Love By Design (16 page)

He stopped and dragged her arms above her head and pressed her body into the mattress. “Who is Lorenzo?”

Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath. “Jealous?”

“Yes.”

There was no humor in his eyes now just an intensity that worried her. This was no longer fun and games. Russ was getting serious on her, taking the conversation to a more intimate level.

She wasn’t nearly ready for it. “I was only kidding.”

“Tell me you want the real thing.”

Victoria felt his body tense. His erection pressed against her belly, where the robe gaped open, urgent and demanding. It wasn’t a trick question and he wasn’t questioning whether she wanted the real thing. To choose between him and the vibrator. No, he was asking her in his roundabout way if she wanted him. That only he would do. Victoria was scared of the truth so she responded in her own roundabout way. “Dicks are like diamonds, genuine is better than imitation.”

She bit her lip so she couldn’t take the words back and spill out the truth in some incoherent, rambling mess. Suddenly, she felt a deep disappointment within herself. She lied and let him think he was one of many instead of the one she wanted many times.

“Thanks, cupcake. You’re better than any blow up doll. Not that I ever, oh God never mind.”

He entered her bit by bit, with great care, a care that was almost too much for her to bear. She wanted it fast and hard so she wouldn’t feel the torrent of emotions gushing into her heart. All she wanted was great sex with no messy feelings to clean up later.

This wasn’t a mindless act driven by lust. Russ made love to her. Even though she pleaded with him to go faster, he refused without words, leisurely stroking in and out of her, brushing his lips along her sleek neck trying to coax her to go along for the slow ride.

As the pressure built deep inside, tears welled in her eyes. Victoria glanced over to where the vibrator had rolled. Once Russ left, which she knew he eventually would, her personal massager would be coming out of retirement. And its name would be Russ.

***

T
ired but unable to sleep, Victoria found herself downstairs in her studio at the ungodly hour of 8:00 a.m. Non-film days usually meant no alarm clock since the showroom in front wasn’t due to open until 11:00, but today she had been chased out of her bed by a man who LIKED to spoon. She didn’t know what to do with such a man. She preferred the men who up and went home afterwards. It was cleaner that way. No misinterpreted feelings that cuddling created. What was the purpose of it anyway? Why the intimacy when he knew their time was limited? Victoria didn’t like how he made himself right at home—even if he did cook a mean omelet at four in the morning. It didn’t give him the right to take up residence in her bed as if he belonged there. So while Russ slept peacefully upstairs, she paced restlessly downstairs.

Since painting calmed her down she decided to start a new piece. Grabbing a couple of tubes of paint she squeezed two drops on a palette and mixed up an amber hue. On a blank canvas she painted a sun. Taking a step back she realized it was the color of Russ’s eyes. Dropping the brush to the floor in disgust she thought, well, this isn’t going to help. Or would it? Maybe if she went with it she’d work out her feelings or at the very least it would be out of her mind and onto paper. Like art therapy.

Inspired, Victoria mixed more colors and brushed the canvas in a frantic frenzy of strokes like she was channeling Matisse.

Painting was just for her. Of course her mother thought it was a quaint hobby, but once she realized Victoria was serious Evelyn said to her daughter at the tender age of sixteen that people would only buy her art because of who she was and not on its own merit, she channeled her creativity into interior design. Much to her mother’s dismay, Victoria’s business had flourished. She’d been able to pay the bills without relying on family money or what was left of her trust fund after the initial start-up costs. Her designs had been in magazines, won awards, and she was a co-host of a successful design show. Design may be her first love, but painting was her passion.

The word passion conjured up an image of Russ. Too bad she wasn’t a technical portrait painter or a sculptor so she could immortalize his perfect form. He was a work of art that she could study at great length. Yep, at great length.

If it weren’t so overdone she’d do a study of phallic images with Russ as the model.

Instead she would satisfy herself by capturing his essence on canvas.

Putting the final touches on the first run through, she looked up at the clock without examining the canvas. She preferred to come back and finish with a fresh eye. At least, afraid of what might be revealed, that is what she told herself. Better to come back to it later when she wasn’t feeling so emotional and raw.

Ten. Enough time to clean-up and open the shop. First, she had to wake up sleeping handsome. Before she could get upstairs the bell rang. She guessed it was an early bird. If she were dressed appropriately she’d answer and open early, but silk pajamas wasn’t going to cut it as work attire. Her cell rang which she foolishly answered without looking at the caller ID.

“Victoria, I’m waiting outside your door like I was one of your customers.”

The snobbish tone to her mother’s voice grated on Victoria.

“Coming.” It was no use lying to her and claiming she wasn’t home. Everyone knew, because of her past unreliability and wild ways, Victoria was strict about her studio hours. What couldn’t wait until the obligatory monthly family dinner this Sunday?

She walked to the door as if she was being sent to the electric chair. Unlocking the door she dragged in a cleansing breath, hoping someone would flip the switch.

Holding a handful of newspapers, her mother, Evelyn, swept into the room with the flair of a queen. Even at ten in the morning she was impeccably dressed in Chanel. Tall, blonde, beautiful, and statuesque, her mother was everything Victoria wasn’t. On more than one occasion she even asked if she was adopted. How did her mother produce such a short, rebellious, dark-haired child? Her father’s family offered no clues either. Perhaps she’d been switched at birth. Her mother’s real and perfect daughter was with another family living a normal, sane life while Victoria was stuck with a Mommy Dearest look-a-like.

Okay, that might be stretching it a bit. And Victoria did love her mother—she just didn’t like her very much. She had come to a realization—without the help of a therapist because Bryce’s didn’t need therapy (unless it was in the form of alcohol) —that this was who her mother was and it had nothing to do with who Victoria was or would be in the future.

“I thought we had an agreement.”

Said agreement was Victoria’s promise to keep out of trouble and in turn Evelyn would not interfere in Victoria’s design business. As she glanced down at the photos splashed across the front page, she’d thought she’d been doing a splendid job.

Until last night.

One paper had a split screen—the right-hand photo snapped last night and the left one taken two years prior outside a club after gunfire sent police to the scene. The caption read ‘The Pink Lady Spotted at Strip Club.’

“Calm down, the paparazzi never guessed it was me then and they won’t now.”

“Calm down. Calm down! You were at a strip club!”

“Like I said, no one will figure it out. The Victoria Bryce they know would never wear that outfit.” She pointed to the paper “Never mind wear it twice.”

“I don’t care about that. What were you doing at a strip club?”

That made Victoria wonder—which didn’t her mother care about: the press putting one and one together or that her daughter was at a strip club? “Why, I was having a spot of tea, Mother.”

“Don’t get snarky with me, missy. What brought this on? Are you in trouble?”

“It’s not as sordid as it sounds,” she repeated the words Russ had spoken in his defense. “It’s like a glorified bachelorette party.

“If only it WERE your bachelorette party.”

“Let’s save that discussion for Sunday dinner, otherwise we’ll have nothing to talk about.”

Victoria heard thumping on the stairwell. Russ.
This can’t be happening. What else could go wrong?
She should have dragged him out of bed and sent him on his way hours ago.

“Hey, cupcake, have you seen my shirt?” At the bottom of the steps, barefoot, wearing only his jeans, Russ skidded to a halt. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t think you were open yet.”

“This is my mother, Evelyn. Mother this is … well … this is Russell Rowland.”

His face lit up with interest as he stepped forward and held out his hand. “Hi, Mum.”

Mum? What was he doing? But Russ didn’t know her mother or the strict rules of etiquette followed by the high society crowd as if they were royalty.

Evelyn ignored his hand and with a disapproving frown turned to her. “Oh Victoria, tell me you didn’t. A stripper?”

She debated whether to confirm her mother’s conclusion or not. But with a discreet private detective on speed dial she would find out anyway. “Russ is my co-host but yes, he moonlights as a dancer.”

“Dancer—hah. He takes off his clothes for a living.”

Victoria’s gaze dropped to the floor. Hadn’t she said nearly the same thing to Russ only two days ago? “He’s just filling in.”

She risked a glance at Russ, who instead of looking like he wanted to escape actually seemed to be holding in a laugh. No doubt remembering her words as well.

“You didn’t pay him?”

“Mother! I—”

“Whoa—”

Before Russ could continue whatever he was going to say, Evelyn pointed at Russ, her bony finger barely holding up under the weight of the four-carat ring. “Stay away from my daughter or I’ll have you deported.”

“Oh, no you won’t or I’ll follow him to Australia,” Victoria threatened back.

Evelyn drew back her hand bringing it to her chest as if she were having a heart attack and turned towards her daughter. “You wouldn’t.”

Delighted by her mother’s appalled reaction, Victoria couldn’t help but take it one step further. “Maybe I’ll even marry him.”

It wasn’t the look on her mother’s face that was priceless but the silence that followed.

Chapter 22

M
-m-m-marry me?
Russ resisted the urge to make a break for the door and catch the next flight out of the States. No green card was worth marriage, not even if it was one that got you into Heaven. Hell, he’d swim back to Australia if he had to. Things weren’t all that bad back home, even if his face was plastered all over the tabloids. If Victoria was a popular target of the paparazzi, it was only a matter of time before the rag sheets marked them as a couple and he’d be in the same position here as he was back there.

Russ caught Evelyn’s horrified face and Victoria’s smug look and realized the threat was merely for her mother’s benefit. Air rushed back into his lungs like a man who’d been saved from drowning. He should have known. A woman with Victoria’s obvious social breeding would never tether herself to him for a lifetime. She was probably expected to marry a politician or CEO of a Fortune 500 Company. That should’ve made him happy, but it annoyed him instead.

And what kind of mother thinks her daughter has to pay for sex?

And since when did he look like a prostitute?

He supposed he didn’t help his case by being shirtless. And that matter of him flinging off his clothes for money certainly wouldn’t win him points with any mother of a marriageable daughter. But it was still a big illegal leap from stripper to male prostitute.

“You’re bluffing,” Evelyn said to her daughter with a self-satisfied smile. She turned her attention to Russ. “Make no mistake; you’re nothing more than a toy to her.” Her expression turned to one of pity.

Russ knew Evelyn was changing tactics by appealing to his male ego and it was working. After all, she was probably right. He meant nothing more to Victoria than the sex toy in her nightstand drawer. But he wouldn’t let them see how much that fact stung. He jabbed his thumbs through the loops of his jeans. Using the thick Aussie drawl Victoria hated, he said, “Well, your daughter can play with me anytime she likes.”

“Oh, you are disgusting.”

Victoria pointed to the exit. “That’s enough, Mother.”

“Fine. But this isn’t over.”

Evelyn walked to the door in a huff. Russ now understood where Victoria got her flair for dramatics. Only in Victoria’s case it seemed she was playing a part. Her mother was the real deal of a bitch.

Victoria followed, locking the door as soon as her mother departed. Turning, she rested her back against it, sighed, and looked up at him. They stared across the space at each other for a long moment. The unsettling quiet irked him. Russ didn’t know what to think let alone say.

Russ didn’t make a habit of meeting his girlfriend’s families so this was uncharted territory. Though she wasn’t officially his and this run in with her mother unexpected, his gut told him not to make the first move, to let Victoria set the tone and he would take her lead.

Why wasn’t she saying anything? It’s not like she’d ever been at a loss for words. Was she regretting sleeping with him?