‘There’s been no news of a black plague,’ James argued, vexation pouring from him.
‘Chicken pox,’ came the airy correction, an arm waving away any protest from him as she went on. ‘What could be worse, darling? Apart from getting deathly ill, I’d run the risk of having my face scarred. I told Wilbur he’d just have to write me out of the show until the danger was over. It was all his fault anyway for bringing the poxy child into the cast.’
An actress. Probably as voluptuously endowed as Buffy Tanner, and just as fixated on the physical. Models, actresses… Lucy seethed over James’ choice of women.
‘You could have called me,’ he shouted.
‘What for? Wilbur understood. I’m not breaking the contract, just having a break. I haven’t made any trouble for you.’
James muttered something violent under his breath and shot an anguished look at Lucy. She gave him back a merciless stare. Trouble was certainly coming if he didn’t get rid of this woman. In fact, his ammunition would be highly endangered by a sharp knee to the groin if he didn’t extract himself from the redhead in Lucy’s favour.
‘It’s not what you think,’ he grated.
‘What is it then?’ she asked sweetly.
‘Pour me a gin and tonic, darling,’ the order came from the top of the stairs.
‘No wonder you’ve got the ingredients handy,’ Lucy mocked.
‘Make it a double gin,’ the voice trilled. ‘It’s so good to be home.’
‘Home? This is her home?’ Lucy was so shocked her voice came out half-strangled.
‘It’s my mother,’ James bit out, his face a study of intense frustration. ‘And yes, this happens to be home to both of us.’
‘Your mother…’ Incredulity gripped Lucy, her mind automatically rejecting a situation that didn’t seem at all real to her. ‘You still live with your mother?’
‘Something wrong with that?’ he snapped.
It had to be real. The fierce blaze in his eyes clearly resented any implication that living with his mother was in any way odd at his age. So the woman coming down the stairs had to be Zoe Hancock, star of both stage and television, and currently a key-player in the high-rating hospital soap opera, St Jude.
Lucy had never met her in the flesh. She had seen her on screen and would definitely recognise her when they finally came face-to-face. She was also aware that this family background in show business gave James an edge in managing his clients, but she had no idea the mother-son relationship extended to sharing the same home.
‘Well, it will be very interesting to meet her,’ Lucy said decisively, and her eyes challenged him to make the introduction with good grace.
No way in the world was Lucy about to be treated as a piece of skirt he’d like to sweep under the mat. She might have been invited here for sex, but enjoying a family evening with James and Zoe Hancock suddenly loomed as an extremely attractive alternative…a fast-track insight into the very heart of their private lives.
CHAPTER TEN
JAMES gritted his teeth. Not only was the evening he’d planned ruined, but Lucy now had the impression he was living under his mother’s thumb. Which meant she’d have to see for herself that he wasn’t. Otherwise, any respect she held for him would be shot to pieces, and that was one outcome he wouldn’t tolerate.
Whipping her away to dinner in a restaurant would not get him what he wanted. That was glaringly obvious. She was unsettled by the situation. There were questions to be answered, and if she wasn’t satisfied, Lucy was perfectly capable of making unshakable judgements—mind over matter, regardless of how tempting the matter was.
‘Oh, you have a guest! What an unexpected pleasure!’ his mother trilled, sighting Lucy as she swanned down the stairs. A second thought clearly struck and she shot an arch look at James. ‘Is this why you sounded a bit cross? Am I de trop, darling?’
‘Not at all,’ he dryly assured her, resigning himself to the inevitable. ‘Lucy was just saying she’d be interested to meet you.’
‘Lucy…’ A warm, welcoming smile was beamed at her. ‘Do please forgive the deshabille—’ a graceful gesture excused the exotic dressing-gown ‘—but I am at home, you understand.’ She looked expectantly at James. ‘Lucy who, darling? Don’t leave me in the dark.’
‘Lucy Worthington…Zoe Hancock.’
‘Worthington… Worthington… I’m simply terrible with names. Should I know it?’
‘Lucy is my secretary,’ James stated to cut the agony short.
‘The secretary?’ His mother looked at Lucy in astonishment—looked her up and down—then raised her eyebrows at him as though he’d lied through his teeth.
‘A double gin coming up,’ he said, refusing to get into explanations about Lucy’s change of image.
‘Have you been my son’s secretary very long, Lucy?’ his mother pressed on with totally unabashed curiosity.
‘About eight months,’ came the matter-of-fact reply.
‘Well, I must say James made you sound quite different to what you are.’
‘On the contrary,’ he cut in. ‘I said my secretary was the most sensible woman I’ve ever met and she is still the most sensible woman I’ve ever met.’
He added a twist of lemon to the drinks and carried them to the two women, seizing the opportunity to clear up the situation since Lucy might well decide any further intimacy with him was unwise and she was better off out of it.
‘What I didn’t tell you and what I’ve come to realise,’ he said to his mother, then turned his gaze to Lucy, deliberately locking eyes with her, ‘is that she is also the sexiest woman I’ve ever met.’
He could feel the power drill of Lucy’s brain boring into his. ‘Ever?’
She was smart, utterly delectable, and infinitely exciting in her ability to challenge. ‘Ever,’ he confirmed emphatically.
Electricity crackled from her. ‘Surpassing the beautiful Buffy?’
‘Buffy is no longer even desirable.’ It was the absolute truth.
‘You seem rather fickle in your desires.’
‘Superficial distractions. I’ve had one constant desire burning in me for some time now. Only on Friday night did I discover it was mutual.’ She couldn’t deny that and James topped it with more undeniable truth. ‘As with everything you do, Lucy, you hid your light under a bushel with superb efficiency.’