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“Actually, that was Dom Perignon. I just happen to agree.”
“I hope this isn’t as expensive as it tastes. I have plebeian preferences, you remember. An occasional beer does me fine.”
“It’s never too late to refine your palate.” Some devilment flashed in her eyes. “Actually, what would people think of the Master of Moderation swilling champagne before five? Très extravagant.”
“No doubt.” He’d only been in the room with her for ten minutes and he was acting out of character. He put the glass on the table.
“Come on, enjoy it, Dan. I’ll never tell.” She touched his hand, just a brush of fingers, but a feeling shimmied through him like tires on ice.
“So,” she said, “you wanted to get together to get our stories straight?” She raised brows as delicate as Japanese calligraphy. “That we met for the first time here? That we know each other’s work…not each other’s…everything?”
He grimaced at the deception. “I know that sounds bad, but I thought it would be best.”
“You’re right.” She gave him a steady look. “If people knew about us, the focus would shift to us as a couple, not us as authors, which is what matters on this tour.”
He’d always liked the way Kathleen cut to the chase.
The mischief returned to her green eyes. “I mean, we wouldn’t want anyone to know that Dr. McAlister once spent an entire weekend in bed, only going to the door for pizza, right?”
“Lord, no.”
“Or that he once had sex in an apartment hot tub?”
“That either,” he said, wincing at the memory.
“No one would believe it if I told them.”
“I hardly believe it myself.”
“Exactly.” She paused, unfathomable emotion in her silence. “Talking about what happened wouldn’t help my credibility, either.” She snatched her lip between her teeth—a sign of hurt—and guilt seized him.
“I’m sorry, Kathleen, about how it ended. I was abrupt and I know that I hurt you.”
She held up her hand. “Don’t apologize, Dan. It was time. We were done.” She stuck her chin up, pride bright in her eyes. “I know I was too intense for you.”
“We were young.”
“And clueless.” She managed a choked laugh. He tried to read her expression, but she wouldn’t hold his gaze. She tipped the delicate glass to her lips and swallowed fast—also not like her. Kathleen took her time with champagne.
He watched her pretty throat undulate, felt the old desire rise in him. Ten years had passed, but he felt the same.
They’d brought out the worst in each other, gotten completely swept away. The whole world shrank down to the size of the two of them and their bodies. Toward the end, Kathleen had gotten irritable and elusive, which had made him even more single-minded in pursuing her. He’d failed classes, let his practicum patients down, couldn’t think of anything but being with her. Not even academic probation had scared him. In the end it had been an inappropriate jealousy that made him realize that he’d let his life spin out of control.
He remembered it all, sitting here, watching her put down her empty glass, lick her soft lips and give him that look—the one that held both challenge and promise, the one he’d sunk into, lost himself in.
He yanked away his gaze and drained the glass as if it held beer on a sunny day. He extended it for a refill. He shouldn’t be drinking so much—and certainly not champagne—but this was a special occasion, right? He’d cut himself some slack this once.
She poured champagne into both their glasses, lifted hers and looked him straight in the eye. “To being older and wiser.” She ticked her glass against his, the delicate ring a warning bell in his head. “And to keeping our secret.”
As the champagne headache kicked in, he wasn’t sure the first was true or the second would be easy.
JUST DESSERT to go, Kathleen thought, gritting her teeth as the dinner with Dan, their agents and Rhonda Lockhart, the publicist from Dan’s house, eased to a close. She’d achieved her goal—behaved with her usual flair and kept JJ off the trail of any dynamic between her and Dan. Dan had managed just fine—cool as gazpacho fresh from the fridge. Sometimes she’d kill for some of his restraint. Her skin itched, her stomach jumped and her heart skittered in her chest like a hockey puck.
At least she didn’t have that hollow feeling that had started that night with Troy, the last man she’d been with. Something was definitely amok with her, which added another knot to the string of knots she’d been tying in her stomach since she’d agreed to this book tour.
Rhonda—their scheduler, media hound and general gofer for the tour—had chattered nonstop, which helped Kathleen hide her feelings. Rhonda reminded Kathleen of Reese Witherspoon—all perky and bouncy and blond, a regular publishing cheerleader. Kathleen could practically hear her pom-poms swish. Go, book tour, go. Win, book sales, win.
Rhonda had gushed over their books, passed out the tour itinerary and asked Kathleen to choose, then sample, her entrée as well as make dessert selections for the entire table.
Which Kathleen was happy to do, since it reminded her of all the joys in the world she loved. Once the desserts were ordered, she excused herself for the ladies’ room for some recuperation time.
Inside the flower-filled, mirrored anteroom, she flopped onto an elegant chaise. Just a few moments all alone was all she needed.
As if on cue, JJ strode in.
Damn.
“Oh, my God, that man has such a thing for you.” JJ plopped into the facing chaise and lit a cigarette, its end glittering like her eyes, hot with her scoop.
“Dan’s agent? Not my type,” Kathleen said, attempting a feint.
“Please.” JJ snorted smoke and flicked the mouth-end of her cigarette with her thumb.
“You mean the waiter?” Kathleen tried, all innocence.
“Don’t insult my vibe meter. I’m talking about you and Dan McAlister. Sparks were flying both ways, hon. I may be a narcissistic workaholic, but I’m not blind. Besides, the waiter was gay and Dan’s agent is dullsville.”
“We were just being polite to each other.”
“When you passed the rolls to him, your fingers touched and you practically dropped the basket.”
“I was weak from hunger.”
“And when you were tasting everyone’s food—”
“That was Rhonda’s idea, not mine.”
“Whatever. The point is that while you were doing it and moaning, he stared at you like you were having a climax.”
That made her breath hitch. JJ had hit on something. She did make similar sounds when she came. And, of course, Dan knew that. Which explained that extra gleam in his eyes.
“Speaking of that, does Dr. Moderate approve of recreational sex? Oh, who cares? Just sleep with the man. I don’t buy all that serenity bullshit.”
“JJ! Are you crazy? Why would I want to sleep with him?” She sat on her hands to hide the way they’d begun to shake.
“To show him he’s human. On general principles. Though…you know…what a book that would make. Kathleen Valentine, Pied Piper of Hedonism, converts Dr. Moderate to her religion of the senses. Herman would be ecstatic.”
“You’re insane, JJ.” Her heart tripped into double time.
JJ took a deep puff of her cigarette and blew it out through her smile. “Come on. You have to admit he’s hot.”
“If you go for that type.”
“The handsome, brilliant, sensitive type? What’s the prob?”
“JJ…we’re supposed to be opponents, polar opposites, remember?”
“Where there’s friction, there’s fire.”
“Even if I were interested, which I’m not, he would never do it.” Her heart started a rolling rumba.
“He’s a man. What man can resist Kathleen Valentine?”
“You’re flattering me.”
JJ shrugged.
“If you’re so hot for him, JJ, come on the tour and you sleep with him.”
“If only…”
“Come on. You hate tours as much as I do.” Kathleen would never sleep with Dan, but she was annoyed to notice that the rumba her heart was doing had added a maraca rhythm.
“You’re thinking about it,” JJ said, a dog with a bone. “You’re all pink.”
“That’s the wine. Wine stimulates circulation. You’re flushed, too. Just look at yourself.”
JJ stared into the mirror, then ran her fingers roughly through her bobbed hair. “God, I look like an ancient diner waitress. I should start calling everyone ‘hon.’”
“You already do.” Kathleen leaned in to study her agent’s face. “There are incipient wrinkles developing. Let me give you my cell-plumping cream.” She extracted the excruciatingly expensive tube from her satchel and handed it over to JJ. “The Web site’s on the label to order more.”
Wrinkles weren’t JJ’s only problem, she saw. “You need more vitamins.” She picked up a strand of her hair and rubbed it between her fingers. “Not enough protein. Are you eating?”
“Not so much. Barry and I are on the outs.”
“Barry the Brooder? No wonder. You have to take care of yourself, JJ. You’re in charge of your own happiness.” That was one truth she knew from the inside out.
She took out her business-card holder and extracted a card she gave to JJ. “This is a food delivery service—homemade stuff, all fresh and vitamin-rich. Set yourself up for a month to see how you like it.”
“I’m fine. Really.”
“Then consider it an early birthday gift from me.”
“I just had my birthday. You’re making me feel guilty. Here I send you on this book tour and you’re giving me gifts.”
“Just take care of yourself and forget the guilt. Guilt is unhealthy. Talk about producing wrinkles. Oh, and here's that hypnotherapist's card. For the smoking.”
“You’re too good to me,” JJ said, taking the card, her face warm with an affection that made Kathleen feel uncomfortable.
She liked JJ a lot, but it was best to keep things professional. “I’m buttering you up so you’ll get me an even better deal on my next book.”
“Easy breezy if you do a Converting Dr. Moderate book. Let’s get back to the table before somebody scarfs up my bananas Foster. Bananas have calcium, right?”
“Potassium. But that’s good, too.”
“What’s with you, Kathleen?” JJ said. “You look funny.” She stubbed her cigarette in one of the pots of cut flowers. Kathleen grimaced.
“Just feeling the pain of those poor blooms. Let’s go.”
She went for the door before JJ saw right through her.
3
THE NEXT NIGHT, Dan held the door so Kathleen could climb into the back seat of the car-service limo. They’d just finished the launch party at the Barnes and Noble on Fifth Avenue, which Rhonda had informed them was “the best, most star-studded bookstore in Manhattan.”
Kathleen’s smile as she slid into the seat sent heat through him. He was so easy. He joined her, cramming himself against the far door to nix the urge to bury his nose in her thick hair, which she’d worn his favorite way—loose and wavy.
How could he advise his patients to control their urges, when he was ready to jump the woman? Damn this book tour. Damn the way her skirt rode high on her thigh. Damn him for noticing.
Kathleen drummed her fingers on the book in her lap—his book, back cover up, showing his photo with that chilly, superior expression on his face Kathleen used to criticize in their quarrels. Like you’re above us mere mortals.
That wasn’t fair. Sure, he reflected at length on problems and assessed all factors before making a decision. Did that make him dispassionate? Hardly. But he wasn’t surprised Kathleen hadn’t understood that. She was all impulse and urge.
And heat. Lots and lots of heat.
She’d been generous, too, and kind. Like tonight when she’d bought his book and stood in line for him to sign it—a gracious gesture he’d been too dazed to duplicate. Book-signings and their attendant rituals were a new and mortifying experience.
Kathleen sighed a rich sigh and wiggled into the seat, as if to get comfortable, then turned her head on the headrest and looked at him. “I love fabric seats, don’t you? I have black velvet in my car. Pimpish, I know, but it feels so good against bare skin.”
Bare. He didn’t want to think of that word around Kathleen, let alone hear it come out of her silky lips. Her wiggling around had shifted her skirt up a bit. Nothing obvious and she was clearly unaware of it. He wondered if she was wearing panties.
Ouch. “I never really thought of it that way.” The over-warm car seethed with her perfume. He watched her pulse throb softly in her neck, wanted to press his lips there, taste her skin with his tongue. “Stuffy in here,” he mumbled and rolled down his window.
Rhonda barreled into the front seat beside the driver, slammed her door and looked at them over the seat. “That was fabulous. Great turnout. You two were a hit. Everyone was there.” She rattled off the news outlets in attendance, practically bouncing in her seat.
“Sounds good,” Dan said. He was used to speaking at small workshops, so he’d been rigid with tension at the crowd.
“We sold tons of books,” Kathleen said. “Good job, Rhonda.”
“Thank you, Kathleen. You were a joy to work with.” Rhonda beamed at her. “You, too, Dan. Absolutely.” She cleared her throat. He’d been tongue-tied and sluggish, he knew.
Kathleen had gleamed like a jewel as she bantered with reporters and with him when they were formally announced and invited to speak. She’d been lively and engaging and he’d been awed by her performance.
My advice is to buy both our books and decide which makes you feel better, she’d said. Of course, my books come with a coupon for a sample of imported chocolates. She’d turned to him then. I don’t suppose you supply any coupons, Dan? That would be too indulgent, correct? She’d offered him a bonbon, eyes twinkling with mischief and delight.
He’d declined, awkward as a kid at his first dance…which pretty much nailed his whole performance. He’d sold far more books than Kathleen—hers had been out for a while, after all—but she’d ruled the event, start to finish. Somehow, that seemed right.
“You need to loosen up, Dan,” she said to him now. “Next time, take the chocolate I offer you and say something about falling off the wagon.” She leaned into his shoulder, then pulled away. The tiny moment of pressure lingered on his skin. He was such a fool.
