Читать книгу It Happened in Manhattan - Emily McKay - Страница 11

Ford stood near the bar, nursing a tumbler of weak Scotch, wishing he could have ordered himself a Sierra Nevada Pale Ale. He would have thought that at five hundred bucks a ticket, they could have stocked the bar with some decent beer. But of course, the best beer in the world wouldn’t have distracted him from what was really bothering him. His date.

From the moment the first camera had flashed outside the hotel and she’d practically leaped from his side, she’d been avoiding him. At first, he’d assumed she just didn’t want their picture taken together. That she was averting the potential scandal. But things hadn’t improved since they’d made it into the event. She’d immediately sent him off to get her a glass of white wine and she’d been dodging him ever since. Not that he wasn’t having a grand ol’ time, between the event organizer who’d hit him up for a ten-thousand-dollar donation and the drunk society maven twice his age who’d been hitting on him. He hadn’t had this much fun since his root canal.

Then he spotted Kitty across the room. On the dance floor. With another man. A guy who couldn’t have been more than five-six and had very clingy hands.

Ford wasn’t used to women blowing him off. After all, he’d only come out tonight because he’d wanted to make sure she was okay. After the near waterworks in the elevator, he’d been worried about her emotional state. Judging from the way she was laughing at Mr. Grabby’s joke, she was doing just fine. But enough was enough.

He handed his drink to a passing waiter and wove his way through the crowd to the dance floor. He cut in, sweeping Kitty into his arms before she could protest. But he could tell she wanted to. As her hand settled into his, a scowl twisted her perfect features.

“I’m starting to think you’re avoiding me.”

“Whatever gave you that impression? After all, it’s not like you wheedled your way into coming with me uninvited or anything.”

He grinned at her, some of his annoyance fading at the bite of her sharp tongue. In Texas she’d been relaxed and open. Who would have guessed he’d find her bristly defenses just as appealing. “I’m a grown man. I don’t wheedle.”

“Hmm …” She paused as if considering her words. No doubt searching for the best way to skewer him. “How about coerce? Or maybe bully? Are those descriptions more to your liking? Are those masculine enough for you?”

He stared down at her, studying her expression. As they danced, his body brushed hers. He couldn’t help remembering what it had felt like to dance with her in that bar in Texas. There, her body had melted into his; here, she held herself more stiffly. This was less a dance, more a battlefield.

“I don’t like to think,” he said seriously, “that I’ve bullied you into anything.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Then perhaps you shouldn’t be trying to buy my company out from under me.”

“That’s business.”

“I thought you said it was all business?” she countered smoothly.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” She felt good in his arms again. Solid, yet soft. Curved in all the right places. Tempting and a little bit dangerous.

Suddenly he couldn’t remember why he was supposed to leave her alone. Something about the business deal, right? It was a bad idea to mix business with pleasure. He knew that.

But Biedermann’s was in serious trouble and FMJ looked like the only people stepping forward to help out. Besides, if everything went as planned, this would leave her even richer than she was now. Kitty was a businesswoman first and foremost.

But she was also a woman. A very desirable, powerful woman. He’d be an idiot to ignore the tension simmering between them. Not just because the sex would be fantastic, but because the more they tried to ignore it, the more likely it was to get in the way of business. He couldn’t let his former relationship with Kitty muck up this business deal. He wouldn’t let his buddies down like that.

Ford smiled. “What’s going on with Biedermann’s is all business. This thing between us isn’t business at all.”

“There is no thing between us.”

Her voice was so emotionless, he almost believed she meant it. But his body had been inside hers. He’d watched her face as she climaxed. Women didn’t forget that kind of thing. Sure, he could let her go on pretending they had no past, but that would just make things worse down the road if this blew up in both their faces.

“There was something between us back in Texas. I’m betting there still is.”

She hesitated, her feet missing the rhythm for a moment. But then she picked up the beat again and fell into step. “You’re wrong.”

“And you’re avoiding the obvious,” he said. “You’re acting like we didn’t have hot, steamy sex in the back of my truck.”

Her gaze narrowed into a glare. “And you’re acting like a sixteen-year-old girl who put out on prom night and now wants to hear the quarterback still respects her.”

He nearly chuckled at the image, but that seemed to only irritate her more.

She leaned closer to whisper vehemently, “You want to know the truth? Yes, the sex was hot and steamy. But it was just sex. Sex with a nameless, faceless stranger. It was never meant to be anything more than that. If you’d wanted a long-term relationship you should have put an ad up on one of those Internet dating sites.”

“Trust me. I’m not a relationship kind of guy. I’m just not willing to be whipped. Least of all by you. Why would I? So far, you’ve been insulting, arrogant and generally a pain in the ass.”

Surprise flickered across her face and he might have felt a twinge of guilt if every word he said wasn’t true. Possibly even an understatement.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he continued. “It’s kind of cute. In a spoiled brat kind of way.”

“Cute? Spoiled brat?” She sputtered as if searching for a response. “How da—”

“How dare I? I dare because whether you like it or not, we have to work together. Whether I like it or not, for that matter. I thought talking about what happened in Texas might make things easier for you.” Though the music continued to play, they’d slowed to the point they were no longer dancing. “Apparently I was mistaken. You don’t want to talk about it? Fine. Just make sure you don’t bring any of this baggage into the boardroom when we start negotiations.”

She pulled her hand from his. Her gazed narrowed to a venomous glare. “Thank you for clearing that up for me. Here I was worried FMJ’s offer might have been motivated by some chivalrous impulse on your part.”

“Sorry, sugar.” He softened his words with a grin. “I don’t have a chivalrous bone in my body.”

“I’m glad you’ve disabused me of that notion. Now I can go about being my normal … what was that phrase you used? Oh yes, pain in the ass … without feeling bad about it. That makes things much easier.”

Shooting him one last haughty look, she spun on her heel and left the dance floor.

“I ‘disabused her of the notion’?” he muttered to the empty spot where she’d been. “Who the hell talks like that?”

He stood there for a minute until he realized the couples around him were staring with interest. He flashed his best charming rogue smile and shrugged. “Women.”

Several men tried to hide their smiles. A couple laughed outright. The women either rolled their eyes or just looked away. But he could see in their eyes that they were more amused than they wanted to be.

If the audience was keeping score, it looked like he’d won another round. It didn’t feel that way, though. If only he’d believed her when she said she wasn’t interested in sleeping with him. Hell, he’d even be satisfied with believing himself.

Kitty’s heart pounded in her chest as she maneuvered through the maze of bodies on the dance floor. Nausea clung to her, sticky and thick. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could maintain any semblance of calm around Ford. Her nerves were frayed to the point of exhaustion.

Selling Biedermann’s was something she’d never thought she’d consider. Just meeting with FMJ to discuss it had been abhorrent. But she’d done it. She’d dug deep to find strength she’d never known she had and she’d done the right thing for the company. And this was how fate had punished her.

Why, oh, why, did it have to be him? Why did he have to be the F of FMJ? Six billion people in the world and the one she never wanted to see again just happened to be the one who held her future in his hands. It was cruelty piled on top of humiliation. It was completely … nauseating.

She flattened her hand against the restroom door and shoved her way inside. The room was thankfully empty. A fact that she only had a second to appreciate before another wave of nausea washed over her. She bolted for the closest stall just as bile mixed with the rich appetizers she’d been so hungry for when she’d first arrived.

Talk about humiliation.

As if throwing up—in public—wasn’t bad enough. As Kitty knelt on the bathroom floor with one hand propped on the toilet paper dispenser and the other wedged against the wall, she heard footsteps outside the stall.

“Oh, my, are you all right?” asked a wavering voice from behind her.

The voice sounded kind—benevolently maternal. Kitty wasn’t taken in. Too many “kind” women were starving for gossip.

“I’m fine,” Kitty managed. She raised her left leg, felt around in the air a bit for the door, then kicked it shut.

“Is there something I can get you, dear?”

Hmm … a cool washcloth? A glass of water? Retrograde amnesia? Any of the above would do.

Kitty shoved the hair out of her face and straightened, wiping at the corners of her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Perhaps I could notify your date that you’re not feeling well?”

Nosy and persistent, then. Kitty stood, smoothing down her dress. In her haste, she stepped on her hem and pulled it out. But that couldn’t be helped. Praying she looked better than she felt, she left the sanctuary of the stall. Kitty turned to see an elderly woman hovering by the sinks. Though she had to be nearing ninety, the woman was well-dressed and obviously took pains with her appearance.

Kitty remembered something her grandmother had often told her. There’s no situation that can’t be improved with a fresh coat of lipstick.

Sayings like that had made Kitty roll her eyes as a teenager. Inexplicably, Kitty chuckled. “I think I’ll just freshen my makeup.”

The older woman smiled. “Always a good idea, if you ask me.”

Kitty faced the mirror. Her hair had lost its smooth sheen and now looked tousled beyond repair. Her face was ashen, her lips dry. Even her eyes seemed to have developed dark circles. She could only suppose they’d darkened to match her exhaustion.

And here she’d thought she looked pretty good just a few hours ago when she’d left the condo.

She sighed. By the sink there was a selection of hand lotions and perfumes, along with a bottle of mouthwash and a stack of tiny cups. She filled one of the cups with water to rinse out her mouth.

Spitting as delicately as she could, Kitty said, “This is quite embarrassing. I don’t think I’ve ever thrown up in public before.”

“Think nothing of it, dear. Every woman goes through it.”

Kitty raised her eyebrows. “Every woman—” she started to ask in confusion.

“Well, not every woman. But when I was pregnant with Jake, my second, I couldn’t keep anything down, either.”

“Oh, I’m not … That is, I’ve just been under a lot of stress.”

The woman gave her a pointed look. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

“I’m not—” But Kitty’s protest died in her mouth. “Pregnant.”

Her vision tunneled, fading to black at the edges but staying piercingly bright in the center, where she could see her reflection in the mirror. Pale. Frightened. Terrified.

What if she was? She couldn’t be. But even as she thought it, reality came crashing back.

She was losing Biedermann’s. Ford was back in her life. Running her company. So why wouldn’t she be pregnant?

Ford stood in the grand ballroom of The Pierre, scanning the room one last time as the nasty truth sank in. Kitty had left him standing on the dance floor, dashed off for the bathroom and then—somehow—sneaked past him on her way out.

As unpleasant as the idea was, there was no other explanation. Kitty was nowhere to be found. Hell, he’d waited long enough for her to put in an appearance.

Maybe he had it coming. After all, this wasn’t an actual date. He’d pushed his way in. Bullied her into agreeing, to use her word.

Still, he wasn’t going to let her get away with this.

Forty-five minutes later, he was standing at her door, a lavish bouquet of orchids in his hands.

Her hair was loose about her shoulders, no longer sleek, but tousled as if she’d been running her fingers through it. Her face had been scrubbed clean of makeup, leaving her cheeks rosy. Her mouth was still impossibly pink, though.

She’d changed out of her dress and had a long silk robe cinched tight around her waist. The result was that she looked like one of those forties movie starlets. Somehow, even devoid of makeup and expensive clothing, she still exuded class. As if she’d been simmered in wealth since childhood and now it fairly seeped from her pores.

She eyed him suspiciously, her gaze dropping to the orchids and then back to his face. “What are those for?”

Since she didn’t seem inclined to invite him in, he elbowed past her into the apartment. “They were my excuse to get in the building. One of your neighbors was leaving. I told him I was here to apologize for a date gone bad so he’d let me in.”

“And he believed you?”

“What can I say? I was persuasive.”

After a moment of indecision, she closed and bolted the door. “Don’t worry. It won’t happen again. I’ll hunt him down and kill the jerk.”

“Don’t do that. If you’re mad at me, take it out on me.” While she considered his words, he surveyed her apartment. A dingy kitchen led off from the living room and he headed there with the flowers. “Do you have a vase?”

“I thought the flowers were just a ruse.”

“That’s no reason not to enjoy them. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find flowers at midnight on a Friday night?”

He grabbed a vase out of one of the cabinets. It was an ornate job with elaborate curlicues. As he filled it with water, he waited for her response. She always seemed to have some snappy comeback.

It was her silence that alerted him something was wrong. He dropped the flowers into the vase and turned, thinking maybe she’d retreated to her bedroom or even left the apartment. Instead he found her sitting on the living room’s sole sofa with her elbows propped on her knees and her face buried in her hands.

His nerve endings prickled with alarm.

He sent up a silent prayer. Please don’t let her be crying. Between his three sisters, Patrice and Suz, he’d faced down his share of weepy women.

The one thing his vast experience with crying women had taught him was that running like hell would only make things worse.

“Hey,” he began awkwardly. “What’s—”

Then Kitty stood, her eyes red, but dry.

No tears. Thank God.

She crossed to stand before him, her posture stiff with anger. “What’s the matter?”

She got right in his face, stopping mere inches from him. “I’ll tell you what’s the matter.”

She shoved a hand against his shoulder. Surprise bumped him back a step. “You are the matter.”

She bopped him on the shoulder again. This time he was ready, but she was stomping forward, so he backed up a step anyway. “You come here and push your way into my company. Into my life. Into my apartment. You push and you push and you push.”

With each push she shoved against his chest and with each shove he stepped back, trying to give her the room she needed. But she followed him step for step.

“Maybe it’s time someone pushed back.”

By now he was—literally—up against a wall. With his back pressed to the living room wall, he had nowhere else to go. She stopped mere centimeters away from him, her hands pressed to his chest, her eyes blazing with anger.

“I’m—” he began.

But she didn’t let him finish. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry. Sorry won’t cut it. Sorry doesn’t even begin to cut it.”

“I—”

“Well?” she prodded.

He gripped her shoulders, resisting the urge to shake her. “Stop. Interrupting. Me.”

Her chin bumped up and she glared at him through stormy eyes. “Well?” she demanded again.

“I—” What?

Suddenly, he couldn’t remember what it was he’d been about to say. All he could think was that this was what he’d wanted for the past two months. He wanted to see her again. To sleep with her. To strip her clothes off her, lay her bare before him in a proper bed and spend hours worshipping her body.

“‘I—I—I—’” she copied, mocking his stammer. “Is that the best you can do?”

Man, she was annoying sometimes.

“No,” he said. “This is.”

Cupping her jaw in his hands, he shut her up the best way he knew how. He kissed her.