Belle looked horrified at my answer.
“I know, Mirabella, I could’ve sugarcoated it for you, chérie, but I thought you deserved the unvarnished truth.”
“I’ll take a little varnish next time, if you don’t mind.”
I thought of the best way to say it. “I was very fond of her.”
“Oh damn.” She winced.
“I get now that there should have been far more intense emotions on my side. She wanted more, can’t say I blame her, and she moved on. We’ve remained friends.”
“So that’s it. That’s the big love-of-your-life story?”
Her response irritated me. “Une seconde s’il vous plait, I never said there was some great, sweeping, epic, love lost story. You wanted to know about Alexa. Now you know.”
“I guess I was expecting more drama.”
“Chérie, contrary to what you may think—I don’t run to drama. Drama does at times, most unfortunately, run to me. But I have, in fact, spent quite a lot of my life avoiding it at all costs.”
“Renee?” She slanted a glance my way.
I sat down at a small table and folded my arms across my chest. “Are you going to throw her up in my face every time you want to score a point?” Frankly, I was sick to death of the subject. I counted Renee as a mistake I made more than once out of sheer restlessness. But that was then and this is now. I couldn’t undo it, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to keep apologizing for it.
She sat down next to me. “Sorry. You’re right, darlin’, that’s not fair. It just seems like you haven’t shown the best judgment when it comes to women. Like maybe sometimes you were thinking with the little head and not the big one.”
“What man hasn’t? But really it depends on how you look at it. I never pursued a woman that didn’t show interest in me first.”
“Um . . .” She frowned.
I shot her a chiding glance. “C’mon now. You showed interest, Mirabella. We can pretend that you were a lamb led to slaughter but we both knew where this was headed from jump. I’ve never lied to a woman and told her the situation was any more than what it really was. Did I allow them to believe there were possibilities beyond what was real? Perhaps. Now, was I prolific in my enjoyment of the fairer sex? Yes. Was I sometimes too eager to move on after the initial physical hunger was slaked? Yes. But I’m always honest about it.”
She absorbed my words for a minute and then tilted her head in consideration. “What you’re saying is that it’s different with me.”
“I’m still here, n’est-ce pas?” To me it was simple. If I was with her, I was with her. If I wasn’t I’d be gone.
“You are here,” she acknowledged with a smile. “But what about when the initial physical hunger is slaked?”
“Are you seriously worried about it?” I asked incredulously.
She shrugged. “Maybe I’m just another pretty face.”
I laughed shortly. “Good thing I’m just as attracted to your mind then.”
“Isn’t that a slick answer?”
When she said things like that, I realized she wasn’t 100 percent sure of my intentions toward her. There was still a part of her who wondered if it was all just a game. I wasn’t 100 percent sure myself. The only way to find out was to stick around and show her. “Slick but true. One doesn’t negate the other, ma belle.”
“You have a point,” she conceded.
“I generally try to.”
I loved our conversations, even when she was being deliberately challenging, which she tended to do from time to time. To me, our talks were just as stimulating and satisfying as our physical interactions. One fed the body, one nurtured the mind. Heavenly Father, I’d begun waxing poetic over this woman. Maybe I was whipped. But turnabout was fair play.
“What about you, Delaney Mirabella? Who’s the man who made you decide that men are more trouble than they are worth?”
She looked startled and then she frowned. “Did I say that? I don’t think I ever said that.”
“Your actions said that. They all but screamed ‘I don’t have time for one of you trifling men to be making any moves.’ ”
She put her hand on my arm and howled with laughter. “Why, Beauregard, I should be upset that you can read me so well, but I’m tickled pink.”
“Fais attention, Belle, your deep South is showing.”
“Aw sugar, if you French it up every other sentence I can let a lil Georgia drip from my lips from time to time.”
“Fair enough. So you want to get to sharing here or on the way to Sunday dinner?”
“On the way to Sunday dinner; let’s go.”
23
Well, and So That’s That
Belle—1:41 PM the same afternoon
I had to admit, I hated talking about past relationships. It was an uncomfortably reflective process, irksome, a reminder of failure and often had very little impact on what you had going on currently. But Beau hated the “so what happened to you” conversation twenty times more than I did, and he had been unflinchingly candid.
“Katrina says we’re making everybody sick with our sex vibe,” I shared as I slid into Beau’s car and buckled up.
“I’m not sure how I feel about ma petite sœur talking about our sex vibe.”
“Worse, your sweet baby sister said we had a ‘just got laid and laid well’ vibe.”
He sent a teasing look my way before sliding on his sunglasses and starting the car. “Maybe we should look less satisfied?”
“Ha! Let ’em hate.”
He grinned and put the car into drive. We eased out into traffic and headed south.
Nothing left for me to do but tell the tale. “So I’ll make it short and sweet. I met a guy. He was a model. His name was Lucas. We got together. I thought it would last forever. I wanted a picket fence, suburbia, the whole picture. My career went ballistic in a good way; his imploded in a bad way. He took to lounging around looking pretty and feeling sorry for himself. Which wouldn’t have been too bad except for the fact that he was lounging around my apartment with other women, spending my money.”
“How déclassé.” Beau scowled.
I nodded curtly. “Quite tacky. Even worse, he tried to flip it around and make it seem like it was my fault he couldn’t keep his pants zipped.”
“And the money?”
“He would ‘borrow’ a credit card and run it up to its limit and forget to mention it until the bill came in.”
Beau winced. “Go on.”
“Apparently I forced him into this kind of behavior because I was too focused on my career and didn’t give him the time and attention he needed.”
“Did he mention that before or after he started doing random females in your bed?”
“Exactly. Nonetheless, I felt guilty for outshining him, I guess. I was young, and I felt bad that I was succeeding when he was failing.”
“Bébé, you know there was nothing you could do about that. You shouldn’t have to hide your light under some bushel for a man.”
And that right there was what I adored about Beau. He was secure enough in himself to not only let me shine but also use an old-school phrase about lights and bushels. “I know, but I thought I loved him. And, like you, I thought it was time to get married.”
He nodded in understanding.
“Anyway, when I broke it off, he turned a little nasty. I had to fight to get my keys back from him. Then he tried to blackmail me with some fake nude photos . . . it just soured me for a minute.”
“Understandable. What was his name?” Beau’s tone was deadly calm and even. Too calm.
I glanced over at him; his jaw was tight and behind the dark glasses his eyes had turned dark and stormy. “I’ll tell you, if you promise not to hunt him down and beat him up.”
“I’m a lover, not a fighter, chérie.” He fashioned a grin that didn’t match his eyes.
I snorted. “You forget I’ve seen you work out. You’re a fighter too, sugar.”
“I promise not t
o hunt him down and beat him up,” he recited grimly.
“Lucas Turner.”
His mouth turned down. “That dude?”
“Yes, that dude. I take it you know him?”
“Un peu, he’s a selfish prick.”
“Okay, you know him more than a little bit.”
“We ran in similar circles for a short period of time. I didn’t like the way he treated women; I told him, he took offense.”
My eyes were wide. The world could be a surprisingly small place sometimes. “Reading between the lines, you’re telling me that you’ve already kicked his ass.”
“Vraiment. That I did.” He looked more upset than the situation warranted.
“What’s that look on your face about?”
“You don’t think I’m him, right?” Clearly, the thought of that comparison had him agitated.
I have to admit when I first met Beau, I did think they were similar. Tall, pretty men who oozed sexuality and charisma, enjoyed women indiscriminately, and didn’t take life seriously. But beyond the oozing sex and charm, Beau was nothing like Lucas. “I did in the beginning, before I really knew you—but now I don’t. You’re nothing like him and he’s nothing like you and that’s a good thing. Lucas cared about Lucas. You care about me.”
“I do care, you know.”
“I do know.”
“Well, and so that’s that.”
“Pretty much.”
“So I’ve restored your faith in men.” He gave a smug grin.
A laugh bubbled up from my lips. “Well, I’ve definitely decided that you are worth the trouble.”
“Whew! That’s something at least.” He wiped his hand across his brow.
“Very funny. So are we good. Enough trips down memory lane?”
“Please and thank you.”
I leaned back in the seat. That wasn’t as hard as I thought it was going to be. Then again, nothing with Beau ever was.
24
Delayed Gratification
Beau—Saturday, June 19, 7:18 PM
Belle walked out of her bathroom in a dress that stopped my heart, sent my blood rushing south, and emptied my head of coherent thought. It was a long, clingy, spaghetti-strap dress in the exact same tone as her skin but shot through with metallic strands, so it appeared that she was almost naked but for the gold streaks. Her makeup was gold and copper with smoky chocolate on her eyes and lips. She looked absolutely freaking amazing. Don’t get me wrong—Delaney Mirabella was a beautiful woman. She looked good every single day without trying. But when she looked like this? You could see supermodel from every angle. She took my breath away.
“Woman, you must not want to leave this house tonight, looking like you look.” I took a step toward her.
She put a hand up. “Hold onto that thought, playboy. I just got all this makeup on; don’t bring all the sexy over here. Don’t. Bring. It. Here.”
“Merde! I already know I’m going to have to check some fool for eyeing you up.”
She beamed at me. “Yes, cuz you’re such a hag yourself.” It had become a standing joke between us.
I was wearing one of her new BellaRich for Men suits in a slim-fitting linen and silk blend. It was a well-tailored suit in a dark tan color with a slight sheen to it. A honey-colored shirt went under it. “They say the clothes make the man.”
“You know you’re wearing the hell out of that. We’ll take preorders tonight just based on all of this caramel sexy you’ve got going on.” She waved her hands around. We were headed to the launch party for BellaRich for Men. It was being held on the penthouse floor of the Stoneleigh Hotel. Even though we weren’t officially taking orders until after the show, we wanted to get the buzz going with pre-publicity. Preorders were always welcome.
“Back atcha. So let’s go get this money, chérie.”
She laughed and picked a tiny gold purse. “You crack me up. Urbane and suave one minute, rough and rowdy the next. You go from cultured to Cajun before I can blink my eyes. You’re never boring, Mr. Montgomery.”
“Guess you’ll have to keep me around until you figure me out.”
“Looks that way.” Our eyes met for a suspended moment.
The tone was casual but there was an obvious undercurrent there. A discussion needed to happen but now wasn’t the time or place to have it. I held out my hand and she stepped forward to clasp it tightly. We rode downstairs in companionable silence. When she went to walk across the parking garage, I tugged her hand to guide her in the opposite direction.
“We’re riding this evening, chérie,” I announced with a smile.
She looked at me questioningly. “What have you done?”
“The star of the show doesn’t drive herself, ma douce.” I escorted her toward a black Town Car limousine parked near the loading dock.
The driver swung the back door open. “Good evening, Mr. Montgomery, Ms. Richards. My name is Gary; it’s my honor to drive you tonight.”
“Thank you, Gary,” she murmured and slid into the car. That’s when I noticed the slit in the side of the dress.
I followed her into the car and, when Gary shut the door, I slid my hand along her silky thigh. “You are borrowing so much trouble right now, you know that?”
Her mouth curved upwards in a purely feminine way. “I thought you might like this dress. I also thought we’d try something different ce soir.”
My pulse tripped in anticipation. I was always down for whatever. Something different tonight? I was all in. “Now you’re speaking my language; what did you have in mind?”
“A lil something called delayed gratification, sugar.” She let out a peal of laughter as my face fell. “Wait, listen. You know how we are: I say something, you give me a look, and next thing you know we’re in the supply closet getting Post-it notes stuck in uncomfortable places.”
“The Post-it notes weren’t as bad as the paper clips.” Those damned paper clips were sharper than they looked.
“We at least salvaged most of the paper clips.”
“If you hadn’t shifted like that near the end, we wouldn’t have had to throw out that whole box. But to be fair, Mirabella, you issued a direct challenge, and you weren’t wearing any panties.” What was a man to do?
“I admit my culpability. I seem to have zero resistance to your many charms.”
“It’s a mutual obsession at this point,” I conceded.
“So all I’m saying is... for one night—tonight, let’s get through the evening with our drawers on.”
“And without your lip prints on mine?” I teased in a quiet voice.
She closed her eyes for a second. “You had to bring that up? I bought you another three pair, darlin’. Who knew that peach color was so hard to rinse out?”
“They call it all-day lip stain for a reason, beautiful. If you had given me a minute to get them all the way off . . .”
She cut me off. “Like you do? We are quickly approaching the point of needing a lingerie expense account.”
I shrugged. “I told you to order extra samples of those rose joints.”
“What is it about those? You’ve ripped two pair already!” she scolded.
“Have you seen yourself in that getup?” She looked like walking sin.
“Um, no, sugar, you rend them in two and have them hanging from the ceiling fan before I get the chance to catch a glimpse.”
“I did warn you.” From the moment I’d seen that pink with the rose pattern, I’d lost my damned mind. I don’t know why it affected me the way it did, but I’d given her fair warning. Come out wearing the fancy rose drawers and it was going to be on.
“So you did,” she agreed.
“Sir, madam? We’re pulling up to the venue,” Gary called out from the front seat, his face and neck bright red.
“See now, chérie, you’ve embarrassed Gary.”
She leaned forward with an apologetic smile. “I apologize, Gary. Hope we weren’t too out of pocket with our indiscreet chatter.”
&n
bsp; “Not a problem, ma’am.” Like what else was Gary going to say?
She turned back to me. “So do we have a deal?”
“Delayed gratification?” I ground out.
“Yes.”
Whatever the lady wanted. “Deal.”
She flashed a brilliant smile and squeezed my hand. “Thank you.”
“Anything for you, Belle. Je t’aime.” We both went still. I seriously had not meant to blurt out that I loved her as we were climbing out of the limo for one of the biggest nights of our professional life. I actually hadn’t really even owned the feeling yet. But there it was. Couldn’t take it back now . . . dammit, Beau.
“What . . . what does that mean?” she stuttered in a shaky voice.
I gave her one of my patented “no worries” smiles. “It’s just a term of endearment. You ready to go? Your public awaits.”
She looked into my eyes for a second and then looked outside to see light bulbs already flashing. “Okay.” She nodded, the brilliant smile back in place. “Let’s do this.”
25
This Could Get Messy
Belle—7:32 PM that same night
I smiled and nodded and said all the appropriate things walking up the red carpeted entrance to the Stoneleigh. I fielded a few intrusive questions about the nature of Beau and my “collaboration”—yes, the reporter actually used air quotes.
I watched Beau charm the hell out of male and female reporters alike; why was I surprised? We climbed into the elevator to the penthouse with the buyer from Neiman Marcus and a photographer who was doing a spread for Italian Vogue.
When we entered the penthouse, the party was in full swing. We had screens up playing the flash presentations of the new designs. Drinks were being poured and the models were working the rooms. Beau and I separated and I did a full circuit of hellos and chitchat before grabbing Katrina’s arm and pulling her into the penthouse bathroom.
She was wearing a Trés Belle tank dress in white that only the very tall and very thin could pull off. “Girl, what is it? I was chatting up the jewelry buyer from Nordstrom.”
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