Glamour (44 page)

“And some people called. Jane and Haya. Haya said you should come by to see her tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

“And Jane wanted you to know that the store broke some sort of record this week. She says you have a problem with enough stock and can you bring in anything extra from Wave?”

“Okay!” Sally grinned. There it was, that glow of achievement. Chris Nelson wanted more than a pretty face, and she had no intention of just being that.

“And then lots of journalists called and asked if you were going out with a baseball player.They said you got spotted at the airport together.”

She froze. “What did you say?”

“I hung up on them.”

“Good job, Mom.”

“So are you?”

Sally surrendered. “Yes; the man who saved you plays a little ball, yes.”

“He’s an All-Star shortstop?” Mona asked, determinedly. “For the Dodgers? Cover of
Sports Illustrated
? Future Hall of Famer?”

“I don’t know why you’re asking, if you already know,” Sally sulked.

“I didn’t. The journalists told me.” Mona smiled. “If somebody famous was the man who saved me, I reckon he must be a good man.Those celebrities are usually pampered brats. He took a risk.”

Sally remembered the welts on his hands.

“He certainly did.”

“Just remember, honey, you only have one heart.”

Sally went over and kissed her mother on the forehead.

“Believe me, Mom,” she said, “I’m trying.”

Jane Morgan was trying to keep her feet on the ground. It was only seven weeks, not even two months yet.There had been factors ; curiosity. Well-managed press. Additional coverage after that, from stuff you could never script: Haya in labor, Sally starting to date some famous athlete—boy, they’d loved that. Even Jane, who tried to stay in the background, was getting well-known.

But you couldn’t fool people forever. If the shoppers came back, it would be because of their excellent service, first-rate staff, and the whole experience she was selling.

Maybe she would wait and see if they did come back.

But damn, these numbers.

Out of the park. Like a ball off the end of Sally’s new boyfriend’s bat. Home-run stuff. Records.

She was now fielding new calls. Not just from newspapers’ Style sections. From Wall Street analysts.

She turned off her computer and flopped down onto the bed, exhausted.These last three weeks had been mad. And with Haya gone, and Sally’s eyes dazzled by Chris Nelson, all the stock rearrangement had fallen on Jane, as well as staff evals, billing, and the rest of it.

They needed to hire management, she thought. Vice presidents. Who could she steal from Saks? And that wasn’t all. At this rate of cash flow—be honest, she knew it wasn’t going to drop, in fact it was going to increase.The brand now had critical mass, and their foundations of quality were there. It was an out-of-the-gate success. Well, at this rate, they’d have to expand. Move into the East Coast. New York. Then Chicago.Then D.C., Seattle. She ticked the cities off in order of importance. After that, they’d be looking for major new investment and some places abroad: Paris, London . . . and to be different, perhaps a boutique in Mauritius. GLAMOUR was just that. It had to be open in St. Tropez and Milan....

Jane sensed exhaustion creeping up on her, and she couldn’t have that. Burnout was what happened to other people; bond traders. . . . She had to be able to cover Haya for a couple months. Resolutely, she peeled off her clothes, dumped them in the laundry hamper, and put on her swimsuit.The pool in the yard would do fine. It was a blisteringly hot day, and she would cool off and work out at the same time.

Tomorrow this house would go on the market. Sally and Haya were already moving. This place was cute, but far too small, and she could now afford to upgrade, Part of GLAMOUR was the fantasy, anyway; of course the owners had to live well.They were the brand, as Donald Trump had learned.

She plunged into the pool. Man, she loved exercise. It was the one time when she could totally focus on herself.The physical effort forced her to clear her head. Figures, money, deals just melted away.Without exercise, she thought she might crack. Jane swam twenty laps, reveling in the movement of the water against her body, then propelled herself lazily up to the steps in the shallow water and slowly walked out of the pool, reaching for her towel....

“Good evening.”

She gave a little shriek. Craig Levin was sitting there, on her sun lounger, dressed in a lightweight summer suit. His gaze ran quickly across her body before she wrapped it in a towel.

“What are you doing here?” Jane snapped.

“I called, I faxed, I e-mailed. No reply.” He grinned. “Started to think you were ducking me, Miss Morgan.”

She had been. “I was busy,” Jane extemporized. “Start-up time . . .”

“I noticed.” He inclined his head. “I do have three million dollars in your store. And ten percent of the company. Which I believe makes me the major nonowner shareholder.”

“The only one,” Jane conceded.

“And it appears I’ll be getting a nice return on that ten percent.”

He certainly would.

“I’ll buy your shares,” she said. “Four million dollars, and you make a million profit in six months.”

“Now why would I sell something for four that’s worth five now and, I strongly suspect, twenty or thirty in a couple of years?” Levin asked coolly. “If you were me, would you sell?”

Jane had to shake her head. “No.”

“Then don’t ask foolish questions.”

She stood there, dripping, water from her soaked hair streaming down her back, her feet naked on the hot tiles. Nothing but a towel between Levin and her nude thighs; her suit was high-cut, with a hole across the belly; she understood clearly that he had an excellent idea of her body, right now, down to the flat of her stomach and the swell of her breasts.

Levin was clothed, wearing a smart pair of shoes and a paisley tie; they looked good on such a young man.

“I have to get dressed,” she muttered.

He spread his hands.“Nobody’s stopping you. But please don’t bother on my account.”

Jane fled into her bedroom and whisked the curtains closed.

Five minutes later she was back out there again, wet hair combed through, her feet in stacked mules, wearing the closest thing to hand—a sample of one of Sally’s new summer dresses; it had spaghetti straps and a close-fitting bodice, with a light skirt that fluted prettily around her knees.

“Nice,” Levin said, making her wish she’d added a shawl. Only it was just too hot.

“Can I get you some iced tea?” Jane was flustered. “I have a jug in the fridge.”

“Thank you,” he said, to her discomfiture. It meant that he was going to stay. And that she would have to fetch him the tea. A small act, but one he somehow imbued with meaning.

At least she was out of her swimsuit. Jane fetched him, and herself, a large glass of tea choked with ice and a slice of lime in it.

“Delicious,” he said. “Unsweetened.”

“I’m watching my figure,” Jane confessed.

Levin shook his head. “No need. Believe me.”

“So what can I do for you?” she asked, as briskly as she could under the circumstances.

“I want daily accounts sent to my office.”

“You can’t have them.”

“I own ten percent. I want a seat on the board.”

“Can’t have it.Talk to your lawyer.”

“If you want my money for expansion, you’ll cooperate.”

Jane shrugged. “I think the banks will be ready to talk to me, now.”

He grinned. “I think so, too. But you won’t be able to do the mom-and-pop thing forever, you know. Even Branson went public. And when you do, I’ll be there with my checkbook.”

“And until that time, I’ll send you a monthly summary,” Jane said. “And we’ll be repaying your loan early.”

Levin was still looking at her in that disturbing way.

“You do understand what I could do to the store, right? That I could take anything I wanted from you. I could have city hall ride you on parking or health and safety. I could buy out the contracts with your suppliers. I could hire away your staff by doubling their salaries and sending them on fact-finding missions to Cancun.”

His words were tough, but he was smiling at her, softly. She knew his fencing was a game.

Jane squared her shoulders. “We’d sue.”

“Whatever resources you have, throwing them at me would be like dropping a pebble into the ocean,” he replied matter-of-factly. “I have so much money that consortiums of commercial banks wouldn’t take me on.”

She gritted her teeth. “I will not let you sit on the board. I’d rather go under.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, smiling at her. “I wouldn’t force you. But I want you to know that I can.”

“Does that usually work? Puffing out your chest like a pigeon in mating season?”

Levin laughed, delighted. She’d called him on it. Most women wouldn’t dare.

“You respect work. And success.” He made his case, and his eyes lingered on hers. “Yes, sure—I want to remind you of mine, so you stop fighting me so hard. We’re
supposed
to be allies. Last time I saw you, I wrote you the check that allowed this to happen. And what do I get for it? My calls—blanked. My assistant’s calls—blanked. My faxes—ignored. I’ve been treated better by companies that were my takeover targets.”

Guilty. She knew it. He knew it.

“So tell me,” he said, drawing the sentence out. Clearly enjoying himself. “Do you treat all your benefactors this way?”

She tried to think of a comeback.

“So why me? You know I could have been of greater assistance. More money. Contacts. An advertising budget.You should now have full pages in
Vogue
and
Elle
.”

“I apologize,” Jane said, blushing. “I should have been more responsive.”

“My question is why you weren’t.”

She tried “I’ve been so busy . . .”

“Making hundreds of business-related calls. Just not to me.”

“I . . .”

“Tell the truth,” he said, grinning. “Admit it. You’ll feel better.”

Oh, man. Jane shook her head. He was too close to her, too strong. Too damn powerful. And so, so good-looking. She was briefly amazed at herself for ever having glanced at Jude Ferrers. She was made for a guy like this.

His questions were unanswerable, except with the truth. Jane surrendered.

“I—I find you attractive.”

“Better,” he said.“You know, I think that’s still legal in all fifty states.”

“And it’s best not to get involved with a colleague!” she added in a burst of inspiration.

“Now, Jane.You were doing so well. And then you relapsed.” His confident, teasing tone was so arousing; Jane could hardly look at him. Coloring, she stared at her sandals. “Shall I help you out? You’re a tough woman—and you want to stay that way. You’re frightened of me. Frightened of wanting me, frightened of my past girlfriends, frightened of being on a list. Slightly ashamed of yourself for having used my attraction to you to get this deal. Determined that you’ll return my money and never see me again. Scared of any romance, any man, maybe. Thinking that one day, perhaps you’ll marry a househusband, a nice, unthreatening guy with self-esteem problems, who can give you a baby or two and then run a farm somewhere, while you bring home the bacon; somebody who’ll never challenge you . . .”

Jane’s eyes flashed. “Cut that out!”

Levin put his face close to hers. “Pretty near the knuckle, am I, baby?”

“I’ll tell you this. I’m never going to be used by any man.”

“But you used your stunning beauty to get to me, didn’t you?”

“No.”

“Oh, yes, you did,” he said, softly. “Oh, yes, Jane, and you know it.”

She ran her tongue over her lips. Wanting to kiss him. Or run.

“You’re hard,” Levin said. “The hardest woman I’ve ever met. I have no idea why I’m chasing you like this. And no idea why you’re running.”

“I just . . .”

“And now I’m going to kiss you,” he said, and came forward, and she froze, couldn’t move a single muscle, and then his lips were on top of hers, hardly touching them, just brushing lightly against the skin; she could smell the scent of him, feel the strength of his torso right in front of her . . .

Jane was unable to help herself. He was teasing her, not taking her. Daring her to resist. Or ask for more. But her legs under the thin skirt were writhing; she was moist and hot for him; her body, so focused and tensed, melted and warmed and she moaned under her breath and surrendered, her tongue thrusting back into Levin’s mouth, her lips pressing against him, pleadingly . . .

He chuckled deep in his throat. Underneath her dress her body was leaping against him as he ran a hand slowly across it. Jane fell into his arms, feeling his jacket, his belt, the buttons of his shirt. Her senses felt unbelievably heightened. She wanted him so much. A voice in her head was telling her not to, to leave him alone.They hadn’t even dated. But she would not listen. His strength, his assured touch, all over her, like he owned her . . . she wanted it, at that moment, more than anything.

Levin kissed her again, triumphantly, and swung her into his arms; her weight was nothing to him; Jane buried her hot face in his chest, pressed her breasts against him. As he carried her through the sliding glass doors and into the coolness of her bedroom, Levin was already unbuttoning the top of her dress.

She lay naked, drained, against him. It was night now; they were both covered in sweat; Jane’s body was relaxed, as though orgasm had unknotted every muscle under her skin. She wondered if she had the energy left to move.

“Craig . . .”

He dropped a slow kiss on the top of her shoulder.

“At least we’ve got rid of Mr. Levin.” He laughed out loud, a deep laugh of pure pleasure. “I was lying when I said I didn’t know why I was chasing you. I knew, okay. That you were the most sensational girl I’d ever met. One in a million. And now this, now this.” He kissed her.“Man, you are just wonderful, Jane Morgan.”

Jane hung her head. “What have I done?”

“I could remind you,” he said. “If you have short-term memory problems.”