Yours for the Night

by Jasmine Haynes

  “It’s okay,” Marianna said. “I’m not going to hurt your dad.”

  “Good, because if you did, I’d have to break your legs.” Krista gave a shaky laugh, trying to make light of the moment.

  Marianna would never hurt him. How could she not fall for a man who had such capacity for love? It shone whenever he looked at Krista, talked about her. Knowing what had happened to his wife, Marianna realized that his daughter was probably the only person that had kept him from giving up. Chase returned, they sat, and she sipped the deliciously sweet wine. “So your dad says you go to Cal Poly,” she said to start off the small talk. “What are you majoring in?”

  Marianna admired the girl’s poise and lack of self-consciousness. Krista told funny stories from school, laughed at her dad when he made faces about her boyfriend, teased him. It all felt so normal. So wonderful. As if Chase had asked Marianna here not just to ease Krista’s mind about him but so he could get his daughter’s stamp of approval on the woman he was dating. His girlfriend. The timer went off. “My lasagna’s ready.” Krista jumped up, dashing to the kitchen. The scent of tomatoes and herbs wafted into the living room as she opened the oven door.

  Marianna touched Chase’s hand. “She’s beautiful.”

  A gentle smile softened his face. “Thanks for treating her like a grownup.”

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  “She is a grownup.” She put two fingers to his lips when he opened his mouth. “No buts. She’s a beautiful lady, and she’s filling this apartment with the most wonderful aromas.”

  “The lasagna will be set in five minutes,” Krista called. Marianna grabbed his hand and pulled him off the sofa. “Quick, show me the balcony.”

  “The balcony?”

  “Yes. You’re so high up, and I want to see all the lights.” And she wanted a moment to enjoy him, the touch of his hand, the scent of his aftershave, to immerse herself in the fantasy he’d given her tonight. Chase laughed as he followed. “It’s just the airport.”

  She clung to the railing. “Oh my God, it’s gorgeous.”

  He gazed at her, not the view.

  “Look,” she said softly. “The pattern of lights is beautiful, then they just end in the blackness over the water.” She pointed. “Surrounded by the San Mateo Bridge and all the lights shining in the East Bay. It’s like a secret world out in the middle bordered by all those lights.” That was how she felt being with him, as if they were in their own fantasy world. “It makes you need to discover what’s hidden there.” Feeling his body heat along her side, she turned her head to catch his breath at her ear. “Don’t you see how beautiful it is?”

  “I see,” he whispered. “I’m starting to see a lot of things I missed before.”

  Something in his voice made her shiver, then flush with warmth.

  “Dad?”

  Marianna startled at Krista’s voice behind them.

  “Will you bring in the salad and dressing? And Marianna, the bread’s in a basket on the counter, if you wouldn’t mind getting it.” Krista toted a large casserole dish with a couple of dishtowels.

  “No pot holders, I guess,” Marianna said, closing the balcony door behind them.

  Krista smiled. “I can’t think of everything.”

  “I see another housewarming gift on the horizon.”

  “Ladies,” Chase warned.

  Krista pecked his cheek as they passed. “You can’t help it if you’re domestically challenged.”

  God, this really was her dream. Marianna basked in the camaraderie. It was 94

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  something her family had never had. She wanted what Krista and Chase had with an intensity that made her dizzy. She was like the department store commercial with the woman on the outside whispering, “Open, open, open.” For tonight, Chase had opened the door to let her in. Then they were seated, plates filled, and Krista’s cooking was to die for. “I’ve never tasted lasagna as good.” She swirled the flavors on her tongue. Tomatotart and cheesy, it was sweet, but not any old sweet, something more, something—

  “Secret ingredient,” Krista said, her smile little-girl delighted.

  “Everything has a secret ingredient.” Chase covered his daughter’s hand.

  “She had dreams of being a chef like Emeril.”

  Krista snorted. “He’s a TV chef. I wanna be like Patricia Yeo or John Ash.”

  Marianna hadn’t heard of them, but she assumed Krista knew her own icons.

  “I thought you were a graphic design major.”

  “I am.” Krista shrugged, her glossy hair falling over her shoulder as she dipped her head. “The other thing’s not practical.”

  That sounded like something Marianna’s father would say. Chase wouldn’t. Right? She glanced at him. He was devouring his daughter’s divine meal. Even the salad was a profusion of color, with dried cranberries, mandarins, almond slivers, and blue cheese crumbles.

  “Just because something seems impractical at first glance doesn’t mean you can’t make it work if you have a plan.” Marianna avoided Chase’s eyes in case her comment pissed him off. Maybe he didn’t want his daughter to be a chef. The girl flipped her hair over her shoulder. “That’s what Dad says.”

  The ball of tension in her belly eased. Chase wasn’t shades of her dad. She was letting her relationship with her own father paint her view of everyone else’s.

  “See? Now there are two of us saying you should think about it, sweetheart.”

  Chase forked a mouthful of lasagna, the gooey cheese and tomato staining his lips before he licked it away. He closed his eyes to fully appreciate the blend of flavors, and when he looked at Krista again, he murmured, “To die for,” the very same thought Marianna had.

  Krista blushed with pleasure.

  “Think about doing what makes you happy, sweetheart, even if it seems like it might be hard. You’re smart, and you can do whatever you put your mind to.”

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  He meant it. He wasn’t lying.

  Marianna marveled. Then again, maybe Chase thought chefs made a ton of money and they were all famous.

  Krista clasped her hands. “I know, Dad, but . . . well . . . I have to think about it. I mean, having the career you want is fine, but if you’re struggling to pay the bills . . .” She trailed off, picking up her fork to toy with the food on her plate.

  “If it takes you a few years to get yourself going, I’m here to help you out, honey.”

  Her throat tight, Marianna watched them—Krista’s sweet smile, Chase’s adoration, a curve to his lips, crinkles at his eyes, and his gaze a deep, rich green focused on Krista.

  If her own father had encouraged her this way, would Marianna still be a librarian, a happy librarian? Which made her want to laugh hysterically, because instead she was the happy hooker, with delusions of being part of a family like this.

  Then again, if she was very, very lucky, maybe it could be hers.

  CHASE WALKED HER TO HER CAR. “THANK YOU.”

  Marianna didn’t beep the remote. She couldn’t bring herself to leave him yet.

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  His subtle aftershave did funny things to her insides as he cupped her cheek.

  “Krista smiled a lot. And she loved that you complimented her dinner.”

  She wanted to wrap herself in his words, his praise. “She’s a sweet girl.”

  Sliding his hand beneath her hair, he leaned his forehead against hers. A tremble passed through him, one she wouldn’t have felt if he hadn’t pressed so close. “I can’t explain,” he whispered, “how important tonight was.”

  Marianna made the move, touching her lips to his mouth, caressing him with her kiss. A fire built in her belly. Chase shuddered, engulfed her in his embrace, took over the kiss, his taste still sweet with dessert. It was a romantic kiss, more than sexual, a bonding, soul-deep, full-body, so perfect that moisture rose to her eyes.


  He pulled back slightly, held her face in his hands. “I’ll call you tomorrow when Krista leaves. After dinner sometime.”

  There was so much promise in his eyes, his touch, his words. Marianna 96

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  wanted to give him everything she had.

  CHASE LAY WIDE AWAKE, HANDS STACKED BEHIND HIS HEAD. Krista’s soft bed-prep noises—water running, door opening and closing as she padded to the kitchen for something—all had ceased long ago, yet he couldn’t sleep. The evening had been perfect. Krista thought Marianna was awesome, and they’d spent another hour talking after Marianna left. Real talk. For the last year, Rosie had been a specter hanging over them, something they couldn’t talk about yet was always between them. Tonight, he hadn’t felt Rosie. For the first time, he believed they could heal, move on. Krista agreed to consider cooking school. Whatever the expense, he’d swing it. He wanted her to be happy. That’s why Marianna’s offhand comment about Krista’s career options had meant so much. It gave him another foot in the door to get Krista thinking about going for what she really wanted.

  There were so many special things about Marianna. Christ, she could even find beauty in runway lights. She had a joie de vivre he needed her to help him relearn. She made him young again. She offered him a way to start his life over. He wanted her to give up being a courtesan. He wanted her to be his. He’d gone into free fall with that good-night kiss, wishing he could go home with her, make love to her, sleep in her arms.

  Tomorrow night, after Krista left for school, he’d have a long talk with Marianna and ask for everything he wanted.

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  14

  LAST NIGHT WAS SO PERFECT. ISABEL WOULDN’T APPROVE, OF course. Marianna had done the unthinkable and fallen for one of her clients. That only happened in fairy tales and movies like Pretty Woman. She couldn’t wait for Chase’s call tonight.

  Her cell rang in the afternoon as she was managing the first of two open houses. She prayed it was Chase calling her earlier than planned. Until she realized it was the wrong phone. She dug out her real phone, and her dad’s number popped up. God, talk about killing a great buzz. What had she done wrong? Thank God the house was empty. She didn’t want potential clients overhearing an argument.

  “What’s up, Dad?” She headed for the kitchen. She needed caffeine to deal with her father. She’d recommended the homeowners leave a pot for prospective buyers to enjoy, but also because the rich scent of coffee made a house seem like a home.

  “Listen, honey, your mom’s pitching a fit about having to go to a charity thing tonight. It’s the third one I’ve dragged her to in a week. Want to come with me instead?”

  Marianna held the phone away, checking the ID to make sure that really was her dad’s number. Yep, it was. “This is Marianna, Dad. Did you think you’d called Tina?”

  “I know who I called, honey. Sorry it’s last minute.”

  Tina was honey. If their mom couldn’t make it, Tina stepped in when he needed a companion to one of his big events. Ah, that was it. Tina had turned him down.

  “Well, if Tina can’t make it—”

  “I didn’t ask Tina, I asked you.”

  He didn’t ask Tina? Well, jeez, she wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth, to quote the old saying. He wanted her. “Sure, Dad, I’d love to. What time?”

  “I’ll send the car for you at six thirty, and you can pick me up on the way.”

  Six thirty. Chase was supposed to call after dinner, but she couldn’t talk to him with her dad there. Dilemma, dilemma. Okay. She’d call him today, very 98

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  brief, tell him about the change in plans, and suggest they talk tomorrow.

  “Cool,” she told her father. “I look forward to it.”

  “See you then, honey. Dress up with a really nice pair of the choo-choo shoes.”

  “Great.” Shoes. They were his concession. Now she was supposedly making money, she could have her Jimmy Choos. She’d take what she could get.

  “Thanks for inviting me, Dad.”

  “My pleasure, sweetheart.”

  Sweetheart. A house sale, that’s all it took. She should have started lying to her father years ago.

  MARIANNA CHOSE A SLEEK BLACK EVENING DRESS, BEADED JACKET, a darling pair of mini-boots, and the gambler’s chain Chase had given her. Elegant, stylish, and above all proper.

  Chase hadn’t answered. She’d left him a message instead.

  “You look lovely, sweetheart.” Her father complimented her as he climbed into the car.

  “Thanks, Dad. You look wonderful, too.” Distinguished and handsome in his black tux, no one would guess him to be sixty-two—late fifties at most. She couldn’t resist telling him her news. “A couple at the open house today was very interested in the property. We’re meeting tomorrow to go over an offer.” It was no lie. She was damn lucky to have scored this couple. Most people were lookieloos checking out their neighbors’ decorating scheme and getting an idea of their own house value.

  “Congratulations, honey.” He kissed her forehead. Another endearment. She was suffering from shock. They chitchatted during the short drive to the opera house where the charity event was being held. It was like standing back and watching someone else. She was amazed her father chitchatted with her.

  And once they arrived . . .

  “I’d like you to meet my daughter, Marianna. She’s a real estate agent on the Peninsula”—he beamed at her like a thousand-watt bulb—“and you can’t find better advice in this market.”

  Good God, he was advertising for her. He seemed to know absolutely everyone. Patrons filled the opera house’s front lobby. Most dressed in black and 99

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  white, with a few women going wild in navy or green. Conversation echoed against the high ceilings, laughter, glad-handing. Half an hour in, Marianna was parched. Champagne. She snagged two glasses from a passing waiter, handed one to her father, and applied a death grip to her own.

  “It is a down market with the whole credit crisis, but if you choose the right price . . .” She tried to sound intelligent. She wanted her father to be proud of her, but the stress made her head ache. She’d earned his respect, but she could easily lose it with one stupid remark.

  “Oh, yes, the south of France is a must during the winter,” she said, agreeing with . . . some woman. Marianna had never been to the south of France. And she couldn’t remember the lady’s name.

  She sipped faster on her champagne, the bubbles fizzing in her head. When were they were serving dinner? She should have eaten something. The woman left, a man replaced her. “You’re a pretty little thing. Where’s Asa been hiding you?” He was old—white hair, florid cheeks—and his tone was mildly suggestive.

  “Just work, work, work,” she said, quipping, “so I don’t get out to many functions.”

  “You know what they say, all work and no play.” He winked, and a tic started at the corner of his eye.

  Yuk. He was hitting on her right in front of her father, though Dad was deep in discussion with a CFO about . . . reserves, or something obviously involving money.

  Then, as if he felt her discomfort, her father exited his conversation and shot out an arm to draw her in. The white-haired man drifted off. Thank God.

  “Having a good time, honey? Making lots of contacts?”

  Okay, her mother had to have put him up to this, saying he wasn’t doing enough to help her. Because it was all starting to feel surrealistic. “Yeah, sure, Dad. A ton.”

  “That’s great. Now let’s mingle.”

  She’d been mingling, but his gaze was already darting around the room looking for business associates he hadn’t spoken to. As he started to pull away, a heavy arm slipped around her shoulder. “Asa, you sly devil.”

  Her stomach plunged. She knew that voice. Oh God, she knew that man. 100

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e

  Brock Ransom. Her first “date.” Her blood seemed to shudder to a complete stop in her veins.

  Good God, Brock was a friend of her father’s. The color drained from her dad’s face as if he’d had a premonition and knew something momentously bad was coming.

  Marianna wanted to run. She wanted to hide. She wanted to shut the man up before he said another word. “I—”

  Brock didn’t wait for her to finish. “I’m sure this one’s worth every penny.” He chucked her under the chin. “So don’t be stingy, Asa.” Oblivious to the panic swirling around him, Brock beamed down at Marianna. Then he slapped her father’s back. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, kids.”

  With a wink, he trundled off as if he hadn’t just brought her life crashing down around her.

  All the oxygen was sucked out of the room. Spots danced before her eyes. The voices and laughter all around secluded them. Just her. Just her father. Maybe he didn’t understand. There could still be hope. Brock had said so little. It might have meaning only to her guilty conscience. In their bubble of silence, she couldn’t look at her father. Then he cleared his throat, and she couldn’t not look at him.

  Oh God. Worth every penny. Don’t be stingy. Oh yes, he understood. Horror had bleached his skin white. His eyes were both a big round O of disbelief. He took two steps back. As if being too close to her was repulsive. “I have to go,” he muttered, minus his usual commanding tone. Turning his back on her, he disappeared through the big brass front doors. Marianna couldn’t move for a full five seconds. Then she dashed after him. Maybe she could explain, say something, anything. Outside, a doorman put his fingers to his teeth, whistled, and a cab shot to the curb. Her father climbed in without looking back, and the cabbie darted into the traffic.

  Exhaust seeped into her nostrils. A pounding started in her head—the noise, the car horns, the roar of engines, a homeless man shouting. Even if she could have caught up with her father, there was nothing to say. He would probably call Brock and ask for the full story. She could never explain it away.