by Linda Skye
Harry paused; Elise had suddenly gone rigid. Puzzled, he let his grip go lax as she slowly extricated herself from their tangled pose. She pulled away, her fingers trailing on one of his tables. He watched as she carefully picked up one of the fallen photo frames. She lifted it close, studiously examining the faces reflected behind polished glass. She ran the pads of her fingers over the glass as if inspecting it for cracks.
“You needn’t worry,” Harry assured her, taking a step toward her and placing a hand on her bare shoulder. “I can always replace the frame if it’s cracked.”
Her fingers lingered on the photograph before she set it back down on the table. Then, she stepped out from under his touch and wandered over to the window.
“I’ve upset you,” Harry said, his voice apologetic.
Still facing away, Elise shook her head, not trusting her voice.
“Come now, dear girl,” Harry suggested, trying to salvage the evening. “Why don’t I call room service? Have them bring up some champagne and treats? The kitchen makes a lovely—”
“Is that an important photograph?” Elise cut in quietly.
“Pardon?”
“The photograph,” Elise said slowly and deliberately. “Is it important to you?”
Harry picked up the frame that she had been looking at.
“Why do you ask?”
“Just curious.”
Her voice was casual and low, but Harry detected a note of distress in her tone. How strange, he thought.
“It’s just an old college photo,” he told her, his eyes fondly searching out the familiar faces in the photograph. “These were my old mates from the good old days.” He chuckled to himself. “They were a right fun bunch, all of them.”
“All of them?”
“Of course! Even this one mousy girl—she wasn’t much to look at, but my goodness! She was a doll. Such a modest girl.” He smiled then looked up as realization dawned. “Did you recognize someone in the photo?”
“N-no—”
“That’s it, isn’t it?” Harry pressed excitedly. “You must tell me who it is! I’ve lost track of most of them.”
“You’re m-mistaken,” Elise stuttered. “How could I know any of your college mates?”
“Really?” Harry asked doubtfully.
“Really.” Elise insisted, spinning around with a dazzling smile. “Now, let’s chat about something more interesting, shall we?”
Her smile felt too tight, and her head spun. She headed for one of the lounge chairs, valiantly fighting the frown that threatened to mar her happy-go-lucky image.
For she had recognized someone in that photo. One mousy, young college girl. A funny, modest girl.
Yes, she’d seen her own face—her old self—staring back up at her from the photograph.
But why would Harry have that photograph on display? Why would he remember her fondly? Elise struggled to focus on her present reality: Harry was pouring them champagne, his back to her for the moment. She frowned at him, wondering what she’d gotten herself into and all the while admiring his broad shoulders and trim waist. He turned back to her with two champagne flutes in hand, and she pasted a brilliant smile onto her face.
“Now,” Harry said cheerfully. “Where were we?”
He padded across the lounge to hand her one of the flutes and then took a seat on the seat adjacent to hers. No need to pounce on her and frighten her off, he thought as he took a sip of the bubbly.
“You were going to regale me with stories from your college days,” Elise said with a lazy grin.
“Ah, yes,” Harry returned good-naturedly. “The good old days.”
He leaned back in his chair, reminiscing for a moment. Unfortunately, he thought, those days hadn’t been as good as he would have liked them to be. Though filled with wine, women and song, his college days had also been filled with immense pressure from his father. He’d had no time for anything but work, with the odd, meaningless dalliance.
“A mousy girl from your past?”
Elise’s voice cut into his thoughts. He looked back at her, faintly surprised by her insistent prodding.
“Yes,” he murmured vaguely. “What was her name?”
But he remembered her name with perfect clarity: Elise Burke. Strange that she and this Parisian woman should share the same name when they were so completely different. Elise Rousseau was the perfect embodiment of the roaring twenties: filthy rich, gorgeous, sexually uninhibited and completely frivolous. On the other hand, Elise Burke had been middle-class, girl-next-door pretty, shy and naively thoughtful.
Harry fought the sudden tiredness in his eyes. To be honest, he would probably prefer to bathe in Miss Burke’s quiet kindness rather than soak up Madame Rousseau’s sharp, jaded wit.
But of course, Harry knew that was impossible.
For he had broken that poor girl’s heart once—and all because he’d known that he would never be able to make her happy. She deserved a more responsible man, one who would be devoted only to her. But after he’d flat-out rejected her, he’d almost immediately regretted it. A moment too late as well, for the woman had fled the country and disappeared to who knows where!
Harry shook his head of his thoughts. Regret would do no one any good—and he had a rich widow to seduce and swindle!
“Never mind the past,” Harry said, smiling and setting down his champagne flute. “The future is so much brighter.”
“Is it?”
Elise Rousseau pinned him with such a sharp glare that Harry almost squirmed.
“I mean,” he continued. “There’s so much going on now that who has time to dwell on the past?”
The woman looked away suddenly, a shadow clouding her perfect face. Harry leaned over and reached for her hand.
“Whatever is the matter, my darling?” He asked, his deep voice sincerely concerned.
Elise looked back at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears.
“I w-was just thinking,” she said with a barely noticeable stutter. “That it is so very difficult to forget the past.”
Harry felt sympathy well up in his chest; she was hardly a woman and already a widow. She must have been the target of many a fortune-seeker, people after her for her money...just as he was. He quashed the guilt that began to grow in the bottom of his stomach. Taking some of her money didn’t mean he had to be totally insensitive about it. Perhaps they could both get something out of it; a mutually beneficial agreement, as it were.
Harry squeezed her fingers encouragingly. He pulled her gently from her seat and tugged her into sitting across his lap. He smoothed his hands up her back and began rubbing soothing circles over her shoulders.
“Oh, I know,” he said, his voice comforting. “I once hurt someone very dear to me. It was for the best, but I can’t help regretting it—even now.”
“Who was it?” she asked, genuinely curious as to who had captured his womanizing heart.
“You won’t be jealous?” he teased.
“I promise you, I won’t be,” she answered dryly.
“It was my college classmate,” he said. “The mousy girl.”
Elise shot up so quickly that she nearly knocked his glass from the table. Her face had gone white, and her fingers trembled.
“What?” Harry asked in concern, also rising. “What is it?”
“It’s nothing.” Elise stepped away, waving him off with one hand and rubbing her temples with the other. “Nothing at all.”
Harry reached for her hand. But when she turned to look at him, the unguarded, innocently beautiful expression on her face was so hauntingly familiar that he paused. It was like a shadow flitting across her face...and then it was gone.
“I think I’ve had enough of New York for one night,” Elise said, walking away.
She paused when she reached the door, throwing a saucy smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes over one shoulder.
“But you’re more than welcome to entertain me tomorrow,” she told him cheekily.
&
nbsp; Then, with a quick flash of teeth and a flick of her bobbed hair, Elise turned and slipped away.
Chapter 5
Elise paced the length of the bedroom of her lavish suite at the Grand Plaza Hotel, biting nervously at her manicured nails. She’d just been picking morosely at her room service dinner; everything tasted like sawdust in her dry mouth. Her head was awhirl with the revelations of the previous night...and with the fact that it was already late in the evening, and Harry had not yet called on her. He hadn’t even sent her a message!
She wondered if she’d been too curt in her goodbyes the night before. Had she left him too cold? Too frustrated? Perhaps he now thought that she would be too much trouble to bed, too much work.
Elise paused in her pacing and buried her face in her hands.
When he’d revealed that he felt remorseful about breaking her college girl heart, she’d been bowled over. It’d turned her thoughts upside down and inside out. Had he been telling the truth about his feelings? Had he truly regretted the way he had treated her former self? Or was that just part of his philandering persona—a ruse to establish an emotional connection with a potential mistress?
Elise sank into a plush chair, her head in her hands. She just didn’t know! And now her entire plan for revenge teetered on uneasy convictions.
A sharp knock sounded on her door. Elise stood and strode through the parlor to the suite’s grand double doors. Pulling them open, she discovered a ruddy-faced young bellboy.
“Yes?” she asked brusquely.
“A Mr. McMahon is requesting that you join him in the foyer, Madame Rousseau.”
“Harry McMahon?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the boy answered politely.
Her mind raced, confidence surging once again. Perhaps she could win this game yet! He’d come to her after all.
“Tell him that I will be down shortly,” Elise said, quickly shutting the door.
She rushed across the room and threw open the doors to her wardrobe. She rifled through the hangers, pulling out dress after dress. She needed to pick something that would make her absolutely irresistible. After a few minutes, she’d found the one.
She shrugged out of her clothes and slipped on the dress. It slid across her skin in a cascade of silk. Elise stepped over to a mirror, eyeing her reflection critically. This flapper dress had thin straps and was slightly more fitted than was strictly popular—but it accentuated her slim waist and toned limbs. The ivory bodice was embellished with strings of shiny, golden beads, and rows of thin golden strands dangled over the mesh skirt. The front of the dress was cut in a low V-neckline and the skirt was very short, elongating her lithe, long legs. To complete the look, she fastened a golden butterfly clip in her black hair, pulled on a pair of satin gloves and looped a long string of pearls around her neck.
Perfect, she thought to herself as she grabbed her purse and headed for the door, trying not to act too excited.
Harry was leaning against one of the Corinthian pillars in the lobby, ignoring the admiring glances he was receiving and trying hard not to appear like he was searching for a glimpse of Elise Rousseau. He fingered the cuff of his expensive jacket and began counting backward to still his eagerness. He’d had a busy day preparing for this evening, but it would do him no good if he seemed overly desperate.
The familiar clack of stiletto heels approached, and he looked up with a dazzling smile. Elise strode toward him briskly, a coy smirk on her full lips.
“Why, Harry darling,” she said with a flirtatious lilt in her voice. “I didn’t expect you to come calling today.”
“How could I resist?” Harry asked, touching the brim of his hat and taking her gloved hand.
“And what disreputable activities do you have in mind for tonight?” she asked as they walked through the foyer.
“Wait and see,” he told her as he held open the door.
“Always full of surprises, aren’t you?” She laughed and stepped into the warm summer evening.
It was a perfect night, she mused to herself as Harry helped her into his car. Night had not fully descended upon the city, but the street lamps and building lights had already been lit. New York was cast in pale blue and lit by hundreds of thousands of bright lights. It was breathtakingly beautiful.
Harry sped through the streets, once again stopping in front of his towering hotel. Elise arched an inquisitive eyebrow.
“Another petting party?” she asked as he opened her door.
“Not even close,” he said, smiling secretively.
She took his hand and he pulled her from the car. Placing his hand at her back, he leaned in to whisper at her ear.
“You’ll never guess what I have planned.”
His confident, self-satisfied smirk was at once irritating and intriguing. Elise arched her brows. As he turned to march into the hotel, she matched his pace—now genuinely curious. They walked through the lobby and toward the elevators with arms linked, both completely oblivious to the fascinated stares fixed upon them. Indeed, they cut a striking image: two of the most talked about figures in the New York social scene, dressed to the nines and promenading through a hotel. They were the objects of much envy and gossip—not that either cared at the moment.
Still smiling, Harry directed the elevator attendant to take them to one of the highest floors of the hotel. He hummed softly to himself, leaving Elise to wonder about their destination. The excitement in his eyes seemed genuine, and she couldn’t help but wonder what he had up his sleeve this time. His enthusiasm was contagious, and she felt the treacherous stirrings of interest in her chest. Once the elevator doors opened, he led her through a myriad of snaking corridors until they reached a set of heavy double doors.
“Ready?” he asked with all the eagerness of a schoolboy.
Elise nodded, fighting the traitorous flutters of excitement in her stomach. Harry pushed the double doors open, at once revealing a scene that made her insides clench giddily. Harry walked forward, ushering her in. Elise took a few slow steps, her wide eyes struggling to take in everything at once.
A stone terrace. Wrought-iron decorative railings. A plate of buttery croissants and two mugs of coffee on a small café table.
Harry had brought her to the Café de la Paix.
Except this was not Paris. This was New York. And he had done something uncharacteristic of the arrogant, uncaring sod she thought him to be. Elise turned bewildered eyes on to her beaming host. He grinned and marched over to another table covered in a sheet. He tugged away the cover with a flourish, revealing a miniature Eiffel Tower.
“Just in case you weren’t sure,” he announced happily.
“You’ve brought me to Paris,” she murmured, still taking it all in.
“Oui, madame,” Harry said in a mock French accent as he walked over to the table and pulled out a chair. “Now won’t you have brunch with me?”
She smiled softly.
“Isn’t it a little late for brunch?” she quipped, her tone light.
Harry feigned a frustrated grimace.
“I work all day to put this together for you, and this is the thanks I get?”
“All day?” Elise laughed. “You worked all day just to bring me something that I miss?”
Harry inclined his head to the side, gracing her with his most dashing grin.
“I would do anything to win your favor, madame,” he said.
Elise willed her heart to stop hammering in her chest as she slowly walked over to where he waited. With a wry upturn of her lips, she sat down and watched carefully as Harry circled the table to sit opposite her. When she did not make a move, Harry cheerfully plucked a pastry from the pile and set it on her plate.
“Freshly made!” he told her with a wink.
Elise tore off a piece of the crumbly croissant and brought it to her lips, struggling against the tremor in her hands and not trusting her voice. In front of her, Harry blithely sipped his coffee with a bright grin. Elise swallowed nervously, her chest tight.
This was not the man she had hated for so long.
Harry McMahon did not remember her favorite things. He did not make thoughtful gestures. He did not go to great lengths to make her smile. And most of all, Harry McMahon did not fill her stomach with giddy butterflies.
But Elise found that she was smiling. And her stomach was completely aflutter.
Damn him, she thought. Damn him.
She lifted her gaze to his face and felt all the pent-up longing and aching tenderness she had once had for him rush from her stomach into her chest. Her eyes wandered across his face: his carefully combed dark hair, his golden skin, his warm, brown eyes and his square jaw. There was a sweetness in his expression that made her heart warm, an intensity in his eyes that made her cheeks glow and a sharpness in his smirk that made her thighs tingle. Feelings long forgotten rose to the surface.
This was dangerous, she told herself. Oh, so dangerous. The color drained from her face as she realized what was happening—she was on the verge of falling in love with him...again.
Harry glanced at her from over the rim of his coffee cup—just in time to see her go perfectly pale. He dropped the cup into its saucer and was kneeling by her chair in an instant. He placed his hands over her small, trembling fingers.
“What is it, Elise?” he asked urgently. “What is wrong?”
Elise shook her head and refused to meet his eyes. He took her chin between his fingers and peered up into her downcast face.
“Please,” he coaxed. “Tell me what is bothering you.”
“It’s just s-so wonderful,” Elise stammered out weakly.
“Wonderful?” His tone was hopeful.
“Yes,” she replied honestly. “I would never have expected you to do something like this just for me.”
