Infamous Page 3

  He’d been so pissed at her for dying and even more furious when he’d found out she’d left half his bar and her entire business to a girl she’d never even known. He’d been an ass when he’d first met Mary. He’d wanted to scare her enough so that she’d leave, and had done his best to be a complete pig, kissing her, asking to touch her tits, but to his surprise, she’d let him.

  It had taken him some time to trust her, knowing she’d let him do that and he a stranger, but she had a way about her, a heart as generous as her mother’s had been, and the curiosity of a child.

  An image of Lille, of the smooth curve of her back as she’d straddled him, flashed through his mind. He’d slept with her after knowing her for all of one day, without thinking much of her outside of her looks, and he hadn’t seen the point in trying to dig any deeper. He still didn’t see the point; the woman had avoided him for two weeks after the best sex of his life, but damned if that didn’t make her even more interesting. Drinking coffee with her in the kitchen yesterday had made him feel more alive than he had in years, as if every cell in his body had lit up. It was damn near terrifying. She was hot, sexy, irresistible. Kind she was not. He thought that if he ever did settle down and decide to have children, it would be with a kind woman, an uncomplicated woman. Never the type of woman Lille clearly seemed to be.

  So . . . why couldn’t he leave off thinking about her? He wanted to have her disappear from his life the way all the other women he’d known had done, but he couldn’t. Like it or not, she was part of the circle, part of the strange family they’d woven, and he could no more get rid of her than he could Carl. And the truth was . . . he didn’t want to. He wanted her firmly in the category of “woman I care about but don’t want to care about too much,” like one of his employees or the long-time bar patrons.

  Ten minutes later, when he and the dogs were more than halfway back home, his cell phone rang.

  He stopped and fumbled quickly to get it out of his pocket, thinking it might be Lille. Nope. Kyle, his bartender on Sundays. Not that he wanted Lille to call him . . .

  “What?” Max barked, breathing heavily.

  “Hey, Max, it’s Kyle.”

  Max’s grip on the phone tightened, but he reined in his impatience. “What is it, lad?”

  “Cherry called in.”

  “What? Again? Is she sick?”

  Kyle sounded hesitant. “No . . . she’s not coming back.”

  “What?”

  “She said she’s going to Vegas to get married and find a job as a blackjack dealer in the casino.”

  “And she decided this today?”

  “Apparently.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Yeah.”

  Max kicked an empty Coke can and sent it skittering across the road. Bambi whined low in her throat and Atticus pawed at his leg, asking to be picked up.

  He scooped up the white dog. “Fine. I’ll be over to help ye this afternoon, then. It shouldn’t be too crowded today, and I’ve paperwork to do anyway.” He hated it, but he would do it.

  “Sounds good,” Kyle agreed, and hung up quickly, before Max could change his mind.

  Max scowled and wished he’d brought his damn cigarettes. Lungs be damned—this definitely wasn’t the day he was going to quit smoking.

  Carl held an outfit up for Lille’s consideration. In the store, Jordan was still following Kim around, ostensibly showing her the layout of the place and how to work the register, but mostly he was clearly just fantasizing about her. He was practically drooling.

  Lille, who was at the computer working on the Web site for the Box while Carl played with the outfits in the office closet, looked up at the clothes he was holding: a sleeveless black leather top with a high neck, a pencil skirt with rose piping, classic fishnet hose, and black high-heeled Victorian-style boots with lots of buttons.

  “Nice,” she agreed, and went back to what she was doing.

  “Nice?” Carl dropped his arms with a huff. “Nice? That call is really bothering you, isn’t it?”

  Lille shrugged her shoulders and pushed her reading glasses up on her head.

  “Of course it’s bothering me, Carl. I don’t want to leave, but I don’t want anyone here getting hurt, either.”

  “We’ll talk to Mary and John about it when they come by tonight.”

  Lille shook her head in brief but automatic rejection—she’d never told Mary much about her past, for all that they were friends. She’d always been protective of Mary and didn’t want her to worry.

  “That reminds me.” Lille tapped a few keys to bring up the schedule in Outlook. “It looks as if Jordan has been working quite a few double shifts since Kaylee was attacked.” Kaylee was the Box employee who had been hurt in a break-in. Prior to the attack, she’d worked part-time as a nurse. “She called yesterday to say that she wants to focus on nursing and won’t be able to work here anymore. I just hired Kim, but she won’t be able to work by herself until she gets the hang of things, and initially I want her to focus on the documentary. I want the virtual tour edited and up by tomorrow.”

  “All the more reason for you to do a little show tonight after we have our chat with Mary and John.”

  Lille had a feeling she wasn’t going to get to remain silent on the subject of her father, so she ignored Carl for the moment. “A little show?”

  “Sure. You’ve made these fabulous changes, decked the place out. Anyone who’s seen the clips posted so far knows you’re beautiful. I want to show them that you’re ferocious. We’ll do some training videos. Hell-oo. That’s why I’m picking out an outfit for you.”

  Lille rolled her eyes. “Fine. But as far as scheduling, John is supposed to work tonight, but Kaylee was scheduled for tomorrow.”

  “Have Kim do it. Tomorrow’s Monday. What kind of trouble do you think she can get into on a Monday? This place is as dead as your love life of late.”

  “Carl, has anyone ever mentioned that you can be very annoying?”

  Carl pursed his lips. “I don’t think you’re going to say that when I show you what I have in my hands . . . ”

  Lille rolled her eyes. “I just love it when men tell me that.”

  “Me, too, honey.” He wiggled impatiently, hands behind his back. “Now, are you ready for the pièce de résistance?”

  “You tell me.”

  “I think you were born ready.”

  Lille laughed. Damn, she liked it here. “Okay, Carl. Show me what you got.”

  He pulled out a black fedora with a glittery rose-colored band, and a soft suede cat-o’-nine-tails with a braided black leather handle and a bead at the end of each tail. If she wore that hat and carried that whip, she would be the female S&M version of Indiana Jones. She couldn’t help but think of Max’s expression if she strolled into his bar tonight in that getup. A grin spread across her face.

  Carl was watching her carefully. “Oooh. What are you thinking, honey? The look on your face . . . ”

  Lille pressed her lips together, but the smile grew anyway. “I was thinking about how much Max would hate it if I brought Kim to the bar tonight to film me as I walk in wearing that outfit.”

  Carl’s eyes glowed with delighted mischief. “That is an excellent idea, though I don’t know if he’ll be at the bar tonight. He usually doesn’t work on Sundays. But I’ll call him, get his ass over there.” He continued with barely a pause, “But I say we record you demonstrating how to use the cat, maybe on Jordan, maybe on me, for the edification of our delighted audience, and then we can follow you over to the bar, where Max can see you.”

  “He’s going to be annoyed,” Lille warned, though she wasn’t sure why she thought that. Maybe she just expected antagonism from him, and she knew he didn’t like disruptions to his usual routine, but damn did it sound like fun. She was tired of worrying about her father, about her life.

 
Waving a dismissive hand, Carl laid the clothes on the desk in front of her. “Oh, it’s good for him, gets his blood moving. I’m going to find the perfect lingerie to go underneath,” he announced, and disappeared into the closet.

  Lille rubbed her lips absently, imagining Max’s face when he saw her in the clothes.

  He wouldn’t like it—he absolutely wouldn’t like wanting her, wanting her while she remained aloof (well, she would act aloof). She considered what he might do, what he’d be like when he was angry. Just the thought of it had her smiling and spinning a little in the chair.

  CHAPTER Thirteen

  Kim thought she’d start the episode of the Fetish Box documentary with a close-up of Lille—the classic iconic beauty of an old-world film star, all luscious curves and a heart-shaped face. If jealousy ran in her nature, Kim decided she would be jealous of Lille, but it didn’t, so she was able to admire the woman without too much angst.

  She’d pulled the camera back from Lille slowly, so that the Fetish Box gradually opened up around her: the gypsy chic of the gilt-framed photos and paintings on the walls, the fantastical statue of the mermaid sitting on a horse, the costumes, and glittery toys, the bright silks and satins and lace. Lille was a queen in a jewel box, a dragon hoarding her treasure, a mythical creature of sex and magic, Kim decided, and went about making it so.

  She captured Jordan in between customers, as he put away the stock or showed her where things belonged. In a glass case along one wall, he showed her a collection of antique statues of phallic symbols and sex toys that looked more like medieval torture devices. She eyed a set of nipple clamps that looked as if they could jump-start a car. Wincing, she unconsciously rubbed her right breast. Some of the antiques showed signs of damage. Jordan had told her about the break-in in detail, fury twisting his normally amiable expression. It surprised her to see so much negative emotion from him. Since he was so rarely serious, at least in the short time she’d known him, the anger he showed seemed out of character. He cared about this place, she realized; it was his home.

  He looked away, and Kim let the camera linger a moment on his profile.

  “How’d you get here?” she asked him finally, to regain his attention.

  He frowned, tugging a little on the big gauge in his right ear. “Whattaya mean?”

  Kim waved her free hand impatiently. “How did you meet Mary? How did you get this job?”

  “Oh.” His expression lightened, and Kim could see his body relax, all loose limbs and lanky grace, unlike her short, sturdy body.

  “Mandy found me passed out in her convertible one morning.” He smiled at the memory, which made Kim curious.

  “Why are you smiling, you idiot?”

  He shrugged. “She could have called the cops. Instead, she helped me, gave me a job. She was the best,” he finished.

  “Lots of people seemed to like her,” Kim observed. “Maybe I should interview some of them. You know, try to capture what she was like. It would be interesting.”

  Jordan raised an eyebrow. “Interesting wouldn’t be the half of it, but you better run it by Lille.”

  “Why Lille? Why not Mary?”

  Jordan looked surprised. “Or Mary, I guess. I don’t know.” He shook himself. “Lille is just so . . . take-charge, I guess.”

  Kim nodded. Lille was one of those people who expected to be obeyed. Kim wished she were like that sometimes. She wondered if Jordan felt that way as well—she didn’t think he expected to be taken seriously by anyone, even himself.

  By noon, Jordan and Kim were starving. Carl had left to deal with something regarding his art gallery, and Lille had done her best to complete the schedule and compile a list of web-design companies that would do a better job handling the videos Kim was uploading than the one they had at present.

  Lille came out of the office holding a file, her reading glasses perched on her nose.

  “Jordan, do you know where the digital images are for these pictures?” She pulled one out of the file and held it up; it was from a Halloween party several years before.

  Jordan walked over and took it from her while Kim filmed their interaction. She caught the instant he recognized the photos and smiled at the image of Mandy dressed as Miss Hannigan from Annie, with Max and Jordan as gangsters, complete with slicked-back hair.

  “This was great. John was in Afghanistan at the time, and Max’s uncle had died a few months prior. Mandy had wanted to celebrate, so Max caved and wore a costume. It was awesome.” He frowned, considered. “I don’t think there are digitals. Mandy liked to use film cameras—said they were more exciting, like a surprise.”

  “Great.” Lille blew out a breath. “Don’t suppose you know where the negatives are?”

  Jordan nodded, hair flopping in his eyes, which looked increasingly tired as the day went on. “In the hatboxes on the top shelf in the closet.”

  “Okay. Awesome.” She looked at him or, rather, at the camera. “You guys ready for lunch?”

  Kim stopped filming and nodded. “Fucking starving.”

  Lille’s mouth twitched. “All right, then. Jordan?”

  “I could eat anything right now.” He paused for dramatic effect, then locked eyes with Kim.

  “Eeew.” Kim sneered at him, and he laughed.

  Lille rolled her eyes. “Okay, why don’t you two go get some food? My treat.” She held out two twenties.

  Kim crossed the room and lifted the twenties before Jordan, who was standing right next to Lille, had even decided whether or not he would take the money.

  “Thanks.” Kim took the money, then seemed to have an internal debate before asking, “You want something?”

  Lille ignored the girl’s reluctant tone. “Where are you going?”

  “I know a good Chinese place. It’s not too far.”

  “Okay, something with chicken, white rice, and vegetables.”

  “Fine,” Kim said, and turned to Jordan. “You have a car?”

  “Yeah,” he said with a nod, and brushed his hair back. “Don’t you?”

  “No.”

  “How’d you get here today?”

  “None of your business, douche.”

  “Did you just call me douche?” Jordan asked, mock offended, as he located his keys and sunglasses behind the counter.

  “I did.”

  “I think you’re starting to like me.”

  “Delusional douche.”

  “Nice alliteration.”

  “I try.”

  Lille rubbed the bridge of her nose. She liked the two of them, but they were a little much. Especially together.

  The bell over the door jingled, and Bambi and Atticus burst in, collars jangling.

  Lille laughed and bent down carefully in her skirt, holding the folder with the pictures behind her back, while she petted their soft heads with her free hand.

  They licked her happily and wagged their tails; she looked up, expecting to see John and Mary, though they weren’t supposed to come in until this evening. Instead, Max stood there, his tall, dark form silhouetted against the bright blue Florida sky behind him.

  Lille froze; she couldn’t move under the power of those bright blue eyes. The dogs kept licking her hand until he called them off. She remained crouched, holding her breath, until he took one step, two, and the door closed behind him.

  He stopped in front of her, her head level with his waist; he was wearing jeans again, and he looked uncomfortable, as if they were too tight all of the sudden. She expected him to say something surly and rude, something in keeping with his character, but all he did was hold his hand out to help her up.

  She debated internally, but a lady never refused a gentlemanly gesture, especially from a man who was decidedly not a gentleman. She took it, sliding her smooth fingers into his rough palm and straightening.

  Dropping his hand imme
diately, she stepped back and swallowed, moving the folder from behind her back to cover her chest protectively, though she wasn’t sure why she was suddenly nervous.

  “Max,” she said finally. “What are you doing here?”

  The dogs were sitting at his feet, tongues lolling.

  Max seemed quiet today but not angry, which left her unsettled. He was always a little angry. He raised one thick eyebrow. “I’ve brought the dogs for your keeping today. I’ve got to head down to the pub and take care of some things.”

  “Carl said you didn’t work on Sundays.”

  “Carl’s here?”

  “He was. He ran over to his gallery.”

  He grunted. “So yer here by yourself, then?”

  She nodded. “But the security guard is outside, and Jordan and Kim should return from getting lunch in a few minutes.”

  “Kim? The girl with the camera ever glued to her head?”

  Lille hesitated. She’d never talked to him about the film she was working on for the Box, but Mary had. Apparently, he hadn’t been pleased—shocker. Yet another disruption to his life to lay at her door. She’d wanted Kim to film at Max’s pub—Jobman’s—as well, but she had thought it prudent to put it off for a while.

  “She’s working here as well now. Kaylee decided not to come back.”

  He made an indistinct noise. “Tough to blame her,” he said after a moment. “This Kim is the girl whom Carl is after saving, is she? She seems an interesting sort.”

  Lille’s lips twitched. “She is. Very.”

  They fell silent, looking at each other.

  Lille didn’t know what he was thinking, but his eyes kept drifting to her mouth, which made her think of sucking his dick, of having him below her, at her mercy.

  “Where are—”

  “John and Mary—”

  They both spoke at the same time, then stopped. Lille hated that she felt awkward and uncertain; it was ridiculous. It was just Max.

  She decided she wasn’t having any more of it. “Where are John and Mary?”