by July Hall
She crossed her legs and squeezed her thigh muscles. No, it sure wasn’t doing any good to think about that.
Just then, Stephen led Rosalie out onto the floor, Craig escorted his sister, and the floor filled with people again. For a few blessed seconds, Charles and Josephine were completely out of Sandra’s field of vision.
Someone tapped her shoulder. She looked up to see Evan smiling at her. “May I have this dance?”
Well, shoot.
* * *
“It’s going beautifully,” Josephine said.
“Hmm? Oh, yes,” Charles replied. “The wedding. I think so, too.”
She blinked up at him as they danced. “You’re distracted. Thinking about business?”
He should be so lucky. “Thinking about how to dip you before you realize it.”
“Don’t you da—” Too late. He dipped her. She laughed when she came back up. “You! I still hate that, you know.”
Yes, and he was an ass for doing it, but it had distracted her. “I suppose I forgot.”
“You never forget anything.” She gave him a narrow-eyed look. Her eyes twinkled with good humor, but he knew better than to take that at face value. He tried not to sweat.
“Is business all right?” she asked. “Is Magister running into trouble?”
“Not at all. Well,” Charles amended, thinking of Hong Kong, “No more than usual. I’m looking ahead to next year.” Inspiration struck. “I’m thinking of writing a book about workflow.”
“Workflow?” Josephine rolled her eyes. “Are you going to market it to insomniacs?”
Well, that seemed uncalled-for. “I’m sure it would find an audience. Stephen had the idea.”
“I didn’t know you wrote books,” she said.
“I never have before.” He led her into a turn. “It can’t be that hard.”
She laughed. “Oh, can’t it?”
“How can it be? All the retired politicians do it.” Of course, they probably had ghostwriters. He could look into that, if he actually decided to write such an asinine thing.
“I remember I once urged you to run for office,” she said.
Oh yes, he remembered that, all right. It was a remark she’d made at some society function or other. They’d both been married then. Eleanor had been horrified at the thought of being a politician’s wife. Charles had pointed out that he was unelectable, and that had been that.
“It was a terrible idea,” he said. “I’m no good at populism.”
“Oh, I don’t know. You’re not one of the really loathsome CEOs.” She glanced around the room and lowered her voice. “Unlike half the people here. You never defrauded anybody or took a bailout. And last I heard, your private life is still clean as a whistle.” She smiled wryly. “More’s the pity.”
Charles willed himself not to blush. At least he could put it down to the dancing. Somewhere, on the other side of the floor, Sandra was dancing too. He thought it was with one of the men who’d sat across from her at dinner.
Whoever it was, it was bound to be better than Bertie, who would have been happy to tell stories about Charles at the drop of a hat if she so much as hinted. Or even if she didn’t. She’d probably already heard about that damned polo match.
He was at a disadvantage there. There was only one person here whom he could ply for information about her, and Arnaud Diallo would notice something was off. That was too bad. Charles hadn’t yet been able to talk to anyone who knew Sandra, to learn more about her than she’d told him. It wasn’t like he could ask Bradley.
There was so much he wanted to know; more than that, he wanted to talk about her to someone who knew her, because he was an absolute love-struck idiot.
“I don’t look good on camera,” he said. “I don’t smile enough. Or so I’m told.”
“You should smile more,” Josephine replied. “You’re dazzling when you do.”
Now he was definitely going red. He didn’t know where to look. Had Josephine been drinking more than he’d noticed? No, her eyes were calm and clear. He couldn’t remember her being this forward eight years ago.
Josephine sighed. “Oh, dear. That just slipped out.” Then she shook her head. “No, it didn’t. But I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable. It’s just obscene that you should be the same after so long.” She gave him a small smile.
“I’m not the same.” That was more true than Josephine could know. “Everyone changes.”
“Just tell me something,” Josephine said. “Is there any reason for me to stick around in New York after the holidays?”
Charles stared at her. “We haven’t seen each other in years,” he said.
She shrugged. “I know. I really haven’t been sitting around waiting for you, Charles. I’ve had my fair share of fun.” A smile crinkled the corners of her eyes, and he knew she must have. Few men could resist her. Was that why she wanted him now? Because he was resisting? Hardly a flattering thought.
“But you really are something,” she continued. “You always have been. I…” She sighed. “I knew that before my marriage ended. When he was cheating, and you weren’t. You wouldn’t have dreamed of it.”
“Of course not,” Charles said, a little shocked. He’d never been unfaithful in his personal life—to a woman, a friend, a cause.
“Of course not,” Josephine agreed. She looked keenly into his eyes, then blinked and looked away. “Maybe it’s for the best.”
“What do you mean?” He was honestly baffled. Charles knew Josephine wasn’t trying to be coy or play games. He just couldn’t follow her train of thought. With Sandra, even when she managed to hide from him, he could still guess how her mind worked.
He blinked as he realized it: that was the really extraordinary thing about their relationship. They were decades apart, social classes apart, but he had recognized Sandra from the night they met. And she had recognized him. There was so much he wanted to know about her, but they had never been strangers.
“I mean…” Josephine took a deep breath. “Look, I know how this is going to sound. I’m going to say it, and we’re going to forget about it, okay?”
“All right,” he said, no less bewildered.
“My parents have the fairy tale,” she said. “I guess it’s spending the holidays with them that’ll bring it home. But my father still sends my mother flowers every day. I grew up thinking that was normal, and that of course I’d have that with Greg. He was so attentive at first.”
“He was a louse,” Charles said.
“Of the highest order,” Josephine agreed. “Soon I saw that everybody was. People do whatever they think they can get away with, haven’t you noticed? I thought my father must be part of some dying breed, and men didn’t know how to love women anymore.”
Now he could see where this was going. “You were wrong.”
“I was,” she said. “I saw you with Eleanor, and I thought—what a thing it would be, to have that kind of devotion. It’s what made me leave him in the end. Not for you, but because I wanted better.”
“You deserved better,” he said firmly. “Josephine, you deserve a man who will love you like that. I just…” Holy hell, this conversation had cold-cocked him out of nowhere. He couldn’t tell her the truth. “It wasn’t the right time, and now…”
“It’s too late,” she sighed. She gave him a sad smile. “I thought I might as well try. Maybe I should have been more smooth about it, but you’d have seen through me.”
She might be surprised on that score. “Stay in New York if you want,” he said. “If that would make you happy. But don’t do it because of me.”
“No. I know that now.” She bit her lip. “Sometimes I forget what you’re like, until I look into your eyes.”
Charles raised his eyebrows. “What I’m like?”
She seemed to hesitate. Then she said, “You live so intensely, Charles. Your job, your marriage, everything. I think…maybe you’d have frightened me a little, if you’d loved me.”
His eyes widened.
Josephine looked into them, and whatever she saw made her shiver. He couldn’t tell if it was with fear, desire, or both.
“No,” she said, “you haven’t changed a bit.”
* * *
What the hell were they talking about?
Sandra had spent this whole dance trying not to stare. Luckily, Evan was happy to discuss metallic accents. She could talk interior design in her sleep—heck, she probably had, at some point. It wasn’t enough to distract her from the way Charles and Josephine were obviously deep into some intimate conversation.
Very intimate. Every time Sandra glanced their way, they were looking into each other’s eyes, and speaking with serious expressions on their faces. They were totally absorbed in each other.
I remember her fondly.
Dammit, what kind of idiot said that about an ex to his current? Of course it was going to stick in Sandra’s mind like a burr. Charles should have known better. How would he react if Sandra said she got a warm glow when she remembered one of her old boyfriends? Will, say. Will had been nice. She was pretty sure Charles wouldn’t want to hear about Will. It would serve him right if she told him.
But she wouldn’t tell him, because mind games were bullshit, and if Charles would just stop looking into Josephine’s eyes while he held her tight, Sandra would be willing to forget he’d ever said anything. If he just stopped doing that.
She almost wanted to beg. Dance past him and whisper, Please stop, even if it was pathetic. She imagined her heart as a soft fruit he held in his hand, digging his fingers into it harder and harder while it bruised.
“Copper bathtubs, though,” Evan said. “Am I right?”
“They’re hot right now,” Sandra agreed. Were they? She couldn’t remember. “Where would you put one?”
While Evan replied at length, Sandra caught a glimpse of Charles and Josephine again. He’d slid his hand down to the small of her back and had spread his fingers wider.
It’s nothing. It’s nothing. Stop being so fucking crazy. It’s nothing.
Charles glanced up over Josephine’s shoulder. He caught Sandra’s eye. She almost stumbled but didn’t. And she told herself to play cool, smile politely at him, or ignore him entirely, but she didn’t do that either. They looked at each other for a moment until Evan spun her away.
Then the song wound down to a close. Sandra nearly sagged with relief. She needed to sit down. She really needed another drink, but she doubted Arnaud’s patience would stretch that far. Where was he, anyway? Oh, off in a corner, surrounded by adoring admirers of both sexes. Of course.
“You’re an awesome dancer,” Evan said. He grinned at her and then bent down to air kiss her cheek. “Tyler’s over there ogling your boss, I see. I better go make sure he’s not blowing our whole renovation budget.”
“It’s easy to do,” Sandra said.
“Ogle your boss or blow the budget?”
Sandra smiled weakly. “Both. Definitely both.”
Something bumped her shoulder. She turned around to find herself looking right up at Charles. His eyes were cold. He’d overheard.
“Excuse me,” he said.
For…? Oh. He was apologizing for “accidentally” running into her. Sandra put her blandest smile in place. “Not at all.”
For a second, he appeared about to say something. Before he could, she raised her chin, turned around, and let Evan escort her from the floor.
Yeah, she really needed a drink, or at least to be on her own for a little while. The ladies’ room was probably her best bet. She could step out right now and…
Someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned around to see Bradley right behind her, offering her a glass of champagne and a smile.
“Hey, babe,” he said. “You look like you could use one of these.”
* * *
Calm. Reasonable. He was going to be very calm and reasonable.
Charles repeated this mantra to himself over and over as he led Josephine off the floor. The Cookes were dead ahead in their line of sight, and Lawrence was giving them a sloppy wave. Charles had to say hello and introduce Josephine.
Sometimes I forget what you’re like. I think you would have frightened me if you’d loved me.
Josephine’s words to him. Was that the problem? Was that why Sandra seemed reluctant to make their relationship more than it was? Maybe so. Maybe he frightened her. He remembered her pale face when they’d finished in the back seat of his car, and her apology to him.
That was fixable. His desire for her…well, she didn’t have to know how insatiable it really was. He’d keep a cooler head from now on. They would continue to enjoy each other in bed, he’d treat her with respect, he’d make her happy. He could just tell her as much and that would be enough, surely. Very reasonable. No need for alarm.
If only he could turn off that strange ringing in his ears that hadn’t let up from the moment he’d let himself bump into her on the dance floor. That would make things easier.
Stop watching her, he ordered himself. He would not turn around for another look at her. He had no desire to see Sandra return to the side of her boss, who was apparently very easy to ogle. She had the chance to ogle him for hours every fucking day, so surely the shine had worn off by now.
Stop, he repeated. Diallo was handsome. That was just a fact of life. There were a lot of good-looking men in the world, and if Charles got jealous of all of them, he’d exhaust himself. It was bad enough watching her dance with other men. That might be driving him a little crazy, which was crazy in itself. It was a party, Sandra was a beautiful woman, and the two things were meant to go together.
She was very beautiful. Her dress was navy blue beneath black lace. It reminded him of the bra and panties she’d worn for him. Had she meant to do that? Was it a tease?
Charles heard himself speaking as if from a distance, introducing Josephine to the Cookes on autopilot. Predictably, Lawrence was drunk as hell. At least his wife seemed to have her wits about her tonight. She was saying things like, “Such a lovely evening, but dear, maybe it’s time to go home.”
Lawrence hiccupped. “Fantastic party, yes. Heh, reminds me of a joke. Charles, tell me this: what’s the difference between a gay wedding and a straight one?”
“Lawrence,” his wife warned.
Well, that brought Charles back to earth. “I’m afraid I don’t know. I’m glad you both could come,” he said coldly.
“The difference is,” Lawrence began, weaving slightly in place.
“Don’t forget to say good night to Rosalie,” Charles continued. “Too bad you don’t have time to speak to my brother. I’ll pass on your compliments.”
Mrs. Cooke was scarlet with shame. Josephine also looked like she’d prefer to be anywhere else. Lawrence heaved a gusty sigh, looked past Charles’s shoulder, and blurted, “Fuck! It’s the redhead!”
Charles turned immediately to behold a sight that chilled his blood: Bradley was speaking to Sandra. Standing very close to her.
“I thought he dumped her,” Lawrence added. “Or something, I can’t really recall. Though, Christ, I don’t know why you’d walk away from that.” He hiccupped again.
“Rosalie told me it was a mutual thing,” Josephine murmured. Charles looked down at her, startled, and she gave him a slight nod. Oh hell, of course Rosalie would have seen fit to mention it—though there was no way in hell she’d have put it so benignly. Josephine was being diplomatic. “They still seem friendly.”
“They do,” Charles said. He laid a hand on her shoulder. “Excuse me. I need to speak to my nephew.”
Without waiting for a reply, he stalked away, Bradley and Sandra dead in his sights.
* * *
“So,” Bradley said. “This is awkward, huh?”
He rubbed the back of his neck and gave Sandra a sheepish smile. It was the smile he used to give when explaining why he was late again or why he had to cancel their plans.
Sandra controlled her urge to look around for rescue. Charles ha
d said he’d keep Bradley away from her, but Charles was busy with other things. She was on her own, and no way was she going to show her lying, cheating, whoring ex-boyfriend how furious he made her.
She said lightly, “It’s fine. It was a beautiful wedding. Your uncle seems happy.”
“Yeah, I think he is.” Bradley never dropped eye contact. “What about you? Are you happy these days?”
That wasn’t exactly the word Sandra would have chosen. “Sure,” she said. “Everything’s great.”
“Good. I’m glad. Listen…” Bradley sighed and then looked up at the ceiling, as if gathering strength. Then he pushed his champagne flute under her nose. “You see that?”
“Um…” Sandra blinked down at the glass in confusion.
“Sparkling grape juice,” Bradley said. “It’s all I’ve been drinking all night. I’m serious. Taste it and see.”
“Um,” Sandra repeated. “That’s okay. I believe you.”
“I haven’t had a drink since…you know. We ended.” Bradley sipped from his glass and winced. “I’ve even gone to a couple of AA meetings. I haven’t told anyone,” he added quickly. “Please don’t say anything.”
“Of course I won’t. I-I think that’s great,” Sandra stammered. We ended. Like someone else had closed the book, or…like we had ever been a thing. Like she and Bradley had been a unit in any meaningful way. Bullshit. They’d dated for six months, she’d lost her virginity to him, and she’d never known him at all. They’d never been a we.
Then Sandra remembered Charles saying that Bradley might finally be taking life seriously. Maybe she needed to lighten up. She’d thought so during the ceremony, right? After all, the Bradley she’d dated would have cut off an arm before passing up a glass of fine champagne. And he had a look on his face that she’d never seen before—sort of sweet and regretful all at once.