“Glad to hear it, Mrs. Tillman.” Arrogance flavored his speech, and he despised it. Why couldn’t he sound thankful or genuine? Even as his stomach soured, her small mouth tipped into a soft smile before she joined her husband’s side. Only ten feet beyond the parents stood the daughter. In another man’s arms.
Cole’s chest tightened at the sight of Elissa dancing with Kendrew. Her golden-hued gown accentuated her figure. Her hair, swept up with combs, revealed the graceful curve of her neck. A few curls framed her face, stealing his attention. Like the night Elissa had coaxed him to dance the Castle Walk with her despite Cole’s busted thumb from a baseball injury that morning. They’d had an open field for a dance floor and crickets for an orchestra. He hadn’t been able to peel his gaze from her then and couldn’t now.
Kendrew’s hold tightened on her waist, his mouth bending to her ear, whispering. Cole’s heart iced over, reality freezing his veins. If Elissa had moved on, then he should too.
She spotted him, and her neck, so elegant a moment ago, strained. He swallowed a groan and joined the handful of newsmen by the refreshment table.
“Here, Parker.” Frank shoved a glass of sparkling juice into Cole’s hand.
“It’s been a while. Glad to have you back.” Henry, the longtime copywriter, lifted his glass in cheers. “I never thought we’d see you again. The New York Dispatch.” He let out a low whistle. “Why you’d leave there to come back to this place, I’ll never understand.”
“It was time for a change.” Cole took a sip and smiled. “Besides, you riff-raff are more of my kind of company. You wouldn’t believe this, Frank, but there wasn’t a spittoon in sight.”
Frank chuckled and smacked his rotund belly. “Ah, no wonder you came back. Them uppers don’t know how to live.”
Kendrew and Elissa joined their small group. Could the man grip her any closer to his side? You couldn’t slide a typewriter ribbon between them. A growl stalked around Cole’s chest. Dancing with Miss Harper seemed more pleasant than enduring Kendrew’s calf eyes at Elissa.
“Evening, Cole.” Kendrew nodded with a satisfied smirk.
He dipped his chin in response. What was Kendrew trying to communicate with that gesture? Cole’s eyes strained from the challenge of keeping them from narrowing. Of all the delightful people in the world, why did Elissa pick the one who’d provoked Cole the most? He should’ve exposed the clown years ago.
Elissa flicked a glance at him then locked her stare on his boutonniere. A yellow rose. Just like the one adorning her gown. Her brow lowered and then hiked, blue eyes hazed as if contemplating Cole’s motive. Their gazes connected, and she broke the moment, training her focus on the table beside them.
Conversation lulled among the group, awkwardness setting in.
Elissa’s attention snagged on an older man with a thick mustache. “Bartek.” She motioned for him to join their circle. “Did you bring the Graflex? I’d love a picture of the table centerpieces. Greta loves gardenias.”
“Not tonight. The missus made me leave everything fun at home.” Bartek nodded toward the opposite side of the room where his wife chatted with Mrs. Tillman. “Don’t even have my tobacco.”
“Too bad, Elissa.” Adam patted her hand like she was a toddler. “That might have also been good for your little society column.”
Little?
Fiery flecks lit Elissa’s eyes, and Cole all but cringed. Growing up, there’d been many a night when Elissa had filled Cole’s ears with her dreams of being a success in a man’s world. No way could she be satisfied with a monthly editorial with a masculine byline. Because with Elissa it’d always been about something big. Getting the big article. Then having a big career. Kendrew couldn’t have chosen a more condescending word.
Elissa nudged a warning to Adam and snuck a glance at Cole. Did she truly think Cole was oblivious to her writings? Elissa penning under the byline of Elliot Wentworth could be no more of a secret to Cole than Samuel Clemens for Mark Twain.
Frank leaned over, his vest buttons pulling taut, and lowered his voice. “My nephew is a bellhop here. Says there’s a speakeasy under the lobby. Complete with a tunnel leading outside in case of a raid. Ironic, huh? A swanky place like this is also a juice hall. Want to go check it out?”
Speakeasy. Drink. The words pulsed in Cole’s skull.
CHAPTER 7
Elissa mashed her lips together, hiding a frown. Cole shifted his weight from foot to foot as if physically balancing Frank’s offer. He’d last worn that expression the tortuous moment they both wished to forget. As always, the urge to rescue him took prominence. “Cole, would you like to dance?” She blurted the question without consideration.
His gaze held hers with an intensity that squeezed her gut. “I’d be honored.”
Frank shot her a mischievous wink, Henry elbowed Cole and mumbled in his ear, and Adam stiffened, withdrawing.
“Oh, please, boys. It’s only a dance.” But if it was only a dance, why had her palms moistened to an unfeminine degree? She’d made the impetuous mistake of speaking before her mind could rein in her mouth, and now she had the bothersome task of retaining some measure of composure. “There’s no harm in two adults dancing.” With that, she towed Cole to the edge of the dance floor by his elbow.
“Hurry back, sweetheart.” Adam’s voice reached her from several feet away.
She winced, recalling the conversation earlier with Cole. Do you call everyone sweetheart? No, she didn’t. Moreover, Adam’s tone had sounded more possessive than endearing, scratching a nerve.
“I wasn’t expecting you to ask me to dance, Spark, but I’m grateful.”
As for Adam calling her article ‘little,’ she knew above anyone how paltry her editorial contribution to the Review was. Yet he had no right—
“Elissa, I would understand if you choose to ignore me, but could you at least loosen your grip?” Cole’s mouth hitched in a smirk as his stare trained on her fingers wrapped—more like clamped—on his arm. “I already have a collection of scars from you.”
She huffed and relaxed her hold, ignoring his toned muscle beneath her touch. “You weren’t even bleeding today, and I doubt you have a scar. A bruise, probably.” His hair covered the area, forbidding her from confirming her suspicion. And no, she would not run her fingers through his dark locks for a second time today. Too risky to her resolve to dislike him for the next several decades.
“I’m not talking about the beating you gave me earlier.” He stopped, and they both waited for the orchestra to conclude the current song. “I’m referring to the time we fell off my bicycle because you put your hands over my eyes. Those trash cans we crashed into weren’t kind to my torso.”
Or her shoulder. As if Cole had read her mind, his gaze slipped from her eyes to the blemished area. Though paled with time, her own scar was clearly identifiable. She shifted under the weight of his stare, her breath hitching.
His lips twitched, and his perusal skimmed from her shoulder to her mouth.
She tugged the hem of her elbow-length glove, ignoring the heat sliding up her spine. “That was your fault for boasting you could ride to my house with your eyes closed.” Reminiscing about their youth wasn’t the best approach for keeping her emotions in check. She secured her stare on his lapel. “Why’d you wear that?” Curiosity had been gnawing her since she’d spied the flower, now straying crooked. “Are you making fun of me?”
“I thought we could match.” He winked. “Adam came through for me and bought you the perfect corsage.”
His jest ignited heat in her veins. Adam hadn’t come through for Cole. Or for her. She would have been content with white, or even pink, but Adam arrived on her doorstep with a red corsage. Red! It’d taken him a half-hour to persuade her the slight had been unintentional, clinging to the excuse the color stood for ardent love and not anti-suffragism, but she remained unconvinced. Every soul in the nation was aware of Tennessee’s War of Roses. She sighed. No man took her seriously. Not Father. N
ot Adam. And definitely not Cole, given the pert grin he wore now. “I wear this for principle’s sake. Something you hardly understand.”
He blinked at her words. The song had ended, and they, along with several eager couples, stepped onto the dance floor, waiting for the orchestra to play.
“Believe me. I comprehend conviction.” The rasp of his tone deep and penetrating, Cole straightened his flower. “I haven’t donned a red rose since the chaos in Nashville. The bosses sent me there to woo a national advertiser, but I got netted in the event. That was one heated day, and I don’t mean the August weather.”
“The Hermitage Hotel? You were there on voting day?”
“I was.”
Her heart fluttered. Those both for and against the movement had rallied in the streets of the final state needed to pass the Nineteenth Amendment, and she’d longed to participate, to be part of history. But Father deemed it too dangerous. Yes, mobs had invaded, causing pandemonium at the revealing of the verdict, but a part of her felt she’d missed out. “It must have been an amazing experience.” Oh, to have witnessed the capturing of a long-awaited dream. She’d heard the legislative members had shown their true colors on their lapels that day, most being against the cause. Thankfully, even the staunchest belief could be swayed toward good, and the deciding official, while wearing red, had voted yellow. “Tell me, what color did you wear?”
“Same as today.”
The music commenced, but she was incapable of moving, her arms heavy against her sides. Who was this man before her?
Cole noticed her hesitation and held out both hands, inviting her to join him. Dance with him.
She swallowed and stepped into his arms, moving slow to keep perfect poise, despite her trembling knees.
Her hand slid into his with alarming ease. The way he glided his thumb over her index finger was all too familiar, all too terrifying. Even with them both wearing gloves, the warmth spread between their palms. She’d created considerable distance so his hand couldn’t curl around her back, only skim the side of her hip. She met his eyes, and for a strange second, it was like time had never passed—yet back then she’d positioned herself close enough to count his eyelashes and absorb his whispered promises. Her heart stiffened. She shuffled another step back.
Cole had the nerve to laugh.
“What’s so humorous?” Even though she’d asked him to dance, she’d never agreed to enjoy it. And to be sure her eyes wouldn’t betray her and do something preposterous, like gaze into his dark irises, she forced her stare on his black bowtie.
“Are you making room for Adam?” He regarded the gap she’d created. “I’m sure he’d fit comfortably between us.”
“If you’d rather, we could invite Miss Harper. I hate to see her straining her poor eyes when she could admire you from a closer proximity.” She kept her tone light and cool so Cole wouldn’t suspect her of jealousy. But really, the woman couldn’t have been more obvious about her intentions, with her tinkling laughter and sultry stances. Irene could snag any sorry soul she desired, but she’d set her sights on the most handsome man in the room. Adam was pleasing to look at but came up short compared to Cole’s confident presence and irresistible features. And Cole in a tuxedo challenged Elissa’s resistance ten times worse. Yet did it matter how attractive he was if she knew him to be capable of breaking her heart?
Nope.
Let him empty his charms on Irene, and she on him. Together they could pump each other’s heads full of airy nonsense and float away, leaving Elissa in peace.
“Didn’t think you noticed her conversing with me.” He ducked closer, breaking the invisible barrier she’d built. His focus bonded to her lips. Was his aim to kiss her? Smooch her right in the center of the dance floor? He angled at the last second and whispered, “As I recall, you were in the arms of your sweetheart.”
She cringed at the word, then despised her show of emotion.
“Since we’re on the subject of Kendrew, what exactly is the status of your relationship?” He straightened and nodded with a suave nonchalance at an older pair dancing beside them.
Elissa embraced the opportunity to breathe again. “I don’t see how that’s any of your concern.” She tipped her chin in the graceful manner she’d practiced countless times in her mirror.
“It’s not.” He gave a low growl. “But I can’t for the life of me understand what you find interesting about him. An obituary has more life than that man.”
She stilled, remaining in their stance, garnering a few glances from the surrounding couples. “Just because there’s bad blood between you two doesn’t mean you should be insulting.”
“Insulting?” He blew out a noisy breath. “I’m not the one who insulted you.”
Her brows wrinkled. “I didn’t say you offended me. I said—”
“I understood what you said.” He didn’t bother to control the volume of his tone, and Elissa was thankful the orchestra chose that moment for a crescendo. “Tell me, Spark, did Adam ever tell you why I socked him that day?”
She bit her lip and resumed their dance, keeping their steps to a simple sway, her mind unable to concentrate on graceful movements. “No.” A ten-year-old skirmish in the schoolyard shouldn’t possess the power to rouse aggressive emotions in Cole. However, his taut jaw and severe glare affirmed the occurrence still bothered him.
“Of course he didn’t.” He let out an unsettling laugh. “Maybe you should ask Kendrew when you get a chance.”
“Or you could tell me.”
His hardened eyes melted into something she didn’t want to delve into. The others around them stopped moving. Were they creating a scene? She sheepishly glanced about. No. The song had ended. What? That was either incredibly short, or she’d been in a daze. Either way, her obligation had ended. She dropped Cole’s hand, but the bothersome tenderness still lingered in his expression.
For sanity’s sake, Elissa needed to get away. Far from Cole and his ability to impact her emotions. “Honestly, Cole, who are you to criticize Adam? As I remember, he wasn’t the one who was reckless with my heart.”
CHAPTER 8
Elissa rejoined Adam by the refreshment table and matched his scowl with one of her own. Whatever Cole had meant about the reason behind their decade-old fight, she was going to discover it.
“Nice that you and Cole are still friends.” Adam’s smile wobbled more than Frank after he had a few drinks in him.
“We’re not friends.”
For a handsome man dressed in a tuxedo, Adam appeared rather foolish with his mouth gaping open and eyebrows furrowed so low they made a straight line across his forehead. “Then why on earth did you dance with him?”
“I have my reasons.” She glanced over her gown in search of any loose threads or sequins. She’d stashed her travel sewing kit in her silver clutch, but everything was holding together nicely—unlike her emotions. She lifted her gaze from the satin fabric only to be speared with Adam’s glare. “What?”
“Is that all you’re going to say? You have your reasons?”
She should’ve stayed home. Darcy’s companionship ranked higher than the two gentlemen currently tarnishing her evening. At least with that dear creature, she didn’t have to be concerned about sucking in her gut, keeping her shoulders back, or refraining from dumping her punch on certain people’s heads.
Adam glowered.
She sighed. “It’s personal.” Though her temper fumed at Cole, her heart couldn’t humiliate him by suggesting she’d asked him to dance because his expression had reminded her of the first day they’d met. When Cole’d begged her father for a job. When his own father had abandoned him and his mother.
Adam pulled her hand into his, selecting that moment to replace irritation with charm. “Elissa, if we’re ever going to mean something to one another, then we need an honest relationship.”
Bingo. Her lips stretched into a smile, and she placed her other hand over his. “You’re absolutely right. No secrets between us.
” Her grin widened at his enthusiastic nod. “So how about I tell you why I danced with Cole, and you tell me why he punched you in tenth grade. Deal?”
“In tenth grade?” His laugh sounded more like a cough. “That was a long way back.”
“Did you forget the reason?” Hard to believe since the man’s face was as guilty as Franco Cartelli’s during his murder trial.
His shoulders slumped. “I remember, but I think it will cast me in an unfavorable light.”
Elissa had already formed speculations. Maybe he’d tripped Cole in front of the entire school. Or ridiculed Cole for having holes in his trousers.
“I invented the Shadyside Slob nickname.”
But not that one.
Her throat welded shut, her breaths burning at the memories of those tormenting days. “How could you?” She pulled her hands from his arm, the idea of touching the man who’d blackened her years at Oakland High unbearable.
“It was a long time ago.” His face heated ten shades past ruby. “I didn’t know you like I do now. And really, Elissa, I couldn’t understand how sloppily you dressed. Your family was wealthy.”
Her toes begged permission to kick him in the shin. Adam had no idea how hard she’d struggled to look presentable, to avoid snagged stockings and stained clothes. But somehow her awkwardness had always overtaken her. Though Mother had never shown it, Elissa knew she’d been a disappointment. A humiliation. “You should be ashamed of yourself. Yes, my family has money, but I never fit in with anyone—”
“Except Cole.” His scornful tone suggested she should be embarrassed by her one and only friend.
“Do you have any idea of the pain you caused me?” The tears she’d cried because of that awful nickname, which had spread throughout the entire school, ranging from loud taunts in the lunchroom to giggled whispers as she walked through the hall. Somebody had even carved it on her desk. She’d never understood why or how it originated. Until now. “You used your popularity to hurt others, Adam. You knew all you had to do was suggest it, and those feather-brained friends of yours would see that it caught on like wildfire.” And with her being a year younger than Adam and Cole, the ribbing had continued after they’d been gone.
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