Luxury Model Wife Read online

  “I’m glad you don’t.” Victoria reached behind the counter for her purse. “On that note, let me buy you lunch. I’ll even pick up. Hopefully, no weirdoes will bother you while I’m gone.”

  Beverly sighed. “With my luck a busload of tourists will stop on their way to the smorgasbord, spend five dollars, then line up for the bathroom.”

  Victoria patted Beverly on the back. “Back in twenty minutes with food.”

  *****

  Rocco’s Pub was alive with office workers crowding the oversized bar for a quick drink. Shoppers waited for tables and retailers hovered by the busy takeout counter. The tangy scents of barbeque sauce, hamburger grease, and fried onions filled the air.

  Chatter mingled with the snap and sizzle sounds from the kitchen and the tinkling of glasses behind the packed bar. A curvy blonde barmaid poured drinks with rapid precision while wait staff sailed through the dimly lit room, holding order pads or trays filled with food.

  Victoria added two bottles of wine coolers to the bag of sandwiches and fries she carried, and shifted the parcel in the crook of her arm. She fumbled through her purse to pay the cashier.

  When she turned to go, a familiar voice in the bar stiffened her spine. She turned and, to her dismay, spotted Mr. Robitussin. A bottle of beer faced him on the bar. He spoke into a cell phone, and when he looked up he seemed as surprised to see her as she was to see him.

  Mr. Robitussin dropped the phone into his pocket, and shot her a nasty grin. All pretense of civility evaporated when he lifted his beer in a mock salute. He pumped his hand over the length of the bottle in a crude gesture and then waggled his tongue at her and laughed.

  Victoria’s heart pounded and a cold shiver ran over her skin as she fought off her revulsion. Who was this horrible man, and what did he want from her?

  His laughter brought a series of deep, loose coughs, which he covered with a handkerchief pulled from his jacket pocket.

  Victoria rushed from the takeout area to the front of the restaurant with her head down, her face obscured by the brown paper bag she carried.

  Since childhood, she’d been able to adopt a neutral expression at will, making her unbeatable at poker as an adult. Years of domestic violence, squalor, and the lack of privacy in homeless shelters before she was fostered had taught her how to become invisible. The cosmetics trade had taught her allure.

  Since James’s death, her mask had slipped. She hoped the man in the blue suit hadn’t read her fear and disgust.

  Before she reached the exit, another customer hurried through the door. Though her view was obstructed by the crowd, the dim lighting, and the ball cap the man wore, there was something disturbingly familiar about the gray-haired man who pushed his way into the room and dodged the maze of busy tables.

  Victoria tried to dismiss her disquiet, but the pull of familiarity kept her eyes on the man. She followed his hat as he maneuvered his way to the bar at the rear of the restaurant and waved to someone.

  Mr. Robitussin signaled to an open stool beside him before the two men shook hands.

  When Victoria couldn’t identify the second man, she pushed the glass door open to the bright afternoon sun, and made her way back to Carlson’s.

  *****

  Steve Carlson entered the police station and asked for Norman Leighton at the front desk.

  “Norm’s out on a call. Practically everyone else is tied up,” the sergeant said, his crisp uniform rustling with his movements. “I can let you talk to Officer Wilson, if you want. He’s at his desk.”

  Steve approached Wilson and introduced himself. He would rather have talked with Norm, since the two of them had been friends since their high school wrestling days, but he needed to get a report filed before he left town. He sat in the folding chair beside the young officer wearing a starched uniform and sporting a fresh haircut. Pale skin shone in front of his ears where his sideburns had been shaved.

  “What seems to be the problem?” The rookie’s voice remained detached as he entered Steve’s name into a computer.

  Steve described the events at his store that morning and the threats by Carlos Vega.

  Wilson typed and then sat back in his worn leather chair. His penetrating gaze made clear that he was assessing the man before him. “And then you got into an altercation?”

  “Well. Yeah. At least, I grabbed Vega by the throat and throttled him for upsetting Mrs. Van Orr.”

  “Did he hit you back?”

  “No.”

  “So you assaulted him. This wasn’t mutual combat.”

  Steve fumed. “He deserved a lot more than I gave him. What right did he have to enter my shop, issue threats, and provoke me?”

  The officer made little clicking noises with his tongue. “Words aren’t assault, Mr. Carlson. You should have just asked him to leave. Or called the police if you felt threatened. Since you put your hands on him, he might file charges against you.”

  “Hell. That doesn’t seem right.”

  “You did the right thing by filing a report. It’s good to have the events on record in case this escalates.”

  “That makes me feel a whole lot better.” Steve glared at the rookie. “Be quick to get to the crime scene with outline chalk if that happens.”

  Officer Wilson narrowed his eyes. “What’s this situation really about, Carlson?”

  The skinny kid might be green, but he was sharp.

  Despite the distraction of the ringing phones inside the squad room and the constant movement as people came and went, Steve told the officer about the animosity between Pinnacle and Carlson’s over the Van Orr estate in a few succinct sentences.

  Officer Wilson returned to his computer, typing rapidly as he added the information.

  When he finished, Wilson wore a sour look. His voice took on a just between us guys tone. “This women’s shelter Mrs. Van Orr supports. Half the time those women go back to their abuser no matter what we do.” He groaned, and the unspoken words what’s the point hung in the air between them.

  Steve’s blood pressure shot up ten notches. Heat surged along the back of his neck. Maybe this rookie wasn’t so sharp, after all. Steve remembered his mother’s horror stories about the women she’d treated in emergency rooms after beatings by vicious, controlling husbands and boyfriends. The thought of a man hurting a woman made Steve see red. For the second time that day he clenched his fists to his sides and willed them not to move.

  Instead of pounding the crap out of Wilson, Steve replied, “You don’t have much experience with domestic violence calls, do you?” It wasn’t really a question.

  The officer caught the jibe and his skin flushed. “Well, not yet, but I have a good idea about what goes on.”

  Steve stood from his chair and leaned in close. “Sensitivity training might help.” He thrust his hands into his jeans pockets to keep them steady.

  The young officer blanched. “Back up, mister. Who do you think you are?”

  “Like you said, officer, words aren’t against the law.”

  Just then a voice boomed from behind them. “What the devil are you into now, Carlson?”

  Steve nodded his acknowledgment of his friend Norman Leighton, but kept his eyes trained on Wilson. “We seem to have disparate views on domestic violence, sir. I suggested the officer receive sensitivity training on the issue.”

  Wilson shot daggers at Carlson, his features twitching with barely concealed rage.

  Norman Leighton moved closer to the men at the desk, loosened his tie, and removed his brown suit jacket. Even if no one in the room knew Leighton’s rank they’d know by his posture and the way he draped the jacket over his arm that he was the man in charge.

  The lieutenant’s expression remained impassive, but there was a twinkle beneath his penetrating gray eyes when he addressed the rookie. “We’ll talk later.” He pointed to his office. “Follow me, Mr. Carlson.”

  Leighton closed his office door and slapped Steve on the back. “You still haven’t changed since ou
r grappling days on the mat.”

  Norm had been a year ahead of Steve in high school and something of a mentor to him on the wrestling team. Norm was two inches taller and outweighed him by twenty pounds, but Steve’s agility had made him a tough opponent. “And I’m still one match up on you, Norm.”

  “That means I owe you one, Carlson.” Norm chuckled. His light brown hair was sprinkled with premature gray at the temples. A shock of white streaked the front. His distinguished air of authority suited him and would serve him well when he made captain.

  The lieutenant gestured toward a worn, upholstered vinyl chair. “Sit down and tell me what’s on your mind, other than you think Wilson’s an asshole.”

  Steve retold his story about Carlos Vega’s threats.

  “A stake of millions always causes trouble,” Leighton said with a shake of his head. “I’ve never understood the commotion about a bunch of old furniture, but I can’t deny the antiques business has been good to you. Except for that last burglary, of course. We’re still working on your case. Whoever pulled that string of thefts on Antiques Row knew what they were doing. We don’t have much to go on.”

  Steve rested an ankle on his opposite knee. The ancient chair creaked beneath his weight as he shifted position. “I’ve doubled my insurance, but, hopefully, I won’t need it. I’ve had my warehouse and storefront fortified by a top security company. Bastards aren’t going to steal from me again. Especially with the Van Orr collections at stake.”

  The lieutenant leaned forward. “We can’t do anything to Vega unless he acts on his threats. But you were smart to file a report. Let me know if this dispute gains momentum.”

  The two men stood and shook hands.

  Steve left the lieutenant’s office and sauntered through the squad room. Officer Wilson’s angry gaze followed Steve like a laser beam as he made his way to the exit. Steve headed to the parking lot and pointed his Chevy toward Boston.

  *****

  Steve drank a root beer and sang along to the car radio. He kicked up the volume, trying to relax and relive the better part of the day with Victoria. He beat out a rhythm on the steering wheel with his thumbs while the stress of the afternoon melted away with the miles.

  Steve took another pull on his soda and pictured Victoria in a pair of cowgirl boots, naked except for the pair of garnet and marquisette earrings from the nineteen twenties he intended to give her on their first date. He was picking them up tonight from his dealer friend in Massachusetts, along with several other estate pieces he’d promised to buy.

  He imagined the earrings against Victoria’s thick, dark hair and his belly tightened. A low throb pulsed behind the fly of his jeans.

  He realized, suddenly, that he would do anything to win this woman.

  Steve knew he was taking a risk by offering an expensive gift so early in their relationship, but Victoria made him feel bold. She had a way of making a man see his strengths and forget his flaws.

  For a long time, he’d lived in self-imposed purgatory with regard to women, never really allowing himself to be open with anyone. After betraying his best friend and being dumped by his two-hour bride, he’d denied himself a chance at happiness. He didn’t believe he had that right. How could he make a woman happy when he’d built a wall around himself?

  Victoria had changed his thinking. He’d been honest with her, and despite her being a Van Orr and knowing the truth about his estrangement from Jimmy she hadn’t judged him. In only a short time she’d punched holes into the barricade surrounding his heart, and then toppled it brick by brick.

  He threw his root beer bottle into the litterbag and shook his head with the realization he’d punished himself long enough.

  He cranked the radio up another notch and sang along while a lead weight lifted from his chest. He whooped out loud inside his Chevy as the car cruised down the highway. Like the country boys said in their songs, it was time to move on.

  Victoria seemed to be moving ahead, too. Their brief intimacy proved she was no longer in deep mourning. She hadn’t yet shared her innermost thoughts, but he hoped that would change. He wanted to give her what she’d given him—emotional freedom.

  She hadn’t discussed her work at the shelter for survivors of family violence, but he assumed there was a connection between domestic violence and her past. People typically volunteered for causes that impacted their lives. His temples throbbed at the thought of someone hurting her. His hands squeezed the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

  The trauma must have taken place during Victoria’s childhood. If so, it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out why she’d married an older man who was stable, successful, and crazy about her. James’s infatuation with his second wife was legendary. He would have protected her and provided her with physical comforts she likely never had.

  Now that Steve had become involved with Victoria, he understood James’s passion. Aside from her stunning beauty, she was intelligent and sweet. Instead of the cookie-cutter country club type he’d first expected, she seemed unaffected by her wealth and position. Her poise belied a dark past. Steve had liked her from the start.

  Suddenly, he wanted to hold her close and kiss her soft lips again. He remembered the warm feel of her body and the feminine scent of her skin as he pressed his face to her neck. Memories of the way she’d trembled flooded his mind. His heart raced with images of pink— open mouth, flushed neck, hardened nipples—and his breath caught in his chest.

  “Down boy.” He glanced at his lap and groaned, forcing the air from his lungs. “Nothing we can do for you here.”

  The muscles in his jaw tightened as the possibility lingered that someone had mistreated Victoria. An overwhelming feeling of protectiveness surged through him, though he knew he had no claims on her. He muttered a threat, nonetheless. “God help the man who laid a hand on her.”

  Steve wondered, suddenly, if James would approve of him. He’d tried not to compare himself to the other man, but found it impossible, since James Van Orr had been an icon. Jimmy had often said his father cast a large shadow, and now Steve understood the scope of what that meant. For the first time he sensed he was battling an icon who could not be expelled.

  Steve reached for his cell phone and contacted his store.

  “Carlson’s Antiques Emporium.” Victoria’s sultry voice made Steve’s heart jump. She could make the words “cardboard box” sound sexy.

  He wanted to say, I can’t wait to see you again. Instead, he said, “Just wanted to let you know I filed that police report. Are you okay?” He glanced at the time on the dashboard and realized the afternoon had faded to evening. “I guess you and Beverly are about ready to lock up.”

  Victoria’s voice replied low and husky. “Yes…”

  He heard the briefest pause as that single word caught in her throat—as if she wanted to say more, but hesitated. Had she been thinking of him, too?

  He cleared his throat and willed his voice to remain casual. “I’m looking forward to getting together Saturday night.” Jesus, you sound like one of your mother’s bridge partners. Can’t you do better than that? You’re crazy about the woman.

  He could almost hear Victoria smile through the receiver.

  “Me too,” she whispered.

  Her voice wrapped around him in places he didn’t want to think about behind the wheel of a car. There was no mistaking the desire she conveyed with those two simple words.

  “I’m on my way to the mall to buy those cowgirl boots you wanted.” She lowered her voice an octave. “Would you like to see me in brown or black leather?”

  Her tone teased, but in Steve’s imagination she’d said, “I want to lick your hard length and take you deep inside my mouth.”

  Steve’s foot pounded the accelerator.

  When he snapped back to reality he realized he’d pressed the pedal to the floor. He eased up on the gas and looked desperately for a place to pull over before he killed himself.

  “Arggg,” was all he coul
d manage in reply. She could wear purple polka-dotted cowgirl boots with silver spangles and still knock him out cold.

  He steered the car onto the side of the road.

  “Steve, are you there?”

  “Either sounds good.” His vocal cords strained though he tried to sound cool.

  Phone sex had never held much appeal for him. Until now. He prayed Victoria would keep talking.

  Was that a throaty giggle? His heart pounded as cars raced past, casting swirls of dust around his bumper.

  “I thought I’d make a second stop in the mall…,” she added, with a too-casual ease Steve recognized too late. Her words were like the pause of a rattler before it struck and dropped you dead. Tiny beads of sweat formed above his upper lip.

  “…to pick up a little something from Victoria’s Secret. Black, to match my boots. Or maybe lavender. Which do you like better? I’ll slip the lace over my skin right after my hot bubble bath.”

  Oh, she was good. Steve was moaning out loud now, like he’d been ravaged in the wild.

  “You like bubble baths?” she asked. Oh so innocent.

  He imagined them reclining inside an antique porcelain claw-foot tub with the water steaming around their shoulders. She would lie against the length of his body, inside his lap, while he leaned his weight against the back of the tub.

  In this position he could watch her breasts rise and fall above the ebb and flow of the water as silken bubbles rode across her skin. She would lean the crown of her hair against his shoulder and sip wine while he caressed her breasts with wet, slick hands. Then he’d glide his fingers between her legs and circle the tender bud that would bring her pleasure. She’d spread her legs for him and moan…

  Did he just groan into the phone?

  Steve sat straighter in the driver’s seat and tried to pull himself together. But that was hard—er—difficult since the throbbing between his legs had become painful.

  “Did you hear me?” Victoria whispered.

  He cleared his throat. “Oh yeah, I’d love a bubble bath.” He readjusted the fly of his jeans. “With you.” He looked out the side window and started the mental count backward from one hundred to one. That sometimes worked.