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She swallowed hard and nodded.
“I’m fine. I’m sorry I barged in on you, Gage. I should have knocked, but the door was open.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You don’t have to—”
“You’re busy. I’ll wait until you’re finished and then I’ll—”
“No.” The word shot from his throat. “No,” he said carefully, and ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m not busy at all. I’m just getting dressed.”
Yes. She could see that for herself. He was wearing nothing but a pair of gray trousers, zipped but open at the waist so that they drooped low on his hips. And he’d just come from the shower. His dark hair was still damp and uncombed. It lay over his forehead in a way that made her want to go to him and push it back.
Habit, she thought, and stood straighter. It was habit, too, that made her gaze drop lower, to survey that familiar body. The broad shoulders. The muscled arms and chest. The narrow waist that tapered to long legs…
Her gaze shot back to his face.
“That’s—that’s all right.” She cleared her throat. “I’ll wait.”
“Natalie.” His hand fell on her shoulder as she turned away. “Did you, uh, did you want something?”
“My clothes.” She made a little gesture that took in the white robe, hanging almost to her toes. “I need my clothes.”
“Oh.” He nodded. “I, ah, I thought you might have wanted to talk.”
“About what?”
About what? Gage’s vision clouded. How could she ask that? How could she sound so damned polite?
“About us,” he said tightly. “That’s what I thought you might want to talk about.”
She nodded. “I don’t think there’s anything to say,” she said quietly. “We both know our marriage is over. We’ve known it for a long time. I just finally put it into words last night.”
A muscle knotted in Gage’s jaw. “Of course,” he said politely. “You’re right. Now that I’ve had time to think it over, I know that.”
Natalie forced a smile to her lips. “I just…I’m not sure what we’re supposed to do next.”
“No. Neither am I.” He walked to the bed, where he’d dropped the rest of the clothes he’d taken from the closet. “Talk to a lawyer, I guess.”
“A lawyer.” Natalie stumbled a little over the word. “Yes. Yes, of course. Do we use one or do we use two?”
“Two,” Gage said in that same polite tone. He slipped on his shirt, began doing up the buttons. “Why don’t you call Jim Rutherford?”
“I assumed you’d want Jim.”
Gage shook his head. “That’s okay. You might as well deal with somebody you know. I’ll get someone else.”
“Yes, but…” God, what was wrong with her? What did she care what lawyer he used? His feelings weren’t her problem, not anymore.
“Landon. Grant Landon.”
“Who?”
The name from the past had tumbled from Gage’s lips without warning but now that it had, he knew it made sense. A friend. A real friend, one who’d known him in that long-ago time when he’d stood halfway between the defiance of his abandoned youth and the promise of the man he was to become.
“You met him in New York. I brought him by a couple of times when I was in law school. Remember?”
Did she remember? Natalie almost laughed, or maybe she almost cried. She’d never forget New York. Gage in school, at class all day, bent over his books half the night. She, working at the restaurant where the grease on the griddle probably dated back to pre-history. The little walk-up apartment on Eighth Street, where the water always gurgled in the pipes and the thin walls that transmitted every sound from the apartment next door.
And the joy. The happiness. The wonder of being Gage’s wife, of being able to begin each day seeing his face, of ending each night wrapped in his arms…
“Nat?”
She looked up, her vision hazed by tears. Gage had come closer. He was only a breath away. He smiled and lay his hand lightly against her cheek.
“Do you remember New York, Nat?” he said.
Natalie stared at him. Oh, he was so transparent. Did he think he could do this forever? A soft word. A smile. A gentle touch. And she was supposed to succumb, to go into his arms, to pretend that she meant more to him than an ornament. Because that was all she was. An ornament. One he could drape with jewels and place in a glowing setting.
Once, she’d been a woman of flesh and blood. Gage’s wife. A whole person, the one he discussed things with. Planned with. Chose to be with, above and beyond anyone else, instead of jetting off at every opportunity to meet with Important People, to be photographed at the opening of the latest Baron resort with some nubile young thing breathing down his neck, Miss Samoa or Miss Pittsburgh or—or Miss Minnie Mouse, for all she knew or cared…
Natalie jerked back.
“I remember,” she said coldly. “That ratty apartment. The water that shook the pipes. The noise from next door, and the stink of old grease in my hair. You’re damned right, I remember. How could I ever forget?”
Gage’s eyes went flat.
“I see. The bell rings for round one.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
His smile was tight and unpleasant. “Come on, babe, don’t give me that innocent look. Half your girlfriends have been divorced. Round one, in which the much-put-upon little woman lays out a list of all the sacrifices she’s made for hubby.”
Natalie’s chin lifted. “What an excellent idea,” she said sweetly. “I’ll be sure to mention it to Jim.”
“And I’ll be sure to tell Grant that he’d better help me figure out a way to lock up the valuables.”
“You do that,” Natalie said through her teeth.
“Damn right,” Gage said through his. “Now, was there anything else you wanted, or can I finish getting dressed in the privacy of my own room?”
Natalie fluttered her lashes. “Your own room?” She looked around slowly, then at Gage again. “Your own room, my dear, almost-ex-husband, is waiting for you at your club. Or at your hotel. One of your hotels, anyway.” Her smile glittered. “But it certainly isn’t here. As you so carefully pointed out, this is round one. That means the house is the least of what I expect to get.”
Gage slapped his hands on his hips.
“You’re joking.”
Natalie slapped her hands on her hips, too. “Do I look as if I’m joking?”
His eyes narrowed. “It’ll take a court order to get me out of here, babe.”
“I’m sure Jim will provide me with one.”
Natalie turned away from him and sauntered towards the door. It was crazy, but the sight of that stiff, slender back sent Gage’s blood pressure soaring again.
“And I’m sure Grant will know what you can do with your court order,” he said, his voice rising.
She swung to face him, her hand on the doorknob. “I hope so,” she said politely. “I hope, too, that your Mister…Landon? I hope he’s able to do such things, here in Florida.”
Gage blinked. “What?”
“He practices in New York. Isn’t that what you said? And this is Florida. I just hope, for both our sakes, your dear old pal can hang out his shingle in another state because I’m telling you right now, Gage, I don’t want this thing dragging on forever.”
Gage strode towards her. “It won’t. Oh, it won’t.” He grabbed Natalie’s shoulders, drew her up to her toes, lowered his face until they were nose to nose. “Because I’m telling you right now, babe, you can forget about a divorce.”
Natalie turned white. “But you just said…”
“I know what I said!” He let go of her, yanked open the door, and she stumbled backwards into the hall. “I know exactly what I said, dammit.” He slammed the door shut and glared at it. “And I meant every word,” he muttered. “Every mother-loving word.”
Enraged, he kicked the wall, welcomed the sharp pain the thoughtless action sent shooting through his bare toes.
“Every word,” he said, and buried his face in his hands.
CHAPTER THREE
GAGE pushed open the double glass doors that led to the main offices of Baron Resorts. Carol, seated behind the reception desk, gave him her usual sunny smile over the mug of steaming coffee she held in her hands.
“Morning, Mr. Baron.”
Gage glared at her.
“It’s after nine,” he snapped. “You’re supposed to be working.”
Carol’s smile faded. “I am working. I mean, I’m just—”
“You want coffee, wait until your break.” Gage marched past her. “Let’s have a little efficiency around here, if you don’t mind.”
“No, Mr. Baron. I mean, yes, Mr. Baron. I mean—”
He pushed his way through the next set of doors and strode towards his office. His secretary rose to her feet as he swept past her desk.
“Good morning, Mr. Baron. Mr. Folger called. Mr. Okada, too. And there are several faxes from—”
“No calls,” he snapped. “No faxes. No interruptions. Understood?”
Rosa’s dark brows lifted. “Certainly, sir. No interruptions. But—”
Gage swung towards her. “What part of the word ‘no’ don’t you understand?”
Color flooded Rosa’s face. “No part of it, sir.”
“Good. Then don’t disturb me for anything less than a five-alarm fire or an armed insurrection.”
He slammed his office door shut, tossed his briefcase on a low beechwood table…
“Hell,” he muttered, and opened the door again. “Rosa?”
Rosa looked up from her computer keyboard. “Yes, sir?”
Her tone was polite but stiff, and her cheeks were still red. Gage sighed and walked towards her.
“I apologize. I didn’t mean to take your head off. It’s just…” Just what, Baron? Just that your wife is leaving you? “It’s just that, ah, that I had a late night.”
Rosa smiled. “I can imagine.”
“Sorry?”
“The Holcombs’s party. According to today’s paper, it was a smashing success.”
“Oh. Uh, yeah. Yeah, it was—terrific.”
“I’ll hold all your calls, Mr. Baron.”
“Thanks. And do me a favor, please. Tell Carol to call Starbuck’s, order herself a couple of pounds of whatever coffee she likes and charge it to me. And tell her I said she can keep a pot of the stuff at her elbow all day long, if that’s what she wants.”
“Sir?”
“Just tell her what I said, okay? She’ll understand.”
“I’ll tell her. And I’ll see to it you’re not disturbed—but there is this one envelope that arrived by messenger this morning…”
Gage sighed and held out his hand. “Okay, okay. Hand it over, though why you’d think something that comes via Express Mail would be…” He frowned as Rosa put the heavy vellum envelope in his hand. “This didn’t come Express Mail.”
“No, sir. It was hand-delivered, as I said.”
He looked at the cream-colored envelope. His name and address had been written in flowing, elegant script.
“It’s quite impressive, sir.”
“It is, indeed.” He grinned. “Probably an advertising gimmick. ‘Come in and test drive our newest super-duper, ultra-luxurious boatmobile.’ Something like that.”
Rosa laughed. “I’m sure you’re right, Mr. Baron. But I thought it might be important.”
“Sure. No need to explain.” Gage smiled. “Just do me a favor and hold everything else, okay? I have some, ah, some thinking I want to do about, ah, about that property in Puerto Rico.”
“Certainly, sir.”
His smile held until he’d shut the door to his office. Then it slid from his face like the mask it was.
“Great job, Baron,” he muttered as he dropped the vellum envelope on his desk. “First you chop off the heads of two of the best people in your office, then you stand there and sputter excuses as if you were a ten-year-old explaining how the ball broke the window.” He yanked off his jacket, loosened his tie, kicked back his swivel chair and collapsed into it. “Next thing you know, you’ll be phoning one of those talk show shrinks and whining out your tale of woe to a million people.”
