Читать книгу Prince Of The City - Nikki Benjamin - Страница 8

Eloise Vale paused in front of the mahogany-framed, full-length mirror in her bedroom one last time and cast a critical glance at her reflection.

The simple but elegant black silk gown skimming her ankles—scooped modestly at the neckline, but plunging low to bare her back—showed off her trim figure to best advantage. Her ash-blond hair swung full and smooth to the edge of her chin. Her makeup, applied just a bit more dramatically than usual, accentuated her features in a highly flattering manner. And her jewelry, limited to glittering diamond earrings and a matching diamond bracelet, added just the right touch of glamour.

Not bad for a mature woman of forty-two, and the mother of thirteen-year-old triplet sons, she thought, a wry smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. In fact, she looked cooler, calmer and more sophisticated than she felt, considering the public scrutiny she would be facing during the evening ahead.

Amazing how deceptive one’s outward appearance—her outward appearance—could be, given the proper camouflage. And it was a darn good thing, too, under the circumstances. She couldn’t allow herself the luxury of displaying in any way the heart-pounding anticipation that had been making her tummy flutter since midafternoon. Only then had she, finally, belatedly acknowledged that she might be about to open Pandora’s box by attending the Mayor’s Ball.

Going to New York City’s premier social event of the fall season wasn’t a new experience for Eloise. Before his death three years ago, her husband, Walter Vale, an affluent investment banker, had taken her to the ball regularly. Tonight, however, her escort would be the mayor himself, Bill Harper.

The man she had loved but refused to marry seventeen years ago. Also the man she had lately come to consider her nemesis.

“Something you would do well to remember,” Eloise muttered, shaking a warning finger at her image in the mirror.

Bill Harper had proven the past few months that he was no friend of hers or Manhattan Multiples. He had only invited her to attend the ball with him because he wanted to look as if he was being fair-minded. And she had only accepted his invitation so she could use the occasion to her advantage.

The heated telephone calls she’d made to his office, the op-ed piece she’d written for the New York Times and the anonymous letters she’d written the editors of various other New York papers hadn’t seemed to do the least bit of good. But maybe face-to-face, one-on-one, she could make some headway with him, and in the process garner additional public support for her cause.

Tilting her chin at a defiant angle, Eloise nodded once, strengthened by the memory of the pact she’d made with herself weeks ago. She was willing to do just about anything to save Manhattan Multiples, the nonprofit organization she’d started to benefit the mothers of multiple-birth babies. And if that included spending an entire evening in the spotlight as Mayor Harper’s personal guest at the ball, then so be it.

She was smart and funny, and in the years she’d spent as the socialite wife of a prominent New York businessman, she had learned to be at ease in large gatherings. She could, and would, make the most of her appearance at tonight’s event.

She also assumed Mayor Harper intended to do the same. She had no doubt that his reason for wanting to be seen with her that evening was purely political.

She wasn’t naive enough to believe he had the slightest thought of picking up where they’d left off seventeen years ago. Neither had she, for that matter. Even though she was now a widow and he was divorced, her reasons for refusing his proposal of marriage were just as valid now as they had been then.

Certainly they had each changed in many ways over the years, but one deciding factor—the deciding factor when she’d turned down his proposal of marriage—still remained. Bill Harper was, and always would be, first and foremost, a politician.

And tonight he was only interested in using her as a means to deflect the criticism he’d received lately. Though popular with a good many people, his campaign to divert city funds from certain nonprofit organizations, including hers, and redirect them to renewing and revitalizing the city and its services across the board hadn’t met with the kind of overwhelming support she knew he would like to garner from the city’s population.

By being seen with her, and putting just the right spin on it, he could appear to have gained the cooperation of one of his more outspoken opponents. But Eloise also had a lot to gain. By being seen with the mayor, and putting just the right spin on it, she could make it seem as if he were considering her arguments supporting the maintenance of funding for the nonprofits in a favorable manner.

From past experience, she knew that polite public dialogue, aided and abetted by the proper spin, could work miracles. And as long as it looked as if she had the mayor’s attention, there was a possibility that she could eventually rally enough support in favor of retaining city funding for nonprofit organizations, including Manhattan Multiples, to prevent significant and potentially ruinous cuts from being made.

Turning away from the mirror at last, Eloise quickly gathered her tiny black silk purse along with the ankle-length black silk coat that not only complemented her gown, but would also help to ward off the November chill in the night air. A last glance at the clock on the nightstand as she walked determinedly to the bedroom doorway assured her that she still had a few minutes remaining until her date was due to arrive.

No, not date, she reminded herself as her tummy fluttered nervously, yet again. That made the occasion seem more personal and potentially romantic than she was certain either Mayor Harper or she meant it to be. Escort was a much more dispassionate, and thus much more acceptable designation.

Her anxiety at least partially allayed, Eloise headed down the hallway toward the living room, following the sound of raucous cheering, interspersed with masculine grunts and groans coming from the television set. She didn’t dare look into her sons’ bedroom doorways as she passed. Mrs. Kazinsky, her twice-weekly housekeeper, would be coming tomorrow.

Eloise had delegated all responsibility for maintaining some semblance of order in the boys’ rooms to her, and she had to trust that the sturdy, gray-haired, no-nonsense woman would work her magic just as she always did during her visits to the penthouse apartment.

Pausing in the doorway of the long, wide, rectangular living room, Eloise checked the time again on the mantel clock over the fireplace that centered the more formal side of the room. There, also, two wing chairs and a love seat—elegantly upholstered but comfortable—framed a richly colored Persian rug.

Not quite five minutes more before she fully expected the doorbell to chime.

Bill Harper would be right on time, of course. He was punctuality personified. He had never kept her waiting. In fact, he had a reputation for never keeping anyone waiting, not the press or even the more vociferous of his rival politicians.

Eloise’s gaze traveled on to the far end of the living room where a more casual grouping of overstuffed sofa and matching recliners surrounded a television set that was quite a bit larger than she considered absolutely necessary. Such a thing now having pride of place in her living room was a testament to what a pushover she could be where her sons were concerned.

Draped over the furniture in various stages of boyish slouch were her triplets. Boxes from the local pizza parlor, last seen in the kitchen, were now scattered on the glass and brass coffee table along with balled-up napkins, a gallon jug of milk and three empty glasses.

At least they’d used glasses, she thought with a rueful smile, a surge of love for her handsome, blond-haired boys warming her heart. They had been a handful since day one. They were also the main reason why she had started Manhattan Multiples. But she wouldn’t have traded them for anything in the world. They had added more joy to her life than she had ever imagined she’d have.

“Yo, Mamma, looking good,” Carl, the eldest by several minutes, called out. Apparently having dragged his attention from the wrestling match on TV, he hung his head back over the arm of one of the recliners and grinned at her impishly.

John, her middle son, the more serious expression on his face often distinguishing him from his brothers, rolled to his feet, vacating the other recliner. He surveyed her slowly from head to toe, them emitted a long, drawn-out wolf whistle that made her blush.

“Wow, Mom, you look really nice.”

Henry, her youngest, scrambled off the sofa and demanded with a teasing grin all his own, “Who are you and what have you done with our real mother? She was last seen wearing baggy jeans and a grubby sweatshirt.”

“Guys, give me a break, will you? You’ve seen me dressed in a ball gown, although I admit it’s been a while,” she reminded them, her prim tone of voice belied by her own gratified smile.

Passing muster with her sons never failed to boost her confidence. Not that they were overly critical. They were, however, always brutally frank. Had they not liked her attire, they would have been equally outspoken, a trait she had long since learned to appreciate as well-meaning.

“It has been a while. And you’ve never gone out on a date with some strange guy, either,” Carl replied, taking on the protective role of eldest son.

“It isn’t a date, at least not a real date. It’s actually more of a…business meeting. We’re just conducting it at a party rather than at the office. And Bill Harper isn’t a stranger. He’s the mayor of New York City and he’s also an old friend of mine,” Eloise advised before she had time to remember she hadn’t previously mentioned that fact to her sons.

“An old friend?” John frowned ominously, the designated worrier.

Obviously he had assumed they already knew all of her friends, old as well as new.

“Aha, the plot thickens,” Henry chortled, rubbing his hands together in gleeful anticipation of the possibility for future bedevilment. “Mom and the mayor…once old friends, now sworn enemies.”

“We are not enemies, sworn or otherwise. We simply have opposing viewpoints on several issues,” Eloise explained patiently.

“So you’re actually only…adversaries.” Carl eyed her smugly, showing off his prep school education to best advantage.

“Yeah, Carl,” John joined in. “Mom and the mayor are only adversaries.”

“Poor guy…he doesn’t stand a chance, does he?” Henry asked.

“Not with our mom as an adversary,” Carl replied.

The doorbell chimed loudly, not only startling them all, but also, thankfully, cutting off any further discussion of her relationship with Bill Harper.

Shooting her sons a warning look, Eloise crossed to the intercom, exchanged greetings with the doorman, who announced Mayor Harper’s arrival, then instructed him to send the mayor up to her apartment.

In an effort to quell the sudden reoccurrence of the butterflies in her stomach, she then turned back to her sons. All of them now hovered a few feet away, the wrestling match they’d been watching on the television totally forgotten.

“Need I ask you to please behave yourselves and mind your manners?”

“No, ma’am,” they replied in unison.

Though their faces were solemn, their bright blue eyes twinkled mischievously.

“Have all of you finished your homework?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Can I trust you to clean up the living room before you go to bed?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Bed by ten o’clock at the latest, okay? You know you have school tomorrow.”

“Ah, Mom—”

A sharp rap of the brass doorknocker interrupted any further argument her sons were about to give. They looked at each other, though, and then they looked at Eloise, each of them offering her an identical teasing grin.

“Mom, the door,” Carl prompted when she continued to stand and stare at them, her heart suddenly pounding, her purse and her coat gripped tightly in her hands.

“Yeah, Mom, the door,” Henry urged.

“Want me to get it?” John took a step forward.

“I’ll get it,” she said, her voice sounding odd—almost breathy—to her own ears.

She crossed the living room to the small foyer slowly, the boys naturally trailing along in her wake.

“Hey, he’s just an old friend with an opposing viewpoint,” Carl reminded her kindly when she hesitated a long moment, her hand clasping the brass doorknob.

“Right,” she muttered casting him a grateful smile.

“You look great, Mom,” Henry said, giving her shoulder a reassuring pat.

“And you’re smart, too,” John added for good measure.

Also just the tiniest bit terrified of what’s waiting for me on the other side of my front door, Eloise added silently, for her benefit alone. Then, drawing a steadying breath, she turned the bolt lock decisively.

She opened the door with a welcoming whoosh, then stood absolutely still, staring at Bill Harper with a barely contained gasp of astonishment.

She had thought she had been prepared to meet him again face-to-face for the first time in seventeen years. She had seen his picture in the paper often enough, as well as his image on the television screen. But he had been removed to a sure and certain distance on those occasions.

The lines and angles that made his face so appealingly attractive, the vitality in his bright blue eyes, the power and strength of his long, lithe frame had always been muted. Lounging casually on her doorstep, as he now was, elegantly dressed in a black tuxedo, his short salt-and-pepper hair neatly combed, his gaze direct, the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth warm and gracious, he was downright devastating, as were the memories that all too suddenly flooded through her.

As Eloise continued to meet his steady gaze, the years seemed to melt away under a rush of warmth edged with a longing that caught her completely by surprise. In those first few moments, she could think of him only as her old friend, her once dearest, most beloved friend—the man she could have married, would have married…if only. And she imagined, for the space of a heartbeat, how wonderful it would be to step into his arms that very moment, to hold him close and be held, in turn, by him.

Then, remembering that her sons stood right behind her, taking in the scene, no doubt much more avidly that she would have liked, Eloise gave herself a firm mental shake. Bill Harper had been her friend once, emphasis on had been. Now, as Carl had so nicely put it, he was her adversary. And as such, he threatened everything she had worked for with a fund-cutting flourish of his mayoral pen.

“Mr. Mayor,” she greeted him politely, offering her hand along with a dignified smile. “Come in, please, and let me introduce you to my sons.”

“Please, Eloise, call me Bill,” he replied, his tone equally polite.

He wrapped her hand in both of his far larger and much warmer ones, then held on to it just a tad longer than absolutely necessary, his blue eyes sparkling just as devilishly as her sons’ eyes had earlier.

“Of course…Bill.” She felt her cheeks warm as she finally managed to pull her hand free. Gesturing to each of her sons in turn, she added, “Carl, John and Henry.”

“Mr. Mayor, nice to meet you,” each said as he shook hands with them, showing the same warmth he’d shown her.

“Boys, nice to meet all of you, too.” He glanced at Eloise, his tone suddenly teasing as he added, “How on earth do you tell them apart?”

“It’s not always easy,” she admitted with a wry smile. “But I have my ways.”

“I’ll bet you do,” Bill said, his smile widening. “She’s not easy to fool, is she?” He directed the question to her sons.

“No, sir, not at all,” Carl replied as John and Henry exchanged amused glances.

“It’s good to know some things never change.” Bill favored Eloise with a look that struck her as all too familiar, not to mention much too knowing. Then he glanced at his heavy gold watch, the only jewelry he wore. “I suppose we’d better go. We don’t want to keep my constituents waiting, do we?”

“Not tonight,” she agreed, trying, unsuccessfully, to ignore her nervousness.

“Why don’t you let me help you with your coat?” Reaching out, Bill took it from her.

“Yes, of course. Thank you.”

Eloise glanced up at him again, and her cheeks warmed even more at the intensity still evident in his eyes, still plainly directed her way. Turning, she slid her arms into the silken sleeves of her coat as he held it open for her. As she fumbled with the rhinestone buttons, her fingers refusing to work properly, he put his hands on her shoulders and squeezed gently as if to reassure her in some way. The deft flex of his fingers through the fabric of her coat was not only heartening, but also disturbingly distracting.

Startled by an unexpected wave of heat that welled up deep within her, Eloise cast another wordless glance at Bill. His smile now had a mischievous hint to it, making her realize—as he must—just how easily she could once again become putty in his all-too-clever hands.

Taking a firm grip on her rioting emotions, and a decisive step away from the mayor, Eloise directed a stern look at each of her sons in turn.

“Bed by ten,” she reminded them.

“Yes, ma’am,” they chorused.

“I have my pager in my purse in case you need me for any reason.”

“We won’t,” Carl assured her.

“I doubt I’ll be out all that late,” she added.

Though she couldn’t say for sure, Eloise didn’t think Bill would want to spend any more time with her than absolutely necessary, especially once he’d attained maximum benefit from the photo ops attendant upon their being seen together in public. And, of course, she had no desire to linger in his company, either.

“You’d better not, Mom. You have to go to work tomorrow, and we all know how cranky you can be when you don’t get a good night’s sleep,” John admonished, his expression mockingly stern.

“Ah, so the lady still has to have a full eight hours of sleep to function,” Bill said, more than a hint of laughter lacing his voice. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

Exchanging what appeared to be conspiratorial glances with her sons, Bill shook hands again with each of them, then opened the door and gestured with a stately flourish.

“Eloise…”

Feeling just the slightest bit at a disadvantage, she lifted her chin, forced herself to meet his gaze and attempted a haughty smile as she stepped into the hallway.

“Thank you, Bill.”

She couldn’t think how she had expected the evening to unfold, but she was fairly certain she had already lost most, if not all control of the situation, and they weren’t even out of her apartment building yet. She also knew she should be trying to eliminate what seemed like a serious disadvantage on her part. But oddly enough, she couldn’t seem to get motivated in that particular direction.

Not when Bill took her arm and escorted her onto the elevator. Not as they rode down to the lobby in silence, his presence beside her comfortingly familiar. Not when the doorman greeted them politely, and not when the driver did likewise as he opened the door of the long, black limousine for them.

Only as Bill settled close to her on the richly upholstered leather seat and the door closed with a solid thunk, sealing them into luxurious privacy did her heartbeat quicken. The warning bells that should have been ringing all along finally went off in her head, but it was too late—much, much too late. They were alone together, shut off from the world, if only momentarily. And Mayor Harper—Bill Harper—her former friend and lover, and now the perpetrator of the possible undoing of all she’d worked so hard to achieve the past twelve years, was reaching out, taking her small, cold hand and folding it into his much larger, warmer one.

“I haven’t told you yet how good it is to see you again, have I, Eloise? And it is good to see you, finally face-to-face. Not just good, great, really, really great…” he said in the same soft, low, utterly sexy voice that still sometimes haunted her dreams.

She knew she should offer him a snappy comeback, curt words cut with just the right amount of irony. Instead she clung to his hand unabashedly, unable to stop herself from allowing her truest, deepest feelings to be revealed. She had loved Bill Harper once, and that love had never completely died. To pretend that it had, no matter how important the reason, was something she was simply too honest to do.

“It’s good to see you again, too, Bill,” she said at last. “Really, really good…”