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Carr was a dead bastard.

  From the way the photo had been snapped, it was hard to make out much of Gwenyth’s face aside from the pummeling it had taken. He noticed, however, that her hair was still sleek and long, pulled up on top of her head in that sexy, come-hither topknot she’d always favored. Damn, but the sight of the pudgy little vixen could still make him hard enough to split a diamond into halves. ‘Course, he wasn’t sure she was still pudgy since the photo was only a mugshot of her face, but it didn’t matter. Gwenyth Marie Jones could make Sam “The Slam” Tremont hard as a baseball bat even if she weighed in at 300 hundred pounds, sported a beard, and wobbled around on a gimp leg. Always could.

  Sam reclined back into the chair and hiked his legs up onto the desk. Crossing them at the ankles, he allowed himself to think about Cupcake for the first time in many years.

  There had always been something between them. Something special. Something more than friendship, although that had been pretty damn good too. Sam knew that Gwen had loved him when she was a girl. That much would have been obvious to anyone with half a brain. He still grimaced whenever he thought back on how badly that lyin’ ex-wife of his had belittled Gwen to her face.

  And he’d let her.

  God, but he’d never forgive himself for the way Stacy’d hurt her. He wondered if Gwen had forgiven him either.

  Sam’s large, callused fingers absently brushed the outline of Gwenyth’s face as he studied the only link he’d had to her in ages. He hadn’t felt right going back to the Jones house after he’d married Stacy. His ex-wife had known straight up how he’d felt about Gwen and he’d owed it to Stacy at the time to make a go of their marriage. How was he to know she’d faked her pregnancy?

  Besides, Stacy had called him a pervert for even thinking of Gwenyth in that way, and at the time, Sam had agreed. She’d only been sixteen after all. Not that Sam had been much older.

  After the divorce, Sam had been afraid to call Harry and try to patch things up between them. He didn’t know whether or not his old pal would accept him back into the familial fold. So he’d taken the coward’s way out and done nothing. Sweet Jesus, but was he still payin’ for it now. He truly missed Harry. They’d been tight since grade school. Sam was just glad he’d worked up the nerve to call Harry again after he’d seen his picture in the paper. It would be good to hang out with his old pal again.

  Sam studied Cupcake’s photo more intently. Damn, but he missed her too. He ran his thumb over her cheeks, knowing good and well that if she smiled, those adorable dimples would pop out and bedevil him all over again. Grunting with remembered satisfaction, he then ran his index finger over her glossy mane of hair. The photo wasn’t of the finest quality, but he knew what the silky stuff would look, smell, and feel like in person.

  Shiny and light brown with golden, sunny highlights. Ahh yeah. And it would be satiny to the touch, and smell of strawberries too. He couldn’t eat a strawberry to this day without getting a semi hard-on.

  All that hair would go great against her tanned skin and her big green eyes. The contrast between Cupcake’s vixen tresses and the demure innocence of those wide jade eyes could do to him what no other woman could ever hope to.

  Sam cursed himself a fool when he felt the familiar ache take over his groin. What an ass he was! Cupcake’s face was battered and broken and here he was getting all hot and erect just looking at her. Fully erect, he qualified, glancing down at his lap.

  No wonder he had always taken such great pains to steer clear of Gwenyth in the past. Sweet Jesus! He would have been arrested if he’d done half the stuff he’d wanted to do to her back when she was sixteen. And fifteen. And …oh God … he refused to think back further than that. Fifteen. Fifteen was as far as he’d admit to. Okay, alright damn it, so she’d started growin’ those huge breasts around fourteen. But he hadn’t allowed himself to really look at them until she was fif—no sixteen. Definitely sixteen. Almost sixteen?

  Sam stilled when a thought struck him. He was already planning to attend Harry’s campaign dinner at the University of Tampa in a couple weeks. Maybe Gwen would be there too. Hell, of course she’d be there! She and Harry were tight, always had been. Cupcake would never miss an opportunity to be there for her big brother.

  Sam smiled when another thought came to him as bold as it pleased: Gwen wasn’t a little girl anymore. Cupcake was all grown up.

  Sam’s groin grew heavier. Sweet Jesus, he couldn’t wait to get back to Tampa.

  Chapter 3

  After paying her fare, Gwenyth alighted from the cab and slung her duffel bag over her shoulder. She walked at a leisurely pace toward Sherry’s Place, a diner she frequented in Culver City whenever she happened to be in the LA area. The eating establishment’s eccentric staff and owner reminded her of the old episodes of Alice that still occasionally ran on TV. Her favorite waitress Liz even looked like the woman who played “kiss my grits” Flo on the situation comedy.

  As usual, a long line of hungry patrons was waiting on the curbside for seating in the trendy dive. Groaning, Gwenyth shuffled to the back of the line, preparing to wait her turn. She wasn’t patient by nature, but Sherry’s cooking was worth the inconvenience.

  Crossing her arms over her chest, she bided her time in the same courteous, stoic manner as the rest of the patrons. Bored, her mind soon wandered to this morning’s photo shoot at Vantry Sportswear. She had been delighted to call back home afterwards and let Grandmama know that the first session had gone extremely well and that the assignment was turning out to be a highly enjoyable experience.

  “I’m so glad to hear it, sugar,” Verlene had enthused. “How long do you expect the whole shoot to last?”

  “Perhaps another day, two at best. I’m cataloguing their entire swimwear collection for women. No matter what, I’ll be home in time for Harry’s reception, though.” Gwenyth smiled into the phone, her excitement radiating over the connection. “I’m hoping if I do a good job they’ll ask me back next month to do the same for the men’s swimwear line!”

  “I’m sure they will, sugar. You’re more talented than even me,” Verlene admitted with a touch of pride.

  Gwenyth blushed. “You go too far, Grandmama. No one is that good.”

  Verlene chuckled. “You are, honey. By the way, did I mention that Sam Tremont will be here the day after tomorrow?”

  Gwenyth’s heart rate accelerated. A fact that annoyed her mightily. “So soon?” She cleared her throat, aware of the fact that her tone had risen a few shrill notches. “So soon? I thought he was coming into town only for the night of Harry’s reception?”

  Verlene sounded amused. “Said something on the phone about seeing you in the paper.” She clucked her tongue. “The boy was awfully concerned about the skirmish you had with Webster Carr. Claims he’s gonna kill the man.”

  Gwenyth was disgusted with herself for being so elated by Verlene’s proclamation. She ruthlessly squelched the traitorous feeling of pleasure that arose from the knowledge that Sam still cared about her. Besides, he’d always thought of her as a—gag—little sister. He’d never viewed her in the same amorous light she’d seen him in. Gwenyth sighed. Sam’s anger was no doubt a manifestation of his continued, brotherly feelings of affection toward her. Well, she thought morosely, he could keep them.

  “Uh huh. So like I was saying, Grandmama, Isabelle Vantry has already been dropping me a bunch of not so subtle hints that she still needs a photographer for the men’s wear shoot next month.” Gwenyth squirmed restlessly in the hotel room’s chair. Whether it was from worrying that Verlene had failed to pick up the cue and drop the subject of Sam Tremont altogether or from the fact that her underwear was wedging up her butt in the worst way, she couldn’t say. “Do you think she might ask me back?”

  Verlene made an unladylike snort reminiscent of the exasperated sound Elvis would have made if asked by a reporter whether peanut butter really did go well with bananas in a sandwich. “Of course she and Tom Vantry will ask you back, sugar. How can
you doubt it?”

  Gwenyth shrugged her shoulders, though Verlene couldn’t see that over the telephone connection. “I guess I’m just nervous, Grandmama. This is my first really big account as a solo artist for Jones & Jones. Most of the big names want you to do the majority of the work.”

  “That’s only because they aren’t aware of your talents until they see for themselves how voluptuous you can make all their gangly, rail-thin models look.” Verlene chuckled. “You even made that AAA cup model Vendetta look like Jane Mansfield for the ‘Kiss Me’ lingerie line last fall.”

  Gwenyth grimaced at the memory. That task had been no small feat. Like most fashion models, Vendetta had been shaped like a twelve-year-old boy, not like the thirty-something year old women the “Kiss Me” line had been hawking their underwear to. But somehow Gwenyth had given Vendetta breasts. And hips. And curves. Hell, the ads were so good she’d even bought a few pairs of the tacky scraps of silk and lace for her own use. Remembering as much, she shifted on the chair again, angling her butt in such a way that made it easier to pull the wedgie out from between her rear bumper cheeks. “Well Grandmama, perhaps you’re right.”

  “Of course I am, sugar.”

  Gwenyth’s name was finally starting to get noticed. She was at long last jumping out from behind Verlene Jones’ formidable shadow and casting one of her own. Some assignments, like the “Kiss Me” line were real tough, but sometimes they weren’t too bad. Such was the case in her current assignment. Luckily, Epiphany—the model she was working the most with for the Vantry’s new line—was slightly better endowed than Vendetta. Epiphany was a full A cup. And if she sat just so, she even had a curve or two.

  “I appreciate your confidence in me.” Gwenyth glanced at her watch and sighed. “But I better go. I’m supposed to meet up with Candy at Sherry’s Place in an hour.”

  “What’s Candy doing in Los Angeles?”

  Gwenyth groaned. “Don’t ask. Let’s just say that her stint as a journalist ended the day after it began. She claims it’s too dangerous.” Gwenyth chuckled. The affection she harbored for her closest friend was an apparent one. “Candy’s decided to write again—for now. But in the meantime, she’s auditioning for a part in that new soap opera, Nights of Ecstasy.”

  “An actress now, eh?”

  “Something like that.”

  Gwenyth’s reflecting over the telephone conversation she’d had with Verlene came to an abrupt halt when she spied Candy enthusiastically waving at her through the plain, undecorated windows of Sherry’s Place. Gwenyth smiled back. Good, she thought. No more standing in line. Her best friend had already acquired them a table.

  A few minutes later, after assuring Candy repeatedly that her eye looked a lot worse than it felt, Gwenyth accepted her drink from the waiter, then proceeded to gulp down a huge portion of her iced tea. She hadn’t realized she was so thirsty until Jon had set the glass in front of her. She absently noted that Liz wasn’t working today, but said nothing of it. The staff here tended toward the melodramatic. If she asked Jon about Liz, he’d only assume that she found his service somehow faulty.

  “Slow down already, Gwen, or you’ll have to pee before our burgers get here.” Candy blew out a bubble as she watched Gwenyth chug down her drink. She smiled bemusedly as she continued to crack away at the gum. “I can’t say for certain, but I really think I did a good job at the reading today.”

  Gwenyth set her glass down and grinned back at Candy. “Yeah? That’s so cool, Can. I hope you get it.”

  Candy let out a dramatic breath of air as she ran her fingers tersely through her shiny black hair. “I just don’t know if I want it,” she mumbled.

  Gwenyth raised a brow, but said nothing. Candy sighed again, then gave her the best explanation she could come up with. “I mean acting is fun and all, but it doesn’t call to me the way writing does.” She shrugged absently, a thoughtful look permeating her features. “I suppose I’ll stick with the romance novels until something comes along that calls to me more.”

  Gwenyth shook her head. She wasn’t certain if she should be irritated or amused by her best friend’s lack of direction. “Candy, when are you going to realize that writing romantic novels is your calling?” She sipped from her glass of tea as she studied her friend. “I never see you get as worked up over anything as you do over one of your books.”

  Candy grimaced. “It’s the truth. I know it.”

  “Then what the problem?”

  She considered that question as she blew another bubble. The echo of the popping sound when it broke was scarcely heard over the plethora of conversations going on around them. “I’ve written twenty books in the past eight years. In those books I have come up with like, I don’t know, maybe a hundred different ways of fucking.” She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “Quite frankly, I’m running out of ideas.”

  Candy uncrossed her arms and implored Gwenyth with her eyes. “I’m in the middle of writing this totally hot script, okay. It’s about a nun who falls in love with an escaped convict.”

  Gwenyth’s eyebrows rose in amusement. It was a story line unlikely to be repeated in real life, but Candy could make it work if any writer could. She was that good.

  “So I’m writing and writing and I’m really vibin’ on what I’ve got, okay. And then it happens.” Candy shuddered. She rubbed her arms as if warding off a chill. “I get to the scene, you know, the scene, and I draw a total blank.” She shook her head forlornly. “What am I going to do, Gwen? I’m out of fucking material.”

  Gwenyth bit her lip. She wasn’t certain, but supposed Candy’s last statement had been made in the literal sense. If her best friend didn’t look quite so dejected, she would have laughed. Instead she nodded, then rolled her eyes slightly toward the back of her head while she contemplated Candy’s predicament. Gwenyth had read all of her best friend’s work, so she would know as well as anyone the kinds of sex that had been penned in them.

  A moment later, it came to her. Gwenyth snapped her fingers and sat up straighter in her chair as the answer struck her. “I’ve got it!”

  Candy’s eyes widened. “You do?”

  “Uh huh.”

  When it appeared as though she was going to have to drag the answer out of Gwenyth, Candy waved her hand through the air in agitation. “Well. Spit it out already.”

  Gwenyth smiled, her dimples popping out. “Missionary!”

  Candy stared at her blankly. Her gum cracked as she continued to chew. “Missionary?”

  “Yes!” Gwenyth’s eyes sparkled a brilliant jade as she warmed to her topic. “The nun and the ex-convict can do it in the missionary position.” She dismissed any arguments with a fluttering of her hand. “Just think about it. Your heroes never bop their heroines for the first time in the missionary. This will be totally fresh!”

  Candy blew out a bubble as she stared at Gwenyth unblinkingly. “You know,” she said after a drawn out minute, “that’s just crazy enough that it might work.”

  Gwenyth nodded.

  “God Gwen, you are like, the best.” Candy grinned sheepishly. “What would I do without you?”

  Their burgers were placed in front of them, breaking the conversation’s momentum momentarily. After taking a huge bite of her mushroom and Swiss burger, Gwenyth answered Candy’s question as frankly as possible. “I’m not sure. But I hope you give up this business of trying to find a new calling when the calling you already have works really well for you.” She eyed her knowingly. “I’m afraid of what you’ll try out next.” Gwenyth frowned. “And I have no intention of allowing you to join the circus.”

  Candy giggled. “You never know. I might look cute in one of those skimpy trapeze artist get-ups.”

  Gwenyth narrowed her gaze at the familiar gleam in Candy’s eyes. It was a gleam she knew all too well. She shook her head slowly. Her smile was feral. “Forget it, Can. I’ve got enough on my plate without having to worry about you getting it on with Bozo.”

 
* * * * *

  A week later, Gwenyth climbed out of bed, intending to throw on the first clean thing she could find in her dresser drawers. She needed to get over to the family house ASAP because she had tons of developing work to do. Her favorite Jones & Jones darkroom was still the one at the big house. The studio’s developing room was bigger and more modern, but the one at Willy and Verlene’s was cozy and familiar. Besides, she didn’t have any fancy work to do today. Just ordinary developing.

  Gwenyth rifled through her empty dresser drawers with a grunt of disgust. Damn. She really needed to do some laundry. The only clean thing she could find was Sam’s #33 jersey and a pair of ratty old blue jeans cutoffs. She didn’t even have a bra to wear. Oh well, at least she still had a recently washed pair of “Kiss Me” underwear, uncomfortable and wedgie-prone though they might be.

  Gwenyth climbed into the skintight cutoffs, then raised the jersey over her head to put on. She bit her lip, briefly debating over whether or not she should show up at Willy and Verlene’s wearing Sam’s old shirt.

  Bah! She shook her head at her own ridiculousness. Sam’s original plan to arrive in Tampa a few days back had been altered by unforeseen problems with his contract renewal. He had to stay in Boston to clear that up before hopping on a plane to Florida. Harry had said he wouldn’t be here for another few days. It was safe to wear the shirt.

  Decision made, Gwenyth quickly donned the old jersey, threw her hair up into her usual topknot, slipped into a pair of unlaced Keds, and made her way toward the door. She stopped in her tracks as she thought about the mountain of laundry waiting to be washed. Sighing, Gwenyth stomped into the bathroom and scooped up a huge pile of clothes. Making her way over to the washing machine, she threw the laundry in, added the necessary balls of soap and fabric softener, then slammed the lid home.

  There.

  Gwenyth picked up her keys and walked briskly to the front door of her apartment. She’d dry the damn things when she came back.