by Laura Moore
“I’d say we’re pretty lucky too,” Gen replied lightly. Like Alex, Caleb was dressed in a dark suit. Like Alex, he looked devastatingly handsome. A dark prince to Alex’s golden god. But although Gen recognized Caleb Wells’s devastating good looks, he somehow lacked the special aura Alex possessed. The special something that made her pulse flutter like the wings of a hummingbird whenever she looked at him. But that didn’t stop Caleb from being utterly and devilishly charming. “You clean up pretty nice, Dr. Wells,” she said in what had to be the understatement of the century.
“Oh, so you like the suit, too, huh?” He shook his head. “The mysteries of the female mind. I only agreed to wear it ’cause I figured it was the easiest way to get up close and personal with the caviar. You did say beluga, didn’t you, Miller?” he asked, addressing the back of Alex’s head. “Buckets of it?”
Ahead of her, Alex shook his head. “Yes, Caleb,” he replied with exaggerated patience. “There’ll be a raw bar, too. But if I were you I’d pace myself. One of the main courses is lobster.”
“You know, Cassie, I believe I’m growing fonder of your brother every day.”
Gen was in the midst of a lighthearted repartee with Cassie and Caleb when she heard a familiar voice greet Alex.
“Hello, Alex. Good evening, Mrs. Miller. It’s so nice to see you again,” Sydney Raines said.
Of course, the first person they’d see tonight would be Sydney, Gen thought. Suddenly she wished she were standing closer to Alex so that she could observe his expression as he talked to his ex-girlfriend. Or maybe not. She really wasn’t ready for this. Her steps faltered.
Then Caleb was giving her arm a reassuring squeeze, silently offering his support. He and Cassie were obviously aware of how potentially awkward this situation could be. And Gen realized that she’d walk over burning coals before doing anything to cause embarrassment to Alex and his family. Fixing her smile in place, Gen stepped forward.
Standing by the reception desk, Sydney looked sensational. On any other woman the revealing ecru halter dress might have appeared trashy. Sydney made it look Fifth Avenue elegant. She’d cut her hair, styling it in a short bob that framed the oval perfection of her face. Her mauve painted lips were parted in a bright, confident smile that didn’t slip when her eyes met Gen’s briefly. “Hello, Cassie, Caleb,” she said, hesitating only slightly before adding, “Gen.”
“Hello, Sydney,” the three of them replied in unison. After which Gen was at a complete loss as to what to say next. Thus, she could have kissed Cassie’s cheek for adroitly picking up the conversational ball.
“You’re looking terrific, Sydney,” Cassie said. “Obviously organizing this party for Alex has been a snap.”
Gen thought she saw something like relief flicker in Sydney’s brown eyes. “Yes, everything’s gone so smoothly; working with a restaurant like La Plage makes all the difference. Harry and I will be extremely lucky if all the arrangements go as well in Boston this fall.” She turned toward the man at her side and said, “Cassie, this is my partner, Harry Byrne. Harry, this is Cassie and Caleb Wells, and this is Genevieve Monaghan.”
Remembering that Harry Byrne had been present the day Sydney discovered Gen in Alex’s arms, Gen’s cheeks warmed with embarrassment. He too had to be aware of the undercurrents that were rippling beneath this seemingly relaxed meeting.
“Hello,” she said, warily meeting his eyes as she stretched out her hand. But she saw only kindness and intelligence in their green depths as Harry smiled and shook it.
“Syd has spoken to me about your art,” he said. “She admires it very much. I’m looking forward to seeing your piece for the Children’s Hospital.”
“Thank you. I only hope it will do justice to the space.”
“I’m sure it will. By the way, I’ve heard you have a number of family members in the Boston area. Perhaps you’d like to invite them to the dedication ceremony?”
She smiled, grateful that he’d been so considerate as to think of her family. “I’d better ask Alex about that. Inviting the Monaghans is like inviting a small town.”
As if by saying his name she had magically summoned him, Alex appeared at her side. “Definitely put them on the list, Harry,” Alex said, taking her hand in his. “I’ve been making a few last-minute changes in the seating arrangements with Sydney. Everything looks terrific. You and Sydney have done a superb job.”
“Thanks, Alex.”
“I’m going to see Gen gets some champagne before everyone starts arriving. I’ll make sure the waiter wanders over in your and Sydney’s direction, too.”
Harry flashed a quick, infectious grin. “He would be most welcome indeed. It was good to meet you, Gen.”
Alex led Gen into the dining room. The decorator had obviously been asked to evoke the spirit of the restaurant’s name, La Plage—“the beach.” The walls were papered a soothing off-white and the large open room was illuminated by wall sconces and candles that bathed it in a soft, flattering light. But it was the ceiling that created the atmosphere: suspended above them were large, billowing canvas cloths draped to evoke summer clouds. The fabric swayed in the light the breeze coming through the open French doors that gave onto a patio.
She gazed at the circular tables decorated with artfully arranged majolica candelabrum and flowers. “Oh, Alex, this is beautiful. Did Sydney do all this?”
“Yeah. I knew she’d do an amazing job, she’s a pro. But never mind about Sydney. I want to know about you.” His hands framed her face as he regarded her searchingly. He brushed his lips against hers. “Are you okay?” he asked quietly.
Gen drew a deep breath. “I am now.”
And she was.
Somehow Alex made the nerve-racking ordeal of meeting stranger after stranger easy. She’d been dreading being lost in a sea of investment- and business-speak, but Alex never failed to include some fact or anecdote when he introduced the men and women to her that allowed her to meet them on common ground. And he was right, she did like some of them—not only for the fact one man had grown up in Braintree, Massachusetts, a town not far from Somerville, or that another, who when he wasn’t designing software programs made furniture using only eighteenth-century tools, but also because so many of these people clearly valued Alex’s friendship, not just his business acumen.
One couple, who lived in New York and had adopted four racing greyhounds, had just left after swapping large-dogs-in-the-city stories with Gen, when suddenly Sydney appeared.
“Excuse me, Alex,” she said, laying a hand on his sleeve. “I was wondering if I might speak to you for a moment.”
Not waiting to hear whether Sydney would tack on “in private” to her request, Gen said, “I think I’ll go out on the patio for a breath of fresh air.”
Gen had excused herself too quickly for Alex to call her back. On the other hand, he knew how uncomfortable Gen felt, having to deal with Sydney’s presence. She’d be okay out on the patio. A few minutes earlier he’d noticed Lizzie Osborne slipping through those same doors. Alex looked at Sydney and inclined his head. “Yes, Sydney? What can I do for you?”
“I wanted to tell you that Harry and I are leaving now. Your guests are all checked off. I talked to Nancy. They’ll be seating people in about fifteen minutes.”
“Thanks. You and Harry have done a fabulous job tonight. I’ve mentioned Raines and Byrne Consulting to a number of people already.”
“That was really nice of you, especially after . . .” Sydney paused and he saw her throat work as if swallowing was suddenly difficult. “Especially after the way I’ve behaved these past few weeks. I’m really sorry, Alex. I acted like a complete idiot.”
“Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself. I’m just glad to see you looking so good. You have a glow about you I’ve never seen.” He smiled. “You look happy, Sydney.”
Her eyes met his and she blushed. “Yeah,” she said softly. “It’s amazing. I’m happier than I’ve been my whole life.”
“H
arry’s a good man, Sydney. I hope everything works out for the two of you. You deserve it,” he said and winked.
A surprised laugh tumbled from Sydney’s lips as she remembered Alex saying that very thing during their breakup. “You’re right. I do. If you need to reach Harry or me, call my cell. We’ll be out of the office for a week. He’s taking me to Maine,” she said, her eyes sparkling.
“Maine, huh? I wouldn’t have pegged you for an L.L. Bean kind of girl.”
For a second her smile turned wistful. “I know.” Impulsively she leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. “Take care of yourself, Alex,” she whispered. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
Gen couldn’t stop herself. As soon as she reached the torchlit patio, she turned around, her eyes glued to Alex and Sydney talking to each other. Too far away to hear their words, she had to rely on their body language. With every smile they exchanged, her heart grew heavier then plummeted as she watched them kiss.
“It’s killing you, isn’t it? You must be really stuck on him,” a woman’s voice said, not unkindly.
Gen whirled around. At first she saw nothing, only the orange glow of a cigarette burning. Then a woman stepped out of the shadows. “Sorry. I feel like some kind of creepy double Peeping Tom, watching you watch them. If it’s any consolation, though, I came to a very different conclusion than the one you obviously reached. For instance, that kiss. You probably thought it was mutual. It wasn’t. She kissed him. Believe me, that means Miller’s not interested—at least, not anymore,” she told Gen with utter certainty in her voice.
Gen cocked her head, regarding the woman curiously. “How could you tell all that?”
“My ex-husband. He taught me everything there is to know about men kissing other women. He was an expert in his chosen field,” she said and took a long drag of her cigarette. Almost immediately she began to cough. Dropping the cigarette onto the patio, she ground it under her heel. “Nasty, awful things,” she muttered. “Thank God I gave them up. I only bummed one from my friend Steve because I was a little freaked out about coming here tonight. And then to add to my nerves, my three-year-old daughter couldn’t bear the thought of my date leaving her. I had to bribe her with two ice cream sandwiches before she’d let him go—which of course made us late. So I ducked out here, thinking this cig would be just the thing to settle my nerves. Now I’ve got a head rush like you wouldn’t believe and with my luck I’ll probably end up puking on my plate. At which point my date will laugh at me and tell me it’s my own fault. And damn his golden eyes, he’ll be right,” she said, her voice filled with such comic resignation that Gen couldn’t help laughing.
The woman flashed a quick answering grin. “Sorry again. I talk a lot when I’m stressed.” Stepping fully into the light, she said, “Now that you know my entire life story, I might as well introduce myself. Hi, I’m Lizzie Osborne.”
The knockout, Gen remembered Alex and Caleb had called her. The term didn’t come close to doing justice to Lizzie Osborne’s beauty. She had the kind of looks that make movie stars into idols. Gen smiled and held out her hand. “I’m Gen Monaghan. I’m pleased to meet you. So you’re here with this Sam Brody I’ve heard so much about?”
“Yeah. I agreed in a moment of temporary insanity, brought on by Emma chirping about Sam day and night. I figured if she saw him she might stop talking about him. Not one of my smarter bets.” She paused and glanced past Gen’s shoulder. “Speak of the absolute devil,” she murmured. “Sam’s over there, talking with your Alex Miller. The woman’s gone, by the way. Now that you and I have become such good, fast friends, want some really good advice?”
“Definitely.”
“Don’t let your fears destroy you,” she said quietly, a shadow darkening her luminous eyes. Just as quickly it was gone, replaced by an impish light as she continued. “And since both your courage and mine could use a little boost, I suggest we snag some of the champagne that’s floating around and then do our level best to torture the male species. What do you say, Gen?” she asked with a grin.
Gen found herself instinctively drawn to Lizzie Osborne. There was something incredibly appealing about her quirky sense of humor and her seemingly irrepressible spirit. Because it hadn’t taken Gen more than these few minutes in her presence to understand that she used them to conceal a deep hurt.
With an answering smile, Gen said, “I’d say that sounds like a definite plan.”
“Damn straight. Stick with me, kiddo, and you’ll go far—and meet some great people, too. Let’s go find Steve and Ty, two of my favorite people in the world.”
“And where do I rank, Lizzie?” asked a man who’d stepped onto the patio, balancing three champagne flutes between his fingers. While the cut of his suit hinted at the solid strength of his body, he moved with a fluid, powerful grace.
Standing next to her, Gen saw Lizzie shiver and then stiffen, as if fighting an involuntary reaction. “Well, Sam, you might squeak into the top hundred if those champagnes are for me and my friend Gen. Gen, this is Sam Brody, my,” she paused and cleared her throat, “date. Sam, this is Gen—”
“—Monaghan,” Gen supplied.
“Pleased to meet you, Gen. Alex asked me to bring you this with his compliments,” he said, smiling as he handed her a glass of champagne before passing the second to Lizzie. “So, Lizzie, I’ve made the top one hundred, huh?” Amusement laced his voice. “I’d say this calls for a toast.”
“I hate to disappoint you, Sam, but those other ninety-nine people? They’re rock solid. Old friend though you are, you’ll never make it to the top.” Sorrowfully she shook her head, her thick, reddish-gold hair sweeping her shoulders.
Sam Brody merely grinned and raised his glass. “To Lizzie, my very own Everest.”
“Don’t forget to bring your oxygen tank,” Lizzie purred.
“And here I was hoping you’d offer a little mouth-to-mouth resuscitation—me being such an old friend and all.”
“In your dreams, Sam Brody.”
Gen sipped her champagne to hide her smile. Obviously Sam and Lizzie were engaged in some longstanding contest. A contest in which the stakes were very high. She wondered who would be the ultimate winner. Her musings were interrupted when a black-clad waiter stepped through the French doors to announce that dinner was served.
TWENTY-THREE
It was nearly two o’clock in the morning when the last guests left, calling out effusive thanks to Alex as they got into their cars and drove off.
After so many hours of playing host, seeing the final pair of taillights exit La Plage’s parking lot was a relief. He’d begun to chafe, wondering why in hell everyone was hanging around when all he wanted was to go home, strip that sinfully sexy dress off Gen, and make love to her again and again until they drifted into oblivion.
Just then the object of Alex’s fantasy yawned, only belatedly clapping a hand to her mouth. “Sorry,” Gen said with a sheepish smile.
“Tired?” Not too, I hope, he thought, lifting his hand to stroke a strand of silky-smooth hair that had come loose from her chignon.
“And how.” She nodded, smiling around another yawn. “It was a great party, Alex. I didn’t know you could have so much fun without softball and hot dogs on the grill.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“Yeah, I did.” She rubbed the side of her face against the curve of his hand and blinked sleepily. “But I’m afraid this Cinderella desperately wants out of her party dress so she can hit the hay.”
“What a coincidence. I was thinking along those very same lines.” He stepped forward, allowing her to feel the heat of his body.
“Mmm.” The sound came from deep in her throat. “You princes are all alike. Ply a girl with more champagne and caviar than she’s ever seen in her life just so you can have your wicked way with her.”
Alex grinned. “Guilty as charged. You game, Monaghan?”
She leaned into him, her supple body melting against him. “Absolute
ly.”
“Then let’s get the hell out of here,” he said, grabbing her hand.
He should have guessed what would happen.
As the car tooled along the twisty East Hampton back roads, Alex taking care not to speed lest a stray deer jump out from the dense scrub oak that bordered it, an all-too-common hazard in this area, he and Gen conducted a post-mortem on the party. Perhaps because he was intent on scanning the road for foraging deer, he didn’t notice at first that Gen’s comments about the people she’d met were growing shorter and that her responses took longer in coming. It wasn’t until he said, “You and Lizzie Osborne seemed to really hit it off,” and was answered with complete silence that he glanced over. Gen was curled up against the car door, her hands tucked under her cheek. “Well, damn,” Alex swore without heat and shook his head.
Not even Murphy pirouetting and whining with excitement at their return could rouse Gen. Maneuvering around the dog so he wouldn’t bump Gen awake in his enthusiasm, Alex carried her to the futon. Bending, he dragged the coverlet back, and then lowered Gen down. Sleep made her boneless as a rag doll and she nearly toppled sideways. “No, love, let me get this off you first,” he whispered, his hands already peeling the dress up her slender body.
His breath caught in his throat as he gazed at her lying there, fast asleep.
How was it that each time he looked at her, she grew more beautiful? How was it that every time he was near her he ached with the need to hold her and love her, knowing that when he did, the passion between them would burn sweeter and hotter than the time before? How was it that the sight of Gen Monaghan sleeping filled him with such tender protective-ness, made him want to wrap his arms about her again and hold her, not just tonight or tomorrow, or even six months from now, but for ever and ever?
For ever and ever? The thought rocked him with the force of an earthquake. Jesus, he was a hair’s breadth away from falling head over heels in love with her.
Hands trembling, Alex pulled the blanket over Gen’s body. Giving her a last, long, troubled look, he quietly left the studio.
