The crowd laughed and he smiled, his fingers brushing his scar. His nervous tic. She pressed her fist to her stomach, above the ruche fabric at her hip, just to remind herself of who she was, where she was.
He opened his mouth as if to say something else but stopped, smiled, and then laughed. Awkward. So damn cute she could barely stand it.
“Thanks,” he said and shrugged, looking for a place to put the microphone.
The crowd erupted with cheers and she felt the applause ringing through her body. He’d just shown these people the side of him she’d loved.
“Quite a speech, huh?”
She blinked and turned to find a man standing next to her in a suit that worked hard over the swell of his stomach. He watched her with warm, intelligent eyes from behind a pair of thick glasses.
“It was,” she said, smiling. He was the kind of guy who got smiled at. Like Santa Claus.
“I’ve been following that guy’s career for the last ten years and just when I think he can’t surprise me anymore, he does something like this.”
Buddy, she thought, you don’t know the half of it.
“I’m sorry.” He switched his champagne glass to his left hand and held out his right. “I’m Dominick Murphy. My friends call me Dom.”
“Madelyn Cornish.”
“Oh, I know who you are. You’re the one giving Billy some soul on daytime television.”
She laughed, trying to downplay her pride in the show. “So far it’s just been some new clothes.”
“I like your modesty, but I think something big is happening on your show.”
“Thank you,” she said, not immune in any way to flattery. The guy’s crusty charm was pretty effective.
“This guy bothering you?” Billy appeared at her elbow, and the relief and happiness she felt upon seeing him made her awkward. She crossed her arms over her chest as if to make sure they wouldn’t touch.
“Not at all,” she said.
“Well done up there,” Dom said, shaking Billy’s hand in that hard, swift way of men. “I can barely recognize you in that monkey suit.”
“Thanks.” Billy rolled his eyes toward Maddy. “I think. And thanks for coming. So … what do you think?”
“I think the school is interesting. But what’s more interesting is you and your involvement in it. Those tough circumstances you mentioned—”
Billy held up his hands in surrender. “You don’t give up, do you, Dom?”
“No. Not on you, Billy. Here.” He handed Billy a business card. “If you change your mind, I promise I’ll be gentle with you.”
“I’ve heard that before. But here …” Billy took a pen from the inside pocket of his beautiful tux jacket, and Dom handed him another card. Billy wrote on the back of it. “This is my cell number and email address if you’re interested in talking about the New School.”
Dom took the card and lifted his glass in a salute toward Maddy. “You are even more beautiful in person,” he said and then turned back to Billy. “I can’t say the same about you.”
“Very funny.” Billy shooed him away and as soon as the old reporter disappeared, Billy’s magnetism increased. Her body felt the distance between them and protested, trying to force her closer. An urge she had to work hard to resist.
“Who is Dom?”
“A freelance writer for a bunch of magazines, like Sports Illustrated and Esquire. He keeps harassing me to do a story.”
“About the school?”
“About me. My life.”
Panic skittered across her skin like bugs.
“About your past?”
About me? That’s what she really wanted to say and he picked up on it, watching her carefully as if she might run.
“That’s probably part of it.”
Immediately the walls began to close in on her. Between this and the threat of his sisters showing up on her show, she felt her whole world slipping away. Everything she’d worked so hard for could be destroyed. By him.
“Hey, hey,” he said, touching her wrist and she wanted to jerk her hand back, protect herself, keep up the walls that allowed her to feel safe. And as if he read that, as if he knew, he dropped his hand. “I didn’t say I was going to do it.”
“It’s not just that story. It’s your sisters.”
“I’m tracking them down.”
That brought her up short. “You are?”
“I called my lawyer on Tuesday, and yesterday his secretary called me with the name of a private investigator. Don’t worry, Maddy. I won’t … I won’t let you get hurt.”
In all their years together he’d never said that. He’d never offered that to her. For so long, in so many ways large and small, she’d been his protector. The one constantly watching for hidden dangers. Rocks just under the surface of the water.
The temptation to lean back in that support, to allow him to care for her in that way, was bittersweet.
Their little corner of the ballroom was suddenly the most intimate place in the world. In the shallow curve of his neck she could see his heart beating and she imagined kissing him there.
“I like the way you’re looking at me,” he whispered.
“Billy.” That was all she could say in the face of his desire, her marshmallow arms were useless. Part of her—a larger part than she was prepared to admit—wanted to wrap herself around him and leave. Go to that surprising home of his and make love to him. Be made love to by him.
But again, he showed this surprising understanding—this heartbreaking empathy—and stepped back, granting her some distance.
He grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and handed it to her, giving her a second to pull herself back from that surprising cliff.
Half the glass went down in one swallow, something she’d regret when it hit her empty stomach, but it gave her the chance to get her feet back under her.
And once she did and the walls crept back into place, she remembered how she’d been duped.
“Wait a second. You’re behind the New School?”
He held out his arms. “Surprise.”
“Did you send the invite?”
“I didn’t lick the stamp—”
“You could have told me.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Yesterday in my dressing room.”
“If I had told you, you never would have come.”
There was no point in denying it. Because with forewarning, she would have done anything to circumvent this unwelcome attraction. And she thought he understood that. He was supposed to be playing by her rules.
This couldn’t be happening between them. Not now. There was too much that would be ruined if they were to take their tentative reconciliation any further.
The show.
Her identity.
“I told you we aren’t getting back together, Billy. Ever.”
“I know.”
“You say those words, but look at what you’re doing.” She gestured to the ice sculpture, the black-tie waiters, the glittering women and handsome men. “You keep trying. You keep pushing. The same old Billy.”
How foolish she’d been to think that she could keep her distance with him standing right next to her. Arm’s length? What nonsense.
She could lose weight, change her hair and her name, but none of it mattered. If Billy was around, she got sucked back into his orbit. A willing moon to his life.
It wasn’t him.
It was her. She was the one who couldn’t be trusted.
“I need to leave.” She put her glass down, and without looking at him again, she left.
This was not how this night was supposed to go, Billy thought.
She was walking out.
Before she got too far, he stepped in front of her—not touching her, because that wouldn’t go well, but forcing her to stop. She huffed, her long hair blowing back.
“Listen. You can leave, but I want to answer your question. I invited you because … I’ve been thinking that you might be right about somethin
g.”
Her laugh was loud and round. Several men turned their way, interested speculation in their eyes when they looked at her. A beautiful woman with a laugh like that? Priceless. He wanted to kick them.
“You think I’m right? That’s a first,” she said.
“I don’t know you. Not really. Not Madelyn Cornish.” As he talked, she sobered. It was as if she’d dropped her mask for a moment. And he saw her—the real her—nervous and worried but pleased, somehow, even though she didn’t want to be. “And I want to know you. I really do.”
“So you sent me a ticket to a charity fund-raiser, dressed up in a tux, and braved my anger, just to get to know me?”
“I know, I amaze myself sometimes. But you amaze me all of the time. My whole life, I’ve been grateful for the chance to be with you and now isn’t any different. I want to know you, Maddy. The real you. Not the reflection of me you were for so long.”
She was gaping at him and he pulled back, suddenly brutally uncomfortable with all that he’d said. But it was honest. He could stand by it, even if she walked away, he could say he went down trying.
“Stay,” he said. “Please. Think of the poor kids.”
“Oh! Cheap shot, Wilkins.”
“I’m a desperate man.”
She blew a raspberry, letting him know what she thought of his desperation. Those men looked over again and he glared at them.
And he waited, aging a year with every second.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I’ll stay. For a while.”
“I’ll take it.” He resisted the impulse to fist pump and take a victory lap.
A waiter went by with a tray of champagne flutes and he grabbed two and handed her one. “You look beautiful, by the way. I always liked you in purple.”
“You liked me in anything,” she laughed. “But thank you.” She pressed a hand to her waist and tilted her head; her hair, brown and gold and red, picked up the low lights and gleamed. “You look … amazing.”
“You think?” He ran a hand down the snowy white shirt, preening for her.
“Tam created a monster, didn’t he?” she asked. “You and clothes, who would have guessed?”
“Not me.”
Another waiter went by, this time carrying little cracker things with black stuff on them. He grabbed two of them and handed her one.
“You like caviar?” she asked as he threw the whole hors d’oeuvre in his mouth and began to chew.
No. Decidedly no.
“Is that what that is?” he asked around the disgusting salty ball things, which weren’t delicious at all.
Laughing, she handed him a napkin. “You gotta stop just puttin’ stuff in your mouth.”
Turning his back to the crowd, he spit out the caviar into the napkin.
“Are you hungry for something else?” he asked, happier than he’d been in years because she was here and laughing. He was giddy with memory and delight. “There’s some shrimp and I know how much you like shrimp—”
“I’m fine.”
“You sure? Because there are these crab cakes going around that are seriously delicious.” He craned his neck, looking for one of the waiters with the crab cakes.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Are you lying?” he asked. “Because … you look great, don’t get me wrong, but you’re … skinny. Seriously, very skinny.”
“Wow. How could I possibly take that the wrong way?”
“No. I’m just—maybe it’s just one of the things about you that’s so different now.”
“Billy, I’m on television five mornings a week. If I gain three pounds, it’s all over the Internet. I’ve worked hard to look like this. It’s a part of my job.”
Man, that caviar taste was not going away. He took a sip of champagne and tried to pretend he liked that, too.
“Did … did you always want to be on television?”
“Not television. Not exactly. But I wanted to be a journalist. Remember?”
He nodded. He did. Her career, her passion for writing, had been one of the things that had gotten left by the wayside when his career took off. She’d traveled with him as much as she could at the beginning. And then her dad had gotten sick, and that had started to eat up the rest of her time. That was when the fighting had started.
“I’m … I’m really sorry I didn’t support you more with that. I knew you wanted to go to school, and I was … I was selfish, wanting you on the road with me.”
They just looked at each other, the events of the past a winding line of dominoes long since toppled.
“Well, in the end you did. The divorce settlement paid for my tuition.” She drained the rest of her champagne.
“I’m glad something good came out of it.”
“Are you bullshitting me right now, Billy? Because,” she dropped her voice, “I’m already sleeping with you.”
“I told you, I want to get to know the new you.” He brushed her wrist with his thumb and felt the ripples in the air around them. It was powerful, what they shared—the attraction, past and present.
He wanted to ask her if she’d ever felt this way with another man, but he wasn’t sure he could handle the answer if it was “yes.”
Because no other woman came close to affecting him the way she did.
She made him want to be better. And she made him regret every single time he fell short. And that had happened a lot in the years of her absence.
She pulled her hand from his, rubbing her wrist as if to wipe away the sensation. They couldn’t keep standing here like this. People, namely Tara Jean, were going to start staring. He set his nearly full glass of champagne down on the table. “Let’s go cause some damage at the silent auction.”
She seemed to be in the process of solving a difficult equation. As if having fun with him at the silent auction might be some unsolvable mistake.
But then that wrinkle between her eyes vanished and her smile spread across her face like a brand new day, and he had to suck in a breath at her beauty. “Let’s go.”
There had been a surfeit of champagne. A plethora. And that wasn’t Maddy’s style. Nope. Not anymore. Champagne had calories. Lots of them. Delicious, delicious calories.
And now, tipsy, unable to drive, all she wanted was french fries.
She stood out in front of the Four Seasons, her green pashmina slipping over her shoulders, letting the warm Texas breeze travel across her skin like a sigh. Her skin felt alive tonight. She wanted to open her arms and feel everything.
The doormen were handling cabs and she waited for her turn, smiling at the young valets, who tried to flirt with her in Spanish.
“You shouldn’t encourage them,” a voice whispered over her shoulder and she nearly closed her eyes in relief.
Billy.
Toward the end of the night, when things started to get fuzzy, when her loneliness became too heavy to carry, she’d avoided him. Because she was a little drunk and he’d been … he’d been so fun. So silly and charming and she found herself wondering if maybe he was different after all. If maybe she was wrong to hold all those crimes against him. They’d been young after all. Neither of them without blame.
And she knew, in the sober part of her brain, that those thoughts were dangerous. They were best left … unthought. And frankly, she was slightly scared of being this loose around him, this weak.
Billy made his livelihood taking advantage of weaknesses.
She should have left at the beginning of the night.
But at the same time she was so glad she’d stayed.
Because more than french fries, she wanted Billy.
“You need a ride?” he asked, taking his keys from the valet and slipping the guy a tip.
“I can take a cab.”
His eyes burned through the night, all coy flirtation gone. All the careful boundaries they’d established and adhered to all night eradicated.
The pashmina slipped from her limp fingers, trailing on the g
round.
“Let’s go, Maddy,” he breathed, winding the pashmina in his arms, uncovering her as he did it. It was as if he were unwrapping her—a present. And then he slipped a hand under her elbow and led her over to where his car crouched at the curb. Not his SUV, but an erotic, low-slung sporty beast.
Even his car looked like sex.
He opened the passenger door for her, waiting until she slipped in before giving her back the pashmina and shutting the door.
The car was small and dark and intimate. And it smelled like Billy—and when she took a breath, the air tasted like him, too.
This was a very very big mistake but she couldn’t really get herself to care.
After all, she did need a ride home.
The car roared to life and he shifted it into gear, his legs flexing under the material of his lovely tux. She rolled down the window, letting the Texas night inside.
“Congrats on your boat.” She tipped her head against the headrest to watch him. The street lamps and car lights illuminated his face in flashes and slices, vivid and jagged.
“Oh my God,” he groaned. “That was totally your fault.”
“Hardly.” She laughed, resting her hand out the window ledge where the wind, that soft air, feathered over her skin.
She felt so alive—on this night, with this man, the possibilities all around them like magic.
“You told me the guy I was bidding against was going to call it My Fair Lady. It would have been a crime for that boat to be called something so stupid.”
“What will you do with it?”
“Give it to Luc and TJ, I guess.” He checked his mirrors, flipped on his blinker and shifted again. She wanted to trace the muscles of his leg under those pants. “An engagement gift, for whenever they get around to that.”
“I liked Tara Jean.”
“I’m sure you did. You two are a lot alike.”
She crossed her legs and leaned toward him, aware of how he was watching her when he wasn’t watching the road. “Coach Hornsby seems nice, too.”
“I suppose he is.” In the years they’d been together she’d run into that tone of voice before. He didn’t want to talk about the coach.
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