Читать книгу Secrets Of The Night: A Case of Kiss and Tell - Katherine Garbera, Ann Major, Ann Major - Страница 18

Conner had expected Nichole to need more time or try to make up some reason why she couldn’t move in with him, but she seemed determined to live up to the bargain she’d struck with him.

His respect for her grew a little bit as he realized that. The more he knew about her as a person, the less fearful he was of anything she’d print about him. But that was a foolish way of thinking. He had to remember that she was here for a story and he was going to make sure that she got the information he allowed her to have and nothing more.

His apartment was a penthouse in a building on the Upper East Side. It ran the entire length of the building and had a glass wall overlooking his patio. He’d spent a lot of money on decorating and it felt like home when he opened the door.

Conner ushered Nichole into his apartment. He was carrying her small overnight bag, leaving her with her computer and purse. Randall was bringing up the rest of her bags, but overall, she hadn’t brought a lot of stuff.

“Welcome to my home,” he said as they walked over the threshold and into the big open-plan living room.

“Thank you. I had to tell my parents I was staying with a friend while my building had some work done,” she said, blurting it out. “My mom calls on my house phone all the time.”

Her demeanor was the only clue that she was at all nervous about moving in with him. As she looked around his apartment, he tried to see it through her eyes. He knew it was stylish and well decorated, but he wondered what she thought of it.

“Okay, do you want to give them my home phone number as well?”

“Yes, if you don’t mind. That will make both of them feel better. I don’t want them to know about you, though,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“If they know that I’m living with you, they’ll want to meet you and then, when we break up in a month, they’ll be disappointed for me and for themselves and the grandchildren they are dying to have.”

“My mom is a little bit like that, too.”

“So you can sympathize,” she said.

“I’m going to give you your own bedroom so that you can have some privacy. I know you were worried that my insistence that you live here might have taken that from you.”

She nodded. “Thank you. I actually do a lot of my writing at home because our office is so noisy.”

He led her to a large guest bedroom that was next to the master bedroom. “This room has a desk in it. We can bring the one from your apartment over, if you’d prefer that.”

“This will be fine,” she said.

He put her bag on the bed and then stood there for a minute. He’d never had a mistress before. He had some image in his head of himself as a sheikh and her as his harem girl, but he knew better than to tell her to get naked.

“I’ll leave you to settle in,” he said. “Have you had dinner?”

“No,” she said. “My day was busier than I expected it to be.”

“I haven’t, either. Would you like to join me on the patio in twenty minutes? My housekeeper left dinner waiting for us.”

“Yes, I would.”

He walked out of the room before he gave in to his instincts and swept her into his arms and onto the bed. He had thought about this moment all day long. What he would do once he had her here in his home. He had decided he’d keep her off balance. But he hadn’t counted on her keeping him off balance as well.

He went to his own bedroom and changed from his suit into a pair of khaki shorts and a plain black T-shirt. He reviewed his email on his cell phone and responded to the urgent ones. Then sitting back in the wingback chair next to his bed, he realized that he was excited that Nichole was here.

Sometimes when he was here, he felt alone. He’d never invited anyone to spend the night here before and having a companion appealed to him. The only trepidation he felt was that he had to be on guard not to say anything detrimental she could use in her articles.

There was a knock on his door and he pocketed his cell phone as he went to open it. Nichole stood there in a pair of skintight jeans and a tank top. Her feet were bare and she’d pulled her hair up into a high ponytail.

“So this is your room?” she asked, brushing past him to enter.

“Yes,” he said. He couldn’t take his eyes off her as she walked around his room. He’d intended for sex to be the thing that kept her from asking him too many questions, but he hadn’t thought that she could distract him in the same way.

She walked over to the walnut dresser and ran her finger along its polished surface. There was a small watch box on the surface and a picture of his mom and sister from the previous Christmas. Otherwise, the room was devoid of personal mementoes.

“Kind of sterile, isn’t it?” she asked.

“I don’t like clutter,” he said. “Especially in here. What did you expect to find?”

“Some clues to the real Conner Macafee.”

“You’ll find more ‘clues’ to him in bed, red.”

“Why do you call me that?”

“I don’t know. You’re fiery and full of passion. It suits you.”

She nodded. “I hated my red hair growing up,” she admitted.

“I hated that everyone thought they knew me growing up,” he said.

“I’ll bet you did. Did you go to a private school?”

“Yes, it was very exclusive. Lots of old-money families. We were pretty much from the same type of background. And our families mostly knew each other.”

“But you were different than the other kids?” she asked.

“I thought so, but then I’ll bet we all did. It’s hard to be a rebel when you have everything,” he said.

“But I’ll bet when you suddenly lost it all it was much easier,” she said.

“You could say that. Let’s go to the kitchen. I have a feeling I’m going to need a drink.”

Nichole followed him to the kitchen, looking around his apartment along the way. It wasn’t sterile, and she realized she shouldn’t have said his bedroom was. It was just that he didn’t have a lot photos on the walls. He had artwork, though.

“I guess rich people put up artwork instead of personal photos?”

“I don’t know. I just put up what I like. My mom and my sister are the only two people I’m close to,” he said, going to the chrome refrigerator. “Want a Corona?”

“Yes, please,” she said.

“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the bar area.

She hopped up on one of the stools and noticed that his kitchen was state of the art, with a professional-grade cooktop. “Do you cook?”

“No, but I have a personal chef I use for dinner parties and events I hold here. She insisted that the kitchen must be like this. Mainly I use the microwave to heat things up following Mrs. Plumb’s instructions.”

“I use my microwave a lot, too. I just don’t have the time to cook at home,” she said, taking the Corona from him when he handed it to her with a wedge of lime in the top. She pushed the lime into the bottle and then took a swallow of the beer.

“Is Jane the chef you use?”

“Yes, she is,” Conner said, coming over to lean against the counter across from her.

“Why didn’t you just use her name?” she asked.

“I’m used to never talking about her.”

She had known Conner was going to be a tough interview, but she hadn’t realized how much he kept up his guard. If he was never going to let her in, how the hell was she going to get the information she needed?

“It’s okay to use her name with me,” Nichole said.

“I know that. Force of habit,” Conner said. He took a long swallow of his beer and then set the bottle on the countertop. “Let’s see what we have for dinner.”

He opened the bottom warming oven, bending down to see what was inside. She enjoyed the view of his backside and gave a little wolf whistle to let him know. She didn’t want Conner to feel pressured to answer her questions and she knew the only way to make sure he didn’t was to (1) keep him off guard and (2) keep things light. He expected her to go for the hard questions and she would. But not at first.

“Like the view?” he asked, shaking his hips.

“Yes, I do. So what’s on the menu other than you?” she asked.

“Salmon en croute. Mrs. Plumb has been experimenting with some different recipes lately.”

“Sounds good. How long has Mrs. Plumb worked for you?”

“Eight years. I’ve lived here that long, too,” he said. Using oven mitts, he removed two dishes from the oven and set them on the countertop.

“Can you carry both our beers?”

“Yes, sir,” she said.

He led the way to the glass door with the automatic sensor that opened it when he approached. Once they were outside, he set the plates on the table, which was already set with glasses, napkins and flatware.

“I like that door,” she said. “Very high tech.”

“I like convenience and I have the money to get what I want,” he said. “Be right back.”

She set the beers down at each of their spots and then took a seat and waited for him to come. He returned with two salad plates, setting one next to her dish and one at his place.

“I probably should serve wine with this, but I don’t care for it.”

“Any wine?” she asked.

“Not really. I’ll drink it at dinner parties because it’s expected, but when I’m at home I don’t touch it.”

“I really love a dry wine, but mainly I drink it with my girlfriends when we’re hanging out.”

“You mentioned that Jane was good friends with Willow and Willow is one of your friends?”

“Yes. Willow and Gail Little and I all grew up together,” Nichole said. “We all ended up going to college in New York and just have grown closer over the years. It’s really nice having them here with me. It makes me feel like I’ve got a little bit of home close by.”

“I have some good friends, but they are mainly business associates who have the same hobbies I do,” Conner said.

Nichole relaxed as dinner progressed and noticed that Conner did, too. It was almost like any other first date, except that they both knew they’d sleep together tonight.

“What are your hobbies?” she asked.

“Sailing,” he said. “I love being out on my yacht.”

“What do you like about it?” She suspected it probably had a lot to do with the fact that when he was out there no one could bother him.

He shrugged and took a bite of his dinner. She watched him chew and then realized that she was fascinated by everything about this man.

“I guess the solitude. There’s usually poor cell phone reception so no one can reach me from the office. I tend to go out alone or with a very small crew so no one bothers me.”

She could see why that would appeal to him. Conner had been shaped into the man he was today by a very intrusive incident in his past. He’d always need to be alone to feel safe.

Maybe that was why he wanted her as his mistress instead of his girlfriend. Maybe that added layer gave him the security of knowing that he’d still have the assurance of being alone when their time together ended.

She knew there was no maybe about it. That was exactly why he’d set it up the way he had. But what did it say about her that she’d agreed to his terms?

She knew she wanted her career to continue to be her focus, but having met Conner, she doubted it would satisfy her the way that he did. Oh, that wasn’t right. It was more the way she imagined he would fill her life if she let herself really care for him.

He made her want things that she didn’t think she ever would. And no matter how hard she tried to switch back to the way she’d been before, she knew she couldn’t. Something inside her had been irrevocably changed by Conner Macafee. That should bother her. Strangely, it didn’t.

Conner enjoyed the evening with Nichole. But it felt homey in a way and that bothered him a lot. He didn’t want to feel too comfortable with her.

Turned on by her, of course, but comfortable, no way. He needed to keep his edge and his wits about him. She’d thrown him with her casual sexiness and it was time for him to start regaining the ground he’d lost earlier.

She’d asked him questions, but he tried to keep them on even footing by learning just as much about her. Nichole was a mystery to him and each new thing he uncovered only brought more questions. She had a natural elegance to all her moves and she was funny and had a sharp wit.

She was giving him the rundown on the person who sat behind her at work. A sportswriter who, in Nichole’s words, spent most of his time trying to relive his glory days. “The thing is, he’s a great guy and a terrific writer. If he didn’t talk so much about his failed career in baseball, people would like him. He should be more like Jack Crown.”

“In what way?” Conner asked as he made coffee for them both.

“Jack doesn’t dwell on the fact that he didn’t have the career playing pro football that he should have had. He just lives in the now.”

“I see what you mean. That’s why I don’t like to talk about my past. What’s important is what’s happening now,” Conner said.

She gave him a sardonic look. “Your past influences everything you do today. Being a jock in high school and telling everyone about how you were the reason your team won the state championship is a totally different story.”

He shook his head as he added cream and sugar to his coffee and just cream to hers. “It’s only different because you want to know about my past. If I was Joe Schmoe and you’d never heard of my dad, you wouldn’t care what went on.”

“Fair enough, but you’re not. So that point is moot,” she said, taking her cup from him. “I was very excited to see you have a Keurig machine. I love mine and almost packed it.”

“Why?”

“I need coffee and lots of it.”

“Doesn’t it leave you wired?” he asked, sitting next to her at the counter.

“Not really. I just love the taste,” she said, then shook her head at him. “I don’t know why I’m going on about coffee. It’s really not that big a deal.”

“You’re cute when you let your guard down,” he said.

“Is that what I’m doing?” she asked.

“I think so. I think you’ve decided the only way to get me to open up is to open up yourself,” he said.

“You’re a shrewd man, Mr. Macafee, but I’m not going to let you manipulate me,” she said. “I could tell from the moment we met that you were too used to getting your own way.”

He laughed. “I wouldn’t dream of manipulating you. And we all want our own way so of course I’m used to it. I’ve worked very hard to make sure things happen the way I want them to.”

He had spent years designing his life for the best possible outcome. It was no easy task to get to where he was and keep everyone in the world from asking about the one thing they all wanted to know. He’d never fully escaped the salaciousness of his father’s scandal. Yet he’d moved through life ignoring the questions and keeping reporters at bay.

How then did he come to have Nichole sitting next to him? He still wasn’t clear about that. He’d thought that the reasons he’d given himself were honest.

He had wanted her and here she was.

“Ready to see the rest of the place?” he asked.

“Sure,” she said. “Why didn’t you move to the West Coast after everything happened with your dad?”

“Mom said it would be too much like running away—like we had something to hide,” he said.

“Your mom sounds like a very strong woman. And so is your sister,” she said.

“You’re a strong woman, too,” he said. “I’m used to women who know what they want and aren’t afraid to go after it.”

He led her up the stairs set to the left of the hallway that led to the bedrooms. “This is my play area.”

“I can’t wait to see what’s up here.”

There was a full-sized pool table and a media center. Built onto the other wall was a bar with six barstools and behind it was a fully stocked liquor cabinet. He led her past the game room into a large study. There was a dark wood desk that sat in front of a large plate-glass window. On either side of it were floor-to-ceiling bookcases. The shelves were overflowing with books.

She walked over to the bookshelves and took her time reading the titles. There were some classics and of course there were the business books, but she was surprised to see books by Machiavelli and the Baroness Orczy.

“The Scarlet Pimpernel.”

“I was young when I read it. It was my mother’s favorite. She told me he was the first Batman.”

Nichole had to laugh at that. “Your mother sounds like she’s a lot of fun.”

Conner had a quiet look on his face. “She’s the best. She’s always just let me and Jane do what we wanted, but kept us in line at the same time. She’s a good parent.”

“Are you glad you live so close to her?”

“Yes. Jane and I take turns keeping an eye on her, but she doesn’t need the attention.”

“What kind of work do you do from home?” she asked.

“Whatever needs doing,” he said. “If you weren’t here I would have eaten at my desk and answered emails until eleven.”

“Workaholic!”

“Yes, I am. But it’s impossible to have a successful business and not be. Everyone talks about wanting to have balance, but it takes drive and ambition to be successful and that type of personality doesn’t want to spend weeks having downtime.”

That said a lot about Conner and she added it to the image of him she was building in her head to write her article. He might have been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, but there was nothing lazy about him. He didn’t expect anything to be handed to him and she admired him for it.

“Ready to go downstairs and see the rest of the rooms?” he asked.

“No, but I am ready to see your bedroom again,” she said.

He took her hand and led her downstairs to his bedroom, where he made love to her and she stopped thinking about stories and bargains and just enjoyed being in her lover’s arms until he carried her back to her own bed in the middle of the night and she was reminded of those very facts.