Falling for Sir (21 page)

"Just make sure we get to the hotel in one
piece," he shouted.

Charlie threw back his head and laughed as if it
was the funniest thing he ever heard. And his foot went down.

* * * *

While there wasn't much predictable about his
brother's company—when he might have it or for how long, or what the purpose
was— one thing was always sure to happen when they walked into a room together.
Every head turned. Time seemed to pause.

It made Jack vaguely uncomfortable although he'd
known that sensation since they were teenagers. Charlie, on the other hand,
basked in the attention. "Don't worry," he would whisper to Jack,
"they won't bother you once they get a taste of my charm."

He was only half kidding. Women usually went for
Charlie, because Jack's reserve soon put them off.

"You frighten the poor things," his
little brother laughed. "You ought to practice a smile more often. You
give them ice burns."

As they walked into the hotel restaurant
together, it was the same as usual. Every woman and a few men in the place
stopped, stared and seemed to forget what they were previously doing. Jack
ignored it, striding straight to a private corner booth. The waitress brought
menus and giddily rushed through her spiel before taking their drinks order.

"So why did you really come out here,
Charlie? I know it wasn't just to see me."

His brother leaned back, spreading his arms
along the curved back of the booth. "I'm trying to take a more hands-on
approach to the business. I know you think I'm a lazy bastard."

Jack looked askance. "Right. What prompted
the change?"

Charlie lifted one shoulder in a loose shrug.
"It's good to change. We can't stay stuck in a rut can we? Besides, I feel
like I've left everything on your plate for too long. Maybe I should start
taking on some of the burdens."

"And you came to this conclusion out of the
blue?"

"Hey, listen...I left you on your own to
manage everything because I knew you needed it after Laura died. Then I just
got caught up in having a good time."

"You certainly did."

"But as I was listening to Alana crying
about the time she's wasted waiting for you, I realized its been four years.
It's time I stepped up and did my part."

Jack was still wary. Words were great, but
Charlie had a tendency to forget his promises and change his mind when the next
idea came along. "Fine. Whatever you want to do."

The waitress brought their drinks and Charlie
shot her a wink that made her blush.

"Just don't treat it like another one of
your hobbies," Jack added, terse.

Still watching the waitress depart, Charlie
replied, "You can trust me. I'll take the reins while you shoot off on
your honeymoon."

"I'm not marrying Alana Shepherd. Not even
to benefit the ratings of her reality show."

His brother exhaled a low chuckle. "Yeah, I
know. She knows it too. Just doesn't want to believe it. Or didn't want to. Now
this new girl is on the scene and I think its starting to sink in that you
don't actually belong to her."

Jack crumpled his napkin, silent, his thoughts
filled with Marianne again at the merest mention. It seemed a pathetic state to
be in.

"So," said Charlie, "what are you
going to do about this new one?"

He looked at his brother. "I don't
know."

Charlie's mouth fell open. "That's the
first time I've ever heard you admit to not having an answer. She must be quite
something."

She was a lot of things, he mused. A lot of
things he hadn't been expecting or looking for. Hadn't hoped to find again. At
first, he'd thought of her in terms of what she needed from him. What he could
give or do for her. But he'd begun to realize that he needed her as much as she
needed him.

"By the way...did you get around to using
those tokens I gave you for The Club?"

Ah.

* * * *

While he was away that week she had twenty-four
hour a day access to his apartment. Marianne spent every spare minute getting
the place finished. She feared running into Alana again, but there was no sign
of the other woman in his life. He didn't even keep any photos of her, Marianne
realized. However, he didn't have photos of anyone, not even his dead wife.

She'd managed to find some old sepia pictures of
Marchetti's storefront from its early days and she got them blown up and framed
for his brick wall. Time to make the place reflect its owner as he was now, not
as he had been in his college years. Certainly not as someone like Alana wanted
him to be.

But she couldn't resist putting a few fluffy
pink pillows and scented candles around. See how he liked that, she mused
darkly. It would only be the tip of the iceberg if he married Alana, so he may
as well get used to it.

The concierge was now calling her by her first
name and holding doors for her as he told her about his wife's plantar
fasciitis and his niece's new baby. She never saw any other residents in the
building and the place was so much quieter than her own apartment that if it wasn't
for knowing Pebbles and Bam Bam would wonder what happened to her, she might
have stayed there all night.

Chapter
Fourteen

Blackmail
and Fucking Pumpkin Pie

"What's with all the pink, Ms. Miller? Is
it meant to be funny?"

"No. There's nothing funny about pink. I
take it very seriously."

"You don't think it's a
little...frou-frou?"

"I did my best to incorporate the
requirements of your fiancée."

So that's what it was all about. He folded his
arms and glared at her.

"What?" She put her chin up.

"A Passive Aggressive Pink Attack? I
thought you were too sensible for something like that."

Walking ahead of him she continued pointing out
the work she'd done, very cool and professional as usual. Slowly he followed
her.

"As you see, with the walnut extendable
table you'll be able to fit more dinner guests. The warm color and clean lines
make it stand out, but not in an intrusive way. It's functional and stylish,
while fitting in with just about any design genre."

"You're inferring that my vinyl diner booth
was not any of those things."

She looked over her shoulder.
"Correct."

"I happened to like it."

"Then why hire someone to redecorate?"

He had nothing to say to that. If she hadn't
figured that out yet, he couldn't help her. Wasn't she supposed to be
smart?
 

"You did admit to being in need of
something new and updated," she added crisply, hands on her waist.

Jack smiled slowly, his gaze taking her in inch
by inch. He'd missed the brat all week. And she looked damn good today in a
lilac, polar neck sweater that clung to all her curves and somehow still
managed to look demure. He could almost forgive her for the criminal pink
littered around his apartment.

She blinked rapidly, pulled on the high neck of
her sweater with fidgeting fingers and then moved on. "The Chesterfield
armchairs add a more adult look while retaining the comfort and practicality of
leather. This low profile also prevents obscuring the view through the
windows."

He actually liked the chairs very much,
although..."There's no cup holder for my beer."

"No. You'll have to use a coffee table.
Like most people over the age of twenty one."

"I beg to differ. I know a lot of men who
still—"

"Perhaps you'd like a sippy cup too? A high
chair at the dining table? Something to bang on when your dinner's late or you
need changing?"

"Very amusing."

"I'm sorry. I assumed when you said you
needed to keep up with the times that meant we could dispense with the frat
house nursery look."

Wow. She was on the warpath today again.

"Moving on. I'd like to draw your attention
to the area rugs. The fun, geometric patterns tie the color scheme together but
keep it from being too gentleman's club, or
too
mature. The glass lamp stands maintain a light and airy feel and over
here—"

"Ms. Miller, the only way a piece of carpet
can be 'fun' is when too naked people roll around on it."

She sighed gustily. "Well, I was trying to
show you—"

"And I see you moved your bishop again. On
the chess board." He jerked his thumb toward the second floor.

She looked smug. "Yes. It's checkmate, by
the way."

He squinted. "Sure?"

"Definitely."

"I get it. Very nice. You win. What do I
owe you?"

Marianne's frown could have knocked him backward
through his windows. "Nice? Is that it?"

He considered a moment, one hand poised inside
his jacket, reaching for his checkbook. "I did say
very
nice."

Her cheeks sucked in. Then she shook her head
and turned away, mumbling about having given up her Thanksgiving for this.

"Oh, did you have plans?" he asked
placidly. "I thought you were too ambitious for a private life."

She was pulling on her coat. "For your
information I turned down my brother's offer of a ride home today, so I could
be here when you got back. But thanks for the 'very nice'. That makes it all
worthwhile."

"I'm paying you enough, aren't I?"

She paused, looked at him, shook her head and
started walking away.

"Alright, Ms. Miller. Why don't I give you
a ride home to make up for it?"

* * * *

"Are you serious?" Marianne felt her
heart beat regroup, but it was still unsteady, her nerves fragile. The
anticipation of seeing him again today after a week of no contact had put her
on edge, made her snappish.

"Ms. Miller, I'm always serious. We'll
leave now."

"Home is Vermont. Have you forgotten?"

"No. I believe you drummed that into me
quite well."

She didn't know what to say.
 

He added, "By the way, I have your Blu
Cantrell CD. It's in my car. If you want it back."

Blackmail! Might have known he'd resort to these
tactics. Finally she managed, "Don't you have plans for Thanksgiving? With
your family?"

Jack looked as if he was about to burst out
laughing. Instead he pressed his lips together and shook his head.

"Not with Alana?" she pressed.

Through puzzled eyes he looked at her.
"Where do you get the impression that Alana Shepherd is my fiancée?"

She thought again of the newspaper gossip column
and her endless Google searches. Afraid to admit she'd done her research,
Marianne shrugged. "Word gets around. And she let me know the lay of the
land soon enough when—"

He'd closed the distance between them in two
steps, put his hands around her waist and kissed her. His lips were firm and
cool and very determined. Marianne grabbed the lapels of his jacket to keep her
balance, shocked delight speeding through her. He smelled so good. Tasted even
better.

"I'm not engaged to Alana. I have no
intention of ever being engaged to her. In fact I had a long conversation with
her last night on this very subject. Not the first conversation, but definitely
the last. Better now?"

She swallowed, tried hard to maintain her composure.
"I'm sure it doesn't matter to me. You're entitled to do as you
please."

"Am I? Apparently other people think
differently and like to speculate on my love life. They've been doing it since
my wife died. At least, unlike my brother, I was never the subject of a poll in
Cosmopolitan about who I would marry next."

He was still holding her waist and now he wound
his arms around her, keeping her body pressed to his. As Claudia, of course,
she'd been this close. But never as Marianne. It took her a moment to adjust.
"I'm so sorry about your wife," she managed.
Breathe. Breathe, you idiot
.
He's
just a man
. Underneath everything else that's all he was. She had to keep
repeating that to herself.

He nodded.

"And I'm sorry," she muttered
reluctantly, "about all the pink."

Eyes dark and steady, he looked down at her.
"Ah yes, I'm not sure how you're going to repay me for that, Ms.
Miller."

Chagrined, she slipped backward, out of his
arms, and tightened her belt.

"But I'm very glad you like pink," he
added cryptically.

Marianne decided there was too much else to
worry about at that moment and pink cushions were the least of their problems.
She pulled her woolly hat over her head. "If you're driving me to Vermont
we'll have to leave now. Dinner's at four."