Kiss Me Crazy (4 page)

Kara’s eyes widened when her eyes zeroed on the ring. It was huge. She took Chloe’s hand and studied the marquis diamond set in a platinum ring with tiny round side stones. “It’s beautiful.”

“That’s my man. I’m so lucky to have him.” Her voice was wobbly.

“Oh honey. He’s lucky to have you.” Kara sat by her side and gave her a big hug. She was happy for Chloe and a little envious. When would she get her ring? Of course, she had to find herself a man first, like her younger sister Briana and Chloe.

Baron’s face flitted in her head but she pushed it away. She couldn’t have what she wanted, but that shouldn’t stop her from living vicariously through her friend.

The three of them went way back. Chloe roomed with her and Renee for two years before she dropped out of colege to take care of her siblings after her parents died. Despite not having a colege degree, she opened a hair salon at the age of twenty-two and a spa three years later. Now she owned several around L.A. If it weren’t for her, Shannon would never have finished medical school or become a dermatologist. The two now had a perfect working arrangement—recommending the other to their clients.

Kara leaned back. “Give us the details? How did he propose?”

***

Baron watched when Kara left the galery, when she came back, and later when she left for the day. He’d asked himself what monitoring her movements would accomplish and came up blank.

His inability to formulate an answer, to concentrate on his work, or to stop thinking about her made him furious. He was reduced to prowling in his office after everyone had gone home, racking his brain for a solution.

The situation with Kara was merely a distraction, one she sprung on him when he least expected it. She wanted to quit? Fine.

He needed to stop obsessing about it and move on. Better yet, find something to occupy himself until he regained control. One sure way of accomplishing that was as old as time itself.

Baron stepped back behind his desk and puled open the top drawer. He retrieved his cel phone, pressed the ‘contacts’

button and scroled at the names. Sex had a way of duling the senses, and he hadn’t gotten laid in what…three months? No, six.

It was humiliating to have to do this at such short notice, but he knew women who wouldn’t mind. In fact, most of the women he bedded knew the score from the word go—he wasn’t looking to settle down. He stil had a lot to accomplish before taking that route. The women never minded once he explained his position, and he made it up to them in bed.

Baron finished with the list of names without selecting one.

Scowling, he started reading them aloud as he scroled back to the beginning. He couldn’t remember what some of the women looked like. Instead an image of Kara sauntering out the galery door stayed etched in his brain, the sound of her husky voice playing in his ears. Disgusted with himself, he pushed the cel phone into its holder.

He needed a drink.

Baron grabbed his jacket and keys then headed for the elevator. It was getting dark, the setting sun casting giant shadows of the surrounding skyscrapers. He took off in his SUV toward West Holywood, his destination a trendy restaurant frequented by the young professionals of Los Angeles and Holywood celebrities.

The Haven Lounge and Restaurant was busy as usual, but he left his car with a valet and headed for the entrance. The hostess saw him before he walked through the eastern doors of the sprawling bunker-like building.

“Evening, Baron,” she said with a gracious smile.

“Liz.” He hugged her and kissed her cheek. “You’re looking good.”

She patted her perfectly style hair. “Thank you.”

“Is he busy?”

“No more than usual. You want me to page him for you?”

“Please. I’l be at the bar.” He walked to the wine lounge and headed straight for the bar. Within seconds, one of the bartenders had a shot of scotch in front of him. “Thanks, P.K.” Baron drained the drink and nodded at the bartender for another. As a rule he hated to depend on chemicals to dul his senses, but hard liquor was the only companion he could find to ease his crappy mood tonight.

Through the mirror behind the wine glasses, he studied patrons as they walked through the entrance of the restaurant. Liz kept tucking the lock of her hair behind her ear, a ruse that hid the fact that she used a hidden microphone on her wrist to communicate with the other hostesses. Some of the diners were directed to the leather chairs in the wine lounge, their choice of beverage provided in a timely fashion. Others were led to private cabanas on the patio or the main dining room. The quick seating of its clientele, exceptional food, private dining rooms for parties or cabanas for romantic dinners, and of course, the multiple entrances and exits for celebrities and dignitaries to slip in and out unnoticed were some of the reasons the Haven became the latest hot spot in West Holywood.

Baron was nursing his third drink when a tal man slid onto the barstool next to his.

“Hey, little brother,” Baron said without turning.

“I was born fifteen seconds after you, Baron. What’s going on? Liz said you looked stressed. From the looks of you, I’d say that was an understatement.”

Baron snickered, his gaze on the reflection of his twin brother Chase. Except for Chase’s penchant to dress in black and wear his hair long, the two of them were physicaly indistinguishable.

Family and close friends could easily tel them apart though, his brother wore a perpetual smirk.

Baron drained his drink without responding to Chase, and motioned the bartender for another.

“Whoa,” Chase said from beside him. “Since when do you speed-guzzle that poison? What gives? Or should I start guessing while you say ‘getting warmer’?”

Baron watched the bartender fil another glass. “I wouldn’t cal that finely aged brew poison. And you’re too old to be playing games.” He glanced at his brother. “So? Can I get a table tonight or are you ful?”

Chase signaled to the bartender not to serve Baron the shot. “Why not come with me to my office. I’l personaly serve you al your favorites.”

Baron gave him a mocking grin. “If that’s your way of puling me away from the bar, you’re slipping. I’l have that, my friend.” He gestured for his drink.

Clearly undecided about what to do, the bartender glanced from one brother to the other, but something in Baron’s eyes made him hand over the shot.

“Thank you.” He drained it in one fluid motion and avoided Chase’s worried gaze. “Okay, let’s go, Chef Fitzgerald. Oh, I forgot. You don’t cook any more. What’s your chef’s special for today? I’m starving.” He was feeling buzzed and starting to regret the last two shots. He could hold his liquor most of the time, but never on an empty stomach.

“Whatever you want, you’l get it here,” Chase promised.

He led Baron past the lounge, nodding at patrons and patting a few backs, then turned and entered a wide halway. He pushed the second door to their left and waited for Baron to precede him.

Baron flopped on a sofa and let his feet rest on the arm. He couldn’t avoid Chase’s penetrating gaze, not when his brother sat on the edge of his desk a few feet away and studied him with a frown.

“Okay, Baron. Out with it. Did something happen at the galery? A missing painting? Broken vase? A delay in next month’s grand opening in San Francisco?”

Baron shot his brother an annoyed look. “What makes you think something is wrong at work?”

“Because that’s al you seem to care about these days. You rarely see anyone unless it’s absolutely necessary. So shoot.” Baron ground his teeth. This was a mistake. He should have ordered takeout, picked it up on his way home without listening to his self-righteous twin.

“Listen. If I wanted a lecture, I would’ve stopped by Ma’s and gotten it from her and Lex.”

“Maybe you should have. You look like shit. When was the last time you got laid? From the look in your eyes, I’d say last milennium. Take the edge off with a woman, not with hard liquor.” Baron pushed himself up, his feet landing on the carpeted floor with a thud. “A few shots hardly qualify as a habit, smart-ass.

Just get me some chow, or I’l get something from down the street.” Chase clenched a fist, his eyes narrowing. Baron cocked an eyebrow. It looked like his brother wanted to knock some sense into his head. In the mood he was in, he’d probably welcome it.

Unfortunately, their cousin Liz would speed-dial their mother. He’d rather put up with a hangover and Chase’s tongue-lashing than disappoint his mother, again.

Chase stepped away from his desk and paused to glare at him. “You’re an idiot. The stupid woman wasn’t even worth it.” Baron tensed, his eyes narrowing. Was he talking about his Kara? “What the hel are you talking about?”

“Valerie. You’re kiling yourself to prove you’re better than that ass wipe she ran away with. Haven’t you heard? His career is going down hil. Steroid users never last long in basebal.” Baron laughed.

“What’s so goddamn funny?” his brother snarled.

Baron controled his mirth and shook his head. Chase had it al wrong. The decision to stop playing around and take his galery to the next level had nothing to do with Valerie per say, just what she did—kiling his unborn child. He’d needed an outlet for his grief and his work had been it. Of course, Chase blamed her for everything he perceived was wrong with Baron, but that was blind familial loyalty talking. Baron held himself responsible for the whole fiasco. He’d thought he loved the woman, bought her a ring, and moved her into his home without knowing much about her. Al he’d seen was her vulnerability, the lost country girl in the big city needing to be rescued. What a crock of shit that turned out to be.

He realized Chase was stil waiting for a response.

“Nothing’s funny. Kara submitted her resignation today.”

“Aaah.”

Baron didn’t bother to ask his brother what that ‘aaah’

meant.

“She’l be gone in exactly one month.” His voice sounded sad to his ears, which only ticked him off. “I offered her everything.

Double her pay, a new office, the whole nine yards—”

“Except what she needs,” Chase finished with a knowing smirk, as though he was enjoying a secret only he knew.

“Yeah, I know. To fulfil a dream.” He scowled at his brother. “Wil you quit with that annoying smirk?”

“No. It amazes me that we’re related…no, that we’re twins. You’re totaly clueless about women.”

Baron shrugged. “Women are impossible to understand, a total mystery. Show me a man who says he knows women, and I’l show you a liar.”

“I don’t lie. If you paid more attention, you’d be a lot wiser too,” Chase bragged. “Anyway, what are you going to do?”

“Nothing.” Baron went back to his previous reclined position and rested his linked hands behind his head. “I can’t stop her.”

Chase wiggled his eyebrows. “Does that mean I can have her now?”

Baron gritted his teeth. “I told you—”

“That she can’t be one of my short but quickly forgotten lovers, I know. That was five years ago. Now that she no longer works for you, no longer under your watchful eyes, you shouldn’t care. Right?” Chase started for the door. “So sweet and cuddly, so smart and pretty, maybe I’l keep her longer than—”

“Don’t,” Baron snapped.

His brother turned his head and gave him a gleeful grin.

“Remember the pact,” Baron said through gritted teeth.

They were eight when they’d sworn to never take what belonged to the other. It didn’t matter whether it was a toy, a game, or when they started dating, a woman. Once it belonged to one, it was off limits to the other.

Chase threw him a triumphant grin, and Baron snarled, “Just get me something to eat.”

Chase’s laughter echoed in the room as the door closed behind him. Baron glared into space. He must do something about Kara. The sooner the better.

Kara puled up outside the galery the next morning and parked beside the cleaning services truck. Relief coursed through her, folowed by a tinge of disappointment, when she saw Baron’s SUV stil missing from its usual space. It was the fourth day he hadn’t shown up to work.

This was ridiculous. On one hand she wanted to see him, but on the other, she dreaded it. The first meeting after their Monday confrontation was bound to be awkward. Who was she kidding? In the next month, she’d feel uncomfortable around him, the galery, and her coworkers once they found out she’d resigned.

Her only sanctuary would be her workroom downstairs.

She flipped open her cel phone and speed-dialed Gena’s office. Baron might be the first one in and last one out of the galery in the evenings, but Gena’s job included opening the doors for the cleaning crew. For security reasons, he didn’t alow cleaning after office hours.

Kara squinted through the windscreen at the entrance of La Baron Galeria when Gena didn’t pick up the phone. When the voice mail started, she closed her cel phone with disgust. She hadn’t woken up early to cool her heels outside the galery for hours. The showroom assistants wouldn’t arrive until nine-thirty, half an hour before the doors opened for business, and she had a painting to clean and repair.

She got out of the car and glanced up and down the sidewalk. People hurried past her to their offices with cups of steaming brew in their hands. She could kil for coffee right about now. She hadn’t bothered to stop by Starbucks because, wel, she hoped Baron would bring her some later.

Today, like any other Friday, the two of them discussed her current project. He’d stop by her workroom, Starbucks coffee cups in his hand—one for him and another for her—and spend at least an hour talking shop. She had looked forward to his visits although she never let on. She hoped she never did.

Kara shook her head. She swore last night she wouldn’t fret over what she did or didn’t do in the past. It was counterproductive. She blocked the sunlight with her hand and peered into the galery. The second floor lights were on and custodial paraphernalia sat in the center of the main room.

Somebody must have let the cleaners in.

She redialed Gena’s number. “Come on…come on Gena. I know you’re in there. Pick up.”

“Yes?”

Baron’s husky voice sent a gush of awareness through her, and for a moment, Kara opened and closed her mouth like a beached fish. What was he doing here? His SUV wasn’t parked outside.

“Who’s this?” he snapped.

Stop panicking and act like the confident woman you
are.
She swalowed and strived to sound calm. “It’s me. Could you open the door, please?”

“Kara?” His tone softened. “Sure. I’l be down in a sec.” Her stomach muscles tensed and her hand went to her hair.

She had it down, and wore makeup and contacts instead of glasses.

Peering at her reflection on the glass door, she couldn’t see much except her silhouette. Oh forget it. Her reflection this morning had said she looked just fine in black pants and a red and white striped top. The lightweight black jacket added a touch of class to the entire ensemble.

Kara glanced down and frowned. Maybe the sleeveless, V-neck knitted top did show more chest than usual. She puled and tugged at her top then sighed. Why did she bother? The sloping neckline was wasted on her. Her breasts were not drool-worthy.

Maybe it was time she took extra effort to showcase them and invest in some push-up bras. It wasn’t that she didn’t feel good about her body, she did; most of the time anyway. But these days a girl had to go the extra mile to stay ahead in the dating game or she’d end up an old, miserable woman.

Okay, that sounded too much like something Chloe would say. At twenty-nine, Kara wasn’t exactly over the hil, but right now she felt like an old maid without prospects. No man to snuggle with on cold nights or burn holes in the carpet whenever she felt frisky.

Even her faithful vibrator didn’t give her the satisfaction she craved.

She gave herself a mental shake. This had to stop. She didn’t have a meltdown when Briana got married, yet ever since Chloe’s announcement, Kara kept thinking about engagement rings, marriage, lovers, or lack thereof when it came to her own social life.

At least Renee had a reason for not fretting over marriage. Her parents’ shaky marriage and subsequent bitter divorce turned her off marriage as an institution. Kara’s parents were stil in love after thirty years. She had no excuse.

A movement from the other side of the door interrupted her reverie. Her jaw dropped and her eyes widened when she saw Baron. Black jeans hugged his narrow hips and draped over his long legs, and a white polo shirt showcased his broad shoulders and his thick, sinewy forearms.

Where was the power suit that acted as a barrier against his overpowering physique and made him appear aloof and unapproachable? This Baron was lethal, not what she wanted to deal with right now. He reminded her too much of the old irresistible Baron. Surely, he wasn’t planning on puling a fast one on her, again. She couldn’t deal with unpredictable behavior from him after the disastrous meeting in his office.

Her palms began to sweat before the door swung open.

Her gaze swept over him before she could stop herself. Tal, solid, and ruggedly handsome, so masculine and overwhelming up close she felt smal and feminine, insignificant. The white of his shirt contrasted attractively with his tanned skin. He hadn’t bothered to shave this morning, the hint of shadow on his chin adding to his brooding, rakish look.

When his kissable lips curled up as though he was trying hard not to smile, she realized she was stil ogling. It wasn’t fair. No man had any business looking like he did without even trying. She rushed into speech.

“Your SUV is not outside.” It was an odd thing to say, but it was better than saying, “Damn, you look good.”

“It’s parked near the side entrance. Good morning to you, too.”

Heat crawled up her face at his teasing voice. Definitely the old Baron. He wasn’t playing fair. Just when she had an exit plan, the man who made her weak in the knees re-emerged.

“Morning. Gena’s not in yet?”

“Nope, but she should be here soon.” He stepped back and gestured for Kara to walk in. “I was hoping you and I would talk before I left.”

Left for where? She wanted to ask but bit her tongue. It was none of her business. He turned to lock the door and her mindless eyes swept his broad back then moved down to his world-class butt. The wildest urge to slip her hand in his back pocket and squeeze one rock-hard cheek stole through her.

He turned and she shifted her gaze, her hand gripping the strap of her purse.

“Talk about what?” Her voice sounded funny even to her ears, which almost made her giggle.

Baron gave her a weird look, as though he wasn’t sure about something, then waved in the general area of the doorway leading to her workroom. “Your workload. What are you working on right now?”

“A piece by Edward Halè.” She strived to match his serious tone as she hurried forward. It wasn’t easy, not with his pine-scented aftershave teasing her senses. “There’s a chafed area that needs fixing. The varnish has also yelowed and is starting to crack.”

“When does the owner expect it?”

“End of next week. Why do you ask? Is there a problem?”

“Nothing that can’t be fixed,” was his mysterious response.

He took her elbow and led her down the halway.

His behavior threw her off balance. Not to mention the heat from his hand seemed to be burning a hole right through her jacket.

Her unease shot up a notch, drumming along with the excitement of being so close to him. “What’s going on, Baron?”

“You’re always so impatient,” he teased in a light tone.

She bristled. “I’m not.”

He chuckled. “I want to show you something.”

She glanced at him, but he stared straight ahead, pretending not to notice her curiosity. He could be so annoyingly closemouthed.

“What is it?” she insisted.

“About the piece you’re working on. Can you finish it sooner?”

She’d planned on working on it tomorrow to get out of shopping with Renee. The clothes her friend forced on her always ended up occupying space in her closet, unworn. “I think so.

Wednesday…maybe Tuesday.”

“Oh, that soon?”

“Knowing the style of the period and Halè’s painting technique helped in this case.” They stopped outside her door and he released her elbow. She actualy felt bereft, which bothered her.

She didn’t want to start hoping for the unattainable—his undivided attention.
Focus.
“I’ve already identified the color scheme. I found clear pigments in a thin area hidden under the edge of the frame.

Once I finish removing the old varnish, I’l start the final step.” He smiled. Not just a hint of a smile or flashing twinkle in his eyes, but a lazy grin packed with raw sensuality. It took her breath away. The old irresistible Baron was resurfacing and mercilessly crushing through her defenses.

She found herself responding with an answering smile.

“What?”

“It’s not important.” He reached for the doorknob, but Kara beat him to it. He couldn’t pretend nothing was amiss. The twinkle in his eyes gave him away.

“Let me be the judge of that. Okay?” When his eyes narrowed, as though he was debating whether to tel her, she roled her eyes. “Come on.”

“You’ve a lot of talent. I know it and you know it.”

“But?”

He let out a long sigh. “But at times you can’t resist showing off.”

Kara’s eyes widened. Was he seriously chastising her? She studied his face, saw the corners of his mouth twitch and forgot to object to his words. The gorgeous hunk was teasing her. A jolt of longing poured through her at the transformations on his handsome face. She had missed the smile lines, the heated sensuality in his eyes, the sexy upward curve of his lips.

“No, I don’t.” Her protest pitifuly lacked conviction.

“Yes, you do. It’s rather cute.” He covered her hand and turned the doorknob. “It shows you’re confident about your work and are not afraid to show or share it.”

Kara couldn’t move. His hand on hers had sent a jolt of unadulterated pleasure through her. Whenever they touched, it was always the same. Fire and ice. Sizzling heat and chils. At least that was what
she
felt. But what did he mean by cute? Puppy-frolicking-on-the-floor cute or I-find-you-attractive cute?

“Kara?” He sounded impatient now.

Jeez, can’t a woman analyze a moment?
She filed the incident away in her RAM for retrieval later, pushed the door, and stepped forward. Realization hit her just as she reached for the light switch. The lights were already on in the basement. Frowning, she looked at Baron, but he didn’t seem surprised. He must have turned them on.

“Go on ahead,” he urged.

She reached for the eight by ten plastic
Do Not Disturb
sign from a hook on the wal. The sign usualy guaranteed her privacy—no employee barging in when she least expected it.

Everyone, even Baron, understood there was no margin for error in her line of work. Precision, keen eyes, and steady hands, no original pigments removed or abraded, no excess solvent left to ruin or burn the painting. Sudden movements on her part could be catastrophic, the mistake irrevocable. New employees never needed to be told twice about not interrupting her when that sign hung outside her door.

Kara placed the sign outside then shrugged off her jacket.

Baron already stood by the easel, his gaze on her tools—a jeweler’s magnifying glass, a microscope, and ultra-violet light lamp for studying the painting as she worked; solvents, cotton bals, and swabs for identifying the pigments and cleaning the old varnish; a loaded stil camera to record every step of the restoration. His gaze shifted to her just as she started down the stairs.

It wasn’t a cool regard or an assessing look a boss gave an employee. Something hot and lethal burned in the depth of his eyes

—a deep-seated desire that echoed deep inside of her. His mouth moved, and she knew he was talking, but she didn’t hear a single word he said. She was busy listening to the thumpity-thump of her heart and the roar of blood in her ears. How come he never looked at her like that before?

He pointed at the easel, and that was when she saw it, a painting so breathtaking, so awe-inspiring she gasped, threw her jacket on the coat rack, and rushed forward, everything else forgotten. She stopped in front of the piece, reached out to touch the glass covering it and laughed.

“Wow. Is that what you wanted to show me? It looks like a Caravaggio.” She threw him a glance. “The same dramatic angled lighting, the deep shadowed background. It’s got to be, uh, Saint John…no, the hermit…Saint Jerome—he’s the one who translated the Bible into Latin.”

“That’s right,” he said. Her briliance never failed to amaze him. “They said only three of Saint Jerome’s paintings survived.”

“One is in Rome, the second in Boston, and the third by a Swizz colector, yet this…” She leaned closer for a better look, then continued talking about what she knew about the artist’s work.