Tender Deception by Heather Graham Read Free Book Online Page A

over and over…Brant Wicker…Brant Wicker…Brant Wicker…

CHAPTER TWO
    B RANT WICKER, AT TWENTY-NINE , had been everything a girl could want, a handsome daredevil, assured and confident, master of his own fate, aloof and yet courteous to a point of distraction. Those who had known him in his college days assumed he might head for pro-ball, law, or eventually politics. He followed none of the assumptions, enlisting in the service, and then arriving at Monte Clayton’s Dinner Theatre.
    Seldom had anyone seen such a natural for the stage. Within a year, about the same time a dewy-eyed Vickie fresh out of college became an apprentice with the group, Brant was taking all the leading roles, creating a host of ardent fans, male and female. He possessed just the right combination of macho toughness and compassionate down-to-earth reality to make women love him and men admire him.
    Working with the group in her menial capacity, doing whatever needed to be done, Vickie admired and adored him from afar. To his credit, his ego was never inflated, and he was friendly with everyone from the lowest busboy to his employer, Monte. Vickie was touched by that kindness; she cherished it and built it into something else deep within her heart. Her fantasy of his secretly returning her feelings became a reality within the hidden recesses of her own mind. Dreaming—a fallacy and beauty of youth.
    She had discovered, however, before that curious night of fate, that he was capable of being moody. Repairing a costume long after the theater had closed one night, she was surprised to hear noises from the stage. Tentatively she wandered from the costume shop to the dining room. Brant was sitting on the stage, dangling his legs and thumping them against the stage with distraction. His eyes were narrowed fiercely, his features tight in a scowl, his arms crossed in a vise over his chest. Suddenly, as she hesitantly wondered what to do, he looked up and noticed her partially hidden form. “Who’s there?” he demanded sharply.
    “Me,” Vickie squeaked, cowering before the uncharacteristic wrath in his eyes.
    “Me?” His impatient sarcasm was lightened by a touch of growing amusement. “Me who? Come down here. Let me see you.”
    Picking her way through the tables, Vickie complied with dread. She had never seen him angry before, and the fact that his anger seemed to be directed at her did nothing to still her pounding heart.
    “Vickie, isn’t it?” he inquired with a frown when she stood before him. “What are you doing here so late?”
    She couldn’t answer right away, her throat had constricted. The scent of his clean, crisp aftershave was assailing her, and she stared at the corded muscles in his arms, bared as his shirt sleeves were rolled high. A pulse beat in a blue vein that was just visible on his bicep, and she glued her eyes to it in fascination, fearing fancifully that if she were to look directly into his deep blue gaze, she would turn to salt.
    “What are you doing here?”
    His demand sounded in her ears again and she stuttered, “A-a costume. I was sewing a c-costume.” Having found her voice, she found courage. “What are you doing here?”
    “Brooding,” he replied, blunt and brief. At the hurt look in her soulful gray eyes he softened. “Sorry, little girl, I shouldn’t take this out on you.” Sliding onto his side and resting his head on the hand of a crooked arm, he explained: “I had a bit of an argument with Monte, and I’m having to realize he was right. I’m cooling off so I can go apologize.”
    Nothing had registered in Vickie’s mind except that her idol had called her a little girl. She had to set the record straight.
    “I’m not a child,” she exclaimed in indignant reply.
    “No?”
    “No, I’m a college graduate.”
    “Whew!” he whistled. “Forgive me!” The teasing twinkle she so loved was returning to his eyes. “You’re a real old hag!”
    Vickie blushed and lowered her head. “No,