Home to the Riverview Inn

by Molly O'Keefe

  “Umm, no.”

  “There’s nothing you’re the slightest bit excited about?” She had a top-ten list of things she was thrilled over, not the least of which was seeing Jonah in a tux—then, hopefully, seeing him out of that tux.

  “There is one thing,” he said. When his eyes met hers, heat exploded in the Jeep.

  “What’s that?” she managed to squeak.

  “I’m excited to see you,” he murmured.

  If he had uttered a blatant invitation, she might have laughed. But it wasn’t. It was sexy and sincere and the combination almost blew her clothes right off. “In the dress. Having fun.”

  I’m excited to see you, too, she thought, her brain going X-rated on her.

  Her instinct was to turn away, hiding a blush and pretending that this sexually loaded moment hadn’t happened. But she fought that instinct and smiled at him, hoping it seemed confident, perhaps even seductive.

  “Well, then,” she said. “That makes two of us.”

  Jonah tucked his cell phone between his shoulder and ear and tried to slide his cuff link into place while waiting for Gary to pick up.

  “It’s Gary. Leave a message.” It was the fourth time Jonah had heard that message in the past hour since he and Daphne had checked into their two-bedroom suite at the Waldorf Astoria.

  “Gary,” he said, tossing the silver cuff link onto the dresser. “Listen, call me back about that land. Did you make an offer without consulting me?” His headache rose up behind his eyes like the tide and he pinched the bridge of his nose. How could he have forgotten about that land? How could he have been so stupid? “We need to talk.” He checked his watch.

  Quarter to eight. The party started at seven-thirty and he was slated to get his award at nine. “I’m leaving for the gala, so I won’t pick up but leave a message. It’s important I know what we’re doing about that land.”

  He hung up and flung his phone on the bed.

  A conscience? Now? Because of Daphne?

  He jabbed the cuff links through the holes on his white dress shirt. What will I do if we have bought it? Rescind the offer? Sell some of the land to her?

  For a second he hung his head.

  A month ago he wouldn’t have even thought of these things. A month ago he would have chalked up her palpable disappointment to the nature of business. And he would have still slept with her tonight.

  That made him pause. Sex was where this was leading, there was no doubt. Despite her protestations at the school picnic, at some point since then, she’d changed her mind and had nearly jumped him on the way here.

  That makes two of us.

  And the invitation in her eyes had practically killed him.

  Christ. What a mess.

  Not even checking to see if his tie was straight, he stalked across their shared living space to Daphne’s shut door.

  When had this gotten so complicated? It was supposed to be a business arrangement. A favor. A little quid pro quo on the escort front. Instead he now stood in front of her door, practically light-headed from the constant pooling of blood between his legs. Worse, he was dying to see her in that dress and was feeling like an ass for wanting her so bad when he might have just bought land right out from under her. Land he was going to build a hotel on so he could drive his father and brothers out of business.

  I am such an asshole.

  He lifted his hand to knock as the ebonized door slid soundlessly open over the thick burgundy carpet. What it revealed was something he never expected. Not in his wildest dreams.

  For a second he couldn’t breathe, and his hand remained aloft while his brain shot scattered impulses through his entire body.

  Touch her.

  Hold her.

  Kiss her.

  Don’t go to the damn party.

  “Jonah?” she asked, eyeing his hand with a sardonic smile.

  She was stunning, bathed in the warm yellow light from the lamp behind her. But he’d been expecting that.

  The red cocktail dress was structured, almost corseted and her breasts were right there, ripe and so white he wanted to make snow angels in her cleavage. Her blond hair was pulled back in some mysterious feminine knot that was held in place by silver chopsticks.

  Her shoulders were strong and her arms toned.

  The black gloves were an unexpected twist, hugging her wrists, her long fingers, the curve of her elbow. His mouth went dry at the erotic implications of those gloves. They were the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

  Although the long length of her legs ending in a pair of black stilettos was a close second.

  And the combination of her body, her dress, those damn gloves and the knowing, powerful feminine glint in her eyes nearly brought him to his knees.

  He was torn apart by her.

  And she knew it.

  He’d expected her to be beautiful. A butterfly emerging from a hardworking organic farmer cocoon.

  But he hadn’t expected her to own this beauty as much as she did.

  “Shall we go?” she asked, picking up a small silver purse.

  Numb, turned on, barely able to stand upright, he nodded and followed her.

  It was hard work trying to keep Jonah from glowering at every person who approached him. It was hard work trying to keep him from frowning at the well-wishers, and taking off the heads of those people stupid enough to tell him that they always knew he “wasn’t such a bastard after all.”

  The gloves helped. All Daphne had to do was raise a black finger to her chin, or if he really seemed off-put by some real estate agent’s comment, she went so far as to press a finger to the top of her breasts, he would see it and his eyes would go a bit hazy and the glower would leave his face.

  It was hard work but, dear Lord, it was fun.

  She’d forgotten how fun it was to dress up. To do her hair and to put on makeup.

  To wear silk stockings, lace underwear and not much else under a dress.

  The high heels, however, while a crucial ingredient, were a huge pain.

  But the gloves…oh, the gloves.

  She got hot just thinking about what she wanted to do with these gloves and Jonah.

  The ballroom at the Waldorf Astoria was filled with glitter: diamonds, chandeliers, blindingly white teeth. She was practically agog at the beautiful women walking by casting sideways glances at Jonah and then at her.

  That’s right, she wanted to tell them. He’s with me!

  But the most magnetic thing in the room was Jonah. The way he looked in a tux exceeded every expectation she had. The guy was built. Tall, strong. His shoulders wide. His hips narrow and the tux made him seem dangerous.

  Her body had been humming the James Bond theme song all night.

  The room smelled of wealth and business, sweetened slightly by the huge arrangements of stargazer lilies and what had to be gallons of Chanel Number 5 on the pulse points of at least half the women in the room.

  A waiter walked by and Daphne grabbed two glasses of champagne, pressing one into Jonah’s hand.

  “To Cinderella,” she said, clinking her glass to his and taking a sip. Oh, her whole body shivered. That champagne was the real deal.

  The glittering crowd parted and over Jonah’s shoulder she glimpsed a regal blonde wearing a silver dress that fell like water over every curve from shoulder to floor.

  “Wow,” Daphne whispered and Jonah glanced behind him.

  “Hey, look,” Jonah said, grabbing her elbow and turning her a hundred and eighty degrees away from the silver water goddess. “Sushi. I’ll introduce you as long as you don’t go all biggest fan on it.”

  “Who is that woman?” she asked, allowing herself be led away with a backward glance. “And why are you so mad at these people? Don’t you work with them?” She drained the last of the champagne, feeling it go right to her knees in the best possible way.

  “These people are pests and she’s the worst,” he said, loading up a plate with sushi from the elaborate ice sculpture buffet.
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  Sushi and shrimp and oysters.

  It was heaven.

  “So why are you here?” she asked, making sure he got enough of the salmon roll. “If you don’t like all these people.”

  “A means to an end,” he said. “They sell me land, then they sell my condos. Don’t get me wrong, there are a lot of people here tonight who I like. But I would never be invited and I would never be getting an award if it didn’t make them look better for doing it.”

  “That’s awfully cynical,” she said, grabbing another plate because he’d ignored the oysters totally.

  He paused for a moment. “That’s me,” he said. And it wasn’t a joke. He was telling her, letting her know, yet again, not to be fooled.

  She shrugged. “Sucks to be you,” she quipped.

  “Well, well, if it isn’t our Dirty Developer come Environmental Bastion.” The woman in silver appeared at Jonah’s side. Her face was utterly composed, as if she were carved of ice—or maybe Botox—but her eyes practically drank him in.

  Jonah tensed. As much as the woman was sending him a good-to-go message, Jonah apparently was having none of it. The air between them blew cold.

  “Hello, Tina,” he said, his lips barely moving. Tina didn’t seem to notice Jonah’s vibe and she threw Daphne a blatantly calculating glance.

  If Tina thought she could make off with Daphne’s date—especially when said date clearly had no interest—then she had another think coming.

  Sorry to set down her plate, Daphne bid a mental adieu to the oysters and put her hand on Jonah’s arm, leaning in close as though she’d been resting her breasts against Jonah’s body most of her days.

  Jonah’s hand quickly covered hers and squeezed.

  “I’m Daphne Larson,” she said, holding out the hand that wasn’t occupied with Jonah.

  “Tina,” the woman replied with a cold fish handshake. And went back to giving Jonah her unwanted attention. “Interesting press release from your company on Friday.”

  “Well,” he said, not smiling, “I’m glad we could entertain.”

  As cold as he seemed, Jonah began to stroke Daphne’s fingers, and the sensation was both muted and amplified by the material. Ripples spread out from her fingers to her arms, across her shoulders, down her chest to her breasts and farther.

  She fought not to gasp. Good Lord, he was seducing her in front of a ballroom of people.

  “Your Haven House charity sounds fascinating,” Tina said, clearly unaware that Daphne was about to pass out from lust. “We should set up a meeting so we can discuss how my office can best help you.”

  “Haven House, which is not in any kind of planning stages, will not be in New York City,” he said, pressing his thumb into the soft center of Daphne’s palm.

  Oh sweet heaven. She knew she should be following this conversation. Jonah had a charity? Haven House? What—

  He linked their fingers, holding her tightly, palm to palm, nothing but satin between them.

  Daphne swallowed a little groan.

  Tina shrugged. “As your clientele would surely be from the city, I think our interest is understandable.”

  “Tina.” Jonah’s lips curved in a smile so chilling Daphne felt it cut into her overheated state. “You can drop the game. You’re not interested in the charity. Stop wasting your time.”

  Daphne had to hand it to the woman—she didn’t blanche, she didn’t turn red, she didn’t even smack Jonah. She laughed. And flicked a glare to Daphne from those diamond-hard eyes. But there was something a bit sad in those depths. Something a little lost.

  “Good luck with him, honey,” Tina said. “Wear the gloves tonight so you don’t lose fingers to frostbite.”

  Then she left. The view of her gown from the back was as stunning as it had been from the front. People made way for her, as if realizing she was a force to be reckoned with.

  “Who was that?” Daphne tried to pretend she was totally together.

  “Tina Schneider. She’s married to the deputy mayor of New York.”

  Daphne laughed. “Does she know that?”

  “We used to date a million years ago.”

  Oh. Of course.

  She grabbed another glass of champagne and downed it, a little bit of the magic in the evening leeching away.

  “Have I told you you are beautiful?” he asked and the champagne raced to her head, with a dose of arousal not far behind.

  “Not—” She sucked in a breath when he lifted her palm to his lips and kissed it. The wet heat of his breath burned through the silk. “Exactly.”

  “You are,” he answered. His eyes practically drilling her to the ice sculpture. “You are the most beautiful woman in this room.”

  Ex-girlfriend who? What?

  He released her hand and she brought it to her own lips, to feel the lingering warmth. His eyes flashed as he watched. She touched her bottom lip with her fingers, let her hand rest slightly against the white skin of her neck and smiled, channeling a little Mae West.

  “You’re not so bad yourself,” she said.

  He leaned toward her, clearly about to kiss her. She was more than ready to be kissed.

  The P.A. system buzzed to life and a short, balding man stepped onto the curtained dais at the far end of the ballroom. He blinked owlishly against the bright spotlight that found him at the podium.

  “Good evening, everyone,” he said. “And welcome to the annual tristate real estate gala.”

  There was a spattering of polite applause and the moment between Daphne and Jonah shattered. Jonah smiled ruefully and his gaze lingered at her lips before he turned to the high cocktail table where they’d placed their plates earlier.

  “Let’s eat while they talk,” he said.

  Daphne’s breath hitched. She needed a second to get herself together. She simply wasn’t used to near kisses, and deputy mayor’s wives, champagne and black satin gloves. Her head was swimming.

  “When do you get your award?”

  He checked his watch. “About ten minutes.”

  “I’ll be right back,” she said and made her way to the nearest women’s restroom.

  It was cool in the bathroom, and when the door shut behind her, Daphne felt as if she was in a quiet cocoon.

  A very fancy cocoon.

  Even this room had a chandelier and stargazer lilies in sterling silver vases. She collapsed into one of the white Queen Anne chairs in front of the mirror and tipped her head against the back and closed her eyes.

  “In over your head with him, aren’t you?” a cool voice asked.

  Daphne opened her eyes to see Tina looking just as elegant upside down.

  “Ah, pardon?” Daphne asked, straightening and opening her purse to search for her two-year-old, drugstore lip gloss. Anything to seem occupied. Anything to not have this conversation.

  “Jonah.” Tina sat next to her, opened her purse and removed a tube of Chanel lipstick.

  Of course.

  “We’re friends.”

  Tina smiled and it sliced the air between them like a dagger. “That’s what he tells all the women he sleeps with. So when it goes bad, he can shrug and say, ‘I told you we were just friends.’”

  This was a classic woman-scorned situation. Daphne felt for Tina, she really did, but she wasn’t going to let this ruin her night.

  “Maybe all those girls Jonah slept with before didn’t listen,” Daphne said, standing, lip gloss forgotten. “Maybe they thought they could change him.”

  “You don’t?” Tina asked, clearly not believing her.

  “Good God, no,” Daphne said, laughing. People didn’t change for other people, at least not permanently. If Jonah was to become a different kind of man, he’d have to do it for himself.

  Tina sneered, and Daphne wondered what Jonah saw in this angry woman. Or maybe it was Jonah who made her so angry and that made her sad for all of them.

  “Go on believing that,” Tina said, “if it helps. But be warned, that guy will break your heart.”r />
  Daphne caught Tina’s reflection in yet another mirror, as the woman slowly put on lipstick—thin, glamorous, wealthy and not a speck of dirt under her fingernails. Yet Daphne walked out of there glad not to have to trade places.

  She was glad she wasn’t in danger of being hurt by Jonah. That she saw him for what he was.

  A one-night Prince Charming.

  Jonah stood where she’d left him, fresh plates of food beside him on the table. Seeing him by himself while surrounded by people, she was struck full in the chest by a pang of longing.

  It wasn’t just because he was so handsome. And it wasn’t because he’d made it obvious that he found her equally attractive.

  He seemed so alone in the midst of all of those people who had no idea who he was. So in need of a friend.

  And just like that she recognized what Tina had meant. It wasn’t that those women didn’t listen to Jonah, when he said they were just friends. It was that Jonah never meant it. Not really. He didn’t have friends. Probably didn’t know how to make that type of relationship work.

  Daphne pressed a hand to her stomach, feeling sympathy and respect for him that she knew she shouldn’t. Those emotions would make the end of this charade more painful than it needed to be.

  He grabbed two champagne flutes from a passing waiter as he saw her.

  And smiled. An intimate but honest smile. I’m glad to see you, that smile said. I’m glad you’re here.

  Ah, crap, she thought.

  Her heart, which she’d been so sure was out of reach, unbreakable, told her to run. To get while the getting was good.

  But the rest of her body vetoed the idea. On trembling legs she crossed the navy and tan carpet to be at his side.

  “I had to fight ten men to get all these oysters so you better eat up,” he told her when she was within whispering distance.

  She eyed the plates and eyed her black satin gloves, wondering how—back in the day—women ate anything without destroying a pair of gloves a night.

  “Just take one off,” Jonah whispered in her ear, his breath toying with the fine hair at her nape. “No one will know.”

  Not wasting another second, Daphne pulled off one glove, revealing her work-roughened hands, and polished off six oysters, a plate of shrimp and a few of the best tuna rolls she’d ever had.