by Robyn Grady
He winced. “You really like opera?”
“All classical music.”
“But there aren’t any electric guitars.”
She sighed at his deadpan as if he’d made her point. “If we did—for whatever reason—get together and…you know…”
The pad of his thumb drew a lazy circle low on her back. “Go on.”
“The media would jump on the story. The public consensus would be that Scarlet Anders must have lost her mind partying with a sports-mad, unconventional playboy who, having accrued a massive fortune, only wants to pursue pleasure in any and every way possible.”
“That’s going too far. I’m not completely sports mad.”
“When the stardust settles and we return to our separate lives, you’d carry on doing precisely what you do now. But can you imagine the damage to my reputation?”
He thought it over and came to a conclusion of which he was already well aware. “You live your life according to what others think.”
“Believe me, around here it matters. DC Affairs’s target market is the top-bracket demographic. Why would they entrust their arrangements to a woman who lost her marbles and went on a bender after the breakdown of a steady relationship?”
“Did I mention I have a tattoo? That wouldn’t help.”
Pushing out a breath, she looked off. “You’re not listening.”
“I just don’t like what I’m hearing.”
“Then hear this. No way on this planet would I ever get involved with you. It’s not smart.”
“And you’re a smart girl.” Still dancing, he turned her around. “So you don’t want to see me again?”
“Other than in relation to Cara and Max, it’s best.”
“Then I’ll bow to your demands.”
Her head went back. “You will?”
“I may be deemed dangerous and don’t know an aria from my—”
“Yep. Got the picture.”
“But I am, at heart, a gentleman.”
Her eyes twinkled with a knowing smile. “Or that’s what you’d have me believe.”
“Rarely will I indulge my inner caveman. No matter how much I might want to, I would never go through with the idea of throwing you over one shoulder and dragging my prize out the door and into my animal-fur bed.” His fingertips pressed on the small of her back. “Unless you want me to.”
And from the increasingly heavy look in her eyes, that was more than a possibility.
In the next breath, however, she shored herself up, reestablishing a suitable space between his hard, muscled chest and her much softer, increasingly more tempting one.
“There’s nothing subtle about you, is there?” she said.
“I say what I mean—”
“And I mean what I say.”
She broke away and, flustered, walked off. His inner caveman grunted. After running a hand through his hair, Daniel followed.
“You say what you think the establishment wants to hear,” he told her as they moved past the other guests. “That’s being true to an image, not yourself. That’s not being happy.”
She stopped to study him. “And I suppose you can make me happy. Destroy my reputation, more like it. I don’t think my parents would approve of their only child dating a man who is thinking of posing nude for a high-profile calendar.”
“Don’t tell me you looked into pre-ordering it.”
“I have no desire to see you naked.”
He stepped deplorably close and growled, “Liar.”
A voice—female, authoritative—joined in from behind.
“Scarlet, would you kindly introduce us to your companion?”
Daniel stepped back. A woman in her fifties, well-maintained, a natural-blonde beauty, was studying him with a mix of curiosity and disapproval. Clearly she’d overheard the end of their conversation. Beside him, Scarlet snapped to attention.
“Daniel McNeal, I’d like you to meet my mother and father, Mr. and Mrs. Anders.”
“The founder of Waves. That’s quite a donation you’ve put up for the auction, Mr. McNeal,” Mr. Anders said, waving his short glass of Scotch toward the auction tables and too close to Daniel’s nose. “I presume you’re the anonymous contributor.”
“Hope it gets some decent bids,” he replied cordially.
“I hear you’re a self-made man,” Mr. Anders went on.
“With a bit of help at the start.”
“Your father?”
Daniel’s stomach muscles clenched. That was a good one. His father had helped, all right. Helped ruin a kid’s life.
“Actually, it was a physics teacher,” Daniel replied evenly. “He spent buckets of time and energy recalibrating my, at times, off-track agenda.”
“McNeal…” Mrs. Anders touched her champagne flute to her chin. “Irish, I presume?”
“The joke-telling, river-dancing same, ma’am. An ancestor of mine came out to Australia from there in the nineteenth century.”
“Joke-telling and river-dancing.” Mrs. Anders’s smile was small. “Well, it’s certainly good to have pride in one’s breeding.” Her attention wandered, then her smile took on a genuine light. “Oh, I see the Bancrofts. Scarlet, remember that summer we spent with them and their boy, Thomas, in the Hamptons.”
Scarlet puzzled. “You mean when I was nine?”
Mrs. Anders reminisced. “You played Chopin for everyone, remember?”
“I wasn’t very good,” her daughter admitted.
“You were mature beyond your years,” her mother pointed out. “Still are. So clever and responsible.” She spoke to Daniel. “Scarlet’s father and I are proud of our baby girl.”
Scarlet’s laugh betrayed a hint of her embarrassment. “Mother, I’ve been out of pigtails awhile now.”
Mrs. Anders tsked. “But we should catch up with the Bancrofts before they head off. Mr. McNeal, please excuse us. Scarlet, join us when you’re free. I’m sure Thomas would enjoy seeing you again.”
Mr. Anders tipped his head and, when the pair was out of earshot, Daniel voiced a hunch.
“So, your parents know you and Prince Charming III have parted ways.”
“Everyone knows.”
“Hence the push toward candidate number two.” Unsuspecting Thomas Bancroft.
“My parents want to see me happy,” she told him. “Settled.”
“Or is that shackled?”
Scarlet groaned. “I need some air.”
They cut through the crowd to a set of doors. Leaving the natter and music behind, they moved out onto the otherwise vacant balcony. She stopped by the rail and, apparently unaffected by the chill in the air, stared out over the blanket of city lights.
“I don’t expect you to understand,” she said.
Hell. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he couldn’t resist saying, “If it’s about pedigree and old money, no, I’m afraid I don’t.”
When she rotated away from the view to face the ballroom doors, he thought he caught the glimmer of tears in her eyes. It wasn’t hard to guess that she felt pulled in a few directions, by her parents and her own stand on what was decent and right. He wasn’t helping.
He thought to say something more. Something supportive. Instead, standing behind her, he lightly set a caring hand on her shoulder. After a long moment, the tension bracing her seemed to ease. Exhaling, giving in, she rested back against him. Daniel closed his eyes. Damn, she felt good.
“I don’t want to argue with you,” she said.
“I don’t want to argue with you.”
“Let’s just agree to disagree.”
“Whatever you want.”
“Please, don’t patronize me.”
“You’re right. Sorry.”
He thought she might have smiled.
“I don’t need anyone telling me what’s best,” she said.
“I take it you’re not including your parents in that statement.”
“They want me to do well.”
“I think you mean mar
ry well.”
Growing stiff, she stepped away and faced him. “And what if they do? What’s wrong with choosing a life partner who has a higher education, who has family support, who can provide for his spouse and children?”
“Nothing. As long as you’re doing it for the right reasons.”
She crossed her arms. “Given your reputation for chasing pleasure—and women—I doubt you’re anyone to talk about love.”
“Doesn’t mean I’d sell myself out.”
Her face hardened to stone. She took a moment before she spoke. “I believe I’ve fulfilled my obligations here this evening. Kindly excuse me.”
“You don’t have to be so polite,” he said as she walked away. “Not with me.”
“You’re wrong. I have to remember myself, especially with you.”
* * *
At DC Affairs, Scarlet was busy in a display room setting up the “paradise island” scene a couple had asked her to develop in anticipation of the real deal when the theme would be recreated at a special venue of their choosing. Palm trees had been strategically placed, blue silk sails hung waiting for a make-believe breeze and glittering starfish lay scattered around a sandstone altar. Once she’d dropped hibiscus blooms beneath the palms and set a veil on the bride mannequin’s head, all would be ready for her clients, due in an hour.
Between now and then she’d need to keep herself busy. Keeping her mind and body active helped to ward off those memories that constantly crept in. Since walking away from Daniel at the charity evening night before last, she’d known little peace. Obviously she needed to put his calculated advice—and those self-destructive feelings—behind her. They were from different worlds that could never find a common ground. Not on the most important issues, in any case. She didn’t need the angst. That niggling doubt.
Why did he affect her so deeply?
As she shifted the stepladder back, then selected a half dozen flowers off their tray, Scarlet reminded herself that she and Daniel shared a chemistry—an unbelievable, sizzling buzz. That didn’t mean she needed to act on that attraction. For one, she didn’t do wild weekends filled with what would no doubt prove to be amazing sex with a man she barely knew. She had a reputation and sense of self-worth to maintain.
Second, she was angry with him.
While Daniel might want to persuade her to join him beneath the sheets, his tactics sucked. She had no intention of selling herself out. It was almost enough to make a person side with her mother’s lack of tact.
The Anders lineage was reputed to hark back to the Mayflower. Sometimes her mother took that as a free ticket to dismiss others less fortunate in that area…someone whose great-great-grandfather might have arrived in his new home chained up in a convict ship’s hull, for example. Whatever his roots—and other limitations—Scarlet could admit that Daniel McNeal was an intelligent, articulate, amusing human being. He also happened to have a smile that could light up a small city and, most likely, any woman’s heart.
On top of that, Daniel cared enough about his friend Max Grayson to stroll into a place like this. Most guys wouldn’t bother themselves with the finer details surrounding anyone’s wedding, including their own; on that score, Scarlet spoke from professional experience. Weddings were routinely viewed as women’s business. And yet Daniel had put himself out there. He’d wanted to contribute.
As a consequence, they’d met and that introduction had changed her life. If not for Daniel and that extraordinary kiss, she might have gone ahead with her own wedding and made a huge mistake. But that didn’t mean she needed to rebound onto Bad Boy personified.
Each display room had a changing facility with a full length, three-sided mirror. Now, as Scarlet lifted the final prop from its box and let the stream of lace drift to the floor, her gaze wandered to her reflection seen beyond the changing room’s open door. She wore a white linen dress, purchased recently at a high-end fashion house. Her patent sling-backs were new last week, too. As usual, her hair was coiled up in a professional style that suited the oval shape of her face.
On the day of her own wedding, to whomever the groom may be, would she wear her hair up or let the waves bounce around her shoulders, down her back, as she’d worn it last Saturday night? She’d always liked the idea of a tiara headpiece to secure her veil. The one she held now had only a simple band of imitation pearls.
Scarlet’s gaze went from the veil to her reflection and back again. Her clients weren’t due for a while yet and Lee was out on her lunch break, away from the front desk. Anyway, so what if someone caught her in the act. She planned weddings, for Pete’s sake. Was around this kind of stuff day in and day out. The question was why she’d never done it before. Girls loved to try on clothes, accessories. Women liked to dress up.
Sometimes they needed to dream.
She unpinned her hair, shook out the waves, then fit the pearl band and its veil atop her own head. After spreading the river of lace out around her feet, she stood tall. As she studied herself in the mirror, a rush of emotion jetted through her system.
In her mind, the wedding dress she wore was long and elaborate, patterned with thousands of beads. Her bouquet was an armful of lilies tied with thick white ribbon that curled down to her shoes. Then, in her mind, the bouquet changed from lilies to a single coral-colored rose, and that bow-tied toy kangaroo appeared, too.
Scarlet frowned at first, but then very slowly smiled.
Mrs. Daniel McNeal.
But bit by bit reality crept back in. Soon only a sensation of feeling strangely out of time and place remained. Life was made up of a chain of choices. One foolish decision could take years to make right; during father-daughter talks, her dad had told her that so many times. Bottom line, she and Daniel were as different as the steamy Congo was from a daisy-covered field. No amount of fantasizing would ever change that.
Slipping off the veil, Scarlet rotated away from the mirror. On her way back to the display, she felt the lace pull and looked back. The last of the train had snagged under one of the ladder’s feet.
The wooden floors had been polished the night before. Her new heels lacked tread. As she bent to move the ladder and free the veil, her heel caught the edge of the lace. An instant later, her feet went out from beneath her and, for the second time in a week, she fell.
This time no one was there to catch her.
Five
Daniel entered DC Affairs’s reception lounge knowing that coming here for whatever good reason was a mistake. Clearly, Scarlet did not want to see him again. Before he’d left the penthouse, Morgan had said he ought to grow a brain. And yet he felt compelled. His mind was made up.
He needed to speak with Scarlet again.
To say goodbye.
As he crossed to the reception desk, he went through in his mind other loose ends that needed tying up today. Sign off on the Youth Rules auction winners. Confirm his private jet’s scheduled time of departure. Say his farewells to Max and Caroline. Of course, he would return to the States to join in their big day, just as he would make himself available when the invitation to testify before that congressional committee landed.
But frankly, this town, its broiling scandals and endless political hoo-ha gave him hives. He’d go nuts dealing with the palaver any longer than necessary. Max—and Scarlet—could have it. Tomorrow he would see the powder-white beaches and smell the eucalypt gum-tree scent of blessed home.
The reception counter was unattended and all seemed deathly quiet. But the open sign was on the door. He’d have expected at least one of the three friends—Ariella, Caroline or Scarlet—to have been on hand. Rubbing the back of his neck, he checked his watch. Maybe he ought to simply leave a note: “Good luck, no hard feelings.”
Lots of other feelings, though.
For a bittersweet moment he held on to the image of Scarlet standing in the moonlight. In that goddesslike dress, golden waves mantling her shoulders, he’d had to clench his fists to stop from hauling her back when she’d walked aw
ay. But he didn’t want to upset her beloved status quo any more than he already had. Hell, he didn’t want to hurt her, full stop.
In fact, best he take Morgan’s sound advice and get the hell out of here now before he made things worse.
Halfway out the door, an echoing crash filtered down the main corridor and he stopped. Something heavy had smacked the ground. Now an eerie silence followed. He called out, “Everything okay?” When the quiet continued, he followed his gut and set off to investigate.
He strode into the first display room—the one where he and Scarlet had first met. Other than a traditional church steeple and wedding bell display, the room was empty. Then another noise—a metal scraping—reached him from nearby. On a long stride, he entered the next room.
There on the floor she sat propped up on one arm, looking strangely disheveled. That blasted ladder lay on its side near her feet. Her expression was spaced out, heavy-lidded. He raced over and knelt down to support her back.
“Scarlet, are you all right?”
Cringing, she held her crown. “I think…think I hit my head.”
He darted a look around. A tapestry-covered chaise waited in one corner of the room. With infinite care, he scooped her up, carried her over and laid her gently down. He crouched beside her.
“What happened?”
She winced and touched her head again. “I don’t…don’t know.”
Over a shoulder, he spotted a river of lace on the floor near the upended ladder. “Did you trip?”
“Maybe. I’m not sure. I’m okay, though.” With her eyes closed, she wet her lips and let her head loll to one side. “Just…fuzzy.”
He pulled out his cell. “You’re getting checked over. You could have a concussion.”
“Things are kind of muddled.”
“Scarlet. Look at me.”
His palm cupping her cheek, he urged her head gently over. Her eyelids fluttered open and evenly dilated pupils focused. Then an entrancing smile spread across her face and, as if the first fingers of dawn had peaked over a new horizon, he grew uncommonly warm inside and smiled right back.