“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you should look into rehab if Grandma Winnie’s drinking so much she’s blacking out.”
“Blacking out? Who told you that?” Patti’s eyes widened, flicking to Tate first as she offered a shaky smile of embarrassment. “This is hardly the place to air family grievances, Hayden. Your grandmother is ill.”
“Yes, very.” Hayden couldn’t help agreeing. “She has been sick with this illness for as long as I can remember. You can’t stop her. I can’t stop her. I came as a courtesy...”
“A courtesy!” Patti let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Well, my, my. Excuse us for interrupting your glamorous life. By all means, go and enjoy a fabulous night with your celebrity boyfriend. If you’ll excuse me.” She saved one last disingenuous smile for Tate before stomping back into the hospital room.
Drained and exhausted from that brief interaction, Hayden shook her head at Tate, at a loss for what to say.
He suffered no such loss.
“I don’t remember if I told you...” His arm still looped at her waist, he walked with her toward the exit. “You couldn’t look more beautiful if you tried. I like you in red.”
She shook her head. He was too much.
“Did you also know that your celebrity boyfriend knows the chef at the Brass Pony personally?”
“I did not.” She was grinning, a feat in and of itself.
“It’s true. Any special requests you have for your glamorous dinner are well within reach.”
* * *
Warm browns, golds, and greens made up the décor at the Brass Pony, along with gilded frames holding mirrors and paintings of horses and landscapes. The tables were lit by low candles on crisp, white tablecloths, the silverware was gold and the glassware copious.
Upon entering, Hayden took her first full breath in hours, embarrassed more by her own behavior than her family’s. What must Tate think of her? That she’s completely intolerant?
“Mr. Duncan.” A man in a smart blue suit, his hair dusky blond, regarded Tate with both surprise what could’ve been a borderline nervous smile. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Jared.” Tate’s hand on her back, he ushered her forward, then offered that hand in greeting to the manager of the Pony. “Apologies for my behavior last time I was in here. You caught me on one of my worst days. This is Hayden Green, she owns the yoga studio down the street.”
“A pleasure, Hayden.” Jared nodded his greeting then said to Tate, “Glad to have you back. Your usual table?”
“If it’s available.”
“Right this way.”
Hayden had been to the Brass Pony once since she moved here. The food was exquisite; the atmosphere on the stuffy side, but it had its merits. For one, it was quiet. It was also tidy. Bussers, waitstaff and hosts were dressed in black pants, long black aprons and white shirts with the restaurant’s green logo on them.
Tate’s “usual table” was located in a back corner, the C-shaped booth tall and private. From her spot in the center of the C, the restaurant’s patrons were visible, but Hayden and Tate were shielded from prying eyes.
In short order they were served a bottle of wine, goblets of water and a special made by the chef that Tate requested.
All part of dating a billionaire, Hayden thought with a wry smile.
Fiddling with her gold fork, Hayden tried to think of a way to explain her behavior tonight. Explain that she’d endured years and years of neglect and verbal abuse from her grandmother and mother. Explain that while Hayden loved them, they were complicated to know and even more complicated to like.
Before she could arrive at any arrangement of those words, though, Tate spoke.
“My parents—the Duncans—aren’t perfect, either, you know.” His blue eyes sparkled in the candlelight.
“Yes, but are they manipulative?”
“They can be.” He lifted his wine. “They’re parents.”
“I don’t want you think that I’m this uncaring, selfish—”
He reached for her hand, shaking his head to stay her words. “Don’t. You already know what I think about you.”
Did she? He must’ve seen the question on her face.
“Giving. Caring. Selfless. Beautiful. Strong. Patient. Enduring. Really, really amazing in bed.” He grinned and she pulled her hand away to shove his arm.
“Do you see where we are? Behave yourself.”
“I’m tired of behaving myself. You should know that better than anyone.”
“Are you a rule breaker now?” she teased.
“More like the rules I put stock into were broken for me. I’m enjoying not heeding them. And so should you.”
She sipped her wine, both rich and complex, like the man who ordered it. “I’m not heeding any rules.”
Not her mother’s rule that Hayden should be involved in every family emergency. Not her own warning her not to get serious with a guy, or allow herself to be spoiled unnecessarily. And dining “off” the menu and letting her date treat her to a trip to another country definitely counted as her being spoiled.
No, she wasn’t following any rules, which she knew damn well could lead to breaking even more of them. But as she met Tate’s eyes over their appetizer of crisp calamari, she couldn’t dredge up any motivation to change.
Although...maybe he’d changed her already.
Twenty
Hayden had dreamed of attending the swanky New Year’s Eve party in SWC since she moved here.
As a business owner, she’d received a coveted vellum invitation to the event last year. Knee-deep in doing two million things business owners without personal assistants did during the week of Christmas, she hadn’t been able to attend. By the time last year’s party rolled around, she was full-on Cinderella minus the Fairy Godmother. She’d been overworked, exhausted, and in need of a mani, pedi, haircut and eyebrow wax. Readying herself for a fancy party where she’d be expected to present her best self was as far-off a fantasy as waiting for a prince to knock on her door with a glass slipper on a silk pillow.
So. She’d stayed home.
The FOMO had been epic.
This year, though, she was going. She had an invitation in hand, a gorgeous date chauffeuring her to the event, and a dress she’d picked up on the clearance rack of Basic Black Boutique in town. The dress was black and low-cut in the front, formfitting to show her curves, and sparkled no matter which way she turned thanks to a zillion small silver “diamonds” sewn into the fabric. She’d swept her hair up for the night and pulled on a silver cuff bracelet and chandelier earrings, forgoing the necklace. The plunging neckline drew enough attention without one.
Tate had offered to buy her a gown for tonight, but she’d declined. After the night of the hospital drama, he’d been everything she needed, and she didn’t feel right expecting more. He’d taken her to the Brass Pony—where they ate an incredible gourmet meal that wasn’t on the menu—and he didn’t ask her to explain or talk about it. She’d opted to do neither. For too long her mother and grandmother had dictated her moods. Being in that hospital had cemented the reason she’d left Seattle in the first place: She wanted be her own woman—independent and self-reliant. And yes, that, too, was part of the driving force that led her to buying her own dress.
Excited, she waited in her yoga studio rather than outside, watching out the wide windows for Tate’s Mercedes to show. She’d insisted on meeting him there, but he wouldn’t allow it, even though the event was closer to his house than hers. It seemed no matter how much distance she tried to put between them he closed the gap.
She fingered the lacy material of her shoulder wrap as she paced along the scuffed studio floor. She’d shown up for him in London, and he’d shown up for her at the hospital. Originally she’d believed it was tit for tat, a simple exchange of favors. Bu
t that wasn’t all this was, was it?
She’d erected that independence wall, building it as tall as she could. Ever since she’d said yes to Tate, he’d been chipping away at it and now that wall was crumbling. Through the holes she was seeing a future she’d never imagined.
Tate was in that future.
Not temporarily, not as means to goods and services, or favors. He was there, bold and exciting, for one simple reason.
She’d fallen for him.
Like Buttercup for Westley in The Princess Bride, Hayden had tumbled ass over teakettle down the hill, with her heart bouncing ahead of her.
Not her brightest move to date, but what was she supposed to do about it? Tate was giving, and kind, and great in bed and hot—don’t forget hot. Puttying in the holes in that crumbling wall of hers was no longer an option. What used to be her protection was now starting to resemble a prison. She didn’t want to hide behind a wall any longer.
Her ride pulled to the curb, and she drew her wrap over her shoulders and stepped outside. Gripping her clutch, she shuddered as sharp, icy wind cut through the thin garment. Nevertheless, she’d worn a sleeveless dress and had slipped her feet into sparkly peep-toe black heels to show off her new pedicure. No detail went unnoticed when she readied herself for tonight.
It wasn’t every day she told the man of her dreams she’d fallen for him.
Stupid? Maybe. She had no idea how he’d react. But she couldn’t think of a better time than midnight on New Year’s Eve to tell him. That would blow up her wall completely.
Tate stepped out of the car in a black tuxedo and bow tie that weakened her knees. How...how could this man look good in literally any style of clothing?
He stopped short of opening her door for her, his eyes roaming over her dress, his mouth slightly open like he was going to say something but forgot what it was.
“I guess you can ‘buy your own damn dress,’” he joked, throwing her words back to her. She hadn’t been angry when she said it, just exasperated. She wouldn’t allow him to cater to her constantly.
“I couldn’t figure out how else to make you stop offering.” She grinned.
“Fair enough.” He opened her door and she walked to him, tall enough in her heels to place a cold kiss on his warm mouth. He swatted her ass, reminding her that as gentlemanly as he was, he couldn’t be defined him by only that word.
He was much more layered, and meant more to her than she’d previously imagined. All because she’d met him outside in the rain and offered him a cup of tea.
* * *
The Common, a rentable space for parties and where SWC held most of their meetings and sponsored parties, was a sea of Edison lights dangling from the ceiling.
Hayden couldn’t suppress a gasp when she stepped through the double doors and was met with those glowing bulbs hanging from black wires and tied with a lush black bow at the base.
“Tate.” She clutched the arm of his tuxedo, admiring the many guests in their finery. The black tie affair was dripping with luxury, from the gold and black and white decorations to the five-piece jazz band playing softly onstage.
The fairy tale, it seemed, was real.
“I like that smile.” He brushed her lips with his. “Don’t want to ruin your lipstick.”
“Ruin away. I have more.”
As they walked through the room, the guests parted like the Red Sea for Moses. All eyes were on Tate. In this community, he really was a celebrity.
He shook a few hands and introduced her to a few new people, though she spotted a lot of people she knew, too. She might not be as iconic as the great and powerful Tate Duncan, but seeing so many familiar faces reminded her that she’d built a life here as well.
She released Tate’s arm to accept the glass of champagne, and he raised his own.
“To your first NYE at SWC.” They cheersed and sipped, and wow, even the champagne was expensive. Tate wouldn’t have had it any other way.
“This is incredible. I feel like Cinderella.”
“Good.” Arm locked around her waist, he leaned in to kiss her, pausing a breath from her lips to mutter a very unromantic “Son of a bitch.”
“Duncan.” The gruff voice belonged to guy nearly seven feet tall, with arms the size of 55-gallon drums. His hair was buzzed close to his head, his mustache thick and walrus-like. He turned stony eyes to Hayden for a brief moment before glaring at Tate.
“Hayden Green,” Tate said after a long, and awkward, pause. “Casey Huxley. I’ve mentioned him before. The contractor partnering with me to build a group of houses on the eastern side of the island.”
“Oh. Oh.” The top-secret project that wasn’t really secret, she remembered. Also, she’d learned at their dinner at the Brass Pony, the same contractor who Tate had argued with over taking down quite a few trees in SWC.
She hadn’t wanted to talk about her drama, but she’d needled Tate about his. He’d shared, and she let him, until it was obvious from his copious swearing she shouldn’t have pried.
She had hoped Tate and Casey would work out their differences. Since they stood positioned like they were about to have Wild West style shoot-out, it was safe to assume that hadn’t happened yet.
Casey took a champagne flute, delicate in his wide, meaty palm, and with a final eye slice to Tate, stalked off in the opposite direction.
“That was intense,” she told Tate after Casey was out of earshot. “The way you made it sound, you two nearly went to fisticuffs the other day.”
“Nearly,” he grated, then, “Don’t look so concerned. I can take him.”
“I wasn’t thinking that.” She palmed the front of his tux and smoothed her hands over his built chest. He wasn’t a slouch by anyone’s definition. “I was hoping you two would have worked things out.”
“He cares about control, I care about my island. We’re nowhere near being on the same page.”
“Tate!” A cheery man with dark olive skin, dark hair approached.
“Terry Guerrero.” Tate pumped the other man’s hand and then introduced Hayden.
“Nice to meet you.” Terry’s accent hinted at Spanish descent. He was so friendly it was almost jarring after the tense run-in with Casey.
“I promised Terry I’d talk to him about the development tonight, but that was before I made plans with you.” Tate narrowed his eyes jovially at Terry. “I’m guessing you’re holding me to it.”
“Much as I hate to sully your evening with business, I’m going to on vacation tomorrow for two weeks. I’m not working from the Bahamas—Ana would kill me.”
“Good man,” Tate said.
“I’ll have to introduce you to my wife,” Terry told Hayden, “when she’s finished chatting up the interior designer—the woman who designed this party. What is her name? No doubt Ana wants to hit her up to do our daughter’s engagement party.”
“Lois Sherwood,” Tate answered. “And congratulations.”
Hayden knew Lois. The chatty gray-haired woman was waving her arms in the air, excitement reigning supreme as she spoke with Terry’s wife. She was an energetic, busy little thing. And flexible. Lois attended yoga classes three times a week.
Tate and Terry spoke for another minute before Terry excused himself. “I’ll be at the bar. Hayden, a pleasure.”
Once he was gone, Tate let out a sigh.
“Go. I should probably be hobnobbing with business folk, too. This event is meant to bring business owners together after all, right?” She smiled, quoting the wording on the invitation.
“I guess.” His mouth quirked playfully before he leaned in to kiss her. He didn’t make it this time, either. Sherry interrupted next.
“Look at you two! You two are the cutest ever!” Sherry shuffled in place like she couldn’t contain her joy, but lowered her voice conspiratorially when she spoke again. “I knew it! I knew it!
Even in that class we took together, I knew Tate had a thing for you.”
Hayden stole a glance up at Tate to find him wearing a patient smile.
“Your timing is perfect,” Hayden told the other woman. “Tate was about to talk business at the bar and leave me standing here alone. Should we grab you a refill?”
Sherry glanced down at her empty glass. “Oh, goodness. Must be a hole in my glass. I’ll grab another and meet you right back here.” She pointed at Tate and then Hayden before moving to the nearest waiter to pluck a flute from a tray.
“I see her caffeine addiction hasn’t gone anywhere,” he muttered.
“You’re welcome for letting you off the hook.”
“I’ll be brief,” he promised.
“You’d better.” Hayden gripped his lapels and kissed him solidly before someone else came along to interrupt.
* * *
After he met with Terry to discuss the new SWC neighborhood, Tate spotted Hayden in a conversation with a cluster of women. He decided to hang back and give her time to work her magic. By the delighted smile on her face he could tell she was enjoying her first SWC New Year’s gala.
He watched her a beat longer, wondering if he’d have noticed her if she’d come to last year’s soiree. Yes. He would have. Even if she hadn’t worn the sparkling black dress—an absolute showstopper. Her lethal curves and dark hair, full mouth and elegant way she handled herself in a pair of tall shoes would have been impossible to overlook.
She glowed with life.
Then again, he’d had a girlfriend last year at this time, so noticing Hayden would have been moot. He couldn’t have acted on any passing attraction no matter how tempting she would’ve been.
He polished off his drink and relinquished the empty glass to the bar. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he strolled along the back of the room only to freeze in place a moment later when he spotted a familiar golden-haired, slim woman on the arm of Casey Huxley.
Christmas Seduction Page 12
