Читать книгу CEO's Marriage Seduction / His Style of Seduction - Anna DePalo - Страница 10

Three

Eva curled up on the couch. Her Bluetooth headset allowed her to speak with her mother while she paged through one of several magazines about San Francisco’s social scene. She liked to keep up with what her clients, as well as her business competition, were doing.

It was a Tuesday evening—a night of the week she could usually count on to be able to kick back and relax.

As a party planner, she lived on the opposite timetable from the rest of the world. Midweek was her weekend, while at the end of the week, she became turbocharged as things heated up at work. On weekends, she was often supervising her employees at some museum fund-raiser or at a socialite-hosted charity lunch, making sure everything went off flawlessly.

Now, however, her midweek was being consumed by wedding planning.

“What about the Fairmont?” her mother asked.

“I’m not sure it’s exactly what I’m looking for….”

It had quickly become apparent to her that her mother was picturing a wedding for hundreds of family, friends and assorted business associates.

The historic Fairmont Hotel, with its gilded rooms projecting an old-world elegance, was well suited for the purpose.

The problem was, Eva acknowledged, that she herself longed for something more intimate.

But Carter seemed to be on the same page as her mother.

“What about the Palace of Fine Arts then?” her mother asked, naming another popular and elegant San Francisco wedding location.

Eva sighed.

“I heard that,” her mother said.

“Did you?” she asked absently.

“It’s too bad your father owns only commercial office space,” her mother remarked with dry humor. “At a time like this, we could use an inside edge.”

“I’m not sure Dad will even attend the wedding.”

“Oh, he’ll come around,” her mother said breezily, repeating her unwavering opinion up to now. “You’re his only child, and though he may have a hard time showing it sometimes, he really does care about you.”

The buzzer sounded, and Eva wondered who could be ringing her doorbell.

Her town house condo was in a low-rise development in Russian Hill. Though she had friends nearby, no one was in the habit of dropping by unannounced. And she knew her close friend, Beth Harding, was out of town at the moment.

“Mom,” she said, “I’ve got to go. Someone’s at the door.”

“All right. I’ll give you a ring tomorrow so we can continue to talk about wedding plans.”

Her heart lightened. “It’ll be fun.”

This was what she’d looked forward to. Sharing one of life’s passages with her mother.

“Oh, I just know I’m going to get teary seeing you in a wedding gown,” her mother responded, her voice suddenly choked.

Eva felt tears clog her own throat. “I know, Mom. I know.”

After ending the call with her mother, she slipped her feet into her shoes and went to her front door.

Because the ground level of her condo housed a garage and storage area, her front door was one flight up from the street, accessible via an enclosed external stairwell, at the foot of which was a tall locked iron gate.

She opened the door and locked eyes with the last person she expected to see darkening her doorstep. Griffin Slater.

Automatically she tensed.

“Can I come up?” he called.

Her mind ran over the possibilities. Yes, no, when hell freezes over?

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her tone coming out more suspicious than she intended.

He seemed to find her question amusing.

“Would you believe I just happened to be in the neighborhood?” he responded.

“Actually, no,” she replied, even as good manners impelled her down the stairs to open the gate.

She knew he lived in nearby Pacific Heights, but she’d never run into him on her home turf.

They ran in different circles. She was too bohemian, too much of a free spirit, she was sure, for Griffin Slater’s taste. On the other hand, he probably even scheduled sex with the women he dated.

She didn’t understand why he was so irritating by nature. His siblings were pleasant people. She even counted his sister among her extended circle of friends.

With Griffin, however, she couldn’t shake the feeling she was letting the Big Bad Wolf in.

As usual, he wore a conservative business suit—this time set off by a herringbone shirt and bright yellow-and-blue striped tie. In contrast, her mauve shirt and tan pants—which she’d worn at work that day and hadn’t yet changed out of—felt almost casual in comparison.

Opening the gate, her eyes met his, her one step advantage on the stairs bringing her close to his height.

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Am I invited in?”

“Are you on a mission for my father?” she countered, her eyes skimming over the envelope in his hand. “If so—”

“Mission impossible,” he said. “I know.”

She gave him a serene smile. Well, at least they both knew where they stood.

“Actually I’m here for a personal reason.”

Despite herself, she was intrigued. She didn’t think she and Griffin had anything of a personal nature to say to each other, but curiosity got the better of her.

She turned, leaving him to follow her up the stairs. “Come on in.”

On the way up, she could feel his presence behind her. Why, oh why, did she always have to be so aware of him?

When they stepped inside her condo, she shut the front door. “Can I get you something?”

“Nothing, thanks,” he replied.

She watched him look around her apartment, which was almost loftlike in its layout. From the marble-floored entry area, the cool ambiance of the living and dining room area was visible. The kitchen, with its granite surfaces and stainless steel appliances, was situated beyond a waist-high counter with bar stools.

She watched Griffin’s eyes linger on the display of fresh flowers set on a tabletop. She loved newly cut blooms.

Still, since she was a little unnerved by his presence in her apartment, she was grateful no more personal touches were visible. Her bedroom—along with a guest room, two baths and a terrace—was tucked away upstairs.

She wondered again about why he was here. “Is it Dad?” she blurted. “Is something wrong with my father?”

Griffin had said her father hadn’t requested he come, but that didn’t mean Griffin’s appearance at her door didn’t involve her father.

Her father was in his late sixties, and she dreaded the day something would befall him. As strained as their relationship sometimes was, she still loved him. And she worried he would try to protect her by hiding any health problems until they were dire.

“No, don’t worry,” Griffin responded. Then he asked abruptly, “Do you know what Carter was doing two nights ago?”

Caught off guard, she said, “No. Why?”

Griffin regarded her intently, and even though not a muscle moved in his face, there was something she didn’t like in his expression.

A sense of unease settled in the pit of her stomach.

“Why?” she repeated.

Griffin’s eyes pinned her like lasers. “Carter Newell has been sleeping with another woman behind your back. He was with her two nights ago.”

She looked at him uncomprehendingly, but after a moment, his words hit her, washing over her like one big tidal wave of disaster.

Her mouth worked.

She was still unable to look away from Griffin’s eyes, and somehow they were the only thing keeping her standing.

Panicky dread coursed through her, making her feel ill.

“How—how do you know this?” she managed at last, showing a composure she didn’t feel.

“Does it matter?” he asked, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Because he’d seemed ready for the question, she became suspicious.

“How did you find out?” she asked, trying again, her tone sharpening. “You and Carter don’t run in the same circles.”

Griffin shrugged.

“My father put you up to this, didn’t he?” she accused.

When he continued to look at her implacably, she said, “Answer the question, Griffin. You’re a hired gun, aren’t you?”

Griffin’s jaw worked. “Your father started the ball rolling by asking me to look into it, yes.”

“You mean he asked you to have Carter investigated,” she responded. “Let’s not sugarcoat it, shall we? He asked you to sic Tremont REH’s usual investigator on him, right?”

It was an interrogation, and from the look on Griffin’s face, he didn’t like it one bit.

Too bad, she thought. Since he’d volunteered to be the messenger, he’d asked for it.

“Does it matter how I found out?” Griffin asked.

“Did you tell my father you were coming here?”

He looked at her, his face carved in granite. “I didn’t tell your father anything—including what the investigator found out. I thought you should know first.”

“Misplaced gallantry, Griffin?” she said mock ingly.

His face tightened. “I thought you’d appreciate it.”

She glared at him. “Appreciate it? Appreciate you’ve had my fiancé investigated? Appreciate you’ve acted at my father’s bidding?”

His eyes narrowed.

“Oh, I appreciate it. I just don’t know which of you to thank first. Carter, my father or you.”

“Aren’t you sidestepping the real issue?”

“What if I said I don’t believe you?”

His expression chided her. “You know the investigator has evidence to back me up.”

For the first time, she focused on the envelope in his hand. “Let me see it.”

She moved to take the envelope from him.

“No.”

She came to a stop. “No?”

“I’ll let you see some of it. I brought some photos—and evidence that Carter has barely got a cent to his name.”

He said no more, but she understood the implications. If Carter had no money, and on top of it all, was cheating on her, all signs pointed to one reason why he’d been willing to marry her.

She hated coming to the conclusion her father had been right. Sure Carter had floated the idea of a prenuptial agreement, but he’d looked relieved when she—silly, romantic soul—had put the kibosh on the idea. And prenup or no prenup, Carter would have enjoyed the lifestyle to which her income and her trust fund would have made him accustomed.

As if that weren’t enough, for the second time, she felt like the recipient of Griffin’s misplaced gallantry. He was trying to spare her from seeing the sordid proof of Carter’s betrayal.

“Trying to protect me, Griffin?” she challenged. “Don’t you think it’s a little late for that?”

His expression closed. “You don’t act like a woman who’s just found out the man she loves has been two-timing her.”

“Are you questioning the strength of my feelings for Carter?”

He just looked at her coolly.

“You really are a piece of work, you know that?” she said. “First, you have my fiancé investigated, then you question my feelings. Do you always rub salt in the wounds?”

“Just noting the facts.”

“Did you expect me to break down and weep in front of you?” she tossed back at him.

“I suppose the tears will flow when you’re done being angry.”

That did it. She stalked forward to grab the envelope from him, but he was too fast for her.

He held the envelope aloft, and she wound up knocking against him instead of seizing the photos.

She jumped up, once, twice, but he was bigger, taller and stronger.

“Damn you!” she said between gritted teeth, tears stinging her eyes. Was she destined to be thwarted by all the men in her life?

“I’m damned all right,” he responded in a clipped tone.

“You’ve never experienced the sting of rejection, have you? Noooo, of course not. You’re Mr. Oh-So-Perfect. Mr. Fix-It.”

“You don’t know the first thing about it.”

“Oh, right, I forget,” she quavered, swiping at a tear. “You’re a man. You don’t need to worry about your biological clock ticking, about the fact your mother entered menopause prematurely, about the fact you’re past thirty and closing in on thirty-five and the bell may toll on your fertility before you’re ready for it.”

While she was giving him a piece of her mind, she realized he’d gone still as a rock, his expression frozen.

“I’ll never have a baby now.”

And then mortifyingly, the tears welled up and burst from her.

Griffin tossed the envelope aside, and grasped her by the arms as sobs racked her.

His mouth came down on hers, as he pressed her back against the wall behind her.

Stunned, she went still.

He plundered her mouth, and she was swamped by the sensation of him. His hard, lean body pushed against her, and she picked up the scent of Ivory soap that clung to his skin.

Then as anger and frustration poured out of her, she kissed him back.

It was a brutal kiss, a contest of wills. She made sounds halfway between moans of pleasure and groans of angry frustration.

Griffin had infiltrated her house, stripping her of every protective layer and exposing her vulnerability, and then had the nerve to kiss her.

She tried to shrug off his grasp, but he just pinned her with his body, his hand coming up to hold her head still.

His hot mouth devoured her, and sizzling sensation skated across her skin.

Finally, however, she pulled together the frayed ends of rationality and tore her mouth from his.

She shoved at him, and he rocked back on his heels.

Her sobs had faded away, and anger now completely filled the void. Whatever she’d felt toward her father and Carter, it was directed all at Griffin for the moment.

Confused and disturbed by his kiss, she grasped at the first thing she could think of to lash out at him with.

“Did you think I’d be ripe for the picking now that Carter’s proved faithless?” she asked, trembling. “That I’d be so desperate…”

She left the sentence unfinished. So desperate she’d even consider taking up with him.

Griffin’s expression closed. “Trust me,” he ground out. “The last way I’d describe you is desperate.”

Then, before she could say anything else, he turned and strode to the door, letting it slam shut behind him.

She dashed to her front window and watched as he emerged from her house seconds later and climbed into his Porsche convertible.

She lingered to watch as he pulled away down the street.

Only then did she become aware of the fact that she had two fingers pressed to her lips—where she could still feel his kiss.