Private Relations

by Nancy Warren

  Right now, she felt too wired to sit alone in a hotel room; besides, she had work to do. She had to find someone to take her place tomorrow.

  Her finger hovered over the panel and then hit the button for the lobby. A few moments later, she was walking into Erotique. Dee looked up from behind the bar, glanced behind Kit’s shoulder, and then, when she realized Kit was alone, raised an eyebrow.

  After taking a moment’s professional pleasure in the fact that the restaurant was still almost full and the bar three quarters, even though it was midnight, Kit slid onto a stool as far away from other people as she could get.

  Dee made her way down the bar, checking up on her customers until she arrived naturally in front of Kit.

  “Where’s the hunk o’ burnin’ love?” she asked. She had farmgirl-wholesome good looks that for some reason worked with the sleeveless pink tuxedo shirts the female bartenders wore.

  “In his room.”

  “By himself? Now that is just a crime. Y’all looked like you were hitting it off when I saw you in the restaurant. He looked at you like you were a whole lot more interesting than what was on his plate.”

  “He’s not my type,” Kit said.

  “I know. Tall, dark and handsome isn’t my type, either,” Dee said with a grin. “So, what are you doing here? You want a drink?”

  “Do you have something that will put me to sleep and I won’t wake up with a hangover?”

  “Sure. Sleeping pills. What’s with you? You seem jittery.”

  Kit stopped playing with her hair and put her hands in her lap. “I’ll have a glass of white wine.”

  Dee shook her head. “Not with that dress.”

  Kit couldn’t help but smile. Dee was the only bartender she knew who could make a drink a fashion accessory. “Oh, surprise me.”

  “I have exactly the thing. A blue sky martini.” She poured a healthy dose of vodka and a much smaller amount of blue Curacao into a shaker and gave it a workout.

  Kit asked, “Have you seen Piper tonight?”

  “No. She and Trace went to bed early, I think.” She shot a teasing grin at Kit. “They seem to do that a lot.”

  She’d been afraid of that. Of course, she was delighted that Piper had found such a great guy, but her friend and boss wasn’t as available as she used to be. “I’ll get hold of her in the morning, then. If you see her, let her know I’m looking.”

  Dee poured the drink into a martini glass and finished it with a twist of lemon. She placed the glass in front of Kit and squinted from the drink to her dress. “Not a bad match.”

  Kit sipped slowly. “Mmm. That’s good.”

  “Much better than white wine. But the way you’re acting, I think you’ll need ten of them to put you to sleep.”

  “I really need to talk to Piper.”

  “Oh, wait a sec. I’m sure she said something about going to the Hamptons for the weekend. I just remembered.”

  Kit’s eyes narrowed. “She never said anything to me.”

  “I got the feeling it was a sudden thing.”

  So much for the confrontation she’d been planning in her head. She drummed her freshly manicured fingertips against the bar’s surface. She didn’t believe for a second that Peter turning out to be her first fantasy winner was a coincidence. Piper and she had both gone to school with Peter, so it seemed pretty clear that Piper was the inside person on this con job to set her up with her ex. The question was why? Why would Piper play such a trick?

  “Is there anything I can do?” Dee asked in the tone they must teach in bartending school. The open question that seemed to say, “Hey, if you want to talk about it, I’m here to listen, and if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s cool.”

  Not that Kit wanted to drag Dee into her troubles, but she figured a popular young bartender had to know a lot of people. “Maybe you can help me. I’m trying to find a hostess to finish out the weekend with our fantasy winner. You know a lot of people. Any ideas?”

  Dee opened her eyes wide. “Are you out of your mind? That man is hot. Why would you give him away?”

  She smiled tightly. “I was only filling in because Cassie didn’t show up. I’ve got other things to do this weekend.”

  “Cancel them.”

  She dragged the pad of her index finger around the stem of the glass. “I used to know him. It’s complicated.”

  She sipped her drink again, while Dee shook her head sadly. “I’d take on the job myself, but I’m working all weekend.”

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  Dee leaned forward. “Do you want to see him again?”

  “No.”

  “Then move your ass. He just got off the elevator.”

  With a tiny squeak of surprise and annoyance, she grabbed her clutch and hopped off the bar stool. “Thanks. I’ll hide in the kitchen. Come and get me when he’s gone.”

  “No time.”

  “Where?” Crazy to feel so panicked, but all she knew was she didn’t want to see him, not now, and even more crazy to act so immature.

  “He’s coming this way. Go!”

  Feeling like a panicked blue polka-dot butterfly, she dashed to an empty table and, hoping everyone in the bar was too busy with their drinks or their companions to pay any notice, dropped to her knees and slithered under the table.

  PETER FELT strangely restless—too wired to settle down, and he knew he was hours away from sleep. It wasn’t every day you finally found the woman you loved and wanted to spend your life with. Too bad he hadn’t had this revelation three years ago while he was still engaged to her.

  A plan. He needed a plan.

  This weekend was going to be critical if he wanted to get Kit back, and he had to make the most of every minute. Of course, Kit was going to try to blow him off.

  Of course, he wasn’t going to let her.

  The sound of soft piano music spilled from the bar. He hadn’t come down looking for a drink; he’d planned to head out of the hotel and walk for a while. But the place had a nice atmosphere, dark and intimate; even at this hour, it would be a lot quieter than the streets. So he decided on a nightcap.

  As he walked in, he noticed the place was pretty full. Most of the booths were occupied—in one case by a couple who might want to take what they were doing upstairs. There were a few seats at the bar, so he slid into one—obviously just vacated since the bartender was removing a half-drunk blue cocktail. He could have sworn the seat was still warm when he sat down.

  A memory of Kit as she’d been earlier that evening hit him with a keen sense of loneliness. They should be upstairs together, making love in every inch of that crazy sex palace, instead of him being down here alone. He breathed and realized her memory had been conjured by a trace of the scent she had been wearing earlier.

  Her dress had been the color of that cocktail, he thought with a wry grin, knowing he had to have it bad if he was imagining her everywhere. But, wait a minute, there was a lipstick print on that glass. Same color as Kit’s lips had been tonight.

  Putting all the clues together, he didn’t think he needed a detective’s training to work out that Hush’s PR expert had vacated this very seat. So recently, she’d left a trace of her perfume behind, and—based on the half-drunk cocktail—she’d left in a hurry.

  He turned to scan the bar, but Kit was nowhere to be seen. She wasn’t in the restaurant, either, unless she was hiding in the kitchen.

  The bartender returned with a coaster that she placed in front of him. “What can I get you, sir?”

  “A brandy. Thanks.”

  He waited until she’d returned with his drink to ask, “The lady who was sitting here before me, where did she go?”

  The bartender glanced up quickly. “I didn’t see her leave.”

  “Neither did I,” he said pleasantly. “You’d think we’d have passed each other.”

  He got a professional smile in return. “Enjoying the hotel, sir?”

  “Very much.” He tried a charmi
ng grin on her. “I had a tour earlier. I liked all the places in the hotel you can…find privacy if you suddenly need it.”

  “Hush is great for that.”

  “Seems like every part of the hotel has a secret hide-away, or a few.” He glanced around the bar again. “Where would I go if I wanted privacy right here in Erotique?” he asked.

  “It’s pretty much what you see is what you get,” she answered, but watching her closely he saw her glance rest on an empty table. It was dim in here, but not so dark he couldn’t see there was nowhere to hide, unless…

  “I guess there’s enough room for two people under the table,” he said, feeling better than he’d felt since Kit so calmly had walked away from him at the end of their tour.

  If she was so freaked about seeing him again that she was hiding under the table, then her emotions were definitely engaged. Even if those emotions were negative ones.

  “I’ve never spent much time under the tables. I wouldn’t know,” the bartender said. She sounded as if she wasn’t sure whether to call security on him or hold his drink while he crawled under the table. Interesting.

  “I tell you what, Dee,” he said, reading her tag. “Why don’t you pour me another brandy. I’m thinking that a curious guy like me ought to see if he can fit under the table.”

  “What are you going to do?” The bartender moved to pour the second drink, so he figured she was going to give him a chance, at least. She knew who was tucked under that table, and she knew that he knew.

  “I’m going to offer a lady a nice quiet drink. After that? Well, I think I’ll keep my options open.”

  She laughed, a strong sound that he liked. He had a feeling he and Dee were going to get along fine.

  “Run a tab?” he asked her.

  “It’s on the house. This weekend? You can have pretty much anything you want.”

  “I hope you’re right, Dee.” He left her a ten-dollar tip, then picked up the two drinks.

  Fortune favors the brave he reminded himself as he folded himself in half and peeked under the table.

  He caught a flicker of flimsy blue fabric and dark polka dots. He crouched, bending his tall frame, and slid under to join her.

  Kit turned her head and in the dim light her eyes glowed, mysterious and secret. “Here,” he said, settling beside her and passing her a brandy. She sat with her back against the center support for the table, so he sat beside her with his knees up.

  “Thanks.”

  “Looking for a lost earring?” he asked.

  The look she sent him was neither embarrassed nor amused. “No.”

  “Ah. Hiding from someone?”

  “More or less.”

  “I bet he’s an ass.”

  “Oh, he can be.” She sipped her drink and as he watched her he fell back in time. Why brandy? Why had he ordered brandy? In his student days he used to buy the stuff—and it wasn’t the best—and he and Kit would share a glass after they’d made love sometimes. He’d had hundred-year-old Courvoisier and it had never tasted as good as the bar-brand stuff had tasted on her lips. Or her belly, or breasts, or any of the hundreds of places he’d dabbed it on her body and licked it off.

  He sipped his own brandy. “I was looking for you.”

  “Here I am.”

  He kind of liked it down here. It felt sort of like a cave. There was music out there and dim lighting, people drinking, talking, laughing. All the hum and buzz in the lobby and coming off the street as guests returned from wherever they’d been to head up to bed. If they were staying in Hush, he doubted they were headed there for sleep.

  Only he, the friggin’ Fantasy Weekend Winner, was going to be tucked up solo in his sex palace for one. Oh, not if he could help it.

  “I forgot to give you my list,” he said.

  “List?” Her voice sounded breathy and odd and he had the strangest notion she was afraid. When they were in public and she was doing the PR thing, she could hide behind her professional veneer, but now that he’d caught her hiding under the table, it was obvious she had strong feelings.

  Unfortunately, they were feelings of aversion, but he figured anything was better than that kiss of death she’d given him earlier. That, and the thanks-for-breaking-up-with-me-and-doing-me-a-favor routine.

  “The list of things I want to do tomorrow. I brought you my choices. I thought we’d start with the Met.”

  She rested her head back against the center support for the table, the way she’d rest against a tree trunk if they were on a picnic. “I still have to line up a hostess for you for the rest of the weekend. Once I do, I’ll…” She turned and even in the dark under the table, her hair gleamed gold. “Did you say the Met?”

  “That’s right.”

  “As in, Metropolitan Museum?”

  “That’s right. And I don’t want another woman. I want you.”

  “But that’s not poss—”

  “Anything I want. That’s what I was promised. I want to spend Saturday with the same woman with whom I spent Friday night. You have a problem with that?”

  “Yes. As a matter of fact I do.” She whispered as though the people at the bar might be eavesdropping.

  Her halter bodice thing was fluttering like moth wings. Her heart must be jumping all over itself. She twirled one blond curl around her finger. Was she so nervous to be here with him? What was she afraid of? That she’d fall apart if he touched her?

  He wanted to touch her so badly his fingers burned.

  She had her knees pulled up and the skirt draped around her. He reached out and wrapped a hand around her leg, just above her ankle. Her skin was soft and warm; when he touched her, she jumped so that her head hit the underside of the heavy wooden table.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Checking to see whether I make you nervous.”

  She stared at him and he stared back, so many un-spoken messages zapped back and forth between them it was like a high-speed connection. It was close and intimate, and utterly ridiculous to sit under a table and want this woman with every atom of his being. But he did.

  He didn’t release her ankle, but he didn’t try to move his hand, either.

  “Give me your list,” she whispered. “I’ll get tomorrow organized.”

  He narrowed his eyes and leaned a little closer so she’d know he meant business. “And you’ll be my hostess?”

  “Like you said, anything the customer wants.” She glared at him, “Except—”

  “I know,” he interrupted. “Except maybe this,” and he leaned all the way in and kissed her. Not hard, but soft. His eyes drifted shut as he leaned into her, tasting the oh-so-painfully-familiar flavor of brandy on her lips.

  Kit didn’t pull away or hit him or do much of anything. She remained motionless, as though she couldn’t make up her mind whether to respond or not. If there was one thing he’d learned about women, it was patience. So he didn’t push, but he didn’t back away, either; he just kept moving his lips over hers until he felt her soften. Her mouth eased from prim as her lips slid apart to let him in. At that same moment, he felt the tense muscle of her calf ease under his hand.

  He licked into her mouth and found it both familiar and brand-new. She was the woman he’d always known and run from loving, the soul mate he’d treated like a carelessly lost sock.

  He wanted to tell her his revelation—that he loved her still, had always loved her. But if being this close to him made her nervous, a confession like that was going to have her running farther than he had. Kit tended to be a little competitive. When he’d panicked, he’d run to Asia. If she ran away from him, she was likely to book a rocket to Mars.

  Then suddenly she was kissing him back and he felt the turboboost of lust roar through him. He ached for her, wanted to take her here and now, drag her up to his room and spend the entire weekend with the Do Not Disturb sign on the door.

  Easy, easy, he reminded himself, even as he changed the angle to deepen the kiss. He put his glass on the carpet and fol
lowed the line of her arm until he found hers. He took it from her unresisting fingers and placed that on the ground, as well.

  With her hands free, she pushed her fingers into his hair and kissed him with some of her old enthusiasm. Oh, this was good. The hand that had waited so patiently at her calf waited no longer, but tracked slowly up her leg. He hit her knees but she kept them locked tightly together, so he slid beneath and reached under the soft flutter of her dress for the smooth line of thigh. She sucked in her breath and he felt the struggle within her. She wanted him, and she didn’t want to want him.

  What had he expected? For all her spin-doctor take on the dramatic collapse of their relationship, he’d really hurt her. If he was going to regain her trust, he wouldn’t do it by fooling around under a bar table.

  But the skin of her thigh was smooth and warm and he could feel her heat, drawing him closer in spite of his better judgment.

  Just once. He only had to touch her once. He promised himself that would be it. Her knees hadn’t opened but she hadn’t pushed him away, either, and her hands were burrowing under his shirt to reach skin. Whatever had been wrong between them, it had never been sex.

  He let his fingers slide a little closer to the source of all that heat, and her struggle increased. Her hands were fisting on his back as though she were fighting her attraction. As her hands clenched, he felt her nails dig into his skin.

  “Let go, baby. Let go,” he whispered against her mouth.

  “You bastard,” she said, in a low, choked voice, even as her knees parted.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, “I wish I could go back.”

  He reached for her blindly, cupping her heat, feeling the fever of her desire even as he understood that she didn’t want to feel this way.

  “We can never go back,” she whispered, even as she mimicked his action and cupped the source of his own fever.

  Somebody had got the saying wrong, he realized. It wasn’t love that was blind, but lust. Even as he wanted her with blind need, the fact that he loved her stopped him.

  She was right. They couldn’t go back.

  But they could start over. At least, he hoped so.

  A man didn’t get the girl of his dreams by making out with her under a bar table. He got her—if all the songs, and movies and fairy tales were right—by wooing the hell out of her.