Twenty Hours in Boston

by Priscilla Darcy

  "I'm sure it wasn't—"

  "And I have this to say,” Aubrey finished with a flourish. “I think I'm pretty damn good at seduction!"

  Kaye's eyebrows rose. She sat there trying to process everything Aubrey had just said to her. Then someone knocked on the door. Kaye was aware she wasn't actually in her own hotel room, but answering the door gave her something to do while her brain digested this news.

  "Gray,” she said in surprise when she opened it on him. Inside, she heard Aubrey utter a squeak of alarm and go scurrying into the other room.

  Gray regarded Kaye warily. One thing he didn't want was to be knocked about the head for showing up here. And maybe Aubrey had come crying her heart out to Kaye. Although over what, Gray couldn't be certain. Aubrey had done the slinking out before dawn this time around. But just like last time, Aubrey had done all the seducing.

  Surprisingly, Kaye didn't look inclined to crucify him. Or castrate him, which he remembered had been the actual threat. In fact she was looking distinctly dazed.

  "Are you all right?” Gray asked her.

  Kaye nodded less than certainly. “Uh-huh. Are you looking for Aubrey?"

  Gray blinked. “This is her room, isn't it? Is she around?"

  "Yeah. Aubrey!” Kaye called in the direction of the bedroom. “Gray's here!"

  "Coming!"

  Gray walked inside, sticking his hands in his pockets, feeling like he was treading water furiously. He had no idea why he was even at Aubrey's suite, except that his feet, of their own accord, brought him here and he had followed sheepishly. It was better than hanging around in his office with visions of handcuffs dancing around in his head.

  "I was glad to hear your sister is okay,” Kaye told him.

  "Oh. Yes. Thank you. We were very relieved."

  Kaye had apparently recovered herself because she leaned over and said, in a low voice, “You remember our deal, right?"

  One of Gray's eyebrows skidded upward. “I think it's pretty generous to call that a deal."

  "What would you call it?” demanded Kaye.

  "A threat,” he answered.

  "Hi,” said Aubrey brightly as she appeared in the doorway leading to the bedroom, looking breathless and delicious and warm and lovely and he felt instantly better. No, better wasn't the word for it. He felt terrific.

  He smiled at her. “Hi."

  "I'll just be going, then,” said Kaye.

  "Oh. Kaye. I want to make sure that we get together, just quickly, before you leave—"

  "Is she leaving?” inquired Gray. “Then I'm really interrupting—"

  "No, you stay,” Kaye instructed him firmly, then looked at Aubrey. “I'll find you to say good-bye, I promise."

  Gray watched the door close behind her and turned back to Aubrey. “Is she already finished with my mother?"

  "So it seems.” Aubrey cleared her throat, feeling awkward. Sure, last night she'd had no problem devouring every square inch of him. Today was a whole different story and she was, frankly, just the smallest bit embarrassed.

  He reached into his inner jacket pocket and handed her a small slip of paper. “That's for you,” he informed her politely.

  "What is it?” she asked in confusion as she unfolded it.

  "You don't like flowers. We've established that. So I put some money on the Red Sox to win the World Series for you. The odds aren't so great. I mean, we're way too favored. Schilling, Foulke, why did you leave?"

  She had been staring at the piece of paper in her hand. At the question she looked up abruptly. “What?"

  "You left. Last night. Or this morning. I'm not sure. Before I woke up, certainly. I understand it's a perfect form of payback, but—"

  "That's not why I left,” she denied quickly. “I left because ... because...” What the hell to say? She didn't know.

  "Well, at any rate, thank you for the sketch of me. It was...” He frowned, then laughed. “Well, look at that. We're both at a loss for words."

  She managed a flicker of a smile.

  He stuck his hands deep in his pockets and regarded her from the safe distance of several feet away. “I'm having a bad day."

  "I'm sorry,” she said instantly. “Is it Sophie...?"

  He shook his head. “No, as far as I know Sophie's fine. I stopped by this morning before heading to work and she was still sleeping. Typical Sophie. I think she's just fine. No, it's other things. It's...” He sighed heavily. “A long story. A very long story. I am tired. You're right about that. I get one thing out of the way and the next thing looms up and I'm hoping you'll let me take you to dinner tonight without any of the tug-of-war we usually have to have before you let me do anything nice for you."

  "Oh,” she said stupidly. He did look tired. Not as tired as he had looked last night, but that, she supposed, was because he hadn't completely let his guard down today. But he did look tired. Shadows deep in his eyes. Something was bothering him, she thought. Something big.

  "Unless you have plans with Kaye...?"

  "Plans with Kaye?” she echoed.

  "For tonight."

  "Oh. No. Not exactly. We can have dinner."

  "Good.” He actually looked relieved. “I won't make you cook."

  She tried to smile. “I don't mind cooking."

  "Yeah, but I'll take you out."

  "What time?"

  "Oh, I don't know. As soon as possible. The earlier the better. Say ... five o'clock?"

  "That is early."

  "Yes. As I said. Bad day."

  "Okay. What should I wear?"

  "Nothing fancy. Just casual. I'm not interested in getting all dressed up. I mean,” he corrected himself as the thought occurred to him, “unless you want to get all dressed up and then we'll—"

  "No, no, not dressing up is fine. I mean, clothes are good. I think. I mean, I have plans to get dressed. Before we go out. At least. But not actually ... dressing up. More like dressing down. I guess.” What the hell was she babbling about?

  "Sure,” he said. “Okay. Well, I'll just...” This was damned awkward, he thought. He really hadn't expected it to be this awkward. “I mean, I'll just be leaving then."

  "Okay,” she agreed brightly.

  He took a step away, then turned back. “It's okay that I didn't send you flowers, right? You've made it pretty clear that you don't like flowers so I didn't go with flowers and I'm thinking that maybe now that was a mistake."

  "Oh. No. No mistake. Really. This is...” She indicated the slip of paper she was still holding. A smile quirked the corners of her lips. “...very charming."

  "Good. So I'll see you at five. I'll pick you up here."

  "Okay."

  He turned away again, then she heard him say under his breath, “Oh, hell,” and before she knew what was happening he had her backed against the wall while he kissed her with predatory singlemindedness, hands cupped roughly around her face. “You make me out of my mind,” he growled, rubbing his nose against hers.

  "Well, that's ... good,” she said breathlessly.

  He left without another word, and she watched the door swing closed behind him. And then she sighed and banged her head gently against the wall behind her. That's good? Could she possibly be any more inane?

  * * * *

  So Gray was having a bad day. After he had kissed all conscious thought out of her, she wasn't especially productive, either. Kaye stopped by and they went and grabbed ice cream by way of saying good-bye, and, when Aubrey had put Kaye in the taxi and seen her off, she stood for a few seconds considering her sudden brainstorm, and then went off in search of Gray's friend Mark.

  The only way she knew to find Mark was to basically stand around by the Employees Only door off the lobby and hope to be recognized. She didn't wait very long before a man opened the door and said to her politely, “Miss Thomas?"

  "Yes?"

  "I'm Danny. We met over the phone."

  "Oh, of course,” she said, shaking the hand he offered.

  "I assume yo
u're looking for Gray."

  "No, Mark, actually. Mark Dailey,” she said when Danny looked confused.

  "Yes, I know who you mean. I guess you just surprised me."

  "Come to think of it,” Aubrey mused, “you might be able to help me just as easily."

  "Help you?” Danny echoed, continuing to look uncertain.

  "Gray said he's having a bad day."

  Danny chuckled without amusement. “Yes, I would think that's putting it mildly."

  "Do you think he could duck out a little early?"

  Danny considered it. “Probably. You'd just have to convince him."

  "I think I could convince him. I just need some help getting everything set up."

  "What do you mean?"

  She smiled conspiratorially. “I have a plan..."

  * * * *

  Gray stared out the window, hands clasped behind his back, listening to the various lawyers on the conference call squabble among themselves. He wondered if he should interrupt all their endless wrangling and ask for some specific help dealing with money-laundering. That would certainly stop them in their tracks.

  "The thing about going under Rule 506,” said one of them loud and clear, and then they were all off and running about Rule 506. Gray, sighing, leaned against his window and watched the wave pool below. Looked like fun, actually. He tried to remember if he'd ever used the wave pool. Drawing his brows together in thought, he tried to recall if he'd ever used the Bienvenue's pool area at all.

  "Mr. Delamonte,” Marjorie stage-whispered at him, causing him to turn.

  "What the hell are those?” he asked before he could stop himself.

  "Well, they're accredited investors,” answered one of his lawyers helpfully over the conference call.

  Gray tore his eyes away from the roses to glance at his telephone. There was silence, everyone waiting for Gray's reaction to this tidbit of information. “Oh. Thanks,” he said, which apparently gave them permission to start their incomprehensible squabbling all over again. Marjorie placed the roses on his desk. Gray continued to stare at them. “Where did they come from?” he asked her in a lower tone.

  "Danny dropped them off."

  "Danny's sending me flowers?"

  Marjorie radiated longsuffering patience. “I don't think they're actually from Danny. There's a card.” She handed it across to him.

  Lobby. Ten minutes.

  Gray's eyes flickered back to the roses, then to the card in his hand. Then he grinned. “Guys,” he said to the lawyers. “Something's come up. I've got to run."

  * * * *

  Gray stood in the lobby feeling a little idiotic, scanning the faces passing him for Aubrey's. He was standing there doing that when one of the Bienvenue's drivers approached him and said, “This way, sir."

  Gray tipped his head. “But I'm waiting for—"

  "This way, please,” the driver repeated, more firmly this time.

  Intrigued, Gray followed the driver. Outside. To one of the Bienvenue's limos. “Where are we going?” he asked.

  In answer, the driver merely handed him another card and ushered him into the limo. Gray, realizing he wasn't going to get any more of an answer, slid into the limo and opened the card as the vehicle jerked into motion.

  Ticket counter.

  Gray glanced out the window to try to get some idea of where the limo was taking him, but all of his guesses seemed inappropriate. Some sort of Vegas show? But which one would she choose? And why? The movies? Had it been baseball season, he would have guessed an AAA game, but it wasn't baseball season.

  "Here we are,” the driver announced cheerfully, drawing the limo to a stop.

  Gray peered out the window. “But where are we?"

  "Right where she told me to take you."

  And where the hell was that? he wanted to demand. But instead, deciding to be good-natured about this whole crazy chase, he got out of the limo. They were on a random street corner. Turning in a full circle, Gray didn't see a single ticket counter anywhere. Nor did he see Aubrey. What was he supposed to do now?

  "Mr. Delamonte?"

  Gray turned toward the voice and answered hesitantly, “Yes?"

  "This way,” he said, and walked over to a cab.

  Gray paused a second before walking over to the cab and getting in. “Do you know where we're going?"

  The driver nodded as he slid behind the wheel. “She told me."

  "Care to share it with me?"

  The driver grinned at him by way of the rearview mirror. “She said I wasn't supposed to tell you."

  Yes, he decided. Aubrey definitely had taken the upper hand here. All over the place, as a matter of fact. And she hadn't prepaid this little adventure. When the cab driver drew to a stop, he was quite expectant of being paid for his fare. Good thing, Gray thought wryly, that he had cash on him.

  Then he stepped out of the cab and regarded his new surroundings. He hadn't actually been dropped directly in front of any one building, and his gaze roved over the street and lighted on what he was sure was the right answer.

  The art museum. Snuggled prominently in the center of the street, a solid, grandiose, many-columned edifice whose steps Gray climbed confidently.

  When he got to the counter, Aubrey was nowhere to be seen. He bought himself an admission ticket and then said, “I'm kind of on a scavenger hunt or something. You don't have a message for me, do you?"

  "Oh.” The woman behind the desk smiled at him. “Yes, Mr. Delamonte. Just a second.” She rummaged around her desk before coming up with a card and a single red rose, both of which she handed across to him.

  Gray took the rose in bemusement and read the card.

  Impressionism.

  "I need to know how to get to the Impressionism wing."

  "She said you were to get there by yourself,” the woman informed him cheerfully, handing across a map of the museum. “Oh, and the rose will gain you admission."

  "Gain me admission?” he repeated blankly.

  The woman gave him a smile that said that she knew all sorts of things he didn't know. “You'll see..."

  When he saw Aubrey, he decided, he was either going to kiss her or strangle her. He decided to pretend that there was an actual question about which he was going to choose.

  The map was incomprehensible. He thought he was in the Greek room, but then again it might have been Roman. What was the difference between the two, anyhow? He finally asked a museum patron, who had no idea that this was some sort of test Aubrey was subjecting him to, and who happily gave him accurate directions to the Impressionism wing.

  The wing was closed off to the public, which gave Gray a moment's pause—until he remembered the comment about the rose. Holding it up to show the security guard standing in front of the wing, he received a smile and a nod and passed through to an enormously proportioned room that impressed him with gleaming hardwood floors and a massive amount of paintings.

  Aubrey was sitting on one of the benches scattered down the center of the room, her back to him, regarding the painting in front of her solemnly. When his shoes stepped onto the hardwood, giving his presence away, she turned and gave him a smile that lit up her face so completely and utterly that he thought, Yes. Kiss her. Just the way to greet her.

  "You made it,” she said as she stood up.

  "Yes."

  "Did you have a good time?"

  "Oh, simply marvelous.” He smiled, walking toward her and presenting her the rose with a small flourish. “Thanks for the flowers."

  She accepted the rose. “I thought you'd enjoy them. You seem very fond of flowers."

  "I'm going to kiss you,” he told her. “That would be okay, right?"

  She looked amused. “Since when do you ask me for permission?"

  "First time for everything."

  "You're taking too damn long,” she said, reaching out and taking hold of his tie to jerk his lips to hers.

  "Do you know what I'm enjoying?” he asked, drawing back scarcely a breath
so he could appreciate her wide blue eyes and red eyelashes filling his vision.

  "What?” she asked.

  "Letting you have the upper hand."

  One of those red eyebrows rose. “Letting me?"

  "Let's just say I'm not fighting you very hard about it."

  "Okay,” she allowed.

  "So. Are we going to have sex in front of famous paintings?” he asked brightly.

  She laughed. “No."

  His face fell. “Oh. Why not?"

  "Because I couldn't get them to turn off the security cameras."

  "A legitimate drawback,” he admitted, looking around the empty room. “But how did you manage the rest of this?"

  "Determination."

  "Naturally."

  "And Danny helped. A lot. He threw your name around shamelessly. I hope you don't mind."

  He shrugged. “It's all for a good cause ... I hope."

  "You said you were having a bad day. I thought you might appreciate ending it a little early. And I thought this would give you the perfect excuse to do so."

  "The perfect excuse?” he echoed.

  "Your first art lesson,” she informed him.

  "My first?"

  "Did you really think you'd learn all about art in one quick session? I thought we'd start with Impressionism. My area of expertise, as it happens, so I didn't have to do any outside research."

  "I see,” said Gray, and then he took his hands from around her waist and took a few steps toward the center of the room, gazing about him with interest.

  She felt a little bereft at the loss of those nice, warm hands of his settled on her hips, but she forced herself to recover. “Which is your favorite?"

  "Which painting in this room?"

  "Yes."

  "Hmm.” He looked. And looked and looked.

  "It's not a test, you know. You can't go wrong."

  "In that case...” He pointed. “That one."

  "Ah. Degas’ racehorses. What a predictably masculine choice."

  "You'd rather I'd chosen the ballerinas?"

  "You might as well have. Same artist. Degas was known for his fondness for both ballerinas and racehorses."

  "Two very different subjects,” said Gray.