by Susan Ward
“Hello, Willow. It’s good to see you.”
He’s standing above me and looking unsure about what to do next. I spot Sasha lurking ten feet away talking to someone, pretending not to be watching us but she is. Ex-wife and new wife, trapped in an awkward moment we could both do without. From her expression it’s clear she didn’t want Dean talking to me, and crud, I hate these stilted ex-husband exchanges.
“Good to see you, too.” I muster a smile and lift my nose. “Jade tells me congratulations are in order. I wish you both many years of happiness.” I pat myself on the back for that one.
He glances about, looking uncomfortable. “Do you have someone with you tonight?”
I widen my eyes, surprised. “No. Just here by my lonesome.”
His brow creases and he shuffles his feet. “Listen, Willow, I’ll always care about you, but this really needs to stop. I’m married. You need to move on. I hate that you’re not happy because of me. It hurts like hell knowing you’re waiting for us to get back together when it’s never going to happen, hon.”
Hon!
Oh God.
Jade was right.
Dean thinks I’m carrying a torch for him.
My jaw drops. He’s always been a little dense when it comes to people, but when did he become such an insufferable, conceited jerk?
My gaze strays to Sasha hanging on every word of this, even though she can’t hear us, but it’s apparent he briefed her before approaching me. “I’ll work on it, Dean.”
Nodding, he pulls my stunned body up against him and gives me a light hug. It’s uncomfortable and I want to recoil, but I don’t want to create a scene. “I want the best for you, Willow. I always have.”
“That’s big of you, hon. I’ll try to remember that.”
He steps back and smiles. “Good.”
In disbelief, I watch him walk off to join Sasha. She latches onto him like a clinging cat afraid to lose her golden dish and rapidly begins yapping at him.
He rubs his jaw.
Frowns.
Glances at me.
I hold up my glass to him, then down it.
“What was that about?” exclaims a familiar voice closing in on me, and I turn toward Ivy. “Dean still being a pest?”
“No, motivational ex-husband, this round. He thinks it’s time I move on from him.”
Ivy busts up laughing. “Oh Lord, that man’s impossible. I don’t know how you ever ended up married to him. He’s so boring and clueless.”
I set my empty glass on the counter and try to get the bartender’s attention.
Ivy fixes her sharp eyes on me and pouts. “Are we friends again or still fighting? I’d sort of like to know that one before we sit down at the table. Jade’s got me sitting next to you, with Dean and Sasha across from us, if you haven’t taken time to inspect the seating cards.”
I’m sitting at a table with Dean?
Oh, Ivy’s got to be kidding.
I look at her.
Her blond brows jerk up.
No, it’s not a joke.
“I guess Jade figured it was better to put us all together than dump us on unsuspecting strangers. And you haven’t answered my question. Are we fighting or friends?”
Her gaze prods me to relent. I’m sure that the situation warrants me being angry a few days longer. I sigh and say, “Buy me a drink and I’ll tell you after.”
“It’s an open bar, silly.”
“I know. I’m still deciding.”
“Why don’t I fix this not-getting-service problem we have, and we’ll call us friends again?” She slaps her hand on the counter, the loud smack startling everyone within earshot. “Hey, Mr. Hot Stuff, there are thirsty women at this end of the bar. Another Absolut martini and a soda water with lime, if you please.”
God, she can be obnoxious—my face flames as I struggle to hold back my laughter.
She leans into me. “That one was for Jade, for sitting us with Dean.”
That’s it.
I can’t hold it back.
I’m laughing.
Our drinks are promptly set in front of us, and she smiles at the irritated bartender.
“Thank you.” After he moves away, she smiles at me. “There. Drinks as promised. I expect us to be friends again.”
I arch a brow. “Continue behaving that way and we won’t be.”
“Of course we will. We’re friends precisely because I behave that way.”
“When’d you figure that one out?”
“Didn’t have to. It’s obvious.”
I tilt my head against hers. I’m glad she’s here with me. It’s lessened a bit of the sting of my memories and the bizarreness of Dean’s god-awful pep talk.
“Are you doing OK, Willow?”
I nod, but I’m not really and Ivy knows it.
“Have you talked things out with Eric?”
I shake my head, though I suspect she already knows that as well.
“Why not?” she inquires. “I know you want to. You’re not a leave-loose-ends-dangling kind of person.”
“I don’t even know if he’s still in Seattle. I asked him to leave me alone and he has. I don’t know what to make of that. So I’m leaving it alone.”
There’s a long pause, then she says, “He’s in Seattle.” My pulse jumps. “Are we staying here or taking our seats at the table, Willow? Gary’s at the microphone, tapping his glass with a spoon.”
Eric didn’t leave Seattle.
He’s still here.
“Go on ahead, Ivy. I’ll be right behind you.”
I watch her hustle across the upper level and disappear down the steps. I consider not following her, then I dismiss the thought. It would hurt Jade if I cut out on her minutes in the limelight, and it doesn’t matter if Dean and Sasha are at the table. How I’m feeling has nothing to with them.
The impulse to call Eric is so strong inside me it’s painful. It’s probably just from being here, but I don’t care. From the second I arrived at the party I’ve wanted him.
I allow myself a few moments to compose myself. I finish my drink, then use the camera in my phone to make sure I still look OK.
I’m about to step out from the beneath the awning.
“I’d like to propose a toast to my lovely wife,” I hear Gary say over the speakers, and my stomach drops. It’s started and, fuck, I’m not there with Jade. “Your happiness is my happiness. Your joy my joy. Your passions my passions. Our life and future one. I love you, Jade. I’m the luckiest man in the world.”
There’s loud applause as my sister rises from her chair and goes into Gary’s arms, and I can feel hot tears on my cheeks.
I feel something brush my left hand. My gaze darts downward. Long tanned fingers lace with mine. I feel a gentle squeeze. “Jade asked me to escort you to the table.”
My heart slams against my chest.
I look up.
Eric.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Willow
AS THE APPLAUSE OF Jade’s guests echoes in my ears, I gaze up into the face of the man I love. His expression is open and tender, his hand holding mine with the lightest touch, but the contact is enough to make me aware only of him. That suddenly I’m trapped in another Eric-extravagant moment. I’m certain I’ve entered an alternate universe.
I feel giddy.
I’m positive that I shouldn’t.
That part about Jade sending him to escort me to the table fills my mind with new questions and suspicions yet again. On the heels of discovering Ivy’s been his co-conspirator in secrecy, aiding him in his campaign toward God knows what with me since arriving in Capitol Hill, the revelation that Jade is as well should stir inside me…what?
Anger?
Hurt?
Indignation?
Any of those would be more appropriate than immense euphoria rushing through my veins. In the least I should say something so as not to allow him to t
hink it’ll be that easy to get past our issues, but my mouth goes dry.
Eric looks stunning. Black dinner suit, starched white shirt, no tie but roguishly open at the collar, and since the sight of him always hits me like a thousand-volt current, it takes me a minute to realize what’s different about him.
His beard is gone, and I can see the strong, chiseled features of his face, lines and angles that I remember well, and the undisguised sensual curve of his mouth.
“I’ve missed you this week,” he whispers, giving voice to my thoughts. Me, too—but I don’t let myself say it. “I probably should have given you a heads-up that I’d be here, but I was worried if you knew you wouldn’t come.”
He takes hold of my chin and plants a gentle, beseeching kiss on my lips. Beseeching for what? Is he worried I’ll leave? Cause a scene? Or ask him to go? I’m shocked that none of those are what I want to do.
“Please, just go with the moment tonight,” he implores, staring deep into my eyes. “You look beautiful, Willow. Too beautiful for anything other than enjoying yourself. Your questions can wait for later, can’t they?”
“Can they?” I ask, finally finding my voice.
His mouth relaxes into an enchanting smile that would melt the coldest of hearts. “If you want them to, they can. They’ll still be there after the party. And I’ll still be here as well.”
My pulse jumps. “Then later,” I whisper, and his answering look is dazzling as he kisses my hand this time.
“Ready?” Eric asks.
His question hits me with the same unmanageable confusion as his being here has. It takes effort to rally enough brain cells to wonder what he’s asking.
Ready?
Ready for what?
Going with the moment?
I don’t even know where that’s going to take me…
“Joining Jade at her table,” he explains, grinning as if sensing my disarray, and my heartbeat lurches.
I nod, and he gives my hand another squeeze before bringing me out from beneath the awning. My senses slowly become aware of the sound and activity around me. People are smiling and laughing. There’s the clank of silverware and glasses. The feeling of eyes on us as we move toward the lower level where my sister is.
At the bottom of the short flight of steps there’s a photographer who calls in shocked wonder, “Eric Manzone?”
It barely registers in my head that EJ halts a beat, slipping his arm around my waist as a picture is snapped. The flash momentary blinds me, but Eric doesn’t even seem like he’s noticed the blast of light. Maybe he hasn’t. I’m sure it comes with the territory of who he is, but it’s unsettling for me. People know him, know who I’m with, and I haven’t even begun to learn it in full myself.
Eric leans into me and whispers, “Sorry,” before using a hand to wave off another photographer closing in on him.
“Who was that?” I ask as we continue to our table, hoping it’s a photographer Jade hired and not something more bothersome, like my picture being in the press with Eric. I can’t process one more thing to decide how I feel about that.
“Seattle Times, I think. I’m sorry, Willow. There’s no way to stop it and no way to prepare someone for it.”
He sounds irritated and concerned for me.
“It’s all right. He surprised me, that’s all. I’m not used to people popping out of crowds to steal pictures of me.”
“Then the photographers in Seattle are fools. You’re exactly who I’d steal a picture of.”
I blush. “Thanks for the warning. Now I know to be on guard with you.”
He grins. “Too late. I started a nice photo library of you long ago.”
My brows shoot up since I’m not sure he’s teasing. “You better not have,” I warn him.
He shrugs, but his eyes are gleaming.
“Eric!”
“Only a few and they’re under lock and key,” he admits in boyish devilment. “If you want, you can come back to my room with me after this and watch me delete them.”
My stomach flips. He just slipped that one right in. “Your room, huh?”
“It was only a suggestion,” he replies good-humoredly.
I roll my eyes at him, but heat rushes my cheeks. Then I realize what he’s doing. He’s so full of it. He doesn’t have pictures of me. He’s trying to distract me from the commotion around us caused by his presence, as I’m pretty sure the photographers in the room aren’t the only ones who’ve recognized him.
My body presses closer into him, and he keeps me snug at his side the rest of the way to the table. He consults the seating card though there are only two vacant spots, pulls out a chair for me, and then carefully eases it forward.
After acknowledging Jade and Gary, then Ivy, all of whom flash friendly smiles betraying they’re not the least bit surprised he’s here, he makes his introduction to the rest of the table.
“Eric Manzone,” he says charmingly, shaking hands, and somehow knowing who here I’ve not met, he adds, “May I introduce Willow Birch, Jade’s sister.”
As he makes the full circle seated around us I’m in awe of his poise before the fluttering lashes and ogling of Jade’s girlfriends and his easy polite manner with their husbands. Jade’s ritzy friends and the lavishness of her party have intimidated me since I got off the elevator, but we might have been standing on the street in front of Mel’s given how little it fazes Eric.
It’s not until he reaches Dean and Sasha I feel a moment’s trepidation. Dean’s gaping like he doesn’t know what to do, shooting daggerlike stares at me. Yep, Dean remembers Eric from seven years ago, is taken off guard seeing him with me, and is pissing off his wife in the process.
“Nice to see you again, Dean,” Eric murmurs, and Dean’s answering look screams it’s anything but nice.
“You’re with Willow again?” he mumbles, stunned.
Eric sinks down on his chair, slipping his arm across the back of mine. “Yes, Dean. I am.”
That was a bit brazen of Eric, since where we are is still undefined, but I don’t correct him. I’m too busy pressing my lips tightly together to keep from laughing.
“We’re all at the table now, Dean,” says Jade sweetly. “Isn’t that what you were waiting for to make your announcement?”
Dean’s mouth twists and I know he’s not happy, but he clambers out of his chair, then pulls back Sasha’s.
I peek around Eric at Jade, who is smiling innocently as her gaze follows Dean to the microphone. But I know that look on my sister’s face. She’s not fooling anyone. Having Eric here isn’t just my sister meddling in my personal life the way she does; it’s her fuck you to my insensitive jerk of an ex-husband.
Jade glances at me and winks.
WE HAVEN’T STOPPED dancing since we hit the floor, though I probably shouldn’t call it that. We’re moving so slowly we’re practically stalled in the center of the swirling sand platform.
My cheek pressed against Eric’s shoulder, I lift my lids and stare out at the garden. The party’s thinned out, most of the guests gone. It’ll be dawn soon. I don’t want to break whatever spell Eric’s woven around me, but the night is over and I don’t know what happens next.
Jade gave me the slip an hour ago, sneaking out with Gary before I could talk to her. Ivy’s gone as well. Be happy just a little while longer, I tell myself, but my mouth disobeys my command.
I tilt my head to look up at Eric. “My stand-in DD, huh? You want to explain how you got my sister to arrange that?”
He grins. “We agreed no questions until after the party. I can’t be fast on my feet with you in my arms.”
“I see,” I whisper. “That explains why even a generous person wouldn’t term what we’re doing dancing.”
This time his smile spreads wide.
My heart is in my mouth.
“Or maybe why we’re nearly the last ones here,” I add, fighting against my want to smile back at him. “You’re my
DD and you haven’t got a car.”
“No, I don’t. But I’ll walk you home,” Eric counters quietly.
I swallow convulsively, fighting to remain clearheaded, but the ache that has been inside me since he took my hand under the awning is raw and wanting. I need him now. The throbbing turns worse, and there’s only one way to soothe it.
Our eyes lock and what uncertainty I’ve had is eradicated. There are only about twenty people left at the party and the cleanup staff is milling about, waiting for the last of us to leave. It seems silly to drag out the night another second longer as I’ve known since I saw him how I want it to end.
“It’s time you walk me home, Eric.”
He looks at me, elated and sexy. “Are you sure?”
“No, but do it anyway.”
Eric leads me up the stairs and across the rooftop, bypassing the elevator that brought me up for one discreetly located on the far side of the roof. Inside there’s no attendant and only three buttons on the panel: P1, P2, P3. He stands behind me and reaches around to swipe a key card and tap the center button.
We’re standing so close, his breath a whisper in my ear, but I can only see him by gazing into the smoky mirror in front of me, and he’s not touching me. I wonder why. It’s beyond erotic, the thoughts in my head, the heat of him running my body, how I ache for him. I want him. Now. Any way. Anywhere. In this elevator. It’s been torture being in his arms all night and having nothing more. I have to resist whirling around to face him, launching myself at him, and pulling up my dress so he can fuck me right here.
Ding.
The doors open, revealing an elegantly decorated hallway with only two doors. Taking my hand, he leads me to the east end, swipes a card again, and pulls me into his room, though room seems an inept description. This is a suite, and from the looks of it, considering there are only two rooms on this floor, it encompasses half the building.
I’m in an entry hall larger than the living room in my house. Entry hall is probably the wrong name for it. Foyer is no doubt more appropriate, and it hits me why Eric uses words like that when no one else I know does. But, yes, this is a foyer with its polished marble floors, high ceiling with a crystal chandelier above, heavy polished mahogany table on one side, and long cushioned divan on the other.
