by Nina Lane
“Sometimes it takes a second look to see it,” he remarked. “I’m sure there’s some deep symbolic meaning to it, but I just like the fact that it’s so cute.”
She smiled. “Nothing wrong with cute.”
He glanced at her. “If you don’t mind my saying so, you look absolutely beautiful tonight.”
A glow of pleasure lit in her heart. “I don’t mind at all. In fact, I appreciate it more than I can say. Thank you.”
“Are you having a good time?” Warren asked.
“I’m enjoying the exhibit,” Polly said evasively. “I love museums. Whenever my mother and I traveled, she always made a point of visiting local museums. We used to talk about seeing the famous museums of the world one day.”
“The big museums are impressive, no question,” Warren said. “But the smaller ones are sometimes more personal and memorable. There’s a little museum in Aix-en-Provence that used to be Cezanne’s atelier. Walk in and you almost expect to see him there, still painting.”
A burst of music came from the great hall. Warren extended his hand to the door.
“Care to dance?” he asked.
“Oh, I don’t think so. I was just getting ready to leave.”
“So soon?” He frowned. “Is Luke taking you home?”
“No, we came in separate cars. I’m just tired, that’s all.”
“Well, if you’ll give me one dance,” Warren said, “I’ll be able to brag that I danced with the most beautiful woman at the ball.”
Amused and flattered, Polly took his proffered arm as they walked back out to the great hall.
“My sister-in-law tells me you’ve been dating Luke for several weeks now,” Warren said. “Thank you for getting him away from work.”
“I don’t know that I’ve done that too much,” she admitted. “But he’s been a great help with getting my bakery back on track.”
“Yes, I heard him talking about it. You’ll likely have some new customers tomorrow.”
Well, that would be good, even though Polly still didn’t like the idea that all the posh guests here thought of her as Luke’s little bakery girl “project.” And while she was proud of Wild Child and he was stating the facts about her owning a bakery, she wished it didn’t feel like he was belittling her at the same time.
She let Warren lead her onto the floor and was happy to discover that he was an excellent dancer who easily compensated for her lack of experience. He led well, didn’t mind when she stepped on his toes, and guided her in time with the music. Enjoyment quickly replaced the cloud that had fallen over her evening.
After Polly danced three songs with Warren, Sam Walker cut in—and by then, she was charged with adrenaline and ready to keep going. She danced with three different men in a row before Evan Stone appeared at her side and guided her into a waltz. She had never danced a waltz in her life, but with him it was easy. Apparently rhythm and grace ran in the Stone genes as powerfully as handsomeness did.
“Nice to see you again,” Evan told her with a smile. “You look lovely, and I have to tell you it’s my brother’s loss that he’s not paying more attention to you.”
“You noticed?” Polly asked in surprise.
“Only because he told me he’d come with you, but every time I see him he’s either talking to one of our shareholders or project managers.” He glanced to a table where Luke sat talking to a portly man. “He’s usually polite enough to forego work during a social event.”
He turned back to her. “But I said, it’s his loss because I intend to claim another dance.”
He guided her across the floor, maneuvering easily around the other guests. Polly caught sight of Warren dancing with Julia, who passed with another nod of approval that made her feel like she’d done everything right. Luke’s attitude certainly wasn’t her fault.
A princess doesn’t need a prince to have a good time. Not when there are plenty of other gallant courtiers around. And certainly not when the prince is acting very . . . unprincely.
Evan spun her again. Polly let go of his hand and twirled in two circles, laughing as a rush of dizziness filled her head. She reached the edge of the dance floor and suddenly bumped against a hard male body. She turned, her heart leaping at the sight of Luke standing behind her, shadows cutting across his face and his eyes dark.
“I thought you left,” he said.
“Why would I leave?” Polly asked, her voice light and her breath fast. “I’m having a great time. Your brother is a wonderful dancer.”
So was his father, but she decided to leave that out. And she was glad she did when jealousy flashed in Luke’s expression. He looked past her, his glare skewering his brother. Evan stopped beside her and put a deliberate hand on her back.
“Hope you don’t mind me borrowing Polly for a while,” he told Luke. “You’re so busy talking business it seems you forgot you brought a date.”
Luke’s glare hardened, a muscle ticking in his jaw. He reached out and moved his brother’s hand away from her. “I’ll take it from here, man.”
“Sure.” Evan turned to her with another smile. “Thank you, Polly. I really enjoyed spending time with you.”
“Go,” Luke growled.
Evan winked at her and strolled back across the dance floor. Still zinging with adrenaline from dancing, Polly was also filled with warmth and pleasure that two of the Stone men, at least, knew how to treat a woman.
The problem was that Luke did too. Even more, he knew specifically how to treat her.
So why had he gotten it all wrong tonight?
“I’d better take you home.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s almost midnight, and if you have to open the bakery . . .”
Polly’s teeth came together. “Thank you for being so concerned about Wild Child, but I assure you I can handle it. And I’m not ready to go home yet.”
“I am.” Luke rubbed his hand irritably over the back of his neck. “I had a two-hour call right before coming here, and I—”
“Whose fault was that?” Despite her attempts to keep her anger locked away, she could feel it start to break through.
“You’re the one who scheduled the damned call, right?” she continued sharply. “And frankly, I could care less that you’re ready to leave. Never in my life have I been to an event like this, much less looking like this, and I’m not letting you cut my evening short just because you’re acting like an ass.”
So there.
Polly spun around and strode off, silently sending up a thousand thank-yous when another man appeared at her side to request a dance. She put her hand in his and walked back to the dance floor, determined to find her good time again.
Unfortunately, it was gone, as if Luke had stolen it a second time. She danced a few more measures before slipping off to call the town car driver and let him know she was ready to leave. She retrieved her borrowed wrap and said good-night to the people she’d talked with throughout the evening.
She didn’t see Luke anywhere.
By the time she was slumped in the town car, fatigue started to push down all her defenses. Her whole being ached. Polly guessed her deflated heart was appropriate, though, since surely Cinderella felt this way after running from the ball at midnight.
The driver pulled up into the narrow alley behind Wild Child and got out of the car to escort her to the door.
“You didn’t have to get out, but thank you.” Polly opened her handbag, hoping Julia had spotted her a ten or a twenty so she could tip him.
“No need, miss.” The driver held up his hand. “Mr. Stone took care of everything. He also said to tell you I’m to be at your service, should you ever need transportation. Just call the number I gave you, and I’ll be here as soon as I can.”
“Oh.” Polly closed the bag, her heart sinking even further, if that was possible. “Well, thank you.”
“My pleasure, miss.” He headed down the stairs back to the car.
Hoping Hannah wasn’t home so she wouldn’t witness Polly’s mis
ery, she let herself into her apartment. She had worked hard to make this place a little haven, and usually she loved coming home to her books and photographs, the stack of cooking magazines on the coffee table, the mosaic end table her mother had made.
Now it all just looked shabby and worn.
“Hannah?”
No answer.
Polly flicked on the bathroom light and winced at the sight of her reflection—her lipstick had worn off, mascara was smudged under her eyes, and her hair was limp and flat.
She stripped carefully out of the gown and hung it on the closet door along with the corset before taking a long, hot shower that washed away some of her lingering despair.
She should be glad the evening had happened the way it did, she thought as she pulled on her French-themed pajama pants and a tie-dyed T-shirt. She had been getting a few too many flights of fancy lately, and tonight had brought her sharply back to earth where she belonged.
Better now than later. If she kept going on this path and really fell for Luke Stone, a reality hit like this would hurt even more.
But she hadn’t fallen for him. Much.
And even if she had—which she had not—his behavior tonight would make her rethink the direction of her heart.
She tugged a brush through her wet hair, curly and tangled again, and went to make herself a cup of tea.
As she waited for the chamomile flowers to steep, she told herself this was easier than it could have been. And it reminded her that the story of the bakery girl and the wealthy candy maker had a definite ending.
No one had promised it would be a happy one.
SHE WAS GONE. AFTER THREE turns through the crowd and the galleries, Luke was forced to admit that Polly had left without telling him. Again.
Goddammit. He took another gulp of scotch, appreciating the burn as it spilled down his throat. Despite being annoyed that she was gone, part of him was jealously glad she was no longer the focus of male attention. She’d looked incredible—all polished and elegant with that gown clinging to her gorgeous body and her hair like a shiny, smooth waterfall . . .
Beautiful as Polly was tonight, she hadn’t look like his Peach. She was another version of herself, a woman of sophistication who moved easily in and out of conversations and charmed most of the men in the room. She seemed totally different from the artless girl who’d nervously approached him at the pool table with her birthday cake shot in hand. And from the girl who’d plunged naked into his swimming pool and hula-hooped with gusto at a hippie music festival and brought him pizza for dinner.
Luke gestured for the bartender to refill his glass. He felt like needles were poking at his chest, intensifying the self-directed anger that had been simmering inside him all night.
He wasn’t supposed to feel this way about her. He’d intended to enjoy a few dates, help her with the bakery, and then he was going to walk away.
Except now he didn’t want to. He couldn’t imagine walking away from Polly. She’d taken his rigid, narrow-minded life and filled every part of it with . . . fun.
“Man, you are a dickhead.” Evan appeared at Luke’s side, faint disgust in his expression.
“Yeah.” He took another drink. “She’s too good for me.”
“From what Dad and Julia say, she’s just good for you,” Evan said. “And even I can see you’ve changed since you started seeing her. Though you gotta treat her better than you did.”
Luke’s chest tightened. He knew he had to make things right with Polly. But how? He didn’t know what to do with everything she’d given him.
He’d seen it the instant he’d turned to face her on the front steps of the museum. The second he realized that the shining beauty walking toward him was his Peach. Because even though she looked a world away from the tousled girl who’d smashed her mouth against his at the Troll’s House, Polly hadn’t changed. All of her emotions still shone through those thick-lashed brown eyes. She still couldn’t hide what she was feeling.
And when his gaze collided with hers . . . his heart had turned into a falcon—flying, swooping, and gliding over a blue sky.
Love.
It was there in her eyes, clear as glass, brilliant as a painting. No woman had ever looked at him with such blatantly pure emotion.
Christ. It felt like he’d first seen her a lifetime ago, when in reality it had only been a couple of months. And yet Polly had filled him so completely, her presence so softening and soothing, that somehow without his even realizing it, she’d become part of him.
He steeled himself against the feeling, trying to remind himself that he’d never been untruthful with her. He’d told her from the beginning that he couldn’t give her anything long-lasting. He had no reason to feel guilty.
Never mind that it wasn’t guilt he was feeling as much as . . . despair. Because what would his life be like without her? Work, meetings, negotiations.
No explosive sex. No ridiculously overcrowded clubs. No midnight skinny-dipping. No flirtatious texting. No palm reading, aura cleansing, or beatnik music festivals ending with them naked and sweaty in a tent.
There would be no fun.
Luke pushed away from the bar and headed for the front doors of the museum, calling his town car driver on the way. Damned if he had any idea what to say to Polly, but he couldn’t leave things as they were. Minutes later, the car was heading toward Rainsville and Wild Child.
His heart beat faster the closer he got to Polly. He almost ran up the stairs to her apartment, knocking once before the locks clicked.
Then she was opening the door, all sweet and rumpled in a T-shirt and pajama pants with her hair damp and curly—just the way he liked it—and he fought the urge to haul her into his arms, right where she belonged. He wanted to cover her mouth with his, to drink in the taste of sugar and peaches, to feel her warm body pressing against his chest.
Then he wanted to take her home and strip off her clothes so he could—
“What do you want?” she asked, her voice chilly.
“To see you.” He took a breath, willing his heartbeat to slow. “And to apologize.”
She studied him for a moment, then stepped aside so he could enter. He caught the scent of her—oranges and cloves, a spicy sweetness that shot straight to his blood. His fingers flexed with the urge to touch her.
“All right, then.” She eyed him warily. “I’m listening.”
“I . . . I treated you badly,” he said. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what . . . I didn’t mean to ignore you.”
“You did more than just ignore me,” Polly replied stiffly. “You belittled me.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Your apology is not going well.”
Luke expelled his breath in a frustrated sigh, hating the tangle of emotions he didn’t know what to do with. He dragged his hands down his face and rubbed his jaw.
“I was an asshole,” he admitted. “I wasn’t used to seeing you look like that, and then when you fit right into the party I didn’t know how to handle it.”
Disappointment flashed in her expression.
“You didn’t think I’d fit in there, did you?” she asked. “You thought I’d be totally out of place among your fancy crowd and that you could pass me off as cute little Polly from the bakery like I was your freaking mascot or something.”
“No, I—”
“Yes, that’s what you thought.” She marched over to poke him in the chest. “And here I thought you’d asked me to go with you because we always have a good time together. I thought it would be fun to be part of your world for a few hours. And I got all dressed up for you, dammit. I was waxed, plucked, and exfoliated for you! But apparently China and your new factory in Switzerland, not to mention the Jessica Rabbit you were canoodling with, were all much more important than a hippie girl who thought she could have one night of a fairytale.”
Dammit, he’d known she believed in fairytales, j
ust as he knew he couldn’t give her one. He lived in a world of hard work, ambition, and an iron-clad intent to protect Sugar Rush. A world of no promises.
What would happen if he changed? He’d spent so much of his life being like this that he didn’t know if he was even capable of change. He was old and hardened. Burned. And suddenly scared that he couldn’t offer Polly everything she deserved.
He stared at her, shoving his hands into his pockets to prevent himself from touching her. But he drank in the sight of her flushed, pale skin, her thick-lashed eyes, her curly hair that somehow escaped whatever knot or ponytail she used to contain it, the way her T-shirt molded to the curves of her breasts and hips . . .
“Look, maybe it’s best if we end this right here and now,” Polly said. “There’s always been a deadline, right? This must be it.”
“Deadline?” He frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“This.” She gestured between them. “Our affair has a deadline.”
Irritation speared through him. “Who said it has a deadline?”
“You did.”
“I never said that.”
“You said your relationships have parameters and deadlines,” she snapped.
“I meant my relationships with other women,” Luke retorted. “Not with you.”
Silence fell, except for the sound of their breath.
Polly bit her lip, her gaze wary. “So what does that mean?”
“It means you’ve got me all screwed up.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re in my head all the fucking time. I’m sitting in the boardroom looking at the clock and wondering if I can leave work early to come see you. I never leave work early, dammit. Ever. I’d go to a dozen ridiculous, overcrowded clubs and music festivals, as long as I could go with you. And when I saw you looking like you’d stepped out of the pages of a magazine and then talking and dancing like you belonged there, it hit me like a ton of bricks.”
“What did?”
He turned to face her, feeling as if his chest were about to crack with all the emotions he was trying to contain.
“That you do belong there,” he snapped. “You belong with me. Whether we’re at a museum dinner or in a tent, you belong with me and to me. There’s no fucking deadline, Peach. And the only parameter is that you forgive me for treating you like you were nothing. Because the exact opposite is the truth. You’re everything.”