Her Best-Kept Secret

by Harlen, Brenda

  “Of course not,” he agreed easily.

  Too easily.

  She eyed him warily and caught the twitch of his lips as he tried not to smile. She started to question him, then decided she didn’t want to know and led the way up the narrow stairs to her fourth floor apartment.

  Richard responded to her unspoken query, anyway. “It’s not a date until I kiss you.”

  While Jenny was changing, Richard took advantage of her absence to survey the small living room. There was a sofa and one armchair, an end table, lamp, television. On the table there were thick candles that had burned halfway down set in a shallow bowl filled with decorative stones. The oatmeal sofa was dotted with colorful pillows in various shades of orange and red. It was small but tidy with all the little feminine touches noticeably lacking in his own apartment.

  There was a trio of framed photographs on the table. He picked up the nearest one—a picture of Jenny and Samara both in caps and gowns—obviously their graduation day. He set the frame back down and selected another. This one was of Samara and her great-grandmother, and the resemblance between the two women was striking. The third photo was of Jenny and a couple he assumed were her parents. The man had dark hair and dark eyes and the woman was blond with blue eyes. Richard gazed closely at the trio but could discern no obvious familial resemblance among them. He found it strange that she didn’t look like either of her parents or her brother, and yet she seemed so familiar to him.

  Or maybe Jenny was right—maybe his subconscious was playing tricks on him, giving him a reason for his fixation on her rather than admit it was purely a physical attraction.

  She came out of her bedroom dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a soft yellow T-shirt that clung enticingly to her curves. She’d brushed her hair out so that it hung straight to her shoulders, and he noticed that the ends were still slightly damp.

  She smiled at him, a little hesitantly, as if she was suddenly aware that they were alone in her apartment but not quite sure how they’d got there. “You said you wanted coffee?”

  “That would be great,” he agreed.

  While she was making the coffee, he sat at the little table in the kitchen and watched her. After a few minutes, she joined him, leaning over to slide a mug across the table to him. As she did so, her hair fell forward.

  He couldn’t resist the opportunity, and he reached over to brush a wayward strand off her cheek and tuck it behind her ear. “Did you know that your hair looks like gold in the sun but now, slightly damp, it’s more like copper?”

  She pulled back slightly.

  He smiled. “And when you’re nervous, your eyes get dark—like bottomless pools.”

  She wrapped her hands around her mug. “Do you think a few words of poetic flattery will seduce me, Richard?”

  He shook his head. “No, you’d appreciate straightforward honesty more than smooth dialogue.”

  “You’d be right,” she admitted.

  “That’s why I’m telling you straight out that I want you in my bed.”

  She set her mug down too quickly, too hard, and coffee sloshed over the rim. She jumped up to get a dishcloth to wipe the spill. “I thought we agreed that wouldn’t be smart.”

  “It’s probably not smart,” he said. “But I’m starting to think it’s inevitable.”

  “It’s not.” She shook her head. “You might be content with casual relationships, but I’m looking for something more.”

  “I won’t ever make you any promises I can’t keep.”

  “I’m not asking for any promises. I’m only telling you why it won’t happen.”

  “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see about that.”

  She shook her head, but she was smiling. “You’re being pushy again.”

  “Persistent,” he corrected.

  “We’re completely mismatched.”

  “That doesn’t seem to have diminished the chemistry between us.”

  “It’s the whole opposites attract thing. Maybe we’d have great sex for a while, but it would fizzle soon enough.”

  “Couldn’t we at least enjoy the great sex while it lasts?”

  “I need more than short-term physical pleasure,” she told him.

  “Have you ever had a relationship based purely on physical pleasure?”

  “No,” she admitted.

  He smiled. “Then don’t knock it until you try it.”

  She shook her head. “That little gem of clichéd advice isn’t going to make me throw away my long-term goals for the momentary pleasure of having sex with you.”

  His smile only widened. “It sounds as though you’ve given this some thought.”

  He could tell by the troubled expression on her face that she’d given it more thought than she was willing to admit. He wondered if she’d thought about it as often as he had. If the idea snuck up on her at the most inopportune times during the day, if it plagued her dreams at night.

  “Only because Samara planted the idea in my mind,” she said.

  “Your roommate thinks you should sleep with me?”

  “She thinks I’m still in love with my ex and sleeping with another man is a first necessary step to getting over him.”

  His smile turned into a frown. “I’m not interested in being part of your therapy.”

  “I don’t need therapy,” she said. “Because I’m not still hung up on Brad.”

  As much as Richard wanted to believe her, he was disturbed by the possibility that she was still carrying a torch for her ex. Although he was intrigued by the idea of tangling up the sheets with Jenny, he had too much pride to let himself be used as a substitute for another man. “Are you sure about that, Jenny?”

  “My relationship with Brad ended more than six months ago—I’m sure.”

  He nodded. “Good. Now we can both be sure that when you end up in my bed, it will be because you want to be with me and no one else.”

  “Don’t you mean if?” she challenged.

  He smiled. “No.”

  Despite his earlier teasing and innuendo, Richard didn’t kiss her goodbye.

  He paused at the door for a moment, his gaze locked with hers. After a seemingly endless moment, his eyes dropped to her mouth, lingered.

  She felt her breath catch in her throat, heard her heart pound in her ears. He lifted a hand, stroked his fingers softly and ever so slowly down her cheek, and said, “Good night, Jenny.”

  Then he was gone.

  She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until she let it out after the door closed behind him.

  It was a sigh of relief, of course. She was grateful that he was respecting the boundaries she’d established. But at the same time, she was frustrated and disappointed, too.

  She turned to see Samara waving her hand in front of her face like a makeshift fan. “Is it hot in here or is it just me?”

  “It’s just you,” Jenny told her.

  Samara grinned. “I’m starting to think that Richard Warren is as smart as he is good-looking.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “Because he knows that if he came on too strong, you’d push him away. Instead, he’s taking it slow, drawing you in.”

  “He’s not drawing me anywhere,” she denied.

  “And he’s doing it so cleverly you don’t even realize it’s happening.”

  Jenny picked up the remote, flicked on the television.

  Her friend perched on the arm of the couch. “What are your plans with Mr. Warren for tomorrow?”

  “I’m not seeing him tomorrow.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because the negotiations for the merger are scheduled to resume on Monday and Richard needs to prepare.”

  Samara sank down beside her on the couch. “Okay, I guess this is where you can say I told you so.”

  But Jenny wasn’t feeling smug, just miserable. Because as often as she’d reminded herself that Richard’s interest in her was only temporary, she didn’t want it to be true.
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  Richard stood at the window and looked out into the night at the wonderland of concrete and steel splashed with garish neon lights.

  Maybe it was because he’d talked to Jenny about his family today that he found himself thinking about them tonight, wondering what his father would have thought about his son—the lawyer—in this fancy hotel suite in Japan. More than anything, Stan Warren had wanted his children to have an education, to have the opportunities of the world opened up to them. Opportunities he’d never had.

  Richard’s lips curved as he imagined his father surveying the same scene that was spread out before him now. Stan would have been more puzzled than impressed by Tokyo, although he would undoubtedly have been pleased by his son’s success.

  His father had once confessed to having had big dreams of his own—plans of going to college, building a career—but then he’d met and fallen in love with Richard’s mother. Nancy had ended up pregnant before they’d graduated from high school, and Stan had married her without a second thought. And though she’d lost that baby a few weeks later, he’d known he didn’t want to be without her.

  Richard had asked him once if he’d ever regretted what he’d given up, the life he might have had. His father had answered without hesitation.

  “Sometimes in life you make choices. Sometimes you make sacrifices. Falling in love isn’t one of those times—it’s not a choice and it’s never a sacrifice. It’s the greatest opportunity. And if the woman you love loves you back, it’s the greatest gift.”

  His brief marriage had suggested a far different reality to Richard. And though he was certain his father would be proud of what he’d done with his career, he wasn’t so sure he’d approve of the mess he’d made of the rest of his life. Divorced from his wife, alienated from his mother, Richard was—aside from a few close friends—alone in the world.

  Usually he took comfort in the fact that there was no one to answer to, no one depending on him. Tonight, it only made him feel lonely.

  With a sigh that was both resigned and regretful, he turned away from the window and back to the laptop humming quietly on the antique desk. He sat down and stared at the screen, but he continued to be preoccupied by a certain green-eyed journalist who had the softest, most kissable lips he’d ever tasted.

  He’d been with other women. More beautiful women, more experienced women. And yet none of them had ever haunted his thoughts the way that Jenny did.

  What was he doing with her? It was a question he’d asked himself at least a dozen times. A question he still couldn’t answer except to acknowledge, with more than a hint of regret, that he had no business pursuing her.

  By her own admission, she didn’t do casual relationships. And Richard didn’t do anything else.

  Jenny was in the middle of inputting a story for the next day’s paper when Richard called her at work Monday afternoon. She hadn’t expected to hear from him for at least a few days, knowing he would be immersed in meetings with the TAKA people, and she’d been prepared for the possibility that she might not hear from him at all.

  “I was just thinking about you and wanted to hear your voice,” he told her.

  The words caused an unexpected warmth to flow through her, but she forced herself to respond lightly. “You must have too much time on your hands.”

  “I wish I did, but even in these preliminary stages, the negotiations are threatening to be intense.”

  “You should be thrilled—this is what you’ve been waiting a whole week for.”

  “I should be,” he agreed. “Instead I’m wondering when I might get a chance to see you again.”

  “We’ll get together some time before you head back to Chicago,” she said.

  He chuckled softly. “I was hoping to see you several times before then.”

  “I understand that you’re busy.”

  “But I still need to eat,” he said. “And so do you. How about meeting for dinner tonight when I finish here?”

  “Actually, I already have plans for dinner,” she told him.

  There was a pause, then he asked, “A date?”

  “A birthday party.”

  “Are you going with a date?”

  Her sigh was part amusement and part exasperation. “No. It’s a family thing.”

  “We could get together after,” he suggested.

  “I don’t know how late I’ll be.”

  “All right,” he relented. “Enjoy your cake and ice cream while I’m slaving away.”

  “I’ll do that,” she said, although she wasn’t so sure she would.

  Helen stared at the slim gold pen poised over the linen-textured paper. She’d come a long way since she’d first started writing these letters with a dime-store pen on a page torn out of a spiral-bound notebook. Twenty-five years later, the letters weren’t any easier to write. If anything, the ritual had become increasingly more difficult and unexpectedly more painful. Whoever said that time heals all wounds had never had to make the choices she had.

  My darling daughter,

  She didn’t notice the sting of tears, a small discomfort compared to the sharper, deeper ache of emptiness in her heart.

  Her hand trembled, smudging the ink a little as she set the point to the page again.

  I don’t know what to say that I haven’t already said a dozen times before. I don’t know how to explain—

  The phone rang; the pen slipped from her grasp.

  She glanced at the call display, frowning at the unfamiliar display of numbers. Then it clicked—Tokyo. The merger. Richard.

  She slid the paper aside, took a deep breath and picked up the receiver.

  “Hello?”

  “Helen, it’s Richard.”

  “Hi.” Her voice brightened noticeably. Maybe too noticeably. She tried for a more natural tone. “How are things in Tokyo?”

  “Things are moving, if a little more slowly than we’d like,” he told her.

  “Good,” she said, her response proof that she was listening to, if not really hearing, him.

  There was a pause before he asked, “Is everything okay, Helen?”

  “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “Because you’re at home at eight-thirty on a weekday morning.”

  “I just needed to get away from the distractions for a while.”

  “Is Jack still giving you a hard time about the merger?”

  She sighed. “No. For once, this has nothing to do with business.”

  Which was an acknowledgement that there was something, and she’d never intended to admit to even that much.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  She wished there was a way to delegate the grief and guilt to someone else—if only for a little while. But of course she had to suffer the consequences of her own decisions.

  “Just take care of the negotiations,” she told him.

  Chapter Eight

  When Mori Taka called for a morning break to take a conference call, Richard took advantage of the reprieve to track Jenny down in the newsroom. He sat in the chair across from her and gestured to the bouquet of balloons on the corner of her desk. “When you told me you were going to a birthday party, you didn’t tell me it was yours.”

  She lifted one shoulder as she clicked to save her document before turning away from the computer screen.

  “Happy belated birthday.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Why don’t you sound very happy?”

  “It was my twenty-fifth,” she admitted.

  He waited a beat, but no further explanation was forthcoming. “Oh, that’s right,” he said. “I forgot that twenty-five is the unhappy birthday.”

  She managed a smile. “It wasn’t the birthday so much as the celebration.”

  “Not enough pomp and circumstance?”

  “On the contrary,” she said dryly. “My parents planned this formal occasion with a catered meal and elaborate decorations. There was even a parade of men.”

  “Is that some kind of Japa
nese birthday ritual I don’t know about?”

  She shook her head. “That’s my mother’s not-so-subtle way of trying to find me a husband. Most of the invited guests were handpicked for their twin virtues of being single and suitable to marry.”

  He was starting to understand why she sounded less than pleased.

  “I want to get married,” she admitted. “But I want to fall in love, too. Not that I expect to be swept off my feet, but a little romance would be nice.”

  He nodded. “You want love and romance, but no sweeping and no kissing.”

  Her eyes narrowed as she picked up the cup of coffee from her desk and took a long swallow. “You’re making fun of me.”

  “I’m only trying to keep your requirements clear in my mind.”

  “Don’t bother. It has nothing to do with you.”

  “Of course not,” he agreed. “I’m just an interested bystander. But it might be a good idea to make a checklist.”

  She shook her head, but the hint of a smile tugged at her lips. “You’re not helping.”

  “Maybe you don’t really know what you want.”

  “And you do?”

  He shrugged. “My desires are simple.”

  Now she laughed openly. “Is that an eloquent way of saying you don’t want anything more complicated than a warm body in your bed?”

  There was a time that her question would have been valid. That had changed before he came to Japan, but somehow getting to know Jenny had changed him even more. “If that was all I wanted, I wouldn’t be here.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “I saw the Tribune today.” He smiled. “Front page headlines and follow-up on page three. Nice work.”

  “It wasn’t the breaking news I originally hoped for, but I was happy with it,” she admitted.

  “I was thinking I should take you out for dinner to celebrate.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Actually, I was going to suggest tomorrow. Tonight there’s a mandatory dinner meeting.”

  “And I have to attend a showing at a local gallery tomorrow,” she told him.

  He considered that before asking, “Business or pleasure?”