Читать книгу Scent of a Woman - Jo Leigh - Страница 8

“WHO’S ON THE BOOKS today, Phyllis?” David asked cheerfully on Tuesday morning. He put his briefcase under his desk, then turned to his secretary. Phyllis had been with him for four years, and she ran his office with great good sense and a necessary sense of humor. And she was the soul of discretion, which was critical with his clientele.

“Mr. Travolta had to postpone for two weeks. He’s flying to California. You’ve got Mr. Broderick at eleven, lunch with your sister at one, and Mr. Warren at three.”

“Great. Give me a half hour, and then let’s do some dictation, okay?”

“Right. Coffee?”

He nodded. “Thanks.”

Phyllis smiled as she walked out of his office, and as soon as she closed the door, he dialed Charley. He had to leave a message, and when he tried Jane, he got the answering machine. Frankly, he was relieved. He had to figure out what to tell them—why he couldn’t make dinner tomorrow night. Not that he wanted to lie, exactly. But he could just see Charley’s face when he told them he was breaking their long-standing engagement to meet a strange woman at a hotel. And that he didn’t even know her name.

Phyllis came back with his coffee, then quietly retreated. The woman was in her fifties, but she appeared much younger. Perhaps it was her red hair, worn loose to her shoulders. Or maybe it was her sense of style. She always looked pulled together, and she was unfailingly serene amid the chaos that went along with having famous patients.

He wasn’t sure even now how he’d ended up with so many celebrity clients. It had started about two and a half years ago with a soap opera actress. She’d recommended a highly acclaimed actor friend, and it had mushroomed from there.

He didn’t mind. It was fascinating to explore the kinds of problems that went along with fame and fortune. The only real problem for him was the paparazzi. They tended to lurk downstairs and question him as he came and went. They bothered Phyllis, too, but not often. She was an expert at chasing them away.

He sipped his coffee, then turned in his chair. His view from the high-rise was spectacular, and he realized that lately, he’d been so busy he hadn’t taken even a few moments to enjoy it.

The park was covered in snow, and it looked like a postcard from Currier & Ives. January was a good month for New York. It made the city appear innocent, which was quite a feat. In March, the magic would be over, when the white gave way to gray, but for now, at this height, it was all magic.

His gaze moved in the direction of the Versailles hotel. He’d never been there, but he’d read about it. It was one of the new boutique hotels, catering mostly to the European trade. Was he really going to meet her there? A complete stranger? What if she was a reporter, and all this was a trick to get some information on a client?

No, that wasn’t possible. No one could have known he’d walk into that store, and she must have been there before he’d arrived.

His hand went to his ear, and he rubbed the lobe where she’d bit him. Talk about leaving a mark. Although there was no sign of her teeth—it had been a gentle nip—the echo of the startling move had stayed with him all night. He closed his eyes, remembering his first impression of the woman.

She was a class act. The shawl wasn’t the only sign. Her makeup was subtle, but perfect. Her skin pampered. The diamonds in her earrings looked like the real McCoy. But more than that, the way she carried herself, her confidence, her audacity, bespoke the kind of rearing and education that came with old money. He’d seen it often enough to recognize the signs.

He had a few patients who were the same type, but he had the feeling none of them were in her league. He wasn’t, either. Not that he was complaining. His practice had flourished, his portfolio had done very well, and he was one of the fortunate who could actually afford to live in Manhattan. To live well, that is.

He realized he was rubbing his ear again, and he tried to catalogue what else he’d noticed about Scheherazade. Ridiculous name, but intriguing, too. Of course he knew the story. The princess Scheherazade had been sentenced to death by a wicked king, but she held the king spellbound with her nightly tales, always stopping before the denouement, so he was compelled to let her live another day.

Is that what his mystery woman was going to do with him? Tell him tales? Keep him in suspense? The idea appealed. He liked the element of surprise. He hadn’t realized what a rut he’d been in until yesterday at that boutique. Sher had shoved him out of his comfort zone. Quite firmly.

Even though his night had been filled with feverish dreams, he felt more alive today than he had in years. Eight o’clock tomorrow night. He couldn’t wait.

SHE WASN’T GOING.

The whole idea was ludicrous.

Besides, he wasn’t going to show.

Susan looked at her reflection in the mirror, although she couldn’t see too much of herself. Not with the mint-green mud mask on. But her eyes were clear, and that’s what she studied. They were the window to the soul, right? So what was her soul trying to tell her? Yes? No?

Dammit. Her eyes weren’t talking. She left the bathroom and climbed onto her bed. The one place on earth she was perfectly at peace.

Yes, she knew she had too many pillows. But she didn’t care. It was her bed, and she could make it any way she pleased.

Her shoulders sagged with the realization that no one cared one whit about her pillows. She’d reacted to a long-ago conversation with a man she couldn’t stand. Larry had hated the pillows. They’d fought. Over and over. Eventually, she’d given in and tossed the pillows. Her gesture hadn’t saved the marriage.

Nothing could have. Not counseling, not acquiescence, not a change in her outlook. The man had wanted to milk her dry. Period. There was no love there. Sadly, there had never been love, at least not from him. Not with Larry or any other man.

She wished she had a Trevor. Lee’s idea a year and a half ago to add sex to their friendship had turned out to be the best move Lee had ever made. Their marriage was a wonder to behold. Friends. Lovers. Mates.

She flipped the TV on, shaking herself out of her reverie. It wasn’t like her to be so morose. So fatalistic. Sarcastic and cynical? Sure. But mopey? Not her style.

Another click of the remote control and she paused at an old black-and-white Bette Davis movie. Now, Voyager. It had been one of her favorite films. She loved the way Bette Davis transformed from the ugly duckling into the beautiful swan. But as she watched the ending, Bette and Paul Henreid talking about their unrequited love, she shook her head. And then, the famous last line:

“Oh, Jerry, don’t let’s ask for the moon. We have the stars.”

“Hogwash,” Susan said to the screen. “You deserve the moon.” She snuggled against her pillows.

“We all deserve the moon.”

Screw it. She would go. In fact… Her phone was in her hand and she called the hotel. She debated for a moment after the reservation clerk asked if he could help. Then she threw caution to the wind and booked a suite.

Once she hung up, her nerves got busy, illustrating in their own unique way that while her mind had confidently moved forward, heeding the call to adventure, her body was trying like hell to shrink back and stay in the cave. Her life might be dull and ordinary, but it was safe. Too safe.

She was going. Tomorrow night. To a rendezvous with a beautiful stranger. Holy cow.

“WHAT’S WITH SUSAN?”

Lee Templeton dug into her crème brûlée with gusto, even as she bemoaned her current state of hugeness. After savoring her spoonful, she looked up at Katy, who was even larger, given she was eight months along. “What do you mean?”

“Have you talked to her lately? She’s being very odd.”

“How can you tell?”

Katy giggled. “Odd for her. She’s doing something tonight, but she won’t say what.”

“Huh.” Lee put her spoon down and took a big swig of milk. She shuddered a bit, not ever having been a big milk fan. But she’d do anything for her baby. Her hand went protectively to her stomach.

“You think it’s something about Larry?”

“I don’t know.” Katy ate a delicate piece of arugula, splashed with a hint of balsamic vinegar.

Lee frowned with disgust. Pregnant women were supposed to have cravings for weird things. Sweet things. Not arugula, for heaven’s sake. “It’s probably nothing,” she said, remembering about Susan.

“Yeah? When’s the last time she tried to keep a secret from us?”

Lee didn’t have to think long. “That time she was dating that guy. That poet.”

Katy’s right brow rose.

“You think she’s seeing someone?”

“Well…”

“God, remember how awful he was? It wouldn’t have been so bad if he hadn’t written such terrible poetry.”

“Or if he hadn’t been so damn proud of his abject poverty.”

“Or if he hadn’t had a face like a fireplug.”

Lee grinned. “We’re horrible.”

“No. We’re gossips. He was horrible.”

“She got over him quickly enough.”

“One date was too many.”

Lee went back to her dessert. “So you think she’s found another one?”

“Maybe. She did promise to give the love thing another try. Although, I’m not convinced she’s completely ready.”

“Think we should press her?”

“Not yet,” Katy said, after a moment. “It may just be a one-time thing—an experiment or something. If that’s the case, there’s no need to worry.”

“Where Susan is concerned there’s always need to worry.”

“I know. Especially lately. She’s been down.”

Lee nodded. “I think she’s feeling left out.”

Katy’s hand went to her tummy. “Yeah.”

“So I don’t want to, you know.”

“Right.” Katy took another bite of salad. “We’ll let it go. See what happens.”

“Keep our ears open.”

“And call her first thing tomorrow morning.”

Lee nodded. Then the crème brûlée captured her attention until the very last bite.

DAVID WALKED DOWN Club Row, 44th Street, in Midtown Manhattan. He knew the street well, mostly because of the Bar Association headquarters, but also from going to the theater. His breath came out in sharp puffs of condensed air, and when he inhaled, it was cold enough to sting. But it wasn’t snowing, and the bitter weather wasn’t severe enough to keep most intrepid New Yorkers at home.

He stopped outside The Versailles. The beautiful old hotel with its green and brown awnings. He tried to remember the name of the hotel that was here before. As soon as he stepped into the lobby the question vanished, replaced by the thoughts that had plagued him most of the day.

What was he doing here? Aside from the fact that he hadn’t made love in an uncomfortably long time. And that the woman in question was stunning and mysterious and bold. And that she’d asked him.

He walked slowly through the inviting lobby with its teakwood paneling, marble floors, and clusters of oversized velvety furniture. The hotel wasn’t big, not near the size of say The Plaza, but it screamed wealth.

It said something about the woman that she’d chosen this place. A certain sophistication. A certain pocketbook. Or not. Oh, for God’s sake, who cared? He wasn’t here to discuss the architecture or the guests. At least he hoped not.

He stopped and glanced at his watch. One minute early. All he had to do was turn left and walk into the bar. She’d either be waiting for him, or she wouldn’t. He wasn’t at all sure which outcome he preferred.

After raking a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath, squaring his shoulders—he exhaled, then cursed himself for a fool. What had happened to him? Had be become so old that he couldn’t walk into a bar to pursue what might be an extraordinary adventure? In college, he’d been a madman. Yes, he’d studied, but that wasn’t the thing. He’d explored. He’d dared. He’d fallen flat on his face.

But it hadn’t mattered. He’d wanted all life had to offer back then. What did he want now? Safety? Security? Yes. But that was the white bread of life. He also wanted spice. Heat. Daring. Dammit, he wanted Tabasco sauce, and plenty of it.

He turned left and started walking. What the hell. The worst that could happen was… Hmm. He had no idea what the worst was. But he could clearly imagine the best.

SUSAN LIFTED HER MARTINI to her lips, pleased that her hand barely trembled. Inside, she was a mess. Scared wasn’t the half of it. But on the outside, in the tradition of her mother and her grandmother, she was cool, calm, collected. It was a hard-won skill, but she’d had a lot of practice.

Her mother had told her over and over that emotions had no place on the negotiation table. And what was the whole man/woman thing but negotiation?

This was her party. She’d extended the invitation, prepared the room, including the party favors, and now, it was up to her to make certain everything went according to plan. No problem. Except perhaps for one detail: she had no idea what she was going to do with Mr. Gorgeous once she got him upstairs.

He’d expect her to sleep with him, but was that what she wanted? A brief, sweaty interlude on a cold winter’s night?

Maybe.

But something told her that she’d be cheating both of them by jumping right into bed. The man, God, how could she not know his name, had something special about him. Nothing she could pinpoint. Not his looks. Something in his eyes, in the way he smiled. She remembered that smile perfectly—how his teeth were very white, but not perfectly even. The small flaw made him infinitely more appealing, although she wasn’t sure why.

The music from the bookstore spun in her head, and with it came an idea. A way to make tonight perfect. Scheherazade. She was the answer. Susan smiled as the evening unfolded in her mind’s eye. It would be lovely. If he went along with her.

Another sip of the cold drink as she looked around the bar. It was very small as far as hotel bars went. But it was comfortable with its dark oak and wine leather booths. This was her turf. Nothing could go wrong here, not in the serious sense. Well, that wasn’t quite true. She could be stood up. Humiliated.

She ran a hand down her dress and forced herself to steer clear of those thoughts. She should have worn the black Prada. No. This one was better. Simpler. A wave of nervous tension hit her in the stomach. Oh, jeez, what if she threw up all over him? What if her plan was foolish and awkward?

This was a serious mistake. Sure, she’d felt reckless, restless, but this was taking things too far. She’d leave, and forget she’d ever thought of such a crazy—

“Hello.”

Susan jerked up to see Mr. Gorgeous not two feet away. Holy… She had to struggle to keep the expression out of her face. It would blow everything all to hell if he knew that her heart thumped against her chest as if it was trying to get out. “Hello,” she said back, thankful for all the years she’d practiced being a bitch. She had the exact right tone. Low, sexy, in charge.

He smiled, held out his hand. “David.”

“Su—”

“Sue?”

She nodded. “For now.”

“Not Scheherazade?”

She slipped her hand into his, and when he closed his fingers, she felt herself slide another inch down the long treacherous slope of pure insanity. “No. But there are similarities.”

David held on to her hand while his left brow arched. “Is the King of Persia bothering you again? Because I’ve told him time and time again—”

She laughed, but not loudly enough that she missed the slight hitch in his breath. When he swallowed, making his Adam’s apple bob, she knew he was just as nervous as she was. My God, he was pretty. Which wasn’t the important part, she knew that. It sure as hell didn’t hurt, though.

“May I?” he asked, finally taking his hand away and sliding onto the stool next to hers.

The bartender came and took his order, a scotch, neat. She shook her head when David offered to refill her martini. This was no time to hide behind an alcoholic haze. Just being near him was a bit intoxicating, and if she threw in the fact that their suite was waiting…

“Are you all right?”

She nodded. Smiled. “I didn’t think you’d be here, either.”

He smiled back, making her want to lick his lower lip. “I’m not sure why I did come,” he said. “I, uh, don’t usually…”

“Go out with women who bite your ear?”

Even in the dim light of the bar, she could see him flush. A man who blushed! What a treat. What a rarity. How delicious.

“I confess, that was a first for me.”

“Me, too.”

“So nibbling on ears isn’t your standard ice-breaker?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Hmm. How did I get so lucky?”

Susan took a slow sip of her drink, stalling for time as she made her decision about the next few minutes. She liked him. The chemistry was undeniable, and he had a sense of humor, too. He wasn’t at all the kind of man she wanted for a one-night stand. But maybe this didn’t have to be. Maybe, if she was a clever girl, this could be a prelude. To what, she wasn’t sure. But, despite the risks, or maybe because of them, she was going to find out.

She put her glass down, then turned to him with her most wicked and enticing smile. “If you think that was lucky…”