“Don’t worry,” the woman added, laying the garment bag she carried across the back of the nearest chair. “You won’t get into trouble. I’ll tell him I told you to leave.”
Isobeille couldn’t see any graceful way to handle the situation, at least not in a way that wouldn’t embarrass Nick or reveal something he obviously did not want revealed – namely, her. And, as Nick’s chosen, the woman certainly held more authority here than Isobeille did.
“As ye wish.” Isobeille turned and began to tidy up the counter.
“Just let that stuff go,” the woman said impatiently. “I’ll get it later.”
Isobeille nodded and grabbed the coat from the peg beside the door, the one Nick had procured for her. It was the nicest covering she had ever had, very pretty, white with green accents that he said brought out her eyes. “Have a good night, then,” Isobeille said.
“Oh, I will,” the woman assured her with a grin that showed every one of her straight, pearly white teeth as she closed the door behind Isobeille.
In the corridor, Isobeille leaned against the wall and took a few moments to gather herself together before she walked the short distance to Mrs. Anderson’s. She had never met Gloria before, but she’d met enough like her. Human nature hadn’t changed much in the last six centuries. Even in her village there had been the cold, calculating types who used their beauty to their advantage.
And Gloria was beautiful. Her hair was perfectly styled into a short, chic cut; her makeup skillfully applied. She reminded Isobeille of several of the lairds’ wives of her own time. And next to her, Isobeille felt every bit like the poor peasant girl she was.
Isobeille took a deep breath and forced a smile to her face before she raised her hand and knocked on Mrs. Anderson’s door. It was yet another skill she had learned early on – how to hide her pain from others. One, unfortunately, that she’d had far too much practice to perfect.
“Isobeille, dear!” Mrs. Anderson exclaimed as she opened the door. I wasn’t expecting you until later! Come in, come in, dear. Oh, I am so glad you came over early. I was going to call you...”
* * *
Nick was not looking forward to the Christmas party. He hated the thought of putting on a tux (damn, he had to remember to pick that up) and driving all the way uptown to spend the entire evening schmoozing and making inane small talk with the suits while Gloria and every other employee played kiss-the-ass-of-the-execs. Hers was a political job, he got that, and a certain amount of brown-nosing was as much a requirement for the job as a degree in journalism was. But he didn’t have to like it.
He would much rather spend the night with Isobeille. Having a nice dinner, cleaning up together. Maybe taking a walk or watching one of those silly Christmas videos she’d taken a liking to.
It didn’t help that Carlos’ words had been bouncing around in his head all afternoon, either. He couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to make love to Isobeille; to kiss her and stroke her when they snuggled into the couch. To feel her warm, soft skin naked against his beneath the covers. To bury himself in all that lush, fragrant flesh while she moaned his name in that brogue he loved so much...
Nick shook his head and tried to focus. Those thoughts would definitely not help him get through this evening. It had been weeks since he and Gloria last had sex, and his little morning solos in the bathroom weren’t doing much to take the edge off anymore. With each day he spent in Isobeille’s presence, each night she curled up in his arms, his desire for her grew.
He took a left turn at 3rd Avenue to hit the rental place. On a whim, Nick made a quick stop and picked up a pretty little bouquet of red and white flowers at the flower shop next door. Isobeille would love them. Maybe they would help assuage some of the guilt he felt about going out tonight (and why, exactly, did he feel guilty for taking his girlfriend to a party he’d committed to weeks ago?).
Isobeille hadn’t said much about it after telling him he should go. She’d been every bit as pleasant as usual this morning at breakfast, and had actually said she was looking forward to making cookies with Mrs. Anderson. That made him feel a little better. At least Isobeille wouldn’t be left alone in his apartment all evening, watching those damn videos all by herself. But he couldn’t help the stab of disappointment that she hadn’t seemed to mind the fact that he’d be going out with Gloria at all. Even the thought of Isobeille spending time with another man gave him the sensation of talons raking along his insides.
Chapter 12
“Please excuse me for a moment, dear,” Mrs. Anderson said when the knock sounded at the door. She returned moments later with a tall, handsome man. “This is my son, Ian,” she said, beaming proudly. “He’s a professor at the University. Ian, dear, this is the young lady I was telling you about – Isobeille.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Isobeille,” Ian said, holding out his hand. The auburn-haired man towered over his petite mother, his smile warm and friendly.
Isobeille, who had seen other people greeting each other in this manner, wiped her powdered sugared hands on the apron Mrs. Anderson had lent her and put her hand in his, though she couldn’t completely stop the reflexive bow that came naturally with it. “’Tis a pleasure te meet ye as weel, Mr. Anderson.”
He grinned widely. He had a very nice smile, Isobeille thought, one that put her instantly at ease, though it did not make her heart race as Nick’s did.
“You weren’t kidding, were you?” he chuckled, glancing at his mother, then back at Isobeille. “She told me she’d met a proper Scottish lass, but I must confess, I thought she was pulling my leg.”
Isobeille looked down at his leg, bemused, which only made him chuckle more. “I thought she was exaggerating,” he clarified.
He had striking blue eyes, Isobeille thought, just like his mother. They radiated intelligence and curiosity, and were clearly visible through the wire-rimmed glasses perched atop his straight nose.
“Ian’s taking me out for dinner,” Mrs. Anderson explained.
“How lovely for ye,” Isobeille said sincerely. “I can get the rest of these out of the oven if ye wish te get yerself ready.”
The older woman thanked Isobeille and did just that, leaving her alone in the kitchen with Ian. “Would ye like some coffee?” she offered.
“Yes, but I can get it,” he said, rising. “Those cookies sure smell good.”
Isobeille laughed as she lifted a few carefully off the pan and onto the cooling rack. “Menfolk,” she said, shaking her head. “Ye are all lads at heart when it comes te sweets, aye?”
“I suppose we are,” Ian said, smiling. “Does that mean you’ll share?”
“Och, I suppose her ladies’ group willnae miss a few.” Isobeille placed a couple of the still-warm cookies on a small plate and placed it in front of him.
“Ian Douglas Anderson,” Mrs. Anderson mock-scolded when she returned to the kitchen. “Have you been eating cookies before dinner?”
Ian did his best to look innocent, but the dab of chocolate at the corner of his mouth gave him away. Isobeille tried not to laugh, but failed miserably, earning her a narrow-eyed look from the braw Scot.
“I didn’t want to,” Ian said, unable to completely hide his smile, “but she put the plate right in front of me. I thought it would have been rude to refuse. You taught me better than that, Mother.”
Mrs. Anderson gave in to the urge to laugh, her blue eyes twinkling. “I guess I did at that.”
“Ye both look verra bonnie in yer finery,” Isobeille complimented, sliding the last of the cookies into a decorative tin and removing the thick oven mitts. Despite their obvious difference in height, it was clear to see that they were mother and son in their coloring and shared features.
“Thank you, dear,” Mrs. Anderson said. As Isobeille wiped up the counter, she suddenly asked, “Isobeille, dear, why don’t you join us for dinner?”
Ian piped in right away, “A wonderful idea, Mom. It will give us a chance to get to know eac
h other a little better. What do you say, Isobeille?”
“Oh, I couldnae,” Isobeille protested.
“Why not?” Mrs. Anderson asked bluntly. “You said Nick has other plans for the night -” she frowned a bit at this “- and there’s really no point to sitting around all by yourself when you could be having a nice dinner with us.”
“I couldnae impose.”
“Nonsense,” Mrs. Anderson waved. “No imposition at all, and we really would love to have you.”
Isobeille bit at her bottom lip; she was in a bit of a quandary, it seemed. It would be rude to ask to stay in Mrs. Anderson’s apartment while she and her son went out, and she couldn’t very well return to Nick’s, not with the she-devil still over there (her initial impression of Nick’s beloved had started low and plummeted steadily downward over the last hour or so). The thought of spending the next couple of hours lurking in the stairwell did not appeal to her at all.
Mayhap it would be fun to go out to one of these dining establishments. Mrs. Anderson was always pleasant to be around and her son seemed quite nice as well. If nothing else, it might serve as a distraction to keep her from imagining Nick in the arms of that woman. Hopefully, by the time the meal was over, Isobeille would be able to return safely to the apartment without fear of an unwanted encounter - assuming Nick didn’t bring her back with him, that was. Since Isobeille found that too painful to contemplate, she pushed that particular thought aside.
She did have one worriment, however. Mrs. Anderson was wearing a pretty skirt with a silk blouse and matching jacket; Ian had on navy blue slacks and a dress shirt and tie. Even Isobeille knew enough to realize that her flour-dusted, casual garments were unacceptable for such an occasion.
“Thank ye, but I doona have the proper clothing.”
“Our reservations aren’t for an hour yet. Why don’t you go next door and change?”
As if on cue, Isobeille heard the muffled sound of a door slamming – Nick’s door – and knew that he must have just gotten home. Instead of her being there to greet him, someone else awaited him. Someone who Isobeille had absolutely no desire to see again anytime soon.
“Oh, ah, I cannae,” she said quickly, feeling the warmth flood her face. “Nick’s, uh, lady friend came to surprise him earlier, and I doona think they have quite left for the party yet.”
Ian politely looked away. Mrs. Anderson came as close to scowling as Isobeille had ever seen. “That one,” Mrs. Anderson said, shaking her head. “I don’t know what he sees in her. Well, that clinches it, then. You’re definitely coming with us. Come on, dear. I’m sure we can find something for you to wear.”
* * *
By the time he opened the door to his apartment, he’d all but convinced himself to call Gloria and tell her he couldn’t make it. The timing sucked, but maybe it was past due. Things just weren’t working out, and -
“Well hello there, stranger,” Gloria purred, greeting him in a matching red satin bra and panties. “I’ve missed you.”
“Gloria!” Nick said, caught completely off-guard. “What are you doing here? Where’s Isobeille? And why the hell are you dressed like that?”
Gloria pouted slightly, temporarily suspending the kisses she was planting along his jaw. “I think that would be obvious - I’m seducing you. And if you’re talking about that little cleaning girl, I gave her the afternoon off. Sent her home early so we could be alone.”
Cleaning girl? Home? This was Isobeille’s home, he thought frantically. Then he remembered that Isobeille would probably just go next door to Mrs. Anderson’s. Clearly she hadn’t told Gloria who she was or that she was staying here with him, and he was thankful for that. This was his mess, and he should be the one to clean it up.
“Gloria, we need to talk.”
Chapter 13
“You look beautiful,” Ian said approvingly when Isobeille reappeared with his mother a short while later. Dressed in an ankle-length green skirt and white cashmere sweater, she looked stunning. Mrs. Anderson had gathered Isobeille’s hair up into clips in an artful design, allowing a few curled tendrils to cascade down and frame her face.
“Thank ye,” Isobeille blushed. “Ye are verra kind.”
“I will be the envy of every man in the restaurant, having not one, but two such beauties on my arm this evening.”
Isobeille’s blush deepened, and Mrs. Anderson tittered. “He always was such a charmer,” she told Isobeille. “Just like his father.”
Ian opened the door, then motioned for the women to precede him. In an old-fashioned gesture, he held out his arm for Isobeille while his mother ensured the apartment was securely locked. Together, the trio headed toward the elevator.
As they waited for the car to arrive, Isobeille tried to think of a viable excuse for taking the stairs. Thus far she had avoided the infernal contraption; Nick had been very accommodating about that, even though she knew he would have preferred the ride to the seven-flight descent and climb.
The sound of Nick shouting out Gloria’s name just inside his apartment door was enough to temporarily halt the polite conversation taking place as Mrs. Anderson, Ian, and Isobeille waited for the elevator. The moment the doors slid open, Isobeille forgot all about her dislike of tight, enclosed spaces, and practically dove inside. She kept her head down, unwilling to see the looks on either of her companions’ faces, or for them to see hers.
* * *
Nick struggled to think clearly, but that was all but impossible to do when he had a nearly naked woman intent on relieving him of his clothes against the back of his front door. Grabbing his shirt at the neckline, she wrenched the sides apart, sending buttons scattering across the floor.
“Gloria! What the hell has gotten into you?” he said. He stepped back, but since he was only just inside the doorway, that put him right up against the door.
“I missed you, Nick,” she said, her long red nails raking across his shoulders, down his chest.
“Maybe we should - ”
“Oh, yes, we definitely should,” Gloria purred, leaning over to suck one of his now-exposed nipples into her mouth.
“Fuck!” he cursed. He grabbed her by the shoulders to push her away, but her hands were already making short work on unfastening his jeans. Before he knew what was happening, his pants and his briefs were down around his ankles.
“GLORIA!” he bellowed, pushing her backward.
“What?” she said, stubbornly reaching for him with her talon-like, manicured hands. “It’s been a long time, Nick. Let me - ”
“No,” he said firmly. He released his shoulders and bent down to pull up his pants. Was he in the freaking Twilight Zone or something? Not once in the six months they’d been exclusive had she ever been lying in wait for him like that. She was by no means shy when it came to sex, but this was, well, over the top, even for her.
“You know,” she said angrily, “most men would love to come home to a greeting like that.”
Nick wasn’t most men. And while he might have had a recent fantasy or two about just such a thing, it hadn’t been Gloria he’d pictured doing the greeting.
“Jesus, Gloria. You just... you caught me off guard.”
She continued to stare at him, but some of the anger faded, replaced with confusion. “What’s with you, Nick? A month ago you would have bent me over the couch by now.”
It was true; he couldn’t deny it. But a month ago, he’d been thinking that he and Gloria had a future. Before she’d told him she wasn’t ready. Before Isobeille had come into his life and changed the way he thought and felt about everything.
“Look, Gloria, I’m sorry,” he started. It wasn’t exactly the way he had planned on telling her, but maybe it was for the best. “I didn’t mean - ”
“No,” she said, before he could finish the thought, “I’m sorry. I hurt you, Nick. You asked me to go to your parents with you, and I ... panicked.”
Nick didn’t know which stunned him more – the fact that Gloria had attacked him in h
is doorway or the fact that she was apologizing for blowing him off.
“I know I haven’t made things easy for you, Nick, but I... I’ve had a lot of time to think about things and... I think I’m ready now.”
Holy. Shit. Now she decides she’s ready? After she spent the last couple of weeks cutting him off, making him feel like a loser for wanting something more?
“We should probably have a talk about that, Gloria. About us.”
For the first time, he saw uncertainty in her eyes but she covered it up quickly. She nodded. “Yes,” she agreed, “we probably should. But not now. You need a shower, and we’ll already be fashionably late as it is.”
“You still want to go?” he asked doubtfully.
“I have to, Nick. It’s not really an option.”
Maybe she had to, but he didn’t. As if reading his mind, she said quietly, “You promised, Nick. And you look so handsome in your tux...”
* * *
“So tell me a little about yourself, Isobeille,” Ian said, pronouncing her name with perfect inflection, lifting the carafe to pour another glass of wine for his mother first, then Isobeille. Unused to hearing it spoken correctly, Isobeille turned surprised eyes upon him, only to find his eyes twinkling.
“My son specializes in medieval Celtic and Norse cultures,” Mrs. Anderson beamed.
“Do ye now?” Isobeille eagerly joined the conversation in an attempt to silence Nick’s echoed shout in her mind. Up until that moment, she had continued to harbor the hope that Nick might change his mind about going to the party, about going out with Gloria. That wishful thinking had been accompanied by a particularly gratifying visualization of Nick showing the tall, slim-hipped blonde the door.
“Yes,” Ian confirmed. “I did my thesis on the sociological, economic, and political ramifications of the death of King David I after his twelfth century reign.”
Maiden in Manhattan Page 9
