“Sorry,” he said, stepping back to hold the door wide. “Have you been out here forever? I was in the back shaving and just now heard you.”
Nick looked at Benny’s still-shadowed jaw and wondered what the hell he’d been shaving. He refused to even consider the possibilities.
As soon as they stepped inside Benny, relocked the doors. He saw the dress bag over Daisy’s arm and reached for it. “Well?” he demanded. “How did it work?”
“It was great, Benny. Just perfect. I thought I’d better return it in case someone needs it for this evening’s performance, but if they don’t, could I borrow it again tonight?”
“Actually, I’ve got something else I’d like you to try. Come on back.”
They followed him to a dressing room that had makeup scattered across what looked like a fifties diner counter, complete with red-vinyl-padded chrome stools situated in front of a brightly lit mirror. A rack of gowns and costumes took up one corner and a double sink occupied the other.
It was to the latter that Benny crossed. “You mind?” he asked and picked up a shaving brush, stirring it inside a shaving mug to work up a lather. “I just wanna finish this up while I’m thinking about it.” He spread white, foamy lather across the backs of his fingers and picked up a razor. Then, with careful concentration, he shaved between his knuckles. Looking up a moment later, he caught Nick watching and grinned. “Bet you’ve never given a moment’s thought to the hair on your hands, huh?”
He was so cheerful Nick had to smile. “Can’t say that I have.”
“Luckily, I don’t have much chest or arm hair, and I have my legs and pits lasered every three months or so. But my hands I’m forever having to shave. There! All done.” He rinsed his hands and his shaving mug and neatly stored his supplies. Then he turned back to survey Daisy. “Let’s see if the outfit I picked out is going to look as good on you as I think it will.”
He crossed the room and selected an outfit from the rack. Carrying it over to Daisy, he held the hanger high and slipped an arm beneath the bottom portion, presenting it to her like a high-priced salesperson in a house of haute couture.
Nick, who had been hoping for another slinky dress, was disappointed to see it was a pants suit, but Daisy seemed pleased. “Oh, Benny.” She immediately began stripping out of her clothing. With a cheeky grin for Nick, Benny turned his back.
He clearly had an eye for fashion, because Daisy looked spectacular in his selection. The pants suit was made of heavy silk in a soft butter-cream color. Satin a shade deeper faced the lapels on the jacket and comprised the tuxedo stripes that ran down the outseams of the slacks. With a conservative blouse beneath it, it could have been worn to any well-heeled business function. The glittering gold bustier Benny had paired it with turned it into sexy party apparel.
“It’s great, Benny. Absolutely perfect.” Daisy leaned over to plant a kiss on his cheek.
“I knew it was you, chickie, the moment Chan showed it to me.”
“And he doesn’t mind my borrowing it?”
“Not as long as you get it back to him in time for tomorrow night’s show.”
“This is drag?” From what Nick could see, it could have belonged to any woman he knew.
“Hon, you’re born naked, and everything you put on after that is drag.” Benny grinned. “Or so says RuPaul.”
“Well, if RuPaul says it…”
“Exactly. The Queen has spoken.”
Watching Benny deftly apply Daisy’s makeup and style her hair, Nick went back to debating the merits of telling her about J. Fitzgerald. He looked at the pros and cons from every angle, but couldn’t come to a conclusive decision. Finally he decided to shelve it for one more day. He needed to think about how to explain the situation to her in such a way that she wouldn’t want to bust his balls. He was sure it could be done.
He just wasn’t sure how.
20
“NICE function.” Sipping a Napa Valley merlot, Mo looked around the crowded ballroom.
Setting his glass on the tray of a passing waiter, Reid hooked a finger beneath his bow tie and stretched it away from his neck. “I guess. If balancing a glass of wine and a plate of hors d’oeuvres in a crowd of overdressed people is your idea of a good time.”
Her wine glass paused on its way to her lips and, regarding him with faint exasperation, she said, “Attending this was your idea.”
“I know. I’d just forgotten how claustrophobic these events always make me feel.”
She studied him in silence with those fine blue eyes of heres and he nearly squirmed. To disguise the fact that she could make him feel like an errant twelve-year-old caught out by the headmistress, he gave her a slight twist of his lips and raised his goblet in a mocking toast. “Okay, I admit they serve a decent glass of wine. But don’t these people have anything better to do than slobber praise all over a man who’s already been acclaimed from here to infinity?”
“I thought you liked J. Fitzgerald.”
“He’s all right. But doesn’t his constant need for adulation strike you as a tad self-absorbed?”
“For heaven’s sake, Reid, he wants that ambassadorship. I’m sure he wants to keep his name in the papers so Congress will be reminded of his existence come appointment time.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” He silently conceded he might be in need of an attitude adjustment. As Mo had reminded him, coming here had been his idea—and he’d had a definite agenda in mind when he proposed it. Sure, the ballroom had a damn sight too many overprivileged people milling about. But he’d known that would be the case, so it was time to get over it and get down to the business of saving his wife’s shapely butt.
“Hello, old son.”
Well, well. How timely, he thought as Sheldon Fitzhugh sauntered up to them.
There was something about Sheldon that always made Reid want to grin. It was more than his long-faced, large-toothed resemblance to the horses he loved. He possessed a sort of sweet goofiness that made it almost impossible to keep the muscles around Reid’s mouth from quirking. He managed to bite back the impulse and summoned a disinterested gaze for his old schoolmate. He greeted him with a cool nod of his head. “Fitzhugh.”
Sheldon shuffled in place and tried his smile on Mo. “Maureen,” he said and bowed over the curved-down fingers she extended to him. “You’re looking exceptionally lovely this evening.”
I’ll second that. Reid’s gaze got tangled up on her. Attired in a white, low-cut Hervé Léger gown, with her dark hair swept up to show off the diamond earrings he’d bought her for their fifth anniversary, Maureen looked both elegant and sexy.
She smiled distantly, however, and slid her fingers free. “Thank you, Sheldon. You look quite dashing yourself.”
“Thanks. Would you, uh, excuse us for a moment, Maureen? I’d like a private word with Reid.”
“Certainly.” With a slight smile above the glass she’d raised to her lips, she eased away.
Reid watched her join another group a few feet away, then turned to Fitzhugh. He waited.
“My apologies, Reid,” Sheldon said, reaching inside his tux to pull forth a slender checkbook. “I’ve been remiss in my loan, and you’ve been the soul of patience. Let me rectify the situation at once.”
Reid watched him scratch his signature across a check. When Sheldon extended it to him, Reid glanced at the amount before tucking it in his breast pocket, and his eyebrows rose.
“I added a little interest.” Sheldon lowered his voice. “I value your friendship, Reid. I’d hate like the dickens to see it hurt because I was so late in paying you back.”
“Hey.” Reid faked a punch at Fitzhugh’s impeccably tailored arm. “You’re here for me exactly when I needed you most.” Not to mention your bonus, which is a very nice touch. “That’s pretty much the definition of friends.”
“Yeah? Well, that’s certainly a load off.” Sheldon’s sudden smile displayed his considerable set of teeth. He snagged a couple of glasses off the t
ray of a circulating waiter and handed one to Reid. “I say, have you had a chance to see the new pony Pettigrew added to his string?” His homely face lit up.
Mo watched the byplay from several feet away. And while she sipped wine and chatted inconsequentials with longtime acquaintances, she kept coming back to a brand-new realization. It was way past time to rethink something she’d taken for granted for far too long now.
For years she’d blamed Reid for the distance that had grown between them, for the strain that had come into their marriage. She’d faulted his profligate tendency to lend his personal wealth to poor risks, condemned his reckless disregard for her feelings.
But Reid hadn’t been the one to change. She had.
She’d been drawn to him in the first place because he’d had humor to spare, a rare loyalty to the people he considered his friends, and no earthly use for the silver spoon he’d been born with.
He’d spit that out without a moment’s hesitation. If not for her he probably would have tried his hand at something other than the staid family bank, where his empathy for loan applicants that the rest of the board considered a waste of time was viewed as a sign of weakness. It took rare strength to stick with a job he disliked in order to assuage his wife’s insecurities. Day after day he’d put up with having his views denigrated by the tight-fisted, bottom-line board of directors. For her. Then when she, too, had turned away from him, he’d thrown all his free time, money, and effort at causes that everyone else wrote off as hopeless. Causes he’d called friends.
His family hadn’t understood it. God knew, she hadn’t. They’d all seen it as throwing perfectly good money after bad. But even though the school chums she’d termed deadbeats had taken their own sweet termed deadbeats had taken their own sweet time repaying his loans, when Reid had needed them the most, those for whom he’d put his money and his faith on the line had come through for him. Exactly the way he’d said they would. In the past couple of days she had seen exactly how many friends her husband had.
And it was more than she could claim.
Sheldon wandered off a few moments later, and she rejoined Reid. Over the next half hour, they were approached by several more of Reid’s friends. All entered the couple’s orbit with sheepish smiles that were nearly identical, but they were a diverse group. Not all of them were trust-fund babies who were hopeless at managing their money or at listening to the people they paid to manage it for them. For several, attendance at expensive private schools had been at the whim of a scholarship, and from listening to their conversations, Mo learned that Reid had gotten them started in their respective businesses. She began to wonder if she’d ever given him any credit at all.
Checks changed hands with varying, degrees of discretion. As the total began to mount up, it started to look as though she might avoid prosecution after all. Not only would she avoid jail time, but she’d most likely emerge with her reputation intact as well. She ought to feel profoundly grateful that her bacon was being hauled so expeditiously from the fire. Instead, she started to suffer some serious pangs of anxiety.
Because none of that mattered, if in the end it meant she lost Reid. She’d undervalued him—she knew that now. She’d taken him for granted.
And it would kill her if she got what she deserved and was forced to watch him walk out of her life.
Her nerves grew tighter and tighter. When the man talking to Reid walked away and she found herself alone with him, or as alone as two people in the midst of a ballroom full of people could be, she drew a ragged breath and gathered her courage in both hands. Though confrontation was the last thing on her mind, sheer tension caused her voice to sound adversarial when she said, “Are you going to divorce me?”
Reid only heard the dreaded D word and her tone; the fact that she’d inquired whether he desired a divorce escaped him entirely. He felt as if he’d been kicked in the solar plexus—a particularly stunning sensation considering just sec onds ago he’d thought he was pitching his flag on top of the world.
“Is that what you want?” he demanded. He didn’t give her a chance to reply. Blood pumping hot and furious, he grabbed her wrist and headed for the ballroom doors. Once out in the lobby, where both the temperature and the decibel level dropped several degrees, he hesitated for just an instant, looking left and right.
“Reid.” She tugged at her wrist.
Feeling savage and raw, he turned on her. “If you’re smart, Maureen, you won’t say a word.” Tightening his grip, he strode across the lobby to a small offshoot hallway that promised privacy. He pulled her down its carpeted length. “I’ve knocked myself out, trying not only to keep your butt out of jail, but to get back in your good graces. Well, you know what? To hell with it. No more Mr. Nice Guy. If you plan on leaving me anyway, I might as well just take what I want—and screw your wishes.”
“I never said I was going to—”
Some of the ferocity that consumed him must have shown in his eyes, for when he turned his glare on her she abruptly shut up. He twisted the handle to the ladies’ room at the end of the hall, pushed the door open, and pulled her inside.
The room was empty, and he slammed the door behind them and twisted the lock to keep it that way.
The room was tiny, just two stalls and a sink with a short marble vanity counter. Swinging Mo around, he clasped her hips and lifted her onto the countertop. Kneeing her legs apart, he stepped between them.
She looked down her nose at him. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“What I should have done a long time ago. Demonstrating once and for all who wears the pants in this family.” Clamping her head between his hands, he slammed his mouth down on hers.
Mo’s hands came up to his shoulders and he braced himself to be shoved away in outrage. Instead her fingers curled into his tux jacket to anchor herself and she kissed him back every bit as frenziedly as he kissed her.
The last of his control hit the skids, but it didn’t seem to matter, for Mo was out of control too. Hearts thundering, breath soughing, they strained together in an embrace that was all raw carnality. Finesse was forgotten as the lust each had suppressed for far too long swamped them. Reid pulled her gown up around her waist, then swore at the pantyhose that guarded her as implacably as a harem eunuch.
“Take off those pants you’re so damn proud of wearing,” she commanded hoarsely. While he kicked them off, she rocked first onto one hip, then onto the other, until her hosiery had been wrestled down to hang from one ankle.
He immediately stepped back between her thighs, growling his approval when she widened them to accommodate him. Scooping his hands beneath her lush bottom, he jerked her forward, seating himself with one deep thrust in a humid vise that clasped him with warm welcome. He pulled back and thrust forward again. “There. Will. Be. NO. Divorce,” he said in time with each pump of his hips. Burying himself deep, he stared into her eyes. “Got it?”
“Oh, God, yes,” she moaned and he felt her interior muscles bear down around him as she began to come. “I’ve got it. Most definitely.”
“You know, don’t you,” she asked as she leaned forward to watch him reorder his clothing, “that I never said I wanted a divorce in the first place?” She frowned at the pantyhose coiling from one foot. “Damn, this is all twisted.”
“Let me help.” He squatted in front of her and untangled the hosiery. “There. Put your foot in here.” He looked up at her. “You did ask for a divorce. I distinctly heard you—”
“Ask if you wanted one.”
His head reared back. “Why the hell would I want one?” Satisfied the pantyhose situation was under control, he surged to his feet and regarded her, hands on hips.
“Because I’ve been realizing all this week just how poorly I’ve upheld my end of the marriage. And you said we were going to sit down and talk about our marriage after we got this mess straightened out. I just assumed—”
“That I wanted out?” It was the last thing he expected to hear and he stared at
her in stupefaction.
“Yes.”
He rubbed his forehead. “And exactly what makes you assume you haven’t been holding up your end of our marriage?”
“Everything you’ve accused me of lately is true. I didn’t stop to think you might actually know what the hell you’re doing with your own money. I’ve treated you more like an irresponsible adolescent than my partner. And you hate your job, don’t you? I never even realized that until today.”
“I don’t hate it. The board of directors are a pain in the ass—but let’s face it, baby love, we knew from the get-go that my relatives were a bunch of stiffs.”
A strangled laugh escaped her.
“Where did you get the idea I hated it?”
“They never let you make the kind of loans you want to make, and I thought—I still think—that you’ve stuck with it primarily to alleviate some of the issues I have with financial security.” She admitted, “You were right when you said I’m dysfunctional.”
“Ah, Mo.” He shifted uncomfortably and reached out to skim his knuckles down her cheek. “I was frustrated when I said that. I shouldn’t have.”
She leaned into his touch and smiled. “No, it’s true. But you were wrong in thinking I’ve stayed with you because my father couldn’t stick with any of his relationships. I’m not saying it hasn’t been a factor in my determination to make our marriage work; of course it’s played a part. But I never would have stuck it out if I didn’t love you, Reid. My biggest mistake has been expecting you to understand why I’m so insecure about financial matters when I’ve never actually confided some of the reasons behind it.” An unhappy laugh escaped her. “God, it’s pretty ironic, when you come right down to it. Here all these years I’ve thought you were the cause of our problems…when all along it’s been me.”
Part of him reveled in hearing her say that he wasn’t screwup; that she’d been wrong. But a stronger part of him hated seeing her humbled. So he gave her a cocky smile and said, “Damn straight it’s been you. And if there was just a little more room in here, I’d do a victory dance to hear you finally admit it.”
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