roaring his frustration at the top of his lungs, but it’d have to do. “When and where do they want to shoot?”
“Jamaica, at the end of March, which is…” He heard a couple taps on a keyboard. “Two weeks from now. Can you wrap up your, er… investigation by then?”
“No.” Then he shook his head. “I have no idea.”
Estelle made a sound of sympathy. “How’s it coming?”
With the exception of stumbling across the hottest woman he’d ever been lucky enough to lay eyes on, this journey of his was striking out in the worst way. “I suspect the only correct information Marcel Dubois gave me was his first and last name. Everything else is starting to look like nothing more than a fantasy-filled load of bullshit.”
“But Dubois was Frank Bournival’s assistant. He was present when Bournival funded House Of Payne’s beginning.”
“I have no doubt that Marcel Dubois knew the basics of the deal. But to say that Scout Upton traded sex for that funding, then carried that mercenary practice further by sleeping her way into a sick old man’s will is ridiculous.”
“I don’t know,” came the thoughtful reply. “From what you’ve told me about this Scout Upton, she came from the inner city, right?”
“Right. So?’
“So… a smart girl—and a pretty girl—would do just about anything to get out of that concrete hell.”
“ Enough .” The heat of unformed fury seethed from that one word, leaving shocked silence in its wake. But it couldn’t be helped. Whatever happened between Scout and Frank Bournival was years ago. He wouldn’t have it taint the amazing woman she was now.
“Ivar.” Estelle’s voice was both careful and gentle. “I’m not judging, okay? Her, or you.”
“You have no idea who this woman really is.”
“I hate to say it, but neither do you.”
“Yes, I do. I have looked into her eyes. I know who she is, and it is not what that Dubois asshole claimed.”
“Why would he lie?”
The calm, eminently logical question made him want to throw his phone. Instead he grabbed up his camera with his free hand and once again searched for Scout’s place. There she was, in a frilly, girlie bit of nothing sitting on the edge of her big bed rubbing some kind of lotion on her lower legs.
In an instant he calmed, the angry churning inside him stilling into a beautiful peace as he watched her hand glide over her flesh. He’d bet anything that whatever she was rubbing into her skin smelled like flowers. Roses, maybe. Or honeysuckle.
Damn. It was a crime she didn’t sleep naked. If she did, she’d probably rub it all over her body before going to bed.
He’d be happy to help her with that, if and when he ever got the chance.
And he’d do fucking anything to get that chance.
“Maybe Dubois felt he got shafted in Bournival’s will,” he answered at last, shifting in his seat when his flesh swelled so fast the pressure behind his zipper became a sweet, teeth-gritting agony. “Maybe the man is pissed she became successful with House Of Payne while he never set the world on fire. Who knows?” All he knew at the moment was that if he didn’t do something soon, he’d empty himself right there in his shorts.
He heard his manager sigh. “Ultimately, you need to find out one thing, and one thing only—if she knows what Frank Bournival’s connection is to you, if any. Right?”
“Right.”
“You’ve got a couple more weeks to figure it out, so stay zeroed in on that. But then life has to go on, Ivar. And your life isn’t in Chicago.”
Like that was a newsflash, he thought, tossing the phone absently on the desk to focus through the lens. Of course Chicago wasn’t where his life was.
But as he watched Scout smooth lotion on her arms and over her shoulders, then reach under the lacy cups of her little girlie gown to touch her breasts, he forgot all about where his life should and shouldn’t be. All that mattered at that moment was Scout.
And whether or not he
“Jamaica, at the end of March, which is…” He heard a couple taps on a keyboard. “Two weeks from now. Can you wrap up your, er… investigation by then?”
“No.” Then he shook his head. “I have no idea.”
Estelle made a sound of sympathy. “How’s it coming?”
With the exception of stumbling across the hottest woman he’d ever been lucky enough to lay eyes on, this journey of his was striking out in the worst way. “I suspect the only correct information Marcel Dubois gave me was his first and last name. Everything else is starting to look like nothing more than a fantasy-filled load of bullshit.”
“But Dubois was Frank Bournival’s assistant. He was present when Bournival funded House Of Payne’s beginning.”
“I have no doubt that Marcel Dubois knew the basics of the deal. But to say that Scout Upton traded sex for that funding, then carried that mercenary practice further by sleeping her way into a sick old man’s will is ridiculous.”
“I don’t know,” came the thoughtful reply. “From what you’ve told me about this Scout Upton, she came from the inner city, right?”
“Right. So?’
“So… a smart girl—and a pretty girl—would do just about anything to get out of that concrete hell.”
“ Enough .” The heat of unformed fury seethed from that one word, leaving shocked silence in its wake. But it couldn’t be helped. Whatever happened between Scout and Frank Bournival was years ago. He wouldn’t have it taint the amazing woman she was now.
“Ivar.” Estelle’s voice was both careful and gentle. “I’m not judging, okay? Her, or you.”
“You have no idea who this woman really is.”
“I hate to say it, but neither do you.”
“Yes, I do. I have looked into her eyes. I know who she is, and it is not what that Dubois asshole claimed.”
“Why would he lie?”
The calm, eminently logical question made him want to throw his phone. Instead he grabbed up his camera with his free hand and once again searched for Scout’s place. There she was, in a frilly, girlie bit of nothing sitting on the edge of her big bed rubbing some kind of lotion on her lower legs.
In an instant he calmed, the angry churning inside him stilling into a beautiful peace as he watched her hand glide over her flesh. He’d bet anything that whatever she was rubbing into her skin smelled like flowers. Roses, maybe. Or honeysuckle.
Damn. It was a crime she didn’t sleep naked. If she did, she’d probably rub it all over her body before going to bed.
He’d be happy to help her with that, if and when he ever got the chance.
And he’d do fucking anything to get that chance.
“Maybe Dubois felt he got shafted in Bournival’s will,” he answered at last, shifting in his seat when his flesh swelled so fast the pressure behind his zipper became a sweet, teeth-gritting agony. “Maybe the man is pissed she became successful with House Of Payne while he never set the world on fire. Who knows?” All he knew at the moment was that if he didn’t do something soon, he’d empty himself right there in his shorts.
He heard his manager sigh. “Ultimately, you need to find out one thing, and one thing only—if she knows what Frank Bournival’s connection is to you, if any. Right?”
“Right.”
“You’ve got a couple more weeks to figure it out, so stay zeroed in on that. But then life has to go on, Ivar. And your life isn’t in Chicago.”
Like that was a newsflash, he thought, tossing the phone absently on the desk to focus through the lens. Of course Chicago wasn’t where his life was.
But as he watched Scout smooth lotion on her arms and over her shoulders, then reach under the lacy cups of her little girlie gown to touch her breasts, he forgot all about where his life should and shouldn’t be. All that mattered at that moment was Scout.
And whether or not he
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