Читать книгу No Ring Required - Laura Wright - Страница 11

“What’s Olivia making?” Mary asked when she returned to the office later that day. Even in her sorry mental state, the scent she’d encountered when entering the lobby of their office building five minutes ago had made her taste buds come alive. Mouthwatering aromas wafting through their building weren’t an unusual occurrence during the week, they just made her want to run up the four flights of stairs to get to the source instead of taking the very slow elevator.

Poised at the front desk, with a full plate of beautifully arranged golden spheres, Tess tried to smile. Unfortunately, her mouth was full and she could only manage a chipmunk-like grin. “Scones,” she said on a sigh, pointing at the plate. “Cranberry. Have one.”

“I’ve actually just come back from lunch, so I’m pretty stuffed.”

“Seriously? Too full for one of these?”

Tess rolled her eyes, then grabbed one. “Devil.”

“Don’t blame the addict, kid,” Tess replied, reaching for another. “Blame her supplier.”

“Where is Olivia?”

“Trying out another scone recipe. Chocolate this time.”

“Great.”

“She has a high tea to plan. That angry groom wants something beautiful and classic to celebrate the loss of his fiancée.”

“How strange, yet lovely.”

“He has over sixty guests.”

“Lovely for us, too, then.”

Tess laughed. “So, where were you?”

Obviously Olivia hadn’t told her about Ethan.

“That new client Olivia was telling me about?”

Or not. Mary glanced through the mail on the desk. “Yes. Ethan Curtis. CEO of Harrington Corp. and old-money wannabe.”

“Harrington Corp.? Isn’t that your family’s insurance company.”

Mary nodded. “Was. Before Ethan Curtis took it over.”

“Interesting that he’d hire you,” Tess said nonchalantly, taking another scone, but only fiddling with it on her plate.

“I’ve got the blue-blood background he’s looking for,” Mary explained. “In many respects.

“Olivia said he was pretty good-looking.”

“I suppose he is.”

“A clean-shaven Colin Farrell with the body of a construction worker, is what she said, I think.”

“That’s incredibly specific. She saw him for like five seconds.”

“Just be careful,” Tess said, her tone serious.

Such a strong warning from a woman who rarely got involved in the personal matters of her partners made Mary’s defenses perk up. “He’s just a client, Tess.”

“Of course. Sure. But you know, it’s always better to be safe, kid. Expect an agenda and you won’t get hurt.” She picked up her scone and pointed it at Mary. “You never know the true character of a person or what they’re really after.”

Whenever Tess spoke in this cryptic way, Mary had the burning desire to ask her what she meant by it, and maybe where the cynicism was coming from. But the women of NRR kept their pasts in the past. As for Tess’s concern over Ethan Curtis’s character, Mary wasn’t flying blind—she knew exactly who he was and what he wanted. But her partner’s advice was sound. After what had happened today, how she’d felt standing so close to him, as though she were frozen solid and he was a very inviting campfire, she had to be careful—adopt the all-business facade she normally wore with such ease and comfort.

“I’ll watch my back.” She tossed her partner a reassuring grin. “But in the meantime, Mr. Curtis has given me five days to plan a very swanky event. I’d better get on it.” She paused over the plate of scones. “Damn that Olivia,” she grumbled, grabbing one and heading toward her office.

In the past Ethan had used a local catering company for his parties. A boutique-type place, very upscale and guaranteed to impress. Their food had always been good, though at times unrecognizable. But, in his opinion, the menu and service had always felt cold and impersonal, not really his speed. For years he’d gone along with the very fancy, tasteless hors d’oeuvres, prickly flower arrangements and silent waitstaff because, well, he’d been to several events with just that type of vibe and everyone had seemed to enjoy themselves.

Then he’d asked Mary Kelley to plan his event.

When she’d come to him with the menu and details of what she had planned, he’d worried. Would his stuffy clientele appreciate her vision?

Ethan glanced around his home. Clearly, he’d worried for no reason. In five short days she’d transformed the entire first floor of his home into a relaxed, candlelit lounge, and outside on his deck and lawn, she’d created a beautiful Asian garden. It was anything but showy. In fact, the feel of the whole party was classic and elegant and totally comfortable. Smiling, helpful waitstaff milled about with delicious alcoholic concoctions like wet-cucumber and ginger-passionfruit margaritas, and Asian-French treats like miso-braised short ribs, coriander-crusted ahi tuna and Vietnamese sweet-potato fries with a chili cream dipping sauce.

Surrounded by several clients and potential clients, Ethan felt in his element and ready to do business, but he couldn’t stop himself from wondering where Mary was. Earlier in the night she’d slipped away to change and reappeared right before the first doorbell chime.

Ethan had been having a difficult time keeping his eyes off her since. His gaze scanned the crowd and found her chatting with two couples, looking at ease and incredibly sexy. Her makeup was smoky and sophisticated, and she’d slicked her blond hair back into a very chic ponytail. But it was the clothes she was wearing that really made his entire body jolt. She looked as though she’d just stepped off a runway in New York. The black crisscross halter top and white pencil skirt showed off her long, slim figure to perfection. Soon she wouldn’t be able to wear clothes like this, he mused thoughtfully. Her body would grow with their child, blossom with curves.

He continued to watch her as she gestured to one of the waitstaff carrying those very popular pale-green wet-cucumber margaritas. After serving the couple, Mary made her way over to Ethan and his insurance friends, her light-blue cat eyes bright with success and confidence. “Good evening. Is everyone enjoying themselves?”

The people around Ethan nodded and offered their host and hostess several enthusiastic compliments, then chuckled with amusement when Ethan declared he had to have what appeared to be the last piece of ahi and he was going to seek it out. Feeling oddly possessive in the large crowd of married and single men, Ethan led Mary out on the deck, where guests were waiting for a boat ride around the small lake.

“You haven’t said anything about—” she gestured around the room “—all of this.”

“Looks good,” he said distractedly. The light out on the deck was even more intimate than the candles inside the house. Her neck looked soft and white and he played with the thought of leaning in and kissing her, right where her pulse thrummed gently.

“Looks good?” she repeated. “Is that all I’m going to get from you?”

“Nice choice of words,” Ethan muttered, closing the gap between them so they were nearly touching, his chest to the tips of her breasts. Heat surged through Ethan’s blood, and Mary must’ve seen the desire in his eyes because she quickly restated her question.

“What I meant was, is everything satisfactory?”

Ten feet away, around the side of the house, there was an alcove, just dark enough for them not to be spotted. He wanted to take her there, watch her pale-blue eyes turn smoky as he removed her skirt. “The food is amazing, the house looks perfect…yes, all satisfactory.”

“Good.”

“Great party, Curtis. Really top-notch.” Downing a plate of short ribs as though they were going out of style, Ed Grasner, one of Ethan’s biggest clients, walked by, no doubt headed for the boats and his wife.

Like a brick to the head, Ethan remembered why his guests were here. It was not to facilitate a seduction—he could do that on his own time. He turned back to Mary, his game face on. “The success of this evening isn’t based on how much everyone eats and drinks or how great the house looks, it’s based on acquiring several new clients.”

Mary looked confused, as though she was watching a chameleon change colors. “Of course.”

Ethan nodded toward a couple in their late thirties, sitting at one of the candlelit tables by the water. “Isaac and Emily Underwood. The St.Paul Underwoods. Very old money.”

“Yes, I’ve heard of them.”

“They own twenty-five exclusive inns around the Midwest. Get to them, get to the rest of their family. Can your efforts tonight reel in prize fish like that?”

“Is this a business party or the hunting and gaming channel?”

“I want what I want. And ninety-nine percent of the time I get it.”

She shook her head at him.

He raised a brow. “I sound arrogant?”

“Arrogant, presumptuous, lacking in finesse.”

Her derogatory adjectives caused him to stiffen. “Do you ever not say what’s on your mind?”

“Once or twice. But it’s a rarity.”

Ethan had never been spoken to like this. At least not in the past fifteen years. He wasn’t used to it, but for some reason with her, it didn’t bother him all that much. In fact, her honesty and candor appealed to him.

“Mr. Curtis?” The pair that Ethan had just been talking about were walking toward him. The Underwoods were a handsome couple, very blond and tanned. Understated wealth oozed from them. They also appeared very much in love, their hands tightly clasped, only releasing each other when Ethan and Mary reached out a hand to greet them.

Emily gave Mary a warm, beautifully white smile. “I hear that you are the one responsible for this party?”

“I am,” Mary said pleasantly. “Are you enjoying yourself this evening, Mrs. Underwood?”

The woman looked confused. “Have we been introduced?”

“Not yet. But I’ve heard much about you and your husband, and of course your lovely inns, from my grandparents.”

“Your grandparents?”

“The Harringtons.”

The casual warmth from a moment ago morphed into a look of understanding and respect. “Of course. I should have noticed it before. You have your grandmother’s eyes. The shape.”

Mary smiled, but her stomach churned lightly as it did whenever someone found a similarity between her and her grandmother. She didn’t despise the woman like her father did, but growing up she had always been compared with her and had desperately wanted to be compared to her mother instead. But they’d looked so different it was almost impossible to see.

Ethan’s hand came to rest on her back and she instinctively leaned into him. “Have you had a boat ride?” he asked, gesturing toward the lake. When they nodded, he asked them if they’d tried the food.

Chuckling, Isaac spoke then, “The food is amazing, Curtis. Really. Both Emily and I have taken full advantage of your hospitality.” He turned to Mary. “We must have the name of your chef. There are a few things we’d love to add to our menus.”

“Of course,” Mary replied. “The chef is my business partner, Olivia. I’ll make sure to give you her name and number before you leave. But first, I see that the waitstaff are bringing out the desserts. You must try the pistachio crème brûlée with orange ice cream.”

“Sounds delicious,” Emily said with childlike enthusiasm.

Lowering her voice, Mary said conspiratorially, “Heavenly actually.” She gestured toward the house. “Let’s make sure you both have at least one.”

Emily giggled. “At least. Come along, Isaac.”

Before Mary could disappear, Ethan grabbed her arm. “Why are you sending them away? I wanted to speak with them about—”

“Relax, Curtis,” she said softly, her eyes bright with mischief. “They’ll be back. And because they want to, not because they’ve been hooked, yanked onto a boat and gutted.”

Equally shocked and impressed, Ethan studied her. “Very nice.”

She inclined her head. “Thank you.”

Ethan’s gaze followed her hungrily as she walked off to feed crème brûlée to his guests.

Some men resembled excessively tall penguins in their tuxedoes. Some looked awkward and uncomfortable. But Ethan Curtis wore his like a second skin. As he stalked his estate, he looked like a predator in search of his next prey—and he seemed to take his targets down with amazing speed and assuredness. By the end of the night, several potential clients had verbally signed on to Harrington Corp.’s already thick roster, and as Mary had predicted, the Underwoods had come back to him in a sugar haze, asking for a meeting at his office the following Monday.

When Mary found Ethan he was in the kitchen, looking very pleased with himself, his bow tie undone and falling against his open white shirt. Beer in hand, he chatted with the on-site chef, Jean Paul, as the man prepared to leave.

Mary shut her eyes against the sudden and unbidden image of Ethan out of that tux, his heavily muscled, tanned skin pressing down into the cushion of a woman’s body—her body. She despised her reaction to him and to the memory of those nights together. Why couldn’t she get it through her thick skull that those moments were over? Yes, sometimes he looked at her with a flicker of desire in his eyes, but the moment was over in seconds and he was back to business. He hadn’t even commented on how she looked tonight, and she was really working it.

She grabbed her purse from the counter by the fridge. What did it matter? She was the one insisting that nothing romantic ever happen again. She faced him and spoke in her most professional voice. “Well, we’re done here. If there’s nothing else…”

Jean Paul discreetly returned to his knives, and Ethan regarded her with open respect. “I owe you a very big thank-you.”

“You’re welcome. It was a success, I think.”

“Completely.” He came to stand before her, his dark-blue eyes glittering with the satisfaction of a tiger who’d just bagged several hunters for dinner. His sensuous mouth turned up at the corners as he grinned at her, stealing her breath. “In fact, many of my guests are wondering what you’ll come up with next.”

“They’ll just have to wait and see.”

“I’m wondering, too.” One of his dark brows lifted. “Do I have to wait?”

If he came any closer, she was going to lose it. Feeling irritatingly light-headed, she reached out for the granite countertop to steady herself. “We could discuss the menus and themes at any time.”

“How about now? I didn’t get one of the boat rides.”

“I don’t know if the guys are still out there.”

His grinned widened. “I think I can manage to take you for a ride myself.”

“Ethan Curtis, where have you been?” The slow, whiskey-smooth female voice came from behind Mary, and she turned with a jerk to see a five-foot-nine Playboy playmate, dressed in an orange tank dress.

“Allison, where did you come from?” Ethan asked, sounding more annoyed than surprised.

“Didn’t you say eleven? I don’t wear a watch, but I could swear I’m right on time.” Her voice and body language just screamed sex.

Mary heard Ethan curse, but she didn’t dare turn back to face him, not with her neck turning red as she knew it was. He had a date. An after-party date. Of course he did. Why not?

“Wait for me by the pool, Allison,” Ethan said, his voice soft but commanding. “I’m not quite finished here.”

Finding her nerve at long last, Mary forgot about her red neck and gave the hot blonde a hotter glare. “Allison, is it?”

She smiled. “Two Ls and two Ns.”

Brilliant and beautiful, Mary mused dryly. What a combination. “You don’t need to go anywhere. Mr. Curtis and I are finished.” She turned to Ethan and gave him a fake smile. “I’ll call you in a few days, sir—to discuss the next function.”

Anger burned in her stomach and, as she walked swiftly through his house and out the front door, she called herself fourteen kinds of fool for even considering him in a romantic way. He was an egotistical, spoiled player who had no idea what he really wanted.

“Mary, slow down.” Ethan caught up with her on his driveway and grabbed her hand as she tried to open her car door.

She brushed him off. “I have work waiting for me at home and you have a Barbie twin waiting for you by the pool.”

“I made that date weeks ago. Before…well…” He pushed a hand through his hair. “This is awkward.”

“Damn right,” she retorted in a sharp voice. “So, I’m going to go now before it gets any more awkward.”

“No.”

“I’m not into threesomes, Curtis.”

“I didn’t even know you were interested in a twosome.”

Gritting her teeth, Mary stared at him. “Ditto.”

He took a moment to process her meaning. “If you think I don’t want to go to bed with you again, you’re wrong.”

“Who the hell could tell?”

“What does that mean?”

“You hardly looked at me tonight,” she said with a scowl. “Then the cover of Sluts-R-Us magazine walks in and your eyes pop out of—”

“I see you, Mary,” he interrupted hotly. “I remember every damn detail.”

“But?”

“Weren’t you the one who said that what happened those nights at the lake would never happen again?”

She hated when the truth was tossed in her face. “Yes.” She wrenched open her car door.

“And it’s complicated, isn’t it?” he continued. “What we did? What we made? Who I am.”

“Who you are? I can’t figure it out.”

“The bastard who blackmailed you…basically.”

His words shocked her. The easy admission of something so base and vile. She got in her car and slammed the door. “So, what? You feel guilty?”

“No.”

“Of course not. You see nothing wrong with what you did.”

“I don’t feel guilty, that’s true. But I do feel…” He cursed. “Conflicted. Protective.” He shrugged, as if the truth surprised the hell out of him. “Isn’t that the damnedest thing?”

“Protective? Of whom?”

“You.”

“You’re protecting me from you?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Well, stop it,” she said caustically, gunning her engine. “Sex doesn’t have to be any more emotionally significant than a really charged football game.”

The words exploded into the air like fireworks, but she didn’t believe them, and she knew that he knew she didn’t believe it. What was she trying to do? Why couldn’t she abandon this idea of him and her, one more time, or two or three? What was she? A masochist?

“Mary—”

“Go prove my point to Allison in there,” she said bitingly before shoving the car into Reverse and taking off down the quiet, wooded drive.