Ethan cursed the female sex, every deceitful one of them. He’d been a fool—not once, but twice.
Anger coursed through him until he shook. It was an icy cold anger that froze his heart. No woman would ever, ever melt his defenses again.
He knew what he was going to do. He was going to the stables in the morning after his appointment with the eye doctor. Maybe he could ride off his anger. At least he knew his horse wouldn’t ride under a tree branch and brush him off the way a woman would when you were least expecting it.
His eyesight might be returning, but his judgment concerning women was just as bad as it had always been.
It was time he got back to playing polo as if his life depended on it. He was very much afraid that his sanity certainly did.
It had hurt when Tricia had stood him up at the altar, but her deceit had mostly wounded a young man’s pride, his masculine ego.
Brittany’s deceit hurt far deeper.
BRITTANY TRIED TO WILL the tears that were welling in her eyes to stop, but they didn’t. She felt like a fool sobbing in the back of the taxi, but she couldn’t stop.
Ethan had told her he never wanted to see her again. And he’d said it with such quiet fury that she believed him. In an instant, she had destroyed whatever he had felt for her.
He would never forgive her.
BRITTANY TOOK FRIDAY as an at-home reading day. She didn’t want to face the questions her red eyes and nose and puffy face would raise.
But before she attempted to plow her way through the stack of manuscripts, she went out to the balcony with her morning coffee and puttered with her roses in their terra-cotta tubs and English ivy in wooden boxes. Her garden did quite well even though it got only a few hours of direct sunlight.
A circulating water fountain massed with climbing hydrangea encouraged the mourning doves—that and the fanciful birdhouses she’d put out.
She had already gone through a box of tissues and was reduced to carrying around a roll of toilet paper with her to stem the sudden bursts of tears.
It hadn’t occurred to her that it would hurt worse to lose something you had, than never to have had it at all.
As she clipped the fading roses and put them in a bag for potpourri, she lectured herself. But it didn’t do any good—she was heartbroken.
For the first time in her life, she knew what the term meant.
Noon found her curled up asleep in the old iron-wood chair on the balcony. She hadn’t slept all night and it had finally caught up with her. She woke up with a start when the manuscript on her lap fell with a thud.
She wondered what Ethan was doing… thinking. And if he was thinking about her. She glanced at the answering machine to see if maybe he might have reconsidered. If, having slept on it, he had come to realize she hadn’t meant to harm him, not really. But there was no blinking green light, no message from Ethan.
No hope.
SATURDAY MORNING SHE was still in bed when “Style” came on, on CNN.
Nothing appealed to her. She couldn’t get interested in the clothes, or the jewelry or even the castle one of the European designers had refurbished to make his country home.
Feeling blue, she decided to go out and shop for the cat she’d promised herself.
Maybe having a cat would help her deal with the gloom that had shrouded her in despair when Ethan had ordered her from his life.
She got dressed after her shower, and headed out to try to enjoy the beautiful day. On her way she got distracted at Bloomingdale’s where she pampered herself with the new Godiva vanilla-hazelnut coffee; pampered was the right word because the stuff cost her ten dollars for ten ounces. Trying to spend herself into a better mood, she bought a set of designer sheets, as well, telling herself their luxurious softness would help her sleep.
Of course her shopping trip reminded her of her visit to Saks with Ethan and she started getting weepy again. She headed to the perfume counter. A new fragrance always promised to restore self-esteem.
She bought into every sentimental perfume ad she’d ever seen. Like a brand-new perfume, Ethan had made her feel beautiful and special. In fact she could have sworn she’d almost felt herself glow.
Now she was glowing because her nose was red.
By the time she was through at Bloomingdale’s, guilt had set in. The cat got put on hold. Instead, she went home to her apartment and pulled herself together enough to sift through the manuscripts she’d been avoiding. She even found a real possibility; a new author to champion.
There was nothing like making that first phone call to an unpublished author. It was like being Merlin the Magician for a brief moment, able to make a person’s dream become a reality when you relayed the news that the publisher wanted to buy their manuscript.
Of course, there were a lot of steps that had to be gone through before she could actually make that call. For starters, she would have to convince the editorial group that they should buy the book.
But she had a really good feeling about this particular manuscript. It had made her laugh at a time when she couldn’t have felt less like laughing.
Finding the book in the slush pile had done something buying the perfume had not. It had restored her self-esteem. It had reminded her that she was good at her job.
If only she were good at forgetting Ethan Moss.
BRITTANY WAS SITTING in the middle of her bed in her socks and T-shirt looking through the ads to see if anyone had a Bengal kitten for sale when the phone rang.
She made a lunge for the phone, answering it on the first ring, her heart leaping with the impossible hope that the caller might be Ethan.
It wasn’t.
“Brittany; are you sick? You don’t sound so good. What’s wrong?” Francesca asked.
“I’m fine. No, that’s not true. I’m a wreck. I’ve been crying a lot. That’s why I sound so lousy.”
“Ethan didn’t take what you had to tell him very well, did he?”
“No.”
“Listen, I’m flying in this afternoon. I would have called to check on you earlier, but the video was filmed on this primitive island.”
“How did the filming go?”
“Great. As a matter of fact, the director said he might be able to use me on another project he’s shooting next month.”
“That’s wonderful news, Francesca! But what about Tucker? I haven’t heard you say anything about him.”
“Tucker Gable is a total sweetheart,” Francesca said, her voice hinting of hope. “He’s flying back to New York with me.”
“Oh? Shall I tell Mother when I call her later?”
“No! He’s coming on business.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Goodbye, Brittany.”
Brittany sat with the phone in her hand not even hearing the drone of the dial tone.
Her feelings were bittersweet.
She was happy for Francesca. Happy her sister had found Tucker Gable, even if her sister couldn’t see what a blind man could see.
A blind man …
She wanted to cry but didn’t. She was a grown woman. If her fate was to be a spinster with a cat, she’d face it.
After all she had a great career.
A great … empty life. She started to cry.
11
WHEN BRITTANY ARRIVED at the French Roast, the French café on Sixth Avenue, Francesca and Tucker were already there.
It was a shame Francesca didn’t do rock stars, because they looked stunning together. Stunning and right. And whether Francesca knew it or not, she looked like a woman in love.
Brittany made her way across the black-and-white tile floor to the two small tables they’d pushed together to form a table for four—except it was for three.
She was alone.
After introductions, Brittany slid onto a wooden chair across from them.
“So, you’re an editor, huh?” Tucker said. “Have you edited anything I might have read la
tely?”
“Yeah, like rock stars read,” Francesca taunted.
“We read, all right. We just like a few pictures to break up the print.”
“Pictures of naked women, you mean?”
“What’s wrong with naked women? God doesn’t make junk, you know.”
“You’re impossible,” Francesca said, shaking her head and catching a waiter’s eye.
Brittany and Francesca ordered the French salad plate while Tucker opted for the traditional pot-au-feu.
“Mind if I join you?”
Brittany recognized the voice.
Francesca looked shocked.
Tucker looked puzzled.
Without waiting for an answer, Ethan stepped from behind the waiter and took the chair next to Brittany.
“Nothing for me,” Ethan said, waving off the waiter.
Once again, Francesca made introductions.
“Glad to meet you, dude. Sorry to hear about that nasty spill you took. How are you doing?” Tucker asked, genuinely interested.
“My eyesight’s returned and my doctor gave me a clean bill of health. I can’t complain.”
Ethan could see again! Brittany wanted to crawl into a hole. She also wanted to grab him and hug him with joy.
How had he known where to find her? The answer had to be Sandy. Brittany hadn’t been able to resist telling her assistant she was meeting Tucker, just to make Sandy pea green with envy.
“So where did you two meet?” Ethan asked Francesca.
“I did a cover for Rolling Stone with Tucker. It’ll be out in a few months.”
Brittany couldn’t bring herself to say anything. To even look at Ethan.
Why was he here?
She couldn’t allow herself to hope that he’d changed his mind about her. That he’d realized she’d told him the truth because she loved him. That he’d remembered she was a love-starved, foolish teenager when she pulled the stunt.
“What are you up to, Ethan? I haven’t seen much of you in the columns lately,” Francesca asked.
“I haven’t been social since the accident. But I’m planning to remedy that. As a matter of fact, that’s why I’m here. I wanted to ask Brittany to attend my class reunion with me.”
He had turned to look at her.
“What do you say, Brittany?”
“I, ah …” she stammered, amazed he would ask her.
The waiter came with their entrées, and she had a momentary reprieve.
“It seems my ex-fiancée is going to be at the reunion and she’s been recently divorced.”
“Oh, I get it. You want to make her squirm so you’re asking a pretty girl like Brittany to decorate your arm,” Tucker said, endearing himself to Brittany forever.
“Something like that,” Ethan said, not taking his eyes off her. “So, what do you say? Will you go with me?”
Francesca and Tucker pretended to be terribly occupied with their food.
Brittany knew exactly what he was saying. She could read it in his eyes. She owed him, because of what she’d done. He was putting her on the spot, asking her to do something she’d already agreed to under very different circumstances.
Tucker had it all wrong.
Ethan wasn’t taking her to show her off. He was taking her to make her pay for what she’d done. He planned to get Tricia back.
And he planned to make her watch.
There was no way she could do that.
“Aw, come on, woman. Put him out of his misery and say yes,” Tucker urged.
She supposed she had to. It was that or make a scene. And she did owe him.
“Yes,” she said softly, reluctantly.
“Okay. Then it’s a date. I’ll pick you up on Saturday at eight,” Ethan said, with a glint of victory in his eyes.
The waiter returned to the table with their drink order and Ethan took the opportunity to excuse himself.
“But before I leave, I wonder if I could speak with you alone for a moment, Tucker.”
Brittany was already half out of her chair and sat back down as unobtrusively as possible when Ethan said Tucker’s name instead of hers.
“Sure, man,” Tucker replied, rising to go out to the sidewalk with Ethan.
“What do you suppose they’re talking about?” Brittany asked.
“Who knows?” Francesca said, shrugging. “They’re probably comparing tattoos.”
Brittany began to cry.
“Oh, honey, don’t do that. He asked you out. Everything is going to be okay.”
“No, it’s not. He only asked me to punish me. He wants Tricia back, not me.”
“What makes you think that?”
“I ruined his life when I stopped his wedding.”
“He was angry. Maybe he reconsidered.”
“No. He hates me.”
“Who hates you?” Tucker asked, rejoining them.
“The waiter.”
“Why?”
“Never mind. What were you and Ethan talking about out there?”
Tucker laughed. “Nothing. The guy’s a crazy man.”
“What?”
“Never mind, let’s eat. I’m starved. Then after we eat maybe we can take in a movie or something.”
“The Age of Innocence?” Brittany and Francesca both said hopefully.
“Or maybe we could go to the Village and listen to some jazz.”
Brittany started to cry again.
“What’d I say?” Tucker asked, looking mortified.
“Nothing. Eat your pot-au-feu.”
Tucker picked at his plate with his fork. “But it’s boiled carrots and cabbage and lots of vegetables.”
“So why did you order it, if you don’t like vegetables?” Francesca asked.
“The only other choice was the salad you guys got or calf’s liver—yuck.”
He signaled the waiter, who came immediately to their table.
“Do you have desserts?”
The waiter rattled off a sweet-and-tangy tart, a crème caramel and a chocolate-iced opera cake.
“One of each and we’ll all sample,” Tucker ordered.
After dessert Tucker lived up to Francesca’s “total sweetheart” billing and took them to a late showing of The Age of Innocence.
It gave Brittany a chance to have a good cry.
Francesca a chance to rave over the dresses.
And Tucker a chance to say that there was no reason to ever marry, save love.
Which endeared him to both women forever.
Tucker Gable was an endearing sort of guy.
Too bad Ethan Moss wasn’t, Brittany thought with a sniff, wondering how she was ever going to get through Saturday night.
12
BRITTANY ASTOR HAD decided she wasn’t going down without a fight.
Still, she wasn’t quite sure about the red sheath she’d bought. From the front it showed off her curves but nothing more. It was the back that was scandalous.
There wasn’t one. It was scooped down to there.
“You look fabulous. Will you quit worrying?” Francesca said, applying the matching red lipstick to Brittany’s lips with the expertise she’d learned from watching countless makeup artists do her.
“Ethan probably won’t notice. I might as well be wearing a gunnysack. He’ll only have eyes for Tricia Edwards. I don’t stand a chance against her. I never did.”
“You aren’t a kid anymore, baby sister. Look in the mirror.”
Her reflection showed Francesca was telling the truth. Brittany hardly recognized the woman staring back at her. Francesca had skillfully covered the dusting of freckles on her nose and styled her hair in a sophisticated French twist.
“Wait till you see the shoes I have …” Francesca said, heading for her closet.
The telephone rang.
Maybe it was Ethan canceling, Brittany thought with both hope and disappointment.
It was Dawson, tell
ing her Ethan had been detained and would be sending a taxi to pick her up.
Just like old times, she thought, putting down the phone. And she was just as nervous as she’d been the first time Ethan had sent a taxi for her.
Francesca returned from the depths of her closet with a pair of killer pumps: red grosgrain against matte-gold three-inch heels.
“Who was that?”
“Dawson. Ethan’s running late, so he’s sending a taxi.”
“I was hoping maybe it was Tucker.”
“What is this?” Brittany asked, taking the heels from her sister and slipping into them. “Don’t tell me you’re smitten, big sister. Sitting around at home waiting for a man to call you?”
“He’s just so much fun. And he isn’t stuck on himself. And he really, really likes women. I mean, likes them as people. Enjoys them. That’s so refreshing after all the macho, self-absorbed, jock-mentality guys I’ve dated.”
“Okay, so you don’t like him,” Brittany said with a laugh. “What’s he doing in New York, anyway? Did he come just to be with you?”
“No. He’s here talking to some galleries about his paintings.”
“Ah, a Renaissance man,” Brittany said, slipping on the diamond ear studs she’d gotten to wear for her debut.
“He is, sort of. You have to give him a lot of credit, coming from the abused childhood he ran away from. He could have turned to drugs and crime.”
“Oh, so we’ve progressed to talking about childhoods. Sounds pretty serious to me, big sister. Are you sure I shouldn’t call Mom and tell her a grandbaby might not be such a farfetched idea? That she ought to be buying Bride’s magazine instead of the fashion magazines to look for your pictures?”
“We’re just pals,” Francesca assured her, somewhat wistfully.
“So then you haven’t kissed or anything.”
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Is he a good kisser?”
“Is Grisham on the New York Times list? What do you think? Ah, your taxi is here,” Francesca said, handing Brittany her Fendi bag. “You look stunning. Now go knock ’em dead.”
“What are you going to do tonight?”
A Kiss in the Dark Page 12