Playing Dirty (11 page)

“Come take a look at these.”

She crossed to stand by his side and looked down at the open album. And smiled in delight. “Oh, look! What wonderful old pictures of Miss A—especially this
one.” Her fingertip traced a snapshot’s serrated white edges and the black photo corners that secured it to the page. It was a black-and-white shot of Miss Agnes in front of a small airplane. Ava didn’t have the first idea what kind of plane, but Miss A looked all Amelia Earhart in a light-colored jumpsuit, leather helmet and a long white scarf.

“That’s the one I liked best, too,” Cade said, pulling her back to the present. Hooking the toe of his shoe on the cross brace between a dining chair’s legs, he pulled it away from the table. “After seeing your place, I knew you’d have a good eye. Here, have a seat.” When she took it, he grabbed another chair for himself, whirled it around until its back faced her and dropped down to straddle its seat.

“Snapshots of this caliber will be a bonus for the documentary,” he said, his blue eyes bright as they met hers. Folding his arms atop the chair back, he rested his chin on his stacked forearms. “The faded patina speaks to the bygone era and I’ll get movement and texture when I cut away from them to the ones I’m having taken of Agnes’s collections—as well as any old film on her I can find. I harvested several snapshots from the two albums you gave me the other night, but I’d appreciate it if you’d take a look through this bunch Jane delivered.”

He climbed to his feet and leaned over her to turn the album’s page, his other hand braced, fingers spread, against the glossy tabletop. “You’ve participated in one interview and watched several more. See what strikes you as fitting to the conversations. For instance, the one we both liked of Agnes and her plane would fit seamlessly into Jane’s talking about how she wished she’d known Agnes when she was still flying her own planes.
I’m still on the search for old photos of the mansion for Mr. Tarrof’s interview—all I have so far is bits and pieces that I’ve come across in the albums, but nothing that shows the whole thing in one frame.”

Ava sat still, aware of being surrounded by him yet again. Dammit, was he making another move on her? In order to avoid touching him, she tried not to shift. The guy was so enthusiastic about his subject, though, that she wasn’t even sure he was messing with her this time.

And because she didn’t doubt his enthusiasm for the project was genuine, she said, “I might be able to help you with that.” Then she let out a surprised shriek when the chair she sat in was suddenly tipped onto its back legs, and she found herself looking up at Cade’s upside down face as he leaned to hang over her.

“Are you kidding me?” he demanded.

She ought to tell him to set her down. She ought to tell
herself
to ignore the flutter in her stomach at his delighted upside-down smile. Instead, she just stared up at him, transfixed.

“No.” She swallowed. “When Dev was starting the remodel here, he brought a huge stack of photographs of the place that he’d gotten from…I don’t know, the state archives or some such, over at Bellevue College. I don’t have a clue if he checked them out like in a library or bought copies, or what. But I could find out.”

“Damn, you
so
are worth every penny I’m paying you. Yes. Please. Do that.” And, leaning down, he laid a fast, smacking kiss on her, his top lip to her bottom and vice versa, then snapped back to a standing position and lowered her chair onto all four legs. “I’ll leave you to see what else you can find in these albums. I’ve said it before, Spencer, but I’ll say it again. You rock.”
His long legs took him to the hallway entrance in a few short strides, but he paused to look at her where she’d twisted in her chair to stare back at him. “Seriously
rock
.” Then he strode out the door.

Well, dammit, unless she was mistaken, he’d just fired another volley in their personal war. And she’d sat there like a damn statue and let him do it.

Straightening in the chair, she lifted her chin. Okay. So maybe he’d won this round. But that wasn’t going to happen again.

No freakin’ way, no freakin’ how.

“T
HAT’S
TWO
NIGHTS
’ sleep you owe me now, you bastard.”

For the second morning in a row, Ava threw back the covers of her thoroughly torn apart bed, madder than a wet cat to be hauling her butt out of bed
again
at the crack of o’dark thirty. Well, screw running this morning. She had battle armor to prepare.

Because the one positive aspect of the night’s tossing and turning was her newfound resolve regarding the big issue she’d been chewing over since she’d allowed Cade to mess with her again yesterday. Being a redhead, her natural inclination tended toward impulsiveness. A trait her mother had always abhorred. Since high school, however, Ava had bent so far backward to avoid making brash choices she might later regret, she sometimes paralyzed herself into making no decisions at all.

Well, after the restless night, she had finally reached one, and wouldn’t you know it? It was exactly what her immediate gut reaction had urged her to do.

Quit playing nice. Drop the freaking manners. Fight fire with fire.

No one could say she hadn’t tried her damnedest to be adult, to be professional. Unfortunately it wasn’t enough that she’d determined to keep her sexual distance from Cade. A decision like that only worked if the other party was willing to respect your boundaries.

Clearly Gallari was not. And wasn’t that just typical?

Because, thinking back to their first go-around in high school, she realized he had always been the one in control.

He’d pursued her.

He’d seduced her.

God knows he had dumped her.

While she? Dammit, she so, so hated to own up to this, but back in the day she had fallen much too easily into the role of supplicant. Sexually awakened for the first time, thrilled with the attention he’d paid her, she had willfully ignored their adversarial history and been idiotically happy to do whatever he’d suggested. And just look where that had gotten her.

Well, guess what, honey?

Those days were gone.

She had left that insecure, overweight, self-doubting girl behind some time ago. Oh, not that she didn’t occasionally still have her moments, but for the most part she knew her worth. So
this
go-round?

She was bringing the man to his knees. Cade Calderwood Gallari would rue the freaking day he’d ever messed with Ava Spencer.

Striding across the room, she switched on the light in her walk-in closet. Lips pursed, already planning which
shower gel, lotions and makeup she’d use, she perused the contents, shelf by shelf, hanger by hanger.

And flashed a smile she didn’t doubt for a minute would make Cade’s balls crawl right up inside his body if he could see it.

“Hello, mama,” she murmured. “You’re a bit much, but then that’s what I’m looking for, isn’t it?” Pleased with herself, she reached for the padded hanger. Yes, indeed.

It was time to bring out the big guns.

C
ADE AND
L
OUIE
were standing at the foot of the mansion’s sweeping staircase, discussing the technicalities of the upcoming segments they’d be shooting in film soon, when Louie’s jaw suddenly went slack.

“Ho-ly…” His voice trailing away, he leaned farther and farther to the left, clearly craning to see around Cade. “Jeeeeee-zus.” He breathed reverently and licked his lips. “
Damn,
that girl is built.”

Cold premonition crawling up his spine, Cade turned, knowing exactly who he’d see. Preidentifying the problem, however, didn’t prevent the sensations that hit him like a freight train.

No.

Not like a train; he felt like he’d been Tasered. His skin buzzed, his heart pounded. God, his damn
lips
had gone numb.

All he was missing here was the drool.

Ava was sauntering down the hallway toward them, and he could practically hear a drum-heavy sound track in his head keeping time with the slow oscillation of those hips. She was shrink-wrapped in a dress that— Jeezus—oughtta be outlawed.

At least on that body.

It looked as if it had been constructed out of a red-and-black spandex ace bandage. Several bands of black overlapped each other to circle her thighs; several red ones bound her hips. Then another, wider portion of the black bands swathed her to her waist. From that point the red fabric played a game of peekaboo with various sized and angled Vs beneath two black multilayered bands crisscrossing her upper torso from waist to breasts before squaring off to her shoulders and into sleeves that hugged her arms to the elbow.

And, God. Those breasts. The largest red V filled in what the crisscross didn’t cover, but its piped-in-black top edge stopped well below the squared-off point of the dress’s upper half.

The entire thing was the shortest, lowest-cut little piece of nothing he’d ever seen on her.

Okay, so it wasn’t porno short or low-cut. But it sure as hell displayed more leg and freckled cleavage than anything he’d seen her wear at work before. Legs that were long-thighed and firm and cleavage that jiggled subtly with every lazy stride she took.

Drawing closer, she gave both men a sleepy smile. “Mornin’ boys.” Stopping just shy of them, she hooked a hand around the newel post and, bending her right knee to lift her foot behind her, reached back to adjust the strap of her heel. Her dress slid up her thighs a couple of inches. “How are you?”

“Feeling better by the minute,” Louie said with a grin, giving the newly exposed portion of her legs an appreciative look.

Cade centered a steely stare on his director of photography, and when Louie diverted his attention long enough to catch it, he promptly performed an about-face.

“Guess I’d better get back to work,” he said over his beefy shoulder as he walked away.

“See you later,” Ava called softly to his retreating back, then turned back to Cade when the cameraman disappeared into the parlor. Her tone, as always when she was addressing him, became all business. “Is Beks upstairs?”

“No.” The buzz-and-numb sensations fleeing, he said sourly, “She might have been, if she hadn’t had to run an errand for me because you weren’t here to do it.”

“Yes, I apologize for being late. I forgot to set my alarm.” She tugged down her hem. “Well, if she’s not around I’d better get to work, too.”

Catching himself watching the subtle rise and fall of her breasts, he belatedly got his act together.
What are you, thirteen?
He gave her a slow once-over and, forcing amusement into his expression, met her gaze with raised eyebrows. “Interesting outfit.”

Clearly unabashed, she merely glanced down at herself, slicked long-fingered, bloodred-tipped hands over her hips and thighs. Then laughed low in her throat. “I know. It’s a little over the top, isn’t it? But I’ve got a hot date tonight and zero time to go home to change.”

Shock reverberated in his gut and zinged down the nerve rich column of his spinal cord. Taking a hot step forward, he demanded before he could stop himself, “With who?”

She gave him a cool look, clearly wondering what the hell business he thought it was of his. Still, she answered him, which he hadn’t actually expected.

“Eduardo,” she said, drawing the syllables out, her lips caressing them as if they were made of Godiva chocolates. “He’s an—” Cutting herself off, she shook
her head. “Well. You don’t give a rat’s rear end who he is.”

“Sure I do,” he forced himself to say in a bored tone, dismayed to discover that part of him was seriously tempted to grab those spandex-wrapped arms and shake the information out of her.

With a little yeah-right laugh, she ran a finger down his forearm. Even through the sweater sleeve separating her skin from his, he felt it like a low voltage buzz of electricity. “How uncharacteristically kind of you to pretend an interest.” Then she waved an impatient, forget-that hand. “Eduardo’s an Argentinean I met a few years ago when he was up here on business. He’s back in town for the next—I can’t remember exactly how many days. I was so excited to hear from him that I’m afraid I didn’t pay the strictest attention when he told me.” She smiled dreamily. “God, I love—” She broke off once again. “Sorry. I’m babbling on and on and keeping you from work. I’ll let you get to it.”

She started to turn away, but he reached out and stayed her with a hand on her arm. Her skin was warm and velvet soft beneath his fingers. “What do you love?”

“Trust me,” she said with a wry smile, “you really don’t want to know. Men
hate
these kinda conversations.”

“I’m tough, I can take it. What do you love?”

“Argentinean men. They have so much—” She hesitated, then said on a happy sigh,
“Stamina.”

You just had to ask, didn’t you, chump?
Because hearing that was like a kick to the balls, considering how little staying power he’d had during their one and only time together.

His back stiffened. Jesus, he’d been eighteen years old. So, big deal, excuse the hell outta him if he hadn’t
yet learned how to pace himself when he was totally hot and randy for a girl.

Ava gave herself a little shake, which did interesting things to her cleavage. “Well, as I said, I’d better get busy. I’d hate to cause a riot because I didn’t get the food out on time.”

And turning on those heels that made her legs look a mile long, she sauntered back toward the kitchen.

Causing the sound track in his head to start up again as he watched the left-right-left twitch of her hips the entire way down the hall.
Boom-ba-ba-Boom-ba-ba—

Wait. A damn. Minute.

He ran a hand down his arm. Since when did Ava voluntarily touch him?

The answer to that was simple. Since goddamn never. Which could only mean one thing.

Shit.
He didn’t frickin’ believe this.

He had just been played.

There may or may not be a go-all-night Argentinean named Eduardo that she was seeing tonight. But there was no question she’d played him. And damned if he hadn’t fallen for it, too.

Hook, line and sonuvabitchin’ sinker.

A
VA HAD TO
stop herself from laughing out loud several times as the morning rolled into afternoon. She contented herself with dancing around the kitchen instead. Now
this
was more like it. It was about damn time Cade got a taste of his own medicine. She refused to feel anything but tickled to be enjoying the heck out of being proactive for a change. God knows she had wasted far too much time reacting since he’d blown back into town.

During the odd spare moments here and there, she
arranged for VIP privileges for one of her clients at a downtown nightclub and finalized hotel accommodations and airport transfers for a party of six for another. At one point she called her favorite bakery to order the cake for her father’s birthday party.

Just after three, her phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number, so she simply opened the line and said hello.

“Miss Spencer?” a male voice said. “This is Stan Tarrof.”

“Mr. Tarrof, hello! How are you?”

“I’ve been better, dear. I’ve had a trying day and night. My house was burglarized last night.”

“Oh, my God. Are you all right?”

“Turns out I am, but I got—what’s that expression? Oh, yes, coldcocked. I walked in when the robbery was apparently still in progress and got hit over the head from behind. I was just released from the hospital.”

Shock that a such nice man had been the victim of violence rendered her speechless for a moment. When she regained her voice, she said, “I am so sorry! Is there anything I can do for you?”

“That’s why I’m calling. I have a regular cleaning woman, but the cleanup needed in my office and, to a lesser extent in a couple of the other rooms, is beyond what she can or would care to handle. Also—and of more immediate concern to me—are the drawers full of original blueprints from my father’s and grandfather’s practices that got tossed around. Many of them are quite old and will require a careful touch to be put back to rights. I wondered if you know someone capable of doing that for me.”

“Yes.” Running a quick mental finger down the list of the outfits she used most often, she pinpointed the
one most likely to do a good job of both this scope and delicacy. “I know a detective in the Seattle P.D. burglary department, as well. I’ll call him to find out when we’ll be free to go in, then arrange a crew to be there the minute we receive the authorization. Do you have family to stay with until we can get it cleaned up?”

“No. My brothers are gone now, and my daughter’s in Boston.”

“Would you like me to arrange for a hotel room, at least for tonight?”

He blew out a shaky breath, the first sign of nerves she’d heard him display. “That would be nice. I’m a little uncomfortable at the idea of going back there tonight.”

“Of course you are. I can only imagine what a frightening experience that must have been. Let me make a few calls and I’ll get back to you. Would you also like me to get a security company to drive by your place a few times tonight or perhaps a guard to patrol the grounds around the house?”

“Yes. The former, I think.” The line hummed with silence for a brief moment, then he said, “Mitzi was right. You are a gem.”

“Aww. What an incredibly lovely thing to say when you’re smack in the middle of such a traumatic ordeal. Does a downtown hotel suit you or would you prefer another area?”

“Downtown sounds nice. I’m in the mood to look out and see people and activity.”

“Where are you right now?”

“In the lobby at the Swedish Medical Center.”

It broke her heart a little that anyone should be so alone. “Why don’t you let me send a cab over to get you? You can come back here and hang out in the kitchen with me until we get you set up.”

There was an instant of silence, then he said, “I’d like that. Thank you.”

When she hung up a moment later, it occurred to her that she probably should have consulted Cade before extending the invitation. The mansion might belong to her and her friends, but Cade was paying them rent. And that made it technically, if temporarily, his.