“Tell her…tell her you need a few days to think things over. That should appease her for now. Once I’ve had a chance to…meet your Cheryl, I’ll have a better sense of the situation.”
“Yes, Mother,” he said obediently and replaced the receiver. Family had always been important to Thorne, but he wouldn’t allow his mother or anyone else to rule his life.
Leaning back, Thorne folded his arms behind his head. He felt good, wonderful. He’d never looked forward to anything more than tomorrow night. New Year’s Eve with Cindy. And with it, the promise of spending every year together for the rest of his life.
The following day, Thorne worked until noon. He did some errands, ate a light dinner around six, showered and dressed casually. The television killed several hours, but he found himself glancing at his watch every few minutes. He’d leave around eleven, he figured. That would give him plenty of time to get to Oakes-Jenning, and from there he’d take Cindy to Times Square. It was something he’d always wanted to do, but had never had the chance. They could lose themselves in the crowd and he’d have every excuse to keep her close.
The doorbell chimed around eight, and Thorne hurried to answer, convinced it was Cindy. Somehow, some way, she’d come to him early. His excitement died when he saw Sheila standing in the hallway.
“Sheila.”
“Hello, Thorne.” She peered up at him through seductively thick lashes. “May I come in?”
He stepped aside. “Sure.”
“You’re looking very casual.” She entered the apartment, removed her coat and sat on the sofa. Wearing a slinky, low-cut black dress, she looked anything but casual.
“This is a surprise.” He stood awkwardly in the center of the room, hands buried in his pockets.
“I haven’t heard from you since our luncheon date and thought I’d stop in unannounced. I hope you don’t mind?”
Thorne would have preferred her to choose another day, but since she’d come, he might as well use the opportunity to tell her about Cindy. “I’m glad you did.” At the happiness that flashed in her eyes, Thorne regretted his poor choice of words.
She folded her hands in her lap and regarded him with such adoration that Thorne felt his stomach knot.
“Sometimes I do such a terrible job of explaining my feelings,” she said softly, lowering her gaze to her hands. “I want you to know how much you mean to me.”
The knot in Thorne’s stomach worked its way up to his chest. “I treasure your friendship, as well.”
She arched her brows. “I thought we were more than simply friends. Much more.”
Thorne sat on the ottoman and rolled it toward Sheila so that he sat directly in front of her. “This isn’t easy.”
“Don’t.” She shook her head. “I already know what you’re going to say…. You’ve met someone else.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.” They’d been seeing each other steadily for months, and although he’d come to realize how mismatched they were, Sheila hadn’t seen it yet, and he honestly wished to spare her any pain.
“But, darling, you don’t need to. I understand about these things.”
“You do?” Thorne hadn’t the foggiest notion what there was for her to understand.
“A woman has to accept this sort of thing from her husband. I know Daddy’s had his women on the side. Mother’s aware of it, too.”
Thorne surged to his feet. “You’re saying you expect me to have an affair?”
“Just to get her out of your system. I want you to know I understand.”
Years of discipline tempered Thorne’s response. He was so furious that it took all his restraint to continue being civil after Sheila’s announcement. He marched to the plate-glass window and looked out, afraid to speak for fear of what he’d say. Instead he analyzed his anger.
“Thorne, you look upset.”
“I am.” He realized he was so outraged because Sheila’s seeming generosity had insulted Cindy by suggesting she belonged on some back street.
“But why?”
“Cindy isn’t that kind of woman,” he said, and turned around. “And neither are you.”
A gush of feminine tears followed. Embarrassed, Thorne retrieved a box of tissues and held Sheila gently in his arms until she’d finished weeping.
Dabbing her eyes, Sheila said she needed something to drink and nodded approvingly when Thorne brought out a bottle of expensive French wine he knew she liked. He had plenty of time to soothe her wounded ego. Cindy wouldn’t be available until almost midnight.
Once Sheila had dried her eyes, she was good company, chatting about the fun times they’d shared over the months they’d been seeing each other and getting slightly tipsy in the process.
Slowly, Thorne felt his anger evaporate. Sheila did most of the talking, and when she suggested they have a cocktail at the Carlyle, Thorne agreed. It was still two hours before he could meet Cindy.
The Carlyle was crowded, as were two of Sheila’s other favorite hangouts where they stopped for drinks.
“Let’s drop in at your parents’,” she said casually, swirling the ice in her empty glass.
“I can’t. I’m meeting Cindy.” He raised his arm to look at his watch and the air left his lungs in one disbelieving gasp. “I’m late.”
“But, Thorne…”
It was already eleven forty-five and he was at least another fifteen minutes from Oakes-Jenning. And his cell phone was useless—he had no number for her, no surname, nothing. The regret seared through him.
“You can’t just leave me here!” Sheila cried, trotting after him.
He handed their ticket to the coatcheck girl and paced restlessly until she returned. When she did, Thorne thrust her a generous tip.
“Thorne.” Sheila gave him a forlorn look, her eyes damp with tears. “Don’t leave me.”
Eight
All of New York seemed alive with activity to Cindy. New Year’s Eve, and it could’ve been noon for all the people milling in the streets. Times Square would be a madhouse, filled with anxious spectators waiting for the magical hour when the New Year’s Eve ball would descend, marking the beginning of another year.
Cindy felt wonderful. Free. Thorne might have claimed not to be Prince Charming, but he’d demonstrated some truly princely qualities. Judging by the way he’d searched for her, he seemed to feel genuine affection. Surely he wouldn’t have hired a private detective to find her if he didn’t care. Nor would he have been willing to overlook the secrecy she wore like a heavy shroud. He didn’t like it, but he accepted it. He claimed it didn’t matter who or what she was, and to prove his point he’d refused to listen when she’d tried to explain. He didn’t insist on answers even though the questions were clearly written in his eyes, nor did he make unreasonable demands. She’d told him she couldn’t meet him until eleven-thirty, and without voicing any qualms he’d agreed to that.
A police car, with its siren screaming, raced down the street and Cindy watched its progress. A glance at her watch told her Thorne was fifteen minutes late. After months of cleaning his office, Cindy could confidently say that he was rarely late for anything. He was too much of a businessman to be unaware of the clock.
Remembering the police car, Cindy stepped to the curb and looked up and down the street. Unexpectedly, she felt alarmed. Perhaps something had happened to Thorne. Perhaps he was lying somewhere hurt and bleeding—or maybe he’d suffered a relapse and was ill again.
Cindy couldn’t bear to think of him in pain. She’d rather endure it herself than have him suffer. It took her another five minutes to reason things out. Thorne was perfectly capable of looking after himself, and she was worrying needlessly. He’d gotten tied up in traffic and would arrive any minute. If he was hurt, she told herself, she’d know. Somehow, her heart would know. Thorne would come to her, regardless of the circumstances. All she had to do was be patient and wait. He couldn’t look at her the way he did and ask her to spend this special night with him and then leave her standin
g in the cold. She’d stake her life on it.
Thirty minutes later, Cindy’s confidence was dying a slow, painful death. She was cold. Her face felt frozen and her toes were numb. She’d been silly enough to wear open-toed pumps and was paying the price of her own folly. She hunched her shoulders against the wind that whipped her hair back and forth across her face. Resentfully she thought of how hard she’d worked, rushing from one office to another to finish early, and how quickly she’d showered and changed clothes—all so she could spend extra time on her hair and makeup. She’d wanted this night to be perfect for Thorne. But after forty-five minutes of standing in the wind, her hair was a lost cause and her makeup couldn’t have fared any better.
Another fifteen minutes, Cindy decided. That was all she’d give him.
And then fifteen intolerable, interminable minutes passed.
Five more, she vowed, and that was it. She’d walk away. Thorne would have a logical explanation, she was sure of it, but she couldn’t stand in the cold all night.
Dejected and discouraged, Cindy waited out the allotted five minutes and decided there was nothing she could do but leave. Drawing her coat more tightly around her, she walked to the corner and paused. Not yet. She couldn’t leave yet. What if Thorne arrived and they just missed each other? She couldn’t bear for him to find her gone. He’d be frantic. Even if she’d had a cell phone, she wouldn’t have known how to reach him.
She pulled her hand from her pocket and studied her watch one last time. Maybe she should wait another minute or two—it wouldn’t hurt. Her toes were beyond feeling and a few more minutes wouldn’t matter.
A niggling voice in the back of her mind tried to convince her that Thorne had left her waiting in the cold as punishment for disrupting his staid, regimented life.
Forcefully, Cindy shook her head. She refused to believe it. The voice returned a moment later, suggesting that he was with another woman. Sheila. This possibility seemed far more feasible. Sheila’s photograph remained on prominent display in his office. A hundred doubts crowded each other in her troubled thoughts. Sheila. He was with Sheila!
Determined now to leave, Cindy buried her hands deeper in the pockets of her wool coat. It was too late to ring in the New Year with Thorne. Too late to believe that a relationship between them could work. Too late to demand her heart back!
Hunched against the piercing wind, her collar as close to her face as she could arrange it, Cindy turned and walked away.
The sound of tires screeching to a halt and a car door slamming startled her.
“Cindy!”
She turned to find Thorne racing toward her.
Breathless, he caught her in his arms and held her to him. He pushed the hair from her face as though he needed to read her expression and see for himself that she was safe and secure. “Oh, Cindy, I’m sorry, so sorry.”
Every wild suspicion died the minute Thorne reached for her. He was so warm and he held her as though he planned to do it for a good long while. “You came,” she murmured, laughing with pure relief. “You came.” She slid her arms around his middle and tucked her head beneath his chin. She noticed there was something different about his usually distinctive masculine scent, as if it were mingled with some other fragrance…. But she was too deliriously happy at being in his arms to puzzle it out right now.
“You must be half-frozen,” Thorne moaned, nuzzling her hair.
“Three-quarters,” she joked. “But it was worth every second just to be with you now.”
He kissed her then, his mouth cherishing hers. Cindy absorbed his warmth, focusing on him like a flower turning toward the sun, seeking its nourishing rays as the source of all life.
Thorne lifted his head, cradled her chilled face in both hands and released a sigh that came from deep within him. He’d been overwrought, checking his watch every ten seconds, half crazed with fear that she’d walk out of his life and he’d never find her again. The traffic had been a nightmare, the streets crammed with cars and people. He hadn’t dreamed she’d still be there waiting, although he prayed she was. An hour she’d stood and waited in the freezing cold. He cursed Sheila and then himself.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said breathlessly. Slipping his arm around her waist, he led her back to the taxi and helped her inside. He paused long enough to ask the driver to take them to a nearby restaurant.
Inside the cab, Cindy removed her shoes and started to rub feeling back into her numb toes.
“Let me do that,” Thorne insisted, holding her nylon-covered feet between his large hands and rubbing vigorously.
Cindy sighed, relaxed and leaned against the back of the seat.
“Better?”
She nodded, content just to be with Thorne. “Where are we going?”
“Someplace where I can get some Irish coffee into you.”
“I’m Italian,” she said with a smile.
“Italian?” He eyed her curiously. “But you’re blond.”
“There are plenty of us, trust me.”
They arrived at the restaurant, but it wasn’t one that Cindy recognized. Thorne helped her climb out of the taxi, then paid the driver and escorted her inside the lounge. They were given a table immediately, although the place was crowded. Cindy realized the large bill Thorne passed the maître d’ had something to do with the waiting table.
Once they were seated, Thorne expelled his breath in a deep sigh. “I feel like I’ve been running a marathon,” he said.
“What happened?”
The waitress arrived and Thorne ordered their drinks, glad of the interruption. He was going to lie to Cindy. It was only a lie of omission, but it bothered him. He expected her to be honest, and it felt wrong to be less so with her. “I miscalculated the time and got caught in traffic. I didn’t dare hope you’d still be there. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you’d left.”
“I’d already decided to contact you in the morning.”
He closed his eyes. “Thank God for that.”
“You wanted to give us—the unprincely Thorne and the unadorned Cinderella—a chance, and I agreed, didn’t I?”
“Yes.”
He looked at her, his eyes tender and loving. “We didn’t ring in the New Year together.” His words revealed his regret.
“I know.” She dropped her gaze because looking at him was too intense, like staring into the sun for too long. She was becoming blind to the facts that surrounded their unusual relationship, ignoring the overwhelming potential for emotional pain.
The waitress brought their drinks and Cindy sipped the liquor-laced coffee. It was hot, sweet and potent, instantly spreading its warmth. The tingling sensation left her toes and fingers almost immediately.
“Next year we’ll make it to Times Square?” Thorne suggested, his voice lifting slightly at the end of the statement.
“Next year,” she agreed, desperately wanting to believe they’d be together twelve months from now. It was safer not to look ahead with Thorne, to live for the moment, but she couldn’t help herself.
“Are you hungry?” he asked next.
“Famished.” She hadn’t eaten anything since early afternoon.
“Good. Do you want to order dinner now or would you rather have another drink?”
“Dinner,” Cindy told him. “But if you want another drink, don’t let me stop you.”
He picked up the menu and shook his head. “I had wine and a couple of cocktails before I caught up with you.”
Cindy raised her menu and mulled over the information he’d let slip. He’d lost track of the time, he’d claimed. That would be easy enough to do if he’d been having a good time in the company of a beautiful woman. Her earlier suspicions resurrected themselves. Thorne had been with Sheila. He’d brought in the New Year with the other woman when he’d asked to share the moment with her. He hadn’t been with Cindy, but with Sheila, the woman whose picture still sat on his desk. She suddenly knew with certainty that the faint scent she’d noted on T
horne’s jacket earlier was perfume. Sheila’s perfume.
All the special excitement she experienced every time she was with Thorne rushed out of her like air from a punctured balloon. She felt wounded. The commotion and noise in the restaurant seemed to fade into nothingness.
“Have you decided?” Thorne asked.
She stared at him blankly, not understanding what he meant until she realized he was inquiring about her dinner selection. “No. What do you suggest?” It astonished her that she could speak coherently. There would be no next year for them—probably not even a next week. She’d be surprised if they made it through dinner.
You’re overreacting, she told herself. He had a drink with another woman. Big deal. Thorne wasn’t her exclusive property. But he’d obviously held Sheila, held her in his arms…even kissed her. He must have, or the cloying scent of expensive perfume wouldn’t be on his clothes.
Deliberately she set the menu aside and glared at him.
“Cindy?”
“Yes?” She made a conscious effort to look attentive.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m fine,” she lied. How could she be anything close to fine when all her hopes and expectations were crumbling at her feet? When her dreams had become ashes? Again she told herself she was making too much of it. She had little to go on but conjecture, but in her heart she knew. Thorne had left her standing in the miserable cold, alone, while he toasted the New Year with Sheila.
“If you’ll excuse me a minute, I think I’d like to freshen up.” Somehow she managed to keep her voice level, revealing none of the emotion she felt.
“Of course.” He stood when she did, but as she moved to turn away, his hand reached for her, stopping her. “There are tears in your eyes.”
She hadn’t been aware that she was crying. She rubbed her face. “What would I have to cry about?” The words sounded as if she were riding on a roller coaster, heaving in pitch, squeezing through the tightness that gripped her throat.
“You tell me.”
Cindy reached for her coat and purse, the tears flowing in earnest now. That one drink on an empty stomach had gone to her head and she swayed slightly. “I suddenly figured everything out. I lost the feeling in my toes waiting for you.”
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