See You In My Dreams Read online

  Mon Dieu but young Nikki had taken charge like she did business deals every day. In spite of her waif-like beauty, the girl possessed plenty of spunk when the situation called for it.

  “You're going to have a problem with her,” Ned warned. He relaxed in his chair, his lawyer persona suspiciously absent.

  “Mrs. Prentice will be content with her cut.” Max shrugged, dismissing Ned's statement with a wave.

  “I didn't mean the avaricious Mrs. Prentice. I meant tall, blonde and only sixteen."

  “Don't be ridiculous. Nikki is..."

  “Head over heels. She couldn't keep her big baby blues off you, man."

  “Enough,” Max warned. Surely, I'm not that transparent. It was Ned's imagination.

  “Yeah, just like what runs through your mind every time she comes around.” Ned stood up and leaned both hands against Max's desk. “So, what're you going to do about it?"

  Max exhaled, impatient to change the subject. “Nothing."

  “Like I said, you're going to have trouble with her."

  “She's a kid."

  “But, you are attracted?” Ned cast Max a skeptical look over his glasses, as if daring him to deny it.

  “Drop it.” Max straightened the papers in front of him for the second time.

  “Okay, pal. Have it your way.” Ned grabbed his briefcase, gave Max a smirk and two-fingered salute. “Gotta go."

  “Right. Gym tomorrow?"

  “Yeah."

  Without another word, Ned left, still shaking his head. Ned knew Max too well, but his game plan was in place. He wouldn't budge from it. Distance, he swore—he'd keep his distance.

  Five

  “But you have to go.” Nikki pleaded.

  Renée squeezed her eyes shut. “Nikki, it is the migraine. I must go to bed. Cherie, you look beautiful. Your gown, your hair, your makeup are magnifique."

  “But I need you. I've never been to anything like this party. People will look at me."

  Rubbing her temples Renée declared, “Of course, they will. You are the newest sensation. I will call Jolie at the agency. She will provide an escort. It is short notice, but it is certainly within her skills."

  “Jolie can't stand me. She's always reminding me of where we met."

  “Nonsense. She will do as I ask.” Renée reached for the telephone.

  “Please let me stay home. Y-you're not feeling well. I shouldn't leave you like this."

  “No. Now I know you feel uncertain, but please believe me, there is nothing for you to be insecure about. It is a party, not trial."

  But a trial is exactly what it would be. A trial by fire.

  “But—"

  “Not another word."

  Nikki listened as Renée called Jolie and made her request. "Merci beaucoup, Jolie. I knew you would not fail me.” Her mentor smiled as she hung up the telephone. “See there. Jolie was more than agreeable to finding you an escort for the evening."

  “Yeah, I'll just bet she was thrilled all the way to her toes."

  “Nikki, enough. I am retiring for the evening.” Renée kissed Nikki on the forehead. “Please try and enjoy yourself."

  “Yes, Maman."

  ~ * ~

  Nikki paced back and forth, her spike-heels clicking on the marble floor of the Ladies Room. She couldn't stay in there all night. The attendant had already given her some curious glances, offered to assist her with her hair, make-up, whatever. She hated facing all those society broads and tried to remember all the lessons Renée had tried, so patiently, to instill. Now Nikki wished she'd paid more attention. She didn't want to disgrace the agency or ... or Max. From the first moment, she'd slipped it over her head, the elegant white haute couture gown had made her feel like a princess, momentarily. But the sad fact remained, she felt out of place.

  Tonight it was a stranger who stared back. Nikki pouted, then wrinkled her nose and stuck out her tongue at her reflection. Jeez. Still, she felt like a little girl playing dress-up in her mama's Sunday dress and high heels.

  Only a few months before, she'd been eating out of garbage cans, and now she was hobnobbing with people who expected her to know a shrimp fork from a demitasse spoon. If she made it through the evening without tripping over her dress or spilling wine down the front of it, she'd consider it a pretty good night. Why, this night of all nights, did Maman have to come down with one of her headaches? Nikki took a deep breath and sighed.

  The attendant rose to her feet. “Are you all right, miss?” she asked.

  “Uh-yes, thank you,” Nikki murmured. Taking another deep breath and gathering her courage, Nikki turned to leave.

  The door swung open, and a petite young woman with a riot of curly hair swayed in and sank onto the brocade chair. “Is the bartender heavy-handed or what?” the young woman asked.

  Nikki walked toward her, hesitating. “Is there anything I can do?” she asked, afraid her offer would be refused.

  The woman opened one eye and looked Nikki up and down. “Who are you? God, you're beautiful."

  “I'm Nik-Nikki Prentice,” she stuttered. “Thank you."

  “I'm Marti Lodge,” the young woman announced, then added. “I should've known who you are. You're the new model everyone is buzzing about. What are you doing in here? You should be out there breaking hearts.” Marti gestured in a not-so-graceful wave.

  Before Nikki could reply, the color drained from Marti's face.

  Marti clapped a hand to her mouth. “'Scuse me,” she muttered and rushed for the nearest stall, leaving the door open in her haste.

  Nikki followed and found Marti on her knees, heaving into the enamel throne. Nikki rushed back to the attendant. “She's ill. I need a wet cloth."

  “Of course.” The attendant had one ready and handed it to her.

  Nikki took the cloth, throwing a hurried, “Thank you,” over her shoulder, she rushed back to Marti. No longer retching, Marti sagged against the toilet bowl. “Here, let me bathe your face with this."

  “Thanks, sweetie, I guess I should stick to wine.” Marti wiped her mouth and placed the cold cloth against her neck. “Hard liquor has always been my downfall, ever since I contracted hepatitis on my first honeymoon.” Marti rolled her eyes, before adding, “in Borneo."

  “Borneo? You went to Borneo on your honeymoon? I'm not even sure where that is."

  Marti nodded her head. “My first one. He was a rock star, and we ran away. It was so romantic, until I drank the water and turned yellow as a pumpkin."

  “Your first honeymoon? Did he take you on another one later?"

  “No, I meant my first husband. My second took me to Africa on Safari. I picked up malaria there."

  Nikki stifled a giggle. “Maybe you should think about staying single—or forget about honeymoons. Want to try and stand up? You're ruining your lovely dress."

  “I guess, I might as well.” Marti held up a petite, well-manicured hand. In comparison, Nikki thought her own were large and ugly. She gave a tug and Marti struggled to her feet.

  “Feel any better?"

  “Better than I did,” Marti replied, shoving her frosted curls back, but her face remained pale. Together they walked over to a love seat and sat down. Marti turned to Nikki and asked, “Now, tell me why you're hiding in the ladies room, instead of partying with the other young-and-restless beautiful people?"

  Nikki looked down at her folded hands, “I don't really like parties. I'm not used to them,” she admitted shyly, feeling the blood rush to her face.

  “Good Lord. How old are you anyway?"

  “Sixteen, almost seventeen. Well, I will be in August."

  “Good grief. Sixteen, and someone turned you loose in this bunch? Given the chance, some of these people would have you for dinner."

  “I know. One has already tried,” Nikki admitted with a slight grin.

  “Was it true? Were you really a runaway when Max Devereaux found you?” Marti asked. “I mean there's so much hype in publicity, I never know what to believe."


  Nikki nodded.

  “This bunch shouldn't be so scary. You've handled worse situations, I'm sure."

  “Well...” Nikki couldn't help but grin. “...I'm supposed to be on my good behavior. A knee in the crotch and an elbow in the ribs might be a little extreme."

  “Not always, but I do see what you mean.” Again, Marti brushed hair back from her face, her color improved. “Well, it's obvious to me that you need a chaperone, not that I'm such a good one, but I can certainly make things easier for you."

  “That's very nice of you, but it's a lot of trouble. You don't have to—"

  “But I want to. Look, hon, I am Martha Lodge. My blood is bluer than blue, and I cut my teeth on Emily Post. Now, let's drag your buns out there and have some fun."

  Nikki shook her head. “I'd rather go home, but Maman would be disappointed. She's been so good to me that I don't want to do anything to upset her."

  “Maman—you mean Max's mother?"

  Nikki nodded. “Yeah, she was supposed to be here tonight to sort of supervise from a distance, but she came down with an awful headache. I wanted to stay home with her, but she wouldn't hear of it. She's pretty stubborn. So here I am."

  “You-uh, live with her?"

  “Yeah, until I'm eighteen, anyway."

  “Hmm, cozy."

  “What do you mean—cozy?” Nikki heard the edge creep into her voice, but she couldn't help it. She knew, or thought she knew, exactly what Marti Lodge meant.

  “Sorry, I didn't mean to jump to conclusions."

  “It's not like that. Max—Mr. Devereaux doesn't live with us. He has his own place, and he's a perfect gentleman. Besides, he's way too old for someone like me.” Nikki swallowed and added in a low voice, “He'd never looked at me twice."

  “Sweetie, any man with a gram of testosterone would look at you twice."

  “Well, he isn't like that. He's a gentleman. Very old-fashioned and proper, actually,” Nikki said, affecting a high-toned accent.

  “Really?” Marti raised a finely arched brow. “Well, old-fashioned or not, I've always heard that Frenchmen made the best lovers."

  Nikki gulped. Lover? Max would never consider—

  “Sorry,” Marti giggled. “Here I am corrupting you. I'll have to be careful. How long were you on the streets, anyway? You act more innocent than some of the convent-educated girls I've known."

  “'Bout four months, but I was lucky. Mr. Devereaux rescued me before anything bad happened. But I know what you mean about Catholic schools. I've attended a couple of them. myself. My mother always did her best to keep me in school."

  “At least she tried."

  “She did, but we fought about everything else. She had a real fit when I started ditching school, so I took off. That's how I ended up on the streets."

  “I see.” Marti hesitated, dropping her voice to a whisper. “I know this is so rude, and absolutely none of my business, but did you ... I mean, were you...?"

  “No! I didn't.” She leaned close to Marti and whispered, “Tonight, a guy offered to pay me, like he really thought I would do it."

  “That's when you should've applied your knee to his crotch."

  Nikki giggled and gave a vigorous nod. “That's why I came in here. My date—Jolie at the agency arranged it—he propositioned me five minutes after he met me."

  Marti rolled her eyes heavenward and shook her head. “Do you know anyone else at the party tonight?"

  “Mr. Devereaux's here—and a couple of models from the agency, but they still treat me like an outsider. Last I saw of Irena and Kathleen, they were having too good a time to pay any attention to me."

  “Well, let's find Max Devereaux and tell him it's time he took responsibility for his newest protegée."

  Nikki pulled back. “Oh, no, let's don't."

  Six

  Max sipped his champagne, half-listening to his socialite companion while she gossiped on and on about the latest fashions with one of her friends. He heard enough of that kind of chatter at the agency. He wondered exactly how long he would be forced to maintain his pretense of interest. Joanne was lovely, but apparently without a serious thought in her head. Where the hell is Nikki?

  Never again, would he allow Ned Landry to arrange a blind date. Horrible custom. But his mother had called, frantic and in pain from one of her migraines. She'd insisted he must attend the party and keep an eye on Nikki and her escort. Now he was here with a less than engaging companion, but where the hell was Nikki?

  He cast a weary glance around the crowd. Other than Nikki's splashy entrance with automotive scion Jason Kingsley, Max hadn't seen her. He grew concerned, given the state of Kingsley's reputation. Nikki was still quite inexperienced in social situations. He wondered why Jolie had paired Nikki with Kingsley. He hoped the former runaway wasn't overwhelmed. But his mother had assured him Nikki would be fine and deserved the opportunity to have some fun as well. Still, he worried. To his way of thinking, Nikki was vulnerable and innocent, in spite of her time as a runaway.

  A flash of blonde hair caught his eye. Nikki. She's so lovely, it hurts, he thought, admiring her shining beauty. The girl was literally being towed toward him by a petite young woman—he'd met her before. He was certain of it and struggled, trying to recall her name.

  “Bonsoir M. Devereaux,” the diminutive woman said, in what Max thought was a nice, if not perfect, French accent.

  “Bonsoir Madame.” He turned and nodded at Nikki. “Bonsoir Nikki."

  A blush spread across Nikki's face. She looked as if she'd like to sink into the background.

  “Hi, Max,” Nikki responded, looking down at the floor

  “I'm Marti Lodge. You probably don't remember, but we met last year at the Kidney Foundation fund raiser."

  “Of course. Forgive me for not remembering your name. But we had a very charming conversation, if I'm not mistaken.” At least, he hoped they had.

  “M. Devereaux—"

  Max interrupted. “Please call me Max."

  “Well, Max, I found this young lady hiding in the Ladies Room. It seems her escort for the evening is something of a rat."

  An unexpected rush of anger engulfed him. He looked about the room, scanning for Kingsley, then turned to Nikki. “Are you all right?"

  Nikki looked at the floor, her face still flushed. “I'm fine, really. I'm afraid Marti's blowing everything out of proportion.” Nikki's body language altered. She straightened her shoulders, stiffened her neck, and jutted her chin. “I can take care of myself."

  “But of course.” Max squared his shoulders, growing aware of his surroundings, once more. Everyone near them had turned to stare, including his companion for the evening. Actually, Joanne glared. Desiring to avoid a contretemps, he bowed before Nikki.

  “Would you honor me with a dance, mademoiselle?"

  Nikki bit her full bottom lip, then grinned. “Mais oui, M'sieur Devereaux.” she replied and placed her right hand in his left.

  At her delicate touch, Max felt an unwanted current of excitement run up his arm ... and down to his groin. Mon Dieu. Deliver me from this madness.

  “Your French is improving,” he said. Trying to ignore the sudden tightening in his groin, he led her to the dance floor.

  “You really think so?” she asked him, her wide blue eyes gazing earnestly into his.

  “I wouldn't have said so, if I didn't."

  They reached the dance floor, and the band started an old-fashioned waltz. Max gathered her somewhat gingerly into his arms. Considering the effect holding her hand had on him, he feared his body would betray his growing ardor, if he held her any closer.

  Max inhaled her scent. It filled him with the impulse to clasp her tighter in his embrace and place his lips on her slender ivory neck. The fragrance was light, French, of course, but one with which he was unfamiliar. It suited her perfectly.

  He led Nikki through the predictable one-two-three beat. At first, she followed his lead with careful, but studied steps. Then as she appeared
to gain confidence, she relaxed in his arms, moving gracefully in rhythm to the strains of Strauss.

  A tremor passed though his body. His arms shook with tension. Was his self-control so fragile that holding her was tantamount to losing his bearings?

  Why does she affect me this way? he agonized. He'd been surrounded by beautiful women every day for the last six years. Why did one shy sixteen-year-old girl screw up his equilibrium until he had trouble thinking.

  Thankfully, the waltz was a short one. The music stopped. Max bowed, then led Nikki back to the spot where Marti and Joanne waited. Max surveyed the room, looking for Kingsley. “I don't see your escort."

  “I'm not leaving with him.” Nikki's chin went up a notch. “He's a pig. I'll take a taxi home."

  A pig—leave it to Nikki to call it like she saw it. Amused, he offered, “We'll see you home.” He turned to Joanne and asked, “If you have no objections?"

  “Of course not.” Joanne gave him a perceptive smile. “We certainly can't allow a social swine to take advantage of such a young girl."

  “That's it then.” Maxi declared, only too aware of Joanne's disapproving tone.

  “I'll call you tomorrow, Nikki,” Marti interjected. “We'll have lunch."

  Nikki gave a bemused nod. “Okay."

  “Shall we go?” Not waiting for an answer, Max ushered Nikki and Joanne toward the door. Escape was all he cared about. Escape ... and regaining his self-control.

  ~ * ~

  The three of them rode along in an uneasy silence. At first Joanne had made several attempts at conversation, but Nikki's distant, if polite, responses soon quelled any further efforts. Max withdrew, finding an unaccustomed comfort in the dark silence. He knew his behavior was inconsiderate, but his emotions were too close to the surface. It had been years since he'd felt like a hormone-ridden teenager.

  Despicable. That's what he was.

  The limo stopped at his mother's townhouse, jarring Max from his isolation.

  Nikki placed her hand on the door handle. “Thank you for the ride."

  “I'll see you to the house.” Max opened the door on his side and sprang out before the chauffeur could. He ran around and opened the door for Nikki.