Everybody Knows (Sunnyside #1) (31 page)

In his university office, Wyatt Maitland shoved his
chair away from his desk and tossed his phone aside.

“Damn.” He moved to stand in front of the window
overlooking the annoyingly sunny California campus. The calendar said it was
October, but he couldn’t tell by looking. Fall… winter… spring… it didn’t
matter. All the seasons looked the same here in the land of perpetual sunshine.

He should have followed his original inclination
and shown up on Kara’s doorstep unannounced. But that would have violated the
terms of their agreement. The stupid agreement he’d insisted upon when they
met. The stupidest agreement he’d ever constructed in his life. “When it’s over
between us, it’s over,” he’d said, presumably for his own protection.
No regrets and no recriminations
. They’d
agreed to the stipulations with a handshake, a kiss, and a weekend of sizzling
sex, the memory of which still managed to heat his skin from the inside out.

Of course, that had been before she knew his
family owned the company responsible for the deaths of her husband and child.
Hell, he hadn’t even known it himself at the time.

During the past three years he’d deluded himself
into thinking he could win her over again. If he could recapture her trust,
she’d eventually forgive him. But she’d proven as elusive to pin down as
bipartisan politics or a simultaneous orgasm.

But things were about to change.

He’d devised a new strategy to overcome the past
and right old wrongs. He intended to tell her about the plan face-to-face. But
could any reparation ever be enough to mend the damage his family had done?

Kara was the only woman he’d ever known who hadn’t
wanted anything from him. Before and after she learned the awful truth, she hadn’t
tried to take advantage of his name, his money, or his family’s far-ranging
influence. And deep down, her increasing emotional distance during their phone
conversations made him worry that she needed his support more than anyone else
ever had.

Her continued evasions raised concerns that she’d
reverted to the wounded-sparrow persona he’d first known. That she’d once again
cut herself off from life, friends, and love, even though she assured him that
she hadn’t. And if that were true, then his other worry—that she was seriously
involved with someone else—chilled him to the bone.

He wished it hadn’t taken him so long to admit she
meant more to him than some pleasant memories he could store away for the
winter like patio furniture.

If she still wanted to have a baby, he could at
least consider it, and not reject the idea with some off-the-cuff comment like
he had when she’d suggested it before. Not that he wanted to have a child
anytime soon, of course, but eventually...

Wyatt Maitland, family man.

The concept boggled his mind, but he’d work on
getting used to the idea. After getting to know his troubled nephew,
Xander
, in the last few years, he’d realized this parenting
thing might be more rewarding than he’d first suspected. And he’d also realized
there might be more than one area of his life that lacked substance.

But since Kara had once again run away from the
idea of meeting with him like a frightened doe from a hunter, he was finished
playing by the rules. Time to resort to his fallback plan. Not one he embarked
on without a few qualms, but anything was better than continuing to stand idly
by, waiting for her to rescind their agreement, and come to her senses about
seeing him. His patience had reached its limit.

Before giving himself time to decide against it,
he grabbed his phone and punched the number of one of his two best friends. One
of the few people he trusted.

After Dylan answered and they traded insults for a
few minutes, Wyatt got to the point.

“I need the phone number of a woman who lives in
New York.”

“That’s a pretty general category,” Dylan said.
“Can you be more specific or should I just pick one for you?”

“You know I don’t want your leftovers.”

Dylan chuckled. “Then what’s her name?”

“Remember that crazy, wild girl who went with us on
a motorcycle trip through Europe?” The woman who had eventually fixed him up
with Kara
Enderley
, but Wyatt wasn’t sharing that
information. Not even with Dylan.

“Yeah, we stayed a few days at her uncle’s chateau
on the Riviera. Regina
Viviano
? The one who jumped
from your bike to mine, mid-trip?”

Of course, his friend would give Wyatt a hard time
before giving him the phone number he wanted. “Not how I remember it, but, yes,
that’s one.”

By the time he finished with Dylan, they’d made
plans to meet in New York on Friday, and Wyatt had the telephone number he
wanted.

He weighed the phone in his hand just as he
weighed the decision to make a call he’d promised Kara he would never make. But
the time had come. He had to do it.

“Regina? This is Wyatt Maitland.”

On Friday evening, Kara closed the heavy door of
Manhattan’s Rothschild Gallery against the drizzly autumn rain. After checking her
coat and umbrella, she squared her shoulders and pushed her way through the
damp crowd milling around the mammoth room filled with towering sculptures.
Jostled and elbowed from one corner of the room to the other, she muttered
under her breath and wished she’d stayed home.

Everything had been off-kilter since Wyatt’s call
on Tuesday. Her editor had pushed up the publication date of her art history
manuscript. Her dreams at night had contained an emotionally confusing mix of
hot, erotic scenarios and searing, incomprehensible loss.

And to make matters worse, Sean’s nagging cough
had been diagnosed as a minor respiratory infection, just as she’d feared. The
resulting stuffy head and sniffles had made him cranky all week. So tonight,
she’d waited too long to tear herself away from him to get here on time.

Normally, she arrived for the media preview of a
new show before the general public trooped inside. Otherwise, like now, it was
almost impossible to block out the swirling opinions of the less-than-knowledgeable
masses who attended every hot new exhibit.

The escalating level of cocktail chat prevented
her from recording a lot of observations on her phone. In the morning, she’d
come back for a more careful study of Samantha Davenport’s creations. Some of
the California sculptor’s pieces seemed naggingly familiar as they soared in
majestic relief toward the stark white of the vaulted ceiling. But Kara’s
advance research indicated that the Rothschild had nabbed the artist’s first
New York showing.

As Kara wove through the gathering, she scanned
the crowd for her agent. Also her best friend, Regina had agreed to meet her
here prior to dinner at their favorite Italian restaurant, but the vivacious
woman had never been known for her punctuality. With one eye on the door
instead of on her destination, Kara bumped into a sturdy figure dressed in
black.

“Dylan! Hello.” She greeted the staggeringly
handsome and wealthy Dylan Bradford with a touch of caution. Even though his
family patronized the arts, Kara found him too smooth and good-looking for his
own good. His wealth and high-profile name kept him from moving in her usual
social circles, but he had his share of charm. More obvious and less subdued
than Wyatt’s, but still, pretty lethal. “When was the last time you attended a
new artist’s opening? Samantha Davenport should be honored.”

“Kara, love.” Dylan gathered her in for a hug and
a kiss. Too late to avoid the inevitable grope, she planted her hands against
his rock-solid chest and pushed herself away from the determined player. He’d
pursued her with erratic levels of interest from the day of their first
meeting. Normally, the attention amused her. But this evening, she was on edge
and not in the mood.

Sometimes, late at night during a vulnerable or
lonely moment, she grappled with the temptation to accept the next offer he
made for some down-and-dirty, no-holds-barred sex. But he represented nothing
but temporary—and if rumors could be believed—spectacular relief. In the end,
he wasn’t the one she wanted, and she’d wind up lonelier than before.

He accepted the rebuff with a flicker of amusement
in his dark and smoldering eyes. “I had started to regret the impulse. Seeing
you here makes it almost worthwhile.”

“Almost?” she questioned with feigned indignation.

“Well, you know how I hate these crowds—unless
it’s for one of my own causes or protégés.” He plucked two glasses of champagne
from a passing waiter’s tray and handed her one. “But an old friend asked me to
come and be supportive.”

“And you did as you were bid?” She raised her
eyebrows and studied the generally self-absorbed prince of society as she
sipped the bubbly. “I’m impressed. I want to meet the person who can bring you
into line with just a request.”

He leaned forward to speak into her ear. “Let’s just
say, there are favors owed that can never be repaid.”

“Blackmail or bribery, huh? I should’ve guessed.”
Kara returned him to arm’s length and surveyed the room for Regina.

“If I had seen Samantha Davenport beforehand, I
would’ve complied without the arm-twisting.” He downed his drink and nodded at
someone across the way. “Have you met her yet?”

“No. What’s she like?”

“Judge for yourself. She’s standing with Irma over
by the fountain.” He nodded in the artist’s direction. “Ebony waterfall of
hair… long, shapely legs… voluptuous breasts you could balance a plate on. And
she’s dressed all in black. Just my type.”

“If she’s breathing, she’s your type.” Kara
shifted to get a glimpse of the paragon he’d described.

The beautiful sculptress towered over the diminutive
gallery owner and leaned into a tall, well-built male who choose that moment to
join her. The man placed an arm around her waist, and the woman relaxed into
his embrace. An all-too-familiar twinge of longing twitched between Kara’s
shoulders as she witnessed the couple exchange the simple gestures of
affection.

Get over it
.
She turned her attention to Samantha’s escort. Apparently Wyatt’s phone call
had lodged him stubbornly in her thoughts. If she looked at Samantha’s
companion in a certain way, this rare specimen of supportive male resembled
Wyatt a bit.

Resembled him a lot, actually.

Hmmm
.
The companion stroked the sculptress’s cheek with long-fingered, expressive
hands. Just like Wyatt’s. Hands that had caressed, comforted, and excited Kara
with urgent, silent eloquence.

And the man’s dark hair—with a hint of curl—fell
stubbornly forward at the temples. Just like Wyatt’s. He thrust it off his
forehead with an impatient shove and turned to the side, revealing a profile
she knew all too well.

Kara gasped and pressed a hand to her chest to
suppress her heart’s uneven thumping while she drank in every detail of Wyatt’s
all-too-real, all-too-recognizable presence. She took one eager step in his
direction. And then another. A smile touched her lips.

And then she remembered.

Despite the compelling attraction that pulled her
toward him, several horrific facts unfurled through her brain and kept her
rooted to the floor.

She didn’t
want
to see him.

She especially didn’t want
him
to see
her
.

She told him she’d be out of town. On a cruise.

“Oh, God.” She thrust her glass into Dylan’s hand
and dove into the crowd. Ignoring the toes she stepped on, she plowed a path
across the black marble floor.

“What’s wrong?” Dylan followed hard on her heels.

She brushed a trembling hand across her forehead,
but didn’t slow. “I’m not feeling well. If you see Regina, tell her—”

They reached the entryway and her friend
materialized by her side. “Tell her what?”

“I have to leave.” Kara pushed onward, toward the
door.

Regina grabbed her arm and pulled her to a stop.
“But what about dinner? I have a yummy surprise for you.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t stay. I’ll explain
tomorrow.” Kara shrugged off her friend and cast a worried glance over her
shoulder. Wyatt no longer stood beside Irma and the female sculptor. He could
be anywhere.
He could be headed her way
.

“It’s pouring outside.” Regina stepped forward and
blocked the door. “Where’s your coat? You’ll need an umbrella.”

Kara pulled a claim check out of her purse and
swapped it for Regina’s dripping tiger-striped umbrella and raincoat. “You take
mine. I’ll take yours. We can trade back later. Sorry about dinner.”

She dashed out the door, plunging into the cold,
wet darkness, desperate to protect the safety of the world she’d created for herself
a little while longer.