by Various
“I—I’m sorry,” Trey said, although his words came out kind of choked and strangled.
“Oh, my God!” Dropping Carter’s ring, letting it roll away somewhere on the floor, she clamped her hand over her bare breast. Her other strap still held, but she was uncovered all the way from her neck to her hip, all in one fell swoop of ripped red fabric.
“No, I’m not sorry. You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” he said raggedly. “Susannah, there is no way in hell you’re walking away from me. Not now. Not when we both feel this way.”
She didn’t ask what he meant or how he felt. She already knew. How did they both feel? On fire, enraptured, entangled, out of their minds.
His fingers brushed the torn edge of her gown, sending shivers down her body. It was the scorching look in his eyes, the smoky tone in his voice, the way his hand shook as he lifted it to touch her … All of it seemed to mix together and overpower her, dissolving her good intentions. Before she knew what had happened, her resolve had vanished, and renewed hunger pooled deep inside her, pulling her back to Trey.
Her back against the door, Susannah surged into him, wrapping her arms around him, as his lips and teeth found her neck and ear and jaw. They were both desperate and greedy in their desire to touch and feel and taste. His hand moved over her breast and ribs, closing on her nipple, making her ache with longing, and she shoved her hands inside his shirt, popping buttons, pushing the stiff white fabric out of her way, loving the feel of him, so smooth and yet so hard.
As his tongue flicked over the taut tip of her breast, Susannah moaned, giving in to the incredible sensations, wanting him, wanting to be with him, no matter what it took. She slipped her hand to his belt and then to the clasp of his jeans, rubbing her hand down his rigid length. Things between them were getting out of control fast, but somehow it didn’t matter. She knew what she wanted. Him.
Melting, she began to slide down the door, but Trey’s embrace tightened. He shifted her around, away from the door, boosting her onto the marble vanity, the trailing skirt of her gown scrunched up under her, with his sweet, warm, wet mouth still slanted over hers. He broke away for just a second, staring into her eyes.
He may have been wordless, but he was still asking a question, giving her an out if she wanted to take it. Did she know what she was doing? Did she care?
“I—I think I love you, Trey,” she whispered. “Could you please make love to me? Now.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
TREY smiled. He reached for her. She reached for him, too, almost falling off the sink in her haste to be with him. He reached under her skirt, stripping her thong off all the way down her legs and over her shoes in one fluid motion, tossing it aside, as she scrambled to get his zipper down. Frantic, frenzied, clumsy—it didn’t matter. He brushed her hands away and took care of his own zipper, still kissing her, devouring her, as he positioned himself between her thighs.
Susannah gripped his shoulders, tangling her legs around his waist, urging him in. She simply couldn’t find a way to hold him tightly enough.
He plunged, she took everything he had. They twisted together, precariously balanced on the edge of the sink, and began to find their rhythm. Susannah’s pleasure and need climbed and climbed with every thrust. It was almost too good, too hard, too devastating, and she didn’t know how long she could stand it, to have so much sensation, so many feelings, all tumbling on top of each other.
Finally finding release, she shattered into an incredible, mind-blowing climax. And shouts and cheers and another countdown began somewhere outside their small paradise.
Trey still stroked inside her, as if pushed on by the applause. What in the world was happening? Ten, nine, eight … Oh, God, she was hovering on the brink again. Five, four, three … Was she hallucinating? “One,” she cried out. “One!” Tremors rippled through her. “Oh, yesss, yesss… .”
His arms were so tight around her she could barely breathe, but Trey tipped his forehead into hers. Gasping for air, he began to laugh, too. “Happy New Year,” he said with a great deal of amusement. “What a way to bring in the New Year, huh?”
“Were there really cheers? Did I really hear the countdown again?” she asked, totally confused, but too satisfied and dazed to really care.
“Good timing, Susannah. It must’ve been the West Coast celebration.” He shook his head, touching the few remaining bits of glitter in her hair. “And I really did see stars. I’m not sure I believe it myself. I make love to the most beautiful and exciting woman I’ve ever met, I get a countdown to ecstasy and I see stars. How lucky can you get?”
She sagged into him, not sure whether to laugh or cry, whether to be embarrassed at how wild and noisy she’d been or just very, very happy.
“We’d better get you down from there,” Trey commented softly, giving her a hand.
As he scrounged his shirt up off the floor and zipped himself back up into his jeans, Susannah tried her land legs. How nice to know she actually could still stand up. She hadn’t been sure.
“What next?” she asked him.
His smile was lazy with contentment, but he found her hand and raised it to his lips. “Where can we possibly go from here?”
She didn’t have a chance to answer or even think of a possible response. Voices and loud footsteps interrupted them, as if the entire Hotel Marceau New Year’s party had decided to take up residence outside their door.
“Susannah?” a voice she recognized as Carter’s bellowed, followed by insistent pounding on the door. “Are you in there?
Darling, we’re here to save you. I’ll kick down the door if I have to.”
Rejecting panic and moving on to hysteria, Susannah looked down at her ripped dress, all twisted around her body, at the pair of panties in her hand, at Trey in his shirt with most of the buttons torn off.
They were in deep, deep trouble.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“SUSANNAH? Open the door! We don’t want to have to break in, but we will if we have to.”
Preparing for the onslaught, Susannah tried to hold the pieces of her dress together, but it was a losing battle. Without comment, Trey slipped his jacket around her shoulders, buttoning down the front of it.
It wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do.
And then he kissed her cheek, whispered, “It will be okay,” and opened the door.
Carter almost fell in, backtracked and stumbled into Joan, Kerry, Mr. Manley and Mr. Marceau, along with about twenty other people who had gathered out there. Carter’s eyes swept up and down her unorthodox outfit. He couldn’t seem to stop blinking.
“We were so worried about you,” Joan said with saccharine sweetness. She squeezed in front of Mr. Marceau, who looked more mystified than mortified, bless his heart. Joan went on, “We thought you’d been stolen away from the party by a criminal.” Slyly, she asked, “Or is that not what happened, Susannah?”
“N-no.” She pressed her lips together as she tried to think of a way to explain this. No. There simply wasn’t any explanation. “I—I wasn’t stolen. And he isn’t a criminal. Just a misunderstanding. Just …”
“Too much champagne. New Year’s Eve,” Trey interjected.
“I take complete responsibility. All my fault. I should know better than to take advantage of a tipsy woman.”
Since he was standing there with his shirt hanging open, Susannah figured he didn’t have any more credibility than she did, but, hey, at least he was in there swinging. “He’s right,” she announced. “A, uh, romantic interlude. Most unfortunate.” It was at that point that she spotted her panties crumpled near her foot, and not far away, her ex-engagement ring. Wasn’t that ironic?
Trey edged in front of her, blocking the doorway. “We don’t really need a crowd, do we? Would everyone mind moving along now?”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Carter blustered.
As most of the other onlookers disbanded, casting back glances filled with a mixture of sympathy
and horror, Susannah quickly bent and gathered the ring and her undies, stuffing the thong in the pocket of Trey’s jacket and holding out the ring to Carter. “I think you’d better take this,” she said awkwardly. “I’ve been trying to do this all night. But, anyway, I don’t want to marry you.”
“Did you really think I still wanted to marry you?” he said savagely, grabbing the ring off her extended palm and shoving it into his own pocket. “After the way you’ve behaved tonight?” He seemed to have more to say, but he choked it back, stalking away, trailed by Mr. Manley, who was patting him on the shoulder and offering condolences.
“Well, I guess he got what he wanted,” Trey noted cynically. “Manley is his big pal now.”
Susannah didn’t know where to go or what to do. “This is so terrible, beyond my worst expectation of what terrible could be,” she mumbled, lifting a weak hand to her head.
“Susannah, don’t you see? It’s perfect.” Trey was actually laughing.
What in the world was wrong with him?
“Come on!” he said happily. “You have to see now how much we belong together.” He took her by the arms. “No fiancé, no job, a man who is crazy about you and with whom you just had amazing sex. What’s not to like? So now will you run away to Paris with me?”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
THIS time, when she slapped him across the face, she meant it. She meant it for him. Nobody else.
“You’re as bad as Carter,” she yelled, smacking him on the shoulder for good measure. Trey ducked, trying to shield himself, but she knew she’d made her point.
“Come on, Susannah. I’m nothing like that jerk,” he scoffed.
“No? He didn’t love me, but he thought if he dangled a fancy engagement ring in front of my face, he could buy someone who would validate and support his dream of being a big honcho inside Manley and Marceau,” she said smartly, just starting to get wound up. “It didn’t matter what my dreams were or whether I minded if he didn’t call or didn’t care or left me at the bottom of his priority list.”
“Exactly,” Trey agreed, “and I didn’t do any of that!”
“I fell for you, hard. I really thought I loved you. I admit, your plan was a little more devious.” She clutched his jacket over her front, wishing it didn’t smell like him, didn’t make her want him all over again. Damn jacket. “You thought you could bewitch me with fabulous sex,” she argued, “and earn yourself someone—wife, playmate, whatever—to validate and support your dream of being a romantic expatriate in Paris.”
There was a long pause. “Did you really think the sex was fabulous?” he inquired hopefully.
“Yes,” she shot back. “It was fabulous, okay? Gold star for you!” Pulling together the shreds of her pride, she added, “But it doesn’t matter. I will not be bought, not by a diamond and not by fabulous sex.”
“Susannah, I don’t get this,” he said in a bewildered tone. “I do love you. I know it’s crazy and sudden and unexpected, but I do love you. And I want you with me, not to support my dream, but because I want you with me. I know I can’t promise it would work. Who can ever promise? All I can do is try. Susannah …”
He grabbed her by the shoulders, pressing his lips into hers with what struck her as one last, desperate attempt to convince her. She held her breath and tried to be strong. Don’t let him get to you.
“Sometimes,” he whispered, “you have to take the risk. You have to gamble on someone. Sometimes you have to have faith that your destiny is right there, waiting, and it will all fall into place the right way if you just reach out and embrace it.”
He really was good at this. But Susannah thought about the Hotel Marceau and how much she liked her job and how much she would mourn losing it. She thought about the expressions on the faces of the people she worked with, all lined up to see her humiliation when the door to the powder room swung open. “Embrace my destiny,” she spat out. “Oh, and will the Easter Bunny and Santa help me with that embrace?”
But Trey was still in there, trying. “I know it seems like a big leap, but … I’m asking you to gamble on me.” His smile was rakish. “And I can promise lots of fabulous sex.”
That was all she needed. “No thanks,” she said coldly, already moving past him, ready to close the door.
“Susannah … Take the risk.”
But she walked away.
CHAPTER TWENTY
SHE actually had a glimmer of hope she might make it to the elevator without getting caught, but luck was not on her side. Big surprise. It was Joan, her boss, who stepped into her path.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t have time for this,” Susannah told her. “I have to find my coat and get out of here.”
“This is important.” Joan twisted her lips into a semblance of a smile. “I’m going to be brutally honest here, Suze. I thought once we caught you, flagrante delicto, so to speak, that would be the end of you at the Hotel Marceau.”
Couldn’t anyone make anything easy on her tonight? Not anyone? “You don’t need to fire me, Joan. I’ll just quit and take my besmirched little self out of the hotel right now, okay?”
“No. Not okay.” Joan crossed her arms over her narrow chest, giving Susannah the once-over. “I was chatting with Paul Marceau after the, uh, incident, and he … Well, he’s French, what can I say? He thought you were all, you know, mistreated and put upon, toujours l’amour, all that, and he wants to poach you for the Paris hotel, blah blah blah.”
Susannah saw stars again, and this time she knew there was no more glitter left in her hair. “He wants to what?”
She could tell Joan was not enjoying this. Not for one minute. Sourly, her boss announced, “He wants you to be director of sales for the Hotel Marceau in Paris. It’s a small hotel, but it was the first one, it’s the flagship, and it is exquisite… .”
But Susannah could not comprehend a word of this. “What are you saying?”
“Bottom line, you can make us both happy by getting out of my department and taking this job. It is a major, major opportunity,” Joan said flatly. “You in?”
“Oh, my God.” It couldn’t be real, could it? “Yes, yes, I’m in!” She was so swept up in the incredible, bizarre reality of it, she actually hugged Joan. Joan.
But this was so strange. She’d always wanted to work at the Hotel Marceau in Paris. And here was her opportunity, tossed like New Year’s confetti. Almost like … destiny.
Susannah had only one thought on her mind. She had to find Trey. Destiny! He would understand this, even if she had said mean things. He would understand, wouldn’t he?
He was winding his way out of the penthouse, just like she was, and he looked very pensive. “Listen,” he said warily, before she had a chance to speak. “I’ve been thinking about what you said, and you’re right. You have dreams, too. But I still think we belong together. So if you want to stay here, then I can find a way to live in Chicago. I can give up Paris, and—”
She waved his words away. “You’re not going to believe this. Okay, this is not what you want. I am still not Ms. Free Spirit Beatnik and I am not living in a garret. But … I have a job offer in Paris,” she said gleefully. She screamed and threw her arms around him. He felt a lot better than scrawny Joan, though. In fact, he felt so good she almost forgot to tell him the rest of it. “It just fell into my lap, Trey! I can’t believe it myself. And I won’t till I actually talk to Mr. Marceau. But, this is so cool, isn’t it? Me, in Paris. Director of sales for the Hotel Marceau. I guess I’m going to have to learn French. You’ll teach me, right? I can’t bel—”
Trey covered her mouth with a hard, unyielding kiss that would’ve knocked her socks off, if she’d been wearing any.
She took a step back. “Is that a yes?” she asked, wide-eyed. “You still want me?”
“It’s destiny, Susannah.” He pulled her back into his arms and kissed her again, leaving her breathless. “I’m afraid if I say I told you so you’ll smack me again, but … I did tell you so.” He dropped anot
her kiss on her nose. “Let’s get out of here, okay? It’s still a long time till morning and my flight … our flight. You know, it will be New Year’s somewhere every time the big hand goes straight up.” He grinned. “And I know how you like to do the countdown.”
“Happy New Year, Trey,” she whispered.
Midnight Reunion
Anna Depalo
About the Author
ANNA DEPALO discovered she was a writer at heart when she realised most people don’t walk around with a full cast of characters in their heads. She has lived in Italy and England, learned to speak French, graduated from Harvard, earned graduate degrees in political science and law, forgotten how to speak French and married her own dashing hero.
A former intellectual property attorney, Anna lives with her husband and son in New York City. Her books have consistently hit bestseller lists. Her books have won the RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice Award for Best First Series Romance and have been published in over a dozen countries. Readers are invited to surf to www.desireauthors.com and can also visit Anna at www.annadepalo.com.
Look for new novels from Anna in Mills & Boon® Desire™.
CHAPTER ONE
NEW Year’s Eve and Chloe wondered whether she’d be kissing another frog this year. Or any frog at all, for that matter.
Holding on to her wineglass, she looked around at the mingling guests inside the impressive turn-of-the-century Hamptons mansion belonging to Patrick and Maeve Elliott. She and other guests, including assorted employees, had been invited to join the Elliotts after an earlier gathering for family members only.
It was nearly midnight now, and there wasn’t even a likely frog—um, prospect—in sight.
All the Elliott men were off-limits. Romantic entanglements between employees were frowned upon at EPH.