Taste of Love: A Romance Sampler

  Chapter 2

  "Where's the ring?"

  "Same place it was three minutes ago. Right here in my pocket," Steve said. "Do you want—"

  "No, no, don't give it to me yet," Sam Stratton said as he ran both sets of fingers through his hair. The light from the crystal chandeliers glittered off his forehead. "I want one more dance with her before I ask her." Straining for a glimpse of his girlfriend, Steve's younger brother pulled at his tie as he mumbled his next words. "I don't want her accidentally rubbing up against it and asking questions."

  Leaning into Sam's line of vision, Steve arched one eyebrow. "Like what? Is that an engagement ring, or are you just glad to see me?" he asked in a pointedly bad imitation of Mae West.

  "I'm going to ignore that smutty remark out of respect for your current circumstance."

  "Which circumstance would that be?" Steve asked, raising his chin in greeting to a passing couple.

  "Come on, you don't have to fake it with me, Steve," Sam said, turning his full attention to his older brother. "Finding your significant other in bed with your business partner stinks."

  Shaking his head, Steve removed a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter. "God, I hate to burst your bubble, but I miss him more than I do her," he said, before taking a sip from the crystal flute.

  Sam's lips parted as he gestured with his hand. "Are you serious?"

  Skimming a lazy gaze around the room, Steve asked, "If you mean, am I devastated because my lover—correction, my ex-lover—had an affair with my ex-business partner, the answer is no, I'm not. Granted, my male ego is bruised, but my heart," he said, thumping himself in the chest, "is still waiting for the big one."

  "You're unbelievable. You're tossing off a relationship of what, eighteen months, without a little angst creeping in? How do you do it?"

  Checking the fine streams of bubbles in his champagne glass, Steve decided against a serious discussion with his brother. What purpose would it serve tonight when Sam was celebrating a new law partnership and gathering his nerve to propose to his childhood sweetheart? Besides, explaining vague feelings of loneliness to another man was better left to characters on soap operas. No one would believe him anyway. Not with the confident, unflustered way he had with women.

  "Let's just say that a couple of weeks spent bumming around the Caribbean has put things in perspective. Whatever feelings I had for her were withering away months before I found the two of them together. Anyway," he said, reaching for a canapé on the buffet table, "you've been great to put me up, but I've got to start looking for a place of my own. You and Lisa are going to want more privacy now that you'll be engaged, and until I decide on new office space, I'll be working out of my place... wherever that will be."

  "And that's the other thing," Sam said as Steve put the tiny canapé in his mouth. "You kissed off half ownership of the busiest architectural firm in the state. In one afternoon, you packed in what took twelve years to build and, Steve," he said, touching his brother's arm, "you didn't even blink."

  Steve nodded, knowing Sam would never understand that dissolving both his personal and his business partnerships had been strangely easy. Everything in his life had been strangely easy, for that matter. It was starting to give him the willies. "The new year's coming. So's the new me," he added.

  Still fixated on Steve's current situation, Sam struggled to keep calm. "Doesn't anything bother you?"

  With a droll expression, Steve stared quietly into his champagne glass. At thirty-six he had wealth, a trusted business reputation, and the ability to attract and keep just about any woman he'd ever shown an interest in. Deep down where the scorecard counted, none of it mattered except that vague rattle every now and then. "Nothing yet."

  "Nothing yet," Sam repeated, shaking his head.

  "I promise, I'll start worrying."

  "That's not what I mean and you know it."

  "Look, I've been talking for years about taking the business in a different direction. Now I have the chance to see if I was just blowing smoke." Grabbing the back of his brother's neck, he gave him an affectionate shake. "Relax, little brother," he said, recalling a similar intensity in his elf at the jewelry store earlier that evening. His elf? He laughed out loud at the notion. "Is everybody uptight tonight, or am I just early with the holiday spirit?"

  "Hell, I don't know, Steve," Sam said, straining for a view of a pretty redhead in an off-the-shoulder, green taffeta gown. "I'm about to pop the question, and you've got me pinned against the buffet table telling me elf stories."

  Picturing the long-legged elf again, Steve patted his brother's back before withdrawing his hand. Sam was right. Until the Mae West impersonation, he'd been talking nonstop about Gwen.

  Sure, she'd noticed him in that way that most women seemed to, but she'd also turned her attention away from him just as quickly. Draining the last of the champagne from his glass, he let the fluted crystal dangle from his hand. What in hell was so intriguing about a jewelry-store clerk in an elf costume? Surely the fascination wasn't about the comical images of her scrambling under that Christmas tree, or her pulling on his pant leg, or even her tugging at all those rings on her fingers. Nibbling the inside of his cheek, he remembered the impulsive kiss he'd given her. If not holiday spirit, she'd inspired something in him.

  Clearing his throat, he turned to Sam. He watched as his brother pinched his cuff links, then smoothed the front of his jacket. "Sam?"

  "If you're going to ask me if I want to hear more about that elf, the answer's no."

  "I wasn't," he said, stirring the air with his glass before setting it on the buffet table. "When, uh... when did you know Lisa was the one?"

  From the furrow that formed between Sam's eyebrows, Steve knew his sentimental tone had caught his brother by surprise. Sam shifted his weight from one foot to the other. After a moment of serious consideration, he spoke. "Last month when she began to talk about taking a job in Denver. It scared me."

  "So why didn't you ask her to move in with you?"

  "If you have to ask, you wouldn't understand."

  A steady, knowing look passed between the two brothers. After several seconds Sam spoke. "You know what your problem is? You're too damn successful, too damn cocky, and too damn good-looking. You've never had to do any aggressive pursuing. You've never experienced the sheer terror of love, big brother. Or the overwhelming need to seize the moment, no matter how little sense it makes at the time. But one of these days when you're least expecting it..." He shook his finger at Steve.

  "The big one!" Steve said, flattening his hand to his chest as he buckled his knees.

  "The big one," Sam repeated. "And whoever she is," he said, slapping his brother on the arm as they both began laughing, "I want to be there when it happens, because she's going to blow you away."

  As Sam took a step toward the girl in the green taffeta, Steve pulled him back by his sleeve. "Hey, is that a ring in your pocket?"

  Sam took a quick look at his pants before delivering a deadpan expression to Steve. "Thanks for that confidence booster."

  Before the good-natured ribbing could continue, the brothers caught sight of the kitchen doors opening several yards away from the buffet table. First an elf cap appeared, followed by a wide-eyed Gwen. Steve turned to his brother.

  "And you thought I was making her up. Shame on you."

  Every step of the way her slipper bells underscored the whispering of his name with a distinct and now familiar ting, ting, ting!

  "Mr. Stratton!" she said in one final stage whisper when she saw he was looking her way. "Stay there." Doubling her efforts to reach him, she held her cap on her head as she came barreling around the end of the buffet table.

  "I don't believe it," Sam said. "She's exactly the way you described her."

  Five steps away and she slipped into a highspeed slide across the floor. Steve's arms shot out in time to wrap firmly around her waist from behind. With seamless coordination he pulled her out of the path of the
support column and into his embrace.

  "And I thought you said you didn't make personal visits," he whispered against the side of her face.

  "This... is an... emergency," she whispered breathlessly. "The announcement... tell me you haven't... made it yet."

  "Announcement?" he asked, continuing to hold her firmly against him. Her curvy backside fit perfectly at the juncture of his parted thighs. So perfectly, he willed himself to concentrate on something higher up. The velvet beneath his fingers molded the delicate structure of her rib cage, which was expanding and contracting. Rapidly. She needed more air. So would he if he didn't move his hands to safer regions. He slid them carefully to the curves of her waist, hoping she took his slow move as proof of his concern for her breathless condition. If she had any idea how good she felt to him, he'd probably be picking her elbow out of his stomach about now.

  It took her several seconds before she attempted to speak again.

  "Your... engagement... announcement."

  His brother greeted Steve's sideways glance with a wince. "I feel another elf story coming on." Holding up his hands, he backed away, imploring, "Why don't we save it until later, when Lisa can hear it too?"

  Gwen watched the younger, fairer version of Steve Stratton walking away from them. He stopped his escape long enough to respond to a few questioning stares from a nearby knot of people. When they discreetly turned their backs, Gwen twisted around to give Steve an accusing stare.

  "You've been telling him stories about me, haven't you?"

  "They were all true," he murmured as he let go of her. Crossing his arms, he leaned back against the column.

  He was sizing her up again as if he'd just been handed another piece of pertinent information. And he was planning to do something with it too; she could feel it in the insatiable stare he continued holding on her.

  With a couple of tries she broke the stare.

  "True or not, I had hoped you'd forgotten about me," she said, reaching down to flick away chunks of snow from the curled-back toe pieces on her slippers. She managed to ring the bells hanging from them half a dozen times before dislodging the snow.

  "How could I forget you? You were my sister's favorite rhyme."

  "Rhyme?"

  " 'Rings on her fingers and bells on her toes, she shall have music wherever she goes.' Want me to see if the band can put it to music?"

  Straightening up suddenly, she gave him a weak smile as she talked through clenched teeth. "Let's not do that. People are starting to look at me again."

  Taking a backward step, she urged him to follow. "I need to talk to you. Maybe we could step into the kitchen? Please." Brushing her hair from her forehead, she stared hard at him, willing him to move. As he pushed off the column and started after her, a voice from out of her past stopped them both.

  "Gwen? Gwen Mansfield? Is that you?"

  Hunching her shoulders in terrorized surprise, she shot a "save me!" look toward Steve. Mattie Goldman was the last person she wanted to see. The social editor and gossip columnist for the local newspaper had written about her four engagements and each of their subsequent dissolutions.

  "Why, Gwen, it is you," Mattie cooed, circling her gaze around both her and Steve.

  "Hello, Mattie," she said, pulling off her cap and hiding it behind her back. "I haven't seen you in"—she threw up an empty hand—"months!"

  "Eight to be exact," Mattie said, her gaze bouncing all over Gwen's elf costume. "Who is your newest beau, dear?" she asked before breaking up into laughter. "Santa Claus?"

  Gwen glanced up at Steve, who appeared absorbed in the unfolding spectacle she was creating. Again. How he continued to be so appealing when he looked close to laughing—at her probably—was beyond her. True, the healthy glow of his tan set him apart from every other man in the room. And those blue eyes of his, so clear, so sure, so—

  Mattie Goldman's voice caught her attention as quickly as the sound of breaking ice.

  "How are things, Gwen? I mean, since Brian—"

  Gwen turned her head in the woman's direction fast enough to cause whiplash in less practiced mortals. "Since Brian? Things have been fine. Better than ever."

  "Really?" Mattie's eyebrows shot upward then re-formed at odd angles. "I thought I'd heard Scarborough Hall was changing hands again."

  "Well, you heard wrong. We're all cozy up there overlooking the river," she said, feeling a sweat breaking out on her forehead. If Mattie mentioned old Mr. Graham's unscheduled demise, she swore she was going to crawl under the buffet table.

  "And I heard you'd lost a tenant. The old gent renting that big apartment. Have you been able to rent it out again?"

  Before Gwen could turn to lift the tablecloth and crawl under the buffet, Steve pushed off the column and took her hand. "Mattie, I promised Santa Claus I'd dance with his favorite elf when this song came on. Do you mind?"

  "Not a bit," Mattie added, eyeing their departure with bold-faced interest. "But, Steve, let's chat later," she said, her voice continuing to rise despite the stares she was causing the three of them. "I want to know why the most successful architect in Philadelphia has moved to King's Crossing."

  He led a grateful Gwen into a slow-moving sea of floor-length gowns and conservative tuxedos.

  "Thank you. If you hadn't gotten me away from her, she would have—" Gwen broke off in mid-sentence. She couldn't tell him that the older woman would have delighted in relating every sordid detail of her four broken engagements.

  "Well, it looks as if I saved your life again," he said, in a charming pretense of dead seriousness.

  "Yes, you did," she said, scanning the close quarters for an escape. When she saw a way and made a move, he grabbed her other hand.

  "One dance. You owe me that."

  Why not? What was another pound of guilt when she had a sackful to sort through alone in her four-poster later tonight? The music swelled as he pulled her close and danced her around the floor. No matter how smoothly he moved her, it was painfully obvious to both of them that she wasn't relaxing.

  "Miss Mansfield, I think I'm going crazy."

  "You are?" she asked, forcing a smile when she realized he was teasing her again.

  "Yes. It seems I'm the only one in this room hearing... bells. Tiny bells. They keep following me."

  For the life of her, she couldn't suppress the laughter rising up from somewhere near her heart. "Mr. Stratton, I must be going crazy too. I've been hearing them for hours."

  He swirled her neatly around the crowded dance floor, and for one temporarily insane moment she felt as if she belonged there in his arms. She liked his attention, liked his private jokes, liked the steady pressure of his hand spread across her lower back. Liked it too much, in fact. When she tried putting space between them, he winked and gave her the minimum. Of course he was in a devilish mood, but she wasn't the reason for it. He was getting engaged, and she was getting out of there as soon as she could exchange the rings.

  "Wait," she said, stopping dead.

  "Are you okay?"

  "My feet hurt, but that's beside the point."

  "That's right. You've been on them all evening. We'll sit down. There's a space for you at my table, next to Lisa and my brother."

  Before he could maneuver her around another slow-dancing couple, she began blurting it out. "Steve, I've made a terrible mistake. I gave you the wrong ring. I'm not sure how it happened, but I've got yours, the right one, right here."

  Reaching into her skirt pocket, she pulled out a duplicate of the one he'd helped her wrap. When someone jostled her back into Steve's arms, she instinctively cupped the package against her breastbone. With her knuckles locked snugly between their chests, and the way he was swaying her in a one-arm embrace, she had all she could do to form a coherent sentence. "If we could exchange the packages without a lot of fanfare, I could slip quietly out of here."

  He was waving to someone at a table near the dance floor. "Without fanfare?" he asked during a quick look back at her. "
Oh, I don't see how we could do it without fanfare," he said, nodding to that someone she couldn't see.

  "What? Why?"

  "Because I'm into fanfare. Heavily into it. Come with me," he said, taking her hand and leading her off the dance floor and into a grouping of round tables. "I want you to meet my brother."

  "Your brother? The lawyer? Really, Mr.—I mean Steve, everything's on the up-and-up about this. This is your ring. I checked the tag about ten times when I realized I'd sent you off with the wrong one. I swear, this is the two-carat, flawless, pear-shaped stone you ordered sized. You're not going to take legal action over this, are you?"

  "I don't think that'll be necessary." Pulling out a chair, he waited for her to take it. "Are you sure this is just a Christmas job at Bixby and Mellon's? You sound as if you're quite an expert."

  She was a diamond expert, all right. "Self-taught," she murmured, sitting down. But beyond the accepted four Cs of color, cut, clarity, and carat, she had personal knowledge of a fifth. Catastrophe. And here was another one for her in the making, she thought as she made herself smile at a pretty woman in green taffeta. This must be Lisa. Lucky Lisa.

  Steve took the chair next to Gwen, then casually draped his arm over the back of it. "Sam. Lisa. Meet my elf, Gwen Mansfield."

  "Hello, Gwen. So tell us. Did Steve put in a special request to Santa for you?"

  Before she could respond, Lisa playfully patted Steve's hand. "As if Santa or anyone ever said no to you."

  Gwen fidgeted with her cuffs. All she wanted to do was apologize and then leave, quickly and quietly. If these people kept trying to engage her in friendly conversation, she'd probably end up blurting out a confession about the ring mix-up. Deciding her own social suicide would be a tacky move right before someone's marriage proposal, she made it through the introductions with a tight-lipped smile. God was punishing her; there was no other explanation.

  After a moment of silence Sam looked at Steve then cleared his throat noisily.

  "Oh, right," Steve said, picking up his bread knife and clanging it against his water glass.

  "Gwen's delivering Christmas presents early this year," Steve said to everyone in a ten-yard radius.

  "Is she?" Sam asked.

  "Yes. She's brought one for you, little brother. Gwen, why don't you give Sam that package you're holding?"

  Wide-eyed, Gwen leaned toward Steve and whispered in his ear, "This package? Are you sure you want me to do that?"

  "As sure as I am that my elf has long legs," he whispered back.

  The music ended as she placed the package in front of Sam's water glass. "Merry Christmas," she said, confused beyond reason at Steve's strange request. Why would he want his brother inspecting the engagement ring in front of Lisa? And what was that crack about her legs being long?

  Sam unwrapped the package, lifted out the ring box, and held it close to his nose for a peek inside. "Oops. I think you made a mistake, Gwen," Sam said.

  "Several, but you can trust me about what's inside that box."

  "This looks like something for Lisa," Sam continued as he lowered the box and lifted out the ring.

  Two tears welled up in Lisa's eyes, then spilled down her cheeks. "Sam," she whispered, staring at the ring as he worked it down her finger. "Oh, Sam."

  Lost in the moment resplendent with tears and kisses, Gwen leaned her forearms on the table and raised her chin to get a better look at the ring on Lisa's finger. It took Gwen a second to realize Steve was standing up.

  "Fanfare's over. I think it's time to leave them alone."

  Gwen's back stiffened as an avalanche of reality dropped on her head. He'd known she'd been assuming he was the one proposing tonight, and he'd kept that knowledge to himself while he'd had his fun. Well, he wasn't going to get the last laugh. Holding on to the edge of the table, she gritted her teeth before politely agreeing with him. Standing, she turned her back to the crowd gathered around the table. "Follow me, please," she instructed him, then turned on her heel and headed for the kitchen doors she'd entered through.

  There was nothing to be done about the ting, ting, tinging noise or the mild interest it was causing in her wake, but she could and would do something about the way Steve had tricked her. Shoving open the doors, she hurried through the busy area, ignoring the chefs and waiters in the same way she had when she'd arrived.

  "Hey, you two can't go in there," someone shouted as she reached for a door near the back.

  She shot the man her most dangerous look, but it was Steve's raised and cautioning hand that silenced him.

  "Do you know this is the canned-goods pantry?" Steve asked after following her in.

  Ignoring his question, she closed the door behind them. "Just tell me one thing," she said, before turning to face him. "When did you figure out that I thought you were the one getting engaged here tonight?"

  He smiled at her with enough boyish charm to make her doubt the necessity of her sharp tone.

  "Does it matter, when we both had fun, and two very special people are one step closer to living happily ever after?" he asked in a low, apologetic voice that vibrated forgotten nerve endings in her body.

  She looked away, fixing her gaze on a high shelf where giant jars of roasted peppers were stacked. Why couldn't he simply be a jerk about this so that she could file the whole evening, along with him, in that bulging file marked Why did I get out of bed this morning?

  "You could have said something," she said, walking past him to raise the window shade. "I came racing in there like a maniac."

  "You came racing in there like an elf on a mission. I was impressed."

  "You were? Why?" she asked, her curiosity piqued. When she looked at him again, the room appeared to have shrunk around them. His nearness made her head swim and her body melt; she had to get out of there before she turned into a puddle on the floor. "Forget I asked that."

  "I will not. How else am I going to convince you to go out with me?"

  She took a deep breath as prickles of alarm spread down her back. "I have to go. The snow's coming down harder, you have to get back to your party, and I don't want anyone else to see me in this costume. You know, I'll never be able to show my face in this place again. It really was a crazy night, wasn't it?" She was babbling again, but as long as she could avoid commenting on his comeback, she'd take the risk of sounding terminally wacky.

  His hand closed around hers. She hesitated, then looked up the length of him to his face. He had that look in his eyes, the one that asked, "Why are you pretending something isn't happening?"

  "Gwen?"

  "What?" she asked, nervously licking her lips.

  "Mattie Goldman mentioned you had an apartment for rent at Scarborough Hall."

  "What about it?"

  "Well, I'm looking for—"

  "It's practically rented."

  "You'll get coal in your Christmas stocking for lying that way."

  "You wouldn't like the place."

  "Why not?" he asked, bending closer to her.

  "Because... it's... I just have this feeling-"

  "I have this... feeling too," he said, tilting his head to bring his mouth closer to hers.

  "You do?" She had all she could do to resist the powerful pull of his sheer masculine presence. "About what?"

  "About how wonderful this Christmas is going to be." Touching the underside of her chin, he brought her lips closer to his. "You see, I've never had my own elf before."

  His silly words spun a magical web around them, shutting out the argument between two chefs on the other side of the door and the sounds of the snowplow outside the window.

  Parting her lips to take in a little breath, she felt his lips on hers before she could think to protest. His kiss was warm and sweet and much too short.

  "I hope this means you've forgiven me," he said.

  She hadn't realized until then that she'd reached up and curved her hands around his arms. Lowering them, she looked away to catch her breath. "Yes, of course, I'v
e forgiven you. Actually, there's nothing to forgive. This was all in good fun, and we're both grown-ups. What's one little kiss or two? Right?"

  She was not going to rush to the door. With her luck, she'd probably trip. Besides, her heart was racing since he'd kissed her, and she wanted desperately to appear unfazed by the episode. "Good night," she said, reaching for the door.

  "That bad?"

  She knew what he meant. "It was a... decent kiss." When he didn't respond, she went against her better judgment and looked over her shoulder. His mischievous grin caused a smile to tug at her lips.

  "Please, give me another chance. I can be very indecent."

  "I didn't mean it was a bad kiss. I meant—"

  He was walking toward her, encouraging her with a ridiculous amount of interest in his expression. "Yes?"

  "I don't know," she said, and she didn't know. At that point she was only aware that her body felt light and heavy, fresh and ripe and ready. Ready. The promise of the moment overwhelmed her senses as he continued staring. Then they weren't laughing anymore.

  As they leaned forward a tiny ting from her slippers sounded a warning to both of them. He pulled back first.

  "What do you want?" she asked quietly.

  "I want to see you again."

  Even though she knew it would be wrong to encourage him, she also knew he wasn't the type to take no for an answer. Their attraction was undeniable, but if she dealt with it carefully, she would end it before anything embarrassing happened. "All right," she said, her mind already at work on a masterful plan of sabotage.

  "And I want to see the apartment you have for rent too."

  "That can be arranged," she said, opening the door and moving out into the kitchen again. The sooner she dealt with him, the better. "Anything else?"

  "Lots more, but just one other question right now."

  He reached in his pocket and brought out the package they'd wrapped together in the jewelry store. She didn't bother hiding her sharp intake of air when she saw it. With everything that had gone on between them, she'd forgotten about retrieving it. As she reached out for it he pulled it back.

  "Who's Brian?"

  "You ask a lot of questions," she said, snatching the package. She was out in the side parking lot and unlocking her car before she heard him reply.

  "Tomorrow night. Seven-thirty. With bells on, Gwen."