First Loves: A Loveswept Contemporary Romance

by Stone, Jean

  “Go back to bed, Robert. I’m sure one of the girls has locked herself out.” But he remained in place. Chivalrous Robert. The perfect husband.

  Without peering through the frosted glass, Alissa pulled open the door. It wasn’t one of the girls. It was Danny Gordon. She caught her breath.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded.

  Danny shrugged. “I believe I was summoned.”

  “Alissa?” Robert again, from the balcony.

  She waved a hand at him. “It’s all right, Robert. Go back to bed.” Robert hesitated a moment, then walked back to his room, the look of a rejected lover on his face.

  “Are you going to make me stand outside?” Danny asked.

  Alissa glared at him. “How did you get my address?”

  Danny stepped past her into the foyer. “I’m a private investigator, remember?”

  She’d have slapped him across the face if he weren’t so damned sexy looking in his rumpled denim shirt and tight jeans. He wore, she noticed, custom-made cowboy boots. She wondered if he owned any sexless shoes.

  “Do come in, Mr. Gordon,” she said coldly, and motioned him into the study.

  He tossed his briefcase onto the sofa and sat down, folding his arms across his chest, a smug grin on his face.

  “By all means, make yourself at home,” Alissa said. “Then tell me what the hell you’re doing here in the middle of the night.”

  “I told you. I was summoned.”

  “A more civilized person would have waited until morning.”

  He smiled that slightly crooked smile. “I suppose.”

  Alissa sighed and sat beside him on the sofa. She was aware of her flesh tingling beneath her nightgown. Too bad this man is off-limits, she thought. Too bad he’s not interested in me. Too bad he’s hot for Meg. Well, she certainly wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that being this close to him made her crazy with lust. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of anything, even of guessing that having him show up unannounced, at this time of night, had taken her completely off guard.

  “Well, the fact of the matter is you’re here, and it’s about time. Let’s get started, shall we?”

  Danny took a small notebook from his briefcase. “You said you felt I should go to his family.”

  “Yes. Jay’s aunt sits on several boards with me. I’m sure she must know where he is.”

  Danny raised an eyebrow. “You never thought to ask her?”

  “One doesn’t ask questions like that of the Stockwells.”

  “I see. So how do you suggest I go about it?”

  “You’re the damned investigator. You figure it out.”

  “Well, you seem to be pretty good at telling me how you think I should do my job.”

  Alissa stood up and walked to the bar. “Would you care for a brandy, Mr. Gordon?” She pulled out the stopper of the Waterford decanter and poured the dark amber liquid into a small snifter, pleased with herself that she kept her robe tightly closed, her inclination to seduce him in check.

  “What happened to ‘Danny’?” He was standing behind her now, so close she could feel his warm breath on the back of her neck. Alissa hadn’t heard him approach. She froze.

  “Would you care for a brandy, Danny?” she whispered, feeling her self-imposed shield begin to crumble, savoring the scent of foreplay in the room.

  “No, thanks,” he said.

  She turned around. He was strolling back to the sofa. Was he driving her crazy on purpose? She leaned against the bar and swirled the brandy in the glass. She wasn’t going to fall for his bullshit.

  “His family’s offices are downtown,” Alissa said. “But you won’t get past the receptionist. Especially looking like that.” She nodded toward his body.

  “Stockwell Media Group has a dress code?”

  “Stockwell Media Group has principles,” she retorted.

  “It would probably be better for me to start with the aunt, anyway. I seem to have better luck with women.”

  Alissa took a sip of her brandy. It burned her throat. “I’m sure you’re right,” she said.

  They stared at each other a moment. Suddenly the doors to the study opened. “Oh, Mother, you’re …” Michele stood in the doorway, looking at Danny. “Oh. Sorry.”

  Alissa frowned. “Michele. This is Mr. Gordon. We’re working on a project together.”

  Michele didn’t look convinced. “Oh. Hello. Well, good night, Mother.” She closed the door.

  “A lovely girl,” Danny said.

  “My oldest.”

  “She looks like her mother.”

  “She’s only eighteen.”

  “She looks older.”

  “Don’t get any ideas.”

  Danny smiled. “I think you have a distorted image of me, Alissa.”

  “I doubt it. Now, where were we?”

  He crossed one leg; the hem of his jeans crawled up his boots. God, Alissa thought. What is it about those boots that makes me so crazy? He moved his ankle. The leather creaked.

  “I believe we decided I must start with Jay’s aunt.”

  She took another swallow of brandy. “Yes. I can give you her address.”

  “No need. I already have it.”

  “Oh.”

  “It’s my job, remember?” He flashed that slightly crooked smile and ran a hand through his loosely tangled, so-goddamn-sexy-looking hair.

  Alissa set down her glass. If she had to stand there another minute, naked beneath her robe with only the coolness of satin and lace kissing her flesh—if she had to stand there another minute, sensing his teeming testosterone, breathing his animal scent—if she had to stand there another minute, she would lose her fucking mind. She resecured the sash of her robe.

  “What I remember,” she said, “is that I hired you to find Jay Stockwell. I expect an update by tomorrow evening. Now, good night, Mr. Gordon. Shall I see you to the door, or can you let yourself out?”

  They met at a bar in the Underground the following evening. It was a dark, lively place, tucked in the back of Kenny’s Alley, where Alissa often came when she didn’t want to be seen by anyone she knew. Her crowd rarely came to the Underground: it was too trendy, too touristy, too cluttered with artsy-fartsy types who got off on the push carts and street musicians and the overpriced boutiques and antique shops, and who munched on New Orleans–style beignets as they sipped café au lait and wondered why they didn’t have such a campy shopping district underneath the streets of their hometowns. They were the same people who bought the wares to support Atlanta’s homeless.

  When Danny had phoned late that afternoon to tell her he had some information, Alissa had quickly suggested this place. She didn’t want Robert spying on her; she didn’t want Danny eyeing her daughter again.

  “So what do you have?” Alissa asked as she slid into the booth and faced him.

  “An interesting place you picked,” Danny said as he ignored her question and waved his hand toward the sepia prints of the old-time saloons and livery stables that lined the walls—places that had stood on this spot in the late nineteenth century, long before old Atlanta it was relegated, then preserved, beneath the pavement.

  “I didn’t ask you to meet me here to expand your cultural horizons,” Alissa said. “Why don’t you just tell me what you found out.”

  He drank slowly from a beer mug, then wiped the corners of his mouth. “Not a lot. His aunt hasn’t heard from him in two years.”

  “You brought me down here to tell me this? You call this information?”

  Danny held up his hand. She noticed he wore the same shirt he’d had on last night. She wondered if he’d slept in it. A vision of Danny sleeping, naked, suddenly crept into her mind. She pushed it away.

  “I do have information,” he said. “As of two years ago Jay Stockwell was in Shanghai.”

  “China?”

  “That’s the only one I know of.”

  “Very funny. How did you find out?”<
br />
  He shook his head. “Sorry. Professional secrets cannot be revealed.”

  “You’re a pain in the ass, do you know that?”

  He smiled. She felt herself melt a little. Damn him. “Yeah,” he said. “So I’m told.”

  She wished she’d worn something other than the black turtleneck and jeans. With her black heels on, Alissa feared she looked too sexy. She feared Danny would get the wrong idea. Or would it be the right one? Even if Meg was sleeping with him, what the hell, it’s not as though Meg was an old friend. It’s not as though Meg had ever done anything for Alissa. Except introduce her to Danny.

  She looked past his thick lashes into those incredible eyes. With no Grant Wentworth in her life, Alissa was beginning to feel horny. She needed a good lay. She suspected Danny would be a great one. Better than a dream, anyway.

  She lit a cigarette. “What do you do next?”

  “Next, I go back to New York.”

  A flutter bobbed in her stomach. “Why New York? Why not Shanghai?”

  Danny laughed. “I’ve told you, I don’t know how many times, that I’m a busy man. I’ve got responsibilities back in the city.”

  Alissa sat back. “So that’s it? This is all I get for my money? Christ. I should have hired a real detective.”

  Danny put the mug to his lips again. “You did. One you can trust, remember? Hey, do you want a glass of wine or something?”

  “No. I don’t think I’ll be staying.”

  He took a drink. “Suit yourself. But I tried to warn you. This is going to take a little time.”

  Alissa felt tears well in her eyes. “I don’t have much time,” she said quietly.

  Danny set down his mug and gazed at her. “What’s the rush?”

  She couldn’t believe a tear was running down her cheek. Alissa quickly brushed it away with her hand, hoping he hadn’t noticed it. “I want to find him so I can get on with things,” she said. “Believe it or not, I do have a life to live.”

  “I noticed. I assume that was your husband standing on the balcony last night.”

  “Yes.” She couldn’t say more. She was afraid another tear would fall.

  “Does he know you’re looking for Jay Stockwell?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but, yes, he does.”

  Danny nodded. “Now, that’s interesting.”

  An odd desire to defend Robert—or maybe to defend herself—crept into her. “Robert and I lead rather separate lives.”

  “I would have expected that was frowned upon in your social circle.” His words, she knew, were meant to mock her. But that crooked smile of his precluded offense. That crooked little smile. The one that defied manipulation. The one she’d give anything to see while his hands caressed her body.

  She took a long drag on her cigarette and fingered a napkin on the table. “Maybe I will have that glass of wine.”

  Danny motioned to the waiter. “Wine,” he said. “Chardonnay.”

  The waiter left. “How do you know if that’s what I wanted?”

  “I didn’t figure you for the Chablis type. Or the burgundy. And those are probably the only choices here.”

  She looked past those thick lashes again, deep into those eyes. “We don’t have to stay here,” she said.

  He palmed the outside of his mug. “What did you have in mind?”

  She smiled. “That depends.”

  He smiled. “On what?”

  She put out her cigarette. “On where you’re staying.”

  Danny drained the beer. “Actually,” he said, “I’ve got a reservation on the eleven o’clock flight back to New York.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Tonight.”

  Alissa refused to allow her expression to falter. “I see.”

  “Besides,” Danny added, “I never mix business with pleasure.”

  Her face flamed. Bastard, she thought. God. He really is a bastard. “And just what did you think I was suggesting, Mr. Gordon?”

  He shrugged. “Nothing in particular. But I didn’t want you to think I take advantage of my clients.”

  “Does that go for Meg Cooper, as well?”

  He twirled his empty mug. So. She had struck a nerve.

  “You know, Danny,” Alissa said smugly, “Meg hasn’t exactly been up front with me. Now I think I understand why.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I think that maybe her past obsession—her long-lost lover—isn’t anyone famous at all. I think the man she thinks she should have married may very well be you.”

  His voice grew soft. “I didn’t realize Meg was looking for someone, too.”

  “Of course you did. You’re not a fool.”

  Danny remained silent.

  The waiter delivered her wine. Alissa looked at the glass, picked up her purse, and stood up. “Call me when you find Jay Stockwell,” she said. “And not before.”

  11

  “Why won’t you tell me where you’re going?” Scott’s words resounded with a mixture of concern and whine.

  Zoe tried not to look at him as she folded a sweatshirt and placed it in her suitcase. It was the end of May, but she knew it could still be cold in Minnesota.

  “I told you,” she said, trying to minimize her irritation, “it doesn’t matter. I’ll be back in a few days.”

  “You just got home.”

  “That was different. I was at that spa.”

  “Why was it different? Gone is gone.”

  She tucked a flannel nightgown in under the sweatshirt. “You’d better get used to this. If I’m going to work again, I might have to take off now and then.”

  “I want to come, too.”

  Zoe sighed and zipped the suitcase closed. She turned to Scott, still not used to the fact that he was now a full two inches taller than she and she now had to look up at him. And the fact that, with his fair complexion, light eyes, and maturing physique, he resembled Eric more and more every day. She wondered if he would break some girl’s heart, the way Eric had broken hers. “Can’t you simply trust me? I’ll be back before you know it. I promise. Besides, you should be studying for final exams.”

  Scott frowned. “I’m smart enough. I don’t need to study. Please, Mom. I want to come.”

  Zoe tugged the suitcase off the bed and set it on the floor. “No.”

  He paced the room. “Then at least tell me where you’re going. I have a right to know.”

  Fourteen was such a difficult year. Too old to be treated as a child; too young to be considered grown-up. And yet, with all Scott had been through—a mother who had barely nurtured him the first two years of his life, and now the loss of the man he’d called Father—he was perhaps more of an adult than Zoe chose to admit. She knotted the silk scarf at her neck. “You’re right, Scott. You do have a right to know where I’m going. But I’m not ready to tell you.”

  He shuffled his feet and stared at the floor. “Then let me go with you to the airport.”

  “No. Marisol is going to drop me off at the door.”

  He threw up his hands. “Mom! What’s with all this cloak-and-dagger stuff? Let me at least go to the airport!”

  Zoe smiled. “So you can follow me inside to see what flight I take? Really, Scott, you’re making far too much of this. You’re the one who’s turning it into ‘cloak-and-dagger stuff.’ Now, please,” she said, motioning to the large suitcase on the floor. “Take this out to the car. I’ll get my carry-on.” It was her carry-on bag that was important: that was the one that held the blond wig and the large round sunglasses.

  He leaned down and picked up the suitcase. “You know something, Mom? I don’t think I’m going to like your being a star.”

  Zoe felt a pang of guilt. Why was she leading Scott to believe this sudden trip had something to do with her career? Why couldn’t she just tell him about Eric once and for all? Not yet, she commanded herself. Wait until you get home. After all, Eric might choose to ignore her. There might be no need for Scott eve
r to know about his real father.

  She reached up and ruffled his hair. “You’re going to love my being a star. We’re going to have a wonderful life again.”

  Scott started out the bedroom door. “I don’t know how it can ever be wonderful again without Dad.”

  Zoe watched him go, and for the first time she wondered if perhaps it would be best to leave things alone, to forget about trying to find Eric, to avoid upsetting Scott, Marisol—and herself—any more than they already were. But things aren’t the same anymore, she reminded herself. They can never be the same again. William is gone, and you’re on your own. It’s time to put the pieces of your life back together. And fast.

  “When was the last time we kept a secret from each other?” Marisol asked as she wheeled the car off the exit ramp toward the airport.

  “Please, not you, too. I’ve already been through this with Scott.”

  “I’m not your son. I’m your best friend. The one you tell everything to, remember?”

  “Then you should know me well enough to leave me alone on this.” She wished she could be as manipulative as Alissa. Zoe was sure that when it came time to find Jay Stockwell, Alissa would find a way to go through the motions deftly, with no one the wiser. Or Meg. Lucky Meg. She had no one to answer to, no one to be accountable to for her whereabouts. She wondered how Meg’s evening with her man had turned out. Perhaps Zoe hadn’t heard from her again because Meg hadn’t wanted to gloat. Or to tell Zoe anything that would discourage her from doing what she was about to do.

  “Does it have to do with the movie?” Marisol asked.

  “No. Other than the fact that I’m going stir-crazy waiting for an answer and I need to get out of this town.”

  “Does it have to do with raising money?”

  “Marisol, please …”

  “I told you, I have some money left. If this has to do with money …”

  “It doesn’t have to do with money.”

  “You’re worried about Scottie’s school, aren’t you?”

  “What?”

  “You’re worried that you won’t be able to afford to send him to private school in the fall. You’re worried he’ll have to go to public school.”