CHAPTER FIVE

 

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CALDER DIDN'T TRY to move away from Adam's impromptu embrace. Why would she when the press of his body against hers felt so good? So right.

"You're very tall."

"Maybe you're short."

Adam's breath was warm against her face. And smelled faintly of peppermint. Not her favorite flavor. However, given the source, she might rethink her opinion.

Oh, boy. If the scent of Adam's breath was enough to give her libido a jumpstart, she could be in serious trouble.

"Five nine in stocking feet." Calder glanced down. "Or, bare feet, as the case may be."

"Six three." Adam flashed her a grin. "You okay?"

When Calder nodded, Adam slowly straightened. Assured she wouldn't topple over, he removed his steadying arm. Fancifully, she told herself she witnessed a flash of reluctance in his blue eyes.

"I've walked these stairs my entire life and never run into anybody. Now, I've barreled into you twice in one week."

"Sorry to break your streak."

"Believe me, I wasn't complaining." Calder wanted to reach out. Draw Adam back. Rather than give in to the impulse, she kept her hands at her sides.

Adam gave her a long, contemplative look, one brow raised, his eyelids half-closed.

"Are you flirting with me?"

"If you must ask, I need to take a refresher course."

In what Calder could only term gentlemanly, and a bit old-fashioned—endearingly so—Adam took her hand, leading her to the top of the stairs.

"When I barely know a woman, I always ask. Saves misunderstandings. On both sides."

"Smart." Calder's smile widened when Adam kept her hand in his. "Just to be clear. My flirt is in full gear."

"Good to know."

Adam moved a step closer. And Calder's senses went into overdrive. She noticed the way he tipped his head just a bit to the side, his gaze intent. For the first time, she noted the silver striations in his wildly blue irises. And her brain went from crystal clear to fuzzy.

"I have cookies." A nonsensical thing to say. But Calder wasn't thinking straight.

"Is cookies a sexual metaphor? As in…?" Adam looked confused. Rightly so. "You'll have to help me out."

"Cherry Delights and Chocolate Dreams." Calder laughed when she realized how her brief explanation could be misconstrued considering the direction of their conversation. "Both are cookies. I bought them at my favorite bakery. For you and the other painters."

Adam leaned a little closer, his eyes locked with hers. "I'd love a cookie. Even though I'm not a painter."

"Mrs. Finch set them out in the kitchen with iced tea and lemonade. If you want to tell the others, I'll…" Calder paused as Adam's words sank in. "Wait. The other day you had paint in your hair. On your boots. Which makes you—"

"Someone who helps out when a friend is shorthanded."

Now, Calder was confused.

"You don't paint walls for a living?"

"Nope."

"Not a bouncer."

"A fact we established the other day."

"You have on a suit." Between her thumb and forefinger, Calder touched the material of Adam's lapel. Lightweight gray gabardine. Finest quality. And if she didn't miss her guess—which she rarely did—sported a designer label. "A very nice suit."

"My tailor and I thank you."

The twinkle in his eyes made Calder's stomach do a slow roll. Was there anything sexier than a man with a sense of humor? And a hard, well-conditioned body? And a face with an interesting flaw or two—to allay any comparisons to perfection.

"Funny, you like expensive clothing, yet you seemed to have a problem with my date's attire. Called him the suit, if I recall, Mr.…?"

"Stone." Adam shook Calder's hand. "Nice to meet you. And I didn't have a problem with what he had on, but his attitude.

Calder couldn't argue. Milo Prendergast was a jerk.

"What exactly is your occupation, Mr. Stone?"

"What I do is hard to explain."

Damn it. Calder felt a wave of disappointment. She was all too familiar with prevarication. Her father was a master of the art. And though she loved him, she wouldn't bet a nickel on his ability to tell an undoctored version of the truth if his life depended on it.

"Illegal?"

Adam looked surprised. Then annoyed. "Of course not."

"Illicit?"

"What's the difference?"

"Depends on who you ask." Calder's father loved to split hairs. She was more of a black and white person. At least where the law was involved. "Is your profession legally or morally suspect?"

"No."

His gaze steady, Adam's response was firm. Not a twitch or tick to be seen. So, if he were squeaky clean, why didn't he simply answer her question?

"The explanation of what I do is convoluted, not illegal. Or immoral. I promise." Adam literally crossed his heart. "Have dinner with me tonight. I'll satisfy your curiosity. And anything else you want."

"We'll start with my curiosity and see how things go from there. Pick me up at seven. Casual? Dressy?"

"I'll take you any way I can get you."

Holy crap. Calder mentally fanned herself as Adam's blue eyes heated. The man was dangerous. Hopefully, in all the best ways.

"However," he said. "Wear something like the blue number you had on the night we met, and you'll be fine."

Flattered that he remembered, Calder nodded. "Mid-casual chic."

"If you say so." Adam looked amused.

Calder started back the way she came. Down the stairs at her usual jog.

"And don't forget to tell the painters about the cookies," she reminded him.

"What about me? Don't I get one?"

At the bottom of the stairs, Calder turned. Casually leaning against the wall, Adam waited.

"As long as you tell me the truth, you can have anything you want."

"And if I lie?"

"Take a cookie. As for the rest?" Calder made a slow turn so Adam could have a good look at exactly what he would never touch. "Not even a taste."

Adam seemed a bit bemused—exactly her intention—as if he had yet to wrap his head around the consequences of a lie. Never a taste of her? She hoped he found the prospect unacceptable.

"See you later, Adam Stone."

 

~~~~

 

"I DON'T HAVE a thing to wear."

Billie burst into Calder's room, highlighted blond hair in curlers, the ends of her silk robe flapping in her wake. As always, her face was perfectly made up. She never left the safety of her bathroom without several coats of what she liked to call glamour.

If the house caught fire, Calder was certain her mother would make the fireman wait while she made herself presentable. Billie's version of the holy trinity. Lipstick, mascara, and blush.

Used to such declarations, Calder stood back rather than risk bodily injury. Nobody got between Billie and a closet filled with potential outfits. Not if they wanted to live to tell the tale.

Less than a month ago, Billie had returned from her bi-annual European excursion. As always, she'd done her best to pluck the crème de la crème from every Paris design house.

"You must have something left."

Billie never wore anything twice—much to the delight of New York gossip rags and various thrift stores where she donated her used couture.

"Nothing." Billie let out a dramatic sigh. She walked the length of Calder's extensive wardrobe with the critical eye of a seasoned shopper. "I can't leave the house in the same old rags! Ingo and I are dining at the new restaurant. The one with a waitlist a mile long. My outfit has to be perfection."

Billie held up a dress Calder had yet to wear. She dismissed the ruby-red satin with a shake of her head and a flick of her wrist.

"Hey," Calder protested. With a frown, she rescued the dress from the floor. "Either respect the clothes or get your butt out of the closet."

As usual, Billie didn't hear anything if the comment came close to a criticism.

"You really should update your wardrobe, Calder. These?" Billie held up a pair of strappy sandals. "So last year."

"I imagine my feet will survive the humiliation."

Calder watched with growing exasperation as her mother continued her search. Desperate to hold onto her youth, Billie dressed young and acted younger. She believed age was a state of mind. And with the help of expensive creams, facial massages, and the best plastic surgeons money could buy, she planned to be young forever.

Genetically blessed, Billie hadn't found a reason to go beyond the Botox and chemical peel stage. Yet. She checked the mirror every morning. And afternoon. And evening. The second her skin betrayed her? A sag here or a wrinkle there? Wear and tear her doctor couldn't fix with an outpatient procedure? She would jump in without hesitation.

"We could pass for sisters," Billie declared.

The comment hadn't come out of the blue. Billie made the same statement to one daughter or another at least once a week. Calder reacted as expected.

"Absolutely." A much older sister. But Calder wisely kept the last part to herself.

"Ingo couldn't believe I have four grown daughters. He thought I was twenty-five. When I told him to add ten years, he was shocked. Said he couldn't believe his ears." Billie giggled. "Or his eyes."

So many responses, so little time. Calder bit her tongue. Billie had given her the perfect opening, she didn't want to kill the moment with a snippy remark.

"Ingo Hunter?"

Under her blackened eyelashes, Billie sent Calder one of her patented coy looks. Perfectly designed to set a reasonable person's teeth on edge.

"What about him?"

Calder wished she could shake some sense into her mother's lovely head. Tell her some much-needed home truths. Tempting. But, as experience had taught her, unproductive. Billie closed her ears to what she didn't want to hear. As for the lies men told her? She lapped them up as she purred like a cream-starved pussycat.

To get the information she needed, Calder had to pick her words carefully.

"Do you enjoy his company?"

An innocuous question. Yet, from the way Billie's face lit up, the right one.

"I do." Billie smile beamed. "Ingo is attractive. And attentive. He's interested in my brain, not just my body."

Calder tried not to roll her eyes. Billie wasn't stupid. However, she'd never wanted to expand her mind beyond fashion magazines and the latest gossip. Current events? Politics? The economy? Boring!

"Don't get me wrong. Ingo is a very passionate man." Billie let out a contented sigh. "Very passionate. If you know what I mean."

Eww. Calder didn't want to know about her mother's sex life. Ever. The idea of Billie and Ingo Hunter? Together? Her skin crawled.

"He's not your usual type."

"Ingo is exactly my type, silly girl. Handsome beyond words and crazy about me." Billie's eyes sharpened. "I like what you have on."

The shimmery silver dress was brand new. And showed off Calder's long legs to perfection.

Calder had to laugh. Between her daughters and herself, Billie literally had a house filled with designer clothing to pick from. Naturally, the only outfit she wanted was the one already in use. A classic case of the grass was always greener.

"You can't have the dress off my back."

"Fine." Billie's smile turned into a pout. "I'll find something. I still have a few things Ingo hasn't seen."

Billie swirled past Calder. In her wake, she left a trail of expensive perfume—a one-of-a-kind fragrance Andi's father presented his wife on their wedding day. She changed husbands—many times—but she never changed the scent she dabbed on each morning.

Sentimentality over the first man she married? Or the fact the scent bore her name. Billie. Calder imagined the truth was a little of both.

"Hey." Calder paused. Deliberately, she called out the name she rarely used. "Mom?"

At the bedroom door, Billie turned, her expression vague. Obviously, the difference hadn't registered.

"Yes?"

Be careful, Calder wanted to tell her. For once in your life, look before you leap. Knowing they would fall on deaf ears, she kept her warnings to herself.

"I hope you have a nice evening."

"I always do."

With a dramatic sweep of her hand, Billie disappeared. Calder walked into the bathroom to finish getting ready for her date. As she brightened her lips with a touch of color, she looked herself in the eyes.

"Wish all you want, Billie will never change," Calder told her reflection. "And for all her exasperating ways, you'll never stop loving her."

For the first time, Calder realized what she and her sisters were up against.

Time would tell if they could protect Billie from Ingo Hunter. Lord knew they would do their best.

The question was, could they accomplish the impossible? Could they protect their mother from herself?