Love, Lust, and The Lassiters Page 3

  Simon turned, patted his father absently on the shoulder. “I haven’t seen her in months.”

  Pat Lassiter put a hearty arm around his only son, his white hair glowing like a saint’s in the light of the portico. “She’s still your little girl. Loves you enough to take a plane ride, all by herself—”

  “God, don’t make me think about it,” Simon said, shuddering. “Thank God that woman was there with her. Veronica,” he said. “She’s in that car, too, you know that, right?”

  His father shrugged. “Be glad to meet her.” His handsome face, young looking for his sixty years, became shuttered, guarded.

  The car stopped, and before the driver could do anything, the back door burst open and Lilah catapulted out and into his waiting arms. God, she felt good. And taller. And skinny, even under her fuzzy coat. “Honey, oh, Lilah, it’s good to see you,” he murmured into her hair.

  “I missed you, Daddy,” she said in a little voice, and Simon felt something like shame.

  “GRANDPA!” Lilah cried, and shot out of his arms and into his father’s.

  Simon watched them for a moment, the white head bent over the brown curly one, but was distracted by the woman who emerged from the back seat to deal with the bags and talk to the driver. She was lovely, even in the dim light. Her hair was a brown skein of silk and swung slightly back and forth as she moved. She seemed unconscious of the fact, and her face, charming from the start, lit up into absolute beauty as she smiled at a little joke the driver told. Suddenly, inexplicably jealous, Simon stepped forward.

  “I’m sorry; I was greeting my daughter. Let me just settle up with you, Sir—there you are.” Simon paid him with a flourish. The driver thanked him profusely for the tip that was more generous than Simon had originally intended. “No problem. No, I’ve got the bags, thank you very much.”

  He turned to Veronica as the driver reluctantly left her presence. She was very pretty, and a bit nervous, which made him feel less so. She wore a light brown coat, and beneath it, some sort of dress with fashionable flat boots. Her smile as she extended her hand was straight and white. Her lips were full, very full, and he wondered what it would be like to kiss them, why this girl wasn’t at this very moment in bed with a lover, being crushed in his embrace.

  “Mr. Lassiter, I’m so sorry for our misunderstanding on the phone.” Simon had no idea what it felt like to be hit by a bullet, but that’s what he thought of when he felt that first sexual jolt at the sound of Veronica’s voice. The combination of her look, her sound, and her attention focused directly on him had a startling effect, to say the least. He’d known plenty of women, but none of them had ever inspired this sort of instant attraction. “I’m afraid,” she was saying, “with all the confusion about Lilah I totally forgot your name, and then when I called—”

  Simon reached out, placed a hand on her arm. Another burst of electricity, touching her. He thought he saw an instant’s answering spark in her eyes. “Please. It’s not your fault, so don’t give it a second thought. It’s I who owe you an apology for my temper, and I also owe you great thanks for watching over my little wanderer and seeing her safely home.” He swept her gloveless hand to his mouth and kissed it. He’d never kissed a woman’s hand before, but it seemed somehow right. She blushed, and he felt a surge of desire.

  “Oh—why, for goodness sakes, Mr. Lassiter, I—” she murmured.

  He laughed. “It’s Simon, please. I assume we’ll be working together, and it’s ridiculous for us to not be on a first name basis. May I call you Veronica?”

  “Certainly, sir. Simon,” she corrected herself, then blushed again. “If you could tell me where I might freshen up before our interview, I’d love—”

  “Of course. Don’t worry about the bags, I’ve got them. I put you in room 104; that’s on the main floor, right near my suite and what will be Lilah’s room. That way you can reach us—me—if you need to.” Somehow he realized he’d made it sound suggestive, and he wasn’t sorry. God, what was wrong with him? He’d never felt so brazenly attracted to a woman before, and he felt almost drunk being near her, felt the need to impress her in a ridiculous boyish way. “Just follow me, then. Lilah, honey, I’ll be right back.”

  He caught his father’s amused glance as he swept past with his guest, and he didn’t acknowledge it, but he knew what it meant, knew what his father was thinking: history is repeating itself. Simon didn’t have time to think about that, nor did his brain seem to be functioning enough for him to analyze it. Her bags were heavy, and he adjusted them in his hands as he ushered her into the building, then followed her small form through the main door.

  Logan appeared in front of him. Dashing, lady-killing Logan, his friend: Simon wanted to murder him.

  “Oh, Logan. Veronica James, I’d like to introduce you to my partner in crime, Logan March. I’ll be interviewing Veronica about the ah—you know. In just a moment. Veronica, if you’ll just walk straight up that hall there, you should find your room on the right. I’ll be just behind you.” He’d said her name three times; he found he liked saying it, liked the way it rolled off his tongue.

  “Sure,” she said, and moved away. Her walk was sexy. Even in those clumpy boots. Simon tore his gaze away and gave Logan a stern glance.

  “Hands off,” he warned.

  Logan laughed, brushing a lock of thick blond hair out of his eyes. “Is that the way the wind blows? Well, my friend, I think you’ll agree that I never trod on your turf. Besides which, there are plenty of local beauties to distract me. Look at the lovely Sally, there. Why, she’s been tempting me for months, and not giving me a second glance.” The blonde girl behind the desk, typing something at her computer terminal, blushed painfully and kept typing.

  Simon remembered that Logan had been rather smitten with Sally when they hired her, but had kept his distance so far, in the name of professionalism.

  “Sally,” Simon said, approaching the desk.

  “Yes, Sir,” she responded, almost miserably.

  “Has this man been bothering you?” Simon joked.

  “No, Sir,” she said, blushing more darkly. She looked very sweet and pretty.

  “Well, would you be willing to go out with him for a late dinner after your shift? You’d be doing me a great favor, getting him out of my hair for a while.”

  She blinked at him. He heard Logan chuckle under his breath, rather like a cat when it spies prey. “And you’d be making me a happy man,” Logan said.

  “He’ll pay for whatever you’d like to eat, then he’ll drive you home like a gentleman, and he promises to keep his hands off of you.”

  “Unless you don’t want me to keep my hands off of you,” Logan added in a buttery tone.

  Sally tried to laugh, but it sounded more like a scream. Simon left her, poor thing, in Logan’s predatory clutches. They had to sort out their own love lives.

  Meanwhile, his love life was waiting. She stood patiently by her door, studying the carpet.

  “We chose it to match our name. See the little white pine trees in the border?” he asked her, setting down the bags so that he could key open her door.

  “Oh, yes. How charming,” she said.

  Simon struggled with a sudden feeling of deja vu, as though his lines were already written, had already been performed, and he simply had to say them once again.

  He opened the door and she followed him into an airy room with stylish yet homey decor and a beautiful white canopy bed. “It’s lovely,” she breathed.

  “This will be your room, obviously, when you take the job.” There were no ifs about it, Simon thought. “In the morning, you’ll see a beautiful view out your window, and this room is one of the few with a tiny adjacent patio. You can have breakfast on your terrace.” She looked, he thought, like a girl on Christmas morning. Something about her was fresh, sweet, and yet that voice was sexy and low. He set her bags down on the b
ed, but didn’t take his eyes off of her.

  “Thank you so much, Mr. Las—Simon.” She had put her purse down on the bed, as well, and now she turned to face him with a smile of gratitude. “I’m sure you want to spend time with your daughter now, so if you’d rather postpone the interview, I—”

  “You know, I don’t see much point in an interview. You seem perfect, you told me your qualifications via our e-mail discussion, you faxed me your resume, which was impressive, and I don’t really have much more to ask you.” He had a vague idea that he was talking much faster than usual. He really didn’t even know what he was saying. He was stretching out the time that he could conceivably expect to stay in her room.

  She looked a bit surprised. “You—well, I have my portfolio in my bag, if you wanted to—”

  “Does your husband object to you taking this job?” he asked, stepping a bit closer.

  “Oh, I’m not married.” She was looking down, concentrating on her search. Her fall of hair hid off of her face except the tip of her nose, and those pink lips, which were pursed in concentration. She zipped open a bag, looked into it. “I have some of my lesson plans in here, as well as some projects my students worked on. I copy the nice ones, before I return them.”

  “Good, good. And do you object to the idea of dating someone who is your employer?”

  “Wha—” she looked up, her chocolate colored eyes wide. She looked delicious, like actual candy. “I’m not sure what you’re—”

  Simon shrugged, hoping that his face conveyed apology rather than dismissal of her concerns. “It’s just that I find you very attractive, and I didn’t expect that to be a complication in our, uh, agreement, and now that it is I’m wondering if you’d think it permissible for me to ask you on a date.”

  To say that she seemed flustered would have been an understatement. The bag she’d been looking in fell on the floor, and its contents spluttered out. She knelt with an exasperated “oh!” and he lunged to his knees to help her, to be close to her.

  “I’m sorry, was I too forward? We get so lonely out here in the boonies, and the last thing we expect is for a beautiful woman to come walking in the joint.”

  “Ah—” she said, laughing a little, still not answering him. She smoothed her hair in an unconscious gesture, and something in him snapped.

  “I’m just so happy to have my daughter here,” he said. “And I find I’m very happy to have you here, too.” Feeling drunk still, and a bit mad, he pulled her to him and kissed her. Her mouth was warm and those generous lips were luscious. She resisted him at first, and he was about to let her go, but then he felt one of her hands tentatively touching his elbow; he pulled her tighter, and she moaned slightly, opening her mouth to do so, and he took advantage with his tongue, touching delicately on hers, hearing her murmur softly again, feeling her hands locking behind his back, feeling, yes, he was certain now, the returned pressure of her lips. He took courage from her willingness, unbuttoned her little coat, pulled it off her shoulders, kissed her face, her neck—

  “Oh, God,” she panted. “I don’t understand—”

  He didn’t want to talk. He pressed his mouth back on hers, ran his hands through her hair, that blissfully silky hair, and plunged his tongue more deeply this time into her pink and minty mouth. He felt himself growing hard, and with a muffled cry he pulled himself away. Kissing her was crazy enough; he couldn’t see her allowing him to have sex with her right there on the floor, which is what he was already doing in his mind’s eye.

  “Veronica,” he said thickly.

  She touched her fingers to her lips, pressing on them daintily, looking at him with wide brown eyes. “Simon.”

  “I’m afraid I rushed you. I’m sorry. I’ve never felt such—instant attraction to someone. Really. I got carried away. Please forgive me. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” she said briskly, standing up, smoothing her dress, leaving her coat on the floor. She went to the head of the bed, fluffed the pillow. She was very efficiently putting distance between them. “It’s the best kiss I ever got, to be honest with you.” She wouldn’t look at him. “Are you sure you don’t have me confused with someone else?” she asked.

  He laughed heartily, and was glad to see a small smile in return. “You must think I’m crazy. Or a total pig. Or both,” he said.

  She hesitated, smoothing her pillow. “I don’t know what I think. But Simon, I don’t want to feel as though I’m getting the job because—you—find me attractive.” She faced him then almost defiantly, daring him to be a jerk.

  He cleared his throat, stood up. “How could that be? I hired you sight unseen.”

  She shrugged. She stared at the window, smiling slightly. Perhaps she was nervous, he thought. Or perhaps she was—could it be—interested?

  “You never answered my question. Do you object to dating your boss? Because if it’s a problem, then you’re fired.” He smiled at her to show it was a joke. This is sexual harassmen;, it’s illegal;, she can sue you, said the little voice of the Inn lawyer in his head.

  “You haven’t really hired me yet.”

  “But I have. I said you were perfect. I’ll give you all the forms and such tomorrow. I’d pretty much indicated you had the job, hadn’t I? I was just basing the rest on what I saw, and, well, I’ve seen enough. For now,” he added, and she laughed.

  “This is really the most ridiculous situation. I don’t even know who I’m teaching, and from the time I got on that plane—” she stopped, looking suddenly concerned. She was thinking about something, he realized, and in his experience with women, that was never good. “Really, it’s so coincidental, isn’t it, that I met your daughter on the plane?”

  “Hmmm?” he asked, picking up her coat and setting it on the bed.

  “I—oh, never mind. Is there somewhere to eat around here? I’ve suddenly realized that I’m hungry.”

  “You and me both.” He said it in a friendly fashion. He didn’t want to scare her away with any more wolfish behavior, but God, that kiss had been amazing. And she’d liked it, he could swear she’d liked it. He opened the door. “Let me show you to the dining room. They’ll still have sandwiches and stuff. Tell the café manager to put whatever you have on the Inn tab. I need to find my daughter. And I’ve been remiss: I didn’t even say welcome to White Pine.”

  “If that wasn’t a welcome, I don’t know what is,” she said tartly, and walked out the door ahead of him. A hint of her scent reached him, tantalizing and feminine; he watched her move down the hall. It was impressive, what she could do to him without even knowing she did it. Finally she turned and waited for him, her brows raised in a question.

  “Oh, Grandpa James,” he said under his breath. “You’ve got to help; it’s happening to me.” He wondered if the ghostly laughter was really his imagination.

  Chapter Four

  Veronica ate her sandwich in the Inn Café, watching the dark shadows of pines bend in the wind outside the shuttered windows. She’d put the “incident” out of her mind, to be dealt with when she felt less tired, and was concentrating on the idea of her new life, her new job. The place was lovely on the inside, everything polished, new and thoughtfully constructed, and she had the sense that when day came, and she saw the view through those giant windows, she would be in awe of her new workplace. Finding the job at all had been something of a miracle. She’d been teaching in Chicago, replacing a woman on maternity leave from St. William School. But after more than a year’s absence, Nora had come back in early November, and then Veronica had needed to find something fast. No teaching jobs in her area were posted, so she went on the internet to the job board. Are you willing to travel? It had said, and she thought, why not?

  That’s how she’d seen the position for a tutor at White Pine Inn. It sounded romantic, somehow. She’d felt like Jane Eyre, responding to that one letter asking for a governess, and in the process Jane had
found her true love. Now here she was, embroiled in the family story of Lilah Fairchild Lassiter and Simon Lassiter. She’d arrived at the Inn to find that her new boss was the sexiest man she’d ever seen, to put it simply. Dark hair, graying at the temples, tall body, fit physique, dark eyes with mysterious lights. Then he’d spoken her name, touched her arm as she brought out the bags, made her feel at ease and yet inciting an increasing sexual tension that she was sure was not just her imagination. He’d come to her room and simply kissed her, with no preliminaries. Very “Me Tarzan, You Jane.” But God, his kissing had been amazing, and he was incredibly sexy. Was she wrong not to slap his face? Should she have quit, walked out, said, “Well, I never!” and stormed out of his life?

  With Rick everything had been very platonic, friendly, and then one day it was just more. She’d never felt this kind of animal attraction, had that kind of attention given to her in a kiss. That man had been focused on her, and she’d relished it for those few minutes. But then . . .

  She’d thought of Lilah. And she’d realized what a bizarre coincidence it was. She suddenly felt like the heroine in a bad movie. Had it been a coincidence? After all, why was the tutor needed? Wasn’t it, in fact, for Lilah? What if this was all just a set-up? What if Simon had purchased his daughter’s ticket, made the arrangements, told her to look for Veronica on the plane? That would explain why he hired a girl from Chicago. A girl who could be an escort for his daughter, while—what? He kidnapped Lilah? He took her away from her mother?

  She knew there was animosity between them, knew the mother hadn’t been allowing visits. Was Veronica part of a domestic dispute? Did he intend to travel around and keep Lilah? Was she expected to go with them? Maybe it was the late hour, or the thick sandwich on an empty stomach, or the rather sinister dark shapes of the trees that bowed and bent outside the window, or the very foreignness of her new home. Whatever it was, she left the cafeteria convinced that Simon Lassiter had conspired against her, that he was up to no good, and that she was expected to aid and abet him in his crime.