“I’m sweaty from yoga,” she replied in denial.
He pushed back her hair and palmed her cheek. “I want there to be an us so badly that it makes me stupid. I wish I knew how to make you believe that.”
“I don’t think you can,” Georgia answered quietly, her natural honesty just slipping out despite it being a bad idea to show her true feelings to this man right now.
Another bad idea was his mouth covering hers.
An even worse idea was her arm snaking around his waist to pull him close when his tongue slipped along the edges of her teeth. His kiss was silky and delicious… and it had been so very, very long.
Brent pulled away from her, took a breath, and then came back for more. This time his hands gripped her hips and lifted her against him. The kiss spun out with full tongue and he seemed in no hurry to end the exploration. She could have stayed pressed against him all night.
And feeling such a longing was probably her biggest mistake so far.
Damn it… how big of an idiot was she planning to be for this man?
Georgia used a hand to push Hollywood away far enough to breathe. No wonder his exes kept showing up. Maybe Trudy thought it was about his money, but she had a whole different opinion… now.
“Wow. That was… too much. I will see you Saturday,” Georgia said brightly, not for one minute sounding remotely like herself.
He backed up enough to let her slide into the driver’s seat. “Whatever I did to make you mad, I hope you forgive me by Saturday, Georgia.”
Snorting, she rolled her eyes and started her car.
She briefly thought about whipping the steering wheel hard enough to hit him, but the last thing she needed was to go to jail for running over Cincinnati’s premiere plastic surgeon. Her private humiliation would for sure become a very public one then. That would be far worse for Mariah’s business. Better to just deal with his ex-wives and keep her chin up.
But now she really wanted to get the weekend over and done. She wanted her life to return to a pre-Hollywood state of ignorant bliss about him.
Come next Monday, she’d take out a damn restraining order if Dr. Brentwood Colombo, the most imperfect date possible, didn’t leave her the hell alone.
Chapter Six
Ann had tried to talk her into a pair of three inch sparkling gold heels, but Georgia had insisted the cream colored pumps she’d found that matched the suit were way more her style. Her ego was already going to take a beating. She was not going to risk breaking a hip during this farce or having her feet suffer for weeks because of one night.
Hollywood had sent a car to the house for her, ensuring she’d started the evening with a red face over her neighbors gawking at the limo. Now she’d have no means of motorized escape on her own and she wondered if that had been intentional too.
The black suited driver had smiled knowingly at her exasperated sigh as he’d held open the door for her. But she’d also caught him grinning over her modest house.
She’d also caught the older man checking out her lace covered breasts when her low cut top slipped even lower. The unexpected masculine attention was helpful tonight, especially when she was venturing so far outside her honesty zone.
Not too damn bad for a woman who was sixty-two, if you asked her opinion.
Really, this dating stuff wasn’t all bad. Maybe she’d let her daughter fix her up with a decent guy or two later. Surely there had to be one or two in Mariah’s database who might suit her, even if he was rich.
The balloon operator Ann had dated had sounded like fun. Of course, he’d been in his forties. She was probably too old for him, but tonight she didn’t look too old nor did she feel it. She felt accomplished, confident, and mature—which she refused to think of as a bad thing.
She was going to keep her word, stand at Hollywood’s side, and then get the hell out of there at the first polite opportunity.
Her confidence in being able to manage her plans was the one good thing about all the primping and fussing. Tonight she truly felt a little like the storybook Cinderella… and not the Granny-Ella version Trudy had teased her about being.
The gold rinse on her hair had worked a miracle she certainly would never have tried without Ann’s encouragement. The heavy purple and gold silk tank hidden in one of Trudy’s dressers had turned out to be a very sexy accompaniment for the real gold studded skirt. As loose as the top was, Georgia couldn’t see how Trudy could ever have worn it without way more boob slippage, but the absent minded chef hadn’t remembered wearing the tank at all.
Of course that seemed the case with most of the clothes in the red room. How could a woman with that overwhelming amount of luxury ever fully appreciate what it afforded her? Everything was beautiful and flattering and super comfortable in the way expensive clothes always were. Trudy looked at the items like she still wasn’t sure how it had all ended up at her house.
A tiny gold purse with a few essentials for the evening was casually slung over one shoulder. It was yet another treasure, this one gleaned from Trudy’s jewelry armoire, as was the heavy real gold necklace and matching clip-on earrings that swung against her neck when she moved.
Despite how surreal the signs of wealth felt on her body, Georgia stared out of the car window and enjoyed the ride. This was probably going to be a one of a kind experience, being whisked away in a limo for a date at a rich man’s estate.
She saw her fantasy hadn’t been far off when the car drove between the privacy gates of a house Georgia couldn’t see either end of in the dark. She’d expected Hollywood to have a mansion, but it seemed more like he lived in a whole damn country club. His home was certainly in a part of the Cincinnati area she’d never seen except at a distance.
Shaking her head over the weirdness of it all, Georgia let the driver help her from the car. Once standing, she turned to him.
“What’s your name?” Georgia asked.
“My name is Leonard, ma’am.”
“Do you know the story of Cinderella, Leonard?”
“Quite familiar, ma’am. My granddaughter fancies herself a princess.”
“Well, I’m playing Cinderella tonight and your car is my pumpkin getaway carriage. So stay close, Leonard. I’m going to need to get away in about two hours.”
“Somehow I don’t see you turning into a soot-covered hearth maid at the stroke of midnight.” Leonard’s face broke into a smile as he pulled out a card. “Okay, here. Just text that number on the back. Your pumpkin carriage will be ready when you are, Cinderella.”
“Thank you, Leonard. That makes me feel much better. My prince turned out to be a real toad, but I still have to go to the ball. Do me a favor tomorrow. Tell your granddaughter that princesses can save themselves. The girl will be much happier in life if she grows up believing that.”
Leonard tipped his hat to her and was still laughing as she turned toward the house. People passed by her as she stood staring. The men were all in suits. The women wore shimmering dresses and towering heels. If she’d been any less dressed up, she would never have gotten the courage to go in.
This whole evening reminded her of the first time she’d gone to the Officer’s Club on a base where they’d been stationed when she was in her forties. She’d had a hard time finding her comfort level among the women whose husbands had been officers for years. No kindness had been extended to her. No welcome to the new woman. It had been more of a watching game.
The wives of the existing officers had waited for her to show the least sign of vulnerability, but she hadn’t shown them any. Instinct had warned her that her husband was being judged by what she did. She’d held up her chin despite the emotional exhaustion she’d felt hanging tough.
She’d gotten very lucky in bed when they’d gone home that night. Her husband had her naked by the time the babysitter had closed the front door. He was so proud of her for fitting in… so pleased with her efforts. It had been one of those marital illusions that she hadn’t been able to divest him of, not ev
en over time.
Great sex was a blessing to any relationship, and it had certainly made for a happier marriage, but it hadn’t made up for having had to return and deal with those backstabbing bitches over and over. Worst service base they’d ever been assigned to in Georgia’s opinion, but God, her husband had loved that promotion in rank. Her sex life had been fantastic during those six years there, but real friends had never shown up. She’d nearly been giddy when her husband had said he was ready to retire and move home to Ohio.
“Pumpkin carriage is still here if you’ve changed your mind about going in,” Leonard whispered from behind her. “In case you’re wondering, Cinderella, you look as good as anyone else. A good carriage driver wouldn’t lie to you about that.”
Georgia laughed and shook her head, smiling over her shoulder. “Taking me away from this crap fest evening is the most tempting offer I’ve had from a man in a while.”
“Aren’t you here as Doc’s date?” Leonard asked. “That’s what he told me when he set up the ride. I’ve known Brent for years.”
“Oh, I’m his date alright. Why do you think I’m hesitating? A little bird told me all his exes are coming tonight.”
“Are they? Shit, that’s some bad luck. My money’s still on you.”
“You might want to rethink that bet, Leonard. I’m the longshot.”
“That’s not how I heard it,” Leonard said. “So are you running or what? I’m blocking the rest of the guests. This is one very long car.”
“Don’t be silly,” Georgia said. “I couldn’t possibly run in these new shoes. But I will limp back out here in two hours no matter what it costs me in pain.”
“Yes, ma’am. Cinderella, ma’am. I will be ready. Don’t forget to send that text to me.”
Leaving a grinning Leonard standing on the sidewalk, Georgia sighed over and over as she walked towards the brightly lit door.
Chapter Seven
“Hello, Mayor Tibby… Mrs. Tibby. You two look stunning tonight.”
“Hello, Henna. We wouldn’t miss one of your father’s parties. He’s a very giving man. And these events are always for such good causes.”
“That’s the only reason I’m here. I hate these things. People act so phony at them,” Henna said gaily, softening her statement with a girlish giggle.
Amidst protestations that she was far too young to be so cynical, she hugged two of her father’s favorite guests as she moved on through the gathering crowd.
The Tibbys thought she’d been joking, but Henna seriously hated these parties. She hated them partly because they drew people more anxious to be seen than to contribute to any cause.
Her mother had hated them as well, but had always put on a brave face for them because of her father. She’d been in her teens when her mother died. Her father had married a short year after, to her dismay and pretty much everyone else’s.
Having her own wing of the house had kept her in her father’s house longer than she’d planned. His divorce number one had kept her home through her college years. Entrenched and comfortable by her graduation, she’d toughed out marriage number two, but her heart had gotten more scarred.
Tying the knot and later untying it had been like using marital shampoo for her father. He would court and buy a wife who seemed full of promise. He’d work up a good lather with her, rinse, and then repeat the process when the marriage stopped working.
About the time her father had figured out he wasn’t going to be able to replace her mother by sequentially marrying—an epiphany Henna still believed was the prompting for divorce number three—she’d also figured out her own marital problem. The man she’d married, and brought into the house to help her survive emotionally, had been secretly sleeping with not one, or two, but nearly all six of her wicked step-sisters from marriages two and three.
Their giggling over it behind her back had hurt as much as her husband’s shoulder shrug when confronted about his actions. “Surely she’d known,” Justin explained, “what it would be like living under the roof with women so eager to hurt her.” Willing to give his ‘it’s-their-fault’ theory a chance, they’d both moved out, gone to therapy—well, she had gone for a while. Her ex, Justin Butthead Davis, had ended up flirting with the therapist.
Wise at last and no longer desperate, Henna hadn’t bothered looking for a new therapist. She’d finally been done trying to make something good out of something bad. Convinced beyond doubt that she’d married a cheating asshole, she’d made a short call to her father’s divorce lawyer. Thank God for pre-nuptial agreements. Her father had set a good example with those, if not in finding the perfect relationship.
“Henna, look at you. You look all grown up in that dress. Didn’t you just graduate a few years ago?”
She smiled and hugged her father’s golf partner. “I’ve been out of school nearly five years, but thank you, Mr. Hamilton. That makes me feel very young.”
“Call me Ned, honey. That mister stuff makes me feel a hundred years old.”
“Dad’s seeing to drinks in the music room. I’m sure he’d love to see a friendly face.”
“On my way to save the day… and your father’s sanity,” Ned said, giving her a quick hug.
Fighting off the sigh she felt welling up, Henna wove through strangers who’d received invitations. Her father always liked to make sure the chance to give was equally distributed among the upper wealthy ten per cent of Cincinnati residents.
Her misery decided to take a turn for the worse when she saw the man she’d booted from her life lift his hand and smile like they were old friends. Justin was just as handsome as always, even more now that he’d hit thirty. And standing beside him, waving at her just as hard were three of her former step-sisters. She’d always heard history never liked to repeat itself, and yet once a year it did so in front of her, right in the ballroom of her father’s giant home. That’s why she tried her best to skip this.
Justin parted the crowd with an arm covered in Armani and a hand that had never done a single day’s real work. Not that she’d done much real work in her life either, but she was trying. Justin had been engaged twice since their divorce, but both women had managed to escape him before the venue cancellation charge kicked in. He seemed undaunted by his relationship setbacks. She wish she could be undaunted. She wished she never had to see him again.
Henna stopped where she was and braced herself. Her head dropped and she studied the floor until she felt a finger poking sharply into her spine.
“Who has a giant water fountain in their foyer? Stand up straight and raise that chin, girl. I don’t know who the handsome bastard is, but you sure as hell don’t want him to think you’re still pining over his ass, do you?”
“Oh… hi, Georgia,” Henna said, her face flushing to be confronted with yet another of her sins. “The handsome bastard is my ex—for several years now. And my first stepmother asked Dad to put in that fountain. It’s made from Italian marble.”
Georgia chuckled. “Did it save him the cost of putting in a swimming pool? It’s large enough to swim in.” Her gaze went to the guy still making his way toward Henna. “I knew something was up from the sleazy way he was smiling at you and the downtrodden way you were hanging your head.”
“I was not hanging my head,” Henna denied, shaking her head from side to side to prove it. She met Georgia’s heavily mascara-ladened eyes, which seemed to be laughing at her lie. “You look very different tonight. Visited the outlet stores again, did you?”
“Shows how much you know, Missy. I merely visited my rich friend’s closet. She said I look like an aging movie star who should know better than to date a man like your father.”
Henna choked out a laugh just as Justin stepped up and hugged her.
“Darling, you look wonderful. What have you done to yourself?”
Henna backed away and shrugged off his touch. “Hello, Justin. Have you met Georgia Bates?”
“I have not had the pleasure,” Justin said, turning his
smile to Georgia as he held out a hand.
Georgia lifted a brow at Henna even as she let Henna’s too smooth ex take her hand. “Nice to meet you too,” she lied, just as pleasantly as he had.
“You look familiar to me. Do I know you?” Justin asked. “What do you do, Georgia?”
Georgia looked at Henna and saw the girl biting her lip. Henna had almost no poise under pressure. Hollywood should be ashamed of himself for not making sure she could handle asses like this better.
Georgia turned an assessing gaze to Justin. “I date Henna’s father for a living,” she replied dryly. “What do you do, Justin? Besides cheat on his daughter that is. If it’s her money you’ve got your eye on, I would have thought keeping her happy in bed to have been a better strategy. But I guess even sharp-minded gold-diggers like us make mistakes once in a while. Personally, I’m rethinking this whole dating thing.”
Justin blinked and backed up at the insult. “I see Henna’s been catching you up on the family history. Too bad she didn’t share about her part in our little drama.”
Georgia shrugged and tried to look bored. “Henna doesn’t like me anymore than she has the other women her father married. I actually know about you—and about Henna—because my previous husband was in the military. I had Henna and her father investigated before I promised to go out with the infamous, womanizing Dr. Brentwood Colombo. Can’t be too careful at my advanced age, you see. However, the only gold-digging skeleton I found in Henna’s closet was you.”
Justin smiled bitterly. “Well, I do try to be original in whatever I do. If you ladies will excuse me, I think I’ll just get a drink. Henna, I’ll see you later.”
Henna watched Justin plow rudely through the crowd in his hurry to get away. She looked up to see Georgia watching his exit as well. “Did you really investigate me?” she demanded.
Georgia grinned and shrugged. “More like I paid attention to what you said the night we met. He did cheat on you, right?”
Never A Dull Moment Page 5
