Mr Destiny (26 page)

Hoping to spend eternity with her très hunky cop.

Harold had heard his cell phone ringing earlier, but he hadn't been in a position to take the call. The position he'd been
in was another of the not-for-the-Internet variety.

As was the position Harold found himself in now.

It had never occurred to him that Carla would stay the entire night once they returned to the hotel after dinner on Sunday
evening. Of course, it had never occurred to him how much fun they could have together once neither of them was watching the
clock, either. Their bedroom games had lasted into the wee hours of the morning, until neither of them had any strength left.

He'd awakened with her head on his shoulder, shocked at how natural it felt to have her snuggled against him.

A cuddler, he wasn't.

Nor was he accustomed to sharing his bed.

Once he and Kate were married, he intended to work his way into separate bedrooms as quickly as possible. His late working
habits would be his excuse. She'd soon tire of waiting up for him. Soon accept going to bed alone as part of the schedule.
Even appreciate his not disturbing her when he did come home after hours.

But after last night, Harold decided staying overnight with his mistress would definitely become a new addition to his schedule.
As would morning bedroom games like the one that had him in his present position.

He glanced across the room.

Carla was sitting on the floor, her legs contorted in a position he couldn't even describe. She claimed she was going through
her morning yoga routine. It looked like sheer torture to him.

“I'm past the point of being amused, Carla,” Harold said, trying again without success to loosen the ties around his wrists
that had his arms pulled above his head and fastened to the elaborate headboard of the luxury suite's bed.

His three-hundred-dollar
silk
ties—to be exact.

She glanced up at him as she leaned forward and flattened her body against the floor. “Maybe
you
should combine exercise with kinky sex, Harry,” she said, “then you would be
fit
to be tied.”

“Great,” Harold said, staring at the ceiling. “You're a comedienne, too.”

“Yup, that's me,” she said. “Your happy hooker at your service.”

She pulled herself up from the floor and walked over to the bed. She was wearing one of his Brooks Brothers shirts with nothing
underneath.

The nothing underneath made his pulse race.

She leaned over him, untying both hands.

Harold pulled himself up, resting his back against the headboard as he rubbed a little circulation back into his wrists. But
the “happy hooker” connotation bothered him.

“I'd prefer you not demean yourself with the hooker reference from here on out,” he told her.

She looked at him for a moment.

Then headed in the direction of the bathroom.

“Sorry, I forgot,” she tossed back over her shoulder, “what self-respecting man would ever marry a whore?”

Harold flinched.

He hadn't been prepared to have his own harsh words thrown back in his face. Especially not when—for once—he hadn't been thinking
of himself.

He'd been thinking about Carla and her own self-esteem. Life had been anything but nice to her. She might not be aware of
it yet, but he intended to make sure Carla never again wanted for anything.

When he heard the shower running, Harold got out of bed and retrieved his boxers from the floor. It would soon be noon, and
his exciting extracurricular morning activities had definitely left him famished. Thankfully, Monday's round of depositions
for his client weren't scheduled to begin until around three o'clock. That meant he had plenty of time to order room service
for both of them.

Over lunch he would inform Carla he wanted her to move into the hotel with him during the remainder of his stay in Chicago.

When room service answered, he said, “I would like luncheon enough for two, please. A variety of your best sandwiches would
be perfect. And please include an array of fresh fruit and a chilled bottle of Dom Pérignon. Yes, that will be all. Thank
you.”

Harold returned the receiver to the phone, suddenly aware that he'd never said “please” or “thank you” in a nonbusiness-related
conversation in his life.

How ironic.

Carla allowed him to be his bad-boy self in the bedroom, yet she brought out the best in his character.

He was still mulling over the whole paradoxical Carla situation when a beep from his cell phone reminded him he still had
a message waiting. It surprised him when he walked over and picked up the phone and saw who the message was from.

He'd expected Kate to hold out a few more days before she called him back. He'd known Kate would be stunned when Grace told
her about his surprise—even a little angry at first. He was positive Kate knew what he was planning. Grace had been too nervous
when he'd phoned her yesterday.

Harold listened to the message, then erased it.

So, Kate had some things to figure out, did she?

Poor sweet Kate.

As if there was any doubt about what she'd decide.

Kate would marry him because that's what respectable women like Kate did—they married respectable doctors, executives, and
lawyers like him.

Respecting her wishes and giving Kate
total
privacy until he returned to Manhattan, however, was something he'd be damn well happy to do. Harold decided that as his
head turned toward the sound of the still-running shower.

He tossed his cell phone on the sofa and strolled happily in the direction of the bathroom, hoping to find his new playmate
still wet and soapy.

K
ate tiptoed out onto the back deck wearing nothing but her panties and Tony's NYPD sweatshirt. She lowered herself onto the
lawn chair, pulled her knees to her chest, and took her first sip of coffee as the sun took its first peek over the top of
Hunter Mountain.

She'd slipped out of bed, leaving Tony asleep, so she could have some time alone to prepare herself for the inevitable. She
couldn't put off telling Tony about Harold's surprise wedding any longer.

It still seemed unbelievable that leaving on Tuesday had been delayed to leaving on Wednesday, and leaving on Wednesday and
Thursday had been delayed until now. Five whole days were what she and Tony had spent together—a lifetime as far as Kate was
concerned.

Except her old life refused to be ignored.

Manhattan was screaming her name.

Literally.

Alex was in a tizzy, because the agency handling the surrogate search had supposedly found a willing womb lender who met each
and every one of Alex's qualifications. Poor Eve was having panic attacks again, because her Braveheart was going to be in
New York next week to play in a folk music festival and wanted Eve to join him and twenty or thirty thousand other delighted
folk music lovers for the big event.

There was also the new exhibit at the gallery that began on Saturday, displaying all of the fabulous new pieces Grace had
acquired on her buying trip to Paris. As gallery manager, Kate needed to be there. She didn't take her responsibility to the
gallery or to her grandmother lightly.

The time to return to the real world had arrived.

The burning question was whether she and Tony would be able to survive as a couple in that world?

Elbows propped on her knees, and both hands clasped around her cup, Kate pushed that thought aside and took another sip of
hot coffee. She'd rather think instead about how wonderful each and every day she'd spent with Tony had been—and not just
their incredible lovemaking.

They'd hiked.

They'd swum in the lake.

They'd even taken a picnic to the top of the mountain one afternoon, and she was sure they had given the birds and the bees
plenty of new material to pass down to the next generation.

It seemed funny that she and Tony had been barely more than strangers only five days earlier, yet now there wasn't much they
didn't know about each other.

That's mainly what had her so worried.

She knew that, above all else, Tony valued honesty.

He'd told her how disillusioned he'd been with Wall Street and the occasional shady dealings that his own ethics couldn't
ignore. How it had been such an eye opener to see what money was really capable of doing to people. She also knew how happy
he'd been since he joined the police force and that never once had he regretted his decision.

She knew all about his sisters, his nieces and nephews, and how devoted he was to his parents. He'd told her about the apartment
building he'd renovated. About the teenage boy he'd taken under his wing, hoping to keep the kid out of trouble.

In the course of conversation over the last five days, she'd learned a million other things about him, too—from his favorite
sports teams to the favorite stops he and his horse, Skyscraper, made on their daily patrol.

Her basic life story, of course, had also come up.

She'd told him how quirky her parents were, but how much she loved them anyway. About her grandmother's heartbreak over her
father's choice of lifestyle. About her decision to stay in New York with Grace rather than return to California with her
parents.

She'd also admitted that controversy had always been a problem for her, and that most of her life she'd gone along with what
others expected rather than stand her ground and make her own decisions.

She'd enjoyed telling him everything about Alex and Eve, and how close the three of them had always been since the first day
they found themselves sharing a dorm suite at Wells College. She'd also told him a secret she'd never even shared with Alex—about
her dream of one day having a small gallery of her own.

Not a prestigious gallery like her grandmother's. Something more eclectic, showcasing unknown local artists and making art
available to customers who couldn't necessarily afford prestigious top-dollar gallery prices.

Tony had surprised her when he asked what was keeping her from making that dream happen. She'd told him she'd let him know
the answer to that question when she figured it out for herself.

Kate smiled, thinking how hard he'd laughed when she admitted she'd been fantasizing about him naked the first time she saw
him in the park. She didn't laugh when he told her that his first thought when he saw her was that she was his destiny—and
that had been before he saw the painting sitting beside her.

There were so many things she loved about him. But one of the things she loved about him most was that Tony didn't push her.
He didn't try to steamroll over her. He always asked what
she
thought. Never just assumed she would politely go along with whatever he had on his schedule.

He simply allowed her to be her own person.

But will he forgive me when he finds out I wasn't completely truthful about having unfinished business with Harold?

When Tony walked out onto the deck, Kate knew it was time to find out.

“You're up early,” he said, grinning a sleepy grin.

He was barefoot, bare-chested, and wearing the bottom half of the sweats she had taken from the foot of the bed. A sharp pain
pierced her heart, wondering if she would ever get to see him when he'd just tumbled out of bed again.

“I made coffee,” Kate said, tightening the grip on her cup to keep her hands from shaking. “Want me to get you a cup?”

He yawned and stretched. “No, you stay where you are.” He bent down and kissed the top of her head. “I'll grab a cup of coffee
and be right back.”

Madly love him.

Truly hope he understands.

Deeply regret I wasn't honest from the start.