Widow - Anne Stuart [53]
But not before she heard Olivia’s cool voice slither back to her. “So tell me, who are you and what are you doing to my frigid daughter?”
13
Maguire still hadn’t moved from his chair. The newcomer was a beauty, with an unlined, flawless face, a perfect cloud of dyed red hair, a ruthlessly thin figure. She looked to be in her mid-thirties, thanks no doubt to a masterful job of plastic surgery.
“You’re Charlie’s mother?” he drawled lazily. “I thought you were her sister.” It was pandering, and it was effective.
“Don’t give me that crap,” the woman said, but she couldn’t hide her pleased smirk. “I’m perfectly comfortable being forty-three years old. I don’t try to hide my age.”
Charlie was thirty, which would have made the carefully preserved woman in front of him young indeed to have been a mother. He didn’t bother pointing it out to her. Not at that point.
He rose, holding out his hand. “Connor Maguire. I’m an insurance adjuster, here to assess the estate.”
She looked up at him. She was much shorter than her daughter, and she had cultivated a kind of helpless female look that Maguire found particularly annoying, when he knew that beneath the slightly fluttery surface she was hard as steel. Unlike her daughter, who tried to present a calm, steady mien to hide her complete vulnerability.
“Olivia Thomas,” she said, putting her manicured hand in his big paw. She’d even had her hands taken care of, he thought with distant admiration. You could tell a woman’s age by her hands and her neck, but Olivia’s neck was swathed in a silk scarf, and her slender hand was spot-free and unlined.
“Thomas? Charlie said you’d been married a dozen times,” he said.
“Seven,” she corrected him with a touch of that inner steel. “And it makes it simpler to go by Thomas. Besides, I don’t have a husband right now. I’m completely available.”
She hadn’t released his hand. He almost wanted to laugh. This was the second time in a matter of hours that someone was coming on to him, for the simple reason that they thought Charlie wanted him. Charlie wanted him at the bottom of a well, and he was about to point that out to Olivia when he thought better of it. After all, he had a job to do. If Olivia and Gia wanted to waste their time flirting with him, he could certainly put their attention to good use. He couldn’t understand why he’d even hesitate.
“So what were you doing to my daughter?” she continued smoothly, finally releasing his hand and sinking into the chair beside him. “Besides giving her one hell of a hickey. I doubt she’s ever had one before.”
“Yeah, right,” Maguire drawled.
“You think I’m kidding? You obviously don’t know Charlie very well. She’s frigid. Bona fide, diagnosed sexual dysfunction. She’s been seeing some doctor in New York, hoping she’d get over it, but so far no luck. I maintain she just hasn’t found the right man, but then, she hasn’t asked for my opinion. She won’t even discuss it.”
Maguire stared at her in fascination. “I don’t blame her.”
“Oh, then you’ve met Henry? No, I don’t blame her, either. He’s attractive enough, but hardly the type to make a girl hot and bothered. You, on the other hand, have definite promise.”
“I mean I don’t blame her for not wanting to discuss it with you. Do you discuss your daughter’s sex life with everyone?”
Olivia laughed, a soft, deep chuckle. “You disapprove of me! How utterly delicious. And no, I don’t go chatting about Charlie’s total lack of libido with strangers. Just men who look at her the way you were. How’d you manage to hold her still long enough to make that mark on her wrist? I know you haven’t slept with her—she doesn’t look guilty enough.”
“If I had sex with your daughter I don’t think guilt would be her foremost reaction.”
“Arrogant, too, aren’t you? I like that in a man.” She put her hand on his arm, that bleached, smoothed hand. She was probably very talented, very clever with her hands. Unlike Charlie, who was scared shitless of him. “I like to be outrageous, and I