The corner of his mouth curved. “What’s that mean?” His voice was soft, suggestive. “Kitten, surely you’re not jealous!”
Kit knew she sounded defensive. “I was just making conversation. It had nothing to do with—”
“Oh, I don’t agree. You’re not the sort to waste time with trivial things, Kitten.” His hand slipped to the back of her neck and pulled her close. “I think it means... this.”
His kiss was everything she’d ever dreamed it could be, and more—soft and tantalizing one instant, firm and almost demanding the next. By turns he was caressing, tormenting, playful, gentle, seductive, but always unpredictable. The only things Kit knew were that she could not bear to have it end—and that it must.
But not immediately. Surely there was no sin in enjoying this instant, this last opportunity to pretend for a moment that he was really hers....
She thought the buzz in her brain was oxygen deprivation—the inevitable result of forgetting how to breathe—until Jarrett raised his head and frowned. “I think the crowd in the ballroom’s getting restless,” he said. “Want me to go round up the sacrificial lambs?”
She couldn’t answer. Her throat was too tight with impossible dreams, with unshed tears, with words she could never say.
He raised her hand to his lips, frowned and unfolded her fingers from around a very misshapen bacon-wrapped mushroom. He nipped it from her palm with a sensual brush of his tongue and licked away the juices it had left behind. By the time he let go of her hand and turned toward the backstage room to fetch the bachelors, Kit felt as if her whole body had turned to gelatin.
The lights in the ballroom were turned low, and the spotlights focused on the stage were almost blinding. As Kit led the procession, the crowd’s rustle and banter dropped almost to silence and then swelled into applause.
But nothing—not the noise, the lights or even the singsong voice of the auctioneer—seemed real to Kit. She could see only Jarrett’s face, feel the strength of his arms around her, smell bacon and mushroom mixed with his cologne. She went through the motions without pause, without error—ushering each bachelor from his seat in the semicircle to stand beside the auctioneer and then, when the hammer fell on the final bid, showing him to the stairs at one end of the stage so he could take his seat in the reserved section of the ballroom.
Eventually, she got used to the lights. She could not only move around the stage without wanting to shield her eyes, but she could see into the audience, pick out faces and watch the bidding proceed. They were almost to the end.
“Jarrett Webster,” the auctioneer’s voice boomed, and automatically Kit turned to the side of the stage. He rose to meet her, took both her hands and whispered, “You are going to bid, of course?”
“All fourteen dollars’ worth,” she answered, and left him beside the auctioneer’s podium.
She felt as if she’d torn out her heart and dropped it there.
“Lot thirty-seven,” the auctioneer said. “Two weeks on Mr. Webster’s private Caribbean island, known as Paradise. Do I hear a thousand?”
He did, and as he dropped into his patter, Kit tuned out the bidding and studied the audience. She saw Colette sitting very still, her lips pursed in what looked like disgust. Heather, beside her, was obviously trying to look sophisticated and bored. At a table not far from them, a young brunette almost bounced up and down in her eagerness to draw attention to her bids. On the opposite side of the stage was a gorgeous redhead who every now and then quietly raised a finger. And almost at center stage, squarely in front of the auctioneer, was a blonde who was almost studious about the whole thing, watching with interest and, whenever her turn came, raising a hand....
Susannah.
Susannah was bidding on Jarrett Webster.
Kit bolted from her seat at stage left and down the steps into the audience. Within thirty seconds she was beside Susannah, tugging at her upraised arm. “What are you doing, Sue?”
“I’m bidding,” Susannah said calmly. “And don’t look at me like that. You really can’t get involved—how would it look?”
Kit gasped. “You’re trying to buy him for me?”
“You don’t think I want him, do you?”
As if drawn by a magnet, Kit’s gaze slid to the stage, to Jarrett’s face. He was looking straight at her, intently but without excitement—as if he had no real interest in what happened. Or, Kit thought grimly, as if he already knew the outcome. “Did he put you up to this?”
“Of course not.” Susannah sounded shocked.
No, Kit thought. He wouldn’t have. A joke could only be carried so far before all the humor was gone....
“Ali and I pooled our savings to pull it off. You’ve been working so hard, Kitty, and you need a break.”
“That much is right. But I could use a break from Jarrett, not with him!”
Susannah had turned toward the stage. “Whose bid is it? I’ve lost track.” She raised her hand anyway.
“I don’t want him!”
Susannah looked her straight in the eyes and said gently, “Liar.”
The single word dropped like a rock into a pool, and the ripples spread and crossed and amplified instead of receding.
“You’re right,” Kit whispered. She put her hand up, almost tentatively...
Just as the auctioneer said, “And gone... sold to the lady at stage right with the red hair. Congratulations, ma’am, and enjoy your trip!”
CHAPTER TEN
KIT DRAGGED her hand to her side. But she knew Jarrett had seen that false move. In fact, despite the brightness of the stage lights, she thought it was impossible for him to have missed it—for where he was concerned, her luck had never been any good.
And he no doubt found her embarrassment delightful.
Crazy, she told herself. You’ve gone crazy.
But at least the madness was past now. The hammer had fallen, the auction was over, and there would be no more temptation to make a fool of herself where Jarrett was concerned. To that extent, at least, she was fortunate. Bidding on him would have been foolish enough. But if she’d actually bought his dream date...
Two weeks in the Caribbean with Jarrett. Two weeks of dreams come true. Followed, of course, by a lifetime of regret.
As if, a rebellious little voice whispered in the back of her mind, you aren’t going to have all the regrets, anyway. At least you could have had some fun first.
Jarrett came down the steps to the section of the ballroom reserved for the bachelors, and the stage was empty save for the auctioneer. In the hush that followed, Kit went straight to the podium to thank the auctioneer, the bachelors, the bidders and the guests.
“I hope you’ve all enjoyed this evening,” she finished, “whether you’ll be going on a dream date or you came tonight just for the fun of it. The auction is over, but this isn’t the end of the celebration. Please stay and mingle, and take the opportunity to meet our generous bachelors.”
The ballroom lights came up, and a wave of applause swept the crowd. Kit, who would have liked to vanish into the back reaches of the hotel, once more descended the stairs from stage to ballroom floor, intending to greet and thank as many of the participants as she could.
The more adventurous of the bachelors had already swarmed out of the reserved section to seek out the women who had made the winning bids, and the more eager of the bidders pressed through the crowd to introduce themselves. The resulting confusion brought Kit to a standstill just outside the velvet ropes that blocked off the special section.
Jarrett was still in his chair, one elbow propped on a banquet table, fingertips pressed against his cheek in a thoughtful pose. Kit tried not to watch him, but she couldn’t keep her gaze away.
He seemed to be staring into space. And he looked almost disheartened, she thought. Even unhappy...
Of course, she told herself briskly, it was a prize bit of wishful thinking to assume that because the man was sitting still in the midst of a mob, he must be miserable over
the auction’s outcome!
Determined to ignore him, she leaned across the velvet rope to start shaking hands, and she didn’t see Jarrett move until he appeared beside her. “You know,” he said, “if you’re going to buy things at auctions you’re going to have to learn to react a little faster, Kitten.”
“Who said I want to buy things at auctions?” Kit smiled at a bidder and thanked her for coming.
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Jarrett said, “but I would have sworn I saw your hand going up just as the hammer came down.”
“Oh, that. I knew your ego would be bruised if I didn’t bid at all, so I was going to put in just one offer to make you feel better.”
“What a shame it wasn’t the winning bid. We could have had such a good time.” His voice slowed, gentled. “All alone together, exploring a place called Paradise...”
Kit could feel the soft shivers of desire deep inside her. She shrugged with a casualness she was far from feeling. “Well, you’ll still have two weeks of paradise. It just won’t be me you’re sharing it with—but I imagine you’ll adjust, given a little time.”
“I really was hoping it would be you, Kitten.”
Kit’s heart skipped a beat. Was he serious? He certainly sounded it.
Even if he was, she reminded herself, he was still obligated to the redhead who had bought him tonight. But if, after he came back, he still felt the same way... If he had discovered within himself the same kind of caring about Kit that she felt for him...
Her throat was suddenly tight with hope.
As if he’d seen the question in her eyes, Jarrett nodded. “Since you like the idea of roughing it, I was looking forward to telling you how the latest hurricane knocked out all the power and took the roof off the bungalow.”
I should just pick up a chair and hit him with it, Kit told herself. Any jury in the world would understand!
“Why am I not surprised?” she said, and was proud of the wry note in her voice. “Of course, the lady who bought you might not be so pleased. After all, she paid a pretty penny for the privilege of spending two weeks with you, and she might like a roof thrown in.”
“Maybe,” he said thoughtfully, “if you talk to her nicely, and tell her about the electricity and all, she’ll sell the package to you.”
“You go right ahead and ask her. My offer stands—fourteen dollars, cash on the barrelhead.”
“Don’t forget the seventy-three cents,” Jarrett said. “It might make a difference.” He stepped over the velvet rope and strolled off across the ballroom, in no apparent hurry.
Kit shook her head and turned to a knot of bachelors, the last ones remaining in the reserved section. “Of course there’s still the main event to get through,” one of them said. “And I thought ordinary blind dates were a nightmare.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” the man next to him remarked. “It wasn’t so bad, after all. I’m almost glad Webster twisted my arm.”
A bystander punched him lightly in the shoulder. “What are you complaining about? I saw the women who were bidding on you. Now I have a reason to fuss. He practically blackmailed me, and the next time I see Jarrett I’m going to tell him—”
Kit didn’t hear the rest, for a few simple words were echoing in her brain. Twisted my arm. Blackmail. Jarrett...
Her head was spinning. He hadn’t trusted her to bring this off after all—so he hadn’t given her a chance.
He had challenged her to raise ten thousand dollars and threatened to destroy her business and her partners if she didn’t succeed. But all the time, while he’d been ostensibly holding back and giving her the opportunity to prove herself, he had been working behind the scenes—not to ruin her plans, as she’d feared for so long, but to make the auction successful.
No wonder Tryad’s phones had rung off the wall with eager bachelors demanding to be included—Jarrett had forced them to volunteer. No wonder the tickets had almost sold out—Jarrett had probably arranged that, too.
He, not Kit, was almost singlehandedly responsible for tonight’s success.
But the effect on Kit was precisely the same as if he’d carried out the sabotage she’d feared—for by taking over, he had robbed her of her accomplishment and credibility. She hadn’t proved a thing, because he hadn’t allowed her the chance to show her capabilities.
And all the while, as Kit had congratulated herself on her success, he’d no doubt been laughing at her shortsightedness, at the ego that had let her believe she alone was responsible.
“Kitten,” he said behind her. “I’d like you to meet Nancy. I told her you were having regrets about not buying me, but I’m afraid she doesn’t seem eager to negotiate.”
Kit didn’t even glance at the redhead on his arm. “You set me up,” she snapped.
Jarrett’s eyebrows rose. “I beg your pardon?”
“You didn’t play fair, Jarrett. You didn’t let me have a chance to show what I can do.”
“If you could be just a bit more specific, Kitten—”
“We’re talking about your help. Perhaps I ought to be grateful for everything you did, Jarrett, but I’m not. If you’d been open about it—sincere—I’d have been delighted to have assistance. But you couldn’t just help, could you? No—you went behind my back, fixing things up without telling me, interfering in everything...” She stumbled on, her voice choked with tears. “Why did you do it, Jarrett? So you could feel sanctimonious about destroying Tryad, after all, and still do a good turn for a wonderful cause?”
“Kitten—”
“Don’t ever call me that again. In fact, don’t ever come near me again.” She shot a look at the redhead, who was just as gorgeous in full light as she’d been in the dimness of the ballroom. “Congratulations, Nancy,” she went on briskly. “I hope you have a great time in the Caribbean. And I’m glad you don’t want to make a deal—because I’d rather spend a year in prison than two weeks in Paradise with him!”
The final tally was better than Kit had hoped for, even in her wildest flights of fancy. After all the bills were paid, the auction would net several times her original pledge. In fact, it was an astounding success by any standards—and for a fund-raiser that had been created from scratch in less than three weeks, it was incredible.
Under other circumstances, Kit told herself glumly, she’d have been very proud.
“It’s not only a feather in Tryad’s cap,” Susannah said at breakfast on Monday morning, when she heard Kit’s report of the bottom line, “but you’re now our acknowledged champion when it comes to fund drives.”
“If that means you’re going to try to shuffle your money-raising problems off on me, Sue—”
Susannah had gone straight on. “Though I wonder... Are you absolutely certain you wouldn’t rather have lost the bet and slept with him?”
Alison’s gaze slid from Kit’s face to her untouched English muffin, and she briskly told Susannah to shut up.
For a moment, Kit thought Alison was going to reach across the table and give her a comforting hug.
Instead Alison said, “Well, at least with that finally over, we can get back to regular business.” She shuffled papers for a moment. “And there’s plenty of it to do. Industrial Dynamics has been sued because of a conveyer belt they produced, and the CEO wants a plan to head off trouble from other customers who have bought the same types of belts.” Her tone was all business.
Kit was grateful. The last thing she needed was sympathy. Loaded onto her fragile pride, it might well be the straw that would break her. But given a little time to heal...
She was already a bit calmer, now that thirty-six hours had passed—though she was no less hurt. And she had no regrets about what she’d said to Jarrett, either. Helping was one thing. The job had been big enough for everyone, and she’d have gratefully accepted his assistance. But interfering, as he’d done, was something else.
She hoped that with time the pain would recede and more pleasant memories would move to the foreground. And there
were plenty of pleasant memories. The basketball game and the visit to Milady Lingerie, the banter and the chats, the kisses...
She would hang onto those things, for there was nothing else to cling to.
Kit’s office was chaotic, with papers stacked and loose ends waiting to be tied up. She tidied her desk enough to make room to work and found a dart under a stack of folders. Automatically, she turned to throw it at the board across the room. But Jarrett’s portrait was smiling at her from the dartboard, and she found she couldn’t aim it at him, after all.
She walked across the office. The last dart she’d thrown at him was still stuck in the portrait, squarely over his heart.
If only it had been as easy to touch the real one.
Kit pulled the dart out carefully and unpinned the picture from the board. While there were pinholes here and there where the needle-sharp darts had punctured it, the photo wasn’t as badly damaged as she’d expected. She hadn’t had much time in the last few days to take out her frustrations on anything.
She laid the picture on her desk blotter and smoothed its wounds, using her thumbnail to press each pinhole closed. She couldn’t conceal them entirely, of course, but now it took a closer inspection to spot them.
Tucking the photograph in a manila folder, she filed it in her desk drawer. Maybe someday she’d be strong enough to put the hurt behind her altogether and remember only the humor. Eventually, perhaps, she’d frame it. Not that she’d need the reminder—she would never forget Jarrett, or anything about him. But it would be nice to look up from her work and see him there.
Cut it out, Deevers, she told herself, or the next thing you know, you’ll be sobbing.
She picked up the telephone before she could talk herself out of it and dialed his private number. When a woman answered, Kit was disappointed. She had so much wanted, one last time, to feel his voice, rich and warm as a soft blanket surrounding and comforting her.
The Billionaire Date Page 15