Read Online The Silver Fox and the Red-Hot Dove by Deborah Smith - Free Book Online
Authors: Deborah Smith
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him walk away. His private quarters were on the other side of the house. He’d told her he kept the entire upper wing to himself. Lonely, mysterious Audubon. Did she dare believe he was a friend?
Dragging with fatigue and nervous exhaustion, she soaked her feet in a claw-footed bathtub in a bathroom larger than most Moscow apartments, with pale blue carpet as plush as the fur of a Russian sable. Tossing the housedress aside, she looked at herself in a gilt-edged mirror, seeing a raggedy blond woman in very plain, utilitarian white panties and a pointed bra.
American women didn’t wear pointed bras. She hoped new underwear was part of the clothes Audubon had mentioned. It occurred to her that she was becoming very uncomfortable with the way she looked to him.
Frowning, she stripped off her underwear and sank into a canopied bed with sheets trimmed in white lace, and pillows almost as large as herself. The room’s delicate white antiques stood out in the moonlight coming through an enormous bay window. The feel of the sheets and white satin coverlet made her naked skin flush with excitement.
Even after this terrible, exhausting day, which had left her trapped, alone, and fearing she’d revealed too much about herself, she felt a glimmer of hope. She thought of Audubon, analyzed him, mulled over his every word, every touch, the essence of him, and came to no conclusions. But she lay in the darkness, with the sheets making love to her skin, and watched a houseplant in one corner of the room begin to bloom.
Four
His Majesty, also known as Mr. Rex, was inarguably the most renowned expert in beauty and fashion among the wealthy women of Virginia. His Richmond salon even drew the elite from Washington. On many occasions he’d been brought to Audubon’s estate to tend a guest’s coiffure. As far as Audubon was concerned, the only worthwhile reason to hire Mr. Rex was his fierce code of silence. He never talked about his clients to
anyone
, and neither did his well-trained staff.
“His Majesty’s here,” Clarice announced to Audubon when the housekeeper, Bernard, called downstairs with the news. “Bernie’s cleared a place for him in the garden room because he insists on lots of natural light. Guess he’d get moldy in normal light. Ms. Petrovic has been brought to the throne room and is now being studied by His Majesty’s court. Bernie says His Majesty shrieked when he saw her. I don’t know if that’s good or bad.”
As Audubon stepped onto the main floor, eager to see Elena after spending a long morning in his underground office, he heard Rex shouting at an assistant. The perpetually exasperated voice echoed down the marble-tiled center hall from beyond the whitewashed arch that led to the glass-enclosed piazza across the back of the house.
“Use the
cream
facial, you twit! I said her skin was dry, not oily!”
Lost in his dark mood, Audubon couldn’t manage even a disgusted smile as he strode toward the beauty battlefield. Winning Elena’s trust and pampering her—if Mr. Rex’s attention could be called pampering—would have been pure pleasure except for his ultimate goal.
He had
never
let personal feelings interfere with his decisions before, but now two separate dilemmas had become tangled into one large, distracting worry. There was Elena, a woman like no other, and the first in years who made him want to rediscover life beyond his work. And there was Kash Santelli, his adopted son, who might be in trouble on an assignment. Their futures depended on Audubon … and possibly on each other.
Audubon forced a smile as he entered the sprawling room filled with plants and white wicker furniture. In the center of a cleared circle, where antique wicker and lush greenery had been pushed aside as if to form an arena, Elena’s tall, slender body was sunk into a special beautician’s chair that Mr. Rex carted along on private appointments.
In Clarice’s huge pink housedress she resembled an oversized
Dragging with fatigue and nervous exhaustion, she soaked her feet in a claw-footed bathtub in a bathroom larger than most Moscow apartments, with pale blue carpet as plush as the fur of a Russian sable. Tossing the housedress aside, she looked at herself in a gilt-edged mirror, seeing a raggedy blond woman in very plain, utilitarian white panties and a pointed bra.
American women didn’t wear pointed bras. She hoped new underwear was part of the clothes Audubon had mentioned. It occurred to her that she was becoming very uncomfortable with the way she looked to him.
Frowning, she stripped off her underwear and sank into a canopied bed with sheets trimmed in white lace, and pillows almost as large as herself. The room’s delicate white antiques stood out in the moonlight coming through an enormous bay window. The feel of the sheets and white satin coverlet made her naked skin flush with excitement.
Even after this terrible, exhausting day, which had left her trapped, alone, and fearing she’d revealed too much about herself, she felt a glimmer of hope. She thought of Audubon, analyzed him, mulled over his every word, every touch, the essence of him, and came to no conclusions. But she lay in the darkness, with the sheets making love to her skin, and watched a houseplant in one corner of the room begin to bloom.
Four
His Majesty, also known as Mr. Rex, was inarguably the most renowned expert in beauty and fashion among the wealthy women of Virginia. His Richmond salon even drew the elite from Washington. On many occasions he’d been brought to Audubon’s estate to tend a guest’s coiffure. As far as Audubon was concerned, the only worthwhile reason to hire Mr. Rex was his fierce code of silence. He never talked about his clients to
anyone
, and neither did his well-trained staff.
“His Majesty’s here,” Clarice announced to Audubon when the housekeeper, Bernard, called downstairs with the news. “Bernie’s cleared a place for him in the garden room because he insists on lots of natural light. Guess he’d get moldy in normal light. Ms. Petrovic has been brought to the throne room and is now being studied by His Majesty’s court. Bernie says His Majesty shrieked when he saw her. I don’t know if that’s good or bad.”
As Audubon stepped onto the main floor, eager to see Elena after spending a long morning in his underground office, he heard Rex shouting at an assistant. The perpetually exasperated voice echoed down the marble-tiled center hall from beyond the whitewashed arch that led to the glass-enclosed piazza across the back of the house.
“Use the
cream
facial, you twit! I said her skin was dry, not oily!”
Lost in his dark mood, Audubon couldn’t manage even a disgusted smile as he strode toward the beauty battlefield. Winning Elena’s trust and pampering her—if Mr. Rex’s attention could be called pampering—would have been pure pleasure except for his ultimate goal.
He had
never
let personal feelings interfere with his decisions before, but now two separate dilemmas had become tangled into one large, distracting worry. There was Elena, a woman like no other, and the first in years who made him want to rediscover life beyond his work. And there was Kash Santelli, his adopted son, who might be in trouble on an assignment. Their futures depended on Audubon … and possibly on each other.
Audubon forced a smile as he entered the sprawling room filled with plants and white wicker furniture. In the center of a cleared circle, where antique wicker and lush greenery had been pushed aside as if to form an arena, Elena’s tall, slender body was sunk into a special beautician’s chair that Mr. Rex carted along on private appointments.
In Clarice’s huge pink housedress she resembled an oversized
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