Luxury Model Wife (8 page)

Steve looked up again and his eyes reflected misery and self-loathing. “I’m a disaster when it comes to women. Ask Jimmy. That’s about the only thing he and I agree on. Beverly thinks so, too. Over the years I’ve found that Beverly is usually right.”

The muscles in Victoria’s neck and back relaxed. He wasn’t backing out of their deal. “Please…don’t say anymore.” She didn’t dare tell him she’d enjoyed the kiss. Encouraging him would only make matters worse. It was better to keep their distance and stay focused on their business arrangement. “I won’t sue you for sexual harassment, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He groaned. “That, too. But I feel like a dog. I don’t want you to think you’ll be man-handled while you’re here.”

His
man-handling
had made something inside her roar to life, but she’d shut the sensations down before she lost control. She’d spent most of her life learning control as a means of survival.

“Will you accept my apology?”

She smiled with as much reassurance as she could muster. “Of course.” But that was hardly the end of the problem. If she were being honest, she’d have to admit her physical attraction to him was stronger than anything she’d felt before. She’d been devoted to her husband, and though James was a skilled lover, who always satisfied her in bed, their sex life lacked the fireworks she’d heard other women talk about.

What did those women know that she didn’t?

If the firecrackers that popped when Steve barely kissed her were any indication of how great sex could be, Victoria was in deep,
deep
trouble.

There was no denying her attraction to Steve Carlson was flat-out dangerous.

She shivered at the memory of his mouth on hers and the arousal she’d known—and felt instantly ashamed of her disloyalty to James. He was the reason she’d entered Carlson’s life in the first place. James had been her rock and had kept her safe in an often frightening world.

And what about Steve’s wife? What would happen if she learned of their betrayal? Victoria would be damned if she’d smear the Van Orr name and destroy an innocent woman’s marriage in the process. She’d been derided as a trophy wife. She refused to stoop to the level of “The Other Woman.” What could she have been thinking when she let him kiss her?

Obviously, she hadn’t been thinking at all.

Though he had awakened something inside her that begged to be explored, she had no choice but to concentrate on their business arrangement. Dissolving their agreement was not an option. Carlson was the name James had trusted most.

Never mix business with pleasure.

“We won’t mention it again,” she said evenly.

Steve blew out a breath. “Thanks. Still, I’d like to make it up to you.”

“That’s not necessary. Really.” He seemed to have no concept of his visceral effect on her. Or was he blocking that out in the best interest of their financial deal?

“I won’t take no for an answer. I want to make things right.”

She titled her head and met his eyes. “You’re serious.”

“Absolutely. Tell me what else I can do for you.”

“Well, okay…there
is
something I’d like to run by you.”

“Have a seat. Shoot.”

She took the seat opposite his desk. “I’ve been thinking about hosting a private charity auction in the Van Orr name to raise money for the local domestic violence shelter. I’ve been a volunteer there for years—long before my marriage.” She leaned forward. “After I got married, I wanted to spend my time on activities that mattered. The wives of rich men don’t work in department stores, but volunteering on a board of directors is acceptable, particularly when the need is urgent.”

Flashbacks of a dark-haired girl shivering beneath a thin blanket on a narrow cot in a bare room invaded her thoughts, but she chased the unwanted memory and continued her pitch. “If we set a goal to raise one million dollars for charity from a portion of James’s estate, I’d expect you to reduce your commission on the items sold for that purpose. I’d take nothing from the auction proceeds for myself except expenses. Though your commission rate would be reduced, a charity event might be a big draw and bring higher prices than we anticipated. If we do things right, I think this could be a win-win.”

“I didn’t realize my kiss was equal to a million-dollar event. I’m flattered.”

She smiled. “That was one great kiss.” They stared at each other for a heartbeat or two, but then he smiled, and the earlier tension in the room dissolved.

“I’d like to discuss this with Jimmy—but only as a courtesy,” Victoria added. “Though I don’t see why he’d object to a charity auction as a first step to creating a Van Orr memorial. He might even pitch in to help.”

It wouldn’t hurt to pretend she still had family.

Steve’s expression softened. “James was a lucky man. Your proposal’s generous.”

“The shelter needs a relocation fund and a boost to its operating expenses. There’s never enough cash flow and the building requires extensive maintenance. The auction proceeds should take care of those things for a little while.”

Steve’s all-business tone returned. “We can work out a flat fee for my commission and I’ll split the expenses with you. How’s that? Since this will be a charity event, I’d rather not have my profits tied to the sale. I have a vested interest in this community, too.”

He shrugged. “Let’s face it—you and I both know that hiring Carlson’s for this venture was a gift. I’m the one who should be grateful for whatever business you throw my way. I have no intention of making demands on you or your money.”

Victoria released a sigh that unwound the anxiety in her chest. “Then you’ll help me?”

“Of course.” He dropped the pen he’d been holding. “Most of your consignment is stored in my warehouse. That will make taking inventory and writing a catalogue for your auction easier. Let’s ask Beverly to meet with us and sketch out our plans for the event. Beverly loves special projects.”

*****

Steve arranged display racks near the front of the store to showcase a selection of vintage and antique clothing to their best advantage.

Pirate sat in his cage, picking an imaginary bug from his feathers before squawking, “You’re pretty,” and returning to his task. Two middle-aged women browsing through an assortment of forties and fifties salt and peppershakers glanced up at the bird and smiled.

Bruce Mitchell, owner of Pinnacle Antiques Auctions, entered the emporium surreptitiously, despite the fact that he and Steve often did business together. Trading among antiques dealers was common practice, and a courtesy discount was always offered on direct sales.

Steve watched Mitchell from the corner of his eye as Steve moved to the cash register to ring up sets of salts and peppers for his customers. The pair of women took their wrapped collectibles and said good-bye to Steve and Pirate. Whey they’d gone, Steve approached Bruce to say hello.

Bruce nodded while he admired the quality of the extremely rare Roaring Twenties wedding gown featured on a mannequin beside the clothing display. “You do find such nice things,” he said with a touch of envy. He laid his palm on Steve’s forearm and let it linger. “I wish we were partners instead of competitors.”

Steve lowered his arm. “Careful, Bruce. Carlos might not understand.”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t tell him I said that.”

Steve stared him down. “I told you
no
the first three times you propositioned me. This is the last time I’ll be polite.”

Bruce stepped away, seemingly unfazed by the exchange. He craned his neck to look around the store. “You have a lot of new merchandise.” He walked closer to inspect a mahogany dresser and ran his fingertips over the intricate carving. He strolled around the floor meditatively, eyeing a hand-painted Nippon bowl and a service of fine Irish crystal. When his fingers traced the worn, soft leather of an antique armchair, his eyelids fluttered and his nostrils flared, like a cat tracking a suspicious scent.

“Some of these pieces look familiar. I’m trying to place them.” He paused, and then continued his stroll around the shop. His eyes rested on the enormous glass display case to his right and the doll collection featuring the rare Rohmer French fashion poupée with her trunk and wardrobe inside.

Bruce’s face drained of color. “I’d heard rumors you’d taken this consignment, but I refused to believe they were true.”

Steve figured the “rumor” came straight from Jimmy Van Orr’s mouth.

Steve heard the studio door open and watched Victoria walk briskly toward the front of the store. Deep in her own thoughts, she failed to see Bruce Mitchell hovering nearby, his hands clenched into fists. Steve tried to wave a warning, but she didn’t look up.

“I have an idea about the auction,” she said into the room. Her voice was filled with excitement. “The country club has a wonderful—”

The sentence died in her throat as Bruce Mitchell stepped into her path, his steely glare meeting her eyes. The two stood frozen, face to face.

Bruce spoke first. “Mrs. Van Orr.” His greeting cracked ice.

“Mr. Mitchell,” Victoria replied with more warmth. She held out her hand to shake his, seeming to recover nicely from the awkwardness of their meeting. “It’s good to see you again.”

Steve made his way to her side, doubting any of them believed that was true.

“I expected you to call me when you were ready to proceed with the consignment,” Bruce said, ignoring her hand. His voice remained tight. “I thought we had an understanding.”

Victoria’s expression turned solemn as she lowered her arm. If the slight insulted her, she gave no indication. “I considered your company seriously, Mr. Mitchell. But please understand that my husband did most of his business with Carlson’s.”

Bruce’s mouth thinned. “Yes. I remember.”

“It’s nothing personal. I was quite impressed with you and Mr. Vega.” Victoria appeared to struggle for words. “It’s just that, in the end…I came here.”

“So I’d heard.”

There was a long, awkward pause before Bruce continued. “I would have appreciated the
courtesy
of a phone call after spending hours at your home, appraising the merchandise.”

He turned again to Steve. “And after losing the consignment to you, I would
also
have expected first right of refusal on the antique dolls. After all the business you and I have done together, you must have known I would buy them outright.” He stabbed the air with an index finger. “What have I done to deserve this snub? You know I’m passionate about my collection.”

Ah, shit.
Steve had been so busy helping Victoria, he’d forgotten about Mitchell’s doll fetish.

Serious collectors, in general, were obsessive and compulsive about the objects of their desire. Collecting was like a drug or gambling addiction or a thrall that could drain a person’s financial resources to the point of bankruptcy—or lead them to the brink of insanity. Whether people collected dolls or searched the globe for vintage model trains or fine art, the result of unchecked spending was the same. Steve had seen good people ruined too many times.

He knew an apology wouldn’t make a difference to an obsessive like Bruce Mitchell, but he tried, anyway. “The oversight wasn’t intentional.” He lifted a hand in the direction of the doll displays. “It’s not too late to work a deal.”

“I hate being an afterthought. It’s insulting,” Mitchell spat. Pink splotches dotted his cheeks.

Steve resisted the urge to grab Mitchell by his skinny neck and squeeze. He cleared his throat and forced his voice to remain steady. “No insult intended.”

Mitchell glanced around the room at the exquisite pieces from the Van Orr mansion, and his expression turned stony. He met Steve’s eyes, and the jealousy and hatred Steve saw in their depths raised the hair on the back of his neck.

“Go to hell,” Mitchell replied. He turned to look at Pirate in his cage, and then back at Victoria. “I’d say worse, but there’s a bird present.”

Victoria’s jaw dropped, but she recovered quickly. “Thank you for proving I chose the right man to represent my interests.”

“Still pretending you’re a lady?” Mitchell replied with a smirk.

Steve grabbed Mitchell by the front of his shirt and shoved. “Get out of my store before I kick your ass.”

Mitchell stumbled and almost lost his footing. “By the time I’m finished with you, you’ll be sorry you met the Van Orrs.” He strode to the door, yanked it open, and slammed it so hard the windows rattled. Pirate screeched. Bits of feathers and dander gusted around the cage and drifted to the floor.

“What did he mean by that?” Victoria asked. She’d turned pale as paper. She made her way to a stool behind a glass counter, took the seat, and covered her eyes with her hands. Steve followed, wanting to offer comfort, but not daring to touch her. He paced in frustration, trying to think what to do.

“I’m sure Jimmy sent Mitchell to start trouble.” She lowered her hands, and her eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them back. Steve’s fury mounted at the sight of her misery.

Victoria slid off her stool and began rummaging through the storage space beneath the showcase. She found a box of tissues and wiped her eyes. “This isn’t your fault. Jimmy is furious about my agreement with you.”

Steve couldn’t stand to watch her suffer another second and pulled her to him. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I’ve caused you a lot of trouble.”

Victoria rested her head against his chest, took a deep breath, and let it go. He smelled the clean scent of herbal shampoo and listened to the steady rhythms of her heartbeat while his arms tightened around her protectively.

God help him, he was glad Jimmy was avoiding her. He didn’t want him anywhere near this woman.

*****

As her breathing leveled off, Victoria released Steve and lifted her face to his. She forced a smile. “It seems we keep apologizing to one another.”

“And here we are again, alone behind the counter.” He traced the curve of her chin then dropped his hand to his side, as if willing himself to stop touching her. His restraint ignited yearnings she longed to explore…but resisted.