First Kiss (7 page)

"You can't mean that," Suzi-Suzi said.

"Oh, I'm absolutely serious," Kiki answered.

"So let me get this straight, even if George Clooney showed up at Affair in the next five minutes, you wouldn't be interested."

"Precisely," Kiki insisted.

"You are a sick, sick woman," Suzi-Suzi said. "What about Tim McGraw?"

"The country singer?"

"Oh, my God!" Suzi-Suzi squealed. "I think he's so sexy. But only when he's got the cowboy hat on. Have you seen him without it? All the magic dies. It's like, from country music superstar to 'Aren't you my life insurance salesman?' "

Kiki laughed. "Not interested."

"Okay, Bruce Willis. I think he's a really hot bald guy. I could so get into some Bruce Willis."

"Again, not interested," Kiki maintained. "Besides, he's way too pleased with himself whenever he plays that damn harmonica. Since when is that an instrument anyway? I might as well get up on stage, ding the cowbell, and expect people to give me a standing ovation."

"There's got to be somebody ," Suzi-Suzi whined.

"Excuse me, is there anything I can do for you?" a male voice inquired.

Kiki was inspecting a nail and didn't even bother to look up. "No, I'm fine, but you might want to make a condom run for those two on the couch over there."

"What?" Suzi-Suzi asked.

"Nothing," Kiki said. "I was just talking to some guy who works at the hotel."

"Actually, I own the hotel," the man corrected.

Officially annoyed now, Kiki glanced up at the rude intruder with the self-esteem complex. "Can't you see that I'm on"

But the moment she took him in, the words died right there in her throat. Standing before her was an astonishingly gorgeous specimen of man. And she suddenly realized who he was. Fabrizio Tomba. Of course. The owner and mastermind behind Affair. The boutique hotel was intended to be Manhattan's sexy little secret. But the media coverage had been intense. Word on the new place for a rendezvous had spread fast, and Fabrizio had become the face of the establishment, basically the personification of good, safe, illicit sex. Pictures didn't do him justice. The ones that turned up in New York, Gotham , and other magazines with factory-like regularity paled in comparison to the real thing.

Kiki reminded herself that he was never alone in those photos. There was always a different woman holding his arm, sitting on his lap, or sticking her tongue down his throatmodels, actresses, heiresses, the latest reality show starlets. He was quite the player. But Kiki could see why so women were so eager to say, "Game on."

Slyly, she drank him in. Usually, she had nothing to say for pretty boys. They took longer to get ready for an evening out, routinely swiped her best beauty products, and could never pass a mirror without introducing themselves and chatting too long. But Fa-brizio was pretty with a purpose. In fact, he bent the word to the breaking point. His phenomenal good looks reminded her of the late JFK Jr. Zero effort. Just good genes, better manners, and the kind of drop-dead physicality that serves as a simple, breathtaking reminder to mere mortals of the world. There was such a thing as tourist-class attractiveness. And then there were the beautiful people.

Fabrizio stood patiently, his tiger brown eyesbig and inquisitivelocked onto hers.

Kiki tried to hide the fact that she needed to swallow. Instead, she took a quiet breath. The live-and-in-person download of Fabrizio Tomba had hit her on all sorts of levelsnone of them comfortable. It was instant, heavy-duty crush. And she secretly hated herself for succumbing so fast. Her next move was reflex: Act like a bitch. When in doubt, it was a girl's best default mechanism. "So you own the place. Congratulations." She gestured to the late-night Cin-emax movie being acted out on the adjacent sofa. "Why don't you see about getting them a room? Otherwise, there's a fairly good chance that I might throw up in your lobby."

"That's surprising." His tone was deliberately casual. "Judging from today's headlines, I wouldn't take you for a girl with public-displays-of-affection issues."

Kiki knew that her eyes were open wide, that the look on her face was equal parts humiliation and barely disguised lust. If ever she needed to prove her acting prowess, then it was right now. He was casting her off as the media scandal girl of the moment. Somehow she had to rise above his insult, to metamorphose into a cafe society fashionista simply enduring a bad day in the columns. And pull it off with chameleonlike poise.

"Are you there?" Suzi-Suzi screamed.

Kiki let out a tinkling little laugh. That dismissed Fabrizio's tabloid dig. Then she raised her hand for his immediate silence. That dismissed the rest of him. "Suzi-Suzi, darling," she began in her best kiss-kiss, not-a-care-in-the-world voice, "forgive my rudeness.

J

I was interrupted by the owner of the hotel. He's been impressing me with his taste in reading material. Anyway, be a doll and do those little favors for me. Ring me back if you have any problems."

"Why are you talking like that?" Suzi-Suzi demanded.

"Lovely," Kiki sang. "Bye-bye." Then she snapped her phone shut, returned it to her purse, and peered up to see Fabrizio drilling his eyes into her. She felt the muscles of her stomach tighten. Oh, God, he was hot. And oh, God, did he know it.

"This hotel thrives on discretion for obvious reasons," Fabrizio said. "But waiting in the lobby for Tom Brock in that outfit after today's front page is pushing it. Don't you think?"

Kiki double-checked her immediate anger. First of all, she wouldn't wait around in a lobby for anyone other than Dr. Sherwin K. Parikh of the Tribeca Skin Center. And second, there was nothing wrong with her outfit. A little saucy, yes, but she had the body to pull it off. So there. "This will probably come as a shock, since you live your life in the tabloids, but not everything they print is necessarily true."

"I guess that means you know who I am."

Kiki grinned. Such an easy setup. "I have to admit that it did take me a minute. You're hard to recognize without a bimbo by your side."

He raked her up and down with an appreciative glance. "You're definitely the same girl from this morning's paper. Do you have any real clothes, or do you always dress in fabric swatches?"

Kiki had to give him credit. A come-on disguised as a soft-landing insult. Only the truly advanced pickup artist could pull off that move. But she had a better one. "Funny. If the hotel thing doesn't work out, you should consider joining the cast of Queer Eye . I hear they're real big on bitchy fashion humor."

Fabrizio's face registered the hit. For a microsecond, twin splotches of red stained his cheeks.

Kiki moistened her lips. Questioning a playboy stud's manhood was the ultimate abuse. And she loved dishing it out. Did that make her a dominatrix?

"So enlighten me. What part of today's news is fact, and what part is fiction?"

"If you must know, I met Tom Brock for the first time yesterday. In fact, I never even shook his hand."

"Not much for small talk, huh? You just like to get right to it?"

Kiki glowered at him. "No, not at all. The simple truth is that a charm fell off my bracelet." A thought struck her. "Wait a minute. I'll prove it." She began digging through her handbag. "It's a Juicy Couture bracelet, and the little heart charm came loose and landed under Tom Brock's feet." Where the hell was it? Suddenly, an image came to mindthe bracelet on her bathroom counter. Damn. "Okay, I don't have it with me, so you're just going to have to take my word that it exists. Anyway, just as I bent down to pick it up, this horrible photographer comes out of nowhere and starts snapping our picture. That's all that happened!"

Kiki hesitated. She wanted to go on, but a wave of emotion rolled over her. All at once, everything seemed to tumble down. Waking up to the shock of being cheap headline news. Enduring Sarah Ann's caustic scolding. Adjusting to her new status as paparazzi prey. Getting kicked out of Stella McCartney. Stressing out over the inevitable public scorn. The sum of it all was just too much.

At first, Kiki tried to stop the tears, but once they started, she just gave in to her inner drama queen. It would've been futile to do anything else. "None of that I never even I love their baby She probably hates me I just wanted an omelet They chased me My brother's getting married Now I have to cancel my birthday party" In between the convulsive sobs, snatches of her stream of consciousness ramblings were intelligible.

Fabrizio didn't like to see a woman cry. The cloud scudding across his handsome face told her so. He swooped down to offer comfort, putting his arm around her, murmuring quiet assurances that everything would be okay.

Kiki felt herself react to the closeness. Fabrizio's touch was infinitely calming. And, oh, God, did he ever smell good. His cologne was strong in her nostrils. Spicy hints of cinnamon with an exotic blend of wild grass and sandalwood. She knew the scent. H.O.T. Always by Bond No. 9. With tax, the sticker shock came to two hundred dollars a bottle. But talk about truth in advertising. Her crying jag subsided. Only for a moment, though. Then it cranked back up again.

Slowly, Fabrizio moved to stand, gently guiding her with him. "Come on. Let's go to my office. We can talk there. Would you like some tea?"

Kiki managed a nod worthy of a sniffling toddler.

He squeezed her shoulder and gestured to a lingering bellboy. "Tate, call the kitchen and have tea service sent to my office."

The young man responded with a rapid, "Right away, sir," as if Fabrizio were a military commander and the tea request the most important mission on earth.

As they made their way past the amorous couple on the sofa, Kiki could stand it no more. How long could she be expected to hold in her disgust? " Get a freaking room already !" she screamed.

The shock of her outburst startled the young woman to the point where she lost balance, slipped off her lover's lap, and landed in a heap on the floor.

And then, as if the primal scream had never been unleashed, Kiki resumed her demeanor as wounded little girl, walking timidly beside Fabrizio, even leaning on him for support.

In response, Fabrizio calmly motioned for Tate again. "One more thing. Find out who that couple is and instruct the front desk to send a bottle of champagne to their room and comp them for tonight's stay."

Kiki ignored the attempt at damage control on her behalf and instead studied Fabrizio's hands. And hands were always a big thing with her. His were scrupulously clean, all long fingers and neatly trimmed nails, as if ready to go gloveless in an operating theater.

He ushered her past the front desk, down a short hallway, and inside a modestly sized office. The tea service sat waiting on a small black lacquered table next to an immaculate desk.

Kiki took in the room's almost obsessive absence of clutter. It could be that Fabrizio Tomba did no work at all, or quite the opposite, that he was a high performer and destined for exceptional achievement. She'd read once where one of the most common traits shared among top-producing CEOs was an iron-fisted discipline for a desk that never appeared overwhelmed.

While he poured the tea, Kiki sank into an Eames lounge chair. The chocolate leather was seductively soft and receptive to her form, like the well-used mitt of an all-star first baseman. She kicked back and embraced the quiet, the intimacy, the luxury of being taken care of.

"How do you like your tea?"

"Just honey and lemon." Kiki dabbed her eyes with a tissue, surprised to find no mascara stains, then remembering that she'd left the apartment without so much as a swipe of lip gloss. Oh, God, she must look awful.

He smiled as he passed her the Gold Band pattern Tiffany and Co. cup and saucer. "Why don't you start at the beginning? Tell me your side of the story. I promise not to tease this time."

A great-looking man was inviting her to talk about herself? Alert the media. Usually, guys like Fabrizio just blathered on about themselves. Without preamble, Kiki launched into her whole sordid tale, miraculously getting through it with no tears and a minimum of cursing.

When Kiki finished, he just sat there at his clean desk, those incredible brown eyes wide with unfaked interest in the insanity that had been the last twenty-four hours of her life. "So the only person who knows that you're here right now is your friend, Suzi."

Kiki practically swooned. Not only did he encourage a woman to talk about herself, but he actually paid attention to what she had to say. Oh, God, she was already one-third of the way to being in love. "Yes, but her name's Suzi-Suzi."

"That's what I said."

"No, you just said Suzi. Add a hyphen and another Suzi. Two first names. Kind of like Mary Jane or Betty Lou, only it's Suzi-Suzi."

"Glad we cleared that up."

"It can be very confusing. You should hear her trying to place a catalog order over the phone. Completely ridiculous."

"Yes, I agree." There was no obvious hint of ridicule, but, of course, it was going on.

Kiki could read it in his eyes. And the ambiguity drove her crazy. Did he think the name was ridiculous? Or did he think she was? She sipped her tea and watched him, marveling at his mouth. He had the most incredible lips. "No cross-examination? Does that mean you believe my version of the incident?"

Fabrizio shrugged, then grinned. "I never put much stock in that story to begin with. I know Tom. He'd never cheat on Kirsten."

Kiki lengthened her spine and put the teacup back onto the saucer with a distinct clank. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Fabrizio looked puzzled. "Just that he's dedicated to Kirsten and the baby. He's not going to throw that away for"

"So I'm not worth leaving a marriage for?" Kiki cut in hotly. "Is that what you're trying to say?"

"I thought nothing happened between you and Tom."

"Nothing did!"

"Then what's the point?

"The point is that Tom Brock or any other married man with children for that matter, should consider himself damn lucky to leave his family for me."

Fabrizio laughed as he spoke. "You're absolutely right."