A Deceptive Attraction: The Wilsons, Book 3 (6 page)

“No worries,” Troyesha said. “I’ll make it happen.”

Troyesha was a genius at making the obstinate machinery of New York City do her bidding. At nine forty-five there was a knock at the door of Violet’s private entrance, and through the peephole she saw the hotel bellman in the hallway with the familiar clunky wheeled suitcases. Violet gave him a double tip and rummaged in the bags for something to wear.

She found a casual black travel dress that had survived its journey without wrinkles and put on a pair of black ballet flats to match. She pinned her hair up in a studiously casual bun, applied a dash of mascara and lipstick, and was just getting ready to go downstairs as the phone rang.

It was Leon. “Good morning, mon cherie,” he said cheerfully.

His voice was low and melodious in Violet’s ear. She took a deep breath to steady herself and said, “Good morning, Leon.”

“I’m sorry I had to leave early this morning,” he said smoothly. “I had a meeting down on Wall Street that just let out. I’m on my way. Can I meet you somewhere to save time?”

Violet was annoyed. She had rushed to get ready and be on time, as was her habit, and now Leon was late. Worse, although she didn’t doubt he was actually coming from Wall Street, she was just as certain that he was only giving her a fraction of the true story. If Leon wanted a beautiful friendship with her, he wasn’t getting off to a very good start.

A wicked thought crossed her mind. “Sure,” she said smoothly. “Meet me near Times Square, Eighth Avenue and Forty-Sixth Street, northeast corner. I’ll be wearing black.”

“Bon,” Leon said. “I can’t wait to see the city with you, Violet.”

As soon as the call with Leon ended, Violet called up the search app on her smart phone and typed in “bus tours.”

“Hello?” she said. “I’d like to book two tickets for the Classic New York tour today.” She paused. “In French.”

***

As Leon’s cab sped toward Times Square from Wall Street, he tried to put aside his disgust with Hugh Steffans. Although their meeting had been planned in advance, the American had made it last three times as long it needed to last. Its topic of discussion was a reception to celebrate a well known tech company’s IPO that would be attended by hundreds of investors and brokers. The black-tie event was scheduled for tomorrow evening in Midtown, and Leon’s job was to convince Violet to attend it with him. Hugh kept rattling off their plan, changing it, and changing it again. Leon wondered if he had ever done this sort of thing before.

He swept Leon out of his mind and remembered his date with Violet the night before with pleasure. Her fashion sense was impeccable, and she had worn her outfit seemingly unaware of what the plunging neckline was doing to his hormones.

Leon thought she was beautiful, in an innocent, almost fragile way, with her straight blonde hair, deep blue eyes, pale skin, and nicely proportioned figure. Despite her wealthy background, she was completely unpretentious. There was nothing of Adele’s entitled, indignant self-centeredness in Violet.

There was another difference between Violet and Adele, he thought. He recalled Violet’s response when he touched her, and the fragrant curves of her breasts where he had kissed her skin along the neckline of her dress. She was passionate, he thought.

In his three years with Adele, Leon had been entirely faithful. In his younger days he had slept with a lot of women, and he knew how it felt to be with a lover who could let herself go and experience pleasure at his touch. After he met Adele, he had been tempted on many occasions. There was no shortage of women in Paris who had found ways to let him know they were available if he was ever able to get away for an afternoon of dalliance.

Leon had toyed with the possibility more than once, but in the end, his “Sir Galahad complex,” as Colette liked to call it, had won out. He couldn’t bear to play the bad guy. He wanted to be the knight in shining armor – even if it killed him.

Which brought Leon to the one thing about Violet that he couldn’t figure out. She was so physically responsive when he touched her, so he knew she was sexual. But when he flirted with her or complimented her, it seemed to annoy her. Yesterday when he had kissed her hand in the shop, she had almost recoiled physically.

He had been in too much of a hurry to meet Hugh this morning to remember the question he wanted to pose to Colette. Violet looked and carried herself like a Frenchwoman, but her behavior toward him baffled him. He had hoped that Colette could help him sort out the reasons for it.

But then again, considering his agreement with Hugh, Leon thought better of the idea of asking his sister anything about Violet Wilson.

Chapter 8

Violet’s cab dropped her off near Times Square just before eleven o’clock and she looked around, trying not to curl her lip with disgust.

The place was crammed with tens of thousands of tourists who swarmed the streets like busy bees. They had no clue where they were or where they needed to be and frantically consulted their maps or smart phones as they walked. They changed directions without warning, walked against the “don’t walk” signals, and stood stupidly on corners when the signals told them to walk. They wore backpacks that bumped other pedestrians as they swerved and swiveled, and they stopped without warning to take pictures of the tall buildings with the garish digital billboards and then looked offended when the people behind them bumped into them.

She reminded herself that this version of Times Square was a big improvement from what it had been in the 1980s. She was too young to remember it, but as she grew older, her parents told her and her siblings lurid stories of wall to wall porn theaters, smoke shops, liquor stores, and hookers. Oh, and crime. This wasn’t a place where anyone wanted to hang around, before or after dark.

Literally overnight, the mayor changed the zoning and sent in hundreds of cops to clean out the rat’s nest. Now it was the ultimate tourist trap. Violet knew tourism was good for the city, and she didn’t begrudge visitors the chance to enjoy it. In a way, all of Manhattan was fortunate that Times Square had become the tourist magnet for New York City. It siphoned off all the pedestrian traffic that would otherwise choke the sidewalks of SoHo and Greenwich Village and make walking completely impossible.

Still, Violet wished they would learn to use the walk signals.

She heard a horn honk behind her and turned to see a taxicab nestle against the curb, blocking traffic in the right turn lane. Leon leaped out, tossed the driver some money, and hurried up to her.

“Excuse-moi,” he said. “No, there is no excuse. I’m sorry, Violet.”

“Ce n'est pas grave,” Violet replied.

The fact was, Leon looked so handsome, and he was so sincerely contrite, that she realized that indeed it was all good, even though he was late.

“It’s easy to be late in New York,” she reassured him. “There are traffic jams, changes in plans, you name it. I’ve lived here all my life and sometimes I still wonder how the city functions as well as it does.”

“Anyway,” she continued cheerfully, “there are tour buses leaving every half hour, so we won’t have long to wait. We should eat lunch in Times Square before we go.”

Leon didn’t miss a beat. “Ah, a bus tour. I have heard about them. That sounds tremendous.” He actually sounded sincere.

Violet had reserved the bus tour because she didn’t feel like pointing out all of the sights to Leon herself. No doubt he would have hung on her every word. He had made no secret of the fact that he liked her and enjoyed listening to her. She just didn’t want to go to all the trouble.

There were practical considerations, too. As the two of them settled into the second story of the bus and looked out the bubble windows, she was surprised at how expansive the view was. It really would be a better experience than the two of them trying to see the city by cab, or worse, by subway.

She had forgotten until the tour announcer began to speak that she had chosen the French language tour in a fit of annoyance at Leon this morning. She couldn’t even remember why she had gotten mad. She thought it was because he would be late, but he had called her ahead of time to let her know.

No, more likely it was because his note with its breezy message had triggered a memory of Tim.

She had planned the French tour guide as a conversation stopper, and it was working all too well. Leon listened with rapt attention as the announcer rattled off the attractions one by one in French as the bus snaked around Manhattan. Occasionally he turned to Violet and started to ask her a question, but just then the announcer would break in again. After a while he gave up trying to be polite and engage her in conversation.

Violet shrugged. She had let her anger get the better of her this morning, which was probably a mistake, but she didn’t feel the least bit guilty. Yet.

The bus made a circle from the Upper West to the Upper East side, and she heard the announcer say, “Le Park Central,” which was probably close enough to proper French to pass muster in New York, followed by a long recitation of the park’s history. She suddenly wished
she could understand what was being said. For years she had taken her own city for granted. It really was a fabulous place, and she was very lucky to live right in the middle of it.

The bus cruised past the New York Public Library, and Violet knew the announcer was pointing out the two enormous lion sculptures that marked the entrance.

“Their names are Patience and Prudence,” she said to Leon over the announcer’s narrative in French, referring to the lions.

“Pardon me?” he said.

“Never mind,” Violet said, and settled back in her seat. She had been neither patient nor prudent when she called the tour company this morning, and now she was paying the price for it.

The bus pulled up to the Rockefeller Center, and all of the passengers got off. Violet had chosen the “Top of the Rock” over the slightly smaller Empire State Building when she made the reservation. Both buildings featured spectacular views of the city, but the Rock’s observation deck had been built specifically for viewing and had fewer obstructions.

Violet noticed that Leon looked nervous as they boarded the elevator for the seventy-story ride to the top, but she was so happy to get away from the announcer’s nonstop monologue in French that his expression didn’t register with her.

“There’s the Empire State Building,” she told him as she led him to the railing. “And that’s the Chrysler Building over there.”

Off in the distance amid the sparkling water of New York Harbor, the Statue of Liberty glinted in the summer sunlight. Violet didn’t think Leon needed her to point it out to him.

“That’s Queens to our left. New Jersey is on our right. You can see Wall Street straight down the island of Manhattan in front of us.”

She looked over at Leon. His tawny skin had turned pale and she saw him swallow hard. “Are you okay?” she asked.

Leon nodded emphatically but didn’t speak.

Violet continued. “Look at the new buildings going up that will replace the World Trade Center,” she said. “It took a long time to iron out the politics, but I’m so glad they’re finally being built.”

She shuddered, thinking of that terrible day in Man
hattan in 2001, and then pushed the memory out of her mind.

“I think the new buildings are beautiful,” she said. “The architects really did a fine job.”

Leon nodded but still didn’t speak.

“Let’s go over to the other side of the deck and look at Central Park,” Violet
said.

“Please excuse me for a moment,” Leon choked out. He quickly left the deck, almost at a dead run, and disappeared through the glass doors that marked the exit.

Violet watched him leave and wondered if he was angry with her about something. Then the light bulb went on.

Leon was afraid of heights.

So that was why he had looked so nervous in the elevator on the way up, Violet thought. It was her own fault for not asking him first before scheduling the tour, but she had a feeling he would have toughed it out in any case. Masculine pride really could be ridiculous at times.

Violet hoped he wasn’t in the men’s room throwing up. She ticked off the remaining sights to see in New York that would require Leon to go vertical. Brooklyn Bridge: check. Statue of Liberty: check. Cathedral of St. John the Divine: check. Even the High Line was a risk. They would just have to talk about it openly and find out what would be a problem for him.

Violet wasn’t hopeful about the prospect of talking openly with him about anything.

When the viewing session was over, she looked for Leon next to the elevators on her way down but he was nowhere to be found. For a wild, frightening moment, she wondered if he had abandoned her and she would never see him again.

Her fears were eased when she returned to the tour bus and found him waiting for her on the sidewalk. His skin had returned to its original color, and Violet noticed for the first time how sexy his dark complexion was. He smiled as she approached.

“Ready to continue the tour?” he said cheerfully.

“Ready,” Violet responded. As they climbed the stairs to the upper deck and took their seats, she said put her hand on his arm. “Are you sure this isn’t a problem for you?” she asked, referring to the upper level of the bus.