The Downfall of a Good Girl

But it was his time to milk the cash cow he’d become. Half-formed ideas that had been swimming in his mind were getting even more solid, and the pieces were falling into place with a rapidity that felt like fate intervening. The old coffee warehouse on Julia Street, investors like Gabe lining up with their wallets open…

If this all worked out—and it was looking like it just might—he’d be more than just a hometown boy done good. He’d be a part of this town in a way he’d never planned on before. Some of this was very new territory for him, but it felt good. It felt right. He didn’t have to put down roots here; the roots were here, waiting for him to come back. He just had to make sure they didn’t strangle him this time.

Mom might have thought his desire to be a musician was an act of defiance—a revolt against the expectations of going to college, joining Dad’s firm, marrying a nice local girl like one of the LaBlancs, and settling down in a mansion three blocks away. In retrospect, she might have been a little right, but other than the occasional unpleasant run through the tabloids and the time away from home she really couldn’t complain. Well, she was still pushing the nice-girl-big-house-some-grandkids agenda…

Which, oddly, brought him back to Vivi.

If he was serious about spending more time here at home he’d have to call some kind of truce with Vivi. Come to some kind of understanding. The circles they ran in overlapped occasionally, thanks to their parents and shared friends. They wouldn’t be able to completely avoid or ignore each other.

Fame had its privileges, but Vivi had clout. People respected her, and her opinions went a long way. It would be hard to claim he was trying to do something good if Vivi objected. Hell, you couldn’t even claim to be a decent human being in this town if Vivi hated you. People might like him for various reasons, but everyone loved Vivi and courted her approval. As long as she hated him, folks would wonder why. And they’d assume it was all his fault.

God, it was annoying.

And while Vivi had miraculously become the most gracious and polite dinner partner he’d ever had Friday night, he doubted that graciousness would continue once she found out he was planning a return to what she no doubt considered her turf now.

Vivi would be fit to be tied, and he almost looked forward to telling her. No, he thought, walking that thought back in light of his earlier conclusions. He didn’t need her approval—though it would help—but he did need her tolerance. Egging her on wouldn’t help his cause.

He hadn’t fully realized that he’d been staring at the door to Vivi’s gallery until the door opened and Vivi stepped outside. He started to slide back, but then realized she had no reason to look up, and probably wouldn’t see him even if she happened to do so. She paused mid-step, digging through her bag and pulling out a phone.

Two men standing next to a car gawked openly at Vivi, and realistically he couldn’t blame them. The black pencil skirt emphasized her legs and tiny waist, and the upswept hair showcased the line of her neck and high cheekbones. One of the men seemed to be encouraging the other to go over and speak to her. She is way out of your league, buddy, Connor thought. Vivi was, to quote his departed grandmother, “a prime example of good breeding and a proper upbringing.”

She finished her call and set a pair of sunglasses on her face before walking briskly toward the corner and turning on to St. Ann’s Street toward Jackson Square. Connor—and most of the other men on the street—watched her until she was out of sight.

Tomorrow he and Vivi would start the morning show media blitz, hitting all the local TV stations and kicking off the fundraising in earnest. After that, it was breakfast with some big donors and organization heads and a photo call. Most of his day would be spent in Vivi’s company.

While she’d been polite and gracious the other night, Connor didn’t believe for a second that it wasn’t an act. He knew her too well to fall for that. She was out to prove something by not sniping at him. He wouldn’t try to guess what her overall goal was—beyond not making herself look bad in the press—but he would not help her achieve it by attacking first. It played right into his plans to have her publically playing nice. It gave him her stamp of approval without her actually giving it. She probably hadn’t thought that part through. Talk about steaming her oysters.

He might be the Sinner—and it might be a well-deserved title—but Vivi wasn’t the only one who knew how to behave.

It would be interesting to see who broke first.

CHAPTER THREE

THE reporter with the plastic smile thought she was being very clever, but Vivi knew what was coming. Intentionally trying to fluster a guest with “gotcha” questions was unbelievably rude, in her opinion, but it was standard fare and just part of the game.

If Chatty Cathy here thinks she can fluster me, though, that girl is in for a big surprise.

She’d had every derogatory stereotype about pageants thrown in her face by reporters with more gravitas and bigger audiences and hadn’t broken. It might have been a few years, but she hadn’t forgotten how this was done. A couple of comments and questions about Connor weren’t going to tie her tongue and cause her to say something stupid. Or scandalously quotable out of context.

The smile grew wider. Bring it, Vivi thought, and let her own smile widen a bit, too.

“So, Vivienne, how did you feel when Connor’s name was announced Friday night? Were you very shocked?”

Vivi nodded, and the reporter brightened a bit, obviously figuring she’d hit the mark. Amateur. “Just as much as everyone else, I imagine. With Connor’s career taking off like it has, I never dreamed his schedule would allow him to come back and do something like Saints and Sinners.”

“So no problems, then, with this matchup?”

“Sort of.” She waited just long enough to tease that there might be a sound bite forthcoming. “I am quite competitive, and I wish they’d chosen someone who’d be easier to beat. But then I remind myself that, while this is a competition, there are no real losers in it. The money raised through Saints and Sinners does so much good for the community, and everyone involved is a winner.”

Answer the question, but deflect the intent and bring the interview back to the proper topic.

“And what about you, Connor?”

Vivi kept her face neutral as she turned toward him and thought, Don’t screw this up now. Surely Connor’s fame meant he had the experience to answer this? She thought of a dozen good answers and tried to think them hard enough that Connor might pick one up through ESP.

“I was pretty shocked myself to be chosen this year, but it’s an honor that actually brings with it the chance to do something good for a lot of people. So, like Vivi said, we all win—although I do hope to put on a good show at least.” He shot the lady-killer grin at the reporter, and now that he’d shaved off the goatee, his dimple was clearly visible. When he added a wink, the reporter blushed slightly and fumbled over her next words.

Oh, good Lord. Spare me the simpering females. Women had been falling all over themselves since Connor hit puberty, but the maturation of his features and body combined with his fame and charm…Vivi might understand the reaction, but she was still ashamed of her entire gender.

But she had to admit that Connor had done well dodging the impertinent question.

Unable to get a good answer out of Connor, the reporter had no choice but to cut to the graphic listing the upcoming events and direct people to the Saints and Sinners website.

The camera turned to the station’s meteorologist for the weather report and Vivi unhooked her mic.

Making all four local morning shows in two hours meant that their schedule was very tight, and there was no time to waste in idle chitchat. Connor, however, had decided to stop to sign autographs and pose for pictures. Vivi bit her tongue and waited with what she hoped looked like patience.

Finally, though, she had to step in and break up the love-fest. “I’m so sorry, y’all, but we’re going to be late for our next interview if we don’t leave right now.”

Connor fell into step beside her as they exited the building. “Thanks for the save. It’s hard to get away sometimes.”

“You can’t do that at every stop this morning or we’ll never make them all. I know you just hate to tear yourself away, but there are other people’s schedules to consider.”

“And there’s the mood swing to the Vivi I know.” He sighed dramatically. “I knew that perkiness was too good to last.”

Damn it, she’d already forgotten her pledge to be gracious and polite. “It’s six o’clock in the morning. I need to save all my perkiness for the cameras. Sorry.”

The driver had fresh coffee from a nearby shop waiting for them in the car. She nearly hugged him in gratitude—both for the caffeine and the chance to gather her thoughts and adjust her tone as she took a few sips and settled in.

“However, I don’t have the skill set necessary to be your bouncer, so you’ll need to either provide one yourself or else learn how to extract yourself from the fawning adulation of your fans.”

Connor leveled a look at her across the backseat. “Without those people I have no career. They support me. So the least I can do for them is sign an autograph and smile for the camera. Mock me all you like, but don’t ever mock my fans.”

The words were hard and cold, and that combination got her attention. She’d never heard Connor speak like that. “You’re actually serious.”

“As a heart attack.”

Vivi felt about two feet tall. “My apologies, then, for insulting your fans.”

Connor nodded his acceptance of her apology, then pulled his phone out of his pocket and began to tap at it. Vivi was glad for his distraction; she needed a moment to process. She’d seen Connor’s posing and autographing as glory-mongering—something to feed his ego. She hadn’t expected Connor to get so passionate about it. It made sense, though. He wouldn’t have a career without fans, so he should be appreciative of them.

She just wouldn’t have guessed that he would be.

Connor didn’t look up from his phone. “By the way, good job deflecting that question and reframing. You’ve had media training.”

The terminology gave him away. “As have you, it seems.”

“I learned the hard way that performing onstage and doing an interview are two totally different things. I only had to screw up once before I swore I’d never make that mistake again. What made you do it?”

Was he being intentionally dense? “About the time I won Mississippi River Princess I realized I really needed it.” She paused, but Connor didn’t make the connection. “I had my sights on Miss Louisiana and Miss America. I had a platform to promote, a title to represent and a reputation to protect. There was no way I was going in unprepared for the job.”

“I hadn’t thought about that. It doesn’t really look like that hard of a job.”

She snorted. “I could say the same thing about your job, you know.”

He looked at her like she was insane. “You’ve never done a six-month world tour.”

“And you’ve never been Miss Louisiana.”

“It’s not all glory and encores, you know. It’s hard, exhausting, cutthroat work.”

She smiled sweetly at him. “So is the Miss America pageant.”

Connor’s eyes widened at the implication. “I’m just surprised there’s more to it than showing up and looking pretty.”

“Somehow your lack of insight doesn’t really surprise me.”

“No need to get so huffy about it.”

She caught herself mid-huff and lifted her chin instead. “I really don’t have the patience to school you on incorrect pageant stereotypes this morning. If you want to believe I’m nothing more than an airhead, so be it. I’ve been called worse by better. But just let me remind you that my reign was over years ago. My tiara-wearing days are behind me, and I’ve moved on to other things to be proud of.”

“Like your gallery?”

“Yes.” She was very proud of the gallery and happy to brag about it to anyone who would listen—including Connor. And it seemed like a safe enough topic. “It seemed to take forever to get off the ground, but it’s doing really well now. We’ve recently been able to offer patronage to a few young emerging artists—providing studio space and a small stipend.”

“Good for you, Vivi.”

She couldn’t tell if that was sarcasm or not. Not that she would bite back—she was determined to keep a better hold of her tongue if it killed her—but she’d still like to know if Connor was mocking her. His face was inscrutable as he leaned back against the leather seats of the limo and closed his eyes.

“Wake me when we get there.”

And now I’m an alarm clock? Connor was obviously used to traveling with an entourage to cater to him. Don’t be so touchy. If it were anyone other than Connor, she knew it wouldn’t bother her quite as much. Still, though…it was rude to decide to nap instead of make polite conversation. Not that she wanted to make polite conversation, but it was the principle of the thing.

Connor stretched out his long legs, taking up a bit more than his fair share of the available space, and crossed his feet at the ankles. Amazingly, he seemed to be asleep a second later, his breathing slow and deep. How did he do that?

But that left her crawling through morning traffic in the back of a town car with no one to talk to. She could lower the privacy screen and talk to the driver, but thanks to Connor hogging the space she’d have to contort herself in order to accomplish that.

She pulled out her phone instead, to check her mail, but her eyes drifted to the big black boots parked next to her simple black flats. Big feet, she thought, to match his big head.

The head in question was tipped back against the headrest. Shaving the goatee really did make a difference, making his mouth seem more prominent and emphasizing that strong chin. Even with his features relaxed in sleep, Connor projected attitude.

He might be a piano-playing crooner, but Connor looked the part of a bad-boy rock star, and that image had helped fuel his popularity. Women loved the idea of a man who looked like that singing love songs in a voice that could send shivers all the way down to their toes. He was practically a musical fantasy come to life.

Even she had to admit—privately, of course—that Connor was freakin’ gorgeous. Broad shoulders, lean hips, a smile that caused feminine flusters every single time…A woman would have to be blind or dead not to appreciate him based on looks alone, and she was neither. She wasn’t ignorant or denying of his attributes; she was just immune to them because she knew him.

Wow, it was getting hot in here. The man radiated heat like a generator. Vivi had to fan herself. She did not want to go on TV all sweaty and red-faced. The climate controls were next to Connor, out of her reach unless she wanted to crawl across his lap, so she’d settle for cracking a window for fresh air.

The windows on her side of the car didn’t seem to open, so that meant she’d have to open the ones on the other side. But Connor’s legs blocked easy access to those controls, too. Who designed this vehicle? She should just wake him up, but that would seem petty and she was not going to be petty.

At least outwardly. Inwardly was a different situation.

Vivi slid to the edge of the seat, pushed up, placed one knee in her seat and lifted the other leg over Connor’s. She was reaching for the handle on the other side to pull herself over without touching him when the driver braked hard, jerking her forward and then backward as the car came to a stop.

Vivi lost her balance and fell back, landing hard and ungracefully in Connor’s lap.

Connor had merely been dozing, but the sudden stop of the car jerked him awake a split second before Vivi landed in his lap.

His arms went around her instinctively to steady her as she slid sideways, and his first ridiculous thought was that Vivi was a nice armful. She was small, but compact: the butt pressed against his groin was firm, and the thigh under his hand lean and strong. The curves he’d admired the other day felt even better than they looked. His body tightened and his skin heated at the contact.

Vivi’s head was just below his shoulder, and the light floral scent that always faintly surrounded her filled his lungs as he inhaled. He could feel her heartbeat and realized that his other hand had landed directly on her breast; the soft curve filled his palm perfectly. Something flashed through him, landing in his lap with as much force as Vivi had.

He moved his hand away, brushing her hair out of her face instead. “You okay?” he asked as he uncovered her mouth.

“I’m fine.” She scrambled to an upright position and scooted off his lap into the seat beside him and began finger-combing her hair back into place.

The privacy screen slid open and the driver’s concerned face appeared. “Sorry about that. Some idiot ran the light. You two okay?”

“I think so,” Vivi answered, but her voice was a little shaky. “Connor?”

“Fine,” he answered. While it seemed like Vivi had been in his lap for a long time, he realized only a few seconds had actually passed. Still, though, his body had reacted like a horny teenager’s, as if he’d never touched a girl before.

This was Vivi, for God’s sake.

He shifted in the seat, trying to find a more comfortable position while he got it back under control.

Vivi’s face was flushed, and he noticed her hands were shaking the tiniest bit. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, really.” As the car started forward again Vivi moved to the other seat. “I was trying to get across to open the window when we stopped. Sorry I landed on you.”

Maybe it was a little warm in here. He jumped on the excuse and pushed the button to lower the window. Fresh air filled the car, dispersing both the heat and the tension in the air. “Better?”

“Much.”

Vivi swallowed hard, and when she lifted her eyes to meet his and smile her thanks, he noticed how wide they were. How the pupils had dilated until the blue was a thin circle. Color still flagged her cheeks, and her breath had a ragged edge.

Vivi couldn’t hold the look or the smile, and she began to dig in her bag, emerging with lipstick and a mirror. Her hands still weren’t steady, and she concentrated on the task like it was the most important thing she’d ever done.

He hadn’t been the only one affected by those few seconds, and it looked like Vivi was still riding the shockwave. That knowledge slammed into him, and the air felt warm again.

“Oh, look—we’re here.” Vivi spoke rapidly, with relief dripping off her words, and she had the door open before the car came to a complete stop in front of the studio. “I’m going to run in and freshen up real quick before we go on air.” Then she bolted for the building like the hounds of hell were on her heels.

Honestly, he didn’t blame her at all.

Vivi needed to splash cold water on her face, but that would only make her mascara run and then she’d look like a raccoon during the interview. She settled for wetting a paper towel and running it over her neck and under the collar of her shirt to cool her skin.

Checking under the stall doors for feet and seeing none, Vivi let her breath out in a deep sigh and braced her hands on the counter.

Sweet mercy.

I was in his lap.

And his hand was…

And the other was…

Oh, she knew exactly where each hand had landed. She felt branded from the touch.

His hands weren’t the only part of him that had burned into her skin. Her butt had…He’d…She’d… Dear heaven, she couldn’t have landed in that exact position if she’d tried.

Mortified wasn’t a strong enough word.

Maybe if she hadn’t been ogling him just seconds before she might not now feel like she’d intentionally given him a lap dance.

That was bad enough, but worse was the realization that for a split second she’d enjoyed the embrace.

And so did he, a little voice said. The evidence had been impossible to miss.

But then she’d fluttered and stammered and…Ugh. She’d seen that look: he knew. And with his ego…

Her quick wish that the floor would open and swallow her went ungranted. Instead she dug for a comb and tried to repair the damage she’d done to her hair with her fingers earlier. After a critical look, she shrugged and let it go at presentable. Hopefully that flush would fade before they went on camera, but considering she was going to have to face Connor, she’d probably look like a ripe tomato all through the interview.

Connor was a hottie, but she was immune. She was not so shallow as to allow good looks and an amazing body sway her. She liked men with substance.

Somebody tell that to my libido.

“Vivienne?” A young woman poked her head around the door. “If you’re ready, we really need to get you miked.”

“Coming.” Vivi checked her teeth for lipstick in a last-ditch stall for time, but she really had no choice but to follow the woman out into the hallway.

Connor stood about twenty feet away by the studio door, autographing a CD case. He handed it and the pen back to the waiting fan, then smiled as a third person snapped a photo. He looked up as the woman shooed the other two away. His eyes met Vivi’s briefly before he looked away.

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