Friends to Lovers (13 page)

“Bully for you. I already know how fun you are, Gib. We do stuff together all the time. That doesn’t explain why we should upgrade to the deluxe package.” The impassive mask finally lifted. Like a storm rolling in off the ocean, her eyes darkened. “What happens when the next B-list starlet checks in to your hotel? Or a leggy chorus girl doing eight shows a week at the Ford Oriental? You always go for a splash with your choice of date. I’m more of a puddle.”

Never would he have guessed insecurity loomed behind her relentless grilling. Or her reluctance to give him—them—a try. Gib sank down next to her, capturing her chin between his thumb and first finger. “First of all, I don’t date. I dally.”

“Really? You’re going to argue semantics with me?”

“Pay attention. I have assignations. Dinners, trysts. One, two, three nights at most. I don’t engage in meaningful emotional relationships.”

“Sounds like something your therapist would say.”

“She did. On multiple occasions.” The Suzuki method of learning violin—by repeating everything so many times a student had no choice but to learn? Doc Debra applied that to therapy.

Daphne jerked her chin out of his grasp. “Don’t try to psychobabble your way out of this.”

“But Doc Debra was right. I enjoy the company of women. The way they laugh, the way they smell like a summer day. The slow build-up to a seduction. From a shared smile on the street to tangling fingers over wine to—”

She leaned away from him, like a clothespin popping open. “Stop right there. I don’t want the X-rated version.”

“I don’t connect with any of those women. We flirt, we spend some mutually agreeable time together, and we fall into bed. That’s where it ends.” Gib racked his brain for how to explain the difference to her. “I might mention the name of my first horse—”

“Archibald,” she said with a nod.

“—but none of them know that he died after missing a jump with a trainer. Or that when I heard the news, I hid in the tack room at Eton for twelve hours, remembering him. None of them know that I refuse to check my mailbox alone on my birthday. But you do.”

“Because you need someone to hold your hand when you realize your family didn’t send so much as a card. Again.”

“Right.” Gib took her hand. Brushed the back of it against his cheek. Now that he’d begun, it turned out to be simple sharing how he felt. Because Daphne was the one person he could tell anything.

“You’re the one who holds my hand. You’re the one who knows my secrets. You’re the one I can relax with, let down my guard. You’re the only one who knows the real me, not just the affable bachelor out for a good time. That’s why I want to date you. Because I think we’ve spent years already doing so, without realizing it. And without the kissing. Which is first-rate, might I add.”

Heat pinkened her cheeks. “You may.”

“As to your second point, I’ll overlook it. Chalk it up to your extreme hunger.” He frowned down his nose at her. “I’ll assume you didn’t mean to insult me by suggesting I’d be so disrespectful as to drop you for the next pair of stilettos that walks by. And you certainly didn’t mean to insult yourself by inferring you are anything less than gorgeous.”

Then Gib leaned into her, reaching around to stroke his fingers through the golden strands across her back. “Hair like silken sunshine. Breasts I’ve never been able to resist looking at. A smile that warms all the dark places in my heart.”

“See?” The sass he knew he could always count on from Daphne twinkled in her eyes. “If you’d started with that, I would’ve said yes right away. You shouldn’t make a girl wait, Gib.”

“You’ll change your tune.” Bringing his other arm around her waist in a loose embrace, he stared into eyes darkening from an entirely different sort of storm. “I’ll show you just how good it is when you wait. If you wait for the right person. Or the right thing.” Gib rimmed the edge of her ear with his tongue. A sharp nip to her earlobe made her quiver in his arms.

“So what you’re saying is that you’re Mr. Right?”

His usual involuntary reaction to that title would be a full-body shudder of horror. Gib tensed every muscle to prevent just that. Certainly, he wanted to take a big step here. But no reason to leap forward a mile. “No reason to throw around labels. I don’t want to—how did you put it? To simply forget our aphrodisiac-fueled night of flirting. A real date changes everything. And that’s what I’m hoping to do. To change from a friendship to a relationship. Or at least give it a go.”

“All right.” She scooted to the far end of the divan. The rolled arm was all that kept her from falling off. “But no sex.”

Gib scratched the back of his head. “You and I have very different definitions of the word
relationship.
”

Laughter pealed through the hall. “No. Trust me, if we do this, sex is definitely on the table.”

“You want to start on the table? Kinda kinky. Hard on the knees, but okay.”

The blush that had barely begun to fade reddened her cheeks once more. “The when and where can be up for discussion. No sex on our first real date. That’s the line in the sand. That way, if it doesn’t go well, it’ll be easier to go back to being friends.”

Reasonable. More than that—quite smart. He didn’t want to fuck up their friendship, either. “And if it does go well?”

“Make sure it does—” Daphne cast him a sidelong glance full of promise, “—and you’ll find out.”

Chapter Eight

Where flowers bloom so does hope

~
Lady Bird Johnson

Gib shifted the grocery bag higher against his shoulder. It kept slipping off of his thick gloves. With his other hand, he opened the door to Aisle Bound. It shone like an oasis of light in the dismal January morning. Three gray days in a row should hardly rate a complaint. Back home in London, three solid weeks of January could pass without the sun making more than a sporadic appearance. He’d gotten soft living here. Well, if one could describe walking through gale-force winds off the lake and surviving blizzards that drove the city to a standstill every year as soft.

“Shut the door. Or pay half our next heating bill,” Daphne threatened. “Your choice.” With sneakered feet propped up on the coffee table, Daphne sprawled bonelessly across the couch. She already wore her wedding-day uniform. A white shirt and jeans poked out from behind the full-length lavender apron. The same color bow wrapped her hair in a high ponytail. He’d seen her in these same clothes a hundred times. Daphne looked utterly normal. Sensible. Ready to walk innumerable laps through a church and reception site.

But today, his mind used a different filter to see his friend. And through that blue-balled lens, she looked adorable. Her position put thoughts into his mind. Thoughts of locking the door, peeling off her clothes and pressing her deeper into that couch. Maybe leaving her in just the apron? Gib blinked away the vision. Of course, the couch being white, Ivy would kill him if that ever happened.

“Ignore her mood. She’s been here since dawn.” Ivy took the bag from him and set it on Milo’s spotless desk. Her wedding-ready green taffeta skirt swished like leaves crackling underfoot. “Lisbet, our difficult bride du jour, called at midnight requesting three extra boutonnieres, a pomander ball instead of petals for the flower girl, and a bathroom arrangement.”

“I can top that.” Gib tugged off gloves. “The prince of a tiny but wealthy country—”

Daphne popped upright. She adored his stories of esoteric guest demands. “Which one?”

“That would be telling. The Cavendish Grand is known for complete confidentiality.” Which he’d never violate. Dropping a hint, however, put all the legwork on Daphne. And made it fun. He unwound his cashmere scarf. “As he’s official visiting royalty, we
are
flying his flag. In case you find yourself driving past later.”

“Oh, I’ll find a reason. Go on.”

Gib forced himself to slowly undo his coat. Remembering the string of idiotic, destructive things the prince did? It tensed his fingers enough to snap off the buttons like a stripper pulling off his breakaway pants. “The royal jackass proceeded to draw a dartboard on a six-hundred-thread-count pillowcase. He hung it over an antique wall mirror and was shocked to discover that chucking steak knives at it caused it to shatter.”

“Drunk?” Sam ambled into the room. Both hands supported a napkin-draped tray. With the caution of a bomb demolition expert, he placed it in the middle of the coffee table.

“After five bottles of Cristal? I imagine so.” Gib hung up his coat on the tree near the door while he watched a standoff between Sam and Daphne. Hands laced on top of his head, Sam stared at Daphne. Actually, he glared at her hard enough to melt glass back down into sand. Huffing, she took her feet off the table.

Amused by the ferocity of their nonverbal squabbling, Gib continued. “Not so drunk he couldn’t feel the subzero cold when he walked out onto the penthouse balcony. I had to wake up my head maintenance tech at two in the morning to get heat out there for him.”

“That must’ve cost you.” Sam nudged the tray an extra millimeter toward the center. What the hell did he have hiding under that napkin? Gold-plated truffles?

“Tony hijacked me for courtside Bulls tickets the next time the Pistons are in town. We piled into his truck, woke up Rob over at Everything Events and got four patio heaters.”

Ivy crossed her arms over her lace top. Funny how formal wear took the sting out of her outraged expression. “You got Rob—cranky Rob who barely grunts unless I flirt outrageously with him—to answer his business line at two a.m.?”

“This isn’t the first time—or even the twentieth time—he’s had to help us out. Rob’s cell is on my speed dial.” That privilege cost Gib a hundred dollars a month retainer. And every month, somebody like the prince ended up more than covering it for him. “Once the heaters were running, His Highness still wasn’t warm enough. This time I hightailed it over to Macy’s State Street, to pick up a full-length sable coat from Kathy DeWitt.”

“You have the cell number to the manager of the Fur Vault, too?” She sank onto the sofa, shaking her head in disbelief.

That one didn’t cost him a monthly retainer. It came as a perk of a hot weekend that consisted of box seats at the Goodman, dinner at Charlie Trotter’s and breakfast served naked the next morning. Better for Daphne not to know the specifics. “Being hooked in and hooked up is a big part of managing a hotel. There isn’t anyone in this city I can’t reach at a moment’s notice. I could get the mayor over here with a five-minute head start.”

Daphne threw her hands in the air. “What would the mayor do here?”

Gib dropped his voice to a growl. “Anything you want. Just say the word.” While she giggled, he poured a cup of coffee. See? Nothing had changed. Their dynamic as friends remained as easy and comfortable as ever. They’d stay best friends, with the added potential bonus of hopefully frequent sex. What could be better?

“Can you finish the story of your problematic prince later?” asked Ivy. She popped off the couch and crossed to tug at the sleeve of his gray sweater. “I’m too excited to wait any longer.”

“What about Ben? Shouldn’t he be here for this?” A glance at his watch told Gib they didn’t have more than an hour before the Aisle Bound crew would have to leave for their wedding.

“I dropped him at the airport already. RealTV needs him to run cameras at a wedding in Minneapolis today. The real cameraman got food poisoning at the rehearsal dinner. As well as half the bridal party. Anyway, he already knows.”

“Knows what? I smell a secret.” Daphne bounced around to face Sam, who’d settled in the big chair. Anticipation sparkled the exhaustion right out of her eyes. “Do you know?”

“Mira told me to bring over my latest batch of test chocolates for you guys to taste. She’ll be here soon.” He spread his hands wide, palms up. “That’s it.”

“Damn it.” Daphne pulled her ponytail over her shoulder, twirling the ends around her finger. “Now I don’t know which I’d rather do first. Try your chocolate or learn the secret.” Gib knew which way he’d vote. First, he’d rub the chocolate along the edge of her lips. When they opened, and her tongue peeked out, he’d tease a little more. Pull the chocolate away. Replace it with his own lips, tasting the cocoa sweetness on her.

Sam cracked a smile. He used to dole them out with the frequency and solemnity of communion wafers. But since falling ass over teakettle for Mira, he wasn’t nearly so stingy with his grins. “They’re dark chocolate filled with goat cheese steeped in a pear liquor.”

“Sold.” She leaned forward to whip off the napkin. A glistening row of ridged chocolates sat on a doily-covered silver tray. “Geez, Sam, lose the doily. Unless you’re marketing to nursing homes.”

“Not so fast.” From the other side of the table, Ivy lifted the tray out of reach. “You’ll be lost in a flavor orgasm if I let you try those. Hear me out, first. I want to talk about my honeymoon.”

“Really? Right now?”

Sam, as protective as a mother grizzly, took the tray from Ivy. He re-centered it on the table. “I thought Ben insisted on planning the honeymoon.”

“Actually, I need to go first.” Too bad Ivy was so dead set on making whatever her big announcement was today. Ben had emailed him at dawn, begging Gib to share his secret first, even though he couldn’t be here. Gib rummaged in his grocery bag. He couldn’t wait to see Ivy’s reaction to his surprise. No doubt she’d be gobsmacked. “Ben got a little help.”

Ivy executed a full-body shudder. “Don’t tell me that you helped him pick out lingerie for me to wear. I know you probably see more lingerie in a month than the buyers for Victoria’s Secret do in a year. But still, that would just be weird.”

“Sadly, despite my expertise, Ben hasn’t asked for help in that matter. He required my professional expertise.” Gib handed Ivy a croissant. “Here you go.”

“No, thanks.” She pushed it back at him. “I had breakfast three hours ago.”

Women could be so literal. And so frustrating. “This would’ve gone much more smoothly if Ben were here. Sure we shouldn’t wait to do this when he’s here?”

Daphne wadded up the napkin and threw it at Gib. “You all have about a minute left before I tackle someone to get at those truffles. So start talking.”

Bossy. Gib wondered if she gave orders in bed, too. Wondered how many dates it would take to find out. Wondered why he suddenly couldn’t be in Daphne’s presence without constantly thinking of sex. “Ivy, you’ve given the man an identity crisis. Ben’s still convinced you don’t think he believes in romance.”

“He doesn’t.” Ivy shrugged. Her eyebrows lifted into
what can I do about it
arches. “The closest he’ll come is admitting that he believes in our love. Which is good enough. For now.”

“Maybe so.” Gib pushed the croissant back at her, curling her fingers around it this time. “But he’s taking you to the most romantic city in the world for your honeymoon. Thanks to yours truly pulling in a few favors, you’ll be staying at the Cavendish Grand Paris for a week. Free of charge. In the honeymoon suite.”

Her fingers clenched. Flaky crumbs fluttered to the floor. “You were right. We should’ve waited for Ben. Because I really, really want to kiss someone right now.”

“Well, I did make all the arrangements. I think that makes me a worthy substitute.”

“Good point.” Uncharacteristically heedless of the mess, she dropped the croissant and launched herself at Gib. He caught her in midair. Ivy planted a smacking kiss right on his lips. “I’m sure you had to promise your firstborn to swing this. We can’t thank you enough.”

“True. But I’m open to any appreciative gifts you might send my way. Especially if you happen upon any haute couture store on the Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré.”

“Don’t downplay your generosity, Gib. This is an incredibly thoughtful gesture.” As usual, Daphne jumped at any opportunity to shower him with praise. And, as usual, it made him feel both simultaneously uncomfortable and hugged from the inside out.

Sam nodded his agreement. “Nicely done. Guess I’d better start planning my own honeymoon. Don’t suppose the Cavendish has a property in Bora Bora? I’m pretty sure I’ll have to go that far to take Mira anyplace she hasn’t already been with her parents.”

“I haven’t been any place with
you
yet. That’s all that matters.” The bitter cold of January in Chicago followed Mira through the front door. She dropped a kiss on the top of Sam’s head.

“You’re just in time.” Ivy practically ripped Mira’s puffy parka from her back. “I have an announcement. A big one.”

Mira fluffed her long, black hair as she settled onto Sam’s lap. “Let me guess. You managed to sign the president’s daughter as a client.”

“That wouldn’t be a secret. I think the Secret Service would spend weeks vetting all of us before she even picked up the phone to call me. I also think every event planner in D.C. would come gunning for me if that happened. A little more trouble than it’s worth.”

“Okay, the governor’s daughter?” Daphne guessed. Gib hoped she was wrong. He’d spent a few days with said daughter. Well, more to the point, a few nights holed up in a hotel room so the paparazzi wouldn’t catch wind of it. She was...exuberant and bendy. And probably not someone who should be spending time with the woman he was now trying to date.

Ivy bounced on the balls of her feet. “You’re getting colder. Think the opposite of weddings.”

“Oh, no. Are your parents getting a divorce?”

“God, of course not, Daph. Why would I be excited about that?” She pointed at Sam. “You want to take a shot?”

He shook his head. Both hands cinched Mira tight around the waist, as though making sure she wouldn’t fly away. “I’m a bad guesser.”

Time to play a belated Saint Nick. Gib emptied his bag onto the table. “Let me put you out of your misery.” He couldn’t wait to see Daphne’s expression. When she smiled,
really
smiled, her eyes sparkled like a mid-July sky. One by one, he handed out thick envelopes and stoppered plastic tubes.

Daphne waved her envelope in the air. “What’s this?”

Ivy clasped her hands. Cleared her throat. “We’ve had a crazy, terrific year here at Aisle Bound. The uptick in our client load since
Planning for Love
started airing is huge. Daphne, you’ve been working yourself ragged. And, Mira, what you’ve done with A Fine Romance is far beyond my original vision. I can’t believe you already have it turning a profit. We all deserve a vacation. So I’m closing both businesses while Ben and I honeymoon.”

“You’re kidding. Turning off the lights and letting all the calls go to voice mail?”

“Only at Aisle Bound. The store will remain open, but with shorter hours. Helen and Hays have agreed to shoulder the load. I think we’ve got a potential new team member who will help as well, but I don’t want to rain on Mira’s parade.”

Mira nodded. “Hold that thought.”

Daphne pulled out the cork stopper from the tube. Sniffed. “I’m confused. Are these bath salts? A hint that we should relax during that week?”

Now he pictured Daphne in a tub. Gib would sit at the opposite end, watching her nipples play hide-and-seek through a cloud of bubbles. He couldn’t wait to discover what color tipped those nipples. Blush pink? Rosy? Apricot? God. Less than two minutes had elapsed since the last time he thought about sex and Daphne. The obvious tightness in his trousers sent him to hide behind the bulk of Milo’s desk. “Pink sand straight from Bermuda’s famous beaches. It just arrived this morning.”

“Which makes these—”

“Airline tickets. To Bermuda,” Ivy shouted. She threw her hands in the air and jumped a few times. “For all of you—Mira, Sam, Daphne and Gib.”