Then He Kissed Me

by Christie Ridgway

  *****

  Outside the entrance to the wine caves, Roxy remained silent as Stevie Baci apologized to her and her mother-in-law-to-be, Senator Platt, for her casual dress. “I meant to change out of jeans for our meeting,” she said, “but I got waylaid.”

  Since Roxy had recognized the car her brother was driving in the parking lot, she wondered if Jack was the “way” who’d “laid” the other woman. She snorted, then turned it into a cough as Lois Platt turned to look at her.

  “Are you all right, Roxanne?”

  “Of course.” Her voice sounded unnaturally high to her own ears. The verge of hysteria could do that to a person. “I’m fine.”

  Stevie looked over her shoulder as she unlocked the heavy doors leading into the caves. As they opened, chilled air and a sourish, though not unpleasant, smell washed over them. “We have a couple of hours before the tasting room opens,” she said. “That’s just one part of the caves, though. Wine is stored in another area, and then there’s the dining room where you’ll have your dinner.”

  Her hand found a switch at the entrance and wrought iron chandeliers lit along the underground hall. Stevie let out an audible sigh. “We’ve had an ongoing electrical problem, but it looks as if we’ve solved it.”

  “Are you sure?” the senator asked. “I don’t want any difficulties that night. We have the press conference first, of course, but then -”

  “It will be fine,” Stevie promised, smiling over her shoulder. Then her glance sharpened. “Roxy? Are you all right?”

  That was the second time in five minutes the question had been put to her. “Don’t I look fine?”

  Stevie’s gaze cut to the senator and then back to Roxy. “I would imagine anyone would be feeling nervous as their wedding approached - especially if the event will be launched by a press conference.”

  “Nonsense,” Emerson’s mother said as they followed in Stevie’s wake. “Roxanne is a princess. She’s accustomed to attention. She’s made for public life.”

  Roxanne was glad the relative dimness of the caves hid her reaction to that.

  Instead, she pretended an interest in her surroundings as Stevie explained their construction. Almost five years old, the space had been carved out of the hillside, then reinforced with rebar and finished with sprayed cement. “Like a swimming pool,” Stevie explained, “only upside-down.”

  She showed them into the cavernous space that would be used for the rehearsal dinner. It was finished with a beautiful long table and matching chairs. More chandeliers hung overhead, though it was probably shadowy enough to make those who disliked darkness a little twitchy.

  That wasn’t Roxy’s weakness. She took a seat with the two other women at the table and pulled out the seating chart she’d filled out alone. Taking a breath, she pushed it toward the senator. “This is just a draft, of course. Feel free to make any changes you like.”

  The older woman’s fingertips drummed as she peered at the paper through her businesslike reading glasses. Roxy forced herself to sit still during this examination, only looking up to send Stevie a half smile when she placed a platter of fruit and cheese on the table, along with small plates, forks, and napkins with the Tanti Baci logo.

  As Emerson’s mother continued to peruse the chart, Roxy focused on the food. There was a small silver knife for the cheese, pocket-sized, and the handle was shaped like a rabbit. Her fingers itched to touch it. She reached forward -

  “Stop!” a male voice said.

  She jumped, looking toward the sound with a guilty start. It was him! Had he driven here from San Francisco? How did he know how badly she needed him?

  But then he came closer and she realized - with part relief, part disappointment - that it was a stranger standing there, a man carrying a covered tray. He was not too tall, but broad-shouldered and muscular. Though his face was youthful, silver threaded the dark hair at his temples. Smiling, he came toward her. “I don’t want you to ruin your appetite for the desserts you’re supposed to be sampling.”

  Her gaze sought Stevie’s, and the other woman performed the introductions. “Roxanne, this is Charlie Howard. Emerson’s mom chose him to cater your rehearsal dinner. We’ll all gain weight just looking at his desserts.”

  Senator Platt looked up from the chart and gestured the chef into a chair. “I have several things to go over. Let me get my briefcase.” As she bent to retrieve it, she glanced at Stevie. “Where should we start … ?”

  “Charlie, you should know that before the actual dinner there’s going to be a press conference -”

  “You’re going to announce you found the treasure!”

  Stevie blinked. “What?”

  The man looked smug. “I heard about it from Bud, who was told by J.D. that Seth found the key to the treasure, gave it to you, and now you’ve found the treasure itself. Right?”

  “Wrong.” Stevie was shaking her head. “It doesn’t surprise me that in this town rumors are running like wildfire, but Charlie, you’re jumping to conclusions.”

  “No treasure?”

  “No treasure.”

  He flopped against the back of his chair. “I don’t know whether I’m sad or glad to hear that. We used to hunt for it with shovels and flashlights when we were kids.”

  “You and everyone else in Edenville.” Stevie slanted a glance at Roxy. “Short version: legend says there’s some kind of treasure somewhere on the Baci land. It’s a kind of rite of passage to go out looking for it. Our version of a snipe hunt.”

  “Then there’s the ghost story,” Charlie added. “If you go to Anne and Alonzo’s cottage with your one true love, their ghosts will appear in approval.”

  “So that’s why you were caught out there with a succession of girls, Charlie. You were just looking for your one true love - not trying to find a private make-out place.”

  He laughed. “You got me.”

  Senator Platt’s briefcase thumped against the tabletop. “Charles,” she said. “The real news is that we’ll be announcing my son’s candidacy for the U.S. Congress that night.”

  “Uh, maybe you should swear him to secrecy, Senator,” Stevie suggested. “You just saw how gossip -”

  “I don’t care who hears about it ahead of time,” the older woman declared. “It will only get people accustomed to the idea. Emerson is going to be their next U.S. representative, just as Princess Roxanne Parini will be his wife.”

  And there it was. Out loud. Fait accompli. Removed from Roxy’s control. The princess and the politician.

  She closed her eyes, her hands cradling the little rabbit-handled knife in her lap. I have to get away, she thought.

  To the one person, besides Emerson, who had ever made her feel safe. But she couldn’t go back to that other man. He didn’t want to see her any longer. She didn’t want to see him any longer.

  Yet she knew she was going to anyway.

  Then He Kissed Me

  9

  ************************************************************************************************

  It was closing in on six P.M., and Stevie moved around the PR office at Tanti Baci, pretending she was doing something besides anticipating the evening ahead. Tonight she had a date with a prince - and her personal dent-puller. Jack had called her this morning and she’d agreed.

  Her stomach gave a little nervous spasm, so she rushed to the full-length mirror installed on the back of the office door. Did she look okay?

  She looked okay. Jack had said the evening would be casual. To that end she’d worn her bad-girl black boots with dark denim jeans, and a tight-fitting, button-up blue sweater over a matching lacy camisole. She’d fastened the sweater to just below her breasts and the lace peeked through the gap.

  Her earrings were long, a handcrafted pair she’d picked up at a boutique in Edenville. They were slender rods of polished abalone shell that tickled her neck when she moved. And she couldn’t keep still, driven to dance just like the butterflies in her belly.

 
; She smiled at herself, because even nervous, she was in a great mood.

  Sex like a man.

  No strings. And no inhibitions, she decided. She rubbed her cold hands together and smiled again. Why not? Why hold back when she hadn’t had sex in many, many, many months, not since -

  “Emerson?” She leapt back, gaping, as he came barging in. “What are you doing here?”

  Ignoring her, he surveyed the room, even going so far as to peer behind the door he’d opened. His hands pushed through his hair, mussing his usually precise good looks.

  “Emerson?”

  Now he glanced at her, but clearly she wasn’t at the forefront of his thoughts. It was an expression she was accustomed to, of course, because he’d worn it often before he’d dumped her. “What’s going on?” she asked him.

  “Roxanne,” he said.

  “Roxanne… ?”

  “Do you know where she is?” Emerson demanded.

  That caused her to blink. Emerson, as a rule, wasn’t a demander. He was easygoing, calm, the kind of man who rode the waves of life by staying on top of them. He surfed trouble.

  He ran his hands through his hair, mussing it again, and she noticed that it and his clothes were nearly soaked through.

  It looked as if trouble had swamped him.

  She edged away, concerned his agitation might infect her. She was happy! Excited! Full of smiles!

  “Sorry,” she told him. “But I have no idea where your bride might be. I haven’t seen her since we met in the wine caves yesterday.”

  “She didn’t tell me what she was doing today. Her cell phone isn’t picking up.”

  Out the window, she could see darkness and sheets of rain. “It’s pouring out there. Maybe she’s stuck in traffic.”

  “You don’t understand -”

  “Roxanne’s a big girl.”

  He shook his head. “She’s not like you, Stevie. She’s … so … I don’t know. Soft. Feminine.”

  That was it. Unfeminine, unsoft Stevie advanced on him, herding him toward the exit. “I don’t have time for this.” She had a good mood to nurture. “So I’ll have to say good -”

  “What if she’s been kidnapped again?”

  Her feet stuttered to a stop. “What are you talking about? Kidnapped?”

  Again?

  “You know.” Emerson made a rough gesture. “Jack must have said.”

  “His sister was kidnapped?” A trickle of ice traced down her spine, but then she remembered that Roxanne was currently hale and hearty - and planning on marrying Stevie’s ex. “Look, Emerson, maybe we can have this chat some other time.”

  The last thing she wanted was for Jack to arrive and Emerson to be on-site. They had a special evening ahead and it would mar the mood if it began with Emerson’s paranoia.

  Instead of taking direction, Emerson moved only as far as one of the visitor’s chairs. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and then dropped into the seat to stare at the device, as if willing it to ring.

  It was all hard to fathom, except the fact that unless she could carry him out of the room - even her unfeminine self wasn’t that strong - the quickest way to get rid of him and the headache threatening to spoil her happy frame of mind was to humor him.

  For five minutes.

  She checked her watch. “Okay, now. What’s this about a kidnapping?” A little chuckle escaped her. “Don’t tell me you’ve found a ransom note.”

  He shook his head. “That’s how they caught the bastard ten years ago.”

  The ice avalanched down her back this time and she shivered. “You’re - you’re not kidding? This really happened?”

  Emerson looked up. “You didn’t know? It was ten years ago, but the gossip rags followed it for months…”

  “I’ve never paid attention to the tabloids.” And she’d been … what? Seventeen? Still recovering from the death of her mother and trying to escape her feelings about it by running cross-country and track and playing all-season softball.

  “A friend of Jack’s hatched the idea. Well, the man was actually the brother of a girl he was seeing. Sister and brother were both implicated, and both went to jail.”

  A friend of Jack’s? “That must have been horrible.”

  “They were at a house in the mountains of Ardenia. Separated. Roxanne was locked in a bedroom. Fourteen years old and locked in a bedroom all by herself for five days!”

  Stevie’s hand crept up to her throat and she sank into another chair. “My God.” Her gaze found the window and she stared unseeing into the darkness - locked in a bedroom all by herself for five days!

  “Jack was kept in a closet.”

  Her head jerked toward Emerson. “Jack?”

  The other man was shaking his head. “He really didn’t tell you? You’re engaged and you didn’t know this about him? I’m concerned about the kind of relationship you and he have, Stevie.”

  A casual relationship. A convenient one. “Sex like a man,” she whispered.

  Then a flurry of movement and rain-scented air redirected her attention. Jack strode into the office, stopped short. “What the hell are you doing here, Platt?” he asked, frowning.

  Emerson jumped to his feet. “Where’s your sister?”

  Jack’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why? Are you afraid she’ll find you here?”

  Confused by his tone and everything she’d just learned, Stevie waved her hands. “Emerson’s misplaced Roxanne. Have you spoken with her?”

  His gaze flicked to her. She felt it run from her eyes to the lacy inset over her breasts, then back to her mouth.

  Her skin prickled in that odd, maddening way it did around him. Her lips tingled. “Jack!” she said, to bring him back to the subject. “Roxanne?”

  He turned his head toward Emerson. “She’s in her room at the resort. I just spoke with her there. She’d just gotten in.”

  The other man didn’t relax. “She doesn’t pick up her cell.”

  “I talked with her on the room’s land-line. Maybe you can’t reach her on the cell because of the rain, but most likely it’s because -”

  “She forgot to keep it charged,” Emerson finished. He was already rushing for the door. “I’ll take care of that.”

  Stevie waved to his retreating back. “Great talking with you, too.”

  “I’ve noticed sarcasm doesn’t work with him,” Jack said, moving closer.

  She moved back, suddenly, acutely aware that the man coming toward her was a stranger. Jack was kept in a closet. Ten years ago, he and his sister were kidnapped. Rescued, obviously, but kidnapped.

  Should she bring that up?

  He tilted his head. “Did I get the day wrong? The time?”

  “What?” She bit her lip, still mulling her options.

  “You don’t look very happy to see me.”

  Happy! That’s right. She was supposed to be in a good mood. Fifteen minutes ago, she’d been looking forward to spending time with him. “Of course I’m pleased to see you,” she said.

  He took her shoulders in his hands. “Happy, mon ange. There’s a difference.”

  Jack Parini had been kidnapped once upon a time, but he’d decided not to share that information with her.

  “Smile, darlin’.”

  She glanced up at him, surprised by the Southern drawl he’d affected. “What’s that?”

  “Just my Georgia charm oozing out.” This accent was as flawless as his French. “Do you like it?”

  She laughed despite herself. “You’re impossible.”

  “There’s my girl.”

  He bent his head and kissed her. It was a stranger’s mouth on her; a stranger’s hands drawing her close to his hard chest. But then her brain stopped working and her body responded. This is Jack, the man who makes me feel like I want to crawl out of my skin and find my way into his.

  Her arms went around his neck, her mouth opened, and she slid her tongue against his in warm, wet welcome. The kiss turned more desperate, then he pushed her a lit
tle away, breathing hard, his expression bemused.

  “Sweet thing.” Still Southern Man. “You’ve got me all riled up and the evening hasn’t even begun.”

  Desire made her dizzy, but not enough that she could forget how little she knew about him. But what did that matter? This … this thing between them was for the present. Sex like a man.

  She wasn’t expecting a future, so why would the past matter?

  It shouldn’t, she told herself. It didn’t.

  *****

  Emerson Platt paused outside the door to his fiancée’s suite. There were lights on inside, he’d spotted her car in the parking lot, her brother had assured him she was fine and dandy. He could take a few moments to compose himself.

  He was a composed kind of man. Steady. Some might call him a little too middle-of-the-road, but the fact was, he liked treading that secure center ground. No highs, no lows to trip a guy up.

  Blowing out a breath of air, he slid his palms over his hair to smooth it. Since puberty, the stuff growing there had become a weak point. The strands were straight and thick but somehow, when he turned thirteen, they turned unruly. Even with the most expensive of stylists wielding their scissors, the haystack atop his head refused to lie quietly against his skull without the application of industrial-strength agents.

  The product he used now was called Glop. Seriously. Emerson Platt, successful businessman, son of a U.S. senator, had to hold his hair down with Glop.

  His mother would shudder and suggest using something with a more dignified name. So he didn’t tell her. He liked his Glop.

  Not that his mother’s opinions weren’t valuable. He considered her a very astute woman and an excellent senator - he’d been voting for her since he’d turned eighteen, even though no one would know if he didn’t, would they? Her judgment was something he found he could rely on and he usually did. So he’d heard and heeded her opinion about him turning to politics.

  It was a fact that he enjoyed working in the commercial real estate business, but he could see how his best talents could be put to use doing something else. Modesty aside, he had a true facility for getting people to trust him and for discovering their particular needs. Negotiation came easily to him.