by Cat Grant
“Not anymore. I’ve seen through your gruff façade.”
“Thank God for that.” He rose, took her by the hand and pulled her into his arms for a deep kiss. “There’s one more thing you need to decide,” he added with a grin. “Paris or Rome for the honeymoon?”
* * *
They were married at city hall the last week of April, with Holly and Ally’s father Gabe as witnesses. Ally’s breath caught as Eric slipped the platinum band onto her finger, right above her matching engagement ring, which sported a flawless two-carat diamond solitaire. He’d taken her to Tiffany’s a couple of weeks earlier and told her to pick out whatever she liked. Her eyes had nearly popped out of her head when he’d taken out his black AMEX card to pay for it. She hadn’t had the nerve to ask how much the final bill was, but she’d caught a glimpse of at least five zeroes on the receipt he’d signed.
The judge pronounced them husband and wife, and they kissed. Ally’s father stepped up to shake Eric’s hand, Holly clapped, cried and threw rice, and Ally blushed. The entire ceremony took a grand total of fifteen minutes.
After, they all climbed into the limo and headed to the Plaza Hotel for lunch. Ally leaned her head on Eric’s shoulder and admired her rings, turning them to and fro in the light. They glittered like stars, throwing shimmery patterns over the skirt of the cream-colored Chanel suit Eric had helped her pick out. He’d bought a new suit for the occasion too, charcoal gray with a silver-and-black pinstripe tie and sleek black Bruno Magli brogues. His white rose boutonnière threaded with pink baby’s breath was a perfect match with her bouquet.
They’d barely had time to crack open the chilled bottle of Veuve Clicquot and offer up a toast before the limo pulled up in front of the Plaza. Ally took Eric’s arm and let him escort her inside, but instead of heading for the restaurant, he turned in the opposite direction and walked toward the rear of the hotel. A uniformed hotel worker flung open a set of double doors to reveal a ballroom packed with guests, all leaping to their feet and clapping as they entered.
Ally just stared, sagging against Eric’s arm. All this, for them? No, for her. Obviously Eric had planned it. Her eyes stung, but she blinked hard and flung her arms around Eric instead. “Didn’t I tell you I wanted a nice, quiet wedding?” she whispered, giving him a look of mock reprimand.
He kissed her on the cheek. “You didn’t say anything about the reception.”
She scanned the room, taking in the crowd, the simple, elegant white and pink floral centerpieces on every table and another, larger table near the far wall, piled high with gifts. “How’d you put this together so quickly?”
“This is where a highly efficient assistant comes in handy. All I provided was the credit card.”
He was fibbing, of course. Knowing Eric, he’d probably supervised every detail. Now she really was going to cry. “What am I going to do with you?”
“If your father wasn’t standing next to us, I’d be happy to offer some suggestions.” He grinned. “But why don’t we sit down and enjoy our lunch instead?”
The wedding party took their seats at a raised table at the front of the room, then Eric signaled for the banquet staff to start serving. First came French onion soup, followed by mixed green salad with Ally’s favorite vinaigrette dressing, then the main course, a delicious coq au vin with sautéed mushrooms and garlic mashed potatoes, all washed down with glass after glass of ice-cold French champagne.
Ally chatted, giggled and stuffed herself silly, reaching over every few minutes to clasp Eric’s hand. Finally he leaned over and asked, “Something wrong?”
“What’s the matter? Can’t a wife hold her husband’s hand if she wants to?”
“Relax, okay? I’m not going anywhere.” He pressed a soft kiss to her palm, then rose, dinging his spoon against his wineglass to get everyone’s attention. The room fell silent. “I’d like to thank you all for coming today, especially on such short notice. I promise you, it won’t happen again.” The room dissolved in laughter. “Most of you are used to hearing me give long speeches, but today’s a day for celebrating, not talking, so I’ll keep my remarks brief. To my bride’s father, Gabe Taylor, and her good friend, Holly Martin—thank you for standing up with us today. Since my own family’s unable to be here, I’m touched and grateful for your support.” Was it her imagination, or was his voice actually cracking? He licked his lips, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he glanced down at her, genuine warmth in his eyes. “And to my wife Allison, whose humor and wisdom have guided me through difficult times. Here’s to happier times for both of us for many years to come.”
Eric drained his glass, and the entire room followed suit. Ally was about to spring up and plant a kiss on him—until Eric’s gaze locked on something in the distance. All the color bled from his face.
The banquet staff was wheeling in the cake, a four-tiered confection dripping with fresh flowers and whipped cream icing, but Eric barely glanced at it. Instead, he tossed his napkin on the table. “I’ll be right back.”
“What? Where are you—” But he was already heading for the nearest door. Ally stared after him, torn between following and staying put, but her body’s stubborn refusal to move effectively settled that dilemma.
Holly was at her side in an instant. “What’s going on?”
Apprehension settled in Ally’s chest and closed around her heart like a cold fist. Every pair of eyes in the room was focused on her now, and she didn’t care for the attention one bit. It felt like a million tiny invisible pins, all jabbing at her at once. “No idea. Maybe he’s not feeling well.”
At least, she hoped that was the reason. But what if he’d changed his mind? Realized too late what a mistake he’d made, and left her to deal with the fallout? No, that was ridiculous. Eric would never do such a thing.
Would he?
“He seemed perfectly fine a couple minutes ago,” Holly said.
“I’ll go check the men’s room.” Her father patted her on the shoulder before heading out the same door Eric had used.
Holly shot her a quizzical glance, but Ally shook her head. What else could she do? It’d look pretty odd if both the bride and the groom ditched their own reception. So she breathed deep, poured herself another glass of champagne and waited.
* * *
Eric thought he was hallucinating when he saw a familiar tall, dark-haired figure lurking at the back of the ballroom—until the man turned and dashed out the nearest exit.
Eric reacted without thinking, practically sprinting from the room, then down the hallway to the hotel lobby. Pulse racing, he scoured the lobby from one end to the other, but there was no sign of the man—of Nick—anywhere. He ran outside, dodging bellhops and guests piling in and out of cabs. He scanned the block in both directions—nothing—then went back inside to check the restaurant.
But Nick wasn’t there. In all likelihood, he’d never been there. Eric had probably just caught a glimpse of a hotel worker who resembled him, and his imagination had filled in the rest.
His shirt was sticking to him, damp with sweat, his cheeks flushed and hot. He couldn’t go back to the ballroom like this. So he trudged to the men’s room and splashed some cool water on his face and neck. He hadn’t realized how badly he was shaking; he had to hold on to the edge of the sink to steady himself.
“Eric?” A hand slid onto his shoulder and almost sent him splattering all over the ceiling. It was Gabe, peering at him with genuine concern. “You okay? Ally thought you might be sick.”
He laughed, though it sounded more like a dry, crackly rasp. “I just needed some air. The room was getting stuffy, and I’ve overindulged a bit on the champagne.” He took a hand towel from the attendant and blotted his face and wiped his hands. “I’m fine now, really.”
Gabe gave him a wary look but didn’t say anything, merely clapped him on the arm and escorted him back to the ballroom. Ally shot to her feet when she saw him, reaching up to cup his face in both hands. “My God, you look like you just ran
a marathon. Where’d you disappear to?”
“We’ll talk about it later.” He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and tried to ignore the heat of two hundred gazes glued on the both of them. “Let’s cut the cake before it melts under these lights.”
“But what about—”
“Later, Allison. I mean it.”
She stared at him, her mouth going tight. “Fine. Whatever you say.” Then she took his proffered hand and went to help him cut the cake.
Chapter Seven
The reception ended at four. Ally was aching to be alone with Eric, but when Holly and her father climbed into the limo to ride out to JFK airport with them, she couldn’t exactly say no. Then Eric invited them onto the Courtland Industries jet for a bon-voyage toast. After more hugs and kisses that left Ally’s eyes stinging, they said their goodbyes, and the jet took off for Paris.
Once airborne, Ally ducked into the bathroom to change into jeans and a sweater, then lounged in a comfy leather chair and sipped club soda until Eric returned from changing his own clothes.
She stared out the window, watching New York fade into the distance while she waited for him to address the elephant in the airplane. When he didn’t, she figured it was time to lead her own charge. “Are you going to tell me what happened this afternoon, or do I have to guess?”
Eric swirled the scotch in his glass, then set it back down on the small table between them without taking a sip. “I thought I saw Nick standing at the back of the ballroom when I finished making my toast. But it wasn’t him, Allison. I looked everywhere, and he wasn’t there. It was just my mind playing tricks on me.”
Nick. Well, of course. She should’ve guessed as much. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“Would you rather it really had been him?”
“If it were, I wouldn’t be sitting here right now, would I?” His flinch was as good an answer as any. “You made me promises, Eric. You said you’d never lie to me, and that you’d remain faithful. I’m holding you to both of them.”
“I have no intention of violating your trust, or our marriage vows. You should know me well enough by now to know that I always honor my obligations.”
That stung, but she gritted her teeth until it passed. “Is that what I am to you now—an obligation?”
“No, of course not,” he replied slowly. “You’re my wife.”
“Exactly.” She finished her club soda, wishing she had something stronger. A slight buzz still lingered from the champagne she’d drunk that afternoon, but it was already fading. “You proposed to me, remember? And when I told you the kind of marriage I wanted, you didn’t blink an eye. So when you up and deserted me in the middle of our wedding reception, it came as a bit of a shock.”
He rubbed a hand over his face. “Nothing like that will ever happen again.”
“Don’t say that if you don’t mean it. I shouldn’t have pressed you about the other issues. Forcing someone to give their word never works out.”
“You didn’t force me. I agreed of my own free will.” He extended his hand, his fingers closing over hers, solid, warm and comforting. “Nick’s gone now. He’s in the past. There’s only one person I want to spend the rest of my life with, and I’m looking at her.”
He sounded so completely sincere, how could she stay angry with him? Especially when he looked at her with such warmth—and yes, desire—in his eyes. Her apprehension melted away, replaced by a relieved grin. “You sweet-talker, you.”
“I mean it, Allison. You have nothing to worry about.”
“Okay, okay, I believe you. But what’s up with calling me Allison? You’ve been doing it all day.”
“Because it suits you. Ally was a twenty-year-old college girl. You’re a poised, assertive, beautiful woman.” He smiled. “But if it bothers you, I can go on calling you Ally.”
She thought about it, then shrugged. “No, Allison is fine. It’ll just take some getting used to.”
They sat in companionable silence for a while, until they both started stifling yawns. Eric glanced at his watch, then heaved himself out of his chair with a groan. “We’ve got about six more hours in the air. Might as well get some rest.”
The banquette sofa at the far end of the cabin folded out into a double bed, but they didn’t get to sleep for a while. Eric had her jeans peeled off and his face between her legs in nothing flat, and stayed there until she came so hard she nearly blacked out. Then he moved up to kiss her on the lips as he pushed inside her. They moved together with exquisite, unbearable slowness until Eric shuddered and gasped, face buried in her shoulder as he climaxed.
“Welcome to the Mile-High Club, Mrs. Courtland.” He grabbed the thick, fluffy comforter off the floor, where it’d apparently fallen unnoticed a few minutes ago, and spread it over both of them.
She giggled. “What do you know? It is better at forty thousand feet.”
“I didn’t think you came that last time.”
“Don’t worry about it. Thanks to your talented tongue, I’m already well past my daily quota.” She sighed and snuggled in closer, her arm wrapped around his waist. “I don’t have to come every time, you know. I love watching you get off too, but it’s a little tricky when I’m seeing God at the same time.”
He smiled. “That’s the first time anyone’s ever complained that I’ve given them too much pleasure.”
“If you think that’s a complaint,” she mumbled drowsily, “you’d better not leave the toilet seat up.”
* * *
They slept through the rest of the flight, arriving in Paris around five o’clock local time the next morning. A limousine and uniformed driver were waiting at Orly to drive them into the city. Ally drowsed, leaning her head on Eric’s shoulder until they pulled up in front of the Plaza-Athéneé Hotel.
Eric helped her out of the limo and escorted her inside. Her jaw nearly hit her chest at the sight of the lobby, all gleaming marble, with a plush red and silver carpet and glittering multi-tiered chandelier. “My God, it’s like a palace!”
“Wait till you see our suite,” Eric replied with a smirk.
She had to remind herself to breathe the entire elevator ride to the sixth floor, but when the hotel manager, who’d insisted on accompanying them upstairs himself, proudly threw open the door to their room, her knees came close to buckling. It looked more like a luxurious private apartment than a hotel suite, with a full-sized living room, bedroom and two bathrooms, both in the same pale cream marble as the hotel lobby. Plum, gray and black dominated the rest of the stunning Art Deco décor. Their living room window opened onto a gorgeous view of the Avenue Montaigne, still shimmering with city lights. Fresh roses and lavender sat in cut-crystal bowls on every table, their sweet scent lightly perfuming the air.
An army of bellhops toting luggage followed them inside and started to unpack for them, but Eric dashed over to grab his black leather carry-on bag and tucked it away in a corner next to the bed. A bit strange—but despite Ally’s piqued curiosity, she couldn’t exactly ask him about it now. He quickly returned to her side to listen to the manager rattle off his litany of the suite’s many accoutrements, interjecting his own questions and comments in fluent French. Ally stared at him, caught between admiration and astonishment.
Luckily, she’d regained her equilibrium by the time the hotel staff finally left. “Ten years we’ve known each other, and I had no idea you spoke French,” she said, kicking off her shoes before she collapsed on the plum silk-covered sofa. “Guess I’ve still got a few surprises in store.”
“And sooner than you think, too.” He sat down beside her and reached for the phone. “But let’s call down for some breakfast first.”
He ordered café au lait, brioche, omelets and fresh fruit. They ate it sprawled barefoot on the floor next to the coffee table, wrapped in fluffy Turkish terry cloth bathrobes bearing the hotel’s monogram. Blissfully content, Ally sank back in Eric’s arms and gazed out the window, watching the sky fill with pale morning sun.
She sighed. “I hate to waste such a lovely day, but I’m way too tired to go out.”
“We’re still on New York time. Don’t worry about it. By tomorrow, you should be feeling more acclimated.”
“Hmm. Wonder what we can do to pass the time till then.”
“I have a few ideas. Like ravishing you in every room in this suite, for starters.” Grinning, he stood and held out his hand to her. “C’mon. I’ve brought along something I think you’ll like.”
She followed him into the bedroom and perched on the edge of the bed while he retrieved his carry-on bag. Her breath hitched he pulled out a coil of glossy black rope. “You love it when I hold you down,” he said. “This way you can still be restrained, and it’ll leave my hands free for other things.”
“Oh, I, um… Wow.” Swallowing hard, she ran her fingertips along the rope. It felt every bit as soft and smooth as it looked. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”
“I know. And if you’d rather not, that’s fine. But I think you’d really enjoy it.”
If her stiffened nipples and the hot twitching were any clue, she’d have to agree with him. “I wouldn’t mind trying it. But what if—”
“If you don’t like it, we can stop anytime. But we’ll have to agree on a safe word, so you can let me know when you’ve had enough.”
“What’s wrong with plain old ‘stop’?”
“How many times have you told me to stop when you really didn’t mean it?”
“Good point.” She pondered it a moment, then started to giggle. “How about ‘Laura’?”
A tiny smile tugged at his lips. “Oh, you’re evil.”
“And you love it.”
“‘Laura’ it is.” He gestured for her to stand, then unknotted the belt of her robe and slid it off her shoulders. She shivered, the room’s cool air wafting over her naked skin. “Do you trust me?”
The question made her pulse trip faster. “Of, of course.”
“Good. Then lie down in the middle of the bed, and stretch your arms above your head.”