Diamond Girl Read online

  “Stand up straight, for God’s sake,” he growled, rising from the couch.

  She did, but her eyes told him what she thought of the comment.

  “You walk like a mortician,” he remarked, leading the way to the door.

  “At least I don’t look like one,” she said, staring pointedly at his grim face.

  “That’s debatable,” he said imperturbably. “Let’s go.”

  “Why can’t we stay here?” she asked curtly.

  “Afraid to be alone in your apartment with me?” he asked with a malicious smile.

  “I’m hardly in a position to worry about my honor,” she reminded him sweetly as they walked to the elevator, “if I have to be taught how to seduce a man.” She glared up at him as the elevator stopped and the door began to slide open. “Aren’t we lucky that I don’t have to lure you into my bed?”

  The same elderly lady who’d listened to her opinions on bras the day before stood stock-still in the elevator, staring at the red-faced girl and the tall man. She seemed to be debating whether or not to get out.

  “My, my, what a lovely day...isn’t it?” The sweet little lady faltered and muttered an apology as she rushed out of the elevator and down the hall.

  Regan was trying to keep a straight face as he held the elevator door for Kenna. He pushed the ground-floor button and glanced at her.

  “Does she lie in wait for you?” he asked.

  She sighed. “Up until this weekend, she thought I was a nice, retiring young lady with admirable moral principles.”

  “Do you mind what people think?” he asked suddenly.

  She glanced up at him, wondering at the sudden shock that went through her when she met his unblinking gaze. She looked away quickly, oddly disturbed. “No, I don’t think so,” she replied.

  “Then why lock yourself in that apartment like a hermit and deliberately dress yourself into the woodwork?” he asked.

  She stared at the floor of the elevator. “Because I don’t drink or do drugs,” she said quietly. “I don’t believe in free sex, and I’d rather be walking in the woods than dancing to a disco beat.”

  He didn’t say a word, but his eyes didn’t move away from her bent head until the elevator stopped.

  “Come on, diamond girl,” he murmured, letting her precede him out of the elevator.

  “What?” she asked, surprised into looking up.

  “Diamond in the rough,” he murmured. “All you need is a little polishing.”

  “That could be painful,” she said, trying to make light of it.

  “Cinderella didn’t get the prince without a little suffering, honey,” he reminded her.

  She sighed. “I feel more like the pumpkin than Cinderella right now, thanks.”

  “That’s what we’re going to work on.”

  She followed him out to his car, apprehensive and not a little nervous. Regan bothered her; being with him made her feel shaky. If only she’d never agreed to this! But if there was a chance in a million that he could make her noticeable to Denny, she’d take it, and gladly. No sacrifice was too great to catch Denny’s eye, not even spending time with a man she disliked intensely.

  Regan lived in a luxurious apartment in downtown Atlanta, overlooking the Regency Hyatt House’s distinctive saucer and the night lights that made Atlanta look like a many-colored jewel. The whole apartment was carpeted in thick gray pile and decorated with Mediterranean furniture and bold gray-and-beige-striped curtains at the windows. There were a lot of carved wooden sculptures and animals that had a distinctively African flavor, including the masks on the wall. An antique table held a single photograph in a small, ornate frame. She knew without being told who it was, that beautiful blonde with the long, windblown hair. It was Jessica.

  “Don’t stand on ceremony,” he growled from behind her. “You might as well ask me about it.”

  She flushed, embarrassed at being caught in her scrutiny. She turned, looking up with apologetic eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “She was very lovely.”

  His eyes clouded and he turned away, his hands jammed deep in his pockets. “Sit down.”

  She moved toward the sofa and sank into it ungracefully.

  “That’s where we start,” he said, surveying her narrowly. “You don’t even sit like a woman, you attack chairs as if you were afraid they might leap up and bite.”

  She clamped her teeth together. It was going to be a long session, and she could see that holding her temper was going to cause her some problems.

  But somehow she managed to make it through the long afternoon, while she was told everything that she did wrong and how to correct it, right down to picking up cups and holding them gracefully in her hand.

  “I can’t imagine how I lived to be this old all by myself,” she said sweetly when he called it a day.

  “Neither can I,” he agreed infuriatingly. “One more thing, think feline. Be conscious of your body as an expression of grace in movement. Walk seductively.”

  “Maybe you could take me down on the streets, and I could watch the experts...?”

  He glowered at her. “There’s a difference between seductiveness and blatant sexuality. Haven’t you ever noticed models move down the runway in fashion shows?”

  “I never really paid that much attention,” she confessed.

  “There are fashion shows telecast over the cable network,” he told her. “Start watching them. It wouldn’t hurt to enroll in a ballet class.”

  “That’s where I draw the line,” she told him shortly. “I don’t have time to prance around with preteens in a tutu.”

  His eyes went down her body slowly, appraisingly. “Let’s see you walk, Cinderella,” he said.

  She took a deep breath and tried to remember everything he’d drummed into her reeling mind. She moved with conscious grace, her body gently swaying like a windblown reed, her face held high, her steps easy, and the lines of her body straight and tall.

  His dark eyes flashed and narrowed as she approached him. His gaze dropped pointedly to the thrust of her small breasts.

  She flushed at the intimacy of the look, and her jaw tightened.

  “Not bad,” he murmured curtly. “For a rank beginner,” he added, lifting his eyes to hers. “But you’ve got a hell of a long way to go, and not a lot of time. Margo’s got the jump on you, honey.”

  “I know that,” she muttered miserably. “And the body to go with it.”

  “There isn’t a damned thing wrong with yours,” he said, his eyes leaving her in no doubt that he meant it. “All you need to do is to learn how to use it.”

  She felt her toes tingle. “If you mean what I think you do, you can just forget it! I don’t have any intention of trying to get Denny into my bed!”

  His mouth curled up at one corner. “Don’t you want him?”

  “Of course I do, but not...well, not like that...I mean,” she faltered, avoiding his probing stare. What did she mean? She loved Denny, of course she wanted him...she guessed. How could she know, though? He’d never tried to touch her that way in all the two years she’d known him.

  “Do you know what you mean?” he asked. He moved closer, and the sheer size of him was intimidating. He smelled of spice and tobacco, and he was warm....

  “Look at me. Flirt with your eyes,” he murmured, watching her. “Let’s see what you’ve learned.”

  She managed to meet his dark gaze. She smiled shyly and dropped her own, to raise them again and let them glance off his, and treat him to a gentle flutter of her long lashes.

  “Better?” she murmured, raising her face.

  His eyes were unusually dark and he didn’t answer for a minute. “You’ve got possibilities,” he said finally. “Are your lashes real?”

  “Of course,” she said. She blin
ked, surprised at the question. Then she noticed his own lashes, thick and dark, making a perfect frame for his very dark eyes. They were nearly black, and his complexion was olive, darker than she’d realized before.

  His eyes caught hers and held them, and a long, searching exchange built the tension until she felt her knees tremble at the intensity of it. It was like touching a live wire, and she had to tear her eyes from his.

  Her lips parted on a nervous breath. She moved away from him, away from the sudden magnetism of his big body. “I guess I’d better get home,” she said in a voice that sounded oddly strange.

  “I guess you had,” he agreed. “By the way, I’ve arranged for Denny to be out of town all next week. The first time he’ll see your new look will be Saturday night at the ball.”

  “Where is he?” she asked, suddenly miserable. She’d looked forward to Denny seeing her tomorrow and now he wouldn’t be there.

  “Don’t look so tragic,” he chided. He lit a cigarette and turned. “He’s in New York, doing some legwork for me. Or so he believes. He grumbled, too. Margo’s still here,” he added with a wicked smile.

  Her heart leaped. “Putting some breathing space between them, huh, fairy godfather?” she murmured with a grin.

  He turned, catching the amused light in her eyes. He stopped, just looking at her until she flushed and lowered her gaze to his broad chest. That was even worse. She could see the thick mat of hair that obviously covered his muscular body, and it had a strange effect on her.

  “That was the idea, all right,” he said tautly. “Not that I expect it to do much good. We’ll have to wait and see how he reacts to your new image.”

  “I’ll cross my fingers,” she murmured.

  “So will I. You’ll need all the help you can get,” he said flatly. “Let’s go. I want to take you home and get back to work.”

  “Do you have to work all the time?” she asked involuntarily as they went out the door.

  His jaw was taut, his eyes suddenly haunted. “If I want to stay sane, I do,” he said curtly.

  She stopped at the elevator and stared up at him. It was only because he was Denny’s brother— stepbrother—that she was curious about him, she told herself.

  “Because you miss her?” she asked softly, nodding toward the apartment.

  He seemed to know immediately what she meant, but his face tightened dangerously. “I don’t discuss Jessica,” he said harshly. “Not even with family, and you’re damned sure not that. Not yet.”

  Her face flamed at the rebuff. She hadn’t expected the sheer savagery of it, and it almost brought tears to her eyes. She went into the elevator and not another word passed between them all the way back to her apartment.

  The next week went by with merciful swiftness. Kenna spent it missing Denny and doing her best to avoid Regan. That wasn’t possible. He spent his free time schooling her, tutoring her in the cold voice that she’d learned to hate. She resented him fiercely, and let him know it with every look, every word. The tension between them was almost visible, and she knew without words that he felt the same hostility she did. Their animosity was feeding on itself, and she found herself living for Denny’s return.

  Friday came finally, and Kenna breathed a sigh of relief as she gathered up her purse and coat to leave the office.

  The door to Regan’s office opened before she escaped, and he stood there with his jacket off, his shirt carelessly unbuttoned at the throat, his sleeves rolled up and his tie off, staring at her.

  She didn’t speak. She was trapped in that all-encompassing glance that took in her low-cut beige blouse with the pleated tan skirt and flashy polka-dotted scarf. Her makeup was perfect, and even with her glasses on, she was becoming enough to draw attention.

  “Come here,” he murmured, watching her.

  She went to him involuntarily, her body swaying seductively, her eyes holding his, her steps sure and graceful. She stopped just in front of him, and watched the slow, sensuous smile that tugged at his chiseled, sensuous mouth.

  “Nice,” he murmured under his breath. “Very nice. I think you’ll pass muster, Miss Dean. Which dress were you planning to wear tomorrow night—that sea-colored bit of witchery?”

  “Yes,” she agreed, her voice sounding breathless. She wondered why he was having this effect on her.

  He nodded. “I’ll pick you up at six-thirty. Denny’s going to have a surprise and a half, isn’t he?” he mused.

  “He probably won’t know me,” she agreed, smiling.

  “Just remember that you’re supposed to belong to me,” he reminded her curtly. “And don’t fling yourself at his head at the first opportunity or you’ll ruin everything.”

  She glared furiously. “I remember the game plan, counselor, I don’t need constant reminding.”

  “You’ll get it, nevertheless. I want this to work as much as you do,” he reminded her. “The whole idea is to make Denny jealous. You’ll only manage that if he thinks we’re getting involved.”

  “Does that mean I have to look at you adoringly and bat my eyelashes in public?” she asked, her expression conveying distaste.

  “That’s exactly what it means,” he agreed. “We’ll have to put on a show in the office as well, if we’re going to make him believe it.”

  “I will not sit on your lap to take dictation,” she said shortly.

  “What the hell makes you think I’d let you?” he asked, his eyes hard.

  She turned around, clutching her purse in a stranglehold and made for the door just as it swung open and Denny came in, grinning.

  He stopped short at the sight of Kenna, both eyebrows going up. “Well, well,” he murmured, stunned.

  Regan went up behind her, one arm sliding around her shoulders with seeming affection, and Kenna almost flinched at the unfamiliar touch of his warm, hard fingers.

  “I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow,” Regan told the younger man pleasantly. “You’re taking Margo to the ball, I presume?”

  “Uh...uh...uh—yes,” Denny stammered, taking in the sight of his stepbrother apparently being affectionate with his secretary.

  “Kenna was just going home,” Regan continued. “You didn’t plan to work this afternoon?”

  “No,” Denny managed.

  “I’ll see Kenna out, and then I’ll fill you in on what’s been happening while you were away. And you can tell me what you found out in New York.” He tightened his grasp on Kenna, as if he were afraid she was going to make a grab for Denny. “I’ll walk you out, love,” he said.

  She managed a wan smile in Denny’s direction.

  “Welcome home, boss,” she called over her shoulder.

  “Yes,” he said in an odd voice. “Welcome home.”

  Regan purposely left the door ajar, aware of Denny’s following gaze. He caught Kenna by the shoulders.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow at six-thirty,” he told her, his deep voice sensuous, full of velvet. “Wear that sexy dress for me, baby,” he added, and his eyes warned her to go along with him. He bent to her mouth and she let her eyes close, hating what was coming but powerless to move away. After all, the whole purpose of the exercise was to catch Denny’s attention, to make him jealous.

  Regan’s mouth was hard and warm, and she barely felt its rough crush before he drew back and let her go. “I’ll call you later,” he told her, his eyes as cold as stone despite the deliberate warmth of his voice.

  “Don’t work too hard,” she said, trying to infuse that same warmth in her own voice. She smiled halfheartedly and turned, walking quickly to the elevator.

  Once she was inside it, she half collapsed against the railing.

  She felt strangely weak. It was seeing Denny again, she imagined, the sudden shock of seeing him when she hadn’t expected to. Her fingers touched her mouth. She still
felt the quick, hard pressure of Regan’s lips, like a wound.

  What if he was wrong? What if Denny didn’t get jealous, what if he was too wrapped up in his precious Margo to care that Kenna was supposedly involving herself with Regan? She sighed. It would be just her luck to have the whole thing backfire. And if it did, she’d never forgive Regan.

  Saturday night she dressed with special care, taking longer than usual with her makeup and leaving off her glasses. Who cared if she was half-blind; Regan could just lead her around by the hand. That might be more convincing anyway, and he could describe Denny’s expression to her.

  He was on time, as usual, and she opened the door to find him in very conservative black evening clothes, with a white silk shirt emphasizing his darkness.

  She squinted up at him. “Mr. Cole, I presume?” she asked.

  “Can’t you tell?” he asked, and she felt the impact of his eyes on her slender body. The dress left very little to the imagination.

  “I don’t need my glasses as long as I’m with someone,” she returned, leaving him standing there while she went to find her purse and the black shawl she planned to wear with the dress. “All you have to do is steer me around open manholes.”

  “Your glasses look fine,” he growled.

  “That’s tough, counselor, because I’m not wearing them tonight,” she said antagonistically, whirling with skirts flying to confront him.

  His face was only a pale blur, but she sensed his anger. “Let’s go,” he said shortly.

  She followed him out the door without a word. She felt strangely vulnerable without her glasses, unprotected. But his bulk was reassuring, and she knew instinctively that she couldn’t be more secure than in his company. He might not like her, but he’d take care of her.

  He was quiet all the way to the hotel, and she didn’t speak, either. Strangely enough, her mind kept going back to the quick, hard kiss he’d crushed against her surprised lips outside the office. It wasn’t the first time a man had kissed her, but it had made her feel odd. She didn’t even like Regan, for heaven’s sake, and she was in love with Denny, so why should that kiss have had such an impact on her? She forced herself not to think about it.