"Absolutely. You, too, Jess."
"Dan." She tried the word out. It sat on her tongue, compact, insistent, breathtaking. Dan.
"Clock is chiming. I have to leave, unfortunately. Matt will be around later, just to check in. Catch you later, then."
"I hope so," Jess murmured, and looked up at him with her most melting gaze.
"You bet," he said, but she knew in that moment she'd lost him, and he was gone before she could even attempt to recover the ground she knew she'd lost— forever.
Chapter Five
"Oh, my God, oh, my God, what did I do? What did I do?" Jess stared at the closed door, watching every dream she'd ever had disappear into the maw of her impeccably bad taste.
And it wasn't the first time, either. Oh, Lord, oh, Lord…
"What did you do?" Donna asked, coming back into the hallway with a small bag of garbage.
"I said something stupid and suggestive and he turned off like a faucet." Jess moaned. "Now what do I do?"
"Well, you can calm down, for one. Get a grip, for another. You only just met the guy."
"Well, I know what I did, and I don't know how I'm going to do damage control."
"Sure you do," Donna said. "You're going to knock him off his feet tonight when he sees the elegant, restrained you, and you're not going to jump into bed with him either. That's the first thing you shouldn't do."
"Straitlaced time." Jess made a face.
"It couldn't hurt," Donna pointed out. "Especially if he didn't respond to one little cute, suggestive comment from cute little suggestive you."
Jess rubbed her eyes. "Maybe. But I don't think I know how to be quiet and restrained."
"Listen, the last thing a man like him needs is a flashy, smart-mouthed groupie on his arm. They're a dime a dozen anyway, and waiting outside his door every night. So you've got the ball. Are you going to throw it back or keep bouncing in place? I can see he really got to you."
"Yeah, he really did. And I got to him— for about ten minutes."
"Well, Jess, I hate to say it, but maybe it's time to throw all your little seductive tricks out the window."
"Yeah. Right. Practice the throwback Donna Cavalero philosophy: be a lady."
"Pretty much."
"Ladies don't have boyfriends," Jess grumbled.
"Well, ladies do get married, so they must know how to assert themselves. Maybe it's just not the way you would. But tough times call for tough measures. So think about it, if you really believe that one little comment sent him packing."
"Yeah, I do, and I will. And you know why? Because I'm generally heartened by the way Matt keeps sniffing around you, and you haven't done a damned thing to encourage him."
Not true. One thing. One dissolve-you-to-your-toes kiss. Or doesn't that count as encouragement?
"That's my girl," Donna murmured. "Just keep in mind that sometimes the old ways are the better ways."
* * *
They were dressed and back at the town house at five-thirty to meet with the waitstaff, check the tables, light the candles, and take the pictures that were a prime selling feature when Donna made a presentation.
The parlors looked extraordinary. The lights were low; the palm fronds threw lovely shadows on the walls. The silverware gleamed and the ivory-on-ivory tone of the drapes and tablecloths made a muted and elegant backdrop.
In the library, a half dozen or so small round marble-topped tables had been set up, and an equal number on the deck and down in the garden, scattered here and there for close conversation. The lights glowed in the branches and behind the bushes in the garden. All in all, it was a magical setting.
Down in the kitchen, Katia had begun preparation of the hors d'oeuvres, and Donna had assembled the waitstaff in the front room on the garden floor and was giving them instructions.
And Jess was getting nervous as hell. She didn't like the dress; she didn't like her hair. She felt constrained and constricted, and she wanted to strangle Donna for having forced her to come in the first place.
Of course, if she hadn't come, she would never have met Dan, and maybe, she thought, as she tucked back yet another stray strand of hair, that would have been a good thing. Because then she wouldn't have said what she said, and she wouldn't have had to wear this obnoxiously unattractive dress.
She let out an exasperated huff. Her feelings right now were beside the point. The dinner was the thing.
And Donna was probably every bit as nervous as she, with that date with Matt hovering over her like a cloud.
Oh, they were a pair, they were. Donna the reluctant, and Jess the willing. No, tonight she was Jess the restricted, the inhibited— the insane.
"Jess?"
She whirled, and there was Dan Boland, standing in the parlor entrance behind her, looking tall and austere in his tux, and holding out his hands to her.
Oh, oh— maybe he forgot. Or brushed it off. Or maybe the sight of me in this dress just drove it out of his mind.
"Dan."
She stepped aside so he could walk into the parlor. And that was enough. She knew instantly that he was pleased, pleased with the venue, and pleased with her.
"Donna's downstairs," she told him. "And that's where we'll both be tonight, making sure everything runs smoothly." And she saw he approved of that, too. And that, as they passed the mirror in the entrance hall downstairs, her bronze taffeta evening gown didn't look half as bad as she'd thought it did.
Donna was upstairs, lighting the candles, when Matt arrived, and he stood just outside the parlor door, watching her rapt attention to detail as she made sure there was no soot, no burning scent, no burned-out matches left behind.
God, she was wonderful.
She was wearing black, long, lean, glimmering jet black, and her body stood out starkly against the ivory backdrop. She had something thin and sparkling around her neck, in her ears, and on one wrist, and she wore nothing more to detract from the dress, or from herself.
"This is sensational," he murmured as he caught up to her. He wanted to catch her, period, up in his arms and away from this fairyland that she'd created.
"I think so, too. I'm really pleased— for Dan and for us. I've got a dozen waiters downstairs, and it's just about time to tend to the wine." She was babbling, and she knew it.
But she felt utterly breathless at the sight of him; she couldn't keep her eyes off of him. He should wear a tux every day. And he should stop looking at her mouth like that. As if he wanted to savor her, as if he wanted to devour her.
Oh, Lord. She felt a tremor of anticipation. But she was a rational woman. She knew things didn't get this serious this fast.
But oh, Lord, that look would melt chocolate, it would. And it was melting her all over the parlor floor, and she'd better take control— now.
She looked for some distraction, any distraction. The place cards would do. She pointed them out, all ornately hand-lettered and set into beautiful scrolled brass holders, which each guest was to take home.
"That's always a nice touch, you know, something your guest can associate with Dan and this fabulous dinner." She was babbling again….
He reached out and ran his hand down the back of her gown. "I think this is a nice touch," he murmured, just to see how she would react.
Oh, he was good, she thought, really good. The evening was still young and he'd made it totally impossible for her to walk away. Her legs were like noodles, limp, limping. She had to get out of there.
She glanced at her watch, a narrow g littering band on her wrist.
"Uh-oh. Time to head downstairs," she murmured. "I think Dan is there. I'll get him back up."
"Oh, you've already got him up," Matt said, deadpan, and watched her choke, and then put that calm, cool face right back on.
"Your guests arrive in about twenty minutes or less," she went on, but she was slightly breathless and wanted to strangle him. Strangle it?
Stop it! Oh, God, if she were thinking that way… she had to get out of there—
now.
"Good luck tonight, Matt." She wondered that her voice was so cool and even.
And she slipped away, the super and sexy professional who left no detail to chance, Matt thought with amusement as he watched her go.
Not even him.
"This is wonderful," Jess whispered as she nibbled on a forkful of the main course. They were just inside the connecting door to the hallway, she and Donna, in the hope they might be able to hear any remarks Dan made.
Donna was on dessert, Katia's heirloom chocolate cake that no one outside her family knew the recipe for, and she was licking crumbs from the fork; the cake was that good, that rich, that sublime.
In the club room, which was what Jess had dubbed the rear room off of the garden, the guests were already milling about with conversation, coffee, and brandy, and the dessert cart had been returned twice to be replenished.
Behind them, Katia and her cleanup crew, which had arrived an hour into the dinner, had already made short work of the dinner dishes and the first round of the dessert service, and Katia was packing up what remained of the appetizers and main course.
"They're still talking," Jess murmured. "I don't hear anything profound going on."
"Mmm." Donna sighed, swiping at cake crumbs with her fingers, and wondering whether she could steal another slice from the counter.
"This cake is profound. I need more." She cut a slice in half. "Oh, who am I kidding?"
"Did you even eat dinner?" Jess demanded.
"When heirloom cake is available?" Donna asked in disbelief. "Are you nuts? This cake solves every problem, feeds every hunger, satisfies every vice. You never lose your self-respect, and the only thing you gain is calories. It's a great trade-off."
"You are goofy over chocolate."
"No, over Katia's cake. Just taste that frosting, Jess." Donna put an angled piece, a quarter-inch square, on Jess's nearly empty plate, and Jess scooped it up and stopped cold with it in her mouth.
"Oh, my God," she said. "That is…"
"Heaven," Donna finished lightly. "And you don't have to do penance because the thing itself is absolute sin."
Donna took another bite, barely aware of Matt coming toward her down the hallway.
But he was very aware of her. And of that mouth taking in a long, luscious forkful of cake, and pulling at the tines to suck off every last vestige of frosting, every atom of her body in ecstasy over the taste.
Oh, he had such plans for that mouth that haunted his dreams, and tonight wasn't too soon to start.
As soon as he stopped staring.
"Requests for more cake," he said lightly as he approached them. "Unless Donna has devoured it."
"Have you tasted it?" she demanded in mock severity. "Good God, Matt, isn't it indescribable?"
"Apparently you think so," he said dryly. "How many portions can you eke out of what's left, Katia? That is"—he slanted a look at her—"if Donna will let you. Dan wants to get everyone settled before his talk."
Katia cut, Donna salivated, and Matt went off with two-dozen cube-size pieces of the cake on a platter.
"Well, you see," Jess said, "here is one of life's lessons as exemplfied by chocolate cake: pleasure is always fleeting." Except that Donna was still transported by crumbs and frosting smears. Some people were satisfied with just about anything.
But not her, Jess thought, cocking her head again. "Hold it. I think Dan's getting ready to speak."
"Shhhh…" Donna held the fork to her lips and licked it again. "Shhh—" She held up her hand to silence Katia's helpers and the clatter of pots and packing. "Shhhh—" she said again as Dan's voice reverberated down the hallway, remembering that he was an experienced speaker who knew how to project, to engage, and to sway.
And he was very persuasive tonight. Jess gripped the door frame as she succumbed to the sincerity, the boyish break in his voice, the man in the white hat, riding into town to save the day. He was the most altruistic man on the planet, a man with no ties, no mentors, no debts, a man dependent on the goodwill of citizens everywhere as he carried out his mandate to rid the city of crime. A man who wanted nothing more than to serve the people in whatever capacity they deemed him worthy.
And all he asked of his guests was to consider what that capacity should be. And whether there might be another, larger purpose that his constituency had in mind.
It was for them to think about, for them to point the way. And for him to demonstrate on every conceivable level that he was ready for their faith and trust.
And that was it. Five minutes, perhaps less, to pitch the idea that he was a quality candidate who could handle a much bigger canvas than the D.A.'s office. In the most roundabout way, he had asked for exactly what he wanted.
And in time, they would give it to him; there was absolutely no doubt about that.
It was over. Jess and Donna retreated to the kitchen. The guests lingered over brandy, little knots forming here and there to discuss Dan's ideas in depth. Nothing critical. They could hear the rumble of conversation in the kitchen, even as some of the guests were leaving the parlor floor.
Leave-taking took time, and Donna had factored that into the hours she had booked the town house. But while the waitstaff had been dismissed, Katia and her crew had to wait until every last guest had departed, which was signaled finally when Dan and Matt both came downstairs to congratulate everyone.
"It was everything you promised, and more," Dan said, taking Donna's hands. "I couldn't be more pleased. Katia, the food was exquisite. The setting was perfect. The guest list was fabulous. We'll have to do it again."
"I hope so," Donna murmured. "But now we have to allow Katia's crew to clean up, a condition of the lease."
"Fine with me. How about if we adjourn somewhere for a drink?" Dan looked at Jess, and Jess looked at Donna, who shook her head covertly.
"I would love to," Jess said, swallowing hard to suppress the words she really wanted to say, "but I'm beat. And we have another event tomorrow, so I really need to get some sleep." She bit back a clever but racy comment she thought relevant to that, and went on. "I hope I can have a rain check?"
"I'd like that," Dan said. "But meantime, why don't you let me and my driver take you home?"
Donna nodded, at Jess's glance, with a cautionary look in her eye. Jess had better resist sleeping with him tonight, that look said, or he'd be a kiss and a memory in the morning, and Donna wasn't going to help Jess get over it.
But Donna had her own problem to worry about: the predatory look in Matt Greer's eyes. The moment of truth had come; their date was on, even though there was every evidence that Dan was still to be her client, and she had no way of getting out of it graciously.
Or getting out of it at all, to judge by the look on Matt's face.
They emerged from the town house, and Dan signaled his driver, then tucked Jess in the backseat of his car with the greatest of care.
"We'll walk," Matt said.
"How do you know I'm not wearing three-inch heels?" Donna asked.
"I noticed."
He noticed. She never wore heels when she was supervising an event, since she needed to be able to move swiftly. And he had noticed. She was melting again….
But then, he was paid to notice things; she mustn't forget that even while she was feeling that bubble of anticipation.
"And you need some exercise with all that cake you devoured."
The bubble burst. The man had no conception what that cake was about. Ah, well. He had other good points, she thought.
And then he took her hand and she felt a jolt clear down to her toes. Like touching a live wire. Oh, God… the heat—
"Come…"
What did he mean by that? She really had to stop thinking like this.
They started off at a leisurely pace toward Washington Square Park, and he pointed to a building just at the corner where Fifth Avenue met the park.
"I live there."
This was already going too fast for her; she didn't
do apartments on a first date. "That's a pretty prime address," she murmured.
"And it's a pretty small apartment. But I do get a balcony with a view of the park."
"Definitely worth an extra thousand a month."
"That's about what it is, too."
"I'll assume we're not going up there," Donna said stringently.
"Shame on you," Matt chided. "I wouldn't dream of it on a first date."
Something eased inside her. "Of course you wouldn't. Then where?"
"Late show at the Bottom Line. I hope you like folk rock, and coffee."
And crowds and noise with her music, too. She was beginning to think he perceived too much. There wasn't a much safer venue than a Village club on a weeknight. And he knew it.
Oh, yes, oh, yes, I do, I like folk rock— and you….
This much she got to know amid the din of a dozen other conversations going on around her over designer coffee for him and about a quart of strawberry lemonade for her: he'd never been married; he'd been engaged once but broke it off when he decided to come east after law school; he'd been a star athlete in high school, second string at Georgetown, where he'd immersed himself in political science before he'd decided to focus on law. He was good for a pickup game on weekends, was a voracious reader, ran three times a week when he could fit it into his schedule, and didn't belong to any high-powered health clubs, though he readily admitted he was probably missing some potential networking opportunities.
"Comes with the territory," he went on to elaborate when she questioned that. "You either do the thing twenty-four/seven or you have some semblance of a personal life. So you know pretty much what I chose."
But he didn't have a clue about her choices. It was almost as if she hadn't existed before she and Jess collaborated on the partnership. Oh, she'd worked for corporate resources; she'd been a planner long before. But her personal life she just glossed over, other than to say she had been involved previously, and that was it.
He had a feeling there was more to it than that, but he didn't need to pursue it when he was having a fascinating time watching her sipping the lemonade with the gusto of a child.
Seduction By Chocolate Page 20
