That was the last question she'd expected him to ask right then. "Jess is supervising the MondesCo employee banquet over at the West Side Marriott tonight."
"And you've been doing this how long?"
"Three years." Three long, hard, after-Paul years. "I broke out of corporate events and started on my own three years ago." Tight times, too, she remembered, fraught with swamping, overwhelming feelings of loss and betrayal. But it had been a blessing, too— something she could sink herself into to neutralize the memories and the anguish, something she knew she had to make work, or she would drown.
It wasn't easy therapy, but she had managed to keep her head above water that first year, until she'd learned to swim— with the guppies and the sharks. That was no mean feat when she'd been sheltered by corporate water wings for five or six years.
But she felt as though she were drowning now. Matt Greer was way out of her league, because he lived life in a very fast lane, and he barely had time to sip the coffee, let alone savor the taste.
"What about you, Mr. Greer?" she parried, because she really didn't want to talk about her past. Or her present, for that matter.
"Matt," he corrected automatically. "Let's see. I was brought up in the Midwest. Went to Georgetown. University of Chicago Law School. Came east. Met Dan, who recruited me for his staff…. Spent about five years in the D.A.'s office in trial, and now I'm doing this."
This— Donna gave herself a mental shake. That was a pretty lightweight term for gearing up a candidate. Dan Boland was no Madison Avenue creation either, and Matt Greer's Midwest roots would play nicely in his East Coast urban campaign, if Dan Boland went one step farther than just being a highly visible media-savvy D.A.
So she would do well to keep to business.
She stared at the chocolate mousse cake. But how did one sustain business over chocolate mousse cake? she wondered as she scooped up a forkful.
"Oh…" She couldn't suppress the sexy little uninhibited sound at the back of her throat. "Mmm—" He had given her the choice of dessert, after all. If she were moaning as if she were in the throes of ecstasy, it was her own fault.
"Nice," she murmured, taking a sip of coffee. "This was a very nice idea, Matt. I appreciate it. I suspect you don't have all that much time to wind down during the day either."
"Or at night," he said provocatively.
And now what? She could just dive into that comment and let him offer her a slice of sin with her mousse cake, then wonder if he'd respect her in the morning— or she could avoid the trap altogether.
"Exactly," she murmured, putting aside her cup and heroically pushing the mousse cake away. "But one has to keep one's eye on all those small details or else everything else falls apart, don't you agree?"
He shot her a wary look. "I think so."
"Good. So that's why, tomorrow, I'll have fabric samples for you to look at and a schematic of the seating and decor. What time is good for you?"
She knew she was challenging him. So did he.
And he was pretty quick on the uptake. He wasn't all that pleased that she'd brushed aside the personals. But he had played the game; he was cool. "First thing in the morning is fine with me."
"Well, this was a lovely lunch," she added, "or have I said that already?" She rose from her seat. "I really appreciate it, given your busy schedule."
"My pleasure. All of this"—he waved his hand at the conference table and the remnants of their meal—"will be taken care of within the hour."
She walked him to the door and shook his hand. "Thanks again. I'll see you tomorrow?" Yes. She closed the door behind him. Yes. She took a deep breath, and then, to Angie's amusement, she dashed back to the conference room to gobble up the rest of the cake.
All business all the time, that was Donna Cavalero. Except when she was eating chocolate cake. Matt hadn't imagined that orgasmic little sound she'd made. Or the memory of the flick of her tongue seeking stray brownie crumbs the first time he ever saw her.
Things like that played on a man's mind and wreaked havoc with his determination to remain detached. But the fact that a meal in close company with him hadn't shaken her composure one bit gave him pause. He knew a dozen women who would have killed to get him alone for ten minutes, let alone two hours.
What was it with Donna Cavalero?
No— she was behaving absolutely correctly. He was the one in turmoil, and he wasn't quite sure why.
It was just that she was so… so… proper.
And yet she'd moaned like a woman in heat.
Forget it.
Forget it?
Well, he had another three weeks to decide whether he even wanted to pursue getting to know the woman beneath the procedures and protocol.
Hell, three days ago he hadn't even known she existed, except by name, and what did a name tell you? It didn't even begin to describe the face, the body, that voice, or the glimmer in her eyes. Or the distance she could put between a man and herself with just the turn of a phrase.
Oh, she was something, Donna Cavalero was.
"This was a very nice idea…."
Damn it, he couldn't let himself be distracted, not at this crucial stage.
He was smarter than that.
Maybe not.
Maybe it didn't matter. When Matt got to her office the following morning, she was already in the conference room, one of those small containers of chocolate pudding in hand, thoughtfully licking a spoonful as she considered the fabric samples laid out on the table.
The sight stopped him dead in his tracks. She wasn't even aware of him being there— he was, in fact, about five minutes early, and probably she'd expected him to knock, even though she'd left the office door unlocked.
But still, to watch her for that moment, and observe that fascinating mesh in her of woman and child, was alluring.
She sucked on that spoon as if it were a lollipop, as if it were something carnal and luscious. Like…
His body seized up.
He had no business thinking like that about her.
But he couldn't keep himself from watching her as she dipped the spoon again into that impossibly tiny cup, swiped the mound of pudding with her tongue, and then put the spoon in her mouth to suck off the smears, all the while moving around the table and rearranging swatches and floor plans.
Put what in her mouth…?
That did it. He turned on his heel and marched back into the hallway, gave himself a minute or two to refocus his mind— and his body— and then he knocked resolutely on the door as if he had just arrived.
"Come."
He could hear her voice faintly, musically, and he shoved the door open with a little more force than he'd intended.
And stopped.
She was coming out of the conference room to greet him, and all he could think of was that slippery smooth, thick, creamy, luscious chocolate pudding all over her mouth, her tongue, her body, his—
He jammed down hard on his imagination, and just barred the door. There just wasn't time for this. Or any rhyme or reason to it.
He didn't need it; he hadn't been looking for it, and quite obviously, neither was she.
Sure.
"Good morning," she called, too damn bright and perky for him at nine A.M.
"Morning. Is there coffee?" He knew he sounded abrupt, but— every part of him was feeling abrupt at the moment.
"Right here." She was in the tiny galley kitchen right next to the conference room. "Come on in." She had the coffeepot poised over a mug. "How do you take it?"
A man shouldn't be required to answer questions like that after what he'd seen this morning. "Black," he said gruffly. "Thanks." He cupped the mug tightly and followed her into the conference room, surreptitiously looking to see if the pudding cup was still in evidence. It wasn't.
"What are we looking at again?"
"Decorations." She had her own cup and she sipped delicately as he paced around the table. "It's Sorrell's work. You may not know him, but he's first-
rate. He's doing ivory and gold, with accents of burgundy to pick up the carpets and color notes in the paintings."
Matt picked up a piece of fabric. "Feels exorbitantly expensive."
"Trust me. It isn't, but no one will know. See if this seating arrangement is suitable." She handed him the schematic and left the room to get another cup of coffee while he pored over it.
Matt made a dozen changes in the couple of minutes that she was gone.
"That's assuming an eighty percent acceptance," Donna said, looking it over. "That's probably a fair assessment. That's what we planned, in any event. Eight tables, room for a ninth. Eight to ten people per table. That will fill the front room nicely, and if fewer guests attend, it won't look skimpy. The reception will be in the library and atrium before that with wine and hors d'oeuvres. Everything will be served by the waitstaff, so there won't be a bartender.
"Everything will be draped in ivory with gold touches, but nothing glitzy. Burgundy underskirts for the tables. Dish service, ivory with gold filleting. Scrolled brass placeholders. Fresh flowers on every table. Gold and ivory pillar candles. Cut-glass goblets for the table service.
"And then I have two choices of menu. Either is fabulous." She handed him more paper. "And then I had a thought about serving dessert downstairs, since it's a cozier setting and might be more appropriate for anything your client might wish to say."
"Might," he agreed shortly. "I'll get back to you on the menus tomorrow. And whether Dan thinks the downstairs idea will work. Everything else looks good."
"Excellent. Then you'll sign off on it, won't you?"
More papers. He felt like grinding his teeth as he scrawled his signature yet again on two more documents.
"And that's it." She handed them to Angie, who promptly made copies and gave him two, and then she held out her hand. "Thanks for coming in— Matt." She had to think about his name, she really did, and it galled him no end.
"Not a problem, Donna. I'll see you tomorrow." Oh, yes, she would.
"I'll look forward to it. Say about… three?"
Oh, she was cool. Very cool. "That's fine." Matt knew his role in this dance very well: his duty was to show off his partner— but maybe in this case, he thought irritably, he would show her up.
MondesCo went well; even Jess thought so, and she was always hypersensitive of every glitch. No, this had been a good one, with every detail in place and every component going off without a hitch.
And it allowed her to focus in on something other than her nonexistent love life, and her disappointment over not being the one to service— ah, did she really want to phrase it that way?—Matt Greer.
No matter. Luck was with her this afternoon because there he was, straight ahead of her, and heading toward the same elevator as she.
"Mr. Greer."
"Ms. Demont."
And after that there was hardly anything to say. Which was not something that usually happened to Jess. But he just didn't look as if he was in a talking mood, so she contented herself with covert peeks at him as the elevator soared too quickly to the tenth floor.
Lord, he was something to look at. And really forbidding-looking in that stern black suit and crisp white shirt. He looked as if he could freeze an ice cube in a heat wave.
She wondered how Donna was handling him. Whether he could be handled. Whether he was satisfied… Oh, no, she wasn't being suggestive, really she wasn't. It was just…
But it wasn't. Matt Greer didn't even see her as he held open the door for her and they both entered the office.
So that was that.
Maybe.
Jess headed slowly toward Donna's office and grinned as she saw her partner finishing the last of an ice-cream pop with obvious and childlike relish.
"Hey— Matt's here."
"No, Matt's here," he said behind her in a growl. Matt's very here. He, too, had gotten a glimpse of Donna and the ice-cream pop, and the motion of her lips pulling at the stick sent little darts of awareness right through his body.
"Oh," Jess said faintly.
"Oh, damn. No privacy," Donna muttered, promptly dropped the stick into her wastebasket, and stood up to greet him as if Angie had just sent him back. "Hello, Matt."
And there she was, instantly, with just the right tone, manners, personal interest, and intense focus. That was Donna. It was as if a scrim had fallen over a stage and obscured the details from sight.
But there was still just that little bit that could be seen, and Matt was mounting up, in his mind, a litany of tiny, telling details about her.
But why? he asked himself.
"Jess?" Donna was asking.
"Everything went just as you would have wished."
"Excellent. We'll catch up later then." She was the gracious hostess now, waiting for Jess to leave before she invited him to have a seat. "Let's see; we're doing menus today." She smiled at him, and he knew it was her practiced important-client smile, but still he responded to it— if reluctantly. And to her question: "How are you today, by the way?" Which she probably asked everyone who came to her office.
"Fine," he said, keeping the grumpiness out of his tone.
"Good." She sounded like she meant it. "So what's the verdict? Are we good to go, or would you prefer to see other options?
"No, these are fine. Menu number two, and I've signed off on it already."
And there it was— that flash of a wicked little smile, the real Donna Cavalero, peeking out from behind the facade.
"We have the ritual down," she said, getting the routine copies for her file and his. "The only other thing I'd like to do before time becomes critical is show you a mock-up of how the room will be arranged, because I want your mind to be completely at ease that all of this is going to work. So let me give you a call when Sorrell is available to come do it— sometime within the week— right here in the office. The invitations are out, and Angie will collect the RSVPs. Basically, you should have nothing to worry about except showing off your client."
"Sounds good." He didn't want to move. It was almost as if he wanted to luxuriate in her calm competence.
"So… I'll call you," Donna said.
He believed her. Oh, yes. It was her business. But he wanted her to call him now— and not about business. Or papers. Or table settings.
"Within the week."
"Truly." Donna felt as if she were promising something beyond what was happening in her office, but she could no more stop herself than she could restrain Jess.
She wasn't imagining things. Something was happening, something for which there was no time, and too many complications, and she was teetering on the brink of not even caring.
But Jess was on the scent, too. She sauntered in a minute after Matt left.
"Girl, that is one fine man," she murmured provocatively as she perched herself on the corner of Donna's desk.
"I haven't noticed," Donna muttered, shuffling papers.
"That's okay; he's noticed. Which means maybe— though I hate to give credence to it— your way is working."
"My way? I don't have a way," Donna said sharply.
"That straitlaced, prim-faced, all-business, all-Donna way, I mean."
She felt her face flush. "Well, I don't know what you mean, Jess."
"Oh, sure you do, Donna, dear. That man is definitely intrigued. And it's very obvious he wants you."
Chapter Four
There you go, Donna thought. But Jess saw sex everywhere, just everywhere. And she'd been on about Donna's love life for the three years they'd been partners, and about how uncompromising Donna had become.
But if Jess perceived it, his desire must be as blatant as a neon sign. This was not exactly how Donna had wanted things to happen.
If she hadn't been imagining it.
No, a man like Matt, subtle as he was, didn't have time to waste; he was the original follow-up guy, and it was nice to think that her hard-won peace and restraint were attractive to him.
Or maybe the fact that she w
asn't blatantly after him was the challenge. After all, he probably had a stable of women who'd die for just one night with him, no strings, no questions asked.
Three years ago, she might have, too.
But in the aftermath of Paul, she'd hated what she'd become, and the desperation she felt inside.
She'd had to learn not to throw herself away on the man of the moment, the drink du jour, the trend en scene. That wasn't uncompromising, either; that was valuing who you were and what you had to offer.
And you didn't give everything away on a promise and a smile. She'd learned that, too, while Jess mourned yet another failure to communicate.
It's easier my way, Donna thought. No more mistakes. No emotional rides. Just lots of chocolate and hardly any sin.
The fact that Matt Greer was even remotely interested in her was just the frosting on the cake.
It was one of those perfect spring days. The sky was a cloudless cobalt blue, the air was cool, the sun was hot, and the trees were leafing out. The city seemed absolutely full to bursting, and it was a day she wanted to be outside and walking somewhere so she could inhale the scents of the season.
The best place to be was seated on one of the coveted ledges in front of the Arts and Crafts Building on Sixth Avenue with a couple of hot dogs so she could watch the passing parade.
It was one of Donna's favorite things to do on an ordinary day, more so today because of Jess's knowing looks as she trotted in and out of her office prepping for the Schoolhouse Publishing sales meeting.
Thank goodness Jess would be gone the rest of today and tomorrow. She had enough to deal with: Matt was coming into the office this afternoon, and it was going to be hard enough to keep things on an even keel.
But that was nonsense. He hadn't sounded any different when she'd called, and she'd kept her tone neutral, as she always did. They agreed he'd come at three, and Sorrell was deep into creating the table settings at this very moment.
Things couldn't be better. The spring afternoon. The feeling of a job well done. And…
This is a moment for chocolate, she thought, pushing the thought of Matt out of her mind. That was for later. Ice cream was for now, even if she had to chase down the truck that prowled the midtown side streets from noon to three every afternoon, spring and summer.
Seduction By Chocolate Page 18
