by Alison Kent
You could tell Joan was not enjoying this. Not for one minute. Sourly, she announced, “He wants you to be director of sales for the Hotel Marceau in Paris. It’s a small hotel, but it was the first one, it’s the flagship, and it is exquisite….”
But Susannah could not comprehend a word of this. “What are you saying?”
“Bottom line, you can make us both happy by getting out of my department and taking this job. It is a major, major opportunity,” Joan said flatly. “You in?”
“Oh my god.” It couldn’t be real, could it? “Yes, yes, I’m in!” She was so swept up in the incredible, bizarre reality of it, she actually hugged Joan. Joan.
But this was so strange. She’d always wanted to work at the Hotel Marceau in Paris. And here was her opportunity, tossed like New Year’s confetti. Almost like…Destiny.
Susannah had only one thought on her mind. She had to find Trey. Destiny! He would understand this, even if she had said mean things. He would understand, wouldn’t he?
He was winding his way out of the penthouse, just like she was, and he looked very pensive. “Listen,” he said warily, before she had a chance to speak. “I’ve been thinking about what you said, and you’re right. You have dreams, too. But I still think we belong together. So if you want to stay here, then I can find a way to live in Chicago. I can give up Paris, and—“
She waved his words away. “You’re not going to believe this. Okay, this is not what you want. I am still not Ms. Free Spirit Beatnik and I am not living in a garret. But…I have a job offer in Paris,” she said gleefully. She screamed and threw her arms around him. He felt a lot better than scrawny Joan, though. In fact, he felt so good she almost forgot to tell him the rest of it. “It just fell into my lap, Trey! I can’t believe it myself. And I won’t till I actually talk to Mr. Marceau. But, this is so cool, isn’t it? Me, in Paris. Director of sales for the Hotel Marceau. I guess I’m going to have to learn French. You’ll teach me, right? I can’t bel—“
Trey cut off the rest of it, covering her mouth with a hard, unyielding kiss that would’ve knocked her socks off, if she’d been wearing any.
She took a step back. “Is that a yes?” she asked, wide-eyed. “You still want me?”
“It’s destiny, Susannah.” He pulled her back into his arms and kissed her again, leaving her breathless. “I’m afraid if I say I told you so you’ll smack me again, but…I did tell you so.” He dropped another kiss on her nose. “Let’s get out of here, okay? It’s still a long time till morning and my flight…. Our flight. You know, it will be New Year’s somewhere every time the big hand goes straight up.” He grinned. “And I know how you like to do the countdown.”
“Happy New Year, Trey,” she whispered.
Epilogue
One year later
THE ANNUAL MONTICELLO Ball was still in full swing long after the hour of celebration had passed. In a quiet corner of the deserted bar far from the remaining partygoers, Arianne, Isabel and Natalie gathered for a New Year’s toast.
“We weren’t sure you’d be here,” Arianne said. Taking Natalie’s hand, she admired the princess-cut diamond ring Natalie sported. “It’s supposed to be your wedding night.”
Natalie laughed. “And miss out on a new pair of Monticellos?” She lovingly smoothed her hand over the signature gold box resting on the bar. “Are you nuts?”
“Nuts is a woman who’d leave a yummy guy like Joe alone on his honeymoon,” Isabel joked. She gave Natalie a quick hug. “Um, so…how does marriage feel?” The question betrayed enough of a cautious, yet genuine, curiosity that Natalie and Arianne exchanged a knowing glance. Although Tom had practically moved into Isabel’s loft, she never would admit that she’d fallen head over heels in love with him.
“The first twelve hours have been pretty spectacular,” Natalie said. “Ask me again in another thirty years.”
Natalie, always the romantic, had practically insisted on a New Year’s Eve wedding when Joe proposed to her Christmas morning. The poor man. He’d probably been thinking a year from now, not a week later before a justice of the peace. Natalie hadn’t been about to give him a chance to disappear on her again, even if they had been living together since Valentine’s Day.
Isabel focused on Arianne next. “We have a surprise for you, and don’t think of arguing with us.”
Arianne’s expression changed to apprehension when Isabel handed her a large white envelope. When Isabel and Natalie put their devious minds together, just about anything was possible.
“Okay. It’s a totally self-serving gift, but neither one of us can survive another one of your bargain-hunting trips,” Natalie said.
Arianne opened the sealed envelope and withdrew a sketch of a wedding gown. The design was elegant, simple and feminine, with a swatch of cream silk attached to one corner with a pin. Arianne recognized Isabel’s handiwork.
“Dupioni silk, sent straight from Italy,” Isabel said with pride. “Hand-dyed. See the subtle embroidery and beadwork on the bodice? I designed the pattern.”
Natalie jumped in. “It’s just a sketch, so if you don’t like it, you can change it however you want. But please, no more trips to those awful Jersey outlet warehouses.”
Arianne peered closer. “Vera Wang!” she exclaimed in horror. Her mental calculator short-circuited.
Isabel nodded, beaming with the pleasure of getting to work alongside the famed designer.
Natalie’s excitement bubbled over into her voice. “She owes Lucia a favor.”
“Rafe’s mother knows about this?” Arianne asked.
The two women laughed.
“She’s designed the shoes to go with this gown,” Isabel replied.
“Oh, it’s gorgeous!” Arianne threw her arms around both women and gave them loud smackers on the cheek. “Thank you, but why are you doing this?”
“Hah! We figure if that red dress hooked Rafe,” Isabel teased, “then this wedding gown should keep him.”
“All right, now I’m an old married woman,” Natalie said cheerfully, “and Arianne and Rafe’s wedding is in six months…” She eyed Isabel. “Come on, Iz. When are you going to make Tom an honest man?”
Isabel shrugged in that careless way of hers and smiled a secret sort of smile that spiked Arianne’s and Natalie’s curiosity. They gasped when Isabel lifted the crystal champagne flute to her lips, turning so the twinkling lights overhead caught the reflection of the sapphire-and-diamond heirloom ring on her left hand.
A delighted Natalie leaned in for a closer look. “It’s stunning!”
“When did this happen?” Arianne asked, her happiness for Isabel evident in her wide, beaming smile.
“When do you think?” Isabel gave them a naughty wink. “At the stroke of midnight.”
Impulsive
Jamie Denton
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
1
One year later
NATALIE TRENT NEEDED to get laid. In the absolute worst possible way, too, she thought, trying not to frown as she swiped mascara over her pale, reddish-blond eyelashes. Not that she hadn’t had offers in the past twelve months. She lived in Manhattan, for pity’s sake, where the men weren’t only plentiful, but plenty horny. She’d just gotten…choosy, all because of a stupid New Year’s resolution she’d been determined to keep.
She smoothed the foam applicator of her new “long-lasting” lipstick over her lips, then fanned them with her hand to speed up the drying process. Resolving not to fall in love with every guy she dated might have been a wise decision at the time, but it’d also been the most crippling. Apparently she wasn’t wired to spread her legs if she wasn’t in love. A small detail she’d come to understand about herself which had made for some very long and lonely nights—three hundred and sixty-five o
f them to be exact.
Lips dry, she applied the glossy overcoat before slipping both tubes inside her vintage gold Fendi, right next to her engraved invitation to the Monticello Ball. She scooted out of the postage-stamp-size bathroom into the equally small bedroom she used as a dressing room and closet. What her minuscule one-bedroom apartment lacked in space, it more than made up for in location. At least she had the front apartment overlooking 77th Street in the five-story converted town house. She could’ve found an apartment much less costly with more room, but she wouldn’t trade the Upper East Side locale just off Park Avenue any more than she’d part with her beloved Manolo Blahnik, Jimmy Choo or Monticello shoes.
Standing in front of the full-length mirror she’d tacked to the wall next to her shoe armoire, she almost considered changing. The short metallic-gold Anna Molinari shift tested the legal limit of decency. She should wear the black Versace she’d received as a thank-you gift from the designer following a glowing article Natalie had written for W on Donatella’s spring line, but then the strappy gold, four-inch Monticellos she treasured would have to go, as well.
She turned and frowned at the reflection of her backside. The dress was definitely eye-catching, though, even if it left next to nothing to the imagination.
Wait a minute, she thought. Wasn’t that the entire point of wearing the sexy, slinky designer dress? To catch a man’s eye and finally put an end to her self-imposed, albeit unintentional, celibacy?
She made one last adjustment to the clingy dress before slipping a thin pair of shoulder-length gold earrings through her lobes. A satisfied smirk tipped her mouth. After five years in New York she’d learned to hide her small-town background. She’d even managed to ditch most of her Pollyanna views and could be as cynical as Isabel—if she tried. But what mattered most was not a single invited guest at the party, other than her two closest friends, would ever guess that the only daughter of the town drunk had dared to cross the lines of privilege and invaded the exclusive territory of the rich and famous.
Armed with her personal invitation to the hottest party in town and a few discreet foil packets, she left her apartment and prayed she’d find not only a cab, but an end to her abstinence. She’d lasted an entire year and hadn’t once given her heart away. Little had she known when she’d impulsively made that stupid resolution that a sexless year would result. She’d suffered more than any young, healthy twenty-seven-year-old female ever should. She had needs and she planned to have the desperate edge taken off her razor-sharp libido—tonight. And she would do it without losing her heart in the bargain.
She’d only had to walk as far as Fifth Avenue in the cold night air before she found an available taxi and gave the driver Isabel’s address. As a freelance fashion reporter, Natalie treated tonight’s event as more of a working party than a social event. The annual Monticello Ball promised plenty of grist for her “who’s who wearing what” article, from the exquisitely dressed to the oh, puleeze, what was she thinking? disasters. Mr. Blackwell she wasn’t, but both Vogue and W would pay her a small fortune for a report on the fashion exploits of the celebrities in attendance at the most anticipated party of the year. She might even wrangle Rafe Monticello into granting her an exclusive preview of the upcoming fall line of Monticello shoes. Or perhaps an interview with the creative whiz behind the empire, his mother, the elusive Lucia.
By the time the cab neared Isabel’s loft, Natalie decided if she planned to answer when sexual opportunity banged on her door, she needed to adopt a more free-spirited attitude toward sex like her fabric designer pal, Isabel Parisi. Isabel had sex all the time and never let her heart get all tangled up in the sheets. Unfortunately, Natalie had a feeling she really had more in common with sensible accountant Arianne Sorenson. Arianne didn’t give her heart away, probably because it had already been stolen, Natalie thought. Either her friend wasn’t fessing up or she had yet to realize her heart already belonged to the sexy, dark, Rafe Monticello.
Once the cabbie turned down Isabel’s street, Natalie pulled out her cell and dialed. Iz picked up on the second ring. “I’m on my way, Natalie.”
“On your way downstairs, I hope,” Natalie told her. “Arianne will flip if we’re late, and the traffic’s already horrendous.”
“What did you expect?” Isabel said. “It’s New Year’s Eve.”
“Just hurry,” Natalie said, hating how desperate she sounded. “I don’t want to be late, either.”
Isabel’s chuckle was husky and knowing. “Don’t panic, Nat. Your freebie Monticellos will be waiting for you even if we are late.”
Natalie disconnected the call. The exclusive Monticellos weren’t all she hoped would be waiting for her at the ball. Although she couldn’t wait to get her hands on this year’s expensive glass slipper, she really hoped to find herself a prince. One ready, willing and more than able to put an end to her year of sexual deprivation.
JOE SEBASTIAN KNEW it was her the minute she walked into the ballroom. From his place at the bar, he waited for his lungs to refill with oxygen and his heart to stop ricocheting around in his chest. Time hadn’t dulled the images etched on his memory. If anything, they were even sharper now that he’d seen her.
A breathtaking vision wrapped in gold that closely hugged her lethal curves, she was hands-down the most sensual woman in the room as far as he was concerned. Although she wore a gold satin-and-sequined mask, complete with gold plumes sprouting up from the left side, he’d know that body anywhere. He should, since she’d been haunting his fantasies for a full year.
Would she remember him? he wondered, tossing back the last of the scotch and water he’d been nursing the past hour. Without taking his eyes off her, he signaled for the bartender. “Straight up this time,” he told the guy. “Better make it a double.”
Would she even speak to him? He wouldn’t blame her if she smashed one of Rafe’s Renaissance urns over his head. No less than he deserved for pulling a disappearing act on her after the time they’d spent alone with a bottle of champagne in one of the upstairs alcoves. No woman liked to feel used, and he imagined that’s exactly how Natalie perceived those incredible moments at the stroke of midnight one year ago tonight. Provided she even remembered.
He thanked the bartender and walked back into the ballroom for a closer look at the woman he hadn’t been able to erase from his mind. The taste of her mouth, the curve of her hips, the silk of her hair wrapped around his hand were images burned into his memory like a brand. The sound of her throaty laugher as he’d led her to the alcove and closed the dark red velvet drape for privacy. Her purr of pleasure when he’d skimmed his hands over her body and kissed her senseless until they were both filled with a need so fierce it had nearly killed him to walk away from her after offering some lame excuse he couldn’t even recall and promising to return shortly.
He’d never heard her outrage because he’d been forbidden to say so much as a goodbye. He’d left, but he’d never forgotten, and for the first time in his career as a naval intelligence officer, he’d been filled with resentment for the oath he’d sworn.
His days of disappearing for months on end were thankfully behind him. After twelve years of serving his country, Joe had had enough of covert operations, security issues and the only semblance of home being the nearest rack on a ship sailing to a classified location.
Acknowledging he was ready to settle in one place and put down roots was one thing. Actually having the staying power to remain in one place for any length of time was another. So had knowing what he’d do for a living. Instead of discharging from the Navy, he supposed he could’ve accepted the offer to become an instructor for SEAL training and collected a full pension in another ten to fifteen years. While he could always go back to civilian life, he craved solidity. After his last mission, the more distance from a lifestyle he wasn’t completely sure he still had faith in, the better. Investigating white-collar crime for the Securities and Exchange Commission did lack a certain level of excitement he’d
become accustomed to as a SEAL, but men and women generally weren’t tortured or maimed beyond recognition because of corporate greed.
He moved through the couples dancing beneath the frescoed dome until he reached the edge of the dance floor where she only had to glance in his direction to see him. The black leather mask hid his face, but he was arrogant enough to hope she’d still recognize him.
The cool blonde dressed in elegant black standing next to Natalie said something to her that caused Natalie to turn and scan the ballroom. She nodded, spoke to the exotic dark-haired woman beside her, and then looked directly at him. From across the room, he raised his glass slightly and smiled when her clear blue eyes widened beneath her mask. What he could see of her face, paled.
She quickly turned away and spoke to his old friend and host, Rafe. Oh, yeah, he thought. She hadn’t forgotten him. From her reaction, she obviously hadn’t expected to find him here, either. The night suddenly held a wealth of possibilities.
He tossed back a good portion of scotch that only inflamed the heat already simmering in his belly. At least she hadn’t looked as if she wanted to rip his balls off for leaving her the way he had. Maybe she’d allow him to make it up to her by finishing what they started last year.
She left her friends, snatched a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter as if it were a lifeline and started circling the ballroom. He took in the subtle swing of her hips and the enticing movement of her breasts as she slowly headed in his direction. His fingers weren’t the only part of his body flexing. Being this close to her, he could see she was even hotter than she’d been in his memories, and they’d been damned hot.
He finished off the last of his drink as Natalie cruised the ballroom as if she owned the place, confident and sexy as hell. He’d been too long at sea if the sight of a woman made his dick this hard. He shouldn’t be surprised by his reaction. It’d been the same all year. Despite the little time they’d actually spent together, one thought of Natalie and his libido took off like an F-14 from the deck of an aircraft carrier. The woman had gotten under his skin, something thousands of miles of ocean hadn’t cured.
