Читать книгу A Christmas Rendezvous - Karen Booth - Страница 11

One

Isabel Blackwell’s head had hardly hit the pillow when the hotel alarm went off. The fire alarm.

Frustrated and annoyed, she sat up in bed and shoved back her sleep mask while the siren droned on out in the hall. This was getting old. The luxury Bacharach New York hotel had been her home for nearly two weeks and this was the fourth time the fire alarm had sounded. She’d intentionally gone to bed early to try to sleep away her difficult day. Her brother, Sam, had convinced her to take on a legal case she did not want—saving Eden’s Department Store from a man with a vendetta and a decades-old promissory note. So much for the escape of a good night’s rest.

“Attention, guests,” the prerecorded message sounded over the hallway PA system. “Please proceed to the nearest fire exit in an orderly manner. Do not use the elevators. I repeat, do not use the elevators. Thank you.”

“Do not use the elevators,” Isabel mumbled to herself in a robotic voice. She tossed back the comforter, grabbed her robe, shoved her feet into a pair of ballet flats and dutifully shuffled down the hallway with the other guests. It was not quite 10:00 p.m., so she was the only one in her pajamas, but she refused to be embarrassed by it. Hers were pale pink silk charmeuse and she’d spent a fortune on them. Plus, if anyone should be feeling self-conscious, it was the hotel management. They needed to get their property under control.

She followed along down the stairs, through the lobby past the befuddled and apologetic bell captain, and out onto the street. Early December was not an ideal time to be parading around a Manhattan sidewalk in silk pj’s, but she hoped that by now, the hotel staff had finely honed their skills of determining whether there was an actual fire.

The manager shot out of the revolving door, frantic. “Folks, I am so sorry. We’re working as fast as we can to get you back inside and to your rooms.” He fished a stack of cards from his suit pocket and began doling them out. “Please. Everyone. Enjoy a complimentary cocktail at the bar as our way of apologizing.”

Isabel took his offering. She wasn’t about to pass up a free drink.

“What if you already have one waiting for you?” a low rumble of a voice behind her muttered.

Isabel turned and her jaw went slack. Standing before her was a vision so handsome she found herself wondering if she had actually fallen asleep upstairs and was now in the middle of a splendidly hot dream. Tall and trim, the voice had a strong square jaw covered in neatly trimmed scruff, steely gray eyes and extremely enticing bedhead hair. It had even gone a very sexy salt-and-pepper at the temples, pure kryptonite for Isabel. She had a real weakness for a distinguished man. “You had to leave a drink behind?” she had the presence of mind to ask. “That’s a very sad story.”

The voice crossed his arms and looked off through the hotel’s glass doors, longingly. “The bartender had just poured the best Manhattan I’ve ever had. And it’s wasting away in there.” He then returned his sights to her, his vision drifting down to her feet, then lazily winding its way back up. As he took in every inch of her, it warmed her from head to toe. “Aren’t you freezing?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I run hot.”

A corner of his mouth curled in amusement, and that was when she noticed exactly how scrumptious his lips were. He offered his hand. “Jeremy.”

“Isabel.” She wrapped her fingers around his, and found herself frozen in place. He wasn’t moving, either. No, they were both holding on, heat and a steady current coursing between them. It had been too long since she’d shared even an instant of flirtation with a man, let alone a chemistry-laden minute or two. Her job was always getting in the way, a big reason she disliked it so much.

“You weren’t kidding,” he said. “How are you so warm?”

How are you so hot? “Lucky, I guess.”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the hotel manager announced, poking his head out of the door. “Turns out it was a false alarm. You may go back inside.”

“Looks like you can go rescue your Manhattan,” Isabel said to Jeremy.

“Join me? I hate to drink alone.” He cocked his head to one side and both eyebrows popped up in invitation.

Isabel had been fully prepared to go back upstairs and simply take a few thoughts of dreamy Jeremy for a spin as she drifted off to sleep. “I’m in my pajamas.”

“Don’t forget the sleep mask.” He reached up and plucked it from her hair. “Do these things really work?”

She smoothed back her hair, deciding this was only a good sign—he’d invited her to have a drink with him when she looked far less than her best. “They do work. Once you get used to it.”

“I’ve never tried one. Maybe I should. I don’t sleep that well.”

Isabel fought back what she really wanted to say—that she wouldn’t mind having the chance to make him slumber like a baby. Instead, she took the mask from his hand and tucked it into the pocket of her robe. “If you can stand to be seen with me, I’d love a drink.”

“You could be wearing a potato sack and I’d still invite you for a drink.” He stepped aside and with a flourish of his hand, invited her to lead the way.

Oh, Jeremy was smooth. For a moment she wondered if he was too much so. In her experience, men like that were only interested in fun. She’d moved to New York for a fresh start, so she could pursue a less unsavory line of legal work—adoption law, to be specific—and finally get serious about love. At thirty-eight, she was eager to get on with her life. Still, it was silly to judge yummy Jeremy by a few words in their first conversation. “Good to know your standards.” Isabel marched inside and crossed the lobby, stopping at the bar entrance. Despite the generous disbursement of drink coupons from the manager, the room was sparsely occupied, with only a few people seated at the long mahogany bar. It was an elegant space, albeit a bit stuck in time, with black-and-white-checkerboard floors and crystal chandeliers dripping from the barrel ceiling. “You’ll have to let me know where you left your drink behind.”

“Over here.” Jeremy strolled ahead and Isabel took her chance to watch him from behind. The view was stunning—a sharp shoulder line atop a towering lean frame. His midnight-blue suit jacket obscured his backside, but she could imagine how spectacular it must be. He arrived at a corner table, and sure enough, there was his drink, along with a stack of papers, which he quickly shuffled into a briefcase.

“You really did leave in a hurry,” she said. “Is this your first night staying here? I don’t take the fire alarm all that seriously anymore. Most of the time it’s nothing.”

“I’m not a guest. I just had a meeting. I actually live in Brooklyn, but I thought I’d grab a drink before I headed home.” He slid her a sly look. “Now I’m glad I did.”

Isabel knew she should ask what he did for a living, but that would only lead to discussion of her own occupation. The last thing she wanted to do was talk about being a lawyer, a career she’d once dreamed of but that had since turned into a bit of a nightmare, another reason for moving away from Washington, DC. She’d somehow gone from earnest attorney to a political “fixer,” cleaning up the personal messes of the powerful. She was good at it. Very good, actually. But she’d grown weary of that particular rat race. And in Washington, everyone was a rodent of one form or another.

“What would you like to drink?” Jeremy asked, pulling out a chair for her.

Isabel eased into the seat, which was sumptuously upholstered in white velvet with black trim. “I’ll have a gin and tonic, two limes.” She reached into her robe and pulled out the drink coupon, holding it out for Jeremy.

“Save that for a rainy day. It was my invitation. I intend to buy you a drink.”

Isabel had to smile. It’d been a long time since a man had treated her nicely and actually made an effort. She’d been starting to wonder if gentlemanly behavior was a lost art. “Thank you.”

Jeremy flagged down the bartender and was back with her drink in a few minutes. He sat next to her, his warm scent settling over her. It was both woodsy and citrusy, conjuring visions of a romantic fire crackling away. “So, tell me about yourself. What do you do?”

She had to make a choice right then and there as to how this night was going to go. Either they would do the same old getting-to-know-you routine that every man and woman who have just met must seemingly pursue, or they would head in a different direction. Coming to New York was supposed to be a fresh start for Isabel and she intended to follow through on that. She would not cling to old habits. She would try something new.

She reached out and set her hand on Jeremy’s, which was resting on the tabletop. “I vote that we don’t talk about work. At all. I don’t think we should talk about where we went to school or who we used to date or how many important people we know.”

Jeremy’s eyes darkened, but there was a spark behind them—a mischievous glint. He was, at the very least, intrigued. “Okay, then. What do you want to talk about?”

She stirred her drink, not letting go of his hand. She loved that they already had this unspoken familiarity. Like they understood each other, and so soon after meeting each other. “I don’t know. A little brutal honesty between strangers?”

He laughed and turned his hand until their palms were flat against each other. He clasped his fingers around hers. How that one touch could convey so much, she wasn’t sure, but excitement bubbled up inside her so fast she thought she might pop like a cork from a champagne bottle. It was as if she’d been in a deep sleep and her entire body had rattled back to life. She wasn’t the sort of woman who pinned a lot of hope on a man, but she found herself wondering where this might go.

“Like truth or dare, but just the truth part?” he asked.

Isabel swallowed hard, but did her best to convey cool. “Oh, no. I never said I wasn’t up for a dare.”

Jeremy was so tempted to dare Isabel to kiss him, he had to issue himself a mental warning: Slow down, buddy. He was essentially fearless, but he wasn’t the guy to make leaps with a woman. Not anymore. He greatly enjoyed their company, but he’d been burned badly by a toxic marriage and the hellish divorce that followed. Since then, he’d learned to employ caution, but he did occasionally need to remind himself.

Still, he didn’t want to waste his evening ruminating on his past mistakes. Not now. Not when he was sitting with Isabel, a woman who made him want to employ zero restraint. She was not only a captivating beauty, with sleek black hair framing a flawless complexion and warm brown eyes; she had a demeanor unlike any he’d ever encountered, from anyone—man or woman. What person goes to a bar in pale pink silk pajamas and matching robe and seems wholly comfortable? And the bit about not trying to impress each other? That was like a breath of fresh air. If he had to start talking about his job, he’d just get stressed. Especially after the meeting he’d had in this very bar an hour ago.

“I’m afraid I haven’t played truth or dare since I was a teenager,” he admitted.

“Me, neither. And almost all of the dares seemed to involve kissing.”

It was as if she’d read his mind.

“But we aren’t teenagers anymore, are we?” she added.

“Not me. I turned forty this year.” Jeremy cleared his throat, struggling to keep up with her. He was usually laser-focused on a retort. As a lawyer, he got plenty of practice. “Okay, then. Tell me something almost nobody knows about you.”

She smiled cleverly, stirring her drink. “That could take all night. I have lots of secrets.” She bent her neck to one side and absentmindedly traced her delicate fingers along her collarbone.

The first secret Jeremy wanted to know was what was under those pajamas. He wanted to know who was under there—what Isabel would kiss like. What her touch would be like, what it would be like to have her naked form pressed against his. “How about three things I need to know about you? As a person. Three things you believe in.”

She twisted up her beautiful lips, seeming deep in thought. “Okay. I believe that there is no good reason to lie, but that doesn’t mean you have to confess everything. I believe that a good nap will cure most problems. And I believe that love is ultimately the only thing that ever saves anyone.”

“Really?” Jeremy found that last part a bit too sunny and optimistic, but then again, he had his reasons for rolling his eyes at love.

“Like I said, a little brutal honesty between strangers. I have no reason to be anything less than ridiculously open and bare my soul.”

“You’re a therapist, aren’t you? One of those people you pay hundreds of dollars an hour to, just so you can reveal the most humiliating things you’ve ever done.”

She shook her head. “Hey. That’s against the rules. We said we weren’t going to talk about work.”

“So I’m right. You are a therapist.”

“No, you aren’t right.” She flashed her wide, warm eyes at him. “You aren’t wrong, either.”

Jeremy had to laugh while he marveled at the puzzle of Isabel. He wanted to peel back her layers, one by one... He suspected there were a lot of surprises to be found. “I suppose you want me to tell you my three truths now, huh?”

“It’s only fair.”

He had to think for a moment, knowing he had to match the clever balance she’d struck between revealing all and piquing his interest. He would not allow himself to be completely outdone by Isabel. “I believe that taking yourself too seriously is a trap. I believe that apologizing for making a lot of money is stupid. And I believe that there’s nothing wrong with having fun.”

She nodded, seemingly digesting his words. “Those are all very interesting.”

“You’re definitely a therapist.”

“And you are definitely not good at following rules.”

He shrugged. “Most rules are arbitrary.”

“Like what?”

“Like the one that says you shouldn’t invite a woman wearing her pajamas on a New York City sidewalk out for a drink.”

She pointed her finger at him. “Yes. You’re so right. That is a stupid rule.”

He downed the last of his drink, sensing this was the moment when he had to decide whether he wanted to angle for an invitation upstairs. Fear was a big factor. He didn’t want to endure a rejection from Isabel. Something told him she could deliver one in a particularly devastating way. “And yet I went there, didn’t I? I took the chance.”

“Yes, you did, didn’t you? Which makes me wonder what you’re after, Jeremy. A drink? Conversation? Or something more?” Isabel sat forward and drew her finger around the rim of her glass, looking at him, unafraid to confront him with her gaze.

He had to break the spell she had him under, but when he let his sights wander, it only got worse. The front of her robe had gaped open, revealing the gentle curve of the top of one breast. Jeremy felt the heat rising in his body, starting in his belly and radiating outward, up to his chest and down to his thighs. It would be so easy to blame it on the drink, but that heat was all created by Isabel. She pulled it out of thin air with her pouty lips, with her dark and sultry eyes, and with her sharp conversational skills. He was not the type to ask for more. Asking for anything only made things messy. It put you at a disadvantage, and he hated not feeling as though he had every weapon imaginable at his disposal. What was it about Isabel that made him want to lie down and give her everything?

“I want whatever you might be willing to give me,” he admitted.

She smiled and the faintest blush crossed her cheeks. Good God, she was so beautiful he had to wonder if all of this was really happening. “So I’m in the driver’s seat. That’s what you’re telling me.”

“Of course. As it should be, right?”

She nodded, arching her eyebrows in a way that suggested she hadn’t quite been prepared for the way their conversation had turned. He loved feeling like he could surprise her, even if the boost to his ego might be completely unwarranted. “So, Jeremy. Since I’m in charge, let me just share one more thing about myself. I don’t know how you feel about good views, but I have a spectacular one of the city. Upstairs in my room.”

Jeremy felt as though Isabel had just rolled Christmas, his birthday and Super Bowl Sunday into one day. “Funny you should ask, because I am a huge fan of views.” He leaned closer and lowered his head, his heart thundering away in his chest like a summer storm.

Isabel drifted closer to him until their noses were almost touching. The rest of the room had faded away. Other people and their surroundings were a distant thought. It was just the two of them, their breaths in sync and their intentions apparently aligned, as well. “Truth or dare,” she whispered.

“Dare,” he answered without hesitation.

“Good answer.” Her lips met his in the slightest of kisses. Her mouth only teased him, softer and more supple than he’d dared to imagine. She angled her head and took the kiss deeper, grasping his shoulder and digging her nails into his jacket. Her lips parted and her tongue skated along his lower lip, making every testosterone-driven part of him switch into high gear. The blood was pumping so fast it was hard to know which way was up.

He reached for her hip, the silk of her robe impossibly cool and soft against his skin. He pulled her closer, clawing at the tie at her waist, needing her. Wanting her. Like he needed to breathe or eat or drink water. This whole business of not knowing much about each other was so hot. It left him wondering what the night had in store, when he hadn’t been willing to gamble on the unknown in a long time.

“You never gave me my dare,” he said, coming up for air.

“I dare you to come upstairs and take off your suit, Jeremy. I dare you to rock my world.”