by Susan Meier
He sighed. “Seriously. I think you’ll look great in something...”
Putting her hand over the phone she said, “Cheap? Sleazy?”
“Just a tad more sparkly.”
She shook her head once, quickly, in disbelief. “Are you ashamed of me?”
He laughed. “Actually, I want to show you off.”
Her breath stalled. He wanted to show her off—
She caught that thought before it could run away with itself. She was a McCallan. Her mother always said they had more dignity than to “show off.” Still, she wasn’t the one showing off. Trent wanted to show her off. Like someone who was important to him—
She’d never been important to anybody but her mom. She’d certainly never been important to a man. Her heart filled with warmth, but she fought it. She didn’t need a man to show her off.
Still, one look at Trent’s face and she knew she wasn’t changing his mind. But the craziest idea popped into her head. “And what if I want to show you off?”
He shrugged. “Have at it.” He took the phone from her hands. “Claudine. I’m going to put Sabrina back on the line. Get me whatever she says.”
He handed the phone back to her.
She looked from the top of his curly black hair, down the chest and flat abs she remembered from the morning, to his feet.
“I think Armani. A charcoal-gray suit with a pale blue shirt... I want it to be such a pale blue that it’s almost white...and a silver print tie.”
He made a gagging noise.
She said, “Thanks, Claudine,” then also asked for a curling iron and hair-dryer before she hung up the phone. “Now we’ll see who likes dressing like someone else.”
He shook his head. “I don’t hate suits. I just don’t wear them often.” He grinned. “This is going to be a fun night.”
She sighed. “You really need to get out more.”
* * *
They bummed around for most of the afternoon, eating lunch, walking under the leafy canopy created by the trees lining the streets of Barcelona. She marveled at the simple beauty of the city. She’d never been to Spain before, let alone walked the streets of one of its fabulous cities. It was easy to see that Trent spent a lot of time here because he knew the best restaurants, said hello to passersby, was casually comfortable walking along.
When they returned to his condo around six, the purchases of Trent’s personal shopper sat in two stacks of boxes and bags on the marble top of the kitchen island.
“Our clothes have arrived.”
She strode over, running her hand along the first box. Pink-and-white-striped with a black bow, it reminded her of coming home from school and discovering her mom had been shopping that day. It usually meant her dad was traveling and dinner that night would be happy.
Sensation after sensation poured through her. Relief. Joy. Expectation.
“Want to look at what’s inside or take everything to the spare bedroom and try things on?”
“I think I want a few minutes to myself with the red spandex dress.” A few minutes to get her heart to settle down and to savor the good memories flitting through her brain. She hadn’t had the horrid childhood her brothers had, but a river of caution and fear had run through their Upper East Side penthouse. Good memories had been few and far between. When they came, she enjoyed the feelings they brought with them.
She took the bags and boxes to the spare room and began sorting through to see what was inside. Two pair of jeans and a pair of shorts—Barcelona was a tad warm—undergarments, and the smallest dress in recorded history.
Her memories forgotten, she marched back to the kitchen, waving the little blue dress. “I can’t wear this.”
“Have you tried it on?”
She sighed.
He opened the suit box. “Don’t forget I’m stuck with this.”
“It’s a suit. You’ve worn them before.”
“And you’ve worn dresses before.” He shook his head. “Come on. Let’s just have some fun tonight.”
The seriousness in his brown eyes reminded her that his childhood might not have been filled with fear, but it had been filled with loneliness. So he wanted to have some fun? Couldn’t she, for once, forget her mom’s voice in her head and do something silly to make someone else happy? Someone whose childhood might have been sadder than hers?
Not wanting him to realize she was capitulating because she felt an unexpected connection to him, she gruffly said, “All right. But I’m tossing this sparkly little thing when we return tonight.”
He shrugged. “Fine by me.”
She huffed back to the bedroom where she showered, fixed her hair, applied makeup. When she couldn’t put it off any longer, she shimmied into the blue dress and stared at herself in the mirror.
It wasn’t god-awful.
Okay. Seriously. She went to the gym three times a week so though she wasn’t waiflike, she had a nice figure. And the dress—damn his hide—looked good. She wouldn’t want to be wearing it walking around with her mother, but she was with a friend.
A male friend who wanted to see her in a tight dress.
She shook her head. This was Ziggy...
No. Actually, she was with Trent. Adult. Sexy. Trent.
She slid into the tall silver shoes the shopper had also bought. Trent had said she made distinctions that didn’t matter? Maybe thinking of him as a different guy was one of them?
Maybe she should go back to thinking of him as Ziggy—Seth’s friend, not hers—to end all this confusion?
* * *
Sabrina came out of her bedroom, and Trent’s mouth fell open. He’d known she’d look good. He assumed Claudine had bought the blue dress to match with what Sabrina had instructed her to get for him—
But wow. Blue was her color and she was born to wear the sparkly fabric that hugged her curves.
“I look like a hooker, Ziggy.”
“No. You look like a woman who wants to have a fun night out on the town. And don’t call me Ziggy.” His voice softened with the familiarity he was feeling with her. “I like when you call me Trent.”
He smiled at her and she weakly returned his smile. He couldn’t imagine why a shift of names seemed to trouble her, so he turned in a half circle, showing off the Armani suit. “And how do I look?”
“Like a guy who forgot his tie.”
He’d nixed the tie and had opened the top few buttons of his shirt in deference to the heat. But he also wasn’t about to wear a suit dancing. And come hell or high water he was taking her dancing.
“Let’s go.”
She stayed right where she was. “If I’m going out in this, you’re wearing your tie.”
He relented. Not because she intimidated him but because he intended to get her on his side so that when he suggested dancing she’d happily agree. But he also had to acknowledge there was a certain boost a person got when wearing expensive clothes. He might like to fish. He might also be very at home in a small-town bar. But he was equally at home with power brokers.
Whether he liked admitting it, Sabrina was a sort of power broker. Smart and savvy, she could hold her own with the best of them. In a way, it was a coup that he’d gotten her to dress sexy.
Now he just had to come up with interesting dinner conversation that would win her over and put her in the mood to dance because if he was in Barcelona he was going to his favorite club.
But the second they were settled in one of Barcelona’s beautiful restaurants and had ordered, she asked about his work.
“I buy stocks. I sell stocks. I buy bonds. I sell bonds. There’s not much else to it.”
“I know you think there’s not much to what you do, but it’s a skill. A gift.” She looked at him over the salad the waiter sat in front of her. “Have you ever considered creating your own mutual fund?”
The horror of the thought almost made him choke. “Why would I do that?”
“I don’t know. To contribute to society? To help other people?”
“Look, I have everything set up so that I do a reasonable amount of work and still have time for fun.”
“I’m just saying you’re the perfect person to create and manage a mutual fund.”
She went on talking about business through the entire dinner. When dessert arrived, Trent felt four IQ points smarter, but not one iota relaxed.
He came to Barcelona to relax. She was ruining that.
“Do you always talk business?”
“No.”
“Just with me, then?”
“It’s the one thing we have in common.” She shrugged. “My father always talked business at the dinner table with my brothers.” She shrugged again. “It just seemed like the right thing to do.”
Her past came into focus for Trent. “Let me get this straight. You talked business at the dinner table every night?”
“Not every night. My dad had business dinners some nights. When he was away, my mom would joke and play with us. But when my dad was around, we talked business.”
“You think men only want to talk business?”
“Not just men. Women like to talk business, too.”
“All the time?”
“Some of my most productive conversations are over lunch or dinner.”
Knowing what he’d been told by Seth about their childhood and adding in this tidbit, even more of Sabrina’s personality clicked for him. “Oh, honey.”
“What?”
“We are so going dancing tonight.”
He rose from the table, walked over and helped her with her chair. “Dancing?”
“I’ve seen you at charity balls. You love to dance.”
And now that he thought about seeing her dancing, he realized he’d never seen her dancing with Pierre. Hell, he’d never seen Pierre.
“I do love to dance.”
“Remember how much fun you had at the art show in Paris last year? The one where you could be Sally McMillan because your family isn’t as recognizable in Europe as they are in Manhattan?”
* * *
Sabrina’s heart stopped. One of her brothers had told him. “All right, who do I shake silly? Seth or Jake? That alter ego is a secret.”
“Seth mentioned it and accidentally.” He winced. “He was telling me how good your work is and how proud he was of you last year in Paris when you could be Sally because you knew you wouldn’t be recognized.”
Unexpected warmth filled her. It surprised her that her brother bragged about her, but it surprised her even more that Trent remembered something from a year ago. Some years Pierre forgot her birthday. He never remembered her showings, and even if he did remember to come, he wouldn’t be able to recall what had happened an entire year later.
“I do remember how much fun I had that weekend.” There had been an after-party where she’d danced and danced with Avery and Harper.
He smiled. “Then let’s go dance.”
She nodded as his argument sank in. Just as in Paris the year before, no one in Barcelona would know her. Why not have fun the way she had in Paris? There’d be no one to tell her mom if she looked just the tiniest bit unladylike in the shiny blue dress—
Except she didn’t feel unladylike.
She felt—
Actually, she felt young. Carefree—
A woman who was going to have a baby felt carefree?
She couldn’t explain it. But the reminder that she was a soon-to-be-mom about to go dancing didn’t make her unhappy. If anything, new joy filled her.
So, yeah. She was going dancing.
CHAPTER FOUR
TRENT DIRECTED HER out of the restaurant and into the city. They walked a few blocks and Sabrina began to hear and feel the pounding beat of the music pouring out of a building a block away.
The sound lured her down the street and by the time they entered the club, she wanted to dance. Really dance. Not just get on the floor and gyrate. She wanted to move. She wanted to stop being tense and forget about telling Pierre. Tomorrow would be soon enough to worry about Pierre.
Partly because she felt different tonight. Sexier. She knew it was the dress.
A dress Trent wanted her to wear.
The weirdest heat raced up her spine.
He led her to a booth that had four people sitting in the semicircle bench seat. He motioned to the people, who gaped at her, wide-eyed with interest.
“Sabrina, this is Mateo and Luciana and Valentina and Samuel. My friends. Guys, this is Sabrina, my friend Seth’s sister.”
Two of them said, “Hola.”
Two said, “Buenas noches.”
Trent faced her. “I met Luciana and Valentina clubbing a few years back. Eventually, Mateo and Samuel joined the group.”
With the music blaring around them, Sabrina could barely hear him, so she knew his friends hadn’t. She couldn’t explain the goofy looks on their faces as she and Trent slid onto the bench seat with them.
“You are enjoying Barcelona?” Mateo asked, his English made smooth and sexy by his accent.
She nodded. She was enjoying Barcelona. “We took a walk this afternoon, under the canopy of trees. The city is breathtaking.”
Luciana nodded. “It’s a great place. There’s always somewhere to go, something to do.”
Sabrina tried not to stare at her. She was American.
Valentina said, “New York is like that.”
Luciana shrugged. “Sometimes. I like it here better.”
“You like it here better because it’s warmer,” Trent said with a laugh. He whipped off his tie and jacket and tossed them onto the bench seat. Then he took Sabrina’s hand and pulled her off the seat. “I promised Sabrina we would dance.”
He guided her to the crowded dance floor. When they stopped, Sabrina said, “Your friends seemed surprised to see you here tonight.”
“No, I’d called them and told them I was coming, bringing a friend. I think they’re surprised that you’re so beautiful.”
“You don’t date beautiful women?”
He laughed. “So this is a date?”
“No!”
With a sigh, he relented. “They are surprised that someone who is an obligation, the sister of a friend who needs some assistance, is beautiful.”
It was the second time he’d called her beautiful. Offhand, casually, as if everyone knew. Or as if he couldn’t stop noticing.
Her pulse sped up, and she stood there, staring at him. He laughed at what must have been a very odd expression on her face, but the music called to her. She felt like dancing again and at this point dancing was a much better idea than finishing their conversation.
She closed her eyes, pulled in a deep breath and let the music take her. Even if Trent had friends in Barcelona, no one knew her. She could dance like an idiot and tomorrow it wouldn’t be in the paper.
So she let herself go. Let the beat take her arms and legs, let all the tension of the past two days ripple away. One song turned into another. Trent caught her hands and she opened her eyes. Lights flashed. Music blared. He twirled her around once, twice and she laughed. The third song rolled in on the heels of song two. She noticed Trent’s friends were on the dance floor, squeezing in a few feet away. People around them twisted and turned, bodies moving to the beat. Trent laughed and waved, a signal that she was wandering a bit too far away from him and she slid back.
Beside them, a couple danced close. Keeping her hand on her partner’s shoulder, the woman circled him before she pressed herself up against him and kissed him. One of her legs grazed up his hip and back down.
Sabrina’s eyebrows rose. The room got hot. Trent grabbed her hands again but this time he pulled her out of the crowd
and over to their table.
“I think we could both use some water.”
As she slid into the booth Sabrina said, “You don’t have to drink water because I can’t have a beer.”
He slid in beside her. “Funny. I’d have never taken you for a beer girl.”
“I’m not. Usually I like Scotch, but beer is good on a hot day, at a barbecue, or dancing.”
“I’m having trouble picturing you at a barbecue.”
“Avery and Jake own a house in the country...close to the small town where she grew up. Jake loves to barbecue.”
A waitress came over and Trent ordered water for them both. When she returned with two crystal glasses filled with water, he drank his without complaint or qualm.
She took a long gulp of hers.
“I notice you don’t seem uncomfortable in the dress.”
She glanced down at the form-fitting, sparkling blue garment. The symbol of her freedom in Europe.
“You haven’t tugged the hem down once.”
She hadn’t.
She caught his gaze.
“You have the legs for a short dress.”
Electricity shimmied through her. She closed her eyes and shook her head. It was the weirdest thing to know someone for ten years and not really get to know them until forced to spend two entire days with them.
But that wasn’t the weirdest of the feelings floating through her right now. She liked him. She might not believe sparks flying and blood shimmering were a good reason to date someone, but tonight she realized the feeling did exist.
He made her blood shimmer. When he looked at her, her chest tightened. Knowing he’d chosen this dress for her, maybe because he wanted to see her looking sexy, sent her heart rate off the charts.
She had honestly thought the poets were wrong. But here she was. Feeling things she never believed existed.
She bounced from the table. “Let’s dance some more.”
Let’s get out on the dance floor, where we can’t talk and I won’t think about all these reactions that mean nothing.
