Private Relations (3 page)

She turned away so she wouldn’t have to watch Peter knot his tie. She didn’t want to witness that much intimacy. Instead, she examined the room for the slightest flaw.

There were none.

Give top clothing designers a crack at interior decoration and it was amazing what they came up with. The king-size bed—like all the beds in the Hush guest rooms—sported the finest mattress money could buy, but the bed linens were unique to the Carnaby. Oh, and the designer had had fun there. Multicolored circles on the duvet and a lacy bedskirt gave a sense that the bed was dressed—and meant to be undressed. The circles were picked up in the carpet that Piper had had specially made to the designer’s specs. The initial impression was playful, but it was an adult playtime that the decor evoked.

This was Kit’s favorite of the designer penthouses—which was the reason she’d asked for it for the first fantasy weekend. The rose-colored double Jacuzzi tub in the middle of the room had a Stella McCartney-designed screen that could be pulled across for privacy, or mere coquettishness, and faced a tall window overlooking Madison Avenue. It was one-way glass, so no one could see inside the suite, but from in here it was
easy to feel as though you were on display—which, according to Piper, was a powerful fantasy.

Since Kit had sent a room attendant up here a couple of hours ahead of when their guest had been scheduled to arrive, the fireplace was already crackling beside the tub, the champagne was on ice. She knew without looking that twin luxury bathrobes hung from hooks against the wall and that a basket of the best Italian soaps and lotions sat by the tub.

In most hotel suites, a living/receiving area would be the main room, with a bedroom or two opening off it. Not at Hush. In this suite, Piper had decreed that the bedroom should be the main room. Opening off this room was a full bathroom with an aromatherapy steam shower, another door led to an efficiency kitchen with an intimate dining area, and two other doors led to an office and a dressing room/lounge.

Peter’s things were nowhere to be seen, so, neatnik that he was, he must have stowed them away in the dressing room.

If she talked to him, she didn’t have to think about his things, or the air of relaxed sexuality that hung in this room like the scent of a favorite perfume.

“I’m looking forward to hearing about all the places you’ve been. You wrote to me from London, as I recall.” She still remembered receiving that letter and steeling herself to read it—after she’d managed to tape all the pieces together. She never did find a couple of the bits she’d thrown around in a rage, so it sounded like a Dear Jane letter written by a kid flunking remedial English.

For a while, she’d make word jumbles of the pieces of paper, as though the letter were some kind of code puzzle and if she could crack it she could figure out what had gone wrong. Then she decided to stop wasting her time on failed love. Dwelling on the past was for historians and old people. Not for Kit, who had a career to build and a life to live. New York beckoned. No one knew her there, and in a city of over eight million, what was one more broken heart?

She might have tossed the letter, but she had kept up with Peter’s career. She knew that he’d worked for an international marketing firm. After being based in their London office, he’d been transferred to Hong Kong, then Brazil and had just been hired by a good marketing firm in New York. Reading the business press was important in her job, so it wasn’t as if she could help seeing his name the odd time.

“That’s right. It will be great to catch up.” He put a hand on her shoulder as he said it, a light, warm gesture that was gone before she could shrug it off. But she couldn’t shrug off a surge of feelings too complex and contradictory to name.

“How do you like the hotel?” she asked as they left his room and walked toward the elevator. She was determined to keep things light and impersonal, to treat him the way she’d treat any hotel guest.

“It’s fantastic,” he said. “I couldn’t believe Piper went into the family business, but when I saw this place, I knew it was perfect for her.”

“Have you seen Piper since you moved to New York?” She knew darned well he hadn’t. Piper would have told her.

“No, I haven’t seen her,” he confirmed.

“I’m sure you’ll get a chance this weekend.”

Light conversation kept them going until the elevator arrived with quiet promptness, as though it took the name of the hotel it serviced seriously.

In the dim elevator with its mirrored walls, Kit studied Peter surreptitiously. He seemed a nice-looking stranger. The kind of man she’d certainly give a second glance. He’d be twenty-seven now, and definitely all grown up. Living in exotic places, or maybe the responsibility of his job, had given him an air of sophistication that was admittedly sexy. She could pretend he was an attractive stranger—if only he didn’t smell so bloody familiar.

He’d dumped her without a moment’s hesitation, but three years later he remained faithful to his Polo for men?

“Did you choose my room?”

“Of course. I think it’s the best suite in the hotel.”

“I’ve never seen a suite so ideally designed for lovers,” he said.

Her heart might have skipped a tiny beat when he looked at her significantly on the last word, but she reacted smoothly. “Yes. Piper Devon has a vision. This hotel is a sensual retreat in a crazy world. It’s perfect for new lovers, old married couples or singles. Everyone gets pampered and maybe gets a chance to try something new.”

The elevator indicated they were at the lobby. She led the way toward Amuse Bouche, then paused. “Would you like a drink at the bar before dinner?” She gestured to Erotique, adjacent to the restaurant.

“No, thanks. Maybe later.”

She nodded and, after giving Dee, her favorite bar
tender, a discreet wave, she headed to the restaurant. “You are about to have your palate pampered. Our chef, Jacob Hill, is the hottest in the city. Piper lured him from L.A. and did New York a huge favor.”

The dining room was full, which she’d expected, but still she breathed a tiny sigh of relief. With the
Times
coming, she wanted Amuse Bouche to appear hip, intimate and packed.

“Good evening, Ms. Prestcott. Mr. Garson,” Walter, the maître d’, said, never showing a hint of surprise that Kit herself was dining with their winner. Walter promptly led them to a table for two, which had the appearance of being nestled in a private alcove due to the clever use of screens. On the way, she waved to a couple of diners whom she knew would want to be recognized. There were two couples present who were the sort that didn’t care to be seen or fussed over. To them, she was blind. Still, she scanned the room quickly to see that everything looked perfect.

It did, of course. The chef was as much of a perfectionist as she was herself.

“Well,” she said when they were seated. “You have a choice. You can order anything off the menu or our amazing chef can surprise us.”

He sent her a half grin and it stopped her cold. He’d been a good-looking guy in his mid-twenties, but three years later, he looked even better. She had a feeling he’d continue improving for a good while yet. “Maybe you’ve had enough surprises for one day.”

“I love surprises. Speaking of which, wait until I give you the full tour of the hotel after dinner. I think you’ll be impressed at all the innovations Piper’s thought up. She is absolutely amazing.”

“I’m sure she is.”

“And this weekend you are going to be so pampered you won’t know what hit you.”

“As I recall, the contest said this weekend was about having anything I want.”

“Within the law, of course,” she said with a small laugh, hating the way she felt with his eyes resting on her so warmly.

“What I want is for you to drop the PR gal routine and talk to me.”

Fortunately, the sommelier chose that moment to show up and they decided to sample the chef’s tasting menu and let the sommelier pair the wines with each course. That was quick and easy, but it then left Kit without the prop of her menu to hide behind.

She decided to answer Peter’s question. “Don’t forget that the reason we’re having dinner is because I’m the PR gal.”

“Look, given the nature of our work, it’s likely we’ll bump into each other. It would be nice if we could be friends. That’s why I wanted to see you again.”

She blinked at him. Okay, she didn’t believe for one second that his turning out to be the winner was a strange quirk of fate, but she’d decided to pretend she did. How dare he confront her with the fact that he’d manipulated her.

“You couldn’t just call me?”

Two glasses of chilled white wine appeared in front of them along with a pair of tiny towers that included sea asparagus, morsels of lobster decorated with jewel-like caviar.

“Would you have seen me?”

She thought about it. “Probably not.”

“Then here’s to a new beginning,” he said raising his glass in a toast.

She didn’t raise her glass, or her voice, but she leaned forward and said, “Where do you get off thinking I would ever be interested in having you in my life again?”

He gazed at her with eyes as dark and mysterious as a lover’s secrets. “You read my fantasy,” he said. “And you chose me.”

I
F HE DIDN’T HAVE
so much invested in the outcome of this evening, Peter would have laughed at the expression on Kit’s face. Outrage, embarrassment and general pissiness were all mixed into an interesting shade of annoyed pink.

“I did not pick you for
me,
” his date for the evening reminded him. “I chose your fantasy for its marketing potential, and don’t forget it for a second.”

“You’re still angry with me.”

“Really, you’re not that important in my life.”

Bickering was stupid. He didn’t have much time to talk to Kit, and he didn’t want to waste it on evasions so he jumped right into what he wanted to say to her. What he’d been wanting to say for the better part of three years. “Kit.”

She raised her brows slightly. She was heart-stoppingly gorgeous. Her hair a much more sophisticated blond than the color he remembered, her face a little older and a lot sexier. “I can’t believe I ran away like that.”

“And you kept right on running. Did you think I was going to hunt you down and make you marry me? Honestly, you rated your own value way too high.” She said it with a smile and the kind of inflection you’d give to a story that was leading to a funny punch line.

Okay, so maybe he had rated his own importance in her life a little highly. All this time he thought he’d broken her heart…

“What? You’re looking at me like I’m speaking German.”

“German I could understand. I learned it in Zurich.”

She rolled her gaze. “Figures.”

Had he been slayed by guilt all this time for nothing? “Did I break your heart even a little bit?”

“Look, it’s a great story. You dumped a girl on her wedding day. I don’t want to spoil it for you. Really, it’s a triumph few men can boast.”

“I was an ass. Just tell me and get it over.”

She leaned closer, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of smooth, pale skin and glossy lips he no longer had any right to kiss. “If you want absolution, go see a priest.”

She popped the lobster off the top of her tiny food tower and into her mouth, then moaned with exaggerated pleasure as she chewed. She’d always thrown herself at life with gusto, whether trying new food or a new position in bed. He hadn’t forgotten how pretty she was, but now that she was a little older, she was beautiful.

“Did you wait very long before you realized I wasn’t coming?” Why was he pressing her like this? It was stupid and wasn’t going to help make her forget what a bastard he’d been or convince her to let him back into her life even as a friend. But somehow he had to know. Maybe he hadn’t seen Kit for three years, but he’d known her for a long time. She wasn’t the type to go into therapy or counseling. He doubted she’d even cried on anyone’s shoulder. She’d have rapidly decided it was all for the best, returned everyone’s gifts, tossed her bridal dress and moved on.

She finished the rest of her first course with a sigh of satisfaction, took a sip of the white wine and then said, “About an hour. By then, Dad had already checked with the police that there hadn’t been any car accidents in the area and with the hospital that they didn’t have any amnesia patients wandering around in a tux with a white rose boutonniere.”

He winced, feeling the pain she wouldn’t show. “I never even saw your dress.”

“Water under the bridge, honey.” She raised her gaze and sent a delighted smile past his right shoulder. “I do believe I see scallops headed our way.”

He was lying. He had seen Kit’s wedding dress. Piper had sent him a letter that ought to have scorched out his eyeballs from reading it, and she’d included a photo of the bride in her dress and holding her bouquet. It was pretty obvious the girl in that photo had no notion she was about to be stood up. She looked…radiant. So sure of herself and her man, her eyes sparkling with excitement and so full of life you expected her to step right out of the snapshot. He had no idea why he still carried the thing in his wallet.

Her comment about absolution rang true, though. He suspected it was penance that had made him take this crazy step.

“Oh, well. You’ll never see the dress now.”

“You burned it?” he guessed.

She looked at him as if he were nuts. “You sure do love your drama, don’t you. Of course I didn’t burn the dress. I gave it to Nellie Redmond. She got pregnant in her third year and married that fellow Bert she’d been seeing. They didn’t have much money, and she was close enough to my size.”

She had given away her wedding dress. Of course she had. He bet she had even planned Nellie and Bert’s wedding for them.

“What did you do? I mean, after you realized I wasn’t coming that day?” They must have been on course seventeen. His bouche wasn’t just amused, it was becoming bewildered.

“I got Piper to take charge of the reception. I changed into regular clothes, made an appearance, gave a speech that was pretty decent under the circumstances. I even managed to crack a few jokes. Then I left. I figured our guests would have a better time without me.”

“That’s it?”

“Well, I cried for a few days, but I was pretty busy, what with canceling the honeymoon and returning gifts. And then I decided that I was going to have to get on with my life. So I did.”

He opened his mouth, but she shook her head. “Enough of the past. Tell me about your new job.”

And so they chatted about his job, her job, and she caught him up on the fates of mutual acquaintances.

He knew each morsel was fabulous, but he kept forgetting to taste what he was eating as he knocked himself out to charm this woman he’d hurt so badly.

Not Kit. She raved about everything, even taking the trouble to ask the sommelier how he’d decided to choose a particular wine with one dish. She was like that, he remembered, always curious. And people talked to her, seemed flattered by her genuine interest. If she hadn’t gone into PR, she’d have made a terrific journalist.

There was a minor flutter when some guy showed up with a camera, and Kit beamed when a TV crew showed up and an annoying young woman with spiked hair
asked him personal questions. He did his best to sound thrilled about winning this fantasy weekend, for Kit’s sake, and she quickly took over, feeding the reporter as many juicy little sound bites as he’d eaten courses.

As she kept things friendly but impersonal through the rest of the meal, he realized he had accomplished his goal. They were talking again. She laughed at his funny stories and asked intelligent questions about the places he’d lived. The door was open for them to be friends. He saw now how much he’d missed having her in his life.

Finally, the last taste of some lemony frothy dessert was gone, coffee finished and he felt his time with her was running out.

“So, are you seeing anyone?” he asked, wishing he hadn’t even as the words emerged from his mouth.

She looked at him, her blue eyes chilling. “I see lots of people. Come on, let’s tour the hotel.” And she was back to PR gal mode so fast he barely caught up. She showed him private rooms for spontaneous fun and games, a spa so luxurious that even he, a card-carrying man’s man, felt the urge for a pedicure, a library where he suspected more than just reading went on.

Although there was an undercurrent of eroticism everywhere, Piper had still managed to keep the feel elegant. Everything from the decor to the multitude of places a couple could hide away and indulge their passion got his own passion rising. As Kit walked ahead of him, her floaty skirt teasing him as it fluttered around her curves, he felt his body stir for her.

When they reached the door of his suite, she took a step back, letting him know there was no chance she was coming inside.

“Goodnight, Peter.”

When she would have turned away, he suddenly grasped her shoulders forcing her to look up at him. “Why can’t I move on?”

She blinked at him, stunned. “Huh?”

“I’ve dated women, lots of women since you.”

“Thanks for sharing, but really I should be—”

“But it’s no good. As soon as I even think about the future, I think this woman is too nice to get stuck with a bastard like me. What if I run out on her when she needs me?”

“That is not my problem.”

“No. But you are part of it. I always end up thinking about you when I’m with another woman. Why is that?”

“Guilty conscience?”

He shook his head impatiently. “That’s what I thought at first, too. Then I thought maybe I couldn’t move on with my own life until I was sure that yours was okay.”

“Then start moving, Peter. My life is more than okay. It’s fantastic. I’m living out my dream. Thanks for realizing we were not a match and having the guts to act on it.” She shook her had and laughed softly, “Can you imagine if we’d gone through with it? I would have hated getting divorced.”

She was right. He should be pleased that she saw their breakup the same way he did. So why did her words feel like hail pellets raining down on his bare face?

She placed her palms either side of his jaw, rose to her tiptoes and kissed him softly. “Go on and have a wonderful life. I plan to.”

She turned and walked away, and in that moment he knew exactly what his problem was.

If a lightning bolt had sizzled out of a blue sky and clocked him one, it couldn’t have been more dazzlingly clear what his problem was.

He, Peter Garson, was still in love with Kirsten Prestcott.

And he had one weekend to figure out how the hell he was going to get her back.