Luxury Model Wife (2 page)

The smile he returned melted the chill between them. “Glad to be back.” He rapped two fingers against the edge of his desk. “And call me Steve.”

Victoria nodded. “If you like.”

Steve tilted his head, his bright blue eyes sizing her up. “Sorry, but I gotta ask. Do you always talk like that?”

Victoria felt her cheeks warm. “Whatever do you mean?”

“
There
.” He studied her again with not-so-subtle curiosity. “You sounded like James just now. Funny, you don’t seem like the snooty type to me. More like a regular girl.”

His comment touched a nerve like hot wires to stripped cable. Victoria bit back a retort while blood rushed through her ears. She closed her eyes against the sound to clear her head. Twenty-eight was hardly a girl, and she was damn tired of defending her right to be a Van Orr.

For five years she’d tried and failed to fit into the privileged world of her older husband—learning
couture
, keeping her posture as straight as a modeling school graduate, rounding her O’s when she spoke—apparently fooling no one on either side of the social spectrum in the process.

Defeat swept over her and her shoulders sagged beneath five thousand dollars’ worth of silk and linen. No matter how hard she tried, she’d forever be exposed as the abandoned kid who’d grown up in shelters.

Strange though… When she opened her eyes and returned them to Steve Carlson’s handsome face, she sensed his remark was a compliment and not a reminder that she lacked James’s pedigree. It was like he
saw
her
.

Her.
Not James’s luxury-model second wife.

Still, his manners were disgusting. Even store owner-janitors should know how to behave.
Snooty type
. Who was he to say that to her? She was a potential client for heaven’s sake.

Victoria stood to leave. She was sick and tired of people voicing their opinions about her and her late husband’s disparate lineage. She’d been bullied and belittled since the day she’d become engaged. “You don’t know me well enough to analyze me, Mr. Carlson.” She kept the annoyance out of her reprimand. The rich had taught her that cool disdain wounded more deeply than anger.

Steve grimaced, rubbed his jaw, and then stood to face her, his expression sheepish. He waved her back to her seat. “Please. I’m sorry I offended you. I’m a friend. Really. We’ve gotten off on the wrong foot.”

He ran a hand through his hair and his bicep bulged with the movement. Victoria’s gaze followed the lines and curves of sinew and muscle and took in the military tattoo peeking from the hem of his tee shirt.

She resisted the images that teased her dormant libido and brought her eyes back to his face. Damn. That didn’t help. Why did this annoying man have to be so good-looking? Her attraction to him only made her feel guilty, like she’d betrayed her late husband’s memory. Widowhood came with a unique set of baggage.

Steve remained standing, but kept his distance behind his desk when he met her eyes. His expression looked crestfallen. “I was out of line. It’s just… I knew James my entire life. His son, Jimmy, and I were friends once. We’d hang out while our fathers talked business.” He shook his head. “Remembering that friendship… I fell back into an old pattern and presumed too much with you.” He offered an apologetic grin.

She’d bet her life that grin had gotten him out of worse scrapes than this. Lots of them.

Victoria chewed the corner of her bottom lip, uncertainty setting in while she watched him. Steve wasn’t like the others who’d undermined her. James’s circle demanded she be
more
than she was, and her efforts to fit in had never been good enough. Steve was asking her to relax and be herself. To remove her mask.

She averted her eyes. Hadn’t
she
started the class war the moment she walked through the door in a couture suit? Hadn’t
she
been the one who’d dismissed him on sight as the janitor? She stared down at her expensive, uncomfortable shoes. She
had
turned into a country club clone.

Steve broke the silence, though she noticed he hadn’t rushed her. “How about trading that bottle of water for a drink? Give us a chance to start over.”

Her gaze returned to his. Flecks of green and black inside his vivid blue irises drew her in, as if he could see into her soul.

Goose bumps peppered her arms and tingled across her chest. How did he do that? His effect on her was disarming, yet somehow strangely comforting. She’d been pretending to be someone else for so long she’d almost forgotten how to be a
regular girl
. Her neck and back muscles lost some of their tension and her smile came easier. “I’d love a glass of white wine.”

The smile he returned made her feel better about her decision to stay.

“Coming right up.”

He went to the sideboard for glasses and removed a bottle of wine from a compact refrigerator. After uncorking it, he poured two goblets and lifted one in a hand that looked strong, rugged, and well-groomed. His nails were square and nicely shaped above long, thick fingers. A man’s man. He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.

When he offered her the glass, his hand felt solid and warm above the cool crystal. Their fingers brushed and his touch gave her a jolt that affected her more than it should have. The slow buzz of electricity snaked up her arm and shivered over her breasts, making her grateful for the privacy her jacket afforded.

It had been a long time since a man had moved her in this primal, deeply feminine way.

Victoria sat, re-crossed her legs at the ankles and tucked her feet beneath the seat of the chair like an old-fashioned schoolteacher, hoping to shake off her inappropriate attraction. When her tightly pressed thighs sent an unexpected tingle to her center, she shifted in her seat and pretended to brush a speck of lint from her skirt.

This meeting wasn’t going at all the way she’d planned.

Her eyes returned to Carlson’s stunning face, searching for clues to his character. She’d learned at a young age that admiring a man based on outward appearance was a trap. Her father—may he be flung headfirst into the fires of hell—had been movie-star handsome. And her worst nightmare. Her late husband, not handsome in the classical sense, had been gentle and kind and she had loved him.

Victoria knew better than to be fooled by veneer because she’d been practicing façade her entire life. Some people were better than others at pretending. Some were better at spotting the fakes.

She blinked and continued watching Steve. His manner and expression became utterly relaxed when he returned to his desk and lifted his glass in a silent toast before taking a sip. None of the jealousy or calculated sociability she was used to finding in James’s circle was present in his look or behavior. He seemed like…a regular guy.

She decided to trust him—for the moment.

Victoria lifted her glass in return, sipped her wine, and explained the purpose of her visit. “James kept the receipts for the antiques he and his first wife bought over the years. That’s how I found out about your store.”

She’d only heard James refer to the Carlsons in passing. His son, Jimmy, hadn’t told her about their long-standing relationship and she wondered why. It didn’t make sense that Jimmy wanted to sell the Van Orr heirlooms with Pinnacle Antiques Auctions, a competitor, when his father had a lifelong friend in the antiques business.

When she’d questioned Jimmy about this, he’d become agitated and hostile and refused further discussion. His reaction seemed way out of proportion to her question, which only made her more curious. It infuriated Jimmy that she had spousal rights and would receive a portion of the inheritance. He wanted her
gone
and would be happy to see her penniless and homeless if that were possible.

She’d be damned if she’d let a man do that to her again.

“James and my father managed to stay friends while doing business. That’s rare these days,” Steve said.

“And exactly why I’m here.” Painful as it was, she’d finally buckled under the pressure to sell the contents of their house and move on with her life.

Given the choice between dealing with strangers and doing business with men who’d been family friends, she’d chosen the latter. “I’m planning to sell the estate goods before I put the house up for sale. But certain conditions must be met before I’ll part with James’s belongings. I’m hoping you’ll meet my terms.”

Steve held out his company brochure. “Have you considered an auction?”

Victoria shook her head. “I discussed that option with the owners of Pinnacle Antiques Auctions late last year.” She left out the phrase,
at Jimmy’s insistence
. “I was still an emotional wreck at the time and couldn’t decide what to do. Jimmy made the appointment.”

“I know the owners well.”

She tried to force a smile but failed. “I’m afraid I made a scene the day they came to the house.”
Scene
was code for unwanted emotion, and she’d been horrified by her tearful outburst.

“Bruce Mitchell and Carlos Vega are professionals, Mrs. Van Orr. They understand sensitive negotiations like these.”

She noted he hadn’t taken the opportunity to malign his competition. Another point in his favor. The man was a war veteran, and beneath his bad-boy appearance, he seemed to have character. James wouldn’t have done business with Gregory Carlson otherwise, and Gregory wouldn’t have trusted his son to handle his appointment with her if he wasn’t dependable.

“Please. Call me Victoria.” She took another sip of wine.

The cold, clean taste nudged more tension from her body. “I’m feeling better now, and stronger, since my meeting with Pinnacle. And I’ve come to a decision about how I want things handled.”

Her gaze rested on Steve’s intent expression. Sensing she had his full attention, she pressed on. “It seems cold and disrespectful to send James’s collections to an auction house or hold a public sale at our home. The thought of having strangers haul James’s belongings away like trash makes me feel sick to my stomach. I realize they’re only
things
, but they are also objects of artistic beauty that once brought great pleasure to my husband’s life. I can’t discard them as if they meant nothing.”

She placed her wineglass on the desktop. “I want to take a hands-on approach to the sale by hosting art shows and museum parties and by scheduling private appointments. Afterwards, we can plan an auction, but only if it’s small and tastefully done. A percentage of the profits will go to the charitable organization of my choice.”

Steve rested his elbows on the desk. His fingers stroked the clean edge of his jaw and his eyes shone with undisguised interest while he seemed to reassess her. Clearly, she wasn’t the only one with preconceived notions.

He titled his head without breaking eye contact. “How can I help?”

“I’d like your advice and guidance. My husband trusted you and your father. If we can sell the Van Orr heirlooms the way I envision, I’ll know I’ve done right by my husband’s memory.”

And I can let him go, a little at a time, until I’m ready to say good-bye.

She could tell by Steve’s body language and the curl of his lip that he’d need convincing. He was probably used to doing things his own way, and she certainly had no right to tell him how to manage his operation.

Victoria plowed ahead with her pitch. “I have extensive sales experience. After working my way through college, I landed a management position in the cosmetics division of Max’s department store.”

Steve smiled, and the dimple in his cheek almost made her forget what she planned to say next. “The place in the mall with all the glass and chrome and beautiful women offering perfume samples and makeovers?”

“That’s the one.” She registered the compliment but focused on his forehead to avoid another dimple distraction. “There’s good money to be made in cosmetics sales and lots of opportunity for those willing to work hard. My background could be applied to any industry. I know how to handle customers. Whether pitching lipstick or an antique chair, the sales techniques are the same.”

“True.” Steve unfolded his arms and sat back in his seat. He was warming to her now, she could tell.

“I don’t know enough about antiques to set prices. I’m looking for a partner to offer expertise, write a catalogue, and find the right venues to broker the items.”

Victoria was in her element now and her body relaxed. She loved talking sales and marketing. She picked up her wineglass and watched the liquid spin. Though her spirit had taken a beating after James’s death, her survival instincts remained sharp. Years on the streets had honed them to fine points.

She watched Steve Carlson from beneath her lashes, wondering if he might be a kindred spirit. She took another sip of wine. Lipstick smudged the rim of her crystal glass. When she looked up, her eyes locked with his. “Interested?”

Chapter Two

Steve Carlson watched the woman opposite him and tracked her tongue on the rim of her glass. The pink tip slid between her incredible lips, sending a flash of heat low in his belly. That mouth could cause a ten-mile pileup. That face could launch a thousand ships.

Or snag an aging billionaire.

No wonder James had gone half out of his mind. Steve had heard the rumors. James had fallen hopelessly, irrevocably in love with a beautiful woman half his age outside his social standing. Or
beneath
it, as some liked to say. And they did say—often.

Though his father had never uttered a word against James’s marriage or his new wife, Steve had overheard enough gossip from the socialites who shopped in the store to expect a meeting with the Ice Queen.

The moment she arrived for their appointment, he knew he’d been wrong. When he first laid eyes on Victoria, he’d almost fallen off his ladder. To cover his reaction, he’d teased her to compensate for his clumsiness, like a tongue-tied fifteen-year-old. Afterward, he’d felt like a jerk.

Though her shoulders had been squared and her back held straight in her expensive suit, the uncertain look in her eyes had exposed her vulnerability. She’d made her way through his store with an air of confidence he’d pegged as fragile the moment she reached his ladder. Clearly, jealousy and spite had fueled the gossip about her. He should have known. The eyes didn’t lie.