Luxury Model Wife Read online

  As if sensing her curiosity, the hint of a smile curved Edwina’s lips. “I don’t ‘play’ with the dolls I collect, dear. I’m not demented. For the serious collector, dolls are about fashion history. The interest lies with the clothes. The more well preserved the costume, the more valuable the doll. The best prices go to the doll that is as pristine as her wardrobe.”

  Edwina’s intake of breath was audible as she eyed the Van Orr collection that spanned over two hundred years. There were nineteenth-century fine German bisque child dolls, exquisite French hand-painted bebés from the late eighteen hundreds, a stunning selection of modern fashion dolls from the nineteen fifties and sixties, and anything important made between.

  Edwina eyed Victoria’s skirt and blouse. “Since you obviously know something about couture, perhaps you can understand the passion we collectors have for preserving history.”

  Victoria thought it interesting that Edwina’s passion for wearable art didn’t extend to her personal wardrobe, but she registered it as an observation, not as a judgment. She smiled inwardly. Maybe Edwina was a “regular girl,” too.

  Victoria said, “This 1865 French Fashion poupeé with the rare, exceptional condition Rohmer leather body has her original trunk and an extensive wardrobe of perfectly preserved, hand-tailored fashions and accessories. Is this the doll you came to see, Mrs. March?” The Rohmer was the crown jewel of Lydia Van Orr’s celebrated collection, which had been featured in several upscale decorator and doll magazines.

  Edwina’s voice dropped to a devotional whisper. “May I get a closer look?”

  Victoria slid the showcase doors aside and watched while the other woman inspected the doll with reverence. Twenty years ago, James’s first wife had invested thirty-five thousand dollars in the Rohmer.

  Over a year’s salary, Victoria had marveled when she’d learned the cost during her first months of marriage. Today, the doll and her accessories were worth several times that, and counting.

  When Victoria met James she’d been a management trainee in the cosmetics department of a mall luxury store, making twenty-five thousand dollars a year, maybe a little more with commission. She’d lived in a cramped, noisy duplex in the heart of nearby Downingtown. A parade of roommates moved in and out, leaving behind one scruffy calico cat that belonged to everyone and no one. Up until then, the apartment had been the best place she’d lived since she’d put Ohio, and her past, behind her.

  Victoria brought her attention back to the woman studying the Van Orr dolls. According to Steve Carlson, the collection was worth over a half-million dollars—an amount she couldn’t have fathomed before her marriage. The dolls would be featured in an exclusive auction if buyers weren’t found beforehand.

  She studied the Rohmer while Edwina March oohed and sighed over the impressive display. Victoria admired the doll’s beauty and historical significance, but viewed it only as part of a past she needed to let go.

  *****

  Steve readjusted the front of his jeans, grabbed his receipt book, and strode to the door while Victoria showed their customer the Van Orr doll collection. He could kick himself in the ass. What the hell did he think he was doing, kissing James’s widow? He’d sworn he wouldn’t screw up another relationship. Had he lost his damned mind?

  Yeah. That had to be it. He’d gone nuts. But being anywhere within ten feet of Victoria Van Orr had an effect on him he couldn’t seem to control. Didn’t want to—obviously. And everyone in town knew what happened when he lost his head over a woman. Just ask Jimmy Van Orr. He’d be glad to refresh the memory of anyone who forgot. Jimmy never missed a chance to rub salt in the wounds.

  Steve had to get out of there and cool off. He needed to leave Victoria alone and stop being an idiot. Jesus, he’d practically had sex with her right in the middle of the store.

  When she’d pressed against him, and he had wrapped her in his arms, sex was all he could think about. His mind had gone blank to everything except wanting her.

  Damn. He’d done it again. He’d fallen for a woman inextricably tied to Jimmy Van Orr.

  He had gone insane.

  With his hand on the doorknob, Steve turned to look back at Victoria. He’d leave town for a few days and check in later with Beverly. It would be better for everyone if he kept his distance.

  Victoria looked up and met his eyes before holding out an antique bisque baby doll to her customer. While the older woman inspected the merchandise, Victoria offered him a thin smile, as if she’d read the remorse on his face. She didn’t seem flustered or upset, but didn’t look particularly happy, either. He couldn’t be sure how to read her.

  That’s what happened when you kissed a woman you barely knew.

  Or married one.

  He nodded to Victoria and bolted from the shop.

  *****

  One week later, in her consignment area of the store, Victoria checked her tablet for email. The message she’d been waiting for had arrived and she silently cheered her success. During her first attempt at Internet commerce, twenty items belonging to the Van Orr estate had sold to a museum in Virginia.

  She headed to Steve’s office to share the news. His door was open and she found him sitting behind his desk, paying bills. “I made a big sale to a private museum,” she said.

  “Hmmm.” He didn’t look up.

  The tension between them had been thick as wet wool since their kiss the week before, and she was sure he’d been avoiding her since his return trip from…wherever. According to Beverly, he’d gone to estate sales in New England.

  Fled was clearly a better description.

  “It’s okay. No need to cheer or pat me on the back. I’ll be happy enough for both of us.”

  Steve lifted his gaze to hers, and the sparkle inside his gorgeous blue eyes faded. A pulse throbbed at his temple. He picked up a pen and bounced it between his fingers on the desktop. “Sorry.”

  “I can talk to you about this later, if you’re busy,” she said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “No—it’s better that we talk.” He shifted in his seat. “We should have talked before this.”

  Cold dread crept along her spine as she waited for him to continue. She needed this sales arrangement with the Carlsons and feared he was about to sever ties. She’d royally screwed up by letting her attraction to him become a disruption. It irked her that she’d started looking forward to coming to work for reasons other than selling off the estate.

  Steve said, “I feel terrible about what happened between us. You know—when we got wedged behind the counter.” He looked down and talked intently to the pen in his hand. “I had no right. You looked so—” He shook his head. “Your husband was a good friend. I never should have—” His voice lowered an octave, and she could barely hear the end of his sentence. “—kissed you like that.”

  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 attracti
on 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.”