"It was you!" Paul gestured emphatically with the beer bottle. "I looked right at you. I had to write out 'Penn Station' on a piece of scrap paper. We had us a little laugh about it, you and me."
Amanda watched Nick. He was the picture of serenity, maddeningly unruffled. She'd never known what an accomplished liar he was, a realization she found less than comforting.
"You know," Nick said, "a few months ago someone else told me there's this cabbie who looks just like me. Could be my twin, the guy said. I didn't think much of it at the time, but now?" He shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe we were separated at birth."
"He sounded just like you," Paul said.
"No kidding." Nick reached for his espresso cup.
Paul cogitated on this as he took a deep pull on the beer bottle. Amanda glanced around the room at her friends, all of whom appeared to be eating up Nick's separated-at-birth story. A frown tugged at her eyebrows. At the very least, she would have expected Sunny to jump on his lame explanation and have a little fun with it.
"Well, that's really something." Paul ambled out of the room, mumbling, "Coulda sworn it was the same guy."
Raven said, "Before we start exchanging Christmas presents, I think it only appropriate, under the circumstances, that we give Amanda and Nick their present first."
Their present? Amanda thought. As in a shared gift? She didn't like the sound of that.
"And isn't it just perfect after their announcement?" Sunny said.
"You're right," Charli agreed. "It's even better as an engagement gift."
"And better still—" Kirk nodded toward Mrs. Rossi, now snoring softly "—to present it while a certain party is blissfully unconscious."
"Well." Amanda's face ached with the strain of her forced smile. "Now you've got me intrigued."
Raven asked Hunter to retrieve an envelope from under the tree. He handed it to Amanda. Her name and Nick's were written on the outside in red and green ink.
"Whatever it is," she told Nick, "looks like we have to share."
"We'll be sharing everything else," he said with a smile. "May as well get used to it."
Opening the envelope, she pulled out a Christmas card with a cartoon image of Mommy kissing Santa under the tree. Inside she found a smaller gift-certificate envelope plus a handwritten note. She read it quickly.
"Oh no. You guys, this is… We can't accept this."
"What is it?" Nick took the note from her and read it. "Oh, wow."
"Of course you can accept it," Charli said.
"A gift certificate for a fancy dinner in Manhattan on New Year's Eve," Sunny said, "then you watch the ball go down in Times Square and stroll the short distance to the Marriott Marquis, where we've reserved a suite for you."
"A romantic New Year's with the man you love," Raven said. "What could be better?"
Never having come up with this cockamamie scheme in the first place, Amanda thought. That would have been better.
"This is an incredible gift," Nick said. "Thanks so much. We're going to have a blast. Aren't we, hon?" He patted Amanda's thigh.
Her mind rolled it around. The note said they'd have a suite. A suite meant more than one room. There was always a pull-out couch in the second room. She and Nick could toss a coin to see who got it.
"Yes, we are." She tried to sound sincere. "I've always wanted to see the ball come down. Thanks, guys."
* * *
Chapter 9
«^»
"Ten! … Nine! … Eight! … Seven!…"
Nick put his arm around Amanda as the crowd in Times Square pressed around them on all sides, chanting the countdown to the New Year. His gesture was prompted by more than the bitter cold. About a half million people were packed into the renowned "Crossroads of the World," straining against police barricades, jostling the two of them, eliciting Nick's protective instincts.
"Six! … Five! … Four!…"
After a brief hesitation, Amanda slid her arm around his waist. He turned up the collar of her dark brown shearling coat, snugging it around her throat. Meanwhile the famous rhinestone-studded ball, six feet in diameter and brilliantly illuminated from within, made its way down the lofty flagpole atop One Times Square. The ball glowed like a sun against the night sky, drawing all eyes from the ever-present billboards, neon signs and humongous video monitors that made up the complexion of Times Square.
"Three! … Two! … One! … HAPPY NEW YEAR!"
As the ball reached the base of the flagpole, the numerals of the New Year lit up. The jubilant screams of the onlookers, the blare of horns and noisemakers, were practically deafening.
Nick pulled Amanda into his arms. She looked up at him, her eyes a bottomless silver lagoon beneath the glittering lights dancing on their surface. Their breath smoked in the cold, the puffs of vapor mingling between them. He put his mouth near her ear. "Happy New Year," he whispered, and kissed her.
She gave a little start, whether from the abrupt intimacy or the startling heat of it in this frigid weather, he couldn't say. She relaxed into his embrace then, her gloved fingers clinging to his overcoat while he let his lips tarry. Not as long as they had on Christmas Eve, when he'd had the pleasure of shocking her speechless, but long enough to drive home the fact that they were doing this not for the benefit of her watchful friends, but because they wanted to.
They separated. Amanda's eyes drifted open and locked on his. "Happy New Year," she said.
What should have been a short stroll to the nearby Marriott Marquis hotel took nearly twenty minutes as they wove their way through the teeming crowd, many of whom were speaking foreign languages. The New Year's Eve celebration in Times Square, close to a century-long tradition, attracted thousands of tourists, many from other countries. Here and there, mounted policemen helped to maintain order as the revelers began to disperse.
The evening had begun for Nick and Amanda with an exceptional meal at a Portuguese restaurant. They'd lingered over dessert, splitting most of a bottle of port, gearing up for the toe-numbing ordeal of standing outside for several hours in single-digit temperatures.
Having checked in to the hotel earlier, they proceeded directly to their suite. They didn't speak as they took one of the glass elevators to the twentieth floor. They didn't speak as they negotiated the long hallway.
Nick knew Amanda was nervous. In truth, he'd half expected her to decline this part of their shared gift, the "romantic" overnight stay in a hotel suite. Of course, her pals were sure to find out if she didn't spend the night here with him. That would look suspicious; they might begin to ask questions. Somehow, though, he sensed there was more to her presence here tonight than fear of seeing her clever scheme blow up in her face.
Or perhaps that was just wishful thinking on his part.
Nick produced his key card and let them into the suite. Lamps had been left on in the living room. His eyes immediately homed in on the round table in the corner and the items that had been deposited there, prettily arranged on a white tablecloth. A bottle of champagne in an ice bucket, two delicate champagne flutes and a platter of goodies.
"What's all that?" Amanda shed her coat, casting him a dubious glance. "Did you order it?"
Tossing his own coat on the sofa, Nick crossed to the table. "Me? Are you kidding? I'm a typical doltish male who'd never think of such a romantic gesture—" he eyed her lovely, round bottom as she bent to pull off her black ankle boots "—even if our engagement weren't of the pseudo variety. I detect a female hand at work here. Aha!" he exclaimed, reading the small card that accompanied the spread.
"Don't tell me." She joined him at the table. "The Wedding Ring, right?"
He watched her realize what she'd said, watched her wish she could call back the words.
"There it is again," Nick said. "This mysterious reference to a Wedding Ring. Which I can now assume refers to our good pals Raven, Charli and Sunny. What is it, some sort of secret coven? Are you witches?" he teased.
"Maybe." She lifted a chocolate-dipped s
trawberry from the platter and bit into it. And let out an appreciative groan that bordered on the erotic.
"You, I could almost picture in a coven, with your apathy toward organized religion," he said, examining a smoked-salmon hors d' oeuvre. "But the other three attend church a little too regularly for me to buy the witch theory." He popped the hors d'oeuvre into his mouth. "Mm! This is good!"
Amanda faced him squarely. "We have to decide on sleeping arrangements."
"Of course, a significant hint might be the words 'Wedding Ring.'" He flexed his fingers to insert quotation marks. "From which I can deduce that this group's mission statement might include words like marriage, husband and china pattern. Am I getting warm?"
"We should do this fairly," she said, digging in her change purse. "I'm not assuming I'm getting the bedroom just because I'm the woman. How can I not have any coins? I've usually got pennies coming out the wazoo!"
"Nonsense. You're too young to be going through your change."
"What?"
"Never mind. Bad joke. So the purpose of this Wedding Ring is what? Finding each other husbands? No, that's just too old-world. What is it really?"
"Do you have a coin?"
"Sure." Nick reached into his trouser pocket. "How much do you need? You're not gonna go looking for a soda machine, are you? There's a fully stocked fridge right over there, not to mention a whole bottle of bubbly. Speaking of which—"
"I'll toss you for it."
"The bubbly?"
"The bedroom!" She plucked a quarter from his open palm. "Heads I win—"
"Wait a minute. If you think I'm going to let a woman sleep on one of those lumpy pull-out contraptions when there's a real bed available, think again. We're not going to toss for the bedroom. It's yours."
"Don't be antediluvian. I intend to do this fairly."
"What would be fair is for you to let me be a gentleman and give you the bed."
Amanda prepared to toss the coin. "Heads. I win."
"Have you ever just accepted something graciously?"
She flipped the quarter into the air and slapped it onto the back of her hand.
"We're going to let the coin decide," she decreed, and lifted her hand to reveal tails. She'd lost. Her eyebrows twitched together for an instant before she schooled her expression.
Nick said, "Don't say I didn't offer. Will you at least let me pull this thing out for you? The hotel must've figured we'd both be sleeping in the other room." He quickly hung up his overcoat, moved furniture out of the way, flung the cushions aside and unfolded the sofa into a bed. The mattress already sported fresh sheets and a blanket. He retrieved a pair of pillows from the closet and tossed them onto the bed with a flourish. "Ta da!"
"Huh. Thanks."
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing." Her gaze strayed through the open door of the bedroom, where a firm king-size bed waited, its covers turned down, two foil-wrapped chocolate mints on the pillows.
"This is what you wanted, right?" he pressed. "A fair coin toss."
"I said nothing's wrong!"
"Great. I always try to give a lady what she wants." Lifting the champagne bottle from the bucket of ice, he inspected the label and gave an appreciative whistle. "Piper Heidsieck. Someone's got good taste. Let's do this right. I'll pour us a couple of glasses while you change into something more comfortable."
The look on her face was priceless.
"Okay, let me clarify." He wrapped a cloth napkin around the head of the champagne bottle. "When I said 'something more comfortable,' I literally meant something more comfortable. Didn't you bring some flannel pj's? A fluffy robe or something?"
He watched her battle with indecision. That elegant pants outfit looked great on her, but it had been a long evening and she had to be ready to let her hair down. "I think I'll just go to bed," she said.
"Not until we've toasted the New Year." He twisted the bottle while keeping a firm grip on the cork. "I don't know what you're worried about. If I were the kind of guy who might attack you, it wouldn't much matter what you were wearing."
"If I thought you were the kind of guy who might attack me," she said, "I wouldn't be here with you now."
"See? We know each other better than you think." The cork came free with a soft pop. Nick filled the two flutes and set the bottle back in the ice bucket. He kicked off his shoes, tossed his suit jacket and necktie over a chair, loosened the collar and cuffs of his white dress shirt and pulled the tail out of his waistband. Throwing himself on the bed he'd just unfolded, he propped a pillow against the sofa back so he could sit with his legs extended. He grabbed the TV remote control and started channel-surfing. "Hurry up and change before the champagne goes flat."
Amanda disappeared into the bedroom, where they'd left their bags. Five minutes later she rejoined him, wearing a white, terry-lined silk jacquard robe over pale blue silk pajamas. She was barefoot. Her hair was loose, just grazing her shoulders.
Nick turned off the television. "Why don't you grab those glasses. And the bottle, too, while you're at it."
She placed the champagne on the lamp table next to Nick, and brought the platter of food as well, setting it on the blanket between them before shoving the other pillow behind her back as Nick had done, and sitting next to him on the sofa bed.
They clinked glasses. Amanda said, "Here's to a happy and prosperous New Year."
"May we both get what we most want." Nick took a sip. The champagne was cold and sparkly and delicious.
Neither spoke. It was a comfortable silence. Amanda perused the offerings on the platter and chose a marinated mushroom, while Nick worked his way through the smoked-salmon canapés.
"You know," she said at last, "I never did this with either of my husbands."
"Tossed a coin for the sofa bed?"
She made a face. "There were plenty of nights I would've liked to. No, I mean we never just sat quietly, enjoying each other's company."
"Never? That's hard to believe."
"There was always something going on, work or business trips, or one or both of us had some social obligation the other wanted no part of or…" She trailed off.
"Or?" he said.
Amanda looked at him for a long moment, as if weighing a decision. She drained her glass and let him refill it. She didn't look at him as she finished, "Or he'd be slipping around with some other woman."
That hadn't been easy for her to admit, and Nick felt a surge of anger toward the bastard who'd hurt her. "Which one did that?"
"They both did. At least Roger knew how to be discreet. Ben's girlfriends used to call the house."
"Another mystery solved," he said.
"What do you mean?"
"I wondered why you left them."
Amanda speared another mushroom with her hors d'oeuvre pick. Her silence was telling.
"Were there other reasons?" he asked. As if infidelity weren't enough.
After a moment she said, "I'm really not comfortable talking about this."
"Amanda, look at me."
She did. She probably thought her carefully blank expression revealed nothing. If he were a casual observer, that might have been true. But Nick had learned to read Amanda Coppersmith pretty well during the past weeks. And right now he read a hurt that went deep.
Quietly he said, "I wish you'd trust me."
"I trust you, Nick. It's just … it's just no one else's business, that's all."
He brushed his knuckles down her satiny cheek "It wasn't your fault, Amanda." She tried to avert her face; he didn't let her, his fingers firm on her jaw.
"Whatever made them such lousy husbands, it wasn't your fault. You didn't make it happen."
She jerked her head away. "How can you know that?"
Because no man in his right mind would step out on a lady like you. He didn't say it.
Amanda sat up straight. "Things aren't always what they seem. I wish people would stop making assumptions, stop—" She shook her head, as if to stem the tide of word
s.
But Nick had heard enough. He'd heard what she'd said and he'd heard the part she couldn't bring herself to say. So he said it for her. "You didn't leave Roger and Ben, did you, Amanda? They left you."
She sat hugging her knees to her chest, hiding her face under the fall of her hair. Nick wanted nothing more than to pull her into his embrace, to offer the comfort of his arms—but he knew she wasn't ready for that.
He was in no hurry. He refilled his glass, and hers. He ate a mozarella-and-tomato canapé and waited her out.
"I guess I can't blame everyone for thinking it was the other way around." Amanda's voice was hoarse. "It's this image I project—the one that says I don't need anybody, nothing gets to me. The Ice Queen in all her glory."
"No one who knows you thinks of you like that."
"Then why do they all just assume that I was the one who walked out—" Her voice broke, and Nick curled his hand into a fist to keep from reaching for her.
"How about because they all know how wonderful you are," he said, "and what losers your exes were?"
"That's easy to say, but outsiders can never know what goes on in a marriage. Not you, not my friends."
"That's true, but—"
"I screwed up, Nick." She faced him fully, let him see the anguish she no longer attempted to hide. "I failed. I wanted more than anything to be a good wife. I tried so hard, but I failed."
He frowned. "What does that mean, to be a good wife?"
She pushed her hair off her face, rubbed her damp eyes. "For starters? It means being woman enough to keep your man from wanting other women."
Nick couldn't help it; he laughed. "Honey, there's not much you can do to alter nature. Men are always going to want other women. No matter how much they love you."
Amanda blinked in astonishment, as if she'd assumed he was above so vile an impulse as infidelity. Nick found her faith in his character gratifying.
"Men always want it," he clarified. "It's what they do about it, or don't do about it, that counts. Your exes made their choice, and I'm betting they lived to regret it." Amanda started to object; he talked over her. "Yeah, yeah. I know, they left you. But let me ask you, weren't you getting a little fed up by then yourself?"
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