Back in Fortune's Bed

by Bronwyn Jameson

  “Ten years ago.”

  “Just friends?” Nash asked. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

  “I don’t mind,” Max replied easily. “We were never just friends.”

  “Would Diana be the reason you decided to stay on a while longer?”

  “One of them. Although let’s not discount your hospitability.”

  Nash snorted. “Save your sweet talk for the lady. She might buy it.”

  She might. Although Max wasn’t counting on it. He knew it was going to take more than talk, no matter how sweet, to woo the new, changed, less amenable, more cynical Diana. “I’ll let you know how that works out,” he said dryly. “And speaking of buying, I visited Click on my way here and saw the photos Diana took out at the estate.”

  “Do you like them?”

  “Enough that I’m keen to buy several, but Diana believes they’re not hers to sell. What do you think, Nash? Any chance I can procure a couple to take home with me as souvenirs?”

  Diana didn’t have to wait long to discover what Max had meant by honey, I haven’t even started yet. The first gift arrived at Click the morning after his visit to the gallery, hand-delivered by a junior from one of the boutiques located in the Fortune’s Seven shopping arcade. She’d wanted to send whatever it was straight back, but that would have put the teenaged employee in a tricky middleman position.

  Diana couldn’t do that. She would send it back to Max herself.

  The prettily embossed cream-and-gold box sat untouched for all of thirty minutes before inquisitiveness got the better of her. What could it be? What would he have sent? What would he have chosen? When she picked it up and weighed it in her hands, curiosity sang an open-me open-me siren’s chant.

  “Oh, for goodness sake,” she admonished, rolling her eyes at herself. “It won’t hurt to take a peek.”

  It wasn’t as if she’d be tempted to keep the contents, not when David’s propensity to buy gifts for all the wrong reasons—for show, as bribes, to atone for bad behavior—had replaced her pleasure in receiving pretty things with cynicism. That voice of cynicism whispered that Max wouldn’t have even chosen the gift. More likely he’d called someone at Dakota Fortune—someone like Sasha Kilgore, the PR assistant Creed dated—and asked her to do the choosing.

  That thought helped distance her from any silly romantic notions…until she lifted the lid of the box and found a pair of fluffy-lined suede gloves nestled inside. Then it didn’t matter who’d done the actual choosing because only Max could have come up with the idea. She couldn’t do a darn thing to halt the warm smile of pleasure that started somewhere deep inside and quickly danced through her whole body. Her hands were shaking slightly as she opened the tiny gift card. The inscription was in his handwriting, just three words that made her laugh out loud.

  NOW I’ve started.

  On Sunday it was coffee and two of her favorite glazed donuts, delivered to her home in time for breakfast. On Monday, a miniature book of quotations themed around winter waited at the gallery when she arrived for work. On Tuesday, nothing, and she had to give herself a stern talking to for suffering an extreme sense of letdown.

  She knew he was spending the day in Deadwood, visiting Blake Fortune’s casinos. She knew because he’d called the night before and invited her to go with him. Of course she’d said no and then she’d told him to stop sending gifts and he’d asked if she liked his choices so far and she’d been unable to straight-out lie.

  “I’m collecting them all for charity,” she told him primly. “The Sioux Falls Children’s Center thanks you.”

  He laughed and said if he’d known he would have sent enough donuts for all the kids and multiple copies of the latest Harry Potter instead of the book of quotations. Darn him. Not only did he choose the perfect gifts for a gift cynic, but now he was managing to charm her with the perfect responses!

  She’d gone to sleep with his soft laughter curling through her blood.

  Her dreams had been very, very sweet.

  With Max out of town, Tuesday crawled by in apprehensive anticipation. So far his gifts had been unique, carefully considered, fun. She’d enjoyed the little thrills of excitement, wondering what each new day would bring.

  Not that she’d forgotten that he was using the gifts to try and charm her out of her pants. But since she did know and since she had no intention of succumbing, where was the harm in enjoying the game? For the first time in years she felt sexy and, yes, flattered by the attention.

  But Wednesday was Valentine’s Day and she hadn’t realized the full potency of his guerilla gift-giving campaign until the roses arrived shortly before she left for work. Two dozen deep red hothouse blooms. Her sense of letdown was immense, a tummy-churning eddy of disappointment, not only because he’d succumbed to sending the traditional romantic fare but because he knew about her aversion to roses.

  He’d known, she corrected herself.

  Ten years ago he’d known because she’d shared the reason in a game of bedroom truth-or-dare that had taken a sudden turn from sexy fun into emotional intimacy. She’d told him that roses had been her mother’s signature bloom, an arrangement in every room, their scent an omnipresent memory of her childhood. And after Maggie’s death they’d been inundated with sheaf after sheaf, until their home was fit to explode from the overpowering fragrance. Diana had never wanted to see or smell another rose for as long as she lived.

  Max forgetting that long-ago disclosure shouldn’t have created such bitter disappointment, but it did. She dealt with it by dumping the flowers—and the unopened card—in the trash. Then she washed any trace of their fragrance from her hands and set off to work fired with angry resolve.

  The game was over.

  Another delivery arrived while she was in the studio working on digital retouching. This was an area she still needed to practice and refine before she could call herself an expert. At the moment she was competent but that wasn’t good enough. After several concentrated hours she needed a break. And lunch. She wandered into the office to fetch her purse and found the gift bag sitting on her desk.

  Her early-morning spike of disappointment about the roses had leveled out into pragmatic relief. She’d needed that wake-up-to-yourself slap. She’d needed the reminder of how easy it would be to fall for Max Fortune all over again.

  “Aren’t you going to open it?”

  She swung around from her contemplation of the gift bag and found Jeffrey in the doorway, watching her closely. She looked from him to her desk with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Oh, please, no, don’t let this be an overture from Jeffrey.

  “I was wondering if there’s been a mistake,” she said, wording her message with careful tact. “If perhaps this has been delivered to the wrong person? I’m not a fan of Valentine’s Day, you see. My ex cured me of that sentiment.”

  Jeffrey winced. “Well, I’m starting to feel like an ass!”

  “Oh, please, don’t,” she said quickly.

  “Too late now.” He shrugged with apparent good humor. “Have you read my card?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I thought as much, seeing as you’ve said not a word. But I think you’ll like that part of my gift, at least. We can discuss over dinner.”

  He left her then, alone with her unwanted gift and a card he thought she’d like and a reminder that their regular dinner nondate was tonight. In her absorption with Max and his dashed gifts, she’d completely forgotten. Annoyed with herself and with Jeffrey, with Max, with her mother and everyone who’d ever sent her roses, and with herself again for all this angst, she sat down and ripped open the tissue-wrapped box she found nestled inside the gift bag.

  “Oh, dear Lord.”

  Stunned, she slumped back in her chair. It was a charm bracelet and she knew without opening the attached card that this wasn’t from Jeffrey. A dozen wildly conflicting emotions duked it out in her stomach and chest and head as she lifted the bracelet and turned it over in her shaky hands.

/>   Not the same one as he’d bought her all those years ago when it had caught her eye as they strolled past a Sydney market stall, but an expensive designer model she recognized by its Woo-Me charms. She couldn’t help being moved by his choice and charmed by the message, and at the same time confounded by how he’d gotten this so right and the roses so woefully wrong.

  She didn’t want it to matter this much and the fact that it did confirmed her decision. She’d been enjoying this attention a little too much, flirting with the dangerous allure of being wanted again by Max. But it was getting out of hand and now was the time to call a halt while she still had the strength and commitment to say no.

  Without giving herself a chance to think it through and possibly change her mind, Diana reached for the phone and dialed the number of Sky’s horse stud office.

  Max was waiting on a call from Kentucky about the stallion he and Zack had selected as their number one choice for the new stud farm. Finally the ownership syndicate had agreed to negotiate on terms. There was still a ways to go, some final obstacles to overcome, but at least he could see the finish line.

  He picked up on the second ring and the cool silken clip of Diana’s phone-voice wiped all thoughts of business from his mind. He’d been expecting this call, too, and a smile curved his lips as he settled back in Sky’s comfy office chair to enjoy the exchange.

  “Good,” he said without preliminaries. “You got my gift.”

  “Both of them.”

  What? Max frowned. “I’m talking about the bracelet.”

  “I got that. And the roses.”

  “Roses? Why would I send you roses?” That wasn’t something he’d forget, the fact she loathed them or the reason behind it. “From what I remember, you’d feed them straight into the garbage disposal.”

  “Yes,” she said quietly, and Max could hear the puzzlement in her voice.

  He sat up straighter, focusing on the fact that she had got flowers. And not from him. “I guess you have another admirer. My money is on your boss,” he mused, not liking it in particular, but preferring it was the innocuous Jeffrey to anyone else. “Although I thought he’d know you better.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I thought he’d know about your aversion to roses.”

  “I didn’t mean his choice of gift. Why would you think he’d send me flowers? Why would you call him an ‘admirer.’ We don’t have that kind of relationship.”

  No, they didn’t. He’d noticed at the wedding. But she sounded so put out, so genuinely confounded, that he couldn’t help teasing. “Honey, I listened to him wax lyrical about you for ten minutes straight the day I came to the gallery. He is a big admirer.”

  “Of my work.”

  He chuckled at her quick defense. Hell, he could hear her raised hackles right through the phone and he was preparing the words to smooth them right back down with the long, slow verbal caress of his own admiration, when he noticed the second call coming in. Kentucky, curse the timing. Although, on second thoughts, he’d as soon do the stroking in person. Tonight.

  “Honey, I have another call I have to take. It looks like we might have some action on the horse deal at last. I’ll tell you about it tonight. Is eight good for you?”

  There was a beat of silence. “Good…for what?”

  “For dinner. I assume that’s why you called. As per instructions.”

  “What do you—”

  “Listen, I have to go. I will pick you up ten before eight. Oh, and you might want to wear your dancing shoes.”

  “Wait just a second,” she said sharply, before he could end the call. “I can’t do that. I already have a date for tonight.”

  “Then break it.”

  “Why in heaven’s name would I want to do that?”

  “Because if the call I’m about to take goes to plan, this may be my last night in Sioux Falls. I want to spend it with you, Diana.”

  Six

  Diana picked up the gift card from her desk and opened it, her hands not quite steady. This may be my last night in SF. Dinner? Call me. Beneath he’d printed the number she had just called.

  No wonder they’d been at cross purposes. He’d assumed she’d read the card and he was expecting her to call. As per instructions. She shook her head, recalling all he’d said and the assumptions he’d made.

  I will pick you up. She didn’t think she’d imagined the emphasis on will.

  Wear dancing shoes.

  Break your date.

  That had left her bristling with indignation over what she’d thought to be his highhandedness…until he’d taken her breath with the simple sincerity of that last line.

  I want to spend it with you, Diana.

  Temptation drummed hard and fast through her veins as she picked up the bracelet and played the charms through her fingers. It was a beautiful piece, so suggestive of their past relationship, such a perfect symbol of his present campaign. The little charms said “woo-me” but the subtext was about something far more earthy than wooing.

  This last week, his attention, their repartee, her success in standing up for herself in spite of temptation, had left her feeling sexy and confident and good about herself. Sleeping with Max had always made her feel very good about herself. Perhaps she should just go ahead and indulge herself. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t thought about it—or fantasized about it—many times in the past week.

  It wasn’t as though she had anything stopping her…nothing, that is, except the fear she would want more than he was offering. Again.

  Except did she want more this time around?

  Didn’t she have all that she wanted, here in the new life she’d constructed for herself in Sioux Falls?

  Perhaps she should dine with him, dance with him, and shine as the woman he made her feel when she was with him. Not the disappointing daughter or the trophy wife, but a desirable woman. That’s how Max had always made her feel…when he wasn’t causing her to grind her teeth in frustration at his domineering my-way-or-the-highway approach.

  Perhaps she should go to dinner with him and, instead of over-thinking, see how the night panned out.

  Except she hadn’t been joking about another date—although usually she didn’t refer to the Wednesday nights she and Jeffrey ate together as dates. They were more a sharing of food and company, a chance to talk about work away from the work environment. Mostly they ate out, but since she’d taken a series of culinary classes—one of the many practical skills she’d pledged to master in her quest for an independent, everywoman life—Diana sometimes chose to cook for them.

  Tonight happened to be one of those nights. She’d planned the menu and bought the ingredients, but did she want to go ahead? She closed her eyes and pressed her fingers against the lids. Jeffrey had sent the roses—that’s what he’d been alluding to earlier when he’d called himself an ass. Damn, but this was awkward. She didn’t want to ruin their professional relationship or their friendship. She would have to talk to him, to let him know she didn’t welcome any romantic overtures.

  As for the meal…

  Perhaps she should go ahead and cook as planned, but for Max. A rueful smile curved her lips as she imagined the look on his face when he turned up at her door at ten before eight, as planned, to take her to dinner. Only to find his meal of French onion soup, followed by Peppery Filet Mignon with Hasselbaak potatoes and mixed baby greens, finished with Raspberry Crème Brûlée, all prepared and ready to serve. By Diana, who’d not known how to flip an egg or grill a steak or bake even a packet mixture cake ten years ago.

  Now that would set him back on his heels!

  Her heart beat faster as she anticipated his appreciation of the dinner, the setting, the fire she would build, the dress she would wear…the dress he might strip from her body beside that open fire…

  If she chose to let him.

  It may be his last night in Sioux Falls and he would spend at least part of it with her. They would eat, they might even dance, and then she wo
uld make up her mind about the rest.

  Her conversation with Jeffrey turned out to be much easier than expected. The roses, apparently, weren’t a romantic overture but a business one. In fact Jeffrey looked quite appalled at the misunderstanding.

  Much relieved, Diana laughed it off. “Forget I even brought it up—it’s been my day of crossed purposes. I really must start reading the cards before I open the gifts!” It was another bad habit she’d picked up during her years with David. Another she needed to shed. “Now, tell me about this business venture. You have me intrigued.”

  “I’ve mentioned the possibility of expanding before—”

  Diana clapped her hands and grinned. “You’re doing it? You’re opening the second gallery? Where? In Rapid City?”

  “Nothing’s definite yet, but I’ll fill you in on the plans tonight.”

  “About tonight…” She winced apologetically. “Would you mind if we postpone? It’s just…something else has come up.”

  “A real date?”

  “Sort of.”

  “With the sender of gifts?” Curiosity danced across his expression and Diana gave herself a sharp kick for starting the dance tune. She knew he was naturally nosy—heck, he was the only man she knew who opened his newspaper to the page-six gossip column before the sports!

  “Look, it’s still a bit undecided,” she said, not wanting to divulge names. Not wanting to talk about something she wasn’t sure about herself. “We can talk about it next week.”

  “Sure,” he said, but he looked as disappointed as a child denied a treat. “Why don’t you take tomorrow off. In case you want to recover.” He cocked an eyebrow.

  “Or sleep in.”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  He laughed at her prim answer. Or possibly at the flush of color climbing her cheeks. “Go on. Make it a long weekend, have fun, indulge yourself. But first you better go home and put those roses in water. They cost me an arm and half a leg. Oh, and don’t forget to read the card.”