Promises, Promises

by Shelley Cooper

  “Consider it mentioned.” She glanced at him out of the corner of one eye. “Did you know that the top speed this car can reach is 189 miles per hour? That’s why the manufacturer doesn’t install anti-lock breaks. Without them, the driver can maximize the car’s acceleration potential.”

  He hadn’t known that, could have lived a long and happy life without knowing it, and prayed fervently she wasn’t going to try to attain warp speed this outing.

  “Let me guess. Part of the salesman’s pitch?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Suddenly she turned to him again, and her eyes flashed with an emotion he could only describe as regret. There was a self-accusatory tone in her voice when she said, “Do you realize that I’m almost thirty years old, and I’ve never gotten so much as a traffic ticket? Worse, I’ve never even been stopped by a policeman. Isn’t that a crime?”

  Swiftly, and to his relief, she faced forward again.

  “Well, I’m thirty-four,” he said tautly, fingers clenched against the dashboard, “and I’ve never had a traffic ticket or been stopped, either. You ask me, a lot of people would envy your record. I’m sure your insurance company appreciates it. Of course, if you keep traveling at this speed, you’ll most likely discover the thrill of being stopped and ticketed. Any second now.” If they were lucky.

  She flashed him a look of surprise. “Am I making you nervous?”

  He didn’t know what scared him more: the speed at which they were traveling or Gretchen Montgomery herself. He’d never met another woman like her, one minute shy and quiet, almost reserved, the next vibrant and outgoing, and totally unpredictable. Talk about a paradox; he was looking straight at one.

  “Terrified,” he admitted.

  “I’m sorry.” She eased up on the accelerator. “I thought all men loved to go fast.”

  “Only with women, and only when they feel like they’re in control,” he muttered, watching in relief as the speedometer nosed its way back to a sedate fifty-eight miles per hour.

  “What did you say?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You don’t have to worry, you know. I’m an excellent driver.”

  “I’m sure you are.”

  It was just that he had a thing about excessive speed. He’d seen its tragic aftermath too often in the E.R. not to respect that there were some things best left to the professionals. Traveling at a high rate of speed in an automobile was one of them.

  Several miles flew by without either of them speaking. Relaxing at last, Marco leaned back against the seat, closed his eyes and wallowed in the feel of the fresh air washing over his face.

  “Long day at work?” she asked.

  “Long week,” he said.

  “You work at Bridgeton Hospital, right?”

  “Yes. In the emergency department.”

  “Been there long?”

  “Three years as a resident. Three years now on staff.”

  “You must find it very rewarding.”

  “It has its moments. What about you, Gretchen? Do you enjoy your work?”

  There was only a slight hesitation before she replied, “Very much. It’s quite challenging. If you’re like most people, though, you think accounting, and CPAs in particular, are deadly boring.”

  Eyes still closed, he smiled. “I suppose I’ve fallen victim to that stereotype once or twice.”

  “Who hasn’t? By the way, you wouldn’t happen to own a Harley, a leather jacket or have a tattoo, would you?”

  He ranked Harleys up there with driving at a high speed: too dangerous. Leather jackets were okay—his brother Carlo practically lived in one—but tattoos were definitely out. Why subject himself to needless infection?

  Bemused, he swiveled his head toward her and opened his eyes. “No. Why?”

  She shrugged. “I just realized we’ve been next-door neighbors for more than two years now, and I really don’t know very much about you.”

  His thoughts precisely. “What would you like to know?”

  “For starters, why do you rent from me?”

  “Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”

  “Only that you’re a doctor. I assume you could afford a place of your own.”

  He grimaced. “You haven’t seen the bill for my medical school loans.”

  “I’m not the type of landlady who steams open her tenants’ mail,” she said lightly.

  “For which I’m heartily grateful.” After a pause he added, “I suppose I could swing a house if I wanted to. I just don’t want to.”

  “Would you mind my asking why not?”

  “It’s simple, really. I have a job that demands a lot of my time. What little I have left over, I’d rather spend with my brothers and my sister, and not have to worry about the care and upkeep of a house.”

  “Makes sense to me,” she said.

  “Me, too. Anything else you want to know?”

  She startled him by pulling to the side of the road. Car idling, she removed her hands from the steering wheel and placed them in her lap before turning in her seat to face him. She seemed oddly tentative.

  “Are you involved with anyone?”

  The unexpected question knocked him totally off balance. “Not at the moment,” he replied carefully.

  She digested that for a minute before asking, “Do you find me…attractive?”

  “I think the answer is obvious.”

  “Is it?” She seemed to be holding her breath.

  He ran his gaze hotly over her, paying particular attention to her legs and her cleavage. When he returned his attention to her face, he saw that her cheeks were red.

  “Do you still doubt it?”

  “No.” She licked her lips. “In that case, what do you think of the idea of us having a wild, crazy affair?”

  His heart surged into his throat. “An affair?”

  She nodded. “No strings attached.”

  “And when it’s over?”

  “We go our separate ways.”

  “No hard feelings?”

  “None.”

  “Now?”

  Her lips curved. “I was thinking of someplace a little more private.” She nodded at their surroundings. “Also, a little more romantic. And roomier.”

  He didn’t smile back at her. He couldn’t. He knew he was stalling, asking questions to put off having to give her an answer. The real question was, Why?

  Because he would have staked his reputation on the wager that she was not a woman who entered into an affair lightly. Considering that they’d spoken to each other more today than they had in the sum total of their conversations over the prior two years, he was at a loss to explain why she had made the offer.

  “Well?” she repeated. “What do you think?”

  What did he think? That it was the best idea he’d heard all week. That it had been a long time since a woman had made him so aware of his maleness and her femaleness. That he’d be a fool to say no.

  The best thing about it was that she was offering what every man dreamed of: a no-strings-attached, fleeting affair. She was offering what he offered every woman he got involved with. So why was he hesitating? It wasn’t like him to be gallant.

  Yes, she was his landlady, which offered up all sorts of potential complications. But there was more. Despite the come-on, he sensed a loneliness about her and an underlying tension. Something wasn’t right here. She wasn’t herself, and until he knew why, Marco couldn’t take advantage of her vulnerability. He had no choice but to say no.

  “I think,” he said carefully, reluctantly, “that the timing isn’t right.”

  She looked away from him, but not before he caught a flash of what he could swear was relief in her eyes. He had been right. Something was definitely going on here. If only he could figure out what it was.

  “So you’re saying no,” she said flatly.

  “Have you had an accident at work?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Have you fallen, hit your head? Perhaps a r
eaction to a new medication? You’re not acting at all like yourself today.”

  Her body went rigid. “Oh? And just how should I be acting?”

  “This isn’t you, Gretchen.”

  Her gaze met his, her eyes defiant. If relief was what he’d glimpsed in them a minute ago, it was absent now.

  “What isn’t me?”

  “This.” He swept an arm out. “The car, the clothing, the come-on. Especially the come-on.”

  She bit her lip and looked down at her lap. “So, what you’re saying is that I look ridiculous.”

  “Not ridiculous,” he replied gently. “Not even close. You just seem a little…well, uncomfortable.”

  For a long minute she didn’t say anything. Then, with a rueful smile, she tugged at the hemline of her dress.

  “You’d be uncomfortable, too, if you’d poured yourself into this thing. It’s so tight I can barely breathe. It may fit like a second skin, but it feels like a tourniquet.”

  “For what it’s worth, you look great.”

  “Not great enough to make you want me.”

  If only she knew how wrong she was. “I have my reasons, Gretchen.”

  “And I respect them. Don’t worry. I won’t bother you anymore with my unwanted attentions.”

  “They’re not entirely unwanted,” he admitted.

  “They’re just…”

  “Inconvenient?”

  It was as good a word as any. “The dress really isn’t you, you know.”

  “Why?” Her voice took on a bitter note. “Because it isn’t practical?”

  “Yes. No. I guess so,” he ended lamely, not knowing what to say.

  “And I’m a practical woman.”

  “I’ve always thought of you that way.”

  “Well, maybe I’ve decided to erase the word practical from my vocabulary.”

  “What’s wrong with being practical?”

  “Let me ask you something,” she retorted. “When’s the last time you took a practical woman like me to your bed?”

  When he didn’t answer, she gave a hollow laugh. “That’s what I thought.”

  Shifting, she pulled back onto the highway. At the first exit she turned around and headed for home. The sun was setting when she pulled into her garage.

  “Thank you for the ride,” Marco said, feeling awkward.

  “Anytime.” She wouldn’t meet his gaze. “Next time, though, I’ll leave out the seduction scene.”

  “Gretchen,” he began.

  She held up a hand. “It’s okay. You don’t have to try to make me feel better. I’m a big girl. I’ll be just fine.”

  There was so much he wanted to say to her. That he thought she was the loveliest thing he’d ever seen. That he wanted her. That he regretted his clumsiness in his handling of the situation. That, under the proper circumstances, he would kill to have a wild, crazy affair with her. That he was there for her if she just wanted to talk.

  The way she held her body, stiff and unyielding, told him the words wouldn’t be welcome, so he remained mute. When they parted at their respective front doors, Marco felt more confused than ever.

  She’d blown it. Big-time.

  Bracing one hand on the edge of the kitchen sink, Gretchen pressed a frosted mug of root beer to cheeks that still burned with embarrassment. Outside her kitchen window the sun dropped below the horizon. A romantic scene if ever there was one, and she was watching it all alone. Which was a good thing, because she had never felt more mortified in her entire life.

  How could she ever face him again?

  She hadn’t set out to try to seduce him. For one thing, she was in the middle of her period, which made things logistically difficult. The only purpose of the dress and the drive was to get his attention and to, hopefully, pique his interest. No one—except maybe Marco himself—had been more surprised when the words rolled out of her mouth. If she had piqued any interest on his part, it was whether or not she was playing the cards of life with a full deck.

  What hurt the most was that she’d planned it out so painstakingly. For the past three and a half weeks, during which time she’d recovered from lasik surgery, had her hair styled and bought a whole new wardrobe, she’d been careful to keep out of his sight. She’d been especially careful to confine her piano practice to times when she was certain he wasn’t home.

  While she’d waited for the perfect time to put her plan into action, she’d read books on flirting, along with car brochures. She’d found herself listening for Marco and trying to ascertain his schedule. Then, when she was ready, she’d dressed herself up and shamelessly placed herself in his path.

  The naked appreciation in his eyes had made her giddy. For the first time in what seemed forever, a man wasn’t looking at her for just her mind. On the contrary, Marco had regarded her solely as a sexual object. Though she had known that officially she should be offended, she hadn’t been able to summon up any indignation. The look in Marco’s eyes was heady stuff for someone who was used to having men’s glances slide away from her to more attractive women.

  Never before had Gretchen felt such confidence, such an incredible sense of her power as a woman. And it had all fallen apart the minute she’d thrown caution to the wind rushing through their hair and propositioned him.

  She heaved a heavy sigh. What had every flirting book instructed? Dress your best. Be mysterious. Play hard to get. Keep him off balance.

  If Marco’s reaction was anything to go by, she’d gotten the dressing-her-best part down pat. The mysterious part was harder to judge. As for being hard to get, what a laugh. She was the mouse who had baited its own trap.

  She had kept him off balance, though. She’d driven him to the middle of nowhere at a speed that had shaved a year or two off his life. Then she’d pulled to the side of the road and ambushed him. He hadn’t even seen it coming.

  No wonder the poor man had seemed so terrified. Had they been any closer to home, he probably would have jumped from the car and run.

  Which all went to prove that she was no good at seduction.

  She’d kept her promise, and that was all that mattered, she told herself. She’d asked, and he’d said no. What more could she do? Besides, with Marco out of the picture, she could now concentrate on the piano competition, which was only a little more than three months away. She should be relieved. Why, then, did she feel so disappointed? So empty. So…restless.

  Gretchen drank deeply from the mug, then placed it in the sink. “So Marco Garibaldi turned you down,” she said to her reflection in the window. “Big deal! Is the world going to end? Sure, your pride’s a little dented, but you’ll recover. The condition isn’t terminal.”

  Like Jill’s had been.

  Jill. Gretchen drew herself up straight. The revelation that came to her was like a flash of lightning in the darkest night. What was the one lesson she should have learned from Jill’s untimely death? That life was short, precariously short. And that she, Gretchen Montgomery, was wasting precious time.

  When all was said and done, after the makeover and all the new clothes, what had really changed? Nothing. She was still the same Gretchen inside that she’d always been.

  The one promise that Jill had extracted, and which didn’t cost a cent, was the very promise Gretchen had overlooked entirely. By dutifully spending a huge sum of money on a flashy car and a new wardrobe, she’d carried out the law of her promises, but not the spirit. She’d adopted the outward appearance while ignoring the inward attitude.

  This wasn’t about seducing Marco Garibaldi. It wasn’t about seducing any man. It most certainly wasn’t about buying a flashy sports car and blowing her inheritance on impractical things.

  It was about living and enjoying life. It was about appreciating every moment in a way she never had before.

  What was it Jill had said to her? Remember that line from Auntie Mame? “Life is a banquet, and most poor suckers are starving to death.” I want you to feast, Gretch, feast like no one has feasted before. />
  Jill was right. She’d been going at it all wrong. No book, no wardrobe, no flashy car, and certainly no man was going to teach her how to get the most out of life. That had to come from inside of her. Just as a wild, crazy affair had to happen spontaneously. It couldn’t be planned. She knew that now.

  Gretchen recalled the exhilaration of flying down the road at eighty-five miles per hour. That was the way she wanted to feel every day of her life. That was the way she wanted to feel when a man took her into his arms.

  It was all so clear now. Why had it taken her so long to see it, to understand what Jill had really been doing when she’d extracted all those promises from her? Life was too short. Too short for regrets, too short for fears, too short for embarrassments, too short for not doing all the things she’d always wanted to do.

  Sometime, between now and the end of her life, she would have a wild, crazy affair. But not with a stranger, no matter how much he made her toes curl. She’d have that affair with the man who ultimately ended up owning her heart, the man who would love her and cherish her as much as she did him.

  Until that time, though, Gretchen was done being timid. She was done being hesitant. She was done living her life for her career and ignoring everything else. She’d keep the car and the wardrobe, and she’d use them to bring her pleasure. From now on, she was going to live as if there was no tomorrow.

  “How’s it going?” Gary asked.

  “Fine.” Gretchen sank down into a chair and crossed her legs. “I should be wrapping up the Harrison account today.”

  “Good to hear. By the way, I like your dress. It’s very flattering.”

  She glanced down at the camel-colored silk coatdress. Though not as tight as the black dress she’d worn the day before when she’d taken Marco Garibaldi for a ride, it was just as short. She was growing accustomed to the length of leg it exposed. Just as she was growing accustomed to, and even enjoying, the admiring glances the outfit garnered from the other men in the office.

  “Thanks. I like it, too.”

  Leaning forward, Gary placed his elbows on his desk and steepled his fingers. “Can I ask you something I’ve been wondering about, but never quite had the courage to ask?”