“Both.”
“Do you have a date?”
“No. Nor do I want one,” she admitted.
He smiled. “Would it really be so horrible to drag me along?”
“Why would you want to be dragged along?”
“I enjoy spending time with you. Hard to believe, I know. I guess I’m perverse that way.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Any other perversions I should know about?”
“Not at this point in our relationship.”
“We don’t have a relationship.”
“I’m working on it.”
“That’s the kind of information you should keep to yourself if you want to go to this showing with me.”
“One of the things I like most about you is your honesty. You tell it the way it is. I figured I should return the favor.”
“It’s formal,” she warned.
“I’m sure I can find something to wear.”
“All right,” she finally agreed. “I’ll meet you in the hotel lobby at seven.”
“That should be good. Mr. Taka promised we would break early tomorrow because of the late meeting tonight.”
“How are the negotiations coming?”
“It looks like this might take a while,” he admitted. “I’m starting to think we have a fundamental difference of opinion on certain key issues.”
“It’s a major step for both companies.”
He nodded. It would be a big investment for TAKA but Hanson needed the merger, and although Jenny probably knew that, it wasn’t something he could talk about. His job was to protect the interests of Hanson Media and advertising their desperation—especially to a member of the press—wasn’t a good way to do it.
The phone on Jenny’s desk buzzed, startling them both.
“Nigel Whitter is on line four,” a female voice announced through the speaker.
“Thanks, Kari.” Jenny looked at him apologetically. “I have to take this call.”
“And I have to get back to the boardroom.” He stood up, ready to go. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
“It’s not a date,” she reminded him.
He grinned. “We’ll see.”
He wasn’t going to show up.
For all of Richard’s claims about wanting to see her and his determined wrangling of an invitation to the event, it had taken nothing more than a message from Chicago to have him change his plans.
Jenny wasn’t surprised—his last minute phone call wasn’t unexpected. The disappointment was. She mulled over this realization as she wandered through the gallery, an untouched glass of champagne in her hand.
She’d been looking forward to seeing him. As much as she hated to admit it, it was true. She hadn’t seen him since his impromptu visit to the newsroom yesterday afternoon, but she’d thought about him—maybe too much.
He’d apologized profusely for the change of plans; she’d assured him it wasn’t a problem. He’d promised to meet her at the gallery; she’d told him it wasn’t necessary. And yet, she wanted him to come—she wanted to believe that she mattered enough to him that he would make the effort.
She stopped in front of a vibrant seascape in furious shades of purple and red and wondered what it was about her that she was so ready to fall into the same trap all over again. It was the pattern of her life—to want too much and need too deeply.
She tipped her glass to her lips. The champagne was flat and warm, a testament to how long she’d been holding the drink, how long she’d been waiting.
She moved on to study the next display—this one an abstract of gentle blues, soft greens and subtle pinks. It should have been a soothing picture, but the clash of colors was no less violent because of the muted tones. It was a painting you didn’t see so much as feel.
She glanced at the discreet placard noting the title of the work. Summer Passion.
Now she understood why the picture seemed to speak to her—it reflected so many of the conflicting emotions inside herself. Desires and denials, frustrations and fears, wants and needs. She swallowed another mouthful of warm champagne and turned away.
As she did so, she caught a glimpse of a dark head and broad shoulders. Her heartbeat quickened, then settled again when she realized the man was a stranger.
He’s not going to show, she told herself again. It was foolish to set herself up for disappointment by expecting otherwise. It was equally foolish, she knew, to want him to come. She might not be able to deny the desire that sparked whenever he was near, but she had no intention of giving in to it. She refused to open up her heart to yet another man who would only break it.
But beyond the physical attraction she felt, she actually enjoyed spending time with him. After their initial meeting, she’d been determined not to like him. She was certain he was ruthless and arrogant, single-minded and self-absorbed. But over the next few days they’d spent together, she’d found her initial impressions changing.
She didn’t doubt he could be ruthless in his business dealings, but he was also thoughtful and kind, as he’d demonstrated in the pleasure he’d found buying gifts for his family. He could be arrogant, but the cockiness was tempered by his self-effacing humor. And he was intelligent, able to converse easily about everything from baseball to world politics.
Okay, he was still pushy, but he was also an interesting and charming man and she was dangerously close to becoming infatuated.
She decided it was a good thing he’d stood her up.
It was after nine o’clock by the time Richard finished his conference call with Helen and made his way to the gallery. After a long day of meetings, he would ordinarily have wanted nothing more than to loosen his tie and put his feet up. Instead, he’d traded his suit for a tux, any hint of weariness overcome by the anticipation of seeing Jenny.
He pushed open the frosted glass door and stepped inside. The gallery was both smaller than he’d expected and more crowded. Silks whispered, jewels glittered and the scent of money hung heavy in the air.
He stood on the fringe of the crowd and scanned the room, searching for her. If he’d thought about it, he might have been concerned by his eagerness. He only thought of Jenny.
And then he found her.
She was wearing a little black dress that clung enticingly to her subtle curves and a pair of skyscraper heels that emphasized shapely calves. Her hair was swept up in some kind of fancy twist, leaving the long, graceful line of her neck bare. Diamonds sparkled at her ears; a matching teardrop pendant drew attention to the shadowy hollow between her breasts.
He accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and stood back for a moment simply enjoying the view—elegant and sophisticated with just a hint of sexy.
His opinion altered dramatically when she turned to speak to the man standing beside her and he realized the dress was more little than anything else. It plunged in the back, dipping almost to her waist and revealing a tantalizing expanse of satiny skin. He gulped a mouthful of champagne, but the cool liquid had no effect on the fiery heat suddenly pulsing through him.
He remained in the shadows, watching as she made her way around the room, stopping to chat frequently with people she knew. She shook hands with some, exchanged air kisses with others, embraced a few.
She was in another man’s arms now—a bald man with wire-rimmed glasses—and she was smiling at him, her eyes lit with genuine warmth and humor. She tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and led him over to the buffet table. Her companion shook his head when she offered him a plate, but continued to make conversation with her while she piled hors d’oeuvres on her own.
Richard decided he’d hovered in the background long enough.
He knew the exact moment she spotted him, could tell by the way she stilled as their gazes locked across the room. It was as if every muscle in her body grew taut and every nerve stretched tight. He moved toward her, with every step he sensed her nervousness growing along with the sexual tension between them.
She wasn�
�t comfortable with him, he realized. She didn’t relax enough to laugh easily or flirt casually. He decided he liked making her uneasy—at least it proved she wasn’t indifferent.
He stepped toward them just as he heard Jenny’s companion saying, “I’ll see you next week, then.”
Her only response was a nod, but she waited until the other man had walked away before she turned to him.
“Hello, Jenny.”
Her smile was pleasant, if a little cool. “Richard. I didn’t think you were coming.”
“I told you I would.”
“So you did.” She took her time in selecting a stuffed mushroom. “You also said you’d be here around eight.”
“I got caught up.”
“These things happen.”
Her response was casual, her tone wasn’t.
“You’re annoyed with me.”
“Of course not,” she denied. “I told you not to worry if you couldn’t make it.”
“I wanted to see you.”
Another cool smile. “And now you have.”
He plucked a shrimp from her plate, popped it into his mouth.
“Help yourself,” she said dryly.
“Thanks.” He smiled as he stole another shrimp. “I missed dinner.”
“So did I.”
He picked up an olive, held it to her lips. She accepted it automatically, her lips brushing his fingertips as she did so. He saw the flare of awareness in her eyes, the flicker of wariness. She definitely wasn’t relaxed now. She was tempted, and fighting the temptation.
“I’ve actually been here a little while,” he said.
“How long?”
He smiled. “Long enough to see you flirting with other men.”
“What other men?”
“The bald guy with round glasses, the gray-haired man with the diamond on his pinky, the short guy wearing the red bow tie.”
“Not that I owe you any explanations, but Ethan is a friend of mine from way back. In fact, I introduced him to his wife. Saburo is a friend of my parents. And Bruce is a copy editor at the paper.”
He nodded. “I see.”
She tilted her head back to meet his gaze. “What do you see?”
“That you flirt with married men, old men, and coworkers, but you don’t flirt with me.”
Her only response was a slight furrow between her brows.
“Is it because I make you nervous?”
“You don’t make me nervous,” she denied.
“Maybe it’s not me,” he allowed. “Maybe it’s the attraction between us.”
“Are the negotiations with TAKA stalled again? Because you really do have too much time on your hands if this is the kind of stuff you’re dreaming up.”
He brushed the back of his hand over her cheek. “I’m not imagining the way your pulse is racing right now.”
She pushed his hand away and picked up a cracker.
He decided he wouldn’t push the issue—yet.
“I don’t know about you,” he said. “But this isn’t doing anything to ease my hunger. Why don’t we go somewhere for dinner?”
She shook her head. “I can’t.”
He thought she sounded disappointed, or maybe he’d just imagined it.
“There are still several other people I need to see,” she explained. “But there’s no reason for you to stay if you don’t want to.”
He touched her back between her shoulder blades, his palm tingling where it contacted her silky skin. “I want to.”
“Why do I think you’re not expressing an interest in the art?”
“Because you’re a very smart woman.” His hand slid lower, to the small of her back, his thumb tracing the skin inside the V-shape cut of the fabric. “I like your dress.”
Jenny had chosen it carefully, determined that if he showed up, he’d know exactly what he was missing. But now that he was here, standing close, touching her, his eyes clearly communicating his desire, she wished she’d chosen differently—more conservatively
But she managed a cool smile and a cooler “Thank you.”
His fingers trailed upward again, slowly tracing the ridges of her spine. “I can’t help but wonder if you wore it for me—or to spite me?”
“I already told you, I didn’t expect you’d show up.”
“But you knew it would torture me if I did.”
Her lips curved just slightly. “Are you feeling tortured?”
“Among other things.” He dipped his head toward her and when he spoke again, his voice was low and his breath fanned across her cheek. “Most notably a desire to take you someplace where I can strip that dress from your body and run my hands and lips over every inch of your bare skin.”
“In your dreams.”
“It’s going to happen. Maybe it won’t be tonight, maybe it won’t be that dress, but it is going to happen.”
The heated promise of his words sent a shiver—part fear, part anticipation—through her veins. Thankfully, before she could throw caution to the wind and throw herself into his arms, she spotted her parents across the room.
She turned back to Richard. “Are you picturing me naked right now?” she asked softly.
“I’m trying,” he admitted.
“Well, you might want to put some clothes on that mental image before I introduce you to my mom and dad.”
Meeting Jenny’s parents was the last thing Richard had expected when he’d finessed an invitation to this event. Not that he had any real objection, but he’d been looking forward to some one-on-one with Jenny, not making small talk with strangers.
He’d heard of Harold and Dana Anderson, of course. They were the force behind Anderson International, a group of hotels renowned around the world for their luxurious accommodations and quality of service. They were the destination of choice for movie stars and professional athletes, politicians and royalty—or anyone who expected the best and could afford to indulge.
He recognized the couple from photographs that had appeared in the society pages of newspapers around the world, discussing not just their chain of hotels but their philanthropic works, as well.
Harold Anderson stood about six feet tall, with the build of a professional football player. His dark hair was liberally streaked with gray, his beard more salt than pepper. He was older than Richard would have guessed, probably in his early sixties, but a man to be reckoned with. Not because of his physical size or the wealth his hotel empire had amassed, but because of the sharp intelligence that gleamed in his dark eyes. Eyes that were narrowed on Richard, shrewdly assessing.
Richard wondered if the man knew he had designs on his daughter or if Jenny’s father was in the habit of trying to intimidate any man who came too close to his little girl.
He shifted his attention to Dana Anderson. Jenny’s mother was of average height, which meant that she was several inches shorter than her daughter, with chin-length blond hair and blue eyes. She wore a glittery silver gown that highlighted her slender figure and a stunning sapphire and diamond choker.
“Jenny.” Dana kissed both of her daughter’s cheeks. “You look lovely.”
“Looks like she bought only half a dress,” Harold grumbled. “Probably couldn’t afford the rest because she spends her entire paycheck on rent.”
“Dad,” Jenny said warningly. But there was genuine warmth and affection in her smile as she turned to kiss him, too.
“There’s no reason for you not to live at home,” her father said. “Or, if you must live downtown, you could at least let us help you out.”
“Harold,” Dana piped in. “Let’s not get into this in front of Jenny’s friend.”
It was a deliberate prompt for Jenny to make the introductions, which she finally did. “Dad, Mom, meet Richard Warren. Richard, these are my parents, Harold and Dana Anderson.”
He shook hands with each of the senior Andersons. “It’s nice to meet both of you.”
Dana smiled; Harold didn’t.
“I didn’t realiz
e you were going to be here tonight,” Jenny said.
“Neither did I until about an hour ago,” her father responded.
Dana patted her husband’s arm consolingly. “Art isn’t Harold’s thing,” she told Richard. “But the artist’s mother is a friend of mine, so I thought it would be a good opportunity to show our support for Amaya and see Jenny at the same time.”
“We wouldn’t have to visit with her at public functions if she still lived at home,” Harold said again.
Jenny sighed as she tucked her arm into her father’s and tipped her head against his shoulder. The gesture of affection seemed to appease him a little.
“We see a lot more of her now than we did when she lived in New York,” Dana pointed out.
Jenny smiled at her mother, a wordless expression of gratitude.
“I guess that’s true,” Harold finally conceded. “And I do sleep better knowing she’s not too far, and especially knowing that she’s not with—”
“Look,” Jenny interrupted. “There’s Jonathon and Michiko.”
She smiled as she turned to greet the couple who’d just arrived—her brother and a gorgeous Japanese woman with long, silky black hair, dark eyes and a very obviously pregnant belly.
“Mr. Warren.” Jonathon said with a nod.
Richard returned the acknowledgment in kind.
“You know each other?” Harold asked.
“We met at the hotel on Saturday,” John said.
Richard imagined father and son would be comparing notes later, trying to figure out his role in Jenny’s life and if he was worthy of her. He wasn’t bothered because whatever his role, it was only temporary.
“We haven’t met,” the woman with Jenny’s brother said pointedly. “I’m John’s wife, Michiko.”
“It’s a pleasure.” He offered an awkward bow, and she smiled at his attempt of a Japanese-style greeting.
“Where’s Suki?” Harold asked the newcomers.
Michiko shuddered. “Can’t you imagine the damage she could do in a place like this?”
“I was imagining that she might enjoy comparing her technique with the artist’s.”
“Harold,” Dana admonished in a stern whisper, while the others chuckled.
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