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Wondering if this had been a really bad idea instead of a really inspired one, Sam reached down for his briefcase.
For a time they rode—sat absolutely still, rather, in the crosstown traffic—in silence except for her taps and the rustle of the brief he was scanning.
Hope knew it was a brief because she’d let her gaze stray once too often in his direction, sweep up and down the considerable length of him. Lord help her, he was glorious in black tie! Black tux, onyx studs in the buttonholes of a dazzling white shirt, black hair, black lashes…she wouldn’t mind having a brief of her own to fan herself with.
She’d set up her laptop at once in order to have something to focus on besides him, but she wasn’t getting a lot done. For one thing, she was concentrating on hitting the laptop keys with the pads of her fingers, not her nails. Clear polish was definitely the way to go, and that’s the way she usually went, but for some reason she’d wanted to look especially, well, pretty tonight.
But only because she wanted to be sure she left the right impression with the boss’s wife. Lick your lower lip at somebody else. He’s mine!
“How do you want me to act tonight?” she said. She’d been thinking about it, but she hadn’t meant to say it aloud.
“Oh, I don’t know.” Sam rolled the brief a little in his hands and frowned. “Like a girlfriend, I guess.”
Wonder how a girlfriend acts. I haven’t been one since… She couldn’t remember since when. That was pathetic. Her sophomore year in college, she thought, when she’d dated a pimply philosopher.
“Like…smile up at you, and…”
“We should use terms of endearment,” Sam said. “You know, ‘Sam, darling, would you fetch me one of those adorable caviar canapés.’ That kind of thing.”
“I take it I can put ‘that kind of thing’ in my own words,” she said, giving him a sidelong glance.
“Whatever makes you comfortable.”
Comfortable? She was already not comfortable and she hadn’t even begun acting yet. “We shouldn’t try to pretend we’ve been together a long time,” she said to get back on track. “I’m popping up for the first time, and these people know you. You’d have said something about having a girlfriend.”
The thoughtful look that crossed his face told her that maybe he would’ve, maybe he wouldn’t. What he said was, “Could we claim love at first sight?”
“What about—” she did little quotation marks with her fingers “—fourth or fifth date, but we feel this really strong attraction?”
He nodded. “That’s the attitude. The overdone ‘how can I make you happy’ stuff, like ‘are you cold, here’s your cape, are you hot, let’s go out on the balcony, are you thirsty, I’ll get you a drink.’”
“Very good,” Hope said. “Then we do the sudden looks of appreciation at discovering something new about each other we’d never known before, like ‘you sail? Oh, my goodness gracious! I simply lo-ve sailing.’”
“That’d be you,” he said, looking uncertain for the first time, “saying ‘my goodness gracious, I simply lo-ve…”’
“Probably not,” said Hope. “But better me than you, now that I think of it. Incidentally, is there something you do that I should know about?”
“I work.”
“Well, yes, but…”
“That’s it. I work. Just say ‘he works.’ Anybody you’re talking to will know we’re well-acquainted.”
There was a faint bitterness in his tone, or had she imagined it. Must have, because almost immediately he turned to her with a quick, flashing grin. “Then there’s the ‘isn’t she wonderful’ face,” he said. “For me, that’d be a sappy smile.” He demonstrated.
“Yuck. You look like a lovesick gander. For me,” she said, “it would be a sort of parted lips, widened eyes kind of thing.” She demonstrated, embellishing her act by pouting out her lower lip as if it were swollen with lust.
He cleared his throat again. She hoped he wasn’t getting a cold. “By George, I think we’ve got it.”
“Sorry I interrupted your work,” Hope said.
“No problem,” he said.
She returned to her laptop and he returned to his brief. But first he had to flatten it out, he’d had it rolled up so tightly.
“CHARLENE.” Sam bowed slightly. “Phil. This is Hope Sumner.”
“I’m sorry about the circumstances that brought us here,” Hope said, looking properly funereal, “but thanks for letting us join you at the last minute. Sam has told me so much about you.”
Sam gave her a look. Where did she learn to do that, get all the right words into one receiving-line sentence?
“We’re delighted that you were willing to join us on such short notice,” said Charlene. A pair of huge blue eyes shot daggers in Hope’s direction, then Cupid arrows at Sam. He pretended not to notice, but it was hard not to notice that Charlene’s dress went down to here and came up to there, and that she was as voluptuous here as she was slender there.
Silicone at the top and liposuction at the bottom? He’d ask Hope what she thought.
“Please come in,” Charlene went on. “Make yourselves comfortable. You know almost everybody.”
“Yes, yes,” Phil murmured. “Sad time for all of us, but I know Thaddeus would have wanted us to go on with our—Harry!” he said, putting a manicured hand forward. “Great to see you. How’s the golf?”
Sam gripped Hope’s elbow and propelled her forward into the Carrolls’ magnificent reception room, a marble-floored space with twenty-foot ceilings and fifteen-foot windows. They ran directly into Cap Waldstrum. “Cap,” he said heartily. “This is Hope Sumner.” He paused. “You remember Hope.”
“No,” Cap said, “and I promise you I would’ve.” The caressing gaze of Sam’s colleague—his opposite number in the Corporate Department, the man who might edge Sam out of the partnership—slid down to Hope’s cleavage. This drew Sam’s gaze in the same direction, toward creamy breasts just barely peeking out above the lace.
He had a brief, satisfying daydream of socking Cap in the jaw. And not merely because Cap was apparently an early invitee to this dinner party while he, Sam, was just filling in. This was bad news.
He’d decided to try bluffing Cap about Hope, but as direct as lawyers were, subtlety was out of the question. He’d have to hit Cap over the head with the message to back off.
“I’ll get you a drink, darling,” he said.
“I’d love some sparkling water, angel,” she answered him, giving him the sappy smile he’d thought he was supposed to use. “With lime. I do better if I start out slowly,” she was explaining to Cap as Sam made a beeline for the bar, “especially during the holidays.”
The bar being a mano-a-mano scene, he barely got back to Hope in time to hear her say, “Pipe. I’m in pipe.”
“Not Palmer,” Cap said, sounding amazed. “What a coincidence. Our firm—”
“She knows,” Sam said abruptly. “Small world, huh?”
“So how did you two meet?” Cap was looking increasingly interested.
“I met Sam through…” Hope began.
“…mutual friends,” Sam interjected smoothly. “And for once, the friends had heads on their shoulders.” He gave Hope a replay of the sappy grin she’d blatantly stolen from the script they’d agreed on.
“Well, so nice to meet you.” Cap The Snake slithered off into the crowd to offer his apple to someone more vulnerable. Sam The Shark decided to let him go…this time.
“Two down,” Hope hissed. “Who’s next?”
“Not a new player,” he hissed back. “Charlene’s coming back for a second match.”
“Sam,” Charlene purred, “you’re my dinner partner this evening. Your friend…”
“Hope,” Sam supplied. “Hope Sumner.”
“Hope Sumner,” Charlene said, “will sit across from you between Cap—you’ve met Cap—” her gaze flitted briefly in Hope’s direction “—and Ed Benbow.”
“So it’s time to go in to dinner?” Sam said, relieved that Charlene hadn’t yet invited him to dally with her in some “private” location until the soup was on.
She gave him a mischievous look. “Soon, you impatient boy. Ed,” she said, “come and meet…”
“Hope,” said Hope.
“Sumner,” said Sam.
“Sad occasion we’ve got here,” said Ed. He did some appropriately lugubrious head shaking.
Hope turned suddenly to Sam, “Daring, I didn’t ever meet…”
“Thaddeus,” Sam supplied.
“Fine man,” Ed rumbled. “Salt of the earth.”
Sam slid a possessive arm around Hope’s shoulders. “We poured him into our opponents’ wounds,” he murmured.
It was important, of course, to behave as if he and Hope were lovers. About to be lovers, at least. But when she leaned into him, when he felt her shiver of pleasure, he wondered if putting his arm around her and whispering so directly into her ear, a small, very pretty ear, had been a good idea. That shiver had been disquieting, had awakened the sleeping monster inside him again. Except it wasn’t inside him. It was right out there in front for all the world to see. And for all he knew, Hope was just ticklish.
“How long have you known our boy Sam?” Ed asked Hope.
“Just a few weeks.” Hope smiled prettily. “Long enough to know all he does is work.”
“That’s Sam, all right,” Ed agreed.
Sam had let his hand begin to move against Hope’s shoulder in the most natural lover-like way—just testing for signs of response from her—when to his annoyance he felt something tugging at his other arm.
“Sam,” Charlene said, “I want to show you my new orchid.” She dug her spiky little heels into the floor and tightened her death grip on his elbow. “We can give Ed and…”
“Hope,” said Sam, sending a desperate glance in her direction as he slid away from her.
“Hope a chance to get acquainted.”
“I’d love to see your orchids,” Hope said warmly. “You, too, Ed? You interested in orchids?”
“My wife is,” Ed said. “Tanya?”
A stunning blonde half Ed’s age left the group she was visiting with and came over to him. “What, honey? Hi,” she said, holding out her hand to Hope, “I’m Tanya Benbow. Hey, Shark! What’s up?”
“We’re going to see Charlene’s orchids,” Ed said. “Knew you wouldn’t want to miss that.”
The merry party set out for the conservatory, led by Charlene. Earlier, her slim hips had swung seductively inside her lace sheath. Now she gave the impression of a woman on a forced march.
Sam caught Hope’s eye and winked.
3
SNUGGLED IN HER CAPE, standing on the crescent-shaped entryway to her apartment building, Hope said, “Tonight worked out pretty well, didn’t it?”
“Don’t sound so surprised.” He smiled reminiscently. “When Charlene’s toes were climbing up my leg and you attacked them with your foot…that was your finest hour.”
“It was a stretch from where I was sitting.” She watched his smile widen. It set her heart to pounding. “I think I gave Ed a little thrill with my knee, but it was worth it.”
“That look you gave Charlene.” He shifted into a generic-female falsetto that didn’t sound a bit like her, but did sound pretty cute coming from him. “‘Find your own leg to climb, you hussy.’”
She remembered the moment entirely too well. She’d had to work steadily at her computer all the way home to distract herself from the sensation that had climbed up from her toes as they caressed Sam’s muscular calf beneath the table, a tingly feeling that had made her wriggle against the seat of the dining chair. “Yes. Well worth it,” she murmured. “But she does do great orchids.”
His low laugh was like warm syrup in the cold night.
“So thanks for a really interesting evening,” she said.
He took her hand, held it lightly. “I hope we’ll have more of them.”
She hesitated. “Let’s take it a step at a time, okay? Tonight was successful. Now let’s try my milieu.”
His smile grew warmer. “Sure. When?”
“Next Wednesday night. My boss and his wife are having their big holiday party then.”
“Will you be wearing a mask?” His mouth twitched at the corner.
She really wished he’d stop doing that. It had a strange effect on her, made her twitch in turn somewhere deep down inside in a way that was distracting and unnerving. “Of course not. What do you mean, a… Oh. The masque.” The pressure of his hand sent an arrow of heat up her arm. From her shoulder it would spread to her throat, across her breasts. “No,” she said abruptly. “The masque is Thursdays and Sundays.”
“But…”
“Don’t start with me about my schedule.” There had to be a way to get her hand back without making a scene. But his hand felt so warm around hers. “So good night, Sam. See you Wednesday.” She tugged a little, got free, felt relieved, then deserted and a bit chilly.
“I’ll pick you up here.” He paused, looking thoughtful. “You did a great job tonight. I don’t suppose there’s a manual on arm-candy skills…” He took a look at her face. “No, I guess not.”
With a wave he slid back into the limo. Before he vanished behind the tinted glass, he flashed her a thoroughly wicked smile.
Hope turned toward the apartment entrance. Her feet were killing her. Funny, she hadn’t noticed while Sam was still around.
“Night, Rinaldo,” she said to the doorman as she hobbled into the lobby and summoned the elevator. Almost home, such as it was.
She hadn’t been acting. It had been fun being Sam’s clinging vine for an evening. He was a hunk with charm and brains and a goal in life. He’d been a sparkling conversationalist during dinner. The boss’s wife wasn’t the only woman to send an envious glance in Hope’s direction.
She felt she was close to agreeing to the arrangement, throughout the holiday season, at least.
But only if she could keep her emotions under control. When their knees accidentally touched, when he cradled her elbow or she took his arm, when their shoulders brushed and a warm, fuzzy feeling began to fluff up inside her, when his utterly charming smile came in her direction, seeming to be for no one but her, she’d wondered if she could keep her quick response to him in perspective. What woman wouldn’t respond? He was a very good-looking, a very masculine man.
But when he’d put his arm around her, caressed her shoulder, whispered words into her ear… Even now, she could feel the warmth of his breath, the ache that had spread through her, had made her snuggle into him, wanting more. The sense of urgency she’d felt had led her to ditch wondering about perspective and leap directly to worrying. Especially about the sex thing. He hadn’t brought it up again. Maybe it had slipped his mind. She wished it would slip hers.
