart, stung her lids. Unfortunately, she didn’t think that Nick shared her opinion.

  Oh, he liked her, Meg knew. She didn’t doubt that at all. And there were even times last night when he’d gazed at her with so much hunger, so much torment, that she’d almost tricked herself into believing his feelings went past the physical, that he was feeling every bit of the angst and anguish associated with giving your heart to another person.

  Meg managed a watery smile, recalling how he’d made love to her. He’d been tender and sweet and playful and thorough. He’d inspected every inch of her body, hadn’t left a single freckle unnoted. He’d led her to climax more times than she could remember.

  But he hadn’t mentioned furthering their relationship, hadn’t asked for her name, as he’d promised.

  They’d met, had an explosive sexual relationship, the end.

  And she couldn’t even blame him, because that’s all she’d originally planned. All she’d wanted. Just because her feelings had changed, didn’t mean that the rules of this seduction had changed with them.

  And she’d been the one doing the seducing. She’d decided the moment she met him that she wanted to sleep with him. Wanted to take him as her lover. Nick might have been attracted to her, but he’d held back and she’d been the one to pursue him. He’d just happened to be The One she’d been waiting for and ended up in a room next to hers.

  Furthermore, Nick had never promised her anything, had never misrepresented himself at all. He’d been unfailingly honest and he deserved better than having to deal with her broken heart.

  None of this was his fault—the blame lay squarely with her.

  Meg turned off the shower, blew out a shaky breath. She’d come to the conclusion yesterday that if Nick didn’t ask for her name last night, if he didn’t show any interest in furthering their relationship, she’d leave this morning without a backward glance.

  A clean break.

  In the wee hours of the morning, one of those quiet moments between bouts of frenzied lovemaking, Nick had mentioned that he had an appointment at ten. Meg knew this would be her only opportunity to flee without making a total fool out of herself.

  Keeping up the pretense of not having feelings for him simply wasn’t in her bag of tricks, was beyond her acting ability. She knew there were women who could smile when they wanted to cry, laugh when they wanted to scream. But Meg had never mastered the artifice—she simply didn’t know how to be anything other than what she felt.

  And right now, she felt hopelessly miserable. She allowed herself the luxury of one good sob into her towel, then stifled the grief with determination and blew her nose. She’d cry at home. Meg was suddenly desperate for the familiar, for her house and her things. She wanted to cook, to create, to immerse herself in new recipes. But mostly she wanted to burrow, to lick her wounds in private like an injured animal.

  Unfortunately right now she had to concentrate on getting out of the hotel before Nick got back. She wanted Nick to remember this week fondly, remember her fondly, and he wouldn’t if he saw her like this, all weepy and woebegone and dejected.

  This week as Desiree Moon with Nick would be a memory that she would treasure forever. Why muddy it up with a bad goodbye? Meg knew she’d never be able to form the word without crying. It would save them both a lot of grief if she simply packed quickly and left. It wouldn’t take her long, after all. She’d kept everything relatively organized.

  Meg dressed hurriedly, forewent makeup and pulled her hair into a loose ponytail. Urgency propelled her every action, helped stem her tears. She didn’t know exactly how long Nick’s meeting would last, but she didn’t think he’d be gone very long. The hotel employed a noon checkout policy. She just knew she had to get out of here before she changed her mind. Before she made a fool out of herself.

  Within minutes Meg had everything packed and was ready to go. She made one last sweep through the room to make absolutely certain she had everything together. She found her panties underneath the hem of the bedspread, shoved them in her purse rather than open her bag.

  On impulse, she snagged a sheet of paper from the pad by the phone and scribbled one word on it for Nick. “Thanks.” Meg bit her lip to keep it from trembling. She’d lay it on his bed for him to find after she’d gone.

  She’d turned to go when she noticed her message light blinking. Dammit, she needed to get out of here! Meg considered leaving it, but in the end she swore again and entered the necessary code.

  A slightly familiar male voice met her ears. Desperation colored his tone. “Dammit, Nick, you said you’d meet me at ten and you’re not down here. Get down here now, big brother! Did you learn anything? Is there really an Antonio? Is she a fraud or not? I need to know. Now! I’ve worked something out to discredit her, but it requires your information and an encore appearance from the star critic, Desiree Moon.” A loud huff then, “Hurry up!”

  Meg somehow managed to replace the receiver despite her suddenly nerveless fingers. The note in her other hand crumpled in her fist, fell to the floor. She sank down onto the bed, unable to support the combined weight of her frame and Nick’s betrayal. It was like college all over again….

  Her heart stalled in her chest, then galloped as pain sent her pulse rocketing through her veins. Nausea welled in the back of her throat, forcing her to swallow. She’d placed the voice and within seconds translated what it meant.

  Nick had come here to spy on her—to ruin her as a critic for his brother.

  Ron Capshaw was his brother….

  Meg swiped angrily at the tears steadily coursing down her cheeks. Everything suddenly clicked into place. Ron’s peculiar attitude, Nick’s tense demeanor when she’d brought up Ron’s name. He hadn’t been angry on her behalf as she’d so stupidly assumed—he’d been angry on his rotten brother’s behalf.

  Apparently Ron had suspected she’d been fabricating part of her reviews and correctly deduced her lack of experience. Quite frankly, his perceptiveness shocked her. He didn’t seem smart enough to figure it out, Meg thought uncharitably.

  But he had, and rather than attempt to charm her himself—when hell froze over, Meg thought with a snort—he’d asked his brother to come in and do his dirty work. Ron must have dialed her number by mistake, Meg decided. Another thought
struck. She’d be willing to bet the connecting door, the whole towel set-up, everything had been orchestrated.

  The bastard.

  A fresh wave of tears trekked down her cheeks and a quiet sob shook her chest. Betrayal twisted like a knife in her belly, bent her double with the pain. How had she been so stupid? How had she let this happen again? She could forget Paris, forget training with Pierre. Hell, if Ron’s mouth turned out to be as loud as Grant’s had been, Meg would be lucky to keep her job at Chez Renauld’s. The impact of all she’d lost and would quite possibly lose hit Meg like a sucker punch to the gut. A soundless wail rose in her throat and she stifled it with her fist.

  While she’d been falling in love, giving him her body, he’d been laughing at her, scheming how to seduce her into bed so that he could publicly embarrass her and get her fired.

  And she’d made it so painfully easy for him.

  Again.

  Meg’s face burned with humiliation. Regret and anger boiled in her stomach when she thought of all the things she’d done to him, with him, and what she’d let him do to her. She couldn’t believe she’d been so easily duped, so thoroughly deceived. Couldn’t believe she’d misread his character so completely.

  But she had.

  Meg’s lips twisted ruefully. And that’s why he’d never asked for her name again. He didn’t need it—she’d freely offered him the ammunition to ruin her.

  The desire to curl into a ball and cry her broken heart out was almost overwhelming, but she wouldn’t give Ron Capshaw or his sorry brother the satisfaction. At least, not here.

  Meg stood on wobbly legs, wiped the remaining moisture from her face, summoned the tattered remnants of her pride and quickly left the room she’d shared with Nick behind. She wished she could leave everything else behind as well—like the pain, the grief, frustration and heartache, the memories—but she couldn’t.

  Like her broken heart, she’d carry it around with her no matter where she went.

  “THANK GOD!” Ron greeted Nick desperately. “You must have gotten my message.”

  Nick scowled. “What message? I overslept and had a helluva time getting an elevator this close to checkout time.”

  Ron leaned forward anxiously. “Well? What did you find out?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I found out. I’ve come up with another sol—”

  Ron’s eyes widened. “What do you mean it doesn’t matter?” Ron argued. “Of course it matters! What in the hell are you—”

  “Would you shut up and listen?” Nick growled impatiently. “I said that I’ve come up with a solution. So instead of running your mouth, why don’t you listen to what I have to say? That’s always been your problem, Ron. Too much talk, not enough action. I know how Dad treated you was unfair, and I’m sorry that I always received so much more than what he ever gave you.” Nick paused. “But that wasn’t my fault, Ron. And it’s time that you stopped beating me—beating Mom—over the head with it. Be a man.”

  Ron opened his mouth to argue, but seemingly thought better of it. He nodded.

  “Now, here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to level with you, be brutally honest and you probably aren’t going to care for at least half of what I intend to tell you. I’m in a hurry, so listen up.” Nick leveled a hard stare at his brother. “This scheme to discredit Desiree was so heinous I can’t even begin to imagine how you came up with it, much less got me to participate. But you did, and I’m man enough to admit when I make a mistake. You haven’t been—but you’re going to be, little brother. Like Mom, I’ve always let you needle me into getting your way. Let guilt override my good sense.” Nick’s jaw firmed. “But those days are over. I know you were desperate and I can appreciate your motivation. I’ll even take responsibility for my part in it. I should have had more faith in you. Should have really helped you make decisions instead of giving you money and letting you make bad ones. But this stunt has made me ashamed of you, but mostly ashamed of myself.” Nick paused, swallowed as the truth of that statement hit him. “Your products suck,” Nick said flatly.

  Ron opened his mouth to protest, but Nick refused to let him finish.

  “They suck,” Nick repeated. “I tried them, tried others. Yours suck.”

  “That’s your solution?” Ron remarked, seemingly astonished. “To tell me that my products aren’t up to par?”

  “No, I didn’t say they weren’t up to par. I said they suck. But that can be remedied. You can fix that.”

  Ron ground his teeth. “That takes money and in case you haven’t noticed, I’m almost broke.”

  “That’s why you need a partner.”

  “A partner?” Ron repeated dubiously.

  “A silent partner to kick in and back you a little.”

  Ron snorted. “Like that’ll happen when I’m about to go belly-up.” He speared his hands through his hair. Defeat rounded his shoulders.

  “It would if you could find someone who had faith in you. Who trusted you enough to make the improvements and helped you invest the money wisely.”

  “And where am I supposed to find this trusting benefactor?” Ron asked sarcastically.

  Nick shrugged, managed a small smile. “You’re looking at him.”

  Ron’s eyes bugged. “What? You?”

  “Sure, why not? You make the improvements and I’m confident you’ll make money. Might as well make me money, too.”

  “Do you have that kind of cash?” Ron asked, pride and the promise of possibility drawing the slump from his shoulders.

  “I can get it. I’ve got some things I could sell. Cash out other investments.”

  Ron whistled low. “Wow.”

  “There’s only one condition,” Nick told him.

  “Name it,” Ron breathed gratefully.

  “No more money runs to Mom. Ever. Talk her into letting me invest her money. You make it, you make it.” Nick shrugged. “If you don’t, you start over like everyone else. Agreed?”

  Ron nodded. “Agreed.”

  Nick extended his hand. Ron looked at the proffered hand, swallowed, then grasped Nick’s outstretched palm and pumped it up and down vigorously. He smiled gratefully. “Thanks, big brother.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Pride welled in Nick’s chest, glad that he and Ron had come to an agreeable solution. He didn’t really know if Ron’s business would fly or not, but he’d needed to give Ron the opportunity to prove himself. Their father had never done that, Nick knew. Ron had simply needed someone to have faith in him, to convince him to grow up. That’s all he’d ever needed, Nick supposed, and he’d been so busy blazing his own trail, he’d never looked back and considered Ron might not have the same confidence. But he should have known that he didn’t.

  “We’ll get together later this week and work out the details,” Nick said. “I’ve got to get back to the room.”

  Ron smiled knowingly. “You like her, don’t you?”

  That barely scratched the surface of his feelings for Desiree, Nick thought, but nodded anyway. “Yeah. She’s…special.”

  Ron frowned at something over Nick’s shoulder. “Was she supposed to wait for you?”

  “Yeah.”

  Ron’s brow folded. “But isn’t that her standing by that cab?”

  Panic thundered through his veins. Nick swiveled to look over his shoulder and his eyes widened as he watched Desiree climb into a cab. Bloody hell. Nick vaulted from his chair, flew across the lobby and ran outside just as her cab taxied out from under the awning. He shouted her name, but the cab didn’t slow and if she heard him, she hadn’t looked back.

  “Bloody hell!” he roared, startling everyone under the porte-cochere. Shaken, Nick paced back and forth, his frantic mind trying to assimilate what he’d just seen.

  She’d left him. Without a backward glance. Without a goodbye.

  Dammit, why would she have done that? Why hadn’t she waited on him?

  Something Ron had said earlier surfaced in Nick’s frenzied thoughts
. You got my message. Dread and horror ballooned inside him. If his suspicions were right…

  Nick raced back inside, met his brother halfway. “You said I got your message. What message?” Nick asked.

  Ron backed up a step. “I left a message this morning when you were late.”

  Nick blinked, forced himself to remain calm. “What did it say?”

  “Just the usual stuff I’ve been saying all week. Get down here. Is she a fraud or not?” Ron quailed at Nick’s thunderous expression. “Stuff l-like that.”

  Nick swore repeatedly. “Is it possible that you dialed the wrong number again?”

  “I, uh—”

  Overwhelmed, Nick tunneled his fingers through his hair. “Shit. Shit!” Nick pivoted and strode to the elevator. There was only one way to find out.

  “I’m sorry!” Ron called to his retreating back.

  Nick didn’t bother to turn around, just waved an arm in dismissal. Yeah. Whatever. He should have known something like this would happen. Should have realized that he’d waited too long to make things right.

  If he’d met with Ron last night instead of spending the evening between her thighs, this wouldn’t have happened. But he’d been so desperate to slake his lust—so unable to control himself—he’d ruined everything, including spending the rest of his life with her.

  The realization of all he’d undoubtedly lost sucker-punched him. Emotion clogged Nick’s throat and dread writhed in the pit of his belly, making him sick to his stomach.

  He should have leveled with her. He should have told her the truth.

  The trip down the long silent hall was the longest walk Nick had ever had to make. Because he knew she was gone, and he knew why she’d left. Resigned, Nick let himself into his room. Just as he suspected, no message light blinked from the telephone base. It had gone to hers.