Wicked Burn (6 page)

Guilt washed through her. She knew what rankled at her spirit. She’d told Vic that she was available.

And Niall herself couldn’t decide if that was the ultimate truth or not.

 

 

A pile of things had accumulated on her desk in her absence, each one seemingly more important than the last. Niall coped with her anxiety and excitement about seeing Vic that night by throwing herself into work. By the time she returned to her office from a late afternoon meeting, she wasn’t feeling any less jumpy about her date, but she did feel good about how much she’d accomplished that day.

“Any calls?” Niall asked Kendra Phillips, her administrative assistant and good friend. When she heard the eager tone of her own voice, Niall realized that she was half hoping that Vic might have called, which was ridiculous. He’d specifically told her that he wouldn’t call until this evening. God, she was like a teenager with her first crush. The only difference being how wet her panties got every time she thought about Vic touching her. That aspect of her infatuation was definitely very adult.

She must not have been hiding her eagerness very well, because Kendra gave her a slightly suspicious look.

“Who were you expecting to call? Not Evan Forrester, I hope.”

Niall blanched. She hadn’t spoken to Evan since the night that he’d practically attacked her in the hallway . . . since the night Vic had branded her with his touch.

“God, no.”

“Good, because I saw him at Toulouse during lunch,” Kendra said, referring to the upscale restaurant housed within the museum. “He really likes his martini lunches, doesn’t he? He cornered me and asked if you’d returned yet. I told him that I thought you’d be spending the weekend with your parents in Kenilworth.”

“Nice one, thanks,” Niall said.

“Mac said that Forrester was trouble from the first when it came to you, although he has to tiptoe around the issue, seeing as how Forrester is on the board,” Kendra said with a grin, referring to Alistair McKenzie, the director of the museum.

Niall rolled her eyes. “If only Evan could be that subtle in return. The guy’s like a Mack truck.” Kendra looked concerned about that statement, so Niall quickly changed the subject.

“Any other calls?”

“Here are your messages.”

Niall glanced through the pieces of paper. Rose Gonzalez’s name caught her eye. What had the State of Illinois Public Guardian been calling her for? Niall wondered. Rose had patiently explained to her that she was wholly in charge now, not Niall. She knew that Rose usually left the office by five P.M. She’d have to call her first thing in the morning.

“Your mom was one of the callers,” Kendra broke through Niall’s preoccupation. Her voice level dropped until it was just above a whisper. “She wanted to know if you wanted to attend church at St. Patrick’s before the three of you go out to Evergreen Park this Sunday. You’re supposed to call her on her cell.”

Niall grimaced. How like her mother to suggest a good dose of Catholic-style guilt just when Niall was considering having a sexual fling with Vic. Alexis Chandler was damn scary sometimes, the way she could foresee events.

And Niall did
not
plan to go to Evergreen Park this weekend. That was one of her mother’s well meaning, but thoroughly irritating, machinations. Niall had made it clear that the ritualistic, soul-wrenching Sunday visitations at Evergreen Park were a thing of the past.

God, it made her feel slightly nauseated even to consider challenging her mother on the issue when she knew she was only doing what she thought was right. The lament of every child since Cain and Abel, no doubt, she thought sourly.

“Thanks.” Niall started to walk toward her office, but she paused, her feet moving restlessly. “You go to plays a lot, don’t you, Kendra?”

“Sure, when I can get Mark to let go of his death grip on the remote control for a few hours,” she teased, referring to her husband.

“Ever seen a Vic Savian play?”

“Yep.
Misfit Cowboys
and
Aidan’s Fall.
Are you thinking about seeing his new one that’s opening at the Hesse Theater? I’ve already got tickets.”

Niall plucked at her wool skirt, averting her face. “I was thinking about it. Is he any good?”

“Better than good,” Kendra said resolutely. “The guy’s a genius. Don’t get me wrong, his stuff isn’t a frolic in the park. His plays are gritty and intense, volatile, thought-provoking, but very . . . erotic, too.” Kendra shook her head and laughed sheepishly. “
Tons
of restrained lust is a Savian key ingredient. It’s what makes his plays so unpredictable and exciting. Hey, Niall?”

“Yes?”

“Why are you blushing?” Kendra asked with a fascinated expression on her round, earnest face.

Niall rolled her eyes and resumed walking to her office. “I am not
blushing
.”

“Sure looked like you were,” she heard Kendra say thoughtfully before Niall shut the door to her office.

She glanced into an antique mirror mounted on the wall. Kendra had been right. Her cheeks were bright red. In fact, the utterly foreign thought struck Niall at that moment that she looked like a very sexy, desirable woman.

All that, merely because when Kendra had talked about Vic’s plays, it had occurred to Niall that he wrote the way he made love.

 

 

Vic called her a few minutes after eight and said that he was running behind.

“Would it be all right with you if we just met downstairs at Louie’s, say at around nine thirty?” he asked.

“Of course,” Niall agreed as she eyed the outfit she’d laid out on the bed to wear on their date. “I’m actually relieved. I can just throw on some jeans.”

“I was going to be wearing jeans whether we went to Louie’s or Everest,” he said under his breath, humor lacing his tone as he referred to the famous Chicago restaurant.

Niall laughed. “I’m sure Everest would be happy to have your business, jeans or no. Everest caters to the pretheater crowd, you know. It’d be a feather in their cap if you showed up in swim trunks and a T-shirt, no doubt.”

“You know what I do for a living?” he asked.

“Oh . . . yes. My friend Anne—the woman I was with last night in the restaurant—told me that you’re a playwright.”

He laughed shortly. “Well, I know for a fact that Louie couldn’t give a shit about what I’m wearing as long as my ass is covered, so let’s stick with that. Besides, I hate French food.”

Niall smiled. His proclamation hadn’t particularly surprised her.

When she arrived at Louie’s, she immediately saw Vic in a booth near the bar, chatting with Louie himself. He was wearing a fitted, dark blue, Western-style shirt that accentuated his long, lean torso and broad shoulders. The shadow of a beard darkened his jaw. Heat flooded Niall’s lower belly when she recalled how his whiskers had erotically abraded her sensitive skin during their lovemaking.

Vic looked up and held her gaze as she approached, even though he continued to chat with Louie. His eyes lowered over her in leisurely appreciation before he stood as she greeted both men.

Vic caught her hand when she began to move to the opposite side of the booth from where he’d been sitting.

“Sit here.”

Louie grinned broadly as he watched the exchange. He nodded his head once in obvious approval when Niall assented to Vic’s terse request and slid into the seat before he sat down next to her.

“Let me see here—a glass of chardonnay and the salmon for the lady, and a beer and a medium-rare steak for the gentleman. Am I right?” Louie asked, amusement and his rich Chicago South Side accent flavoring his tone.

“On the nose for me.” Niall grinned. Her eyes widened when she realized that Vic had turned and was looking at her.

“Sounds good, Louie,” Vic murmured, never taking his eyes off Niall.

“I guess neither one of us has to worry about cleaning our ovens when we’ve got Louie downstairs,” she teased. Her breath stuck painfully in her lungs when Vic reached up and grabbed a wavy tendril of her hair between his thumb and first two fingers.

“Do you like to cook?” he asked absentmindedly as he rubbed the golden curl between his fingers.

“Yes,” Niall replied. She inhaled unsteadily and caught a whiff of Vic’s clean, spicy cologne. It brought back myriad sensations and images from the night in his apartment, increasing her sense of mixed anxiety and excitement. “But not here at Riverview Towers. All of my cooking utensils are packed away. I can’t wait to get them all out for my new kitchen. What about you? Do you like to cook?”

“Nope. But I like to eat, which means that I do it. We usually take turns cooking whenever I’m on the farm.” He studied her face before he released her hair. “You’re nervous, aren’t you? There’s no need to be.”

Laughter burst out of her throat. “Easy for you to say.”

She paused when that dead-sexy grin abruptly curved his lips. Jeez, talk about an unfair advantage. A woman couldn’t think straight when Vic resorted to using that weapon. The deep lines around his mouth said that despite his typical stony expression, he did his fair share of grinning. He could probably turn a woman to sex jelly at a distance of fifty feet with that smile. Never mind what it could do to you when you sat so close to him that you could breathe his rich, male scent and he casually reached behind you to stroke your shoulder with his long fingers.

“It is pretty easy for me to say. Why should you be nervous? It’s not like we haven’t already had sex.”

Her mouth gaped open at his calm statement. Luckily, Louie chose that moment to interrupt as he set down their drinks.

“What’s wrong?” Vic asked once Louie had left. He took a sip of his beer with the hand that wasn’t stroking her shoulder. His touch on her was seemingly casual enough, but Niall felt like every fiber of her consciousness was focused on the tiny patch of her body where he gently molded and massaged her muscle. “You didn’t forget about us having sex together, did you?”

Heat flooded her cheeks. “
Hardly,
” she answered drolly, borrowing his habit of charged laconism.

His gray eyes locked on hers. He started to laugh, low and heartfelt. Niall found that she couldn’t remain anxious in the presence of his deep laughter. She shook her head in mock exasperation before she started to laugh right along with him.

The magic of their combined laughter seemed to melt away her nervousness, leaving only excitement and growing desire in its wake.

Niall had a wonderful time at dinner. True, she spoke three words for every one of Vic’s. He was adept at keeping her talking with just a few terse prompts. He was actually quite easy to talk to, once one got over the fact that he was not only a gorgeous hunk of man but a Pulitzer Prize-winning writer. Although he never gushed or rambled on any topic, he was surprisingly forthcoming about his work. She found herself truly relaxing as she listened to him describe in his succinct, spare language the challenges involved in getting his latest play ready for opening night. When he mentioned his leading lady’s first name, Niall tapped her forehead in recognition.

“Right! Eileen Moore. She used to be on that sit-com,
Different Wavelengths.
I thought she looked familiar when I saw her last night with you at The Art.”

Niall recalled the pointedly furious look the attractive actress had thrown her way and wondered once again if she and Vic were involved or if Eileen just wished they were.

“She’s too talented a stage actress to have been doing that crap in Hollywood,” Vic said as he set down his knife. “This is the third play of mine that she’s done.”

“Oh?”

His eyes flickered over to her face when he heard the tone of her voice. “Are you wondering if I’ve slept with her?” he asked bluntly.

For a few seconds Niall floundered for an answer. Nothing would come to her except the truth.

“Yes.”

Vic considered her for a second, his angular jaw making that increasingly familiar subtle rolling motion. “Yeah, I have,” he finally said.

Niall glanced down at her plate. She was embarrassed by how much his admission hurt. She clearly was losing her mind. Vic Savian had likely slept with hundreds of women before that moment and would sleep with hundreds more before his life was over. Niall was just one more name on a list of casual conquests. If she’d had to say whether or not he’d slept with Eileen Moore before he’d made his admission, she would have bet that he had. The flaming darts that the actress had thrown at Niall convinced her of that.

So why did hearing him say it out loud hurt so much?

She shook her head and laughed at her naïveté. “It’s really none of my business,” she said softly. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

Vic didn’t respond because a busboy arrived to clear the table. After the busboy left, Niall asked him about his farm in downstate Illinois, desperate to change the subject.

He explained that he’d inherited the farm from his mother’s brother over a year ago. Vic still couldn’t figure out why in the world his uncle Manny had made a specific point of leaving him the enormous farm while Meg, Vic’s sister, was designated as the beneficiary of Manny Padilla’s financial estate. It wasn’t that both inheritances weren’t generous far beyond expectation, of course; it was just that Vic clearly wasn’t a farmer. He’d thought about selling it, not having the time or interest for running a large farm since he already owned a ranch in Montana. But his sister, Meg, and her husband had said they would like to manage the extensive property.

“It’s worked out okay,” Vic said as he accepted the bill from a smiling Louie. “Maybe Uncle Manny knew something I didn’t. I’d already been in talks with the Hesse Theater when I inherited the farm. I guess it’s no secret how much I hate living in the city. They were willing to negotiate the actual amount of time that I spend in Chicago. I brought out some of my horses from my ranch in Montana. Meg and Tom live up at the big house and I live in a cottage that was built for a farmhand and his family years ago. We get along, but if we get sick of each other, we can hightail it to our respective houses and lock the doors. My contract with the Hesse is for only two years, anyway.”