Amanda Stevens - Unauthorized Passion

“Wait a minute, damn it. You can’t just blow me off like that. I went to all the trouble of tracking you down, the least you can do is give me the juicy details.”

Juicy details? What was she talking about?

“Oh, I get it.” Olivia’s tone dropped conspiratorially. “He’s there, isn’t he?”

“Who?”

“Oh, for the love of… Owen. Remember him? Your rich, married lover? The man who gave you that huge diamond and promised to make you a star?”

Was that resentment Cassie heard in the woman’s voice?

“Since I saw him first, the least you can do is be straight with me.”

Definitely resentment, Cassie decided.

“Is he there with you or not?” Olivia persisted.

“I’m alone.”

“I don’t believe you. You leave town in the middle of the night, and a few days later, Owen disappears. You can’t tell me that’s a coincidence.”

Cassie had no intention of telling her anything. All she wanted to do was get off the phone, pronto, before she said something to tip her hand. Honestly, what had Celeste been thinking when she left her itinerary on the computer? She must have known her roommate would find it.

Or…was that the point? Was this some sort of test? Maybe Olivia D’Arby was in on the ruse, and she was calling to make sure that Cassie didn’t cave under pressure.

“I appreciate the call, but I’m not feeling well.” Cassie lowered her voice to a hoarse whisper. “I really think I should get to bed.”

“You do that,” Olivia said coolly. “But if Margo Fleming shows up at your door, don’t say I didn’t warn you. I shudder to think what that woman is capable of.”

Was that a note of glee she detected in the roommate’s voice now? Cassie wondered.

* * *

WELL, SHE’D FLUNKED that little test, now hadn’t she? Evelyn thought gleefully.

It was just as she’d suspected. The woman was a complete fraud.

The whole story about their chance encounter in an elevator at the Beverly Hills Hotel had been a spur-of-the-moment fabrication. There had been no Chanel outfit and certainly no quip about the beginning of a beautiful friendship between Chablis and that…that horrid little dog she called Mr. Bogart.

“As if my princess would ever show the slightest interest in such a creature,” Evelyn crooned. Chablis’s responding sigh was one of pure bliss. Undoubtedly she was dreaming about Zoë von Hendenburg’s shih tzu or William Kendall’s Lhasa apso. But a Chihuahua?

Evelyn shuddered. Over her dead body!

Still, the next few days promised to be…interesting. It was possible, of course, that the woman who had been in her suite earlier was, indeed, Celeste Fortune. Perhaps she’d pretended to remember the meeting in the elevator to spare Evelyn’s feelings. After all, it was always awkward when one party remembered a brief encounter that the other did not.

And had that been the only incident, Evelyn might have been able to shrug it off in just that way.

But her suspicions had already been aroused before this evening, hence, the test.

Pleasantly buzzed from the vodka, Evelyn lay back against the sofa and smiled as she recalled the night she’d first seen Celeste Fortune in person. A little birdie had told her that the actress had booked herself into the Mirabelle, and so Evelyn had arrived ahead of her. She’d been waiting in the lobby behind a potted palm to get her first look.

Celeste had arrived in a cab, completely alone, wearing a cap pulled low over her face much as she had been tonight. She’d thought it a clever disguise, no doubt, but Evelyn, who was something of a movie buff, especially when it came to Owen’s productions, would have recognized her even without being tipped off. Even without that infamous diamond sparkling on the woman’s hand.

Evelyn had followed her up to the third floor and observed her from a discreet distance as the bellman let her into her room. A few minutes later, a maid carrying a stack of fresh towels got off the elevator and knocked on Celeste’s door.

Evelyn remembered the incident vividly because there had been something a little strange about the maid’s appearance. For one thing, she’d worn a really bad wig.

And she’d seemed nervous. She kept glancing over her shoulder until Celeste had let her in.

Evelyn had watched in amazement as the woman came out a few minutes later and headed straight for the elevator. Again, Evelyn’s attention was drawn to the wig. It looked slightly askew, as if she’d pulled it on in a hurry, but the real giveaway was the Boucheron diamond glittering on the woman’s finger. No maid owned a rock like that.

It was obvious to Evelyn that the two women had switched places, but why? And who was the imposter in Suite 3A pretending to be Celeste Fortune?

Where was the real Celeste? Off somewhere romantic and exotic with Owen?

It would be just like that bastard to plan such an elaborate scheme so that he could steal away for a few days with his mistress. And the real kick in the teeth? His devoted wife was probably picking up the tab for the whole affair.

Hands trembling in outrage, Evelyn carefully removed her own wig. Setting it aside, she smoothed back white tufts of hair as she reached for the phone.

CHAPTER FOUR

CASSIE COULD BARELY contain her excitement. Metro was one of the trendiest, not to mention priciest, restaurants in the Montrose-Westheimer area, and from what she’d seen so far, worth every penny.

Easy to say, of course, considering her cousin was picking up the tab.

Dinner at Metro was one of the outings Celeste had arranged, and despite lying awake half the night worrying about the conversations she’d had with Mrs. Ambrose-Pritchard and Olivia D’Arby, Cassie had been looking forward all day to finally spending an evening away from the hotel.

The restaurant catered primarily to the arts and theater crowd, and as she gazed around, Cassie still had a hard time believing that she was actually there, seated on the terrace and blending into the bohemian atmosphere as if she truly belonged.

She sighed happily. This was the Houston she’d longed to discover since she’d arrived in town over a week ago. The museums, the bistros and art galleries, the colorful parade of people along the streets. She wanted to be a part of it all.

Oh, my , she thought with a slight shock as she watched a chicly dressed transvestite sashay by in an exquisite pair of Manolo Blahniks. You would not see that in Manville.

You wouldn’t see a lot of things in Cassie’s hometown, which was why she’d been hankering to get out ever since she’d graduated from high school. Her mother had gotten sick, though, during Cassie’s senior year, and she’d stayed home to take care of her and to watch from afar as her cousin had gone off to first Houston, and then Hollywood, to seek fame and fortune.

Cassie hadn’t been jealous. Truly, she hadn’t. She was happy for Sissy’s success. And she didn’t begrudge the time she’d spent caring for her mother. The two of them had been very close, and Cassie still mourned her loss.

But at the same time, she couldn’t help luxuriating in her newfound liberty. Her mother’s death had freed her in more ways than one. It had allowed her to take a long, hard look at her life and to decide once and for all which parts were worth keeping and which ones needed to be tossed away.

Her schoolteacher’s wardrobe had been the first to go.

Danny Cantrell had been the second.

Even now, Cassie felt a prickle of guilt for the way she’d broken things off with him. She should have worked up her courage long before they’d arrived at the church, but it wasn’t like Danny had taken her decision all that hard. Mostly, he’d just been hungover from the night before.