by Susan Meier
And he had.
He dropped his head to his hands, then called his driver and told him to be in front of the building in ten minutes. After slipping into his black leather bomber jacket and gloves, he scooped the paper off his sofa before heading for the elevator.
Outside his building, as his limo pulled up and he raced to the door, the whir of cameras followed him.
Damn it.
* * *
In the bathroom of her suite, Kristen stood in the fluffy white robe debating. Shower or bubble bath? The room came equipped with any supplies she could possibly need, and though the shower gel was nice, the bubble bath crystals smelled divine. It was a sinful, wonderful, guilty pleasure to have the rest of the afternoon and all of the evening to herself to do what she wanted, and she was taking full advantage.
She chose the bubble bath, started the water and poured in the crystals, which instantly became iridescent foam. Immersed in bubbles, she closed her eyes. Unfortunately, as she sank into the water she thought about Dean.
After hearing his story about Nina, she realized she knew nothing about being used. Brad was a man who wanted money and power, and he did what he had to do to get it. Unashamedly. Almost embarrassingly obviously. If Kristen had opened her eyes, she’d have easily seen it.
But using an inexperienced nineteen-year-old to make another boyfriend jealous? Kristen couldn’t even imagine what Dean had felt when Nina had told him. It was no wonder he had so much pride. And no wonder he disliked mixing business with pleasure, given that it was Nina’s father who had set them up as a condition to giving Dean money.
It was perfectly understandable that the situation had scarred him. This also explained his need for agreements and rules. She actually admired him for pulling himself together as much as he had. In the years that followed Nina and her father using him, and a world leader hating him, Dean had built an empire.
So she couldn’t feel sorry for him. He certainly didn’t feel sorry for himself. But she also couldn’t stop herself from coupling his difficult beginnings—losing his parents, being raised by a grandmother who didn’t want him—to being publicly humiliated when he tried to get funding.
It was no wonder he not only noticed but understood when her confidence wobbled.
Sunk neck-deep in bubbles, she almost cursed when the phone rang. Not sure who it might be, since she’d called her parents and given them her hotel room number in case anything happened, she got out of the tub, slid into the fluffy terry cloth robe and grabbed the extension in the bathroom.
“Yes.”
“It’s me. Dean. Can I come up?”
She grimaced. “Now?”
“It’s important.”
“Okay. I’m just getting out of the tub. Give me five minutes.”
She hastily dried, dressed in the jeans and red sweater he’d bought for her to wear home, and combed out her hair. Because it was an unruly mass, she twisted it into a bun before she walked into the sitting room. A few seconds later, there was a knock on her door.
Expecting Dean, she opened it.
He handed a newspaper to her. “I’m sorry.”
She glanced down at it and saw it was folded to display a picture of them printed on the first page of that section.
“Oh-oh.”
“It’s not a big deal, except they suggest that I hired you to date me.”
She laughed. “They’re sort of right.”
“Yes. They are.” He ambled into her sitting room. “We have a written agreement that proves it.”
She really liked the way he looked in the leather jacket and boots. Though a suit gave him an air of power, the jacket, jeans and boots made him look strong, male, virile.
She pulled back from that train of thought before she had to fan herself. “So we have an argreement? No one will see it.”
He scrubbed his hand down his face. “No, no one will see it. But this is the kind of gossip I don’t need when my company’s in trouble.”
“Really? I don’t understand how it relates.”
“I look like a lunatic.”
Because she’d just run through all the attributes of how he “looked” she thoroughly disagreed. But even though Kristen herself never had to worry about the press, Princess Eva did. Like it or not, think it was funny or not, Kristen understood.
“You know, you didn’t hire me for tomorrow night’s dinner.”
He sucked in a breath. “So?”
“So it kind of, sort of, is a real date.”
His eyes narrowed. “What are you getting at?”
“Well, if we went out—right now for instance, when, again, you’re not paying me—and saw some sights and then got dinner, we would officially be dating.”
“And if someone saw us—like the photographers following me—then we’d look official.”
She shook her head. “No. Get into the spirit of this. We won’t look official. We will be dating.”
He met her gaze. “Oh.”
She sighed. “Thanks for your enthusiastic response.”
“I’m sorry. I just don’t date.”
“And you wonder why the press prints crazy articles about you?”
He laughed.
She smiled. “See? Dating me is not so bad. Especially since I come with a shelf life. I have to go home sometime.”
“No ugly breakup.”
“Exactly.”
He pondered that for a second before he said, “Grab your coat. We’re going to Rockefeller Center.”
Since she was wearing jeans, she got her old black wool coat from the closet by the door. “Sounds promising.”
“Every tourist goes there. They have a big Christmas tree.”
“Fun!”
He pulled in a breath. “I suppose.”
Kristen shook her head, but didn’t scold him about being a Scrooge. Knowing his story, she could easily see why all this would be new to him.
Out on the sidewalk, a couple of guys in winter jackets—trying to be inconspicuous about holding cameras—followed them to Rockefeller Center. Obviously, they were members of the press Dean was so worried about.
She didn’t have to point them out. She was fairly certain Dean saw them, but he pretended he didn’t. So she pretended too. When he started talking about her charity, she let him.
“You’re going to need a board of advisors.”
She skipped along the sidewalk, working to keep up with his long strides. A light snow began to fall, and she inhaled deeply, suddenly homesick for fresh snow, her mom’s homemade gingerbread cookies and the way the sun dipped at about three in the afternoon, making the world a silent, peaceful place. Even on a Saturday, New York City was mad, noisy, filled with life and energy.
“I know I’ll need advisors. In fact, I’m counting on advisors helping me through the things I don’t know.”
“If Mrs. Flannigan ponies up anything over five hundred grand, it will be a subtle indicator that she wants on that board.”
She stopped walking. “Five hundred thousand dollars?”
He shrugged. “As I said, she might be angling for a seat on that board. I’d give it to her.”
“You better believe I will.”
Her silly answer made him laugh and she slid her arm beneath his to nestle against him, whispering, “This is for authenticity.”
He glanced down at her. “Oh.”
Their gazes held. His dark orbs held a wisp of longing that tugged at her soul, but he said nothing. So she took that for agreement and stayed close as they made the few blocks’ walk to Rockefeller Center.
When she saw the enormous Christmas tree, she gasped. “It’s beautiful.”
Decorated with multicolored lights, the huge tree was festive and happy, and again filled Kristen with a lon
ging for home. She knew she’d be back in Grennady for the holidays, but right now she was missing all the fun of prepping. All the cookie baking. All the decorating.
“This tree is why Rockefeller Center is a big tourist attraction.”
She saw people ice-skating in the huge sectioned-off center. Her longing for home doubled. “There’s skating!”
“That’s reason two that this is a tourist attraction.”
“Do you count everything?”
His head tilted in confusion. “Count?”
“Keep track.”
He laughed. “I suppose I do. I think it’s the way my brain files things.”
She said, “Interesting,” but her attention was again caught by the skaters. The snow picked up, but she didn’t feel cold. Having grown up in a Scandinavian country, she was more than accustomed to snow and temperatures much colder than what New York City offered. The swish, swish, swish of the skaters as they whirled by filled her with homesickness.
“I think we should skate.”
He blanched. “No way in hell.”
“Why not?” She glanced at him and the leather jacket over his warm sweater and jeans. “We’re both dressed for it. There’s a sign over there that says they rent skates.” She bumped his shoulder with her own. “It’ll be fun.”
“Not with three reporters following us. I do not want a bunch of guys with access to important media outlets to see me fall on my ass. I don’t want to look like an idiot.”
“You won’t look like an idiot. You’ll look like someone who likes me enough to try something new. Then speculation will go from ‘did he pay her?’ to ‘who is this woman who has him trying new things?’”
He shook his head. “You know they’re about to investigate you, right?”
She shrugged. “You did.”
He sighed.
“And what did you find? That I’m a nice, simple girl. Your search didn’t hurt me. Didn’t affect me. So I let it go.” She smiled. “Not everything has to be life-or-death. Let’s just have fun. The photographers following you will see that. They’ll investigate me and find nothing and poof they’ll disappear.”
“You’re such an optimist.”
She turned to him and studied his face. “You know, I’d say you’re a pessimist but I don’t think that’s true. I think so many crappy things happened to you that you’re just careful.”
“Careful enough not to break my ankle.”
“See? There you go. Deflecting again because that’s how you stay away from subjects that are too painful. But you don’t have to worry. I won’t ask you to talk about Nina anymore. I won’t ask about your childhood. But I do want to skate. I’m in a new country unexpectedly, for longer than I thought, and I’m just a little homesick.”
* * *
If she’d argued or tried to get her own way, Dean would have easily beaten her. But what kind of a Scrooge would he have to be to deny her the chance to get over her homesickness?
He sighed. “I’ll check out the skating schedule and see about skate rental.”
Her entire face brightened. “Really?”
“Yes. But don’t think I’m trying anything fancy. And no holding my hand.”
“We’re supposed to be dating.”
“I don’t want to look weak on the ice.”
With that he walked away. Because it was an odd time of the day, they could actually get into the next round of skating. He called her over. They rented skates. Within twenty minutes they were on the ice.
After a few minutes of wobbling, working to get his balance, knowing photographers were documenting his efforts, Dean finally found his footing. The first time he glided along for more than a few feet, he burst out laughing.
“All right. It’s fun.”
She skated a circle around him. “I told you.”
“You actually use the same core muscles to balance yourself as you do for snowboarding.”
She gaped at him. “You snowboard?”
“Used to. I had to learn to do a lot of things to be in the places where I could accidentally run into the wealthy people I thought most likely to invest in Suminski Stuff.”
“You make me feel like I should be grateful Mrs. Flannigan invited me to dinner.”
He stopped skating. “You should.”
“I am.”
Silence stretched between them as they studied each other. Skaters glided around them, reminding him that he was stopped, staring at her, taking in that earnest face and those beautiful eyes, and reporters were probably noticing.
She quickly caught his hand and pulled him into the fray. “Let’s get out of everybody’s way, and then I’ll drop your hand.”
He almost wished she wouldn’t. The connection to her felt so nice, so normal, that it should have scared him. Instead, it filled him with the sense that he could trust her to take him places he’d never been.
They skated into a rhythm and she dropped his hand, but he scooped hers up again.
Her gaze flew to his.
“We are supposed to be dating.”
She nodded and smiled as she skated in front of him. “Wanna do a trick?”
“Getting bored with just plain skating?”
“Sort of. But I also think I’d rather get my picture in the paper for doing something cool, than for looking like two spectators who didn’t know what they were doing.”
He laughed nervously. “Seriously? You’re going to make me do a trick?”
“A simple one.” She grabbed his other hand so they stood facing each other, both hands tightly clasped. Then she shifted them so they were skating sideways and that movement became a circle.
He imagined that from the spectator area they looked cute, fun. And they probably did pose a much better picture. But as the world whizzed by and he grew more comfortable, with her and with his skates, he started to laugh. For the first time in weeks, he wasn’t thinking about his company or his troubles. He wasn’t thinking at all.
Except to realize that he really did trust her.
* * *
Kristen noticed the change in him immediately. She stopped their circle and dropped one of his hands so she could pull him behind her. When they got enough speed, she led him into a figure eight.
He called, “Now I think you’re showing off.”
“Nope. Showing off would be teaching you how to do a spin or maybe a lift.”
She expected his face to freeze in horror. Instead, he said, “I could probably spin.”
She pulled him out of their third figure eight and guided him to stand beside her. “You like being good at things.”
“Don’t you?”
She shrugged. “I like doing the best I can.”
“Same thing.”
She said, “I suppose,” but she understood what he meant. As a genius, his version of doing the best he could undoubtedly meant that he had to be perfect. It was why he didn’t want to fall on his face in front of reporters, why he stayed out of the public eye. People were always watching him. Maybe hoping he’d make a mistake.
When their ninety minutes were up, they left Rockefeller Center, walked a bit more around that section of the city and had dinner at an out-of-the-way Mexican restaurant.
She buttoned her jacket as they walked out onto the now snow-covered sidewalk. Christmas lights decorated shop-front windows and doorways. Snow sat on evergreen branches like icing on sugar cookies. Without hesitation, he took her hand and she couldn’t stop a smile.
It was one of the best dates of her life.
Still, she knew it didn’t mean as much to him as it did to her. He might be having fun. He might even be enjoying her, but having heard the story of Nina, she more than suspected he’d vowed never to let himself get close to a woman again.
He’d probably even made a rule.
When they reached her hotel lobby, she expected him to say goodbye at the elevator. Instead, he stepped inside with her.
Wonderful hope filled her tummy with butterflies. “Walking me to my door?”
“There were three photographers in the lobby.”
Disappointment rumbled through her. “Oh.”
But when they got to her door and she turned to say good-night, he had the most baffling expression on his face. She recognized the longing. The end of this date should be a kiss. But the confusion in his eyes told her he wouldn’t even kiss her cheek.
“What’s wrong?”
He drew a long breath and looked away. “Nothing.” But when he turned back to her again, his dark eyes had sharpened. The muscles of his broad shoulders tensed beneath his smooth leather jacket. He took a fraction of a step toward her.
Her breath stalled. He was going to kiss her.
She took a fraction of a step toward him, drawn by an unknown instinct inside her that seemed to know exactly what to do.
His eyes stayed on her face. One of his hands came up, as if he were going to put it on her shoulder or maybe her waist to nudge her closer.
Her heart did a rumba in her chest. She smiled hopefully.
But his hand stopped. He took a step back and ran his fingers through his hair.
“Good night.”
Disappointed, she whispered, “Good night,” but he just stood there. She thought for a second that he might be hanging around because he didn’t want to leave and did want to kiss her. Then she realized he was just being a gentleman, waiting for her to go into her room.
She quickly slid the key in the lock and let herself inside. She said, “Good night,” again, hoping she didn’t look like an idiot, then closed the door behind her.
But no matter how hard she tried to talk herself out of it, she couldn’t let herself believe it was okay that he didn’t kiss her.
She had wanted him to kiss her.
Very much.
She told herself that was trouble, reminded herself of his story of Nina and how her now favorite genius had probably made a rule to protect himself, and even suggested to herself that no matter how they manipulated this agreement of theirs, they were using each other.