Susannah Quincy was furious. She smacked down her copy of Blissfully Single, the new guide for women who wanted to maintain their independence, keep their sanity and never, ever get married. Who could read at a time like this? Her gaze landed on the back cover photo of the author, a stunning blonde who looked entirely blissful.
"Probably because she's single," Susannah said angrily. Tossing the book farther away, she glared at her sparkling engagement ring. Pretty diamond. Signifying absolutely nothing!
She rose and checked the clock. Eleven thirty-five. "Carter is so not coming," she muttered. "Carter is so a dead man." He had always been a little unreliable, a little inconsiderate. But this was the last straw.
Susannah sashayed over to the mirror. She'd chewed off all her lipstick, but other than that, she still looked really good, if she did say so herself. A red dress with her flaming red hair was something she didn't usually do, but tonight, she'd been willing to take the risk. It was New Year's Eve, after all. If you couldn't shake it up on New Year's Eve, when could you? She loved her dress, she loved how her hair looked, all soft and wavy, with tiny sparkles that matched her dress scattered here and there. And yet here she was, home alone on New Year's Eve.
The clock now said it was 11:40. She felt certain Carter must already be at the party, because there was no way he would skip something as important as the New Year's Eve party thrown in the penthouse suite at the Hotel Marceau when absolutely every major player at Manley & Marceau International would be there, including both Manley and Marceau. Carter was way too much of a company man to miss this prime occasion for sucking up.
If he was already there, that meant he had gone without her, simply neglected to pick her up as planned and not even bothered to call. "Carter is a dead man," she repeated, with more energy this time. Suddenly, she decided. "I am going by myself. I work there. I am entitled to be at the party. I am going to go in there, find Carter and throw the ring in his face!"
After applying a new coat of lipstick, she swept out of the apartment, fuming the whole way to the Hotel Marceau. Once there she zoomed up in the elevator to the lavish, wraparound penthouse suite.
When the doors opened, Susannah saw a crowd of well-dressed people sipping champagne against the twinkling backdrop of a big Eiffel Tower centerpiece. She tried not to soften her mood. But she did love this place. Tonight, it was more romantic than ever, dark and lush, with the tension of midnight fast approaching.
Intent on finding Carter before she lost her nerve, she squeezed into the party. Luckily, Carter was tall enough that even in this crowd, she quickly spotted the top of his head. Getting ready to confront him, she tried to wrest the ring off her finger, but it was too tight. How could she throw the ring in his face if it wouldn't come off? So she gave up, marched over and tapped him on the shoulder. The minute he turned, she hauled back and slapped him across the face. Hard. "How do you like that, Carter?"
Except it wasn't Carter.
It was a gorgeous man, a man she'd never met who happened to be about the same height and coloring as Carter.
Around her, people went crazy, chanting, "Ten! Nine! Eight!"
Staring at the man she'd just smacked, Susannah began, "I-I'm sorr —"
But the count hit Two and then One, and the penthouse exploded with horns and blowers and noisemakers. Everybody shouted, "Happy New Year!" as the man she'd never met bent closer.
And then he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
Susannah found herself tangling her arms around his neck, sliding herself up into his embrace… And kissing him back.
Kissing him back?
There was so much noise and music. All around, people were laughing and shouting and hooting on their horns. This man, whoever he was, was a fabulous kisser. Was it her fault if she was overwhelmed by the atmosphere and the timing and the man?
As he slanted his mouth across hers, he shoved his hands into her hair, tipping her face so that he could take the kiss deeper. Was it the magic of the kiss that made her see stars? Or was that a cascade of tiny, shimmering crystals cascading from her hair?
Susannah hung on for dear life. Who knew New Year's Eve could be like this? Who knew a kiss could be like this?
Finally, so dizzy she could barely see, she had to break away to breathe. She drew back, pushing a hand against his chest. "Who are you?" she whispered, eyes wide, drinking in the gorgeous man.
There was no way she should have mistaken him for Carter. He was tall, maybe an inch taller than her fiancé, with broader shoulders and an easy grace that made him look elegant even though his clothes were casual. Where most of the men at this party wore tuxedos, he had a white shirt with an open collar and a simple black jacket over jeans. Jeans? At the Hotel Marceau's posh, black-tie New Year's party?
And yet he looked perfect. His hair was light caramel brown, a bit darker than Carter's sandy shade, and he had blazing blue eyes. Amazing blue eyes.
How funny that she was still having trouble getting enough air. "Who are you?" she asked again.
He worked his jaw, massaging it with one hand. "Maybe you should've asked that before you slapped me." He smiled. "Who are you?"
"Maybe you should've asked that before you kissed me." She touched her tender bottom lip with one finger, wondering if her lips would ever be the same.
"It was the stroke of midnight," he said dryly. "I had to kiss you."
She took another step back. "It's not exactly a law."
"Aw, come on." His tone was light and teasing, which made him even more charming than he already was. Which ought to have been illegal. "It's New Year's Eve. Everybody is kissing everybody. "
"I'm not everybody," she protested, trying to keep her wits about her.
"I already know that," he mused. His eyes raked her up and down, and she wished she'd chosen a more conservative dress. This one dipped low in the front, plunged scandalously in the back, and was held up only by tiny threads of crystal beads. "You're definitely not just anybody."
Susannah felt naked in the middle of the party. She glanced up at Mr. Great Kisser, feeling bewitched and bewildered under his heated gaze. He had narrow, clever lips. Excellent kissing lips. With her red lipstick still on them.
Without thinking, she extended her thumb to rub away the traces. But he caught her hand.
"What's this?" he asked, glancing down at her ring finger and then back up at her face. "Are you engaged? To who?"
He waited for her answer.
"Am I engaged?" she echoed. She was staring at her ring as if she didn't know herself.
"Just a hint," Trey Jameson said tactfully. "It looks real to me. Not like something you got out of a gumball machine."
The redhead he'd kissed at midnight, the one with the sparkling hazel eyes and the pale, glowing skin, was instantly wary. "How would you know whether it's real or not?"
He shrugged, enjoying keeping her off-balance. Even if she was engaged, she was just too lovely not to play with. "I'm a good judge of jewelry," he told her. Which only made her look at him with more suspicion. He noticed she still hadn't answered his question. "So, are you engaged? Or did you just wear an engagement ring to hold off any strange guys who might kiss you at midnight?"
"I'm really engaged," she insisted. But she stopped, considered, and then started again. "For now."
Interesting answer. She was stunning, mysterious and a hell of a kisser. His New Year's Eve just kept getting better and better. "Oh, I get it. That's who you meant to slap," Trey suddenly realized. "The fiancé."
"Well, yes, but… No." Her eyes clouded. "I didn't plan to slap him. That was more spur of the moment."
"But you're only engaged to him for now. Hmmm…" He let his gaze sweep her again, lingering on the place where the shocking red of her dress slashed across the creamy white curve of her breast. God, she had gorgeous skin. "So the question is," he began, tearing himself away from the view with difficulty, "how long were you planning to stay engaged?"
"I—I don't know."
"Is he here?" Trey inquired.
"I don't know that, either. I think so," she stammered. "I was coming here to break up with him, actually, to give back the ring, but —"
"Good for you," he interrupted.
"Good?"
Trey nodded. "I think people should take risks. And you're way too beautiful to be engaged to some guy who doesn't appreciate you enough to find you at midnight on New Year's Eve." His smile widened as he bent close to her ear. "His loss, my gain," he whispered, enjoying the sparkle in her eyes and the way she seemed to catch her breath when he stood too close. "That's what I'm doing. Taking risks, crashing parties, kissing women I've never met before. It's a lot of fun."
"I'm not the risky sort of person, and…" She edged away from him. "Now that I'm here, kind of out of the heat of the moment, I don't know whether I can do it or not. Give him back the ring, I mean."
"The fact that you stormed in here and slapped me because you thought I was him is a pretty good indication to me that you want to break it off," he said logically. He nabbed a glass of champagne off a passing tray and handed it to her. "I think you should definitely dump the guy."
"Oh, no." Her eyes widened. "Oh, no."
"What is it?"
"The guy." She gulped down the whole glass of champagne. "My fiancé, Carter. He just spotted me. And he's headed this way."
Susannah held her breath. It really didn't matter if Carter had seen her with another man. She didn't do anything wrong. Well, she did kiss him back, whoever he was, but that wasn't her fault. Was it?
She scanned the crowd. Had anyone else seen her canoodling with a stranger when she was engaged to someone else, someone who worked at the Hotel Marceau along with her and most of the rest of these people? Her boss, Joan, the director of sales, was right over there, giving her a speculative glance. How much had she seen?
Damn. Just when she'd had all the righteous indignation on her side, she'd gone and kissed some other guy and turned Carter into the injured party. Now she was even more confused about whether she should break up with him or not. Maybe he would save her the trouble and break up with her.
"Susannah," Carter said heartily, making a beeline for her through a narrow break in the crowd. "Darling, where have you been?"
"Where have I been? At home, waiting for you to pick me up!" she returned. "I finally drove myself, and I just got here at the stroke of midnight. Carter, where were you?"
"Not now, darling. Manley is right behind me. I've been shepherding him around all night." He rolled his eyes. "Duty called. You know how it is."
"Well, Duty didn't bother to call me. And neither did you. There I was, sitting at home all by myself, while New Year's Eve withered away. Would a phone call have been too much to ask?"
The handsome stranger hovered right there. "Doesn't sound like too much to me," he put in, as Carter turned and glared at him.
Pointedly ignoring the other man, her fiancé took her elbow. "Suze, don't be this way. I need your support, not some petty disagreement. You know as well as I do that Manley can put me at the top. But not if my wife isn't behind me."
"Sorry to interrupt," Mr. Great Kisser said kindly, "but I think I should point out that Susannah is standing next to you, not behind you, and she isn't your wife. Not yet." He smiled as he added, "Maybe not ever."
"Suze, who is this guy?" Carter demanded. "What's going on here?"
She wondered if there was a convenient hole she could sink into. "He's no one," she tried. "I mean, we just met, while I was looking for you."
"Yes, that's exactly right," her mysterious man agreed. "I'm no one. But Susannah ran into me while she was looking for you, and she gave me something that was intended for you. So I think I'll give it back to you if that's all right."
"What?" Carter asked in confusion.
Susannah was every bit as mixed-up as he was. What in the world was this guy talking about? "Something I gave you that's meant for him?" And then it all made sense. "Oh, no," she murmured. "Oh, no."
But it was too late.
Mr. Great Kisser pulled back his arm and walloped Carter, right in the jaw. As she watched in horror, her fiancé went down like a ton of bricks.
"I didn't ask you to hit him!" she cried, as people swarmed around Carter.
Okay, so punching the guy was probably a bad move on his part. "He's a jerk," Trey explained, holding her back. "And he'll be fine. You're way too good for him. And you were going to break up with him, anyway."
"Oh, my god," she whispered. "My life is over. My fiancé is flattened by a party crasher and probable lunatic, my boss may have seen the whole thing and will probably fire me out of solidarity with my wronged ex-fiancé, and I don't even know your name."
"Hey, you were intending to hit the guy, too," Trey protested. "I just did it for you."
"I wasn't going to sock him," she countered. "Just a little slap. Not this big melee, this whole public brouhaha."
Trey laughed. "Oh, yeah. Slapping him and throwing an engagement ring at him is so discreet and inconspicuous."
"Well, I…" She frowned. "You're right."
"Susannah, listen, maybe this is for the best. Did you ever think sometimes fate has your number and calls your name?" he asked, running a hand down her smooth, silky arm.
"No," she said slowly. She brought up her gaze, meeting his squarely. "I don't believe in fate. I believe in creating your own destiny through hard work and careful planning. Fate is for people who just aren't strong enough to control their own lives."
She looked perfectly serious, too. And why shouldn't she? He'd once felt exactly the same way. Trey shook his head sadly. "Then I take it this is not a good time to ask you to run away to Paris with me?"
"Paris?" Her mouth fell open. "You are insane. I don't even know your name!"
"Trey," he said softly, watching her expression. "My name is Trey."
"What happened?" Carter asked, holding his jaw, as one of the waiters hoisted him to his feet.
The waiter shrugged. "I didn't see it. I just heard a scuffle and then you fell down. Maybe you hit your head."
"Yes, that's it," Susannah said. "You fell down. I think you tripped." To Trey, she whispered, "Don't you think you'd better go before he remembers or someone else tells him you hit him? You're a party crasher, for goodness' sake. They could throw you out. They could arrest you!"
"I don't care." Trey shrugged. The least she could do was give him credit if he was going to knock down someone on her behalf.
"Can somebody get me a drink?" Carter mumbled. "Scotch, rocks."
"Yeah, sure. Why don't you come with me?" the waiter suggested. "We can get you some ice for your jaw." And he and Carter began to move away through the crowd.
"Okay, everyone, that's enough. Nothing to see," ordered a tall, slender brunette in an outfit so hideous it had to be expensive, as she elbowed her way to the center of the controversy. "Susannah? What was that all about? Is Carter okay?"
"Yes, Joan, he's fine. See? He fell and he's getting some ice for his, uh, head."
Trey could tell by the way Susannah snapped to attention that this Joan woman was someone important. Joan narrowed her eyes at Trey and then Susannah. "Aren't you going to tell me who your friend is?"
Susannah smiled stiffly. "He's not with me. He's, well, he's an old friend of Carter's. Trey, meet Joan Sanders." She paused. "My boss."
The woman arched one dark eyebrow. "A friend of Carter's? Is that why he kissed Carter's fiancée and then knocked him down?"
Uh-oh. Busted.
"Oh, the kiss. New Year's Eve, you know," Susannah hastened to assure her boss, as Trey offered, "Nothing important — midnight, that kind of thing," at the same time.
She looked at him, he looked at her, and then he added, "And there was no fight. Parker and I —"
"Carter," Susannah muttered.
"Right, right. Carter and I were just fooling around," Trey offered. "Old pals. Roughhousing. Haven't seen each other in a while.
"Boys will be boys," Susannah said brightly, her heart sinking. Joan had seen the whole thing. The jig was up. She didn't like Joan anyway, and she'd known very well if she broke up with Carter she could risk losing her job, but she hadn't planned to go out quite so dramatically. She snagged another crystal flute of champagne.
"Uh-huh." Joan didn't appear convinced, but at least she didn't shout, You're fired! or anything. "Susannah, do you have a minute? Maybe Trey can go check on his old friend Carter while I steal you away. Okay?"
"Oh. Sure." Susannah smiled, trying to be brave. "Trey was just leaving. Right, Trey?"
He nodded, sticking his hands in his pockets, ambling away as requested. She sighed with relief, telling herself she was glad to see him go. It would make her life so much simpler. And yet… She also felt a good deal of regret watching him disappear into the crowd. He was one good-looking man who knew how to kiss like nobody's business. Who was he? What was he doing here? And why in the world had he asked her to run away with him to Paris?
She'd gone to work for the Hotel Marceau in the first place because the Marceau part of Manley & Marceau International was headquartered in Paris. She'd harbored this silly dream about moving up the ranks and ending up in Paris. Had Mr. Great Kisser known that? If so, how?
Too late to find out now. He was gone. And she didn't even know his last name.
"I was talking to Mr. Marceau, and I wanted him to meet my reps," Joan announced. "If you can take your eyes off that man for five minutes. Oh, and by the way, your lipstick is smudged. And your dress is kind of, you know, falling off one shoulder. Whoever he was, but he left behind some major devastation."
Feeling like an idiot, Susannah righted her strap, brushed little sparkles off her shoulders that had fallen from her hair, and pulled a compact out of her tiny evening purse. As she redid her lipstick, they were joined by Kerry, another of the convention sales reps. Kerry was very sweet, and Susannah actually liked her a lot, even though she felt sorry for her sometimes. Kerry was shy, and it wasn't easy being shy and trying to succeed in sales.
"Hi, Susannah." Awkwardly, Kerry added, "Joan, were you looking for me?"
"I was just rounding up all my reps to meet Mr. Marceau," the boss noted.
"Well, I'm here." Kerry sighed. "I lost my date a while ago, but it doesn't matter. It's just my brother."
"You brought your brother on New Year's Eve?" Susannah asked. And she'd thought she had it bad.
Kerry smiled. "It's not like it sounds. It's just, he's leaving for Paris tomorrow, so this was his last night in town and I thought…
She was starting to get a bad feeling about this. "Leaving for Paris tomorrow?"
"Uh-huh." Kerry perked up. "Oh, there he is. Over by the bar. Isn't he adorable?"
Before she even followed the path of Kerry's finger, Susannah knew who she would see. The mystery man. Mr. Great Kisser. And Kerry's brother. Who'd ever have guessed?
As Susannah stared, Kerry explained, "He's a commodities trader. You know, Chicago Board of Trade. Or I should say, he was a trader. Made a fortune, lost a fortune, made a fortune again. Decided to quit and move to Paris, buy a bookstore and live in a garret on the Left Bank." She laughed. "My brother! He's always been a little, you know, whacked." Then she stopped, noticing the expression on Susannah's face. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." She sipped champagne as she tried to process this new information. Not a party crasher. Not a bad boy right off the street, mingling and making nice while he planned to steal people's jewelry or something. Just meek little Kerry Jameson's brother.
Joan smiled her most wicked smile. "Don't worry, Kerry. She's just realized that the man she slapped the hell out of, the man she was giving mouth-to-mouth to at midnight, is your brother." She chuckled. "I actually saw him first and was kind of hoping to move in on him myself but then Suze nabbed him."
Kerry was staring at her as if she had three heads. "You—you nabbed my brother? You made out with my brother? But you're engaged, Susannah."
"I didn't mean to. It was just a mistake," she rushed to assure her. "See, Carter never showed to pick me up and I was really mad and I came here to throw the ring at him and break up with him, but the ring wouldn't come off, so I slapped him instead, only it was Trey. Your brother, I mean," she added. "Then he kissed me because it was midnight. That was the only reason. And, Joan, I was not trying to nab him. I swear."
"No prob, Suze," Joan offered, patting her on the shoulder. "He's leaving for Paris tomorrow. What would I have done with him anyway?" Giving him another look, she made a tsk-tsk noise with her tongue. "It is a shame, though, that all the cute ones seem to escape before I get a chance. But, hey, if his dream is to live in a garret, he's not my type anyway." She glanced at Susannah. "Or yours. Our sensible, responsible Susannah Quincy would never go for a guy like that. Right, Suze?" Joan laughed.
Susannah sighed. She had no idea who she would go for at the moment. She'd thought that driven, ambitious Carter was her type. Until he'd decided business was more important than she was and stood her up on New Year's Eve. Meanwhile, Trey's kiss had been pretty spectacular. Way to rock her world.
Maybe it was just spectacular enough to change types altogether. Or maybe that was the champagne talking.
Was it champagne that was making him look so sexy, lounging there in his jeans, leaning on the bar? He turned, saw that she was looking, raised his glass and winked at her.
And she felt the impact slide down her from the top of her head to the end of her pointy red stiletto heel.
"Susannah, are you coming?" Joan waited expectantly. "We're off to see Paul Marceau and score some brownie points with our charming conversation."
"You go on ahead." She couldn't seem to break away from Trey Jameson's intoxicating gaze. "I have something I need to take care of."
"So…" Trey swiveled on his stool far enough to gaze at her, and Susannah wondered what in the world she thought she was doing, passing up a chance to schmooze with one of the company presidents, just so she could try to get a handle on someone whose own sister thought he was nuts. Lazily, he inquired, "Did Kerry tell you all about me?"
"Not really. A little."
"Sorry I'm not some party crasher off the street? Did that blow my excitement quotient?" he inquired with a certain edge of sarcasm.
"I—I don't know what you mean."
"Sure you do." He gave her that devilish smile again, and she had to clench her jaw to stop from drooling on him. "I've got you figured, Susannah. Especially now that I got a gander at the boyfriend."
"Fiancé," she corrected.
"Not for long." His lips curved in a mocking smile. "You think you want the go-getter corporate mover-and-shaker guy, the guy who you can buy an SUV with, have a nice house in Oak Park and maybe a lake house in Wisconsin. Kids later. Private schools. You think that's what you want for yourself. Because you think you're a good girl right down to your white cotton undies."
She could feel her face suffuse with rosy color. "I don't wear white cotton undies."
"Prove it," he whispered, his blue eyes raking her.
"Well, I could if I wanted to," she contended, which was actually true. This dress required a certain lack of foundation garment. Which was both scary and exciting. Not that she planned to show him what was or was not under her dress. Not for even a second. But wouldn't he be surprised? "I don't feel the need to prove anything to you," she added hastily.
"Too bad." His smile widened, growing cockier. "Fess up, Susannah. When you saw the way I was dressed, when you thought I crashed the party, when you thought I was up to no good and rotten to the core, you loved the idea of hanging out with the bad seed."
"You're still the bad seed." Deciding she was probably as certifiable as he was, but unable to walk away, Susannah took the stool next to him at the bar, sliding her dress up to manage it, careful not to reveal more than she wanted to. "You may be a slightly less bad seed now that I know you're not a jewel thief, but you're still a bad seed. Kerry told me how you ran away from your good, steady, cushy job to smoke black cigarettes and argue existentialism in cafés on the Left Bank."
"Okay, first, I don't smoke. Second, I want to run a bookstore, not argue existentialism, which went out of fashion, what? Forty years ago?" As she began to object, he raised a hand to hold her off. "And third, you don't know much about traders, do you?"
"Commodities traders?" She admitted, "No, I don't."
"It's not a good, steady job. It's like gambling. And it's a lot crazier and more reckless than moving to Paris." He shook his head, chewing on the stem of a maraschino cherry he'd stolen out of a bowl on the bar. "So you thought I was a jewel thief, huh?" He grinned. "I give you points for creativity. That's a new one."
"Well, you said you used to work with diamonds, or something like that. I don't know, I…" Embarrassed, she grabbed a cherry, too, twirling the stem between her fingers. "Plus you seemed awfully interested in my ring."
His gaze softened. "It wasn't the ring, Susannah. I was awfully interested in you."
She didn't know what to say. Whichever way she turned, Trey seemed to throw her a curve. "You really are nuts, you know that, right?" she inquired, leaning closer to him at the bar, somehow thinking that if she stared at him long enough, she would figure him out.
"Nope. Not nuts. Just willing to take a risk." He took a healthy swig of his drink, which looked like water with a slice of lemon in it. Didn't smoke, apparently didn't drink, and she'd thought he was a bad boy?
"But, Trey, you asked me to run away to Paris with you. Tomorrow! You don't even know me," she persisted. "Don't you think that's pretty crazy?"
"Nope. I just believe you have to seize the moment and go for what you want when you see it." He spun his stool around so that he was looking out into the party. "Look at this place, Susannah. Framed posters of cancan girls, a miniature Eiffel Tower, curvy red velvet chairs right out of Maxim's… Somebody was trying to make us think of Paris, don't you think?"
He'd lost her again. "Yes. So?"
"So here I am, bumping into you on New Year's Eve, offering you a chance to go to Paris, and there's Paris all around you. Don't you get it?" he asked impatiently.
"No, I don't."
"It's kismet, it's fate, it's your destiny, looking you right in the face." He slid his stool her direction, taking her hands, holding them between his own, staring at her intently. "I know what your job is like, because my sister has the same job. I know what you think you want — to climb higher in Manley & Marceau and run a hotel of your own. Am I right?"
"Yes, but —"
"It may be what you want, but it's not what you need," he argued, and she began to be very angry with him. How dare he presume to tell her what she needed? How long had he known her? An hour? "Your heart was telling you, tonight, to come here and get rid of your insensitive, uncaring boyfriend, even if that meant risking your job at the same time."
She shook her head vigorously. "You don't understand —"
"Yes, I do. Better than you think. I believe, deep down, you wanted to dump the guy and get the job dumped for you." He pressed her hands tighter. "I think you knew before you got here that you wanted out. And guess what? You ran smack-dab into the one guy who was offering you a free trip, nonstop, right where you wanted to go."
"I think you are making a lot of assumptions based on what you want," she argued, snatching her hands back, placing them on the edge of the bar, and holding herself very straight and still. "Yes, I wanted to lose my boyfr —" She stopped and started again. "My fiancé."
Trey reached for her hand, but she pulled it away before he could catch it.
"I was reading this book before I came. Blissfully Single. Excellent book," she declared, really starting to work up a head of steam, to think straight, finally. "All about how women don't need men, except for sex and fun, how marriage is a trap and a drain. I totally saw some of my own patterns in that book. And I think I saw tonight, for sure, that Carter was not someone I wanted to spend my life with, and that I had made a mistake."
She pushed herself away from the bar, rising from the stool. "And, yes, I knew that there was a possibility that could make things uncomfortable for me here at the hotel, and that maybe I would be looking for a new job. But it never meant, for even one second, that I would consider throwing away my whole life to run away with some juvenile delinquent nut-job following some misguided, immature dream to run a beatnik bookstore."
There was a long pause. "Flattering portrait you've painted of me."
"Yeah, well, maybe you ought to consider this." She lifted her chin. "Instead of tucking me in your luggage and taking me on a one-way flight to Café Cliché, maybe, if you're so interested and all, you ought to give up Paris and stay here with me."
Well, that hadn't gone well, had it?
She'd slapped him by accident, she'd kissed him on purpose, he'd slugged her fiancé, she'd lied to her boss, he'd asked her to go to Paris with him on a whim and then, to top it off, she'd called him immature and basically asked him to stay in Chicago and be her boy-toy, although she wasn't entirely sure she was serious when she asked it. She could've been trying to insult him. Not that it mattered. Trey had stalked away from the bar and told her he had better things to do with the dwindling moments of his New Year's Eve than talk to a stick-in-the-mud princess.
Stick-in-the-mud princess. Ha! Was that the best he could come up with?
Meanwhile, all of this had taken place while she still had a fiancé somewhere at this same party. A fiancé she really, really needed to break up with sooner or later.
"Susannah?" someone behind her asked in an acid tone.
Speak of the devil. She turned. "Hello, Carter. How are you?"
"Not well." He looked a little fussy, that was for sure. "My jaw is throbbing," he said tersely, and she could see the big bruise on his cheek. "That guy who was hanging all over you hit me, remember? Now if you'll just tell me where he is, I will go pound the snot out of him and get this over with."
If she were to be honest, she thought Trey could take Carter down nine times out of ten, even if Carter had backup and a baseball bat, but she didn't want to say that and make things worse than they already were. If that was even possible.
"Carter, I…" She had no excuse. "I'm sorry he hit you. I actually planned to slap you myself, because I was angry that you ditched me. On New Year's Eve. When I looked really, really good."
"Let's not start that again," he snapped.
She glowered at him. "Okay, let's make this simple. Again, I am sorry that he punched you out of some misguided attempt to impress me. The man has an emotional maturity level of, like, three. Men. Jeez Louise." But she was getting off-track again. She took a calming sip of champagne before she went on. "This really has nothing to do with him, okay? I need you to know, before one more second of my New Year ticks off, that we are not —"
"Enough!" he roared. "Tell me where he is! I called the cops. They're on their way. Assault, battery, attempted murder — your boyfriend is going down, Susannah! No one makes a fool of Carter Lyons and lives to tell about it!"
No one except Carter Lyons, apparently. "You called the cops?" she repeated. "For a little scuffle at a New Year's party? Like they don't have enough to do with people shooting guns off at midnight and setting off illegal fireworks and potentially burning down half the city?"
"Where is he, Susannah?" he asked again, gritting his teeth so hard his whole jaw looked out of whack.
"I don't know." She scooted off the bar stool and slipped past Carter with all due haste. "But I'm going to find him and get him out of here before you get your grubby mitts on him." She turned back. "I'm thinking of making him my boy-toy, you know. I don't want you messing up his pretty face."
Carter lunged, and she took off as fast as her red stilettos would carry her.
Susannah was at her wit's end when she finally found Trey, standing alone on the balcony, staring off at the skyline. He said wistfully, "You can just see the Ferris wheel at Navy Pier if you twist your head and squint."
It was freezing cold out here. Chicago in January was not a place to be standing on balconies. Below them, revelers were shrieking and screaming and drivers were laying hard on their horns. Happy New Year, she thought to herself. Happy freakin' New Year. Your life is a mess, you may end up losing your fiancé and your job and catching your death of cold in one fell swoop, and all because you chose to save the life of this insane man rather than think of your own well-being.
But she didn't have time for self-righteousness. Quickly, she gave Trey her spiel. "Carter is on the rampage, and we need to get you out of here."
"Yeah, right." Trey stayed where he was.
"He's looking for you. He's really mad that you hit him." She hugged herself, trying vainly to stay warm in her skimpy dress, as she ventured another step out onto the balcony. "Please, Trey. I know you can take him in a fight, but you're on a balcony, and he could get lucky and knock you over or something. Plus he told me he called the police. So let's go in, let's find your coat, and let me get you out of here."
Trey edged around, propping his arms on the railing behind him. "Let you get me out of here? Does that mean we leave together? As in, you've changed your mind and decided to come with me?"
"To Paris? Or out of the building before you get arrested?" she asked in a dark tone. "Neither. Although I might come with you as far as the street if you're lucky." She felt like stamping her foot at how stubborn and ridiculous he was being. "Come on, Trey. Let me help you. You need to leave. Now."
"Just curious, but why do you care?"
"Trey, listen to me," she said carefully, slowly, trying to be persuasive. "He called the police. If you get arrested, you won't be on your flight to Paris tomorrow, will you?"
"And this matters to you?"
"Well, if we get you safely on your plane, at least you're not around here, driving me crazy and messing up my life, are you?" She started to shiver, and she rubbed her bare arms with her hands. "And if you come in off the balcony, I can go in, too, drink about ten Irish coffees and hopefully defrost from my current Popsicle state, which would be a real bonus."
That declaration didn't move him in the least. "How interesting. I can see the ring from here. So you haven't broken the engagement yet, have you?"
"I tried," she said softly. "He cut me off. He was more interested in telling me all the ways he wanted to pummel you."
Trey's heated gaze held her steady, almost enough to warm her up in the frigid air. He really did have the most beautiful blue eyes. "He wants to pummel me for kissing you?"
"Not hardly." She let out a short, unpleasant laugh. "He wants to pummel you for punching him in the nose."
"It was the jaw."
"Right." She hopped and jiggled a little, trying not to let her teeth chatter. She failed.
"Susannah, you're not dressed for this. Go in, will you?" he ordered.
But she shook her head. "Not without you."
"Why haven't you given Carter back his ring yet?" he demanded. "Why are you still dragging your feet about this breakup?"
Susannah had about had it with men and their idiotic need to tell her what to do. "I can't get the stupid ring off my finger, okay? Believe me, I have every intention of very calmly handing it over as soon as I get it off. Or if you want to go for it right now, maybe we can throw it over the balcony." She held up her hand. "Maybe the cold will shrink my finger enough, you think?"
"Worth a try."
"Not that it's any of your business," she snapped, "but I have come to some major conclusions about that man tonight, and one of them is that he doesn't care or notice what I am or who I am or what I want. It's all about Carter. He never even told me I looked nice tonight, do you believe it?" She spread her bare arms, ignoring the cold. "I know I'm a little wrecked by now, but when I first got here, I looked amazing."
He smiled. "Yes, you did." His gaze flickered over her, lingering on her breasts, and she knew her nipples were peaking in the cold. She tried to remember to breathe, but the chilled air couldn't seem to make it to her lungs. Trey's voice was rough and husky when he said, "You still do look amazing. And the fact that Carter didn't notice? It makes me glad I punched him in the nose."
She smiled back, crossing her arms, shivering again, and not from the cold. "It was the jaw."
"And you're still not dressed to be out here." He crossed to her in about a second flat, pulling her into his arms, gathering her close and trying to wrap his jacket around her, sighing with frustration and annoyance as he held her and rested his head against her hair. "Susannah, you keep calling me nuts, but you know, I'm not the one running out on the balcony wearing nothing but a dress that's so sheer you can see through it."
"Will you come in now?" she asked through seriously chattering teeth. "Will you leave the party so I can know for sure you're okay and Carter didn't have you arrested?"
"No." He shrugged out of his jacket, draped it over her shoulders, and then slipped his hands inside it, one hand skimming the bare skin at the small of her back, where the red dress swooped so low, and the other sliding up in front, cupping her breast where her nipple pushed against the slippery silk, taut and rigid in the freezing air.
She trembled, pressing into his hand, offering herself more fully to his fingers. The hand at her back dipped below the edge of her dress, tracing the line all the way down, dancing under the fabric, exploring the curves of her bottom
"I guess you don't wear white cotton undies," he murmured, sliding his thumb under the delicate string of her thong panties, pulling the ribbon enough to make her flush with even more heat and desire.
Lord, this was incredible.
It was so cold, so unbearably cold, and yet she was melting from the inside out. She had never wanted a man as much as she wanted Trey, now.
"Come in with me," she breathed, grazing his lips with hers. "Please?"
Bending closer, Trey covered her mouth completely, refusing at first to actually meet her lips or complete the kiss, just hovering there, driving her mad. But then he plunged in, branding her with his whole mouth, his tongue swirling around hers, tasting her, warming her, his kiss slick and deep and delicious.
Far more intoxicating than any Irish coffee. "Come inside," she tried again, backing up, trying to tug him with her, unwilling to lose the connection between them for even a second.
"Where can we go to be alone?" he whispered, and she knew exactly what he was asking.
"There are bedrooms in the back," she offered, feverishly running through the floor plan in her mind. "I give tours of this place. I know every nook and cranny. Like the butler's pantry. No one knows about that. No one would bother us. Or we could go downstairs and get a key, to a room of our own." Trying to keep a clear head and not be too undone by champagne and the nearness of Trey, she sent him a speculative, hopeful glance. "Or would getting a room take too long?"
Was she as crazy as Trey? Sensible Susannah Quincy ought to be the last person trying to find a quick lovers' hideaway at the company New Year's party. And yet it seemed so impossible to resist the idea of being alone with Trey.
"We can find something," Trey murmured, pressing his lips into the slope of her neck, breathing into her ear, sparking terrible hunger and desire all over again. She trembled against him, but he pushed her back through the door, into the party, her hand still clasped in his, his jacket still over her shoulders.
"Be careful," she reminded him, pitching her voice low and secretive. "The cops could be here by now, looking for you. Oh, god. Did you see Carter?" She tipped her head into his to hide both their faces. "He's over by the grand piano. Do you think he saw us?"
Trey held her securely against him. "No. And I don't think he called the cops, either. But I do see hotel security blocking the elevator. I guess we're not leaving that way, are we?"
Susannah suppressed the need to giggle. Now was not the time for giggling. And yet it was kind of funny. Staid, responsible Susannah Quincy, ducking her head and trying not to look suspicious so she and her illicit lover could avoid the cops. What was the world coming to?
"If we skirt around the outside," she whispered, "I think we can get into the back rooms that no one uses. We could, um…" She licked her lip. "We could hide out there for a while, till Carter gets tired of looking for us."
"Hide out?" They both knew exactly what she meant, and it had nothing to do with hiding. It had to do with what they'd been practicing on the balcony, only with more steam and a lot less clothing. He kissed her, quick, and then navigated a stealthy path through the thickest parts of the crowd.
Finally, after what seemed like forever, they reached the fringe of the party. One more turn and they were all alone in the dark, quiet, empty part of the penthouse. Susannah released a pent-up breath, but her body still tingled with anticipation.
Pulling her past the butler's pantry and the coat room, he propelled her instead into a beautiful little powder room. Safely inside, behind a locked door, Susannah let his jacket slip off her arms, walking straight into his arms. He quickly pushed her up against the sink, trapping her boldly with his body, and her eyes widened. Whoa. He was a man in a hurry. His fervor both frightened and excited her, and she reached for the front of his shirt.
But he grabbed her left hand, holding it up in the air between them. "Did you really think," he growled, "that I would make love to you while you're still wearing another man's ring?"
"Trey, what are you doing?" she demanded, as he stuck her left hand under the gold faucet and turned on the water. It struck her again how stupid men could be. And so ridiculously territorial.
"I'm getting this ring off." He interrupted his mission long enough to kiss her fiercely, framing her face with his wet hands, but then set back to work, soaping her finger, sliding the ring back and forth.
She could only look on in complete shock. She'd thought he was as turned on as she was, as desperate to find a place to be alone. But, no! It wasn't her clothes he wanted to get off. It was her engagement ring!
"Got it!" he exclaimed in triumph, holding the diamond ring up under her eyes.
"Are you happy now?" Susannah balanced against the marble edge of the vanity, staring down at her naked finger. Her hand felt weird without the weight of Carter's ring, and yet a part of her also felt relieved to be rid of it. Relieved, bereft, happy and sad, success and failure. All at the same time.
Trey hesitated. "What should I do with the ring?"
"I don't care. Throw it in the wastebasket. Leave it on the sink." She shoved away from the vanity, moving toward the door. "I think it's worth a few bucks, so you could always stick it in your pocket now and sell it on eBay later. Maybe I was right in the first place, and you were only coming on to me to get to my jewelry."
"Susannah, it's yours," he said awkwardly, pressing it into her hand. "Maybe you should give it back to Carter." His voice dropped down into huskier range, and he settled his arms around her from behind, rubbing his jaw against the top of her head. "The way you look, the way you smell, the way you feel," he whispered roughly, "I'm starting to feel sorry for the guy who's losing you."
She steeled herself, angry with him, unwilling to give in so easily. But his voice tickled her hair and ruffled her nerves, and the rock-hard feel of his embrace was so very welcome. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea," she managed to say, reaching for the doorknob. "The two of us, sneaking off to…" She let her voice trail off, not quite sure she wanted to make it concrete by putting it into words.
Trey was not so reticent. "Sneaking off to make love?" he finished for her. He spun her around in his arms, so that she had to face him. His eyes searched hers. "You made it clear you won't come to Paris with me."
"Trey, I can't —"
He laid a finger against her lips, stopping her words. "I know, I know. You have your reasons, and although you don't believe me, I do respect that. I won't push you again."
"Thank you," she said softly, not sure she respected her choices as much as he did, not sure she wanted the question closed so completely. What did that leave them? Was this his way of saying he would walk out of the party and out of her life as soon as the coast was clear?
"You're welcome." He smiled, dipping his head to touch her lips with his, so briefly and sweetly it took her breath away. "Susannah, we both know I'm leaving in the morning, so there can't be a tomorrow for us."
He crooked a finger under her chin, tipping her head up, staring right into her eyes with the full force of his seductive, electric blue eyes. "What do you say, Susannah? I know you won't give me tomorrow, but will you give me tonight?"
In the full flush of passion, Susannah had actually considered running away to an unoccupied bathroom on the far side of the penthouse and making mad, crazy love with Trey Jameson. Now, after he had literally dumped cold water on the idea — or at least on her ring finger, long enough to remove her engagement ring — she wasn't so sure.
"I have to get back to the party," she hedged, trying to back up far enough to reach the door handle, needing to be away from Trey and out of this intimate space.
"But I thought you wanted…"
To be alone. To make love. To give in to this incredible dizziness and desire. She'd thought so, too. Until sanity had returned. She gripped Carter's ring inside her fist. She might not have a romantic future. But she had a small chance at keeping her career prospects on track.
"Somewhere out there," she declared, "my ex-fiancé has hopefully gotten tired of looking for you and gone back to trailing around after Mr. Manley, one of the two presidents of the company. While Joan, my boss, has glommed onto the other one, Mr. Marceau. If I had a brain, that's what I would be doing as well. Looking out for my career and my future. I came after you instead. But you're safe now." She jiggled the knob behind her back, trying to work the lock so she could escape gracefully. "And I can go back to what I should be doing. Without you."
But his hand closed over hers. "Are you sure that's really what you want? You're free of Carter. Why not take your chance to be completely free, to gamble on something better than being a corporate drone?"
"Oh, no. Don't start this again," she said angrily, ducking under his arm and pacing in the small bathroom. "I already told you, I want to go places and be someone. What's wrong with that? You said you respected my choice. Just because that isn't your dream is no reason —"
"I don't think that is what you want," he argued.
"Trey, I'm sorry, but you don't get to say what I want, okay?"
"But you're the one who suggested —"
Suggested sneaking off for a romantic interlude that turned into hand-washing. Yeah. Delish. "I changed my mind," she shot back.
Shaking her head, she slipped around him, now totally intent on leaving, as he reached out a hand to try to catch her shoulder. But all he caught was the thin beaded strap of her gown.
As she flashed past, he pulled the opposite direction. They both heard the "ping" of her strap breaking and the "zing" of tiny crystal beads flying every which way. She stumbled backward, he held on to the remains of her strap, and a hunk of fabric decided to go his way in this tug-of-war. A nasty rrrip sounded as the bodice of her thin silk dress slashed wide open.
Susannah gazed down in horror. Her breast was completely exposed. A fact that had not escaped Trey, whose eyes were absolutely glued to the spot.
In a moment, a mere second, everything had changed, as the mood in their small hideaway seemed to darken and shift. The air crackled with the reverberations of that ripping sound.
"I—I'm sorry," Trey managed, although his words came out kind of choked and strangled.
"Oh my god!" Dropping Carter's ring, letting it roll away somewhere on the floor, she clamped her hand over her bare breast. Her other strap still held, but she was uncovered all the way from her neck to her hip, all in one fell swoop of ripped red fabric.
"No, I'm not sorry. You are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life," he said raggedly. "Susannah, there is no way in hell you're walking away from me. Not now. Not when we both feel this way."
She didn't ask what he meant or how he felt. She already knew. How did they both feel? On fire, enraptured, entangled, out of their minds.
His fingers brushed the torn edge of her gown, sending shivers down her body. It was the scorching look in his eyes, the smoky tone in his voice, the way his hand shook as he lifted it to touch her… All of it seemed to mix together and overpower her, dissolving her good intentions. Before she knew what had happened, her resolve had vanished, and renewed hunger pooled deep inside her, pulling her back to Trey.
Her back against the door, Susannah surged into him, wrapping her arms around him, as his lips and teeth found her neck and ear and jaw. They were both desperate and greedy in their desire to touch and feel and taste. His hand moved over her breast and ribs, closing on her nipple, making her ache with longing, and she shoved her hands inside his shirt, popping buttons, pushing the stiff white fabric out of her way, loving the feel of him, so smooth and yet so hard.
As his tongue flicked over the taut tip of her breast, Susannah moaned, giving in to the incredible sensations, wanting him, wanting to be with him, no matter what it took. She slipped her hand to his belt and then to the clasp of his jeans, rubbing her hand down his rigid length. Things between them were getting out of control fast, but somehow it didn't matter. She knew what she wanted. Him.
Melting, she began to slide down the door, but Trey's embrace tightened. He shifted her around, away from the door, boosting her onto the marble vanity, the trailing skirt of her gown scrunched up under her, with his sweet, warm, wet mouth still slanted over hers. He broke away for just a second, staring into her eyes.
He may have been wordless, but he was still asking a question, giving her an out if she wanted to take it. Did she know what she was doing? Did she care?
"I—I think I love you, Trey," she whispered. "Could you please make love to me? Now."
Trey smiled. He reached for her. She reached for him, too, almost falling off the sink in her haste to be with him. He reached under her skirt, stripping her thong off all the way down her legs and over her shoes in one fluid motion, tossing it aside, as she scrambled to get his zipper down. Frantic, frenzied, clumsy — it didn't matter. He brushed her hands away and took care of his own zipper, still kissing her, devouring her, as he positioned himself between her thighs.
Susannah gripped his shoulders, tangling her legs around his waist, urging him in. She simply couldn't find a way to hold him tightly enough.
He plunged, she took everything he had, and twisted together, precariously balanced on the edge of the sink, they began to find their rhythm. Susannah's pleasure and need climbed and climbed with every thrust. It was almost too good, too hard, too devastating, and she didn't know how long she could stand it, to have so much sensation, so many feelings, all tumbling on top of each other.
Finally finding release, she shattered into an incredible, mind-blowing climax. And shouts and cheers and another countdown began somewhere outside their small paradise.
Trey still stroked inside her, as if pushed on by the applause. What in the world was happening? Ten, nine, eight… Oh, god, she was hovering on the brink again. Five, four, three… Was she hallucinating? "One," she cried out. "One!" Tremors rippled through her. "Oh, yesss, yesss…."
His arms were so tight around her she could barely breathe, but Trey tipped his forehead into hers. Gasping for air, he began to laugh, too. "Happy New Year," he said with a great deal of amusement. "What a way to bring in the New Year, huh?"
"Were there really cheers? Did I really hear the countdown again?" she asked, totally confused, but too satisfied and dazed to really care.
"Good timing, Susannah. It must've been the West Coast celebration." He shook his head, touching the few remaining bits of glitter in her hair. "And I really did see stars. I'm not sure I believe it myself. I make love to the most beautiful and exciting woman I've ever met, I get a countdown to ecstasy and I see stars. How lucky can you get?"
She sagged into him, not sure whether to laugh or cry, whether to be embarrassed at how wild and noisy she'd been or just very, very happy.
"We'd better get you down from there," Trey commented softly, giving her a hand.
As he scrounged his shirt up off the floor and zipped himself back up into his jeans, Susannah tried her land legs. How nice to know she actually could still stand up. She hadn't been sure.
"What next?" she asked him.
His smile was lazy with contentment, but he found her hand and raised it to his lips. "Where can we possibly go from here?"
She didn't have a chance to answer or even think of a possible response. Voices and loud footsteps interrupted them, as if the entire Hotel Marceau New Year's party had decided to take up residence outside their door.
"Susannah?" a voice she recognized as Carter's bellowed, followed by insistent pounding on the door. "Are you in there? Darling, we're here to save you. I'll kick down the door if I have to."
Rejecting panic and moving onto hysteria, Susannah looked down at her ripped dress, all twisted around her body, at the pair of panties in her hand, at Trey in his shirt with most of the buttons torn off.
They were in deep, deep trouble.
"Susannah? Open the door! We don't want to have to break in, but we will if we have to."
Preparing for the onslaught, Susannah tried to hold the pieces of her dress together, but it was a losing battle. Without comment, Trey slipped his jacket around her shoulders, buttoning down the front of it.
It wasn't perfect, but it would have to do.
And then he kissed her cheek, whispered, "It will be okay," and opened the door.
Carter almost fell in, backtracked and stumbled into Joan, Kerry, Mr. Manley and Mr. Marceau, along with about twenty other people who had gathered out there. Carter's eyes swept up and down her unorthodox outfit. He couldn't seem to stop blinking.
"We were so worried about you," Joan said with saccharine sweetness. She squeezed in front of Mr. Marceau, who looked more mystified than mortified, bless his heart. Joan went on, "We thought you'd been stolen away from the party by a criminal." Slyly, she asked, "Or is that not what happened, Susannah?"
"N-no." She pressed her lips together as she tried to think of a way to explain this. No. There simply wasn't any explanation. "I—I wasn't stolen. And he isn't a criminal. Just a misunderstanding. Just…"
"Too much champagne. New Year's Eve," Trey interceded. "I take complete responsibility. All my fault. I should know better than to take advantage of a tipsy woman."
Since he was standing there with his shirt hanging open, Susannah figured he didn't have any more credibility than she did, but, hey, at least he was in there swinging. "He's right," she piped up. "A, uh, romantic interlude. Most unfortunate." It was at that point that she spotted her panties crumpled near her foot, and not far away, her ex-engagement ring. Wasn't that ironic?
Trey edged in front of her, blocking the doorway. "We don't really need a crowd, do we? Would everyone mind moving along now?"
"I'm not going anywhere," Carter blustered.
As most of the other onlookers disbanded, casting back glances filled with a mixture of sympathy and horror, Susannah quickly bent and gathered the ring and her undies, stuffing the thong in the pocket of Trey's jacket and holding out the ring to Carter. "I think you'd better take this," she said awkwardly. "I've been trying to do this all night. But, anyway, I don't want to marry you."
"Did you really think I still wanted to marry you?" he said savagely, grabbing the ring off her extended palm and shoving it into his own pocket. "After the way you've behaved tonight?" He seemed to have more to say, but he choked it back, stalking away, trailed by Mr. Manley, who was patting him on the shoulder and offering condolences.
"Well, I guess he got what he wanted," Trey noted cynically. "Manley is his big pal now."
Susannah didn't know where to go or what to do. "This is so terrible, beyond my worst expectation of what terrible could be," she mumbled, lifting a weak hand to her head.
"Susannah, don't you see? It's perfect." Trey was actually laughing.
What in the world was wrong with him?
"Come on!" he said happily. "You have to see now how much we belong together." He took her by the arms. "No fiancé, no job, a man who is crazy about you and with whom you just had amazing sex. What's not to like? So now will you run away to Paris with me?"
This time, when she slapped him across the face, she meant it. She meant it for him. Nobody else.
"You're as bad as Carter," she yelled, smacking him on the shoulder for good measure. Trey ducked, trying to shield himself, but she knew she'd made her point.
"Come on, Susannah. I'm nothing like that jerk," he scoffed.
"No? He didn't love me, but he thought if he dangled a fancy engagement ring in front of my face, he could buy someone who would validate and support his dream of being a big honcho inside Manley & Marceau," she said smartly, just starting to get wound up. "It didn't matter what my dreams were or whether I minded if he didn't call or didn't care or left me at the bottom of his priority list."
"Exactly," Trey agreed, "and I didn't do any of that!"
"I fell for you, hard. I really thought I loved you. I admit, your plan was a little more devious." She clutched his jacket over her front, wishing it didn't smell like him, didn't make her want him all over again. Damn jacket. "You thought you could bewitch me with fabulous sex," she argued, "and earn yourself someone — wife, playmate, whatever — to validate and support your dream of being a romantic expatriate in Paris."
There was a long pause. "Did you really think the sex was fabulous?" he inquired hopefully.
"Yes," she shot back. "It was fabulous, okay? Gold star for you!" Pulling together the shreds of her pride, she added, "But it doesn't matter. I will not be bought, not by a diamond and not by fabulous sex."
"Susannah, I don't get this," he said in a bewildered tone. "I do love you. I know it's crazy and sudden and unexpected, but I do love you. And I want you with me, not to support my dream, but because I want you with me. I know I can't promise it would work. Who can ever promise? All I can do is try. Susannah…"
He grabbed her by the shoulders, pressing his lips into hers with what struck her as one last, desperate attempt to convince her. She held her breath and tried to be strong. Don't let him get to you.
"Sometimes," he whispered, "you have to take the risk. You have to gamble on someone. Sometimes you have to have faith that your destiny is right there, waiting, and it will all fall into place the right way if you just reach out and embrace it."
He really was good at this. But Susannah thought about the Hotel Marceau and how much she liked her job and how much she would mourn losing it. She thought about the expressions on the faces of the people she worked with, all lined up to see her humiliation when the door to the powder room swung open. "Embrace my destiny," she spat out. "Oh, and will the Easter bunny and Santa help me with that embrace?"
But Trey was still in there, trying. "I know it seems like a big leap, but… I'm asking you to gamble on me." His smile was rakish. "And I can promise lots of fabulous sex."
That was all she needed. "No thanks," she said coldly, already moving past him, ready to close the door.
"Susannah… Take the risk."
But she walked away.
She actually had a glimmer of hope she might make it to the elevator without getting caught, but luck was not on her side. Big surprise. It was Joan, her boss, who stepped into her path.
"I'm sorry, but I don't have time for this," Susannah told her. "I have to find my coat and get out of here."
"This is important." Joan twisted her lips into a semblance of a smile. "I'm going to be brutally honest here, Suze. I thought once we caught you, in flagrante, so to speak, that would be the end of you at the Hotel Marceau."
Couldn't anyone make anything easy on her tonight? Not anyone? "You don't need to fire me, Joan. I'll just quit and take my besmirched little self out of the hotel right now, okay?"
"No. Not okay." Joan crossed her arms over her narrow chest, giving Susannah the once-over. "I was chatting with Paul Marceau after the, uh, incident, and he… Well, he's French, what can I say? He thought you were all, you know, mistreated and put upon, toujours l'amour, all that, and he wants to poach you for the Paris hotel, blah blah blah."
Susannah saw stars again, and this time she knew there was no more glitter left in her hair. "He wants to what?"
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.
The End