Imperfect Love_Saint Sex Page 2

  What I make working for Saint James Ltd more than covers my expenses. I could afford a bigger apartment and a snazzy car. And my ebook royalties have grown impressively since I started publishing the romances I write on my lunch break.

  A third gets held back for taxes, one third goes into my retirement fund, and the rest goes to my mom.

  “Well,” Dante said, “That’s nothing to worry about.”

  I took a deep breath. Lie told and bought.

  I don’t like lying, but… well, when you’re in love with your boss, you have to make concessions.

  My iPhone (my real phone) dinged. I looked at the screen and read the message.

  “Taz and your car are ready.”

  Dante shrugged on his jacket—a devastating chocolate brown Dolce and Gabbana number that was fitted tighter than his usual business attire. It hugged his body just a bit more…

  So much more…

  My phone pinged again in my hand.

  I blinked at the screen.

  I looked at Dante. “Charlotte Rampling is here, downstairs in the lobby.”

  He tilted his head, thinking.

  He hated surprises… well, at least in business.

  It suddenly occurred to me that I didn’t really know what he was like after hours.

  Or what he liked…

  That fact made my chest feel heavy.

  “Interesting.” He moved toward the private elevator and turned to me. “Coming?”

  “What?” Well, that came out a bit shrill.

  “I need to talk to you about one more thing before I go.” He smiled and motioned to the place beside him on the elevator. “So, if it’s not too much trouble.”

  I hustled into the elevator and the door slid shut.

  Usually once he was in the elevator, he was gone. The night took him to who-knew-where, to do who-knew-what.

  Sometimes whatever he’d do would make the front page of the scandal magazines… but only if he wanted it to.

  He took a deep breath, tonguing his molar again. “My sister is in town.”

  My mouth fell open.

  I knew he had a sister, and that she was… eccentric, to say the least. But he had never talked about her.

  Ever.

  “Do you need me to make a reservation for her? The Four Seasons?”

  “Tessa’s been here for a while,” he said with irritation. “She’s been at my family’s home in Westchester for over a month.”

  I knew the home—multi-wing mansion—had been closed up for years.

  “Do you want me to tell Mrs. Roark?”

  “No!” he snapped, and then shook his head. “I’m sorry, Lucy, but no. She’d run right out there, and I don’t know what she’ll find.”

  “Okay.” I’d never seen him this agitated. I so wanted to make it all better for him. “Then what would you like me to do?”

  Dante took a deep breath and sighed.

  I wanted to reach out and touch him, to pat his shoulder, to lean my head against him.

  To swing him around, latch my hands on either side of his handsome face and lay the kiss of a lifetime on him.

  “I need you to hire a small staff: housekeepers, a cook, a driver. And call Malcom Whitmore. He was the closest thing to a friend she had when she was in school. He’s a neurologist at Lenox Hill Hospital. See if he would go out and see her. He knows his way to the house. Hell, he probably still has a key.”

  He looked at me, his eyes sad and shiny. I so wanted to make him smile, to take away the pain he was feeling. But an instant later that look was gone, and the usual, formidable and in complete control Dante Saint James stood before me.

  “Speed is of the essence. Leaving my sister alone is always a regrettable choice.”

  I frowned, thinking.

  “How has she been staying there without security notifying you?” I knew he had permanent twenty-four hour security in place for every property he owned.

  “My sister is beautiful and manipulative. She seduced the night watchman. Only when the first shift came in early on day and found the guard house empty did we find out she was there… and that she’d been fucking the imbecile.” He stopped and cracked his neck. “He’s been replaced, and they are trying to monitor my sister’s comings and goings, but I want to have people inside, taking care of her, making sure she’s eating, that she’s not doing things that could hurt her.”

  That look flashed in his eyes again. I hated that look.

  I nodded. “I’ll take care of it first thing tomorrow.” My mind started firing on all cylinders. “I’ll call Rachel from Staff First tonight and have her send me some applicants to interview tomorrow morning.”

  His lips tugged into the smallest of smiles.

  Those were his genuine smiles. Not the ones given at photo shoots or press meetings.

  But they weren’t the smiles he gave the women in his personal life.

  I would never know that smile.

  “Thank you, Lucy.”

  The elevator dinged and the door opened.

  And there stood Charlotte Rampling.

  Photos didn’t do her justice.

  She was tall, had an hour-glass shape, and I swear she glowed.

  Dressed to the nines, she had on a daring black cocktail dress that came up to her mid thigh, and had a plunging neckline, accentuating her prodigious, gravity defying breasts.

  Black Prada stiletto fuck-me pumps adorned her shapely feet, making her ankles slender and her calves… well, her damn legs were practically perfect.

  Makeup: perfect.

  Hair: long and blonde and perfect.

  Nails: Medium length and painted a subtle burgundy.

  Just when the words, I freaking hate her! popped into my head, I got a whiff of her perfume.

  It was a mesmerizing citrus blend with a hint of jasmine.

  She even smelled perfect!

  I fucking hate her!

  Dante walked out of the elevator, reached out and took her hand, drawing it slowly to his soft, luscious lips.

  “Ms. Rampling.”

  She raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow.

  Dante chuckled. “This is going to be fun.”

  Just then Charlotte Rampling looked right at me, and then tilted her head.

  For some reason I got the feeling she was examining me.

  Like a clinical psychologist studying a rat in a maze—

  Or a rat in an aquarium filling with water.

  I shook my head. Where had that thought even come from?

  I took a deep breath, forced all emotion from my mind and slid my business/congenial smile on my face.

  Her large dark blue eyes lingered on me, and then she swiveled them to Dante.

  “And who’s that lovely creature behind you?”

  Lovely creature?

  Dante didn’t even turn, he just said: “That’s my personal assistant, Lucy Hopewell. I could not run Saint James Limited without her.”

  I felt my chest expand and my spine straighten.

  Sure, he hadn’t turned to acknowledge me, but he considered me indispensible, and…

  Well, he hadn’t needed to see who the “lovely creature” had been.

  He just knew.

  So he agreed?

  He thought I was a lovely creature too?

  I caught myself staring at Dante, imagining in my head how it would sound if he said, You are a lovely creature, Lucy Hopewell…

  And then found myself being stared at by Charlotte Rampling.

  She smiled like a cat about to eat the canary, and then turned her attentions back to Dante.

  “I was supposed to pick you up,” he said.

  “I know,” she said with a raspy, sultry tone. “But I thought it would be more fun to throw you off… so I’m hijacking our dinner-date-interview. I hope you don’t mind.” She practically purred that last part.

  Dante smiled.

  It was that smile I’d speculated at but had never seen before.

  How he smiled
at the women in his life.

  And it made my heart burn with complete and utter jealousy.

  I hate her, I hate her, I fucking hate Charlotte Rampling!

  I took a deep breath and mentally shook my head.

  I couldn’t believe how far my vocabulary had plummeted to base vulgarity.

  The woman just brought it out in me.

  “Sounds entertaining…” Dante said, “But we still have to take my car, and Taz is coming too.”

  She tore her beautiful eyes from Dante and looked appraisingly at Taz.

  Taz was six foot two, two hundred and ten pounds, with red hair shaved short on the sides and left long and slicked back on top. His eyes were green and his skin lightly tanned with a lovely peach undertone.

  His brother Lance had his hair cut short all over. That was the only difference in their appearance.

  Lance was straight. Taz was gay.

  So there would be no three ways happening for Charlotte Rampling tonight.

  Ha!

  But she would still get to have Dante, now, wouldn’t she?

  She gazed at Taz for a moment longer and then sighed. “What a pity. Such a lovely specimen, but he won’t be playing with us tonight, will he?”

  What?

  She knew just by looking at him?

  No way!

  Out of the two of them, Taz was the most dangerous, and hot headed of the brothers.

  She reached out and touched Dante’s face with one perfectly manicured finger.

  “But, from what I’ve heard, you’ll be more than enough man to satisfy me.”

  I looked down at my own nails.

  Cut short. Clear polish that was nicked and chipped already—and I’d just painted them last night.

  The curse of a personal assistant/romance writer: ruining your nails on a keyboard.

  “Shall we go?” Dante said, and then hooked his arm so his hand rested on Charlotte’s lower back, and guided her toward the front doors of Saint James Tower.

  Dante’s black Bentley limo was pulled up and Edward, Dante’s personal driver, waited with the back driver’s side door open.

  I stood there, watching as Dante smoothly angled down into the back seat, and then reached out and helped Charlotte as she slithered and slinked in behind him.

  The door closed, Edward hopped into the driver’s seat, and away they went, disappearing into the night.

  I closed my eyes, leaned my forehead against the cool glass of the front door and sighed.

  I fucking hate Charlotte Rampling…

  ###

  I wasn’t home more than five minutes when someone knocked on my door.

  I was not in the mood for company.

  Thoughts of what Charlotte Rampling might be doing with Dante were torturing me.

  All I wanted to do was pop a paranormal romance into my DVD player, probably one with a glittering vampire, and try my best to not think about anything for at least two hours.

  But whoever it was at the door wasn’t taking my dead silence for an answer.

  “I can hear you breathing,” Jessica, my next door neighbor and one of my best friends, called through my door. “And Dion saw you coming in the building.”

  Dion is Jessica’s roommate. She’s also a fellow indie romance author… and a complete peeping Tom—her field glasses, telescope and zoom-lens camera are always ready to spy on someone.

  Suddenly something banged against my door like a SWAT battering ram.

  “For fuck’s sake, Little Miss Tightly Wound!” Harper hollered at the top of her lungs. “Open the door before I set it on fire, and these two start roasting fucking marshmallows!” Harper lived down the hall, and if we weren’t all friends of Jessica’s, well… Harper probably would have murdered us in our sleep already.

  Smiling and shaking my head in disbelief, I flung my door open and my unholy trinity of friends pushed their way into my apartment, wine and pizza and ice cream in hand.

  “Oh, no…” Harper stage whispered to Jessica. “We’re too late. She’s been dead for days.”

  Dion smacked Harper in the back of the head as she careened past her. “When did we invite Bitcherella?”

  Jessica handed me the ice cream and looked down at the DVD I had in my hand. “We got here just in time.”

  Harper swooped in and grabbed the vampire movie out of my hands. “Just say no… to undead stalkers.”

  Dion pulled out a duo of DVD cases. I recognized Uma in her red and yellow jumpsuit. “Girls with swords!”

  Before I knew it I was eating ice cream, sipping cheap wine, and watching the best girl on EVERYONE violence… ever.

  This is why you really, truly need girlfriends.

  Chapter 3

  The Interview

  Dante

  “So,” I said, gazing into Charlotte Rampling’s exquisite blue eyes. “Now that you have me, what are you going to do with me?”

  Her lips pursed in the most devious, sexiest of grins.

  Naughty would be the one word etched on this woman’s gravestone.

  Her eyes sparkled and then latched onto something outside the car.

  “Ask your driver to pull in there.” She pointed to the side of the street.

  I turned my head. “That’s a Cliff’s Hot Dogs.”

  She smiled even wider. “I don’t want to waste the night eating. This will be quick and tasty, so we’ll have more time to ourselves.”

  I murmured my assent.

  “Edward,” I said into the intercom. “Can you go through the drive-through of Cliff’s?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  I saw Taz in the front passenger seat look over to Edward and say something.

  Probably wondered what the hell was going on.

  Charlotte frowned. Her lips looked gorgeous when she pouted.

  “Have you never had a hot dog before?”

  “Not since college, I’m afraid.” I licked my lower lip and watched her squirm a little in her seat. Women loved when I licked my bottom lip. “But I’m up for almost anything.”

  “Almost?” she echoed back at me, her eyes glistening with heat.

  “Would you like to order, sir?” Edward said over the intercom.

  “Yes,” I said. “Thank you.”

  Charlotte blinked. “You’re so… polite to your employees.”

  “Is that a question, Ms. Rampling?”

  She leaned against the back of the seat and re-crossed her lovely long legs, letting her foot brush up my leg. “Not yet. I was just making an observation.”

  “I see.” My cock was getting hard just listening to her sexy, whiskey voice.

  “Maybe that’s why your company flaunts a ninety-three percent retention rate.”

  “How so?”

  She bit her lower lip—and suddenly I lost my place in our little discussion… and a flicker of someone else biting her lower lip just like that popped into my head… just for a moment—and I became achingly, criminally rock hard.

  “Well, I noticed everyone working in that beautiful, shiny tower of yours was not just polite and friendly, they were happy. It must trickle down from the top.”

  Still not a question.

  “Thank you.”

  She shot me through with her deep blue eyes. “But those who you deal with in business, they don’t rate the same consideration.”

  “Was that a question?”

  We slid up in line and the order station was at the window on Charlotte’s side of the car.

  “Not yet,” she said and clicked a button and the window slid down.

  “Welcome to Cliff’s,” came a woman’s voice from the speaker. “What can we get you tonight?”

  “Give me two dogs with cheddar, chili and onions. And a cherry pop.”

  Onions? I’d never heard a woman order onions before. They were usually paranoid about their breath.

  Charlotte turned back to me and smiled—practically a dare. “And for the gentleman?”

  “I’ll have the same thing
, with extra onions and sriracha sauce if you have it.”

  Charlotte looked at me and smiled. I could make my breath just as bad as she could.

  “We sure do!” the disembodied voice cooed. “And to drink?”

  A place like this would have soda and little else.

  I remember liking root beer when I was in college.

  “Root beer. And a side of onion rings with lots of ketchup.”

  “Will do. Will that complete your order?”

  I liked her voice and her enthusiasm. “Yes, thank you.”

  The Bentley slid around to the drive-through window, and I slid across the seat and leaned over Charlotte—I heard her sigh as my body pressed against hers—and handed the woman in the window my credit card.

  She had flaming red hair, a sweet, friendly oval face, and freckles.

  She took the card and said, “Thank you, it’ll just take a second,” and then turned and slid my card through the register.

  “Baker,” she said through her headset, “we have a car load of teens in line. Drop some extra fries.”

  The register printed out my receipt. She grabbed it and handed it and my credit card back to me.

  “Your food will be up in just a minute.”

  Her voice was even sweeter in person.

  And best of all, she seemed absolutely unfazed by me.

  Or the fact I was in a limo.

  She turned and took two bags from someone, threw a handful of ketchup inside, and then picked up two large paper cups with lids and handed them out the window to me.

  Limos don’t usually have cup holders, but you’d be surprised what extras you can get installed if you pay the makers enough.

  I put the cups in the holders in front of us, and then reached out the window to receive the two bags of food.

  “Be careful, those onion rings are right out of the fryer.”

  “What’s your name?” I asked.

  Charlotte looked at me, surprised.

  “Um…” the drive through woman paused. “I’m Gail.”

  “Well, thank you Gail. You’ve been very helpful.”

  She smiled as I leaned back into the limo and we drove off.

  I was going to have Lucy find her tomorrow and extend her an offer in reception. A voice like that coupled with her sweetness and enthusiasm would be an asset.

  Charlotte was staring at me.

  “Hungry?” I asked, holding up the two white paper bags.