Читать книгу After That Night - Ann Evans - Страница 10

“WELL,” LAUREN SAID as they waited for the elevator to take them back down to the lobby. “That was interesting.”

Jenna was still trying to catch her breath. “Interesting! You mean dreadful.”

After Shelby Winston had stormed out of the penthouse, Mark Bishop had turned to them calmly, apologized and said that the interview appeared to be over. Then he’d left the room. They’d gathered their things so quickly that anyone watching might have found their departure comical. Except that Jenna couldn’t find a single amusing thing about the whole sorry incident.

She stared up at the elevator numbers over the door, wishing it would hurry. She wanted to get back down to the sidewalk outside the hotel, where the last of the summer sun would warm her, make her feel less chilled.

Lauren glanced at her. “Oh, come on, Jen. Didn’t you learn anything from Jack about the rotten things men are capable of? Obviously Mr. Wonderful wanted to make sure Shelby Elaine couldn’t touch a single penny of his hard-earned money. If you ask me, she got out just in time.”

Jenna frowned. Something about that didn’t make sense. The elevator arrived, and all the way down she thought about it. Over the phone last night, Vic had prepped her pretty thoroughly about Mark Bishop, and Jenna, who had a mild interest in politics, had always kept current with what was happening in the wealthy and political Winston family.

Sure, a prenuptial agreement for a rich guy like Bishop might be a given, but he wasn’t exactly marrying Daisy Mae from Dogpatch. Her father was a senior state senator. The family history went back to Texas land grants deeded to her ancestors before the Alamo. Shelby herself was on the fast track as a campaign manager for Senator McDill from Nebraska. Why would money be the deal breaker?

Jenna said as much to Lauren as they strode through the lobby.

Lauren shrugged as she stepped through the revolving front door and didn’t reply until they were both on the sidewalk. “Maybe it was just the principle of the thing. Who cares? Except now we don’t have a story for the next issue.” She craned her neck to see if she could spot a taxi. “Vic’s gonna go ballistic when we come back empty-handed. I wonder if Bishop would be willing to be part of a new list—the South’s Ten Most Unromantic Males.”

Jenna shook her head. “I don’t see how you can be cavalier about what we just witnessed. It was so…unpleasant.”

Lauren stopped watching the traffic and turned to give her friend an incredulous look. “God, Jenna, don’t tell me you think there was any hope for that relationship! I mean, really, he’d buy her silk flowers? And why? Because you get better value. Yep, the blowup had to be a money thing. Men are always so generous before the wedding, aren’t they?” She spotted what appeared to be an available cab and waved her arm, but the driver whizzed right past them.

Jenna blew out a long, frustrated breath. It still didn’t make any sense. Mark Bishop struck her as a lot of things, some of them annoying, some of them downright infuriating, but not stingy. “It sounded as though he was willing to go to any expense for the wedding and honeymoon.”

“Why are you worrying about him? He looks like the kind of guy who knows how to land on his feet. And as good-looking as he is, he won’t have a difficult time finding someone to fill Shelby Winston’s shoes.”

“I just find it puzzling, that’s all.”

A cab squealed up to the curb at last. “Let’s get out of here,” Lauren said, clearly finished with the topic of Mark Bishop and his ex-fiancée. “I want to shop.”

Jenna backed away from the taxi. “I’m really not in the mood. It’s only a couple of blocks to the hotel. I think I’ll walk.”

“Spending money will put us both in a better mood.”

“You go on. It will give me time to think, let my nerves settle.”

“We’re in New York,” Lauren said. “You told me yourself that we blew all the frequent-flyer points the magazine has to come here. You can’t let this opportunity go to waste. Surely there’s something you want to see or do.”

“Maybe this evening.”

“Jen—” Lauren stared at her in complete exasperation now “—do you even remember how to have fun anymore?”

The question stung, but she wasn’t going to get into an argument. “I’ll see you later,” she said with a wave of her hand. Before Lauren could say another word, Jenna slipped into the thick, urgent river of people making their way home.

Back at their hotel, the phone was ringing as she unlocked the door. She kicked off her high heels and snatched up the receiver as she sank onto one of the beds. It was her father, calling from Atlanta.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he reassured her quickly. “I just wanted to see if you made it there safely—since you didn’t call me.”

Jenna stopped rubbing one sore calf muscle and switched to massaging her temple. After a day like today, she wasn’t prepared to handle a guilt trip for not checking in. “Everything went fine, Dad,” she said between gritted teeth. “I didn’t need to have a note pinned to my jacket, after all.”

Her father laughed, unfazed by her sarcasm. “You know I can’t help worrying.”

“I know.” She supposed there were a lot of things William McNab couldn’t help doing out of habit, but that didn’t mean she had to like them. She’d canceled her initial appointment with the real-estate agent, but now she made a mental note to call the woman again once she got back home. Time to start an earnest search for just the right place. “Are the boys there?”

“Chris took them out to the batting cages. He’s going to work on Petey’s swing. Fat lot of good it will do, just between me and you.”

Her oldest son was probably the worst Little League player in the history of the game. Her brothers and father had worked with him quite a bit over the summer, but he still “stunk to high heaven,” as his coach so charmingly put it.

“How did your interview go?” her father asked.

“Fine,” she replied. He didn’t need to know what a bizarre and miserable failure the whole experience had been. “We’ll be home tomorrow afternoon.”

For some reason not clear to Jenna, her father was a huge fan of the weather channel, and in no time he was lecturing her about a storm watch in effect for the whole eastern seaboard starting around midnight. The flight home was bound to be bumpy. She should remember to take her antinausea medicine. Barely listening, Jenna began paging through the hotel’s guest-information book that sat on the nightstand.

“Are you listening to me, Jen?”

“Every word, Dad,” she said absently. She squinted down at the laminated page in front of her—the list of contents of the room’s honor bar. Good grief, I can see charging a fortune for macadamia nuts, but can two ounces of vodka really be worth twenty-six dollars? She rubbed her temple again as her father warned her about a cold front blowing down from Canada. Maybe twenty-six dollars was a bargain, if you were desperate enough.

“Go to bed early tonight,” her father advised. “You’ll manage better tomorrow if you get a good night’s rest.”

Irritated that even her bedtime didn’t seem to be her call anymore, Jenna took perverse enjoyment in saying, “This is my only night in New York. I was thinking of painting the town red.”

There was a long pause. Then her father said in a low, serious tone, “Do you think that’s wise?”

“Maybe not,” she said. Then, remembering her last conversation with Lauren, she added, “But I’d like to think I haven’t forgotten how to have fun.”

“You haven’t forgotten, honey. You just grew up. You’re a good girl. And whatever else Jack may have been, marriage to him taught you some valuable lessons about responsibility and the dangers of reckless disregard and—”

Advice about the weather and keeping late hours she could tolerate. Discussions about her failed marriage were something else entirely. “I have to go, Dad,” she interrupted him. “Kiss the boys for me. I love you.”

Feeling frustrated and edgy, she crossed to the bar and started to remove every tiny bottle in the fridge. She hadn’t concocted mixed drinks in years, but she was pretty sure she could manage it. But then she put everything back. Not because she’d changed her mind, but because if she really wanted to improve her mood, she stood a much better chance if she was to go out, be around other people. Feel the ambiance of New York City, a little excitement, a touch of the unknown.

Though her feet were killing her—she hardly ever wore heels these days—she slipped her shoes back on, applied fresh lipstick and ran her fingers through her hair to give it a less-structured look. On the walk back to the hotel she’d passed at least a dozen bars and restaurants. One of them was bound to offer what she needed.

She didn’t know when Lauren would be back, but one thing was certain. She wasn’t going to spend the evening checking the weather channel, eating stale nuts and washing them down with thimble-size bottles of liquor. It had been one hell of a day, and she deserved to let her hair down.

After scribbling a short note to Lauren, she dropped the small container of macadamia nuts into her jacket pocket and headed back out the door.

Forty-five minutes later found Jenna sitting at a small table in Willowby’s Tavern. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a great view of the avenue and a golden, fading sunset that had turned the windows of every office building into a pretty caramel color. She was on her third drink, some festive rum mixture that was more appropriate for a tiki bar in the South Pacific than a dim, crowded watering hole in Manhattan. She’d drunk more today than she had in six months. But at least she no longer felt as though someone was sawing on her nerve endings with a dull knife.

The bar was noisy and full of New Yorkers having a few drinks with friends after a long day at work. Jenna ignored them, concentrating, instead, on the FTW file in her lap, which she’d pulled out of her purse.

Undoubtably Vic would find her interview with Mark Bishop lacking in substance, and they still needed something to fill pages. Maybe one of these other guys on the Ten Most Eligible list would be a better candidate. Of course, none of them were engaged to be married, so they’d have to come up with some other hook.

She flipped through the pictures, reading bios and trying to imagine having better luck with one of these rich, powerful, attractive men. Not surprisingly, when she came upon it, she couldn’t help focusing on the picture of Mark Bishop in his sleek mahogany boardroom.

She tried to see what Lauren and Shelby Elaine had accused Mark Bishop of being—a man who didn’t know how to love or trust, and a cheapskate to boot.

Nothing she saw in the picture hinted at that. He was arrogant. Audacious. A snob, probably. Without a doubt he was the most unromantic man on the planet. But the photograph made him look isolated and lonely, too. Incapable of feeling? She just didn’t see it. And when she’d interviewed him, she’d hadn’t sensed it, either.

Growing up around men, Jenna felt she had a special insight into the male psyche. With the notable exception of her ex-husband, Jack, she was pretty good at figuring out what made them tick. Who they really were. What they really wanted out of life.

Mark Bishop could antagonize. Seduce. Confuse. But she’d seen flashes of humor and kindness in him. Most of all, he had a kind of genius for making a person believe they were the sole, fascinating center of his attention. Something in the eyes. A certain lift of the mouth that made you want to… She shook her head and had to smile at her foolishness.

He was just so different from the men in her tiny, civilized universe, that was all. Or maybe it was the liquor she’d consumed on an empty stomach. It might be time to break out the macadamia nuts.

She became aware of a presence at her shoulder. She looked up to find an attractive blond man gazing down at her. His eyebrows lifted in encouragement and his mouth sketched a smile, revealing that the drink in his hand wasn’t his first.

He indicated the empty chair across the table from her. “Is this seat taken?”

“Well, I…” Jenna stopped. She recognized that predatory look. This man had more than conversation in mind. It might be fun to practice her flirting skills, which were pretty rusty, but she didn’t want to have to eventually fend off a drunken advance. Especially since her own mind wasn’t all that sharp right now, either.

You’re a good girl.

Yes. And a boring one.

Do you even remember how to have fun?

No, but I’m willing to relearn.

But starting now? Starting with…him?

Lauren and her father had helped her to realize the depth of the rut she’d been living in for so long. The truth was, her level of boredom with her life was rising above her level of fear. But that realization couldn’t keep a cold, clammy mist of insecurity from settling over her.

The guy was waiting for her answer, his hand on the back of her chair as he leaned close. She returned his smile, trying to recall male/female banter that had been in mothballs for too many years. “Actually—”

Surprise jolted into her at the warm touch of a hand on her shoulder. At first she thought it was the blond man, but quickly saw that it wasn’t. Surprise turned to shock as Mark Bishop edged past her would-be companion and slid into the chair opposite her.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said to Jenna. “Did you order my usual?”

He sent the other man a friendly glance of regret. Without a word the man drifted away and back into the crush at the bar.

Jenna blinked at Mark as he settled in. She’d just been looking at his picture, and now he was here. She felt as though she’d conjured him up.

He arched a dark brow at her. “What’s the matter?”

“What are you doing here?”

His gaze slid away from hers momentarily, back to the blond man at the bar, who had already linked up with another woman. “From the looks of it, saving you from making a big mistake.”

His answer annoyed her. Jenna took a big swallow of her drink to get her wits back. The cute little umbrella got in the way and almost took out her eye. She tossed the wretched thing on the table as the alcohol swirled in her system. “I don’t need saving. I was looking for a little conversation, and now you’ve spoiled everything.”

“Really?” he said. He frowned absently out the window as though something on the street displeased him. “I seem to be very adept at spoiling things today.”

His tone sounded raw. There was such regret carved in his profile that she found her annoyance lessening somewhat.

“How did you find me?”

“I wasn’t actually looking for you. I took a walk to clear my head.” He nodded at her red suit. “That color’s hard to miss, and when I saw you in the window, I thought I’d come in. Where’s your partner? Why are you drinking alone?”

“Lauren’s out enjoying New York. And I didn’t think I was going to be drinking alone for very long.”

He gave her a strange look, and she knew she’d surprised him. Good. The last thing she wanted right now was for one more person to think they knew everything there was to know about dull Jenna McNab Rawlins.

Mark jerked his head in the direction of the bar. “Do you want me to call him back?”

“No.”

“Do you mind if I stay awhile?”

She should have told him to go. He confused her. Her reaction to him confused her. If she ever had a hope of stepping back into the real world and facing the prospect of dating again, Mark Bishop was the last man she should consider practicing her feminine charms on.

Instead, ignoring the sudden racing of her heart, Jenna found herself shrugging nonchalantly. “It’s a public place.”

He laughed lightly as he motioned at a passing waiter. “That’s a pretty tepid reception. Where’s all that warm hospitality Southerners are supposed to be so famous for?”

“We’re not in the South.”

His humor faded. “No,” he said with a rueful shake of his head. “We definitely are not. Today, I feel like I’ve landed on a completely different planet.”

Jenna would never have thought a voice could sound so tense and utterly devoid of hope. She observed him for a long, quiet moment while the waiter took his order. Maybe he really wasn’t the rat Lauren and Shelby Winston claimed him to be.

She watched him play with the napkin the waiter had left. He had beautiful hands. When the silence between them stretched too thin, she cleared her throat. “I’m sorry about what happened between you and Miss Winston. Can you salvage your relationship, do you think?”

His manner was brusque, but not ungracious. “No. It’s over between us.”

“You don’t strike me as the kind of man to give up easily.”

He looked at her. His features were full of fatigue. “Some things just aren’t salvageable.”

“I’m sure…” She stopped, unable to think of anything inspiring to say. He was right. Some things couldn’t be fixed. But she felt the need to say something. She thought of all the lectures she’d endured from her family.

“If you’re made of the right material, a hard fall is bound to result in a high bounce,” she said at last.

His mouth lifted. “Sage advice from your last fortune cookie?”

Her senses swam for a moment, but she knew it wasn’t just the alcohol. She would need to watch out for that smile of his. It was lethal. She shook her head. “No. Unsolicited wisdom from my father after my divorce. And I wasn’t any more receptive to it than you are. Sorry. Force of habit, I guess. In my house, someone’s always getting positive reinforcement. I’m either giving it to my boys or getting it from my father and brothers.”

“Sounds like an interesting family.”

“Sometimes ‘interesting’ is just a polite word for ‘peculiar.’”

“Tell me about them,” he said, clearly ready to move the conversation elsewhere.

She settled her chin on her hand. The discomfort of talking about his breakup with Shelby had passed. God, he was beautiful to look at. Who looked this way outside of Hollywood film actors?

She drew a deep breath. “I have two wonderful sons. Six and seven. I live with my father in Atlanta. I have two older brothers.” She frowned. “I can’t remember how old they are, but they still think of me as their kid sister.” Somehow she’d drained her drink, and now she lifted the glass in the air. “If you want anything deeper than that, you’ll have to buy me another Rum Blaster, because without benefit of liquor, I don’t find my life remotely worth discussing.”

He pinned her with a shrewd glance. “How many of those have you had?”

“This makes three. But they’re girlie drinks, so you really can’t baste the tooze.” She blinked in confusion. “I mean, taste the booze. Gosh, I guess it’s true what they say—the tongue’s the first thing that dissolves in alcohol. Or was that dignity?”

“Have you had any dinner?”

“No.” A colorful row of pineapple, oranges and cherries lay forlornly on a long toothpick in her glass. She pulled them off with her teeth and munched happily for a moment. “Unless you count this fruit.”

“My turn to give advice. Drinking on an empty stomach isn’t a good idea.”

“I’ll write that down,” she said in mock seriousness, patting herself as though looking for a pencil. Her hand stumbled across the bulge in her jacket pocket. “Oh wait, I do have dinner!” She pulled out the small jar of macadamia nuts, tilting it toward him. “Want some?”

“I was thinking of something a little more substantial.”

“They’re awfully expensive, you know? The fact that I’m willing to share them with you means that you must be very, very special.”

Silence. Then he sent her another one of those slow, confusing, blinding smiles. “That’s nice to know,” he said softly.

He was looking at her intently, filling her with an acute and perfect pleasure. How wonderful, she thought, to have a man look at you the way Mark Bishop was. She knew with a helpless, hopeless shudder that she no longer cared what Shelby or Lauren or anyone thought about him.

“Jenna—” her name on his lips was the most seductive sound she’d ever heard “—would you have dinner with me? A real dinner?”

“I suppose,” she said. “I don’t want to throw up.”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said with a short laugh. He rose, deposited a few bills on the table and held out one hand. “Come on, I know just the place.”

She seesawed up to her feet, a little surprised at how unsteady she felt. Was it the rum or her damned heels or the effect of standing this close to Mark Bishop? With one hand on her elbow, he led her out of the bar and onto the sidewalk.

They walked in silence, side by side. Jenna clutched her file folder to her chest as if it was the most valuable possession she owned.

Sunset was over, but night had yet to claim the streets completely. The air was soft, full of the promise of rain and a dozen different city scents. They passed bookshops and travel agencies and restaurants too numerous to count. Honky-tonk music drifted out to them from a cowboy bar, beckoning the sinful.

Jenna drew in a deep lungful of air. “I love this time of day, don’t you? All the anxiety and tension you’ve struggled with all day suddenly seem rounded out and smoothed over.”

“Yes,” he said. “It does seem to put all the complexities of the day into perspective.”

She hadn’t meant to remind him of any earlier unpleasantness. To change the subject, she touched the top of her FTW file. “You know, I’m really not a journalist.”

“You’re not?” he replied with no attempt at all to sound sincere.

She pressed the file against her face, grimacing. “I knew I wasn’t fooling anyone. Least of all you. Tell me I didn’t disgrace myself.”

“You didn’t. Regardless of the way it ended, I enjoyed it. I don’t think I’ve ever been interviewed in such an inventive manner.”

She turned her head to look at him, trying to read his features, trying to interpret the play of light and shadow on his face. The slight breeze had tossed his dark hair into a sexy, windblown tangle. She managed to swallow and find her voice.

“I’m an accountant,” she admitted. “A partner in the magazine, but a number cruncher at heart.” Briefly she explained why she’d been given the task of interviewing him, leaving out how desperately she’d tried to avoid the assignment in the first place. “Vic is going to scissor me up when I tell her there’s no article.”

“That’s hardly your fault.”

“True. Actually, I think it’s yours. We didn’t really get to finish the interview, you know.”

“I do business with several of the men that were on that list.” He touched the corner of her file. “One of them is about to announce his engagement to a very hot Hollywood actress. Maybe I could persuade him to give your magazine an exclusive.”

She halted abruptly. Turning, she looked at him in amazement. “Why would you do that for me? I mean, for us?”

“Because you’re right that we didn’t get to complete it. And because you deserve it,” he answered simply.

They traded a long, silent look. She had no idea what to say. A few people detoured around them. She must have swayed a little, because he stepped closer and took her arm.

When he pulled her into the stream of foot traffic and took her hand in his, she didn’t try to pull away. They continued to walk, hand in hand like lovers. The odd thing was how right and natural it felt.

Jenna’s senses were completely muddled now, afloat in rum-soaked, guilty delight. It wasn’t until they went through the revolving doors of the Belasco Hotel that she came suddenly back to earth.

“This is your hotel,” she said.

“Yes.”

Automatically she moved toward the direction of the hotel dining room. Mark steered her toward the elevators, instead. “Actually, I was thinking of my suite.”

She came to a dead stop and frowned up at him. “I can’t go up to your suite!”

“Why not? You were up there earlier.”

“That was different.”

“I’m not trying to seduce you. I’m trying to feed you.”

“Oh.” She dropped her chin to her chest, thinking hard, then lifted her face to eye him with renewed suspicion. “No ulterior motives?”

“Not right now,” he said with a smile. He didn’t look a bit perturbed or offended. “Maybe later, after you’ve sobered up.”

“I’m not drunk. Pleasantly buzzed, maybe. But not drunk. So what’s wrong with going to a restaurant?”

“Nothing. Except…”

He glanced away, as though debating something, then turned back to her. “Look,” he said with a long sigh. “Believe it or not, upstairs is a dining room full of balloons, a huge spread of food, a waiter to serve everything and a chef who, by now, is no doubt pouting. Having dinner with me in my penthouse will probably save my life.”

Maybe she was more buzzed than she thought. None of his words made much sense. She settled on trying to sort through something easy. “Why do you have balloons in your dining room?”

“Because before this afternoon’s fiasco, Shelby had asked the hotel to plan a private dinner for the two of us. She evidently forgot to cancel it. Once I saw all the preparation going on, I just walked out. I sure as hell wasn’t in the mood to celebrate anything. Then I found you. Now I’m thinking it would be a shame to see it go to waste.”

The idea of spending more time in Mark Bishop’s company held a lot of appeal. But she wasn’t sure she wanted to do it surrounded by a bunch of party decorations meant to celebrate the engagement of this man to another woman. “A celebration?”

“Actually—” he grinned, and for the first time looked a little embarrassed “—today is my birthday.”

Taken aback, she stated sternly, “It is not.”

His grin became almost wicked. “You’re right—you are a lousy journalist. Check your file,” he said, tapping the folder that was clutched back to her breast again. Somehow during the course of this conversation she’d lost his hand. “My birth date should be in there. Thirty-three today.”

Quickly she flipped open the file and found the date on the back of his picture. She gasped. “Oh, my gosh, it is! Happy birthday.”

He lifted her chin with one finger. She thought she saw amusement in the gray depths of his eyes—not at her, but at the situation, possibly even at himself. “Now will you come up? Save me from self-pity? Not to mention a chef with a bad attitude and a meat cleaver.”

How could she refuse such a charming appeal? Caution flew away like a bird let out of its cage. “When you put it that way…”

The penthouse dining room was just as he’d said. The table was surrounded in a sea of burgundy and blue balloons, gleaming with cutlery and china that was finer than anything Jenna had ever seen, much less eaten from. The waiter snapped to attention the moment they walked in, and a few moments after Mark entered the kitchen, Jenna heard him calming the temperamental chef.

Trays of artfully arranged hors d’oeuvres covered the coffee table in the living room. From the look on her face, Mark must have realized how little she wanted to be part of Shelby’s elaborate plans for a celebration. He wisely suggested they skip the formal dinner and have a champagne picnic on the terrace. Jenna went outside, settled into one of the comfortable chairs at the patio table and kicked off her shoes.

A few minutes later Mark appeared with two huge plates in hand, followed by the waiter. In no time, a champagne bucket, place mats, glasses and cutlery were added to the table. The waiter disappeared behind the glass doors without a word.

The moonlight was sweetly romantic, but not very illuminating. While Mark popped the cork of the champagne, Jenna tried to make out what he’d brought her. Oysters still on their shell. Caviar-stuffed celery that she wrinkled her nose at. The rest was a mystery. Pretty to look at, but a little too fancy for her tastes.

Mark pointed to the various delicacies. “Citrus salmon. Red-curry braised duck. Crabmeat on avocado. Squab liver pâté.” He frowned, catching sight of her still-empty plate. “What’s the matter?”

“I make it a habit never to eat anything my cat would fight me for.”

He laughed and speared a marinated shrimp on his fork. “Let’s start with something simple and work our way up.”

They ate, sharing and comparing, and eventually Jenna’s nerves settled. Mark had a quality of quiet self-containment that made him easy to be with. They talked about everything and nothing, even the challenges she faced with her overprotective family. He didn’t try to force his opinions on her—a refreshing change from her relatives.

The Rum Blasters had worn off. She’d had only one glass of champagne, and she was pleased to see that he didn’t try to press more on her. It occurred to her that she’d told this man far too much about herself.

They both settled into a companionable silence and gazed up at the night sky. The moon was a pale, watery disk. Jenna had slid down in her cushioned seat and her bare feet were propped on an empty chair. She sighed heavily and closed her eyes, savoring the moment, feeling relaxed.

“Do you want to move closer to the railing?” Mark asked from beside her.

She turned her head back and forth against the back of the chair. “Afraid of heights,” she said.

“That explains why you were plastered against the penthouse wall when I met you this afternoon.”

“I wasn’t plastered against the wall. I just don’t see any reason to get close to the edge of anything. Nothing dramatic in my past. I just don’t like being up high and looking down.”

“What else should I know about you?”

She met his gaze. “I’m an open book.”

“With a couple of pages missing.” He reached to spear a Spanish olive with his fork, then extended it toward her. “Last one. Want it?”

Without taking the fork from him, without thinking, she leaned forward and closed her mouth around the olive. She saw that Mark’s eyes suddenly glittered with desire. The heat in his look made her toes curl. She hadn’t meant her action to send a sexual message, but it was too late to worry about that now. She took another breath and tried to calm the panic that stitched up her spine.

Inspiration struck. “Oh, I got you a birthday present.” She swung her arm in his direction, and he laughed when he saw the jar of macadamia nuts in her hand. “I didn’t have time to wrap it.”

“I’ll treasure these always,” he said playfully. “I know you share them only with special people.”

“That’s right,” she agreed, filled with a pleasant silliness. “Don’t forget it. They’re a unique gift from a unique person.” Someone who remembers how to have fun.

“A very special person,” Mark agreed softly.

She found herself locked in his all-consuming gaze. He didn’t seem to be breathing. She knew she wasn’t.

The need to kiss him rose in her like a powerful thirst, and he must have seen it, because in the next moment he leaned forward, lowered his head and placed his mouth against hers, very gently. At some point during their picnic he’d eaten an orange, and his lips were flavored with it now. He stroked his tongue along the seam of her mouth, soft and curious, slow and suggestive. He didn’t touch any other part of her, but blood rushed through her as though she could feel him everywhere.

She couldn’t have said how long the kiss lasted. Short enough to make her want more. Long enough to make her realize she was perilously close to tripping over the edge and sliding down a very steep slope.

Mark sat back. He stared at her, and she knew he didn’t regret a single moment. Come to think of it, neither did she.

“Jenna…”

Traces of heat lightning zigzagged across the Manhattan sky. A sudden breeze made Jenna shiver.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“Almost midnight.”

Her father’s storm warning. Right on time. He’d be worried about her flight tomorrow. He always worried. His good little Jenny-girl. What would he think to see her now? Ready to make love to a man she hadn’t even known twenty-four hours ago.

Oh, Lord, what am I doing? This wasn’t like her. She was the kind of person marriage had been invented for, and Mark…well, Mark wasn’t. He was probably used to having women throw themselves at him. She’d been begging to be kissed, and he’d been more than happy to oblige. But it would be foolish to take this lovely interlude any further. It was midnight. Pumpkin time.

“I have to go,” she said.

She pulled her feet out of the chair and stood, snatching up her shoes and jacket.

“You don’t have to,” Mark said, coming to his feet, as well.

“I do. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to give you the wrong idea. I didn’t mean…” She realized she was starting to babble and stopped, void of explanations that would make any sense even to herself.

She pulled the sliding glass doors wide and passed quickly through the suite, Mark close on her heels. She plunged her arm into one of her jacket sleeves, missed and tried again just as Mark came up behind her in the foyer.

Mark settled one of the sleeves up over her shoulder. “Didn’t mean to what, Jenna? Let me kiss you?”

“Yes. No! What I mean to say is, I liked it. Too much.”

“So did I. So stay here. Let’s find out what else we have in common.”

Dammit! Why wouldn’t her jacket cooperate? She fished around in it awkwardly, finally finding the second sleeve and shrugging into it. She turned to face Mark. “I can’t. I’m not a one-night-stand kind of girl.”

His brow furrowed as he stiffened a little. “Do you think that’s the way I would treat you?”

“No. Well, yes, probably.” She took a deep breath. “I just think that where that kiss was heading is someplace that’s a lot easier for you than it is for me. My life is very structured. Very simple. Very sane. Some people even find me boring. Ask Lauren, she’ll tell you.”

She finished yanking her jacket into place, then realized she was still barefoot. She pulled one shoe on, but the other refused to slip into place. She took a couple of ungraceful hops. “Damn! I hate these shoes.”

“I don’t care what Lauren thinks. Or anyone else. I don’t find you boring at all. I think you’re one of the most intriguing women I’ve met in a long time.”

Her attention swung away from her shoe and back to his face. “For a man who claims not to believe in romance, you’re very good at it.”

She was losing her balance. Mark reached out to steady her, his hands on both her shoulders. “Will you stand still? Let’s talk about this.”

She wobbled on one foot for a moment, then steadied. She should have known he wouldn’t make this easy for her. Her mind was a jumble of guilt and confusion and embarrassment, and Mark wasn’t willing to play fair. Forget nice and friendly. His hands were quiet on her shoulders, but his thumbs were massaging the base of her throat, and that touch was so warm. Supple. Alive.

She shook her head. “Stop that. It’s not going to work.”

Now his hands did move. Up her neck in a gentle, whispery caress. Cupping the base of her skull so that her head was drawn upward and back, and his fingers stroked pulse points that had been sleeping for years.

Unfair! Jenna wanted to cry. Stop! But the words simply wouldn’t come.

He gave her a long, speculative appraisal from beneath his lashes. His tender smile had a melting effect on her insides. “You realize, of course, if you go now, you’ll never find out.”

“Find out what?” she asked. Her voice sounded detached and foreign.

His mouth widened into a grin. “Whether it’s boxers or briefs.”

She stared at him in mute misery. The dark, heavy truth descended on her in full force and without mercy. She might as well acknowledge the terrible inevitability of this moment, that something was breaking, breaking like a cord, in her mind….

Jenna nodded slowly. “You’re right, damn you. I have to know.”

She tossed the remaining shoe over one shoulder. By the time it hit the floor, she’d put her arms around Mark’s neck and pulled him to her. She kissed him, thoroughly. And he responded.

If this was a mistake, she’d find a way to make it right somehow. And if there were regrets, she’d never lay claim to them. A premonition of danger flared at the edges of her mind, but her body was already on a wild journey now, and the feeling didn’t last long enough to become a nuisance.