Luxury Model Wife (7 page)

She removed a receipt book, laid it on the counter behind her, and then pushed the drawer with her hip. Instead of closing, the drawer lurched, skittered sideways in its tracks, and stuck in the fully open position. “Oh. Sorry.” She tugged at the drawer to straighten it, but it stuck tighter than before.

“Here, I’ll fix that. Damn thing jams all the time. I need to get rid of this cabinet and buy something better.”

Steve took a step forward at the same time Victoria tried to move out of his way. The two parried just as a shard from the bottom edge of the wooden drawer caught her tweed skirt and yanked her backward. She yelped in surprise as her pelvis locked against his, wedging them tightly between the glass-top counter and the drawer clutching her bottom.

Steve’s eyes registered shock. “Sorry.”

“Oh.”

“How the hell…?”

She tried to break free, but wriggling only made matters worse. She could feel his body respond as she moved her hips. She froze, her heart slamming inside her chest, as his erection pressed against her groin.

Steve groaned.

Victoria sucked in a breath.

Heat flashed, sizzled, and then shot upward from her center to warm her chest and cheeks. When her eyes locked with his, his gaze burned through her. Every cell in her body seemed to hum against his while they breathed the same air in shallow rushes. The back of her neck prickled and goose bumps peppered her flesh.

His erection strained between them, shooting another bolt of lightning to her core. She should have been indignant, or horrified, or embarrassed. Instead, she released a moan. It had been so long since she’d been with a man her age she’d almost forgotten the thrill of vigor and strength.

Guilt struck like a cold slap. “Please, hurry.” She pressed her hands against his chest to push him away, but the sturdy feel of his body did nothing to ease the situation, or her damned inconvenient desire.

His face flushed and he cursed under his breath. He leaned over Victoria, attempting to ease the pressure on their joined hips by stretching his arms over her shoulders and anchoring his palms against a closed drawer behind her.

It didn’t help. In this new position his chest pressed firmly against her breasts. The friction fanned hot and cold flames over her skin, and though she tried not to react, her body gave her away. Heat flared between her legs and sent fire to her belly with his full-frontal body slam.

Victoria shivered, and the mortified sound escaping her lips sounded more like a sob than a sigh, for which she was grateful. She wasn’t ready to admit how drawn she was to this man.

This
married
man. Victoria started to panic, but to wiggle free with his body pressed tight against hers was out of the question. Wriggling had caused enough trouble.

“Let me try to free your skirt,” he whispered against her hair. His breath on her cheek smelled like fresh, warm cloves.

Perhaps he was only trying to ease her growing panic, but his voice vibrated against the fine strands near her ear causing erotic longings that shocked her with their intensity. Goose flesh radiated along her skin. The pulse between her legs grew more urgent with the insistent pressure of his groin, and his chest against hers.

It had been
so
long. So endlessly long since she’d been touched.

“The fabric is tangled,” he said. “I’ll do my best to free it without tearing the cloth. Okay?”

Victoria nodded, sure she couldn’t speak if she tried. The inside of her mouth had gone dry as dust. She told herself she should be furious about this uninvited sexual contact. She should insist he move faster to release her. But the handsome face hovering over hers drew her in, and if she was honest with herself, she’d admit that Steve had magnetism. He was a successful businessman, a distinguished veteran, and she’d been attracted to him since their first meeting.

Since her panties had dampened with his cock pressed against her sex, she might as well stop kidding herself. Though she’d tried to ignore their chemistry, she…liked him. Wanted him.

Steve lowered one hand to her waist and slid his palm over the swell of her hip. His fingers moved across the back of her skirt to free the delicate weave. She felt his pulse quicken and heard his intake of breath as his hand cupped her bottom. He looked down at her when she looked up and their eyes met and held. His pupils dilated and the blue of his irises grew bright as he stared down at her with undisguised lust.

She honestly didn’t mean to, but she touched her tongue to her bottom lip.

Steve moaned low in his throat. “We need to talk,” he growled before lowering his mouth to hers.

Their lips touched for a moment before he eased in for more, his tongue rimming her lips, asking for entrance. She answered with a sigh, all the opening he needed as he deepened their connection. His mouth felt warm and full and offered the promise of endless sensuous nights. Yearning zinged through her with a physical ache like nothing she’d ever experienced. Heat rolled like fire through her until the sensations made her dizzy, as if the floor had fallen from beneath her feet. Her senses were filled with only
him
and she wanted more. She barely resisted clinging to his neck as he pulled back.

How did one describe this reckless, crazy, weak-in-the-knees feeling?

The bell on the front door jangled, and they looked up and flinched in unison. An older woman dressed in a pale blue pantsuit and white sneakers entered the store. Her gray hair seemed lacquered into place and she wore brightly colored makeup. An oversized duck-yellow handbag hung from her arm.

“Hello,” Steve said, sheepish. He finished untangling Victoria’s skirt and they took sidesteps apart. She ran her hands over her hair and smoothed the front of her mussed blouse.

The customer frowned and shook her head in disapproval. “I’m here about the Lydia Van Orr collection of rare dolls listed on your website. I expected to find a spectacular display of historical relevance when I walked through your door—not people fornicating on the premises.”

Victoria opened her mouth to protest, the heat in her body evaporating under the woman’s scrutiny, but the customer lifted her hand like a traffic cop.

“Don’t bother,” she said with a hint of mischief in her eyes. “Just point me in the direction of the dolls.”

Chapter Five

Victoria introduced herself by her first name only and offered her assistance to the eccentric older woman.

“I’m Edwina March.” She walked to the enormous glass curio housing much of Lydia’s famed doll collection, and gazed inside. “May I take a look?”

Victoria recognized the woman’s name. Edwina March was well known in the community for her extravagant tastes and charitable contributions. She and Victoria had never met, thank goodness, or word about the Van Orr widow kissing Steve Carlson might have already made the midday news.

“Dolls are my personal guilty pleasure,” Edwina said. “I have quite a collection, but nothing compared to Lydia Van Orr’s spectacular array, rest her soul. I’ve only seen her dolls in magazines.”

“They are impressive,” Victoria agreed, though she knew little about their history. She retrieved the keys for the showcase and unlocked the doors. Though she was curious about the woman’s hobby, she held her tongue. The collecting habits of others were none of her business.

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.”