"What's the matter?" Ty asked her.
"Nothing. Both of these will do very well."
He took her wrist again, holding it until she shifted her gaze to his. "What's wrong, Sophie?"
"Nothing," she repeated, troubled that he could see the worry brewing inside her. "Nothing important. You look good," she added, working up a smile. "All sturdy and sexy."
"They're just clothes."
She pressed a hand to her heart, staggered back a step. "MacMillan, if you can think that, we have a long way to go before we get close to middle ground." She plucked up a tie, draped it over the shirt. "Yes, definitely. How do the pants fit?" she began and reached down to check the waistband.
"Do you mind?" Flustered, he batted her hand away.
"If I was going to grope, I'd start lower. Why don't you put on the black suit? The tailor can fuss with you."
He grumbled for form, but was relieved to escape to the privacy of the dressing room. Nobody was going to fuss with him for another minute or two.
He wasn't attracted to Sophia. Absolutely not. But the woman had been studying him, touching him. He was human, wasn't he? A male human. And he'd had a perfectly natural human male reaction.
Which he was not going to share with some tailor or a skinny clerk named Shawn.
What he would do was calm himself back down, let them measure whatever needed to be measured. He'd buy everything Sophia pushed on him and get the ordeal over with.
He wished he knew what had happened between the time he'd gone into the dressing area the first time and come out again. Whatever it was had put unhappiness into those big, dark eyes of hers. The kind of unhappiness that made him want to give her a shoulder to lean on.
That was a normal reaction, too, he assured himself as he stripped off the chalk-striped and put on the black. He didn't like to see anything or anyone hurting.
Still, under the circumstances he was going to have to stifle any and all normal reactions to her.
He glanced at himself in the mirror, shook his head. Who the hell were either of them going to fool by dressing him up in some snappy three-piece suit? He was a damn farmer, and happy to be one.
Then he made the mistake of looking at the tag. He'd never realized a series of numbers could actually stop the heart.
He was still in shock, and no longer remotely aroused, when Shawn came chirpily into the dressing room with the tailor in tow.
"Consider it an investment," Sophia advised as she drove out of the city and north. "And darling, you did look fabulous."
"Shut up. I'm not talking to you."
God, he was cute, she thought. Who knew? "Didn't I buy everything you told me to buy? Even that ugly flannel shirt?"
"Yeah, and what did it cost you? Shirts, some trousers, a hat and boots. Under five hundred bucks. My bill came to nearly twenty times that. I can't believe I got hosed for ten thousand dollars."
"You'll look every inch the successful executive. You know, if I met you when you were wearing that black suit, I'd want you."
"Is that so?" He tried to stretch out his legs in the little car, and failed. "I wasn't wearing it this morning and you wanted me."
"No. I had a momentary lust surge. Entirely different. But there's something about a man in a well-cut three-piece suit that does it for me. What does it for you?"
"Naked women. I'm a simple man."
She laughed and, pleased to be on the open road, punched the gas. "No, you're not. I thought you were, but you're not. You did well in the office today. You held your own."
"Words and pictures." He shrugged. "What's the big deal?"
"Oh now, don't spoil it. Ty, I didn't say anything before we went in because I didn't want your impressions to be colored with my opinions, or my experience, but I think I should give you a basic personality rundown of the people you'll work most closely with on my end."
"The guy goes along. He's got a good brain for what he does and likes the work. Probably single so he doesn't have someone pushing him in the ambition department. And he likes working around attractive women."
"Close enough." Impressed, she glanced over at him. "And a good thumbnail for someone who claims not to like people."
"Not liking them much doesn't mean I can't read them. Perky P.J. now…" He trailed off as she glanced his way and laughed. "What?" he said.
"Perky P.J. That's perfect."
"Yeah, well, she's got a lot of energy. You intimidate her, but she tries not to let it show. She wants to be you when she grows up but she's young enough to change her mind about that."
"She's easy to work with. She'll take whatever you toss at her and make it shine. She's good at finding fresh angles, and she's learned not to be afraid to squash an idea one of us lobs that doesn't hit the mark with her. If you run into snags that I'm not around to untangle, you should go to her."
"Because the redhead already hates my guts," Ty finished. "And doesn't think much of yours, either. She doesn't want to be you when she grows up. She wants to be you now, and she wouldn't mind if you had a sudden, bloody accident that took you out so she could step into your shoes and run the show."
"You did get a lot out of your first day in school. Kris is good, really good with concepts, with campaigns and, when it's something she believes in, with details. She's not a good manager because she rubs people wrong and tends to be high-handed with other members of the staff. And you're right, at the moment she hates you just because you exist in what she considers her space. It's not personal."
"Yeah, it is. It's always personal. It doesn't worry me, but if I were you, I'd watch my back. She'd like to leave her heel marks all over your ass."
"She's tried, and she's failed." Idly, Sophia tapped her fingernails on the steering wheel. "I'm a great deal tougher than people think I am."
"I got that already."
Ty settled back as best he could. They'd see how tough she was after a few weeks in the field.
It was going to be a long, chilly winter.
Chapter Six
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Pilar was nearly asleep, finally, when the phone rang at two A.M. She shot up in bed, snatching at the phone as her heart slammed into her throat.
An accident? Death? Tragedy?
"Hello. Yes?"
"You ignorant bitch. Do you think you can scare me off?"
"What?" Her hand trembled as she raked it through her hair.
"I'm not going to tolerate you or your pitiful attempts at harassment."
"Who is this?" She groped for the light, then blinked in the sudden flash.
"You know damn well who it is. You got a fucking nerve calling me, spouting off your filth. Shut up, Tony. I'll say what I have to say."
"Rene?" Recognizing her husband's placating voice in the background, Pilar struggled to clear her head, to think over the wild drumming of her heart. "What is this? What's the matter?"
"Just cut the goddamn innocent act. It might work with
Tony, but it doesn't with me. I know what you are. You're the whore, sweetheart, not me. You're the fucking liar, the fucking hypocrite. If you ever call here again—"
"I didn't call." Fighting for calm, Pilar dragged the covers up to her chin. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Either you or your bitch of a daughter, and it's all the same to me. Get this straight. You're out of the picture, and you have been for years. You're a frigid, dried-up excuse for a woman. Fifty-year-old virgin. Tony and I have already seen the lawyers, and we're making legal what everyone's known for years. There isn't a man out there who wants you. Unless it's for your mother's money."
"Rene, Rene. Stop. Stop now. Pilar?"
Pilar heard Tony's voice through the rush of blood in her head. "Why are you doing this?"
"I'm sorry. Someone called here, said perfectly vile things to Rene. She's very upset." He had to shout over the shrieks. "Of course, I told her you'd never do such a thing, but she… she's upset," he repeated, sounding frazzled. "I h
ave to go. I'll call you tomorrow."
"She's upset," Pilar whispered, and began to rock as the dial tone buzzed in her ear. "Of course she has to be soothed. What about me? What about me?"
She hung up the phone, tossed back the covers before she gave in to her first instinct and curled into a defensive ball under them.
She was trembling as she yanked on a robe, as she dug deep into her lingerie drawer for her secret emergency pack of cigarettes. Stuffing them in a pocket, she pushed through the French doors and rushed out into the night.
She needed air. She needed a cigarette. She needed, Pilar thought as she ran across her terrace and down the stone steps, peace.
Wasn't it enough that the only man she'd loved, the only man she'd ever given herself to hadn't cherished her? Hadn't respected her enough to keep his vows? Did she have to be plagued now by her latest replacement? Awakened in the middle of the night and screamed at, sworn at?
She strode away from the house, through the gardens, keeping to the shadows so that if anyone in the house was awake they wouldn't see her through the windows.
Pretenses, she thought, furious to find her cheeks were wet. We must maintain pretenses at all cost. Wouldn't do to have one of the servants see Ms. Giambelli smoking in the shrubbery in the middle of the night. Wouldn't do for anyone to see Ms. Giambelli doing her best to stave off a nervous breakdown with tobacco.
A dozen people might have called Rene, she thought bitterly. And she very likely deserved the abuse tossed out at her by each and every one. From the tone of Tony's voice, Pilar knew he had a pretty good idea just who'd made the call. Easier, she supposed bitterly, to let Rene believe it was the discarded wife rather than a more current lover.
Easier to let the long-suffering Pilar take the slaps and the insults.
"I'm not fifty," she muttered, fighting with her lighter. "Or a goddamn virgin."
"Me neither."
She whirled, dropping the lighter with a little crash of metal on stone. Temper warred with humiliation as David Cutter stepped from shadow to moonlight.
"I'm sorry I startled you." He bent down for her lighter. "But I thought I should let you know I was here before you continued your conversation."
He flicked the lighter on, studying her tear-stained cheeks and damp lashes in the flare. Her hands were shaking, so he steadied them.
"I couldn't sleep," he continued. "New place, new bed. Took a little walk. Want me to keep on walking?"
It was breeding, she supposed, that prevented her from a fast, undignified retreat. "I don't smoke. Officially."
"Neither do I." Still he took a deep, appreciative sniff of the smoke-stung air. "Quit. It's killing me."
"I've never smoked officially. So I, occasionally, sneak outside and sin."
"Your secret's safe with me. I'm very discreet. Sometimes venting to a stranger works wonders." When she only shook her head, he tucked his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans. "Well, it's a nice night after the rain. Want to walk?"
She wanted to run back inside, bury herself under the covers until this new mortification passed. She had plenty of reason to know embarrassments faded quicker when you stood up and moved on.
So she walked with him.
"Are you and your family settling in?" she asked as they fell into step together.
"We're fine. Period of adjustment. My son got into some trouble in New York. Kid stuff, but there was a pattern to it. I wanted to change the canvas."
"I hope they'll be happy here."
"So do I." He dug a handkerchief out of his jeans, silently passed it to her. "I'm looking forward to getting a good look at the vineyards tomorrow. They're spectacular now, with a bit of moon and a hint of frost."
"You're good at this," she murmured. "At pretending you didn't come across an hysterical woman in the middle of the night."
"You didn't look hysterical. You looked sad, and angry." And beautiful, he thought. White robe, black night. Like a stylized photograph.
"I had an upsetting phone call."
"Is someone hurt?"
"No one but me, and that's my own fault." She stopped, stooped to crush the cigarette and bury it under the mulch on the side of the path. Then she turned, took a long look at him.
It was a good face, she decided. A strong chin, clear eyes. Blue eyes, she remembered. Deep blue that looked nearly black in the night. The faintest smile on his lips now told her he knew she was examining, considering. And was patient and confident enough to let her.
And she remembered the way he'd been grinning when he'd had his arms around his children. A man who loved his children, understood them enough to point out their interests to strangers as he had to her mother, inspired Pilar's trust.
In any case, it was difficult to maintain pretenses when you were standing in your robe with that man in the middle of the night.
"Make up your mind?" he asked her.
"I suppose. In any case, you're all but living with the family, so you'll hear things. My husband and I have been separated for a number of years. He informed me recently, very recently, that we are getting divorced. His bride-to-be is very young. Beautiful, sharp-edged. And… very young," she said again with a half-laugh. "It's ridiculous, I suppose, how much that part bothers me. In any case, it's an awkward and difficult situation."
"It'll be more awkward and difficult for him if he ever takes a good look at what he let go."
It took her a moment to adjust to the compliment. "That's very kind of you."
"No, it's not. You're beautiful, elegant and interesting."
And not used to hearing it, he realized as she simply stared at him. That, too, was interesting. "That's a lot for a man to let go. Divorce is tough," he added. "A kind of death, especially if you took it seriously to begin with. Even when all you've got left of it is the illusion, it's a hell of a shock to watch it shatter."
"Yes." She felt comforted. "Yes, it is. I've just been informed that the lawyers will legalize the end of my marriage very shortly. So I suppose I'd better start picking up the pieces."
"Maybe you should just sweep a few of them out of the way." He touched her shoulder, leaving his fingers there, lightly, when he felt her tense and shift slightly away. "It's the middle of the night. Some of the daylight rules don't apply at three in the morning, so I'm going to tell you straight out. I'm very attracted to you."
She felt a little clutch in her belly. Whether it was pleasure or anxiety, she hadn't a clue. "That's very flattering."
"It's not flattery, it's fact. Flattery's what you get from a guy at a cocktail party who's thinking about making a move on you. I ought to know."
He grinned at her now, wide and easy, the way he'd been grinning when she'd first seen him. The clutch came again, harder and deeper this time. She realized, stupefied, that it was pure, animal attraction.
"I've scooped out plenty of flattery along the way. Just as I imagine you've deflected plenty. So I'm telling you straight." Now the grin faded, and his eyes, dark in the shadows, went quiet, serious. "The minute you opened the door today, it was like I was hit by a thunderbolt. I haven't felt that in a long time."
"David." She took another step back, then came up short when he reached for her hand.
"I'm not going to put any of those moves on you. But I thought about it." He continued to watch her, steady, intense while her pulse began to sprint. "Which is probably why I couldn't sleep."
"We barely know each other. And I'm…" A fifty-year-old virgin. No, she thought, she damn well wasn't. But close. Close enough.
"True enough. I didn't intend to bring this up quite so soon, but it seemed the moment. A beautiful woman in a white robe, a sprinkle of moonlight in a garden. You can't ask a man to resist