Full Tilt, Page 2

  "You most certainly do not need a face-lift! You have one more face-lift, and your eyes are going to be at the back of your head, and you'll have to enter rooms butt first. You'll give new meaning to the words 'grand entrance.' " Beenie waved his comb from side to side as he spoke, as though conducting an orchestra. "Besides, how many women do you know who have an entire room devoted to their beauty queen trophies?"

  "That was a long time ago, Beenie."

  "Well, you're still a beauty queen as far as the rest of us are concerned but especially to that hunk of man you married. Why, the way he looks at you—" Beenie paused and shivered. "I get all goose-pimply every time I see it."

  Deedee obviously wasn't listening because she seemed to take little delight in his words. "It's a wonder Frankie hasn't left me for a younger woman," she said. She picked up her magnifying mirror and looked into it. "Eeyeuuw!" she screeched so loudly that Beenie's hand flew to his chest as though he feared his heart might take flight.

  "Yikes, where did you get that mirror?" Beenie wrestled it from her. "How many times have I told you not to look into that mirror? Lord, girl, Britney Spears would look like a stray dog with mange in that mirror."

  "Look at me, Beenie. I've turned into a frumpy housewife."

  "You are definitely not frumpy."

  "I have dark circles beneath my eyes."

  "That's because you're not sleeping at night, sugarplum." Beenie patted her on the shoulder. "You spend too much time worrying about your husband and everybody else you can think of. You're the only rich person I know who worries about leaving a bathtub ring when you have a perfectly healthy housekeeper, who is overpaid in my opinion, to see to it. And if Frankie knew how much you were fretting over him he'd put you over his knee and give you a good spanking."

  Deedee seemed to consider it. "That's not a bad idea, Beenie. Frankie and I could use some variety in our sex life."

  Beenie's hands fluttered about his face like butterflies, something he often did when he became anxious. "I do not believe what I'm hearing. Mr. F worships the marble floors you walk on. His eyes light up when you enter a room. It's obvious he thinks you're the sexiest woman alive."

  Deedee wasn't listening. She covered her face with her hands. Her long slender fingers flashed with diamonds, as did her dainty wrists and earlobes. She was still as slender as a college girl, and as much as she'd sworn off exercising in her youth, she now worked out with a personal trainer three days a week. Of course it was up to Beenie to drag Deedee out of bed, kicking and screaming, and coax her downstairs to Frankie's gym each time her trainer arrived for their appointment. He claimed he was just doing his job, but it was obvious Beenie had a thing for the muscle-bound jock because he always wore his favorite silk Armani shirt when the man was expected. Today, Beenie was dressed in Gucci.

  But Beenie was like a pit bull when it came to Deedee, seeing she ate right, that her hair and makeup were perfect and her clothes neatly pressed. Deedee had stolen her "personal assistant" some three years prior from an exclusive spa, doubling his salary in order to get him. It had paid off. Beenie had transformed her, tossing aside Deedee's tight-fitting, rhinestone-laden outfits for linen and silk ones designed especially for her in Milan and Paris.

  "I never thought I'd be this old," Deedee cried. "I thought getting older was for everyone but me. I should have married a cosmetic surgeon instead of a wrestler. I tell you, Beenie, the stress is killing me. I don't know what Frankie is thinking. We should have stayed in Scottsdale where it was safe."

  "Honey, you know Mr. Fontana loves this little town and the people who live here. He wants to make a difference."

  "So why is Frankie receiving all those nasty letters?"

  "People can be jerks."

  "Max had better get his behind here fast. Heaven only knows where he is. He's as bad as our father. Just can't stay in one place long enough."

  "Now, now," Beenie said. "That's not fair. From what I understand, Max is a very important man with a lot to do. Frankly, your parents have always sounded a wee bit selfish to me, what with traveling all over the world without a second thought to their children. I would never do that to my children."

  All at once, Deedee cried out. "Eeyeuuw, I'm perspiring! Quick, Beenie, turn down the air before I melt."

  "The air is already as low as it can go, honeycomb. You're going to cause the units to freeze up like last time if you don't leave the thermostats alone. You're just having another hot flash."

  Deedee met the man's gaze in the mirror. The look in her eyes would have wilted a head of lettuce on the spot. "I am not having a hot flash. I am not going through menopause or premenopause, as you call it, and that's final!"

  Beenie slapped his hand over his mouth as though suddenly realizing his mistake. "What was I thinking?" he said. "Of course you're hot. It's the middle of June, and we're having a record heat wave. Look at me, I'm glistening myself." He pulled the lid off her most expensive talcum powder and made a production of powdering her neck and his. "There, now. Feel better?"

  "I'm having a nervous breakdown, Beenie, that's what it is. I'm going to have to go on tranquilizers. I'll probably become addicted and have to spend time at the Betty Ford Center. It'll look bad for Frankie. He'll lose the election and blame me, then he'll get a mistress."

  "Lord, girl, are you having a mood swing or what?" Beenie said, then winced and raised a fist to his mouth at the look she shot him. "Oh, my, I should cut my tongue out, chop it into little pieces and feed it to an alley cat."

  "I need to be alone," Deedee said tiredly.

  Beenie sighed his immense relief. "That's a good idea." He helped her into a satin Christian Dior bathrobe. "You need to rest now. Tonight is a big night for Mr. Fontana, and you want to be at your best."

  "I want to be awake when Max arrives."

  "I'll wake you the minute he gets here." Beenie paused and shot her a coy look. "What does he look like?"

  "Oh, he's very handsome and polished, and don't think he doesn't know it. He's also a freakin' supergenius. Used to blow up everything in sight when he was a kid."

  Beenie's eyes widened. "Like in bombs?"

  "Not real bombs, just stuff he found around the house. Kid's stuff, really. He had his own laboratory. Fortunately, our uncle and his wife took him in and turned Max around."

  Beenie tapped a forefinger against his top lip. "And a genius, huh. I love brainy men."

  * * * * *

  Frankie grinned and pumped Max's hand enthusiastically the minute the butler led him inside a living room that was the size of a bowling alley.

  "It's good to see you again, Max. Deedee will be thrilled."

  "Have you grown?" Max asked, looking straight up in order to meet the man's gaze.

  Frankie laughed. "Actually, I shrank an inch. I'm six foot seven now." He slapped his massive chest. "Still fit as a fiddle, though. I work out every day."

  Suddenly, Max shivered. "Why is it so cold in here? Your butler is wearing an overcoat."

  "Shoot, that's nothing," Frankie said. "The chef has a fire going in the kitchen fireplace." He glanced about as if to make sure they were alone. "It's Deedee," he whispered. "She's going through, uh, the change."

  "You mean menopause?"

  "Shhh, not so loud. She's in denial. Claims she's too young for that sort of thing, but it started about six months ago. You know how Deedee is about maintaining her youth. But don't worry, the housekeeper put an electric blanket on your bed so you won't freeze at night."

  There was a squeal of delight that caused both men to turn. Deedee raced down the long, freestanding staircase, her robe swirling about her long legs. She ran right into Max's waiting arms. "Oh, little brother, it's so good to see you!"

  Max hugged her. "Let me have a look at you," he said, stepping back for a full view. "You haven't changed a bit. How do you stay so young looking?"

  "She has a face-lift once a year," Frankie said, earning a dark look from his wife. As if sensing he'd said the wrong
thing, he added, "Not that she needs it, of course."

  "It's just a teeny-weeny procedure," Deedee said quickly. "Dr. Mitchell says I'm much too young for the real thing. Frankie, honey, why don't you fix Max a drink."

  "What'll it be?" Frankie asked, heading for a cabinet that opened up into a wet bar. "We have everything."

  "A soft drink will do."

  "Sit down, Max," Deedee said, leading him to a group of sofas that were covered in a bamboo print and sat on a leopardskin rug. Tall wooden giraffes peeked through leafy banana trees, and brass elephants supported glass cocktail tables.

  "Do you like what I did to the room?" she asked. "I was going for a jungle look."

  Max took in the room. "You succeeded very well," he said. "I noticed you chose to paint the house pink."

  "Salmon," she corrected. "It's the in color these days."

  "It looks pink to me, too," Frankie said, handing Max a cola. "Good thing I'm not still wrestling. The guys would think I had grown soft."

  Max toasted his brother-in-law with his drink. "Congratulations on winning the primary, Frankie. You'll make a great mayor."

  Frankie beamed with pleasure. "I still have a lot to do and Election Day is just around the corner, but I have a good campaign manager so it's going okay. The present mayor has been in office for ten years, and his father spent almost twice that time in office. I say it's time we get new blood." He leaned closer and gave Max a conspiratorial wink. "What I say in my speech tonight should win me the election."

  Deedee covered her face. "Oh, Lord, he's going to make somebody else mad, and they're going to run us out of town." Suddenly, she cried out. "Beenie, come quickly!"

  There was the sound of footsteps overhead. Beenie raced down the stairs. "What, what? Did your eyelash fall in your drink?" He came to a screeching halt at the sight of Max. He sucked in his stomach. "You must be Deedee's brother."

  Max glanced from him to an amused Frankie.

  "I'm Deedee's personal assistant, of course," Beenie said. He held out his hand. "Charmed, I'm sure."

  Max nodded. "Yeah, so am I."

  "Stop socializing, Beenie, and pack my jewelry," Deedee said loudly. "Sew it into the hem of my dresses like they did in the Civil War when the Yankees came. And all my makeup and moisturizing creams," she added.

  "But I don't know how to sew," he whined.

  She ignored him. "And tell the housekeeper to start packing the china and silver. We'll have to bury it in the backyard."

  Beenie planted his hands on his hips. "I hope you don't expect me to dig holes."

  Max watched silently, one corner of his lip turned up. He was obviously enjoying himself.

  "Deedee, what on earth are you planning?" Frankie said, his black brows drawn together so that they touched and made him look stern, a look that was completely foreign to him.

  She began wringing her hands. "That's what people do when they're getting ready to flee their homes."

  He immediately softened and took her hands in his large beefy ones. "We're not going to be forced from our home, sweetheart. Whatever gave you that idea?"

  "Frankie, it's obvious somebody doesn't want you elected; otherwise, why would you be getting all that hate mail?"

  "How do you know about that?"

  She hitched her chin high. "I'm your wife. I make it my business to know what's going on around here."

  Frankie looked hurt. "Do you think I'd let anything happen to you? Deedee, I'd risk my own life for you."

  "Listen, Frankie, I've watched you in the ring, and I dealt with it better than most wives, but this time I'm scared."

  "I thought you trusted me."

  "I do trust you, but I still worry."

  "That's for sure," Beenie said. "Why do you think she's got those god-awful bags under her eyes? Lord, I couldn't conceal them with white enamel paint." Beenie seemed to catch his mistake the minute he said it because his hands fluttered about his face and he turned three shades of red. Deedee glared at him. "Could we forget I said that?" he asked. "I would agree to forgo this year's Christmas bonus if we could just pretend I'd never uttered those words."

  "I want you to stop this nonsense," Frankie told his wife. "We are not going anywhere. I am going to protect you. Besides, all your jewelry is insured. If somebody takes it I'll just buy you more."

  "Oh, Frankie. What would I do without you?"

  He leaned over and gave his wife a long kiss.

  Max chuckled. "When are the two of you going to stop acting like newlyweds?"

  "When you find the right person, it just keeps getting better and better," Deedee said dreamily. "You should try it sometime, little brother."

  Frankie checked his Rolex. "It's getting late. We have to get ready for the fundraiser at the country club."

  Deedee looked proud. "Frankie's trying to raise money for the park he's planning. He's going to put it right smack in the center of town, and dedicate it to the founding fathers."

  "Yeah," Frankie said. "It's going to have this big fountain, and in the center a raised statue of two bronze wrestlers, one of them caught in a body scissor."

  "Like one of those Michelangelo statues," Deedee said.

  "I figure the kids will get a kick out of it," Frankie added. "Oh, and there's going to be a playground for the little ones."

  "Sounds like you thought of everything but a wrestling ring," Max said.

  "Oh, Frankie has already had one built at the YMCA," Deedee said, "and he gives lessons once a week."

  "He's very devoted to this town," Beenie said, still eyeballing Max.

  "Doesn't sound like you're taking retirement very seriously," Max said.

  Frankie shrugged. "I like staying busy, and it's for a good cause."

  Finally, Max stood. "Guess I'd better clean up."

  "I'll show you to your room," Beenie offered, already moving toward the stairs gracefully. "I'll even see that your bags are carried up for you."

  "By the way, there's a tux in your closet," Deedee called out once Max was halfway up the stairs.

  He turned and scowled down at her. "You did that on purpose. You know how much I hate to dress up."

  * * * * *

  Max stood beside Frankie, shaking hands and making small talk, but the look on his face suggested how bored he was. Deedee had simply introduced him as Max, her little brother, and nobody had made the connection. After an hour, Max slipped through a pair of French doors leading to a large balcony that overlooked a perfectly manicured golf course.

  He gazed at the woman for a full minute, a smile playing on his mouth. It would have been impossible not to recognize her. Jamie Swift was even better looking in person.

  * * * * *

  Jamie Swift was one irritated woman, and she didn't notice the stranger at first. Her mood had only worsened since she'd learned her investor was coming to town, and the last thing she wanted to do was mingle with the crowd inside. Frankie must have invited close to two hundred people, most of them couples, and she was without a date.

  Where the heck was Phillip? Here she was, dressed in her navy silk cocktail dress, the one Phillip claimed showed off the best legs he'd ever laid eyes on and brought out the highlights in her blond hair. Oh, what she'd give to be wearing her comfortable jeans and loose-fitting T-shirt and sprawled on her sofa reading a good book.

  And what was with these high heels? The saleslady at the discount shoe store had talked her into buying them. Dumb idea. She preferred sneakers. The spiked heels added a good three inches to Jamie's five feet seven and made her feel as though she should have strapped herself into a parachute before putting them on. If she fell she would break every bone in her body.

  Not that it would be the worst thing that had happened to her that day. She took a sip of her wine, her second glass.

  "Darn you, Phillip," she muttered. "Of all times to be late." He was probably sitting in his private club right now, sipping a Dewar's and talking about tax law. Tax law, for Pete's sake! Who cared? The subject held
as much interest to her as a hernia operation. "Oh, double damn," she said.

  Jamie caught movement and turned quickly, almost spilling her wine. Her mouth flew open, and her cheeks burned with embarrassment as she found herself gazing at one of the best looking men she'd ever laid eyes on. And, he had caught her talking to herself.

  Chapter Two

  "Excuse me," Max said. "Is this a private conversation?" When the woman winced, he smiled. "I'll bet he's a rabbit and his name is Harvey."

  Jamie was tempted to dive from her high heels and end it all right there. "How much did you hear?"

  "Something about a guy named Phillip who's really late." Max cocked his head to one side. "He must not be very smart."

  "Phillip is my fiance. And very late. Who are you?"

  "Max."

  "Jamie Swift." She offered her hand.

  He took it and they shook. "Nice to meet you, Miss Swift." Max reluctantly let go of her hand.

  Jamie studied him. "You're not from around here, are you?"

  "Just visiting."

  Jamie wasn't surprised. She would have noticed him, what with those broad shoulders and olive complexion that was even more attractive against his white shirt. He did wonderful things to a tux. His face was striking, interesting to look at. She didn't know if it was the wine or the man, but one of them was making her light-headed. Be just her luck to do something stupid and swoon. And her engaged and all. That would certainly start tongues wagging in Beaumont.

  "Nice to meet you, uh, Max." Dang, her voice suddenly sounded as though a bullfrog were giving birth in her throat. She cleared it. "Welcome to Beaumont."

  "I came out for some fresh air. The view out here is great."

  Jamie noticed he was staring at her and not the scenery. Smooth guy, she thought. Very smooth.

  "So, is your fiance the jealous type? Should I disappear in case he shows up and finds you standing out here alone with a strange man?"

  Jamie chuckled. "Maybe that's exactly what he deserves. I think he's beginning to take me for granted." She checked her wristwatch. "But he's more than an hour late. I seriously doubt he's going to make it at this point."