What Are You Doing New Year's Eve? Chapter Eleven
One o'clock in the morning.
"You're kidding me, right, Mom? I just navigated home in the worst ice storm Henderson's ever had and you want me to go back there?" Wilder was incredulous. "For a damned mink stole? What happened to worrying about me all the time? Wouldn't it worry you to send me back out in this mess?"
"You were in the Air Force in Iraq for three years," she replied mildly. "And as you've reminded me countless times, you can pilot fighter jets and navigate space shuttles. I think you can manage to drive four miles in an ice storm in an SUV. "
Wilder just gaped at her. She was dressed in a fluffy pink bathrobe, holding a glass of wine. And Rick was standing behind her, in sweats and a sweatshirt. He looked very comfortable-as opposed to Wilder, who was still in his tux, sans his very sexy date, and once again alone on New Year's Eve. And he'd just driven home on a sheet of ice.
"It's a mink stole, Mom. How could you forget a mink stole? It'll still be there tomorrow. I'll go back first thing in the morning. "
But she gave him a mutinous look. "Someone might take it. Do you know how much those things cost? And Rick gave it to me for Christmas. . . I've only had it for a week! I forgot it because they were rushing us out the door because the roads were getting bad. "
He still couldn't believe her insistence. Why the hell didn't she send Rick to get it? Then he looked at the older man and realized exactly why she wanted him out of the house. And all of a sudden, he was fine with not being in the same building while his mom and her boyfriend were. . . doing whatever. Spanks. He shuddered. "Fine. I'll go. But if I end up in the ditch, you're coming to dig me out," he told her. "And don't expect me back soon. It'll take at least fifteen minutes to get there. If I don't go off the damned road. "
He slammed out the door, leaving Rick and his mother watching in his wake.
"What if there's no one there to let him in?" Rick asked, rubbing a hand down her spine. He had that look in his eyes, and Sandra Wilder knew what that meant.
"Oh, there's someone there," she replied, smiling up at him.
He lifted an eyebrow. "Apparently there's something you're not telling me. Well, at any rate, we might want to get busy. . . before he returns. "
She shook her head and linked her arm through his. "We have all the time in the world. He won't be back tonight. "
***
The only good thing about being sent back out in the sleek, slippery, dark night was that Wilder had something on which to focus his mind.
Unfortunately, aside from the hair-raising drive, his thoughts weren't terribly pleasant.
First was the fact that Laney had seen him kissing Tess, which just went to prove that Tess Devine really was his New Year's Eve curse. The gift that just kept on giving. He didn't even try to explain to his date-it was moot. She had a right to be furious, and she didn't give a damn about any bet or curse or anything else.
He knew this because he got an earful all the way back to her house. Which took a lot longer than usual because of the weather. . . which made for an even more unpleasant, tense trip.
He wasn't thinking about kissing Tess, though the hot memory fought him at the edges of his mind. That was one thing he needed to keep out of his thoughts. But that didn't mean he wasn't remembering every other damn New Year's Eve she'd ruined.
Like last year. She'd emailed him, wishing him a Happy New Year. A chatty message, a hey-how're-ya-doing message. Would love to see you kind of thing. He was in Florida, at a party with a date he was sort of into, fully aware Tess was married-and it still screwed his evening because he couldn't help but wonder. . . and that fubarred his night.
When Wilder pulled into the parking lot at the Club, he wasn't surprised to find it empty. He figured that would be the case, but-wait. There was one car. And a dim light from the depths of the building.
Well, maybe he'd get the mink stole after all. At least he'd have something to keep him warm if he ended up in the ditch on the way home-a definite possibility, based on the number of 360s he'd done on the way here.
He trudged through the sleet and ice, nearly falling on his ass because he was still wearing his damned dress shoes. When he passed by the car and noticed the New York license plates, he nearly fell again because he stopped so fast.
Really? What were the chances?
Actually, pretty damn high. And not just because of the curse thing. Tess always stayed late because she arranged for the entertainment, and hung around to pay them and make sure they got packed up. But what the hell was she still doing here?
Unless. . . maybe she went home with someone else and left her car here. That was probably the case. But he better check anyway.
He relaxed a little and went on toward the Club, expecting to find the door locked and nobody home. Wrong. The door was unlocked and, heart beating, palms ridiculously damp, he let himself in.
Everything was silent and dark except for the faint light spilling from the back of the Club and a quiet rumbling sound. Remnants from the party littered the place because, apparently, even the staff had left early. An ice storm in Henderson was nothing to sneeze at-even though his mother thought it was a walk in the park.
Confetti, champagne flutes (empty and half-filled), chairs in disarray, hats and horns and balloons. . . geesh. The crew was going to have their work cut out for them when they returned tomorrow. Although it looked as if most of the food was put away. And the band, he noticed, had packed up, for the stage was empty.
Following the glow of light and the rumbling noise, Wilder headed toward the back, where the spa and lounges were. . . and then he recognized the sound. A bubbling hot tub.
He stopped, wary. But he had to know for certain. Years ago, there'd been that flood. Who knew if the ice storm tonight had caused the pipes to burst and there was another mess that Tess was trying to clean up. On her own.
"Hello?" he called, figuring it was best to announce himself. . . just in case. "Anyone here?"
He heard a splash as he approached the entrance to the spa area and hesitated. "Hello?" He peered around the corner and froze at the sight that greeted him. Well. That was a titillating image if he'd ever seen one.
"Wilder! What are you doing here?" Tess lowered the gun she'd been pointing in his direction, and set it on the edge of the hot tub next to her.
But, honestly, he hardly noticed the weapon. Instead, he was looking at her. . . at his accursed Tess: all flushed and glowing and damp from the hot tub bubbling and foaming around her. The fact that her shoulders were bare and her red gown was slung over a chair told him his teen-aged fantasies had come true. . . sort of. (A gun had never figured into them when he was seventeen. )
Her hair was still up, all different shades of golden curls and braids, just beginning to sag. He could see that fascinating freckle right next to the hollow of her throat and thought it was one of the most provocative things he'd ever seen. She wore something red and glittery at her ears, and the wide diamond cuff around her wrist. . . and, he was pretty sure, nothing else.
In that moment, a strange sense of inevitability settled over him.
"So. . . waiting for someone to join you?" he managed to say, noticing six champagne bottles lined up on the edge of the hot tub. Corks littered the floor and the room smelled like champagne. A single crystal flute rested next to her, filled with the sparkling, straw-colored vintage. "Brooks, maybe?" He made his voice casual and easy, but the very thought sent a shaft of deep, dark anger shooting through him. Better get the hell out of here, Wilder.
"Hell no," she replied. To his consternation, she seemed utterly at ease. It blew his frigging mind. "But, you know. . . it could've been you, Johnny Wilder. " She lifted the flute in a silent toast, then drank.
"Right. " The single syllable came out low and barely audible. Because by now, he was seriously thinking about getting out of his clothes and joining her. He looked away and his eyes
fell on her shimmery red dress, along with an unidentifiable flesh-colored article of clothing that wasn't a bra, a sparkling handbag, and her tall, elegant gold shoes. "You going to leave those there all night?"
"There are robes here. This is the spa, you know," she said, gesturing to a fluffy one hanging over a chair on the other side. "Besides, I'm not putting those damn Spanx on again tonight-and I can't get back in my dress without them. "
"Spanks?" Finally, he understood. That nude-colored thing must be some sort of undergarment. He couldn't hold back a grin. "My mom claims it takes her ten minutes to get hers on. Is that normal?"
She hooted in delight, a big belly laugh. Her nose crinkled up and her eyes lit and her beautiful, lipstick-free mouth was wide and filled with merriment. Wilder felt a wave of something sad and hot and uncomfortable rush over him. . . especially when she moved sharply and he caught a hint of breast bobbing beneath the rumbling water.
"I don't know what's normal, but it's a pain in the ass. I heard, though, that Beyonce wears two pairs," she told him, still laughing.
"So. . . what's with the gun?" he said, settling on the edge of the hot tub a safe distance away. . . but next to where her red-painted toenails occasionally bobbed to the surface. Do not think about what else is below that water. "And what are you doing here? Alone?"
"Grab a glass," she said, making a gesture toward the kitchen. "I'll tell you the whole sordid story. But let me start by saying: My Damned Aunt Helen!"
He vaguely remembered the iron-haired lady with the sharp fingernails and violent walking stick. In fact, he'd seen her and his mother in animated conversation shortly after midnight, just as he and an irate Laney were leaving. Something nudged the back of his mind, but he put it away for now. Much more important things at hand. Like keeping his wits about him.
Instead of going to get a glass, he reached for the nearest open bottle of champagne. It was empty. He started to grab the next one, but she waved him off.
"They're all empty except this one," she said, gesturing to the one beside her.
"My God, did you drink them all?" She should be loaded.
"No," she giggled. "I poured them in here. I've always wanted a champagne bath. Bubbling bubbly!"
He couldn't hold back his own laugh. "Tess. . . my God, you are a piece of work. "
"That's what I'm told. " She waved again. "There were a lot left over this year because everyone went home early-and I used the cheaper ones, not the fifty-dollar ones. Daddy won't care. " She grinned cheekily. "He's just happy to have me home. I'm stuck here, so I might as well celebrate. "
"Celebrate what?"
"A new life. My divorce. Leaving the stage. Doing something that means something-to me. " She was beaming and glowing, clearly at peace with herself. . . and he felt something shift inside, at his core. . . just as it had years ago. Ka-blam.
Only this time he knew what it meant. That sense of kismet prickled at him. "So what are you still doing here? Are you going to tell me or what? You can never get to the point, can you?"
"Sure, but. . . first, what are you doing here? Why aren't you with your. . . very sexy date?" She said these last few words in a breathy, teasing whisper, then waggled her eyebrows.
"As it happens," he said, thinking even more seriously about getting out of his clothes and sliding into the hot, rumbling water, "she saw something that pissed her off quite a bit. "
"Oh dear. " Tess clearly tried to adopt a sober expression, but a glint of levity danced in her eyes. "Did she see you manhandling me up against the wall, kissing the shit out of me? Or was it someone else you were mauling?"
"Jesus, Tess," he breathed, "are you sure you didn't drink all those bottles of champagne?" His pulse was pounding and other parts of him, which had been more than mildly interested in the situation, rocketed to attention. So I kissed the shit out of her, did I?
"Well, that's what you did. Quite effectively I might add. Cheers. " She lifted her glass then shook her head. "If you'd played your cards right, you might be in here" -she splashed the water with a firm hand, giving him a flash of breast- "right now. "
"So," he said, thinking of the old J. Geils song "Trying Not to Think About It", "I took her home. It wasn't a very pleasant drive. "
"No. I'm sure it wasn't. "
"Then I got home and my mom sent me back out in this frigging mess to come and get the mink stole that she left here. "
Tess raised her brows and her nose crinkled. "I didn't see any mink stoles, and I was looking all over the place. . . because I couldn't find my purse. That's why I'm here. "
"Isn't that your bag over there?"
"No," she said with a flash of exasperation. "That's my Aunt Helen's pocketbook. That's the problem. I think she must have taken mine by mistake, because they look similar. And the old bat has bad eyesight, even though she claims she doesn't. Mine had not only my keys, but also my cell phone in it. So I couldn't call anyone to come and get me when I realized I didn't have my keys. "
"But-are you telling me whoever was here at the end left you without walking you out to your car?" He was outraged. "Who the hell would leave a woman here alone on a night like this?"
She looked at him seriously. "I know, right?" She rolled her eyes. "It was Ringlee, the lead singer-he was hot to get home with his latest groupie, and he thought I was right behind him. I thought I was too until I got outside and realized I didn't have the right handbag. But at least I did have this. " She picked up the petite gun, waving it around energetically. "Apparently, since she helped solve a murder back home in Maine, Aunt Helen fancies herself quite the detective. "
"Right," he drawled. "You do know that's not a real gun. "
She rolled her eyes. "Of course I do. But you didn't until you got a closer look at it, and what else was I going to do? Stuck here alone? Anyone could have come in. "
"But why didn't you call from the Club's phone? Or is the line down from the ice storm?"
"No, I called. . . but. Well. I don't actually know anyone's cell phone numbers-they're all in my phone. The only number I know by heart is Mom and Dad's home phone. And Aunt Helen answered and all I could hear was her screeching 'What? I can't hear you! Speak up! The lines must be screwy!' I called a couple times, but the same thing happened. So I figured. . . I'm stranded here overnight, but at least I have champagne and food. . . and a hot tub. "
"Right. "
Her foot, its nails painted bloodred with some kind of sparkly stuff on top, slipped out of the water and settled on the edge next to him. It was an elegant foot, smooth and feminine and quite tiny in relation to his. And there was one small freckle, right at the base between the big toe and the first toe. Very unexpected. And ridiculously sexy.
Before he quite realized what he was doing, Wilder curled his fingers around that warm foot. "Ticklish?" he asked, glancing at her. . . and looking at the very nice calf that was now out of the water.
"Not a bit," she replied, sinking down lower so the water covered her shoulders and most of her neck. The stem of her glass was submerged in the raging water and she was watching him with those dark brown eyes. . . just watching.
The moment was surreal to him. . . something he'd fantasized about for a decade. . . and yet it no longer seemed so important. Or desperate. Or. . . earth-shattering.
It simply felt. . . right. As if some cosmic thing had happened to shift his world, his perception.
Hell. Maybe he had broken the damned curse. He smoothed his hand along the gentle curve of her instep, unable to keep from touching her now that he'd started. He caught up her foot, positioning it so the sole faced him and used his thumbs to massage the bottom.
"Mmm. . . . " she sighed, setting her glass on the edge and closing her eyes. "So what's this about a curse?"
Countdown To A Kiss A New Years Eve Anthology Page 11