Crossing her arms over her chest, she looked away. He was welcome to enjoy his date. No doubt he and the redhead deserved each other.
She checked her wristwatch. Nearly time for the play to start. She picked a minuscule dot of lint off her skirt and nodded absently at Jeff’s latest remark. Unable to resist the temptation, she snuck another look in Monroe’s direction.
And looked straight into his coffee brown eyes.
A little jolt went through her as if she’d stuck her finger into an electrical socket.
The corners of his mouth turned up and he lifted a hand in greeting.
She thought of a curse not suitable for work—or a public theater—then gave a short wave back.
“Someone you know?”
It was Jeff, whom she’d forgotten all about. “Yes. He’s a client.”
Luckily the houselights began to dim, the curtain going up. Without turning her head, she looked at Monroe again. But he was facing forward, his own head bent toward his date as they exchanged some bit of conversation.
One of the actors stepped onstage and said his first line and the play began.
But hard as Brie tried to focus, her attention was scattered, her awareness of Monroe as annoying as a scratchy clothing tag you couldn’t reach to cut out. Still she managed not to look his way again. As for the play, she only heard about half of it. Count on Maddox Monroe to ruin the only good part of the evening.
Finally intermission arrived.
The houselights came up and people began shuffling out of their seats. Brie stood to let several individuals in her row squeeze past.
“Wanna drink?” Jeff asked.
“Sure. Why not?” She moved back to let him slip by her as well.
She was about to sit down again when she heard her name.
And there stood Monroe, tall and dynamic in a well-made dark gray suit but no tie. His collar was open, showing his strong, masculine throat. The bruises on his face looked better; only a slight tinge of yellow remained under one eye.
“Enjoying the play?” he asked.
“Yes. It’s excellent.” What little of it she’d been able to concentrate on, that was. “You?”
“It’s fine. Broadway’s not usually my thing. Daphne wanted to come.”
Daphne. His date, she presumed, who wasn’t with him at the moment.
“Ladies’ room,” he volunteered, as if reading her mind. “And your . . . companion?”
“Getting drinks.”
He nodded and moved closer as a couple in the aisle tried to walk past. “So? How was the fitting?”
She stared for a few seconds before his question clicked. “Oh, the fitting. For the bridesmaid’s dress. It went fine. Really well actually, especially since it got me off my mom’s PITA list.”
He arched a brow. “PITA list?”
“Pain in the ass. Or PIHA, pain in her ass, depending on how you want to think about it.”
Monroe laughed. “And dinner out with your mother? How did that go?”
“Great. We tried a new Indian place that was really good.”
“You’ll have to give me the name. I love anything spicy. The hotter, the better.”
She’d just bet he did.
He slid a hand into his pants pocket. “So? Have you thought about my invitation? When are you going to let me take you out to dinner?”
Ah, and the real Monroe returns. Obviously it was “out of sight, out of mind” with his date. Her mouth tightened. “I’d have to say never given the circumstances.”
“What circumstances? Or are you still carrying a grudge from the old days?”
“I’m referring to your date,” she said tartly. “Or do you always hit on one woman while another is off reapplying her lipstick?”
“You mean Daphne? Actually, she’s my—”
“Did I hear my name?” the redhead under discussion said as she trotted up to them on a pair of stiletto heels so high most women would have landed on their asses at anything faster than a careful walk. “What did I miss? Maddox isn’t telling stories about me again, is he? By the way, I’m Daphne. And you are?”
Daphne thrust out a hand.
Brie hesitated a fraction of a second, then took the offered hand. They shook. “Brie Grayson.”
“Nice grip. You box?”
“No. At least not in the physical sense.”
Daphne frowned.
“She’s a lawyer,” Monroe explained. “My lawyer, as it happens.”
Daphne’s blue-gray eyes lit up. “Sue anybody interesting lately?”
Brie couldn’t help but smile. “There’s usually somebody who needs suing. But no one for Mr. Monroe, at least not yet.”
“Ooh, Mr. Monroe. So formal. Tell her she can call you Maddox, Maddox.”
Monroe met Brie’s eyes. “She can call me anything she likes.”
“Careful,” Brie murmured. “I just might take you up on that.”
Monroe grinned. “I look forward to it, Brie-Brie.”
Daphne glanced between the two of them, a speculative look in her eyes.
Brie ignored his use of her old nickname. “Yes, well, I ought to let you get back to your date.”
“Date?” Daphne’s red eyebrows arched high and she giggled. “We’re not on a date.”
“You aren’t?” Brie said.
“Not unless you call badgering your big brother into taking you to the theater a date. I practically had to hog-tie him and drag him out the door to get him here tonight.”
The redhead is his sister?
As if to confirm that fact, Monroe shot Daphne a look of pure brotherly exasperation. “I don’t think I was quite that reluctant.”
“Of course you were. You hate the theater. And if it weren’t for the fact that I’m visiting from out of town, and you agreed that we could do whatever I liked this weekend, we’d be at a Yankees game right now watching grown men make outrageous sums of money hurling balls at each other.”
“She’s a sports fan; can you tell?” He jerked a thumb in his sister’s direction.
Daphne puffed out her not-insubstantial cleavage. “I’m a shopping fan, especially for clothes and shoes. And clearly I enjoy taking in a Broadway show whenever I get the chance.”
“She means when I can get tickets at the last minute.”
Daphne grinned. “That too.”
If Brie hadn’t realized they were siblings before, she certainly did now. No one could sling gibes like a sibling, and she ought to know, since she had three of her own.
“Actually, I’m a Mets fan,” Brie said.
“Then you clearly thrive on losing.” Monroe rolled his eyes. “Maybe I should rethink my decision to make you my chief legal counsel,” he teased.
Brie shrugged. “You’re the client, so it’s up to you. But anyone who knows me knows that I’m loyal through and through. When I believe in something, I never give up, not even when others might see it as a lost cause.”
“I happen to like lost causes and long shots,” he said. “If I didn’t, it’s doubtful I’d be where I am today.”
“It’s true,” Daphne interjected. “He was a broke-ass kid when he got into the hotel biz at the tender age of seventeen. Started as a desk clerk and worked his way up while earning his business degree in only three years. He lined up investors and owned his first hotel by the time he was twenty-five. Now he’s got first-class, boutique hotels all over the U.S. and Canada with plans to go international when the time is right.”
“Quit boring Brie, Daph. She hears enough about my business at work already.” He gave his sister a quick hug, then winked. “Daphne moonlights as my PR rep when she isn’t busy running her own very successful B and B on the South Carolina shore. She comes to the city periodically to run her mouth to anyone who will listen.”
Daphne mock elbowed him in the side. “Only because it’s the truth. He’s the brilliant one in the family and we’re all so proud of him we could bust. As for running my mouth, he’s got me there. It’s one of my particular specialties, that and saying whatever comes to mind no matter how inappropriate it might be.”
Brie couldn’t help but laugh.
Daphne joined her. “Everyone says it’s the red hair. Brings out the wild.”
“Not to mention the cray-cray,” Monroe said, straight-faced.
Daphne elbowed him again, harder this time. He groaned comically and clutched his side.
Just then, a man came to a halt next to Brie. She looked at him for a long blank moment before she realized who he was.
Jeff. Her date. Whom she’d forgotten all about—again.
“Sorry it took so long,” he said. “The line was a killer.” In both hands, he held tall, lidded cups with the logo and graphic of the play printed on the outside. “Wasn’t sure what you wanted, so I got two different kinds. One’s Coke and the other’s Sprite. Your choice.”
She wished one was an iced tea, since she wasn’t much of a soda drinker. But when in Rome . . . “Coke.”
Jeff started to hold one out to her, then changed his mind and held out the other. Then he pulled them both back. “Shit . . . I mean crap . . . I had it all straight in my head until I got here. Now I can’t remember. Is the right one Coke or Sprite?”
“Either’s fine.” Brie extended her hand again. As she did, she saw the look Monroe gave her out of the corner of her eye.
Really? he said with perfect nonverbal derision. He’s the best you can round up for a date?
At least I’m not out with my sister, she eyeballed back.
He smirked.
“No, no.” It was Jeff, gibbering again. “Let me figure this out. I can figure this out.”
“Why don’t you just take a sip from one of the straws?” Daphne suggested.
Jeff shook his head, looking repulsed. “And share germs? In case you missed the news report, there’s a gnarly late-season cold going around. I wouldn’t want to give anything to Brie.”
“Or vice versa, right?” Daphne’s eyes danced.
“Well, yeah, right.”
“I’m Daphne by the way.”
“Jeff.”
Brie realized that she hadn’t made introductions. “Jeff, this is Maddox Monroe and his sister. They’re . . .”
“Friends of Brie’s,” Monroe supplied. Rather than shake—since Jeff had no free hands—he nodded, then stuck his own hands into his pants pockets. Clearly he was enjoying the Jeff show a lot more than he apparently had the first half of the play.
“Hey.” Jeff nodded back. Glancing at the drinks, whose outsides were beginning to turn slick with condensation, Jeff stuck one cup in the crook of his arm. “Quick peek should do it.”
He reached to carefully twist off the spill-proof top.
Suddenly, the lights flashed, signaling everyone to return to their seats. Jeff had just lifted the top off for his “quick peek” when a big man bumped him from behind.
Ice and soda flew out in an arc—and hit Brie square in the chest. She sucked in a gasp as sticky cold soaked straight through her thin, pink silk dress and seeped into her bra underneath before leaking downward in rivulets.
Of course, it would have to be the Coke. The stain would never come out.
But Brie wasn’t much concerned about the stain at the moment, too wet and shocked and pissed to say a word.
“Oh, Christ,” Jeff moaned. “Brie, I’m so sorry. That guy, he knocked into me. Bastard didn’t even stop. Ah, crap, just look at you.”
Yeah, look at me. She’d rather not.
“Here.” Monroe held out a handkerchief to her.
Numbly, she took it and began to blot—for all the good that would do.
“Daph, why don’t you go to the ladies’ room with Brie to clean up?”
“Sure,” Daphne agreed.
“No, really, that’s sweet, but there isn’t any point in us both missing the second act,” Brie said, finally recovering her ability to speak. “Go back to your seat. I’ll get cleaned up on my own.”
As if her words were a signal, the lights went down and music began to play. People were staring at them, a few making hushing noises as the actors came back out onto the stage.
“Is there a problem?” It was one of the ushers. She scowled as she took in the scene, which included the wet carpet, the dripping “spill-proof” cup, and Brie.
“Just a little accident,” Monroe said in a low, reassuring murmur. “We’re taking care of it.”
The usher scowled harder. “Yes, well, you need to retake your seats. I’ll see to this lady.”
“Go on,” Brie whispered to Monroe and his sister. “There’s nothing you can do. Enjoy the play.”
As for Jeff, he just stood there, a cup in each hand, one empty, one full.
Brie barely spared him a glance as she moved out into the aisle.
The usher left her in the ladies’ room, where she used handfuls of wet paper towels to blot at the sticky disaster. But it was pretty much useless and after a couple of minutes she gave up. The wet silk clung to her. She held it away from her body and used some more paper towels to absorb enough of the wetness so she didn’t look indecent. After carefully washing her hands and scrubbing the sticky off her neck and chest, she decided things were as good as they were going to get.
With a sigh, she turned and walked out into the corridor.
There stood Monroe. He was leaning against the opposite wall.
“Why aren’t you in watching the play?” she asked.
“Because I’m waiting for you. Thought I’d give you a ride home. I figured you wouldn’t want to sit next to Jeffie boy for another hour and a half. Am I right?”
He was most definitely right. As far as she was concerned, her date with Jeff was over. “I can get a cab. You don’t have to take me.”
“My driver’s already here. It’s no trouble.”
“What about your sister?”
“She’s enjoying the show. I’ll swing back around to pick her up after I see to you. She says to tell you how sorry she is about your dress and that she enjoyed meeting you.”
“Tell her I enjoyed meeting her too. But really, go watch the rest of the play. I’m fine getting home on my own.”
“I’m sure you are, but I can use a break. All that dialogue is hurting my brain. Besides, the trip will give Marco something to do. He gets bored waiting.”
Brie considered refusing, but finding a cab on a Saturday night in the Theater District would be a total pain. And in her damp, ruined dress, she didn’t much relish the idea of riding the subway. She could only imagine the pervy comments that might come her way.
“Why is it lately that you’re always around to offer me a ride?” she said.
“’Cause you’re lucky, sweetheart. Maybe we should swing by a convenience store along the way and buy some lottery tickets.” Grinning, he caught her hand up in his and led her toward the entrance.
She tried to pull free, but he held on, letting go only when they reached his now familiar, polished black sedan idling at the curb. She remembered the last time she’d ridden in that car—and everything that had happened.
“Good evening, Ms. Grayson. A pleasure to see you again,” Marco said, giving her a polite smile. He didn’t so much as blink twice at her disaster of a dress before he held open the rear door.
“Hello, Marco.”
“Nice weather tonight. No rain.”
“Small mercies, huh?”
“Exactly.”
The driver waited and she hesitated, Monroe standing silent at her back.
With an internal shrug, she climbed inside. Monroe would kiss her only if she let him. And that one hundre
d percent wasn’t going to happen.
She relaxed back into the comfortable leather seat as Marco shut the door. Monroe joined her from the opposite side while Marco took his seat behind the steering wheel. She leaned forward, intending to give Marco her address.
“He knows where we’re going.”
She looked at Monroe. “How could that be?”
“Because I gave him your address. I make it a point to know where my attorneys live.”
Where she lived, he meant. Somehow she doubted he’d bothered to memorize the home addresses of any of the other partners. But what did it really matter? He could have found out anytime with nothing more than a quick phone call.
The car set off into the night, leaving her alone once again with Maddox Monroe.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Maddox watched her, enjoying the play of expressions that seemed to move constantly over her face. The city lights flashed past as the car merged into the pulse of the traffic, but he paid no attention, his thoughts fixed squarely on Brie.
He’d read her hesitation about getting into the car. No doubt she was remembering the kisses they’d shared. God knew he was; he couldn’t get those moments or the sensations out of his head.
They’d haunted him ever since that day, popping up at some of the most inconvenient times, such as in the middle of a board meeting when his focus should have been on projections and analyses rather than on the lush softness of Brie’s pink lips. Or the way the silky curves of her cheeks had felt against his palms and how the sweet, clean fragrance of her hair had teased his senses until he’d gone half-mad.
He was always hovering on the brink of arousal whenever she was near, and it wouldn’t take much to push him over the edge. A tiny, come-on crook of her finger was all that would be necessary. But tonight wasn’t the night, much as he wished otherwise. He’d promised his sister a late supper out and after the evening Brie had endured, he suspected that all she really wanted was a hot shower and a good night’s sleep.
He would be patient—for a little while longer anyway.
“How is the Newport acquisition coming?” He settled deeper into his seat and tried to ignore thoughts of her standing wet and naked in the shower, soapsuds sluicing down her body.
Mad About the Man Page 8