Читать книгу Sleeping Beauty's Billionaire - Caroline Cross - Страница 10

“Hey, Colly, what’s the matter? Why’re you stopping?”

Colleen Barone only dimly registered her second cousin Matthew’s inquiries. The nine-year-old’s voice seemed far away as, her feet rooted in place, she stared transfixed at the tall, black-haired man who had just entered the reception hall.

Gavin O’Sullivan. Even among the throng of notable guests helping to celebrate her brother Nick’s wedding—and so far she’d seen four U.S. senators, the current governor of Massachusetts and two of his predecessors, a bushel of Fortune 500 CEOs and a smattering of Hollywood movie stars—he stood out. And while Colleen wished it was merely because of his chiseled good looks or the impeccable tailoring of his expensive black suit, she knew better. There was simply something about the aloof way he held himself, the serious line of his sensual mouth, the reserve in his coffee-colored eyes, that set him apart.

But then, that was Gavin. Always so intense, so unpredictable, so alone.

Of course, there’d been a handful of brief exceptions to the latter. Once upon a time, for the three years they’d played soccer together at Madison Prep, he and Nick had been best friends. And then later, during her second year of college and his last, he and Colleen had shared for a little while what could only be called magic.

An ache, brief but savage, squeezed her heart. It had been twelve years since their last meeting, and the relationship had ended badly. Yet suddenly she longed to cross the space separating them, slip her hand into Gavin’s and say something to make him smile.

If only it was that easy…

“Colleen!” Matthew’s earnest voice coupled with his sharp tug on her hand jerked her back to reality.

Tearing her gaze from the man across the room, she looked down at her young companion. “What?”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m hungry, remember?”

As if someone had hit a switch, the totality of the reception hall snapped into focus for her. She heard the band playing, registered the noisy, shifting presence of the hundreds of guests, saw the impatience on her young relative’s face. “Oh, Mattie, I’m sorry. Of course you are.” Pushing away an edge of dismay—just how long had she been staring at Gavin, anyway?—she summoned a smile. “Lead the way.”

“All right.” His equanimity restored, the youngster tightened his grip on her hand and set off like a tugboat at full throttle. He chugged steadily past clumps of chatting guests and skillfully avoided knots of family members, not stopping until they finally arrived at the buffet, a vast spread laid out over a river of tabletops covered with crisp white linen.

The boy’s gaze darted from the steaming casseroles to the heaps of Italian meat sliced paper thin, from stacks of golden calzones to platters of strawberries dipped in pale chocolate. He exhaled with gusty appreciation. “Wow.”

Wow was right. In her usual over-the-top fashion, Colleen’s mother, Moira, had made certain there was enough food on hand to feed all of Boston. Yet Colleen, who’d typically forgotten to eat that day and had been ravenous only a few minutes earlier, realized she no longer had an appetite.

The reason was obvious, and she felt a prick of annoyance at herself. Not that she intended to let on. Although Matthew probably wouldn’t care, she refused to allow Gavin’s unexpected presence to affect her behavior. After all, the time they’d been together had happened many years ago; neither of them was the person they’d been.

She knew she wasn’t. After a difficult, painful struggle she’d learned to accept herself. She’d carved out a life rich with friends and a job where she felt she made a difference. And though there were times she was lonely and she still had her share of doubts and fears, frustrations and longings—life after all, was a constant and ever-changing challenge—in the ways that mattered most she was at peace for the first time ever.

So quit acting like a drama queen and eat, her practical side chided. Squaring her shoulders, she handed Matthew a gold-banded china plate, then took one for herself. “It looks good, doesn’t it?” she said as she began serving them.

“Oh, yeah.”

Thirty-five minutes and one return to the buffet line later, Matthew leaned back and exhaled in satisfaction. “That was really, really scrumpdillyitious,” he announced.

Her lips quirked. “Yes, it was.” Which was perfectly true as applied to the pathetically small amount she’d managed to get down. She set down her fork, grateful she could finally quit rearranging what was left on her plate.

Matt started to wipe the back of his hand across his mouth, then apparently thought better of it as she raised an eyebrow at him. Sighing, he took a cursory swipe of his face with his napkin, tossed the linen square on the table and idly began to swing one leg.

He was silent for what was for him an uncharacteristically long moment. “Colleen?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you feel okay?”

She glanced over at him in surprise. “Sure.”

“You’re not mad at me or something?”

“Of course not. Why would you think that?”

He stared with sudden fascination at a spot of Alfredo sauce he’d dripped on the tablecloth and gave a slight, one-shouldered shrug. “I dunno. It’s just…you’re sort of quiet. For you. And you didn’t eat very much, either. And earlier, when we were coming to get our food and then you stopped, you got a real funny look on your face. Kind of like Jordan Crenshaw did when I dared him to eat a dead frog.”

“Gosh.” Ignoring a concern that her earlier turmoil had been so apparent, she deliberately made her voice light. “And here I thought I was looking pretty good today.”

Matt’s head jerked up. “Oh, yeah! You do! For a girl. That is…” Flustered, he broke off. Heat stained his cheeks, but at least he was looking at her now, even if his expression was far too earnest. “It’s just…I mean…it’s just that usually you don’t act like other grownups.”

She’d certainly heard that before. Only normally it was from people her own age. “Ah.” What the heck. She might as well take the plunge. “In what way?”

“Well…” He cocked his head, considering. “You really listen to me when we talk. And you never make me feel like you’d rather be somewhere else, with somebody else.”

She blinked, gratified.

“And you don’t act like you’re smarter than me just because you’re old.”

That certainly put things in perspective; she swallowed a sudden bubble of laughter and did her best to look solemn. “Gee, maybe you’d better find me a cane. I wouldn’t want to topple over when I stand up and fall in the punch bowl and embarrass us both.”

For half a second the boy looked horrified. And then he realized she was kidding, and his eyes took on an impish gleam. “Naw. You’re not that old.” He did his best to match her deadpan delivery. “But if you were gonna fall down, we’re a lot closer to the wedding cake. Now, that’d be really cool.”

“Matthew!” Her protest was ruined by her sputter of laughter. “No wonder your mom says you’re a menace.”

He looked inordinately pleased. “Really? She said that?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Before she could add that her cousin Janice had then said how crazy she was about the little rascal, his gaze settled on something behind her and he straightened like a bird dog who’d spotted a covey of quail. “Hey, it’s Jeremy and Sean!” Like Matt, the two boys were distant cousins from Colleen’s mother’s side of the family and had recently become objects of Matt’s veneration by virtue of having birthdays and officially becoming teenagers. “Can I go say hi?”

“Of course.”

She didn’t have to tell him twice. He shot to his feet and disappeared almost before she gave her consent.

Fondly Colleen watched him go, relieved when the older boys welcomed him warmly. Looking away as a waiter approached, she declined an offer of champagne, taking a sip of her water, instead, as the young man quickly cleared away her and Matthew’s plates.

The reception really had turned out to be a lovely affair, she reflected. A few tables away her brother Joseph was involved in an intense conversation with Uncle Paul, while her younger sisters, Rita, Gina and Maria, stood clustered together near the buffet, hands gesturing and faces alight as they chatted with one another.

Out on the dance floor, Nick glided into view, his arms securely cradling his bride, Gail. Hands clasped, heads together, the two were engrossed in each other. Colleen felt a wash of pleasure at their obvious happiness. Before meeting Gail, Nick hadn’t had the easiest time when it came to love and romance.

A tendency that seemed to run in the family, she mused as she found herself searching the crowd for Gavin’s black hair and broad shoulders. Assuring herself the sudden hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach was relief rather than disappointment when he was nowhere to be seen, she brushed a crumb off the table and told herself firmly she’d played hooky long enough.

At the very least, she should go check on “the aunts”—the contingent of widowed, black-clad, elderly ladies all gathered together at one big table like a flock of crows. Or, if she really wanted to feel virtuous, she could always seek out her mother….

Quit that, Colleen. Swallowing a sigh—was she ever going to outgrow the irreverent streak that too often got her in trouble?—she pushed back her chair, stood, squared her shoulders and turned.

And found herself gazing straight into the unsmiling face of Gavin O’Sullivan.

It wasn’t fair. Twelve years, and she looked exactly the same, Gavin thought grimly. Dainty. Delicate. A doe-eyed waif with flawless skin and the hint of a dimple in one soft cheek.

The only thing different was her hair. Gone was the ebony sheaf that had once fallen in a silken tumble to her waist. In its place was a cropped, tousled cap that somehow made her neck seem more fragile, her straight little nose finer, her densely lashed blue eyes even bigger.

Not that he gave a rip. His sole reason for seeking her out was to get this encounter over with. He’d come to celebrate Nick’s wedding, and he was damned if he was going to spend his time worrying about inadvertently bumping into her. Better by far to take the direct route, where he called the shots. Just to make sure that she or anyone else who might recall they’d once had a thing for each other would be absolutely clear he was long over her.

He summoned the polite, impersonal smile that was his stock-in-trade in social settings. “Hello, Colleen. It’s been a long time.”

For a second longer than was strictly polite her gaze remained riveted on his face. Then she seemed to catch herself and, as if recalling her manners, smiled and said, “Gavin. How nice to see you.”

He’d forgotten what an appealing voice she had. Soft, a little husky, with a warmth that wrapped gently around whomever she was addressing like a well-worn flannel blanket. Too bad it was merely part of her act.

“Does Nick know you’re here?” For an instant she sounded almost nervous, but then her voice evened out and he knew he must’ve imagined it. “Have you talked to him yet?”

What did she think? That he was still some ill-mannered inner-city kid who didn’t know how to behave at a fancy wedding? “Sure. I saw him when I went through the reception line.”

“Oh. He must be so pleased that you came.”

He shrugged. “I wouldn’t know about that. I do know I’ve enjoyed seeing him again.”

“Of course.” Although her pleasant expression didn’t alter, a shadow darkened her eyes, and he knew she’d heard the slight but deliberate emphasis he’d put on him.

He felt a flick of satisfaction.

In the next instant he asked himself what in hell he was doing. It had been years since their breakup, damn it. And while being dumped by Colleen had been hard at the time, it was nothing compared to some of the other things he’d endured in his life. Losing a girlfriend just wasn’t in the same category as being raised, if it could be called that, by an alcoholic single mother in one of Boston’s toughest neighborhoods. Or getting himself not just through high school but also through college. Or even having to learn about art and culture later in life because such “civilized” things had taken a back seat to survival when he’d been younger.

What was more, the intervening years had been good to him. He’d transformed himself from a dirt-poor charity case to a rich, respected, successful hotelier whose extensive holdings provided jobs for hundreds of people.

And he certainly hadn’t lived like a monk while he’d done it. In the time since he and Colleen had parted ways, he’d dated his share of women. Most of them, at least lately, tended to be either up-and-coming actresses, members of what was left of European aristocracy or international supermodels.

So maybe he should try not to act like some petulant kid; maybe he could even see his way clear to give little Ms. Barone a break. After all, there was a chance, slight though it was, that he might not be where he was if she hadn’t chosen to stomp on his heart all those years ago.

“Dance with me,” he said abruptly as the band struck up a new song.

Her eyes widened and for a second something that looked almost like panic gleamed in their sapphire depths. “I beg your pardon?”

What the hell. So he wasn’t a saint; but what could it hurt if by acting like an adult he also gave her a taste of what she’d thrown away? He deliberately softened his voice. “Dance with me, Colleen. Please?”

She hesitated another instant, then her face smoothed out as she apparently decided he was now upwardly mobile enough to warrant her attention. “All right.” Flashing him a quick smile he might have deemed shyly beguiling had she been anyone else, she headed for the dance floor.

He fell in behind her. Refusing to debate the wisdom of what he was doing, he forced himself to concentrate on the slow but catchy beat of the love song the band was crooning—and not the supple line of her back. By the time they reached the outer circle of dancers, he was ready. Taking Colleen’s slender hand in his much bigger one, he slid his other palm to rest on the small of her back, pressed her close and led her into the dance.

Given the awkwardness of their reunion, the acrimony of their former parting and the disparity of their heights, their coming together should have been more than a little graceless.

Instead, from their first step they were perfectly matched, melting together in a rhythm that was as instinctive as breathing—or sex.

“Oh, my,” Colleen murmured.

“What?” Even to his own ears, he sounded a little terse, but then, the last thing he’d expected was the pleasure that was currently sizzling along his nerves.

“I’d just…forgotten.” She raised her chin and met his gaze, an unexpected and oddly self-effacing expression on her fine-boned face. “It’s been a long time since I danced. I’d forgotten how nice it is.”

Nice? That was the last word he’d use to describe the awareness tingling through him like ungrounded electricity. “Yeah. Right.”

She cocked her head. “When did you finally learn?”

“What?”

“To dance. As I recall, you didn’t…before.”

Now there was a diplomatic choice of words. For a second he was tempted to make her squirm, to politely inquire, “Do you mean before you discarded me like yesterday’s newspaper, with no more explanation than we didn’t suit and you didn’t want to see me anymore?”

But then he reminded himself of his decision not to be petty. Which was no doubt good since a second later the band launched into a complicated instrumental riff that sounded as if it might keep them together longer than he’d been counting on.

What wasn’t good was the discovery that he wanted in the worst way to look away from Colleen’s gaze so that he could bury his face in the delicate curve where her neck met her shoulder and drink her in, inhale her scent, taste her skin, savor the flavor of her on his tongue. Just like that, any sort of distraction, including conversation, seemed like a damn good idea. “I took lessons. Arthur Murray.”

“You’re kidding.” She couldn’t hide her amazement.

Annoyed and not sure why, except that it pissed him off royally to be lusting after a woman he didn’t like, he retorted, “I’m dead serious. Elliot insisted.”

“Elliot?”

Terrific. If ever there was a subject he didn’t care to discuss with her, this was it. “Elliot Sutherland,” he said repressively. Determined to distract her long enough to retake control of the conversation, not to mention his treacherous body, he executed a complicated series of steps.

She followed effortlessly, not missing a beat. “I apologize if I ought to recognize his name, but I don’t,” she said easily. “Is he a friend?”

“Yes.”

She continued to look at him, the picture of interest—and endless patience. Clearly, she wasn’t going to drop the subject.

“Elliot was my boss.” And the closest thing to a father I ever had. Not that she needed to know that. Or would care if she did. “He owned the Independence Hotel downtown and he gave me my first real job in the business.” Not to mention the mantle of his chosen successor. Thanks to Elliot’s having noticed Gavin’s savvy business mind and solid work ethic, today Gavin stood before Colleen a wealthy hotelier with five-star lodgings all over the country. He’d done his best to make Elliot proud, adding hotels to the chain over the years. But he never lost sight of his humble beginnings.

“Elliot’s and my backgrounds were similar, so he took an interest in me. In addition to teaching me everything I know about business, he also insisted I learn some other things.”

“Like how to dance?” she said softly.

“Yeah. Like how to dance. And dress. And use the right fork and choose the right wine at dinner.” Try as he might, he just couldn’t keep the trace of sarcasm out of his voice. “Hell, he even made sure I’d know how to behave at a big society wedding.”

She flinched, just as he’d intended. Yet rather than experiencing satisfaction, he felt more than a little ashamed of himself. Colleen might be a spoiled, social-conscious snob, but he was no bully. Nor was he likely to make her regret giving him up if he kept behaving like a callow jerk still smarting from a long-ago rejection.

Which he wasn’t. He’d gotten past that a long time ago.

Yeah? Then prove it. See if you can’t locate a little of the Irish charm Clarice and Caroline and Angelina and the rest of your dates are always prattling on about.

He drew Colleen slightly closer. Ignoring the treacherous leap of his pulse, he swung her around and reversed direction as they reached the edge of the dance floor. “So what about you?” he inquired, doing his best to sound mildly curious and nothing more. “Did you get your teaching degree?” Given her chic little haircut and stylish suit, it was easy to imagine her teaching French or Nineteenth-Century Romantic Poets to a giggly group of teenage girls at some posh private school.

Some of the tension left her body. “Yes, I did.”

“So what are you doing these days?”

“I run a counseling program for gifted but at-risk kids at Jefferson High.”

He missed a step. “You what?” Surely he hadn’t heard her right.

Her voice held a totally unexpected hint of wryness. “Don’t look so horrified.”

“I’m not. Just…surprised.” That was putting it mildly. Jefferson was his alma mater, a tough school in an even tougher neighborhood. Given Colleen’s privileged, sheltered, parochial-school background, he would’ve thought she was joking if not for the calm, steady way she was gazing up at him. “When did you start?” Even if she was being serious, surely this had to be something recent, some sort of fleeting, poor-little-rich-girl scheme to help the needy and downtrodden.

“This is my third year.”

For a moment he was so stunned he couldn’t think what to say. “And your family—your parents—are all right with it?” he finally managed. He simply couldn’t imagine the fashionable Moira Barone allowing such a thing.

Colleen gave a slight shrug. “They’re not wild about it. But then, they were so over-wrought when I decided to leave the order that they consider my subsequent errors in judgment these last three years minor in comparison.”

Her voice was so matter-of-fact it took a moment for her words to sink in. “You left… What order? What the hell are you talking about?”

All solemn blue eyes, she looked up at him. “I’m sorry. I just assumed you knew.”

“Knew what?”

“After we broke up…and after college, I joined the Sisters of Charity. For seven years I was a nun.”