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“Julia, dear.”
Darn it.
Stopping dead, Julia turned, a practiced smile on her face as she greeted Vivian. “Hello, Vivian. The meeting went well.”
“Yes, it did, didn’t it?” The older woman tried to smile, but her too-tight skin simply wouldn’t allow it. “Forgive me if I’m intruding, my dear, but you look troubled. Is everything all right?”
Surprised, since Vivian wasn’t exactly known for her interest in anyone besides herself, Julia took a moment or two to answer. “Thanks for asking, Vivian,” she said, forcing a smile she didn’t feel, “but I’m fine. Just tired, I think. And this sad situation with Marie Endicott has us all feeling the strain.”
“Oh, of course.” Vivian nodded and her sleek, silver bob hardly moved. “Poor woman. I can’t imagine what must have been on her mind to jump from the roof like that.”
“So you do think it was a suicide?” Julia asked.
“Surely you do, too.” Vivian looked at her for a long moment. “Why, anything else would be too distressing. Imagine. If she were pushed off the roof, one of us might have done it.”
Julia hadn’t really thought of it in those terms, but now that the seed had been planted, she shivered as she sent another glance at the people who lived in her building. Vivian was right. Julia couldn’t imagine any of them being a killer. Marie must have jumped. Which was a sad thought. How horrible to feel so alone, so miserable, that your only solution was to end your life.
“Now I’ve upset you,” Vivian said. “Not my intention at all.”
She had, but Julia didn’t want to talk about this anymore, so she smiled more brightly and said, “Not at all. But I am tired. So if you’ll excuse me…”
“Certainly,” Vivian said, already looking past Julia to someone else in the room. “You go on home now.”
Julia did just that, hurrying her steps down the hall to the elevator. When the doors opened and she stepped inside, she simply stared at the row of floor numbers. She should go home, she knew, but Amanda was out somewhere and Julia didn’t really want to sit by herself and listen to silence. So on impulse, she hit the groundfloor button and leaned back against the elevator wall as the doors swished shut and the motor engaged.
Tugging her small designer bag higher on her shoulder, Julia stepped out of the elevator at the lobby and quickly crossed the ivory marble floor. A scattering of Oriental rugs in bright colors softened the cool sterility of the marble and muted the click of her heeled sandals as she walked.
The muted blue walls of the lobby were dotted with expensive artwork and mirrors with elegantly ornate, gold-rimmed frames. The ceiling was high, and a massive crystal chandelier hung in the center of the lobby almost directly over the doorman’s wide, mahogany desk. The front doors of 721 were heavy glass framed in gleaming mahogany, allowing passersby a glimpse into the elite, elegant lifestyle of the residents at 721 Park Avenue. Julia had always felt that somehow she and the others who lived there were something like specimens in a zoo. They stayed in their gilded cage while people could stop and stare in at lifestyles so different from their own.
Lots of happy thoughts tonight, she told herself.
“Hello, Henry,” Julia said as the doorman stepped out from behind his desk to hustle to the front door. Around five-foot-seven, Henry Brown had shoulders that stooped a little, brown hair, soft brown eyes and an obsequious manner.
“Hello, Ms. Prentice. Nice to see you, as always.”
Julia waited as he opened the door for her and held it. It would have been easier to do it herself, of course, but Henry was very territorial about his duties. “Thanks, Henry.”
He was still smiling as she stepped out onto the crowded street. Summer nights in New York were hot and sticky, and tonight was no exception. Traffic hummed, car horns blasted and an angry cabbie shouted at the pedestrians ignoring the light and streaming across the street in front of him. A halfhearted wind blew down Park Avenue and carried the scent of hot dogs from the corner street vendor’s wagon.
Julia smiled, tucked her bag more tightly beneath her left arm and moved into the steady flow of foot traffic. After sitting still for so long, it felt good to be outside, part of the rush and bustle of the city. She was alone and yet part of a crowd. And there was a certain kind of comfort in that. Here, she was only another body hurrying along the sidewalk. Here, no one expected anything of her. No one was watching her. No one paid any attention to her at all, as long as she kept moving and didn’t slow down the flow.
She didn’t have far to go, just a few steps to the Park Café on the corner. Most of the residents of 721 treated the little coffee bar as if it were an extension of the apartment building.
Tonight, though, Julia was hoping she wouldn’t run into anyone she knew. She didn’t actually feel up to chitchat, but neither did she want to go back to her own apartment and be by herself. She walked into the café and was greeted by the combined scents of cinnamon, chocolate and coffee. The hiss of the espresso machine played counterpoint to the brisk conversations and bursts of laughter.
There were wide, overstuffed chairs, oversize sofas and low-slung tables. Ferns bristled from copper baskets hanging from the ceiling, and soft jazz drifted through the overhead speakers. Julia placed her order, then carried her iced decaf drink and scone with her to a chair in the far corner. Then she curled up in the shadows and tried to be inconspicuous.
Max Rolland’s apartment was just down the street from the Park Café and he usually hit the trendy but convenient coffee spot at least once a day. In fact, it was here he’d first met Julia Prentice, the woman currently making him crazy.
He remembered his first sight of her with absolute clarity. She’d looked so cool and elegant, sitting by herself in a corner chair, watching the comings and goings of the other patrons as if she were in a box seat at a Broadway play. Her shoulder-length white-blond hair had been loose in soft waves around her face and her big blue eyes had fixed on him the moment he’d walked in.
He’d felt her gaze right down to his bones, and when he met it for the first time, he’d experienced a bloodburning heat that had forced him to approach her. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t have. He wasn’t looking for the kind of relationship a woman like her no doubt wanted and needed. But that night, it was as if all bets had been off.
They’d met, talked, touched and ended up in his bed for a night like nothing he’d ever had before. Just the memory of her body moving beneath his, the soft silk of her skin, had him hard and aching again.
Which only fed the anger that continued to churn just beneath the surface of his steely calm. Damn the woman. Why wasn’t she answering his phone calls? And why the hell was he acting like some moonstruck teenager with his hormones in overdrive?
He picked up his black coffee—no designer crapola for him—and turned to leave. That’s when he felt it. The power of her gaze. Just like that first night two months ago.
Max shifted his gaze to the chair in the far corner and there, in the shadows, he found her.
Again.
And this time, he’d be damned if she’d get away so easily.
Two
Max headed across the crowded room, his gaze locked with Julia’s. He could feel the tension building in her body even at a distance. Her studied, cool mask of indifference wavered a little as his gaze bored into hers, and he actually enjoyed knowing that he made her nervous.
What man wouldn’t?
“Julia,” he said, his voice pitched low enough that no one but her would hear him.
“Hello, Max.”
One black eyebrow lifted. “Hello? That’s it? You’ve been avoiding me for two months and all you’ve got to say is hello?”
She broke off a tiny crumb of her scone, lifted it to her lips and chewed as though it were a chunk of beef jerky. Stalling. He recognized the signs. Well, she could delay their talk as long as she wanted. But now that he had her cornered, so to speak, she wasn’t leaving until she explained why the hell she’d been so studiously avoiding him.
He pulled the chair beside hers even closer, then sat down, perching on the edge of the seat. Cradling his coffee between his palms, he stared at her, drinking in the sight of her. So many nights he’d woken up with her image drifting through his brain. He’d told himself he was remembering her wrong. No woman was that beautiful. No woman could be such a stirring mix of both innocence and sensuality. He’d almost believed his own lies.
Until now.
Now that night with her came roaring back, and he saw that not only was she everything his memory had promised, she was more. The scent of her alone—something light and floral—was enough to tempt him. As if he needed tempting.
“I was going to call you tomorrow,” she was saying, and Max jerked himself back to the present. With a woman like Julia Prentice, it only made sense to pay attention.
“Were you.” It wasn’t a question. More of a statement, letting her know that he didn’t believe her for a minute.
She got the message, he told himself, since a slight flush colored her cheeks and had her dropping her gaze from his.
“Look, I know you’re angry,” she said, and a muscle in his jaw twitched.
“I passed angry a few weeks ago.”
Lifting her gaze to his again, she shook her head and said, “We had one night together, Max. And when it was over, you made it perfectly clear you were only interested in a sexual relationship.”
He laughed shortly and glanced around, reassuring himself that no one was listening in. No one was. Everyone here was huddled with a group of friends or sitting solitarily behind a computer, the glow of the screen reflecting off their faces. He and Julia might as well have been on an island.
“Didn’t seem to bother you that night,” he pointed out.
“No, it didn’t,” she admitted, and licked her dry lips. An action that had his body tightening to the point of actual pain. “We both got carried away that night. We did things that—”
“I’ve been thinking about ever since,” he interrupted her neatly, making sure she was filled with the memories that had been haunting him.
He’d never been with a woman so controlled on the outside and so completely uninhibited in bed. She’d gotten to him despite his efforts to maintain a safe emotional distance. And that infuriated him. Max wasn’t stupid. He knew her type.
The society woman. Born into a world he’d only entered through years of hard work and persistence. She carried a pedigree and he was a junkyard dog. Their differences were blatant. But in bed, those differences hadn’t mattered. In those hours together, they’d each found something in the other that they hadn’t anywhere else.
At least, that was what he’d thought.
“Believe me when I say,” she told him, “that I’ve been thinking about that night, too. A lot.”
“Then why are you dodging me? We both enjoyed ourselves.”
“Oh, yes…”
“So what’s keeping us from having another night—and more—just like it?”
Her gaze drilled into his. “I’m pregnant.”
If she’d pulled the chair he was sitting on out from under him, Max couldn’t have been more stunned. Her simple statement. Her clear, steady gaze. The grim determination of her mouth. All made it clear she was telling the truth. But if she expected him to believe that it was his baby, she was in for a big surprise.
He knew something she didn’t and because of that one fact, he had no doubt at all that he wasn’t the father of her child.
“Congratulations,” he said tightly, pausing for a sip of his coffee. The hot, strong liquid burned his tongue and he hissed in a breath, relishing the sting because it gave him something else to concentrate on besides the unspoken plea in her eyes. “Who’s the lucky father?”
She drew her head back, widened her eyes and said, “You are, of course.”
He laughed. Loud enough that several heads whipped around to see what was so damn funny. Then Max sent a glare around the room and the interested parties found something else to look at. When he turned his gaze back to Julia’s, he sneered at her. “Nice try, but I’m not buying it.”
“What?” She looked as stunned as he felt. “Why would I lie?”
“An interesting question,” Max said, and set his coffee cup down on a nearby table. He silently congratulated himself on the calm he was maintaining. No one would know by looking at him that anger had spiked—along with a sense of disappointment. Taking her drink from her, he set it down, too, then muttered, “Get your purse. We’re leaving.”
“I don’t want to leave.”
“And if I was taking a vote, that would matter to me,” he said. Then, standing, he simply stared down at her until she grumbled, grabbed her bag and stood up. Taking her elbow in a firm grip, Max steered her out of the coffee shop and onto Park Avenue.
“Where are we going?” Her much shorter legs were scrambling to keep up with his long strides, but Max didn’t slow down.
He was a force of nature that somehow managed to part the throngs crowding New York City’s sidewalks. People stepped aside, moved out of his way, as he tugged Julia along in his wake. This was not a conversation he was going to hold in public. If she wanted to play out this game, then she’d damn well do it at his place, where he could tell her exactly what he thought of blue-blooded women trying to run scams.
His apartment building was much newer than hers. Less old money, more nouveau riche billionaire. It suited Max down to the ground. The doorman scurried to open the chrome-and-glass door, then stepped back as Max half dragged Julia across the gleaming tile floor to the bank of elevators.
He stabbed one of the buttons and while he waited, he looked down at her. “Not another word until we’re alone.”
Stiffly, she nodded, wrenched her elbow from his grasp and quietly smoothed her long, blond hair back from her face. He glanced at her reflection in the elevator door, and in spite of everything else he was feeling, desire reached up and grabbed hold of the base of his throat.
The elevator arrived with quiet speed, and once they were inside, Max entered his key card and punched the button for the building’s only penthouse. He lived at the top of the world, with a view that told him every time he walked into the room that he’d made it. He was on top. All of his hard work had paid off big-time, and he’d made his dreams come true.
At the penthouse, the elevator opened into his foyer. Six thousand square feet of living space, and Max, but for the housekeeper who came in daily and then left every evening, lived alone now. He’d tried marriage once.
He’d learned his lesson the hard way.
And part of that lesson was the reason he knew Julia was lying to him.
Stepping aside, he waved a hand, inviting Julia inside. She’d been here before, of course, their one and only night together. But damned if he hadn’t been seeing the ghost of her every day since.
“You want a drink?” he asked, walking past her and down two short steps into the living room. “Oh, wait. You’re pregnant.”
She didn’t respond to his goading, merely asking, “Do you have any water?”
He ground his teeth together, poured himself a stiff shot of scotch, then retrieved a bottle of water from the wet-bar fridge. Then he walked to where she stood beside a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows that displayed an incredible view of the city and the harbor beyond.
“I’d forgotten what a nice place this is,” she said, taking the water and unscrewing the cap.
He liked it. It was decorated in a clearly masculine style, now that Camille was gone. A few rugs dotted the wide-planked oak floor. Oversize sofas and chairs were gathered in conversational knots that were rarely used. A fireplace hugged one wall and on either side were bookcases, stuffed with everything from fiction to the classics.
“It’s a lovely view,” she said.
“Yeah. You mentioned that the last time you were here.” He sipped at his scotch and let the fiery liquid burn away the cold inside.
She glanced up at him. “I don’t know why you insisted on coming here, Max. I’ve already told you what I had to say.”
“Uh-huh. You’re pregnant with my baby.”
“That’s right.”
“That’s a lie.”
Her hand tightened on the water bottle. “Why would I lie to you about this?”
“Just what I want to know,” he murmured. “The night we were together, you told me you’d just come off a long-term relationship. So what I’m wondering is, why are you trying to palm off his baby as mine?”
Julia took another drink of her water. “Terry and I hadn’t been…together like that in months before we broke up. We were friends.”
“Too civilized for hot, sweaty sex, was he? No wonder you came to me for a night of good times.”
“That’s not how it was,” Julia argued, wondering how this had gone so wrong. She hadn’t expected him to be happy about a surprise pregnancy, but she also hadn’t expected him to deny being the father. “When we met, you and I, there was a connection. I felt it. You must have, too. A sort of—”
“Don’t make it into something it wasn’t, sweet-heart,” Max said, reaching out to stroke the side of her face with his fingertips. “We were both needy that night and it was the best damn sex I’ve ever had. But it wasn’t more than that. There was no dulcet choir of angels singing. It was what it was.”
Julia felt as though he’d slapped her. This was exactly why she was no good at meaningless relationships. She needed to feel a bond with a man before she climbed into his bed. And that night, as swept away as she was by Max’s pure magnetism, she’d convinced herself that that bond was there. Could she possibly have been that wrong? Could she have mistaken pure sexual hunger for something else?
God, she was an idiot.
“So whatever you’re up to, it won’t work,” he said softly. Leaning to one side, he set his scotch down on a glass-topped table, then straightened up and moved in closer. “I don’t know what you’re after, Julia, but I know what we both need. What we both want.”
