by Nancy Warren
“Fate’s giving us another chance, you know.”
“I believe that we make our own fate, just like we make our own luck. We may be sleeping together, Peter, but nothing’s changed.”
“Oh, everything’s changed.”
She glared at him, then pushed away her half-empty plate. “Dessert?” she said brightly.
“I had mine, before lunch,” he reminded her, rubbing his knee against hers under the table. She might pretend to herself and to him that she could sleep with a man she didn’t care about, but he preferred to believe otherwise.
She smiled, but didn’t reply. Maybe he’d shocked her by so easily agreeing to her dumb-ass plan. Fine. He’d win her back using every weapon in his arsenal, and he figured the most potent of those was his intimate knowledge of her character.
“I need to get back to work,” he said, reaching for his wallet.
“Right,” she said. “Lunch is on me,” she told him.
“But my fantasy weekend is over.”
“And now you’re a public relations client.” She had her professional PR lady face back on. “Don’t worry. I’m going to design you a fantastic event, but the hotel will make money off it, too.”
“It’s a win all around, then,” he said lightly, wondering what she’d do if she knew that Piper had suggested this little stunt to help Peter spend more time with the woman he loved.
Bash both their heads together probably.
“Thank you for lunch, then,” he said, as she rose.
“You’re welcome.”
There was a second’s awkwardness. He’d been inside her body less than an hour ago, muffling her cries of ecstasy with his mouth. He held out his hand formally.
Giving him a raised eyebrow, she shook his hand.
“I’ll look forward to hearing from you,” he said and turned away. Thousands of people said, or typed, or text messaged those words every day in a business context. But he liked the fact that when he said them, he was talking about being at Kit’s sexual beck and call, and she knew it.
Things weren’t going smoothly in his campaign to win back the woman he’d so foolishly lost, but he had a strong feeling they were going to get interesting.
KIT CALLED PETER on his cell phone at the end of the day on Friday. Her crystal event was in full swing, and it was a smashing success in every way except any actual smashing.
After her lunch with Peter, she’d gone back to the ballroom and toned the room down even more and now she was delighted with the effect. It wasn’t Versailles so much as a crystal wonderland in miniature. She loved it, and even better, no one was muttering dire warnings of disaster. She’d even found time to read Peter’s report and formulate some ideas.
“Peter Garson,” he said, and as easily as always, his voice made her pulse quicken.
“Peter, it’s Kit.”
“I hope you’re calling because you feel like sex,” he said, lowering his voice to an intimate murmur. “You know, I think I love this idea of yours.”
She hadn’t felt like sex. She’d been thinking of going home, brewing tea, having a long, hot shower, a simple dinner and crashing. But his words brought her body to immediate, insistent life.
“That’s not why I’m calling,” she said, determined to keep the upper hand in this affair or whatever it was.
“Too bad.”
“I’ve been thinking about your event. I have some ideas.”
“Great. Do you want to talk about them over dinner?”
Did she? Of course she did, because dinner would lead to his place or her place, which would lead to making love through the night and sleeping late in the morning, sharing the paper over coffee, cooking breakfast together…all the little intimacies she knew so well. All of which could lead so easily to her and Peter spending another entire weekend together. Casual relationships only worked if you kept them casual, she reminded herself.
She was playing with fire, as she knew perfectly well. Right now she was in control, but she had to be very careful or she could end up burned a second time.
Letting a man break your heart once was a tragedy. Letting the same man break your heart twice was stupidity.
“I can’t tonight,” she said. “I’ve got an event here at the hotel. I thought maybe I could e-mail you some suggestions and we could talk them over on Monday.”
“Not sure what time I’ll be back Monday. I’m at Cape Cod this weekend, remember?”
Her chest felt a little hollow. He’d invited her to go with him and she’d said no. She wondered who was going in her place.
Not that it mattered, of course. Casual. That’s all they were to each other. No questions, no answers. She was the one who’d set the rules, so she could hardly feel shocked that he was going ahead on a fun weekend without her, now could she?
And dinner tonight probably meant nothing more than dinner. Or dinner and a quickie. While she’d been trying to avoid being pulled into spending the weekend with him in New York, he’d been mentally packing for Cape Cod. Without her. Not the greatest boost to a woman’s ego.
“Um, fine, sure. I’ll e-mail you the notes, anyway. Give me a call when you get some time next week.”
“Thanks.”
“Well,” she said, “have a good weekend.”
“You, too.” He sounded as if there was a smile in his voice.
17
KIT SPENT THE WEEKEND feeling irritable. The air seemed muggy, dusty and hot. Too hot for September. She bet Cape Cod was cool and breezy, still nice enough to sit outdoors in shorts during the day and cool enough for a fire at night.
She imagined Peter and some nameless, faceless woman cavorting in some adorable shingled saltbox and threw herself into an exhausting weekend of partying. In a way, it was work. She stayed abreast of all the clubs, the restaurants, the social scene. She knew who was marrying whom, expecting a baby, planning the next big charity ball. Hush was starting to get some nice parties, and some of the avante garde business events were showing up in their ballroom.
Also, these people were her friends, and she needed to remind herself that she loved being young, single and trendy. She wasn’t any designer’s muse, nor was she rich enough to buy every designer item she wanted or put her name on waiting lists for the newest, hottest Gucci bag.
However, she had a certain flair, and since she was seen everywhere and photographed all the time, she got a lot of presents. “Valentino thought this would look great on you for the record producer’s party at Hush on Friday,” and poof, a bag with a great dress dropped into her hand.
“You looked fantastic in the photo with Karl’s jacket. He sends his love and one of the new shawls. Nobody can get them. Kiss-kiss.”
So she went, she wore, she whirled through another crazy weekend. She was more happy than usual to have her picture taken—especially with the French heir to a vineyard on Saturday night and then even later Saturday night at Seven, the nightclub of the nanosecond, with a hottie from L.A. who’d started hitting it big with his recording career.
Naturally, she intended to celebrate the vineyard heir’s Beaujolais nouveau at Hush next season. And any guy who was about to launch a record career simply had to be seen at Hush.
Sunday, she woke late and a little bleary-eyed. She organized her dry cleaning, watered her plants, cooked herself a decent breakfast and phoned her mother. Then she was off to May Ellison’s bridal shower.
May was as pretty and fresh as those flowers she loved so much. Who’d have thought that a guy who penned such terrifying tales as Beck Desmond did would fall for someone so soft and sweet?
She shook her head. There was no accounting for love. Since she was a practical woman, and had some experience, she made sure her gift was the kind of thing May could still use even if the wedding didn’t come off. She bought her a pretty silk peignoir set in floral silk. It was the sort of soft, dreamy thing May would love.
All the time, a sort of restlessness, like the ocean off the coast of Cape Cod, pound
ed away at her.
Monday, she had the satisfaction of seeing not only her picture, but also her name a few times in the gossip columns. Probably, Peter would never read them, but she was glad they were there anyway. Whatever he’d been up to in Cape Cod, all he had to do was scan the New York Post or the Daily News to see that she’d been busy too.
Tuesday morning, she was just bowing the Japanese Tourist Board members off the Hush premises after giving them an exhaustive tour, when Giles Pendleton strolled in looking as impeccable as ever.
“Giles,” she said, walking forward to kiss his cheek. “What a nice surprise.”
“I’m delighted to see you, Kit. I wanted a word.”
“Of course.” She led him to a quiet corner and they sat. “Would you like some coffee or something?”
“No thanks. I need a favor.”
“I’ll do what I can.”
He reddened slightly and said, “It’s a little personal.”
Oh, he was so sweet when he was embarrassed. She lowered her voice even though there was no one for miles who could hear them. “We can be very discreet here at Hush.”
“The thing is, well, I want to book the Oscar suite again. For Irene and me.”
“Okay.” This didn’t seem so outlandish a request.
“I’ve got to go back to London for a few weeks. Irene…” He looked off into the distance for a moment, and she thought of the dashing prince sweeping the wisecracking Cinderella off her red Keds. Who could ever have picked this one? “Well, I don’t think she really believes that my feelings for her are true.”
“Ah,” she said.
“She’s being very brave and funny and saying absurd things like maybe we’ll ‘hook up’ next time I’m in town. Do I look like an electric fixture?”
She bit back a smile. “No. Not at all.”
“I’m not the sort of man who ‘hooks up’ and frankly, for all her bluster, I don’t believe Irene is, either.”
Kit thought of her own attempt at convincing a man she only wanted him for casual sex. At the time, she’d thought she meant it, but she’d only had to think of him shacked up with some other woman all weekend to realize her words were a lie. She didn’t want casual sex with Peter any more than Irene wanted it with Giles.
She wanted the fairy tale as badly as Irene did. And she was twice as much a fool to want it from a man who’d jilted her.
She blinked and forced herself to concentrate on Giles. “So, you’re going to London and she doesn’t believe you’ll come back for her? Is that it?”
“That is precisely it.”
“And what am I supposed to do to help?”
“I’m leaving tomorrow. I want the hotel to deliver sixteen perfect red roses to Irene. She’s heading back to Ohio, so to her home address.”
“All right. Sixteen?” she asked, wondering if she’d heard him right.
“Yes. Sixteen, because that’s the number of nights I’ll be away.” He was looking embarrassed again, and she could see that all this romance was hard on him. And she adored him for doing it for Irene.
“With the roses, I’d like to enclose the booking slip for the suite for the night I return and three days following.”
She nodded, making a note on her PalmPilot.
Giles dug into his coat pocket and pulled out a sealed envelope. “Would you have that delivered, as well? Perhaps tucked into the hotel folder?”
“Of course,” she said, taking the envelope. It was cream vellum and expensive looking. The word Irene was written in a looping scrawl in what had to be fountain pen ink. Wow.
“Giles,” she said, knowing it was totally inappropriate of her to ask, but needing to know in the most urgent way, “how can you be so sure?”
“Sure of what?”
“About Irene?”
“Oh, sure that I love her, you mean?”
“Yes. If that’s not too personal.”
“I’ve never known an American who didn’t ask a great number of personal questions.” He shook his head. “Extraordinary, really. But I don’t mind answering.” He paused to lean back in the seafoam-green chair. “Except there is no answer, is there?”
“There isn’t?”
“No. I suppose it really is fate or magic or something.”
“Do you think there is only one person for everyone?”
He looked sad for a moment. “I thought there was only one for me, but as you know she died. And, it took me a while, but I accepted that she was gone and I’d always be alone. Now I believe I’m getting a second chance.”
“Second chance,” her words echoed in her throat.
“I spent twenty years in love with a woman who could not acknowledge me in public. Twenty years of secrets and silence. Irene—” he looked up and quirked a brow “—well, she’s certainly not silent. When I’m with Irene there is no question that I am with a woman who is happy to be seen and heard and who wants to be with me. I don’t have to share her.”
He smiled at her, his eyes crinkling. “I was fairly certain before that I’d fallen in love with Irene, but the weekend in Cape Cod was…amazing.”
“Cape Cod? You were in Cape Cod?”
“Yes. We were awfully sorry you couldn’t come. Peter was going to cancel, but we insisted he come along. He didn’t relish playing gooseberry, I can tell you.”
“Playing gooseberry?” she asked, confused.
“Third wheel, if you like.”
“You mean, he was there alone?”
“Of course he was alone. If he didn’t bring you, who would he bring?”
“I can’t imagine,” she said faintly.
Giles looked at her for a moment, then leaned slightly forward. “I don’t share the American mania for divulging all one’s private business, or prying into other people’s as a rule, so I’ll content myself with saying that Peter told me about your past.”
“He did?”
“Yes. He was a fool ever to let you get away.”
“He did, though.”
“I think you’re still in love with him.” She opened her mouth to argue, but he said, “And I know he’s in love with you. Don’t punish him so much for past mistakes that you end up missing out on a lifetime of happiness, will you?”
“But how can I ever trust him again?” she asked, voicing the question haunting her.
“There are no guarantees, my dear. That’s what trust is, faith in someone without any proof.”
He glanced at his watch. “I must run, I’m afraid. Awful lot to do today. You’ll put all that on my account?”
“Yes, of course.”
He rose. “Oh, and a couple of dozen red roses waiting in the room when Irene arrives.”
“Certainly,” she agreed, pulling her scattered thoughts together with an effort. “I’m guessing you’ll want champagne chilling?”
“Mmm. Definitely. Glad you reminded me. I’ll have my driver run over a couple of bottles from my cellar.” He glanced down at her. “Not that there’s anything wrong with the wine list at Hush, of course, but one has one’s preferences.”
“Naturally,” she said.
“Right then, I’ll be off.”
“Have a good trip.” She smiled and kissed his cheek again. “And good luck.”
He gripped her shoulders for a minute and looked down at her. “You, too.”
18
SO, PETER HADN’T HAD company in Cape Cod. Kit made the arrangements Giles had requested, unable to quell her feeling of satisfaction.
She returned to her office, closed the door and called Peter. When he identified himself, she said, “Are you alone?”
“One second.”
She heard a murmur of voices and then the click of a closing door. One thing about Peter: he caught a sexual innuendo the way Barry Bonds caught a pitch. “I’m all yours,” he said, his voice rich and low.
She let herself enjoy the moment, his voice in her ear, the tug of attraction between them. “How’d you like to be all mine tonight? M
y place? Say seven o’clock?”
“I could work that into my schedule,” he said. “Can I bring anything?”
“A bottle of massage oil. I hope you still give those fantastic back massages.”
“I’ll do my best to melt all your tensions away.”
She crossed her legs against a surge of lust that warmed her. “I’ll see you later, then.”
“Wait.” His voice stopped her from ending the call.
“Yes?”
“I’ve got other massage clients tonight so I won’t want to waste any time. I’d like you to be ready for me when I get there.”
Oh, she was all ready now. She swallowed, trying to keep the breathiness out of her voice, but it was hopeless. “What do you want me to do to be ready for you?”
“When I arrive, I’d like you to be naked.”
“Naked?”
“That’s right.”
“I’m to come to the door naked?”
“Yes.”
“What if it’s the super? Or a pizza delivered to the wrong door?”
“That could be…awkward.”
“Awkward? It would be mortifying. It could be my skuzzy neighbor Bernard who would like way too much to see me naked.”
“I see your problem,” he said. “But I really do need you to be ready.” He seemed to be thinking, and the pause lengthened. She recrossed her legs knowing that she was going to be a jittery, aroused mess until seven.
“You can wear a robe,” he finally decreed.
“A robe.”
“But nothing on underneath.”
Her skin prickled all over and she shivered, not with cold but with heat. “Anything else?”
“Yes. Light candles.”
“For a massage?”
“In case the electricity goes out in your building. I won’t have to waste time finding another light source.”
“You’re very efficient,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“I appreciate your cooperation.”
“I’ll be ready,” she said, and clicked off.
By seven o’clock, she was as ready as she’d ever been. The robe felt scratchy against her skin, rubbing her naked flesh already so aroused it was ridiculous. She lit candles, put fresh sheets on the bed, Loreena McKennitt on the CD player.
