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However, she discovered as she stepped through the sliding glass doors that led to the terrace, she wouldn’t be alone outside. Protected from the snow by a generous overhang, a tall, dark figure leaned against the bricks not ten feet away from her, one knee bent, his foot braced against the wall behind him. He had one hand curved under the bowl of a champagne flute that was filled nearly to the brim with bubbly golden wine, the other shoved deep into his trouser pocket. His head was tipped back, and he was staring at the sky, but he didn’t seem to be seeing much of anything.
Garrett Fortune, she realized. Mac’s best man. She’d barely exchanged a dozen words with him, but the sight of him standing there alone, a tall, dark silhouette against a swirl of white, ignited a spark of heat inside her that quickly blossomed into a near forest fire. She didn’t know why he should wreak such havoc with her senses. But all through the rehearsal last night and all during the wedding this evening, Renee’s every instinct had homed in on him as if he were a beacon of salvation in the blackest night.
And although he had barely acknowledged her, there had been moments when she’d caught him eyeing her in a way that left her feeling oddly flustered. Bereft. Hot. The man roused a yearning inside her unlike anything she’d felt before.
It was the strangest thing. Renee had never yearned for anything before. Wanted, yes. Desired, certainly. But this yearning business was something completely different. Before, whenever she’d wanted or desired, her father had made sure she got whatever was necessary to fulfill her, or Renee went about achieving fulfillment for herself. But something told her this yearning she felt every time she came within twenty feet of Garrett Fortune wouldn’t be so easy to satisfy.
“Hi.” Renee greeted him, trying to be friendly. After all, they would be sharing a terrace.
He started, snapping his head around to look at her. His stiff stance eased when he saw who had hailed him, but he still appeared wary.
Strange, Renee thought. Usually it was the woman alone at night who claimed the right to feel cautious when confronted by the opposite sex. Somehow, though, she wasn’t the least bit threatened by Garrett. On the contrary, she sensed a wall of defense surrounding the guy.
“Hi, yourself,” he replied. His voice was deep, smooth, warm, reminding Renee of a generous shot of cognac—old cognac, the kind that went down oh, so smoothly and heated you up from the inside out.
In spite of that, she shoved her hands deep into her coat pockets. “The snow is beautiful, isn’t it?” she asked, taking a few steps toward him.
He stared at the fat flakes plummeting down, and for the first time, she noted that he wasn’t wearing a coat. Just a dark, clearly very expensive suit, a crisp white dress shirt and a night-colored tie. In spite of the freezing temperatures—or perhaps in defiance of them—he’d loosened that tie, and had unfastened the top button of his shirt. Somehow she got the impression that being comfortable was infinitely more important to him than being exposed to the elements.
Then again, those elements seemed to be almost inherent in his nature. As warm as he made her feel inside, his reception to her was a bit chilly.
“Beauty can be deceiving,” he said, turning toward her. “This is supposed to turn into a full-force blizzard before the night is over. In this case, beauty can be downright dangerous.”
When he turned, his face was thrown into the light tumbling from a nearby window, and Renee noticed again what an exceedingly handsome man he was. He was quite a bit older than she—probably in his mid-thirties. The light gilded his light brown hair—hair that was longer than one might expect on a man suited to suits. His eyes were pale brown, and his mouth…
She bit back a sigh, as she always did when her gaze settled inevitably on Garrett’s mouth. His mouth was at once soft and fierce, inviting and wary, luscious and forbidding. Much like the man himself, she thought.
She shrugged. “There’s no reason you can’t enjoy it now, though,” she said, clutching her coat more tightly around her. “Seems harmless enough for the time being.”
“The operative word here being ‘seems,’” he said.
She smiled. “Or maybe the operative words would be ‘for the time being.’”
“Or maybe it’s the ‘harmless’ part I should be worrying about,” he said. “Maybe that’s what’s really so deceiving.”
Renee eyed him thoughtfully. “Something tells me we’re having two totally different conversations here.”
He chuckled, but the sound was less than happy. “Yeah. Story of my life.”
The moment he uttered the words, Garrett Fortune realized they were stained with bitterness. And his new companion noticed, too, because her smile—a smile that had nearly blinded him, so dazzling had it been—immediately fell. And when it did, suddenly, somehow, he felt as if a door slammed shut deep inside his soul.
Man, his emotions must be rubbed raw tonight if he was reacting like this to a woman like Renee Riley. Oh, sure, she was cute and everything, even seemed kind of sweet, from what he’d seen of her at last night’s rehearsal and tonight’s wedding. But harmless? Not bloody likely. Not to him. She was exactly the kind of woman he knew to avoid.
God, he hated weddings. Why hadn’t he made up some lame excuse to give Mac—like he was bleeding from a mortal wound or something—and just stayed home?
His cool reception didn’t deter Renee. She covered the distance between them in a half-dozen easy strides. Then she took up a place beside him at the wall, adopting a stance much like his. Well, except that her stance was nearly a foot shorter than his, and she probably weighed a good hundred pounds less.
Garrett fought back a smile at the sight of her and enjoyed an idle sip of his champagne. He frowned when he noted her attire. Of course, she was the maid of honor, he reminded himself. But the least she could have done was put on a decent pair of shoes before coming out in the cold. The snow was only a few inches deep on the terrace, but it easily brushed her feet where her shoes ended and her stockings began. At this rate, she’d be taking home frostbite as a wedding favor.
Dim debutante, he thought. Then again, at least she was wearing a coat, which was more than he could say for some people standing on this terrace. But he was bad-tempered and self-destructive, right? Everybody said so. He was entitled.
“So…what did you think of the wedding?” she asked, clearly striving to end what was fast becoming an awkward moment.
Relieved at the introduction of small talk, Garrett took another sip of his wine. “I thought the wedding was beautiful,” he said amiably, “especially for one thrown together so quickly.”
“Yeah, me, too,” she agreed as she hugged her coat to herself again. “Mollie did a wonderful job. Of course, she’s a friend of Kelly’s so I’m sure she added a lot of extra special touches.”
“And I also think marriage is a complete waste of time and a total farce,” Garrett added as if she hadn’t spoken. Funny, he wasn’t sure when, exactly, he’d decided to say such a thing aloud.
His companion blinked in surprise at his announcement before expelling a soft sound of disbelief. “Well, gosh, don’t hide your feelings,” she said dryly. “If you want to voice an opinion, just spit it out.”
He smiled at that, then uttered another rough chuckle. “Sorry,” he replied, even though he felt not one iota of regret. “That just kind of popped out.”
“Yeah, I’ll say it did.”
He sighed and turned, leaning his shoulder against the wall so that he could observe her more intently. She was young, probably still in college. Pretty, though, in an uptown-girl kind of way. Dark curls tumbled riotously about her face, falling low over pale green eyes encircled by long, sooty lashes. The cold air had stained her cheeks with red, and her lips… He bit back a restless sound. Her lips, too, were touched with crimson, though whether the color resulted from cosmetics or the cold, he honestly couldn’t have said.
If he kissed her, he bet he could find out for sure.
Startled by the thought, Garrett pushed it away and forced himself to focus on the conversation at hand.
“I’ve just seen too many people get married for the wrong reasons, that’s all,” he said by way of an explanation. “Then things start going bad, and a messy divorce clinches all the nasty feelings.”
“Gee, you sound like you’re speaking from experience,” Renee said quietly.
For a moment, he wondered where she got off making such a personal observation about someone she barely knew. Then he realized that he’d been the one to start it. He had no one to blame but himself.
So he replied frankly. “Maybe that’s because I am.”
Renee eyed him thoughtfully for a moment, but instead of pursuing his confession, she asked, “Are you suggesting that Kelly and Mac married for the wrong reasons?”
Garrett shrugged. “Well, it’s not exactly a love match when a man marries a woman who got herself knocked up by his little brother, is it?”
“Excuse me,” she said indignantly, quick to jump to her friend’s defense, “but a woman doesn’t get herself pregnant all alone, you know. Chad Fortune—that jerk—had a little something to do with the whole thing.”
Garrett expelled an impatient sigh. “Yeah, and now Mac is the one paying for it.”
“You make it sound like he was forced to marry Kelly against his will.”
“Wasn’t he?”
“Of course not. He was the one who made the offer.”
“And she was the one who jumped at the chance to be a Fortune wife.”
“Oh, come on,” Renee said, straightening to her full height of what couldn’t possibly be more than five feet four inches, clearly spoiling for a fight.
Garrett smiled the most predatory smile he could summon and straightened to his own six-feet-plus, fully ready to take her on.
But she didn’t back down. “The baby that Kelly is carrying is a Fortune. Why should she deny the little nipper its birthright?”
“Its birthright is Chad Fortune, not Mac,” Garrett pointed out. “But Chad’s always been good at leaving a mess for Mac to clean up.”
“A mess?” she echoed incredulously. “That’s what you call a pregnant woman who’s been abandoned by the baby’s father? A pregnant woman who was recently attacked, by unknown assailants, no less, and needs someone to keep an eye on her now? You think that’s a mess?”
He frowned. “You know what I meant.”
She nodded. “Yeah, unfortunately I do. You’re one of those snotty rich guys who think the only thing women want out of them is their money, and that said women will stop at nothing to get it. You never look at the big picture.”
“And you,” he countered, hating himself for rising so quickly to the bait, even if what she said did cut way too close to home, “are doubtless one of those greedy opportunists who think snagging a rich husband will insure a cushy life of ease where she’ll never have to lift a finger.”
She gaped at him, as if she were trying to decide whether to defend herself or return to defending her friend. Ultimately, gallantly, she chose the latter. “I think you’re wrong about Mac and Kelly. I think they make a good match.”
“They don’t love each other,” Garrett said.
She seemed to think seriously for a moment before replying, “Maybe, in the long run, that will make things easier for them. Maybe not having love in their relationship will make their union stronger.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Funny, but somehow, I had you pegged as the more romantic type. Hearts and flowers and love forever after. All that mushy stuff.”
She dropped her gaze to the ground. “Yeah, well, maybe you had me pegged wrong. Just because they didn’t marry for love doesn’t mean the commitment between Mac and Kelly isn’t strong. They had more to think about than love. They have a responsibility and obligation to an unborn child.”
She seemed struck by her own comment and lapsed into a thoughtful silence for another moment before continuing in a voice of enlightenment, “In fact, maybe it’s commitment that’s really most important in a marriage, you know? Not love, not passion but…responsibility. Obligation. Doing the right thing, I mean.”
“Gee, keep saying it over and over like that, and maybe eventually you’ll start to believe it,” Garrett said wryly, wondering why she was trying to convince herself of something even he could see she didn’t truly believe.
“No, really,” she insisted, glancing up. But she focused on something over his left shoulder and didn’t quite meet his eyes. “For centuries, marriage was used to fatten family fortunes and further political ambitions. Love never figured into it at all. And a lot of those marriages were probably just as enduring as the ones founded on love—more enduring, even. Today, still, there are probably lots of people who get married for reasons other than love.”
“Gee, you really think so?” Garrett asked dryly, knowing she didn’t think it for a moment. In spite of his conviction, however, she nodded vigorously. A little too vigorously, he thought.
“Yeah,” she said halfheartedly. “Probably.”
He nodded, too, deciding that if Renee Riley wanted to live in a world where obligation and responsibility were more important than romantic love, he sure as hell wasn’t going to dissuade her of the notion. Why should he, when he was of exactly the same opinion?
Still, for some reason, it bothered him to see a kid like her being jaded so young—especially when she probably hadn’t had a chance yet to be beaten down by life. Because everybody should get beaten down by life once in a while, right? What would be the fun otherwise? Sheesh.
Naturally, Garrett’s jadedness came from experience. He’d graduated at the top of his class from the school of hard knocks, by God, and he wore his diploma around his neck where everybody could see it. At this point in her life, Renee Riley wouldn’t even qualify for a partial scholarship to his alma mater. She was just too ingenuous-looking, too fresh, too seemingly nice a kid. And he found himself wondering what on earth had made her lose her romanticism so early on.
Ah, well. None of his business. He’d never see her again after tonight. So if she wanted to think there was a hope in hell of Kelly and Mac living happily ever after just because they’d made a commitment to each other, then Garrett didn’t see the harm.
She leaned against the wall and stared into space, as if she were giving serious thought to a matter that might have global repercussions. Garrett was about to say something that might alleviate the heaviness of the mood when, below them, the city erupted in celebration. Car horns blared, people shouted, and faintly, from somewhere far off, the soft strains of “Auld Lang Syne” crept through the stillness of the cold night air.
“Must be midnight,” he said, removing his hand from his pocket to verify his assumption with a glance at his watch. Sure enough, the second hand was just leaving the other two, which remained perched at twelve o’clock. “To the new year,” he added.
He smiled at Renee and lifted his half-full glass of champagne in a toast before moving it to his lips for a celebratory sip. As he lowered it, he realized she had nothing with which to welcome in the new year, so he extended the glass toward her in a silent offer.
After a moment’s hesitation and a brief shrug, she accepted it, tipping it toward her mouth—that red, ripe, luscious mouth—to enjoy a taste of the wine. After a single quick sip, she lifted it a second time, filling her mouth more generously. When she held the glass out to Garrett, he noted a perfect crescent-shaped stain of red on the rim where her lips had been. And deep down inside him, something tightened, raw and fierce.
“Happy New Year, Renee,” he said quietly, smiling as he took the glass from her fingers.
She smiled back. “Happy New Year, Garrett.”
And then, because she seemed to expect more—or, perhaps, because he wanted more—he dipped his head and touched his lips to hers.
Just like that.
One little kiss, he told himself. Just a brief brush of his mouth over hers, to see if her lips were as soft and warm as they appeared to be. But, too late, he realized a single, idle caress was in no way enough to satisfy what suddenly became a deep hunger for the closeness of another human being. So instead of pulling away, Garrett took a step toward her, circling one arm around her waist to draw her closer still, at once fearful and hopeful that she would push him away.
But she didn’t push him away.
Although she pulled her head back for a moment, fixing her gaze on his in a silent question, she neither said nor did anything to discourage him. On the contrary, she opened one hand over his chest and curled her fingers into his lapel, as if she wanted to pull him closer. So Garrett lowered his head to kiss her once more. He brushed his mouth lightly over hers once, twice, three times, breathless, brief little kisses that meant nothing, nothing at all.
Not until Renee kissed him back.
Kissed him back with a tentative, teasing touch that unleashed something deep down inside him that galloped quickly to the surface and made him hungry for more. So, without thinking about what he was doing, Garrett tightened his hold on Renee and pressed his mouth more possessively over hers, covering it, filling it, plundering it.
For a moment, she went limp in his arms, completely surrendering to his raw invasion. Then, just when he thought she would join in the fun, she jerked her mouth from his and hastily pushed him away. “I have to go,” she said raggedly, avoiding his eyes. “I’ve been gone a long time. My father must be waiting for me, worried about me.” And then, without a further word—or even a glance over her shoulder—she was gone.
As he watched her disappear through the sliding glass doors on the other side of the terrace, Garrett stood silent amid a swirl of snow, wondering what the hell had just happened.
Helplessly, he lifted a hand to his mouth and brushed his fingertips lightly over the lips Renee Riley had warmed with her mouth. Then he gazed at the perfect red stain of lipstick on his champagne flute. Without questioning his motives—or his sanity, for that matter—he turned the glass to place his own mouth over exactly that same spot and downed the rest of its contents in one long swallow.
And he decided that, as new years went, this one wasn’t starting off well at all.
Two
The first week in April found Renee Riley feeling confused, agitated, anxious and seriously questioning her choice of a wedding dress. Because the one she’d selected for her impending—or rather upcoming, she hastily corrected herself—wedding to Lyle Norton suddenly seemed somewhat…inappropriate.
It had been created from roughly a bazillion yards of delicate white lace and was decorated with hundreds of seed pearls and scores of tiny white satin roses. Its train went on for all eternity, making it the perfect dress for a bride who was giddy with joy and anticipation at the prospect of joining herself to a man with whom she was deeply and irrevocably in love.
In other words, it wasn’t Renee’s cup of tea at all.
She sighed heavily as she gazed at her reflection in the cheval mirror that mocked her from the corner of her bedroom. For perhaps the twentieth time since she’d picked up the dress from the seamstress that morning, she held it up before her and swallowed hard against the nausea that rolled through her stomach. Her wedding was barely a week away, and Renee still couldn’t quite remember how she’d agreed to the arrangement. Especially since it had been barely three months since Lyle—at least she had managed to finally stop calling him Mr. Norton—had approached her father about the merger.
Union, she corrected herself. What she and Lyle were undertaking was a union, not a merger. And her wedding was upcoming, not impending. Goodness, she was going to have to work on her semantics if she had any hope of making this farce—or rather, endeavor—succeed.
Her groom, naturally, was experiencing none of her misgivings. Of course, he’d been so busy with work lately that he’d scarcely been around for any of the wedding preparations. Nevertheless, he was delighted at the prospect of his and Renee’s impending—upcoming, she reminded herself again—nuptials.
She expelled another heavy sigh as she folded the dress in half, held it away and gazed at her reflection without the garment. She looked pale with fatigue. She looked worried. She looked scared. Doubtless because she was all of those things.
So much for her father’s suggestion that she and Lyle make it a long engagement so she could get to know her prospective husband better. Somehow—Renee was still at a loss as to quite how—Lyle had talked her into scheduling the wedding for the second weekend in April. It was, he’d told her, the best time for him, businesswise, because the rest of his year was booked solid with professional obligations. But Renee had hardly seen him during those three all-too-brief months, because that time had been booked solid with professional obligations, too.
And even on those few occasions when they had managed to find time together, Lyle was frequently called away early to attend to—what else?—professional obligations. As a result, she’d found herself feeling about as familiar and as comfortable with her husband-to-be as she would feel explaining the particulars of quantum physics.
She was also having serious second thoughts about this whole fiasco—or rather, marriage. Yes, she and Lyle did get along fine, even if they had yet to share much more than a few less-than-explosive kisses. And yes, her father was delighted at the prospect of hanging on to Riley Communications, Inc. And yes, Renee’s future did look bright and promising to any casual observer, even if, to her, it was a tad lacking in, oh…life.
She should be happy, she told herself. She was engaged to a handsome, successful man who seemed to care for her, even if he wasn’t exactly the passionate, cherish-is-the-word sort of mate that most women—other women, women who weren’t Renee Riley—dreamed about.
She and Lyle were compatible, she reminded herself. They’d agreed on nearly everything they’d discussed—though they had yet to discuss much at any great depth. Still, they were able to carry on conversations that, if not exactly impassioned and important, were lively and interesting. Well, sort of lively, anyway. Sort of interesting.
