Dream 1 - Daring to Dream

by Nora Roberts

  He laid his hands on her shoulders and gave her a little shake. "How about perfect sister? You won't hear any complaints from me."

  Touched, she rested her hands on top of his. "If I were the perfect sister, I'd be asking you why you haven't asked Margo to marry you." She tightened her grip when he would have slipped his hands away. "You love each other, understand each other. I'd say you have more in common than any two people I know, including fear of taking the next step."

  "Maybe I like the step I'm on."

  "Is it enough, Josh? Really enough for you, or for Margo?"

  "Damn, you're pushy."

  "That's only one required element of the perfect sister."

  Restless, he moved away, stopped to toy with a pale pink rosebud. "I've thought about it. Marriage, kids, the whole package. Pretty big package," he murmured. "Lots of surprises inside."

  "You used to like surprises."

  "Yeah. But one thing Margo and I have in common is an appreciation for being able to pick up and move whenever we like. I've lived in hotels for the last dozen years because I like the transience, the convenience. Hell." He broke off the bloom, handed it absently to Laura. "I've been waiting for her all my life. I always figured after the wait was over, I'd bide my time. A year or two of fun and games—which is exactly what she expects of me. How she thinks of me. Then I'd sneak the idea of marriage in on her."

  With a half laugh, Laura shook her head. "Is this a chess game or a relationship, Josh?"

  "It's been a chess game until recently. Move and counter-move. I finessed her into falling in love with me."

  "Do you really think so?" Laura clucked her tongue and slid the rosebud into the lapel of his jacket. "Men are such boobs." She rose on her toes to kiss him lightly. "Ask her. I dare you."

  He had to wince. "I wish you hadn't put it like that."

  "One more element of the perfect sister is knowing her brother's deepest weakness."

  Blissfully ignorant of the plans afoot, Margo watched a satisfied customer walk out the door. The way her feet were aching she was relieved that Laura would be putting in a half day tomorrow. As it was five-forty-five, she considered cashing out for the day, maybe nipping out just a few minutes early to go back to the suite and make herself beautiful for the fabulous dinner Josh had promised her.

  The advantages to her new life were just piling up, she decided as she swung around the counter and slipped out of her shoes. Not only was she proving that she had a brain as well as a body, but she had discovered a whole new aspect of her background to explore.

  Her parents had loved each other. Perhaps it was foolish for a grown woman to find such comfort and joy in that. But she knew it had opened something in her heart. Some things do last forever, she thought. Love held.

  And tonight, she was going to tell Josh what she knew, what she believed, and what she wanted. A real life, a full life.

  A married life.

  It made her laugh to imagine his face when she proposed to him. She would have to be clever in her phrasing, she mused while she transferred cash out of the till into the bag for deposit. A subtle challenge, she decided. But not too subtle.

  She would make him happy. They would travel the world together, go to all those exciting places they both loved. And always come back here. Because here was home for both of them.

  It had taken her much too long to accept that.

  She glanced up as the door opened, pushed back impatience with a shopkeeper's smile. Then squealed.

  "Claudio!'' She was around the counter in a dash, her hands flung out toward the tall, handsomely distinguished man. "This is wonderful." She kissed both of his cheeks before drawing back to arm's length to beam at him.

  He was, of course, as stunning as ever. Silver wings flew back from his temples into thick black hair. His face was smooth and tanned, set off by his long Roman nose and the light in his chocolate-brown eyes.

  "Bella." He brought both of her hands to his lips. "Molta bella. I was set to be angry with you, Margo mia, but now, seeing you, I'm weak."

  Appreciating him, she laughed. "What is Italy's most successful film producer doing in my little corner of the world?"

  "Looking for you, my own true love."

  "Ah." That was nonsense, of course. But they had always understood each other perfectly. "Now you've found me, Claudio."

  "So I have." And he could see immediately that he need not have worried. She was glowing. "And the rumors and buzzing I heard when I returned from location were true after all. La Margo is running a shop."

  With a challenging gleam in her eye, she lifted her chin. "So?"

  "So?" He spread his hands expressively. "So."

  "Let me get you a glass of champagne, darling, and you can tell me what you're really doing in Monterey."

  "I tell you I come to search for my lost love." But he winked at her as he accepted the glass. "I had a bit of business in Los Angeles. How could I come so close without seeing you?"

  "It was sweet of you. And I am glad to see you."

  "You should have called me when there was trouble for you."

  It seemed a lifetime ago. She only shrugged. "I got through it."

  "That Alain. He's a pig." Claudio stalked around the shop in the long, limber strides he used to stalk a soundstage. His burst of gutter Italian termed Alain as a great deal more, and less, than a mere pig.

  "I cannot but agree," Margo said when he had run down.

  "If you had called my offices, the studio, they would have gotten word to me. I would have swept down on my winged charger and saved you."

  She could picture it. Claudio was one of the few men who wouldn't look foolish on a winged charger. "I saved myself, but thanks."

  "You lost Bella Donna. I'm sorry for it."

  "So was I. But now I have this."

  His head angled, his mouth quirked. "A shopkeeper, Margo mia."

  "A shopkeeper, Claudio."

  "Come." He took her hand again, and though his voice was teasing, his eyes were serious. "Let me whisk you away from this. To Roma, with me. I have a new project to begin in a few months. There's a part perfect for you, cara. She's strong, sexy, glamorous. Heartless."

  She laughed delightedly. "Claudio, you flatter me. Six months ago I'd have snapped it up, without worrying that I'm not an actress. Now I have a business."

  "So, let someone else see to it. Come with me. I'll take care of you." He reached out, toyed with her hair, but his eyes were serious. "We'll have that affair we always meant to have."

  "We never got around to that, did we? That's why we still like each other. No, Claudio, though I am very, very touched and very, very grateful."

  "I don't understand you." He began to prowl again. "You weren't meant to make change and box trinkets. This is not the—Dio! These are your dishes." He stopped at a shelf and gawked. "You have served me pasta on these plates."

  "Good eye," she murmured.

  That eye was dazed as he turned back, began to recognize other things he had admired as a guest in her home in Milan. "I thought it was a joke, a poor one, that you were selling your possessions. Margo, it should not have come to this."

  "You make it sound as though I'm living out of a shopping cart in an alley."

  "It's humiliating," he said between his teeth.

  "No, it's not." She bristled, then calmed herself. He was only thinking of her. Or the woman he had known. She, Margo realized, would have been humiliated. "It's not. I thought it would be, but I was wrong. Do you want to know what it is, Claudio?"

  He swore again, ripely, and gave serious thought to hauling her over his shoulder and carrying her off. "Yes, I want to know what it is."

  She came close to him, until they were eye to eye. "It's fun."

  He nearly choked. "Fun?"

  "Great, wonderful, giddy fun. And do you know what else? I'm good at it. Really good at it."

  "You mean this? You're content?"

  "No, I'm not content. I'm happy. It's mine. I sanded
the floors. I painted the walls."

  He paled a little, pressed a hand to his chest. "Please, my heart."

  "I scrubbed the bathrooms." She laughed and gave him a bracing kiss. "And I loved it."

  He tried to nod, but couldn't quite pull it off. "I'd have some more wine, if you please."

  "All right, but then you have to browse." She filled his glass and her own before tucking her arm through his. "And while we're browsing, I'll tell you what you can do for me."

  "Anything."

  "You know a lot of people." Her mind was working quickly as she led him toward the stairs. "People who grow tired of last year's fashions or the trinkets they bought. You could give them my name. I'd like first shot at the discards."

  "Jesus" was all he could say as they climbed the stairs.

  The first thing Josh noted when he walked into the shop was the deposit bag. He shook his head at her carelessness, then locked the door. Going behind the counter, he tucked the bag back into the till—and noticed her shoes.

  He was going to have a little talk with her about basic precautions, but it could wait. In his pocket was his grandmother's ring. He was still rolling with the excitement he'd felt when he'd lifted it out of the safety deposit box. The square-cut Russian white diamond might have been fashioned with Margo in mind. It was sleek and glamorous and full of cold fire.

  He was going to dazzle her with it. He would even go so far as to get down on one knee—after he had plied her with a little champagne. A man needed an edge with Margo.

  She would probably balk at the idea of marriage, but he would sweet-talk her into it. Seduce her into it if necessary. It wouldn't be such a sacrifice. The image of her wearing nothing but his ring was alluring enough to calm the nerves in the pit of his stomach.

  Enough fun and games, he told himself. Time for serious business.

  He started up the steps, nearly called out to her when he heard her laughter drift out like smoke. Nearly smiled before he heard the low male chuckle that followed.

  A customer, he told himself, furious at the instant knee jerk of jealousy. But when he walked to the doorway of the boudoir, the knee jerk jolted into a full, vicious kick.

  She was locked in a man's arms, and the kiss had enough smolder to singe him where he stood.

  He thought of murder, bloody, bone-breaking, brain-splattering murder. His hands clenched into ready fists, the snarl already in his throat. But pride was nearly as violent an emotion as vengeance. It iced over him in a gale wind as Margo drew back.

  "Claudio." Her voice was a silky purr. "I'm so glad you came. I hope we can—" She spotted Josh then, and myriad emotions flickered over her face. Surprise, pleasure, guilt, amusement. The amusement didn't last. His eyes were hard and cold and much too easy to read. "Josh."

  "I wasn't expected," he said coolly. "I know. But I don't think an apology for the interruption's in order."

  "This is a friend from Rome," she began, but he cut off her explanation with a look that sliced to the bone.

  "Save the introductions, Margo. I won't keep you from entertaining your friend."

  "Josh." He was halfway down the stairs before she reached the landing. "Wait."

  He shot her one last, lethal look as he flipped open the lock on the front door. "Stay healthy, Margo. Stay away from me."

  "Cara." Claudio laid a hand on Margo's shoulder where she stood shivering at the base of the stairs. "I'm surprised he let us live."

  "I have to fix it. I have to make him listen. Do you have a car?"

  "Yes, of course. But if I could suggest giving him a little time to calm—''

  "It doesn't work that way with Josh." Her hand was shaking as she reached for her purse, forgetting her shoes. "Please, Claudio. I need a ride."

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Contents - Prev

  She'd worked up a fine head of steam by the time she burst into the penthouse. Being angry, being furious was better than being terrified.

  And she had been terrified when she'd read that cold disgust in his eyes, heard the icy dismissal in his voice. She wasn't going to tolerate that. No, sir, not for one New York minute. He was going to have to crawl.

  "Josh Templeton, you bastard!" She slammed the door at her back and darted toward the bedroom in bare feet. "How dare you walk out on me that way! How dare you embarrass me in front of my friend!"

  Her breath caught with a jerk of a heartbeat when she saw him at the closet calmly transferring clothes into a garment bag. "What are you doing?"

  "Packing. I have to make a run to Barcelona."

  "The hell with that. You're not just walking out." She'd taken two strides forward with the intent of ripping the clothes free when he whirled on her.

  "Don't do it" was all he said, and it shocked her anger back to fear.

  "This is childish," she began, but her teeth chattered as panic shot frozen fingers up her spine. "You don't even deserve an explanation, but I'm willing to overlook your filthy attitude and give you one. Claudio and I—"

  "I didn't ask for an explanation." In quick jerks, he zipped the bag.

  "No," she said slowly. "You've already made up your mind what you saw, what it meant. What I am."

  "I'll tell you what I saw." He dipped his hands into his pockets to keep them off her throat. But his fingers brushed the velvet box he carried and doubled his fury and pain. "I saw you in the bedroom, a couple of glasses of champagne, nice soft light coming in through the lace curtains. A very romantic setting. You had your mouth on another man—your usual type, too, if I'm not mistaken. Fiftyish, rich, foreign."

  He lifted the bag from the hanger, folded it. "What it meant, Margo, is that I walked in on the first act. You should be able to figure out what that makes you."

  She would rather he'd used his fists on her. Surely there would have been less pain in that. "You believe that?"

  He hesitated. How could she sound so hurt? How dare she sound hurt after she'd ripped out his heart and stomped on it while it was still beating. "You've sold sex your whole life, duchess. Why should you change?"

  What little color that was left in her cheeks drained. "I suppose that's true. It looks like my mistake was giving it to you for free."

  "Nothing's free." He bit off the words like stringy meat. "And you had your fun as well. I fit most of the requirements, didn't I? I'm not old enough to be your father, but I qualify for the rest. Rich, restless, irresponsible. Just another social piranha living off the family fortune."

  "That's not true," she said, furious with panic. "I don't think—"

  "We know what we think of each other, Margo." He spoke calmly now, had to speak calmly. "You've never had any more respect for me than you do for yourself. I thought I could live with that. I was wrong. I told you in the beginning I don't share, and I don't want a woman who thinks I'm stupid enough, or shallow enough, to overlook her old friends."

  "Josh." She stepped forward, but he slung the bag over his arm.

  "I'd like you out by the end of the week."

  "Of course." She stood where she was as he brushed by her. She didn't cry, not even when she heard the door close. She simply sank to the floor and rocked.

  "Byron De Witt agreed to take over Ridgeway's position. He'll be ready to make the move to California in six to eight weeks."

  "That's fine." Thomas sipped his after-dinner coffee and exchanged a look with his wife as their son prowled the drawing room of their villa. "He's a good man. Sharp. Tough-minded."

  "You'll go back." Susan crossed her legs. "Through the transitional period."

  "It's not really necessary. Things are again in running order. I wasn't able to lure our old chef back." He flashed a fleeting grin. "But the one I stole from the BHH is working out well."

  "Hmm." He needed to go back, Susan thought, but she would work on that. "How's Laura doing in Conventions?"

  "She's a Templeton." He started toward the brandy, reminded himself that was too easy, and settled for coffee. "She's got a knack for handl
ing people."

  Susan lifted a brow, a signal that she was tossing the ball back into her husband's court. He picked it up smoothly.

  "And she's putting in time at the shop? Not overdoing, is she?"

  "Kate says not. She's a reliable source."

  "I'd feel better if one of us could keep an eye on her for a while yet. She's in a rough patch."

  "Dad, she's handling it. I can't go play baby-sitter."

  "You look tired," Susan said mildly. "That's probably why you're so cranky. Remember, Tommy, how he'd squall if he missed his nap?"

  "Jesus. I'm not cranky. I'm trying to get business settled. I have to be in Glasgow tomorrow afternoon. I don't have time to…" He caught himself as his parents watched him indulgently. There was nothing worse than being smiled at like a fretful child. Unless it was being a fretful child. "Sorry."

  "Don't give it a thought." Thomas rose, slapped him on the back. "What you need's a drink, a cigar, and a nice game of billiards."

  Josh rubbed his tired eyes. When was the last time he'd slept, really slept? Two weeks? Three? "It couldn't hurt," he decided.

  "You go ahead, Tommy, and set things up for your man hour." She patted the cushion beside her. "I want Josh to keep me company for a few more minutes."

  Understanding, Tommy strolled off. "Fifty bucks a ball," he called out.

  "He'll trounce me," Josh muttered as he sat. "He always does."

  "We all have our game." She patted his knee. Hers was a deft and merciless knack for interrogation. "Now, are you going to tell me what happened between you and Margo?"

  "Hasn't Kate given you a full report?"

  She ignored the annoyance in his tone, was sorry for the bitterness underneath it. "Reports are spotty. Apparently Margo is being stubbornly closemouthed. All Kate can drag out of her is that the two of you decided to call it a day."

  "Well, then."

  "And you expect me to believe it's as simple as that when you're sitting here looking mean and miserable?"

  "I caught her with another man."

  "Joshua." Susan set her cup down with a snap. "No," she said positively, "you didn't."