Sizzle in the City (4 page)

He responded with hunger and experience, angling his head and seducing her mouth with deep strokes of his tongue. Her spine seemed to melt, like chocolate in a double boiler.

She inhaled his warm, sandalwood scent, felt the heat and hardness of his body. He enveloped her like a blanket, though she knew there were layers of unknown to explore, feelings beyond pleasure and comfort.

When they separated, their gazes locked, their breathing labored, she could only manage one comment.

“All in all, it was a pretty damn great party.”

4

The New York
Tattletale

April 17

Party Like a Hotel Magnate
by Peeps Galloway, Gossipmonger
(And proud of it!)

A quick drop-in before your weekend in the Hamptons…

   Oh, not spending your days at the luxurious retreat of the well-to-do?

  Maybe you’re drowning your sorrows over your tax bill at the local pub. Or possibly spending your generous refund at Bloomys or Barney’s? (I hear there’s a fabulous shoe sale at the later—just ask for Damon.)

   Whatever your weekend plans…never fear, dear readers, I’ll make either your shopping or your weekend shift at the tourist trap turn-and-burn palatable.

   Speaking of tasty, I hear Max Banfield had an
ooh, la, la
soireé at his new hotel, The Crown Jewel, last night. Crab, so fresh from the sea the claws were still twitching, and chicken lettuce wraps were among the food offerings, with the night ending in raspberry creme-filled chocolate truffles.

   Need I say yum?

   No, I’m sure you have your own version of lusciousness to reflect upon.

   Didn’t I tell you about Damon?

—Peeps

H
OTEL
magnate?

Was that a promotion over financial guru?

Trevor tossed aside the newspaper Florence had set on his desk.

Instead of worrying about his brother, he stared out his window, where the streets below teemed with the usual afternoon Manhattan chaos. He’d planned to spend the weekend at his house in the Hamptons, but instead of anticipating the escape and relaxation, his thoughts turned to the sensational kiss he and Shelby had enjoyed the night before.

He’d crossed a line with her and didn’t regret it in the least.

He should have been concentrating on Max and tempering his latest mistake—or at least diminishing its press-worthy moments—but instead Trevor’d found his attention straying to the stunning caterer all night. The usual responsibility to his family paled in comparison to her vibrancy and glowing smile. As practicality seemed to be her mantra, he sensed even she wouldn’t approve of him being so distracted.

He was reminded of the genetic, and sometimes irrational, impulses he’d inherited. Impulses that ruled his mother’s life and ones even his stodgy father had indulged in long enough to produce him and Max.

Perhaps Trevor’s rebel past wasn’t so easily left behind.

And yet he’d been self-possessed enough to recognize the determination in Shelby’s eyes. Just as his mother had resolved to possess jewels, clothes and husbands, Shelby had her own goal in mind.

What, he wasn’t entirely sure. But it somehow involved Max.

He’d confirmed only two things the night before—Max’s financial windfall had indeed come in the form of their latest, wealthy, clearly gullible stepfather. And their father was monumentally annoyed about his name appearing in the American gossip rags.

Surely you can control this situation, Trevor,
his father had said on a cell-phone call from his office in London.
I have important issues before Parliament to address in the coming weeks. I don’t have time to explain this nonsense.

I’ll handle it, sir.

He’s a grown man,
his father had continued.
Reason with him. You’re the only one he listens to.

But Max didn’t listen to him. He didn’t take his advice or take responsibility. He wasn’t even a grown man. Not really.

He went to Vegas and blew money. He ran up debts at the London card clubs and pubs.

In some respects, Trevor knew he’d failed his family. At the same time, he had the sense to not remind his father that
he
was the one who’d married and divorced the flighty, but beautiful woman who’d created Max, who was, in turn, creating the present problems.

You could be the first son,
his conscience reminded him firmly.
Then you’d be required to follow in the earl’s footsteps as well as adhere to every edict that fell from his lips.

Not that Max was following this ancient rule.

Still, there were significant blessings in Trevor’s life. Starting and ending without the burden of an earldom. He had his future well in hand, and it didn’t include addressing Parliament, clamoring around a moldy country castle or lording over a London flat, no matter how tony the address.

He had a business to run.

With that bracing reminder reverberating in his mind, he turned back to his desk and the pile of contracts awaiting his signature.

Before he’d read more than a few paragraphs, the intercom on his desk beeped. “Shelby Dixon is here, sir,” Florence said. “She doesn’t have an appointment but assures me you’ll see her.”

Not only would he see her, he craved her presence.

He took a second to lift his eyes heavenward and repent any resentful thoughts of the last week. Since they were certainly numerous, Florence buzzed through again before he’d managed to respond.

“I’ll see Ms. Dixon,” he said into the intercom with what he hoped was a calm, professional tone.

In the intervening moments, his heart kicked against his ribs; his body hummed. He remained standing out of pride. She’d somehow found him, and he wasn’t sure if he was impressed or concerned.

Attitude first, Shelby stalked into the room. She performed a mock curtsy in front of his desk. “Your Lordship.”

“Ah…no.” Suppressing a wince, he paused to drink in the amazing, furious sight of her before extending his hand toward the chair in front of his desk. He waited until she sat before he lowered himself into his own seat. “I don’t have a title, though the doorman at my apartment building does persist in calling me Mr. Banfield. I prefer Trevor.”

“Your father is the Earl of Westmore,” she accused, her eyes more vividly green than the night before.

Perhaps rage brought out the distinctive color?

“He is,” Trevor said calmly. “I’m the second son, however, so I’m only significant if my older brother dies.” As his blunt words registered, shock flittered across her face. “No worries, he’s in excellent health.”

“Your older brother is Maxwell Banfield.”

Since the connection had been made, he saw no reason to deny it. Though, like many times in the past, he wanted to. “He is.”

“And you were at the party last night because…?”

“I was toasting my brother’s success.”

“You didn’t tell me he was your brother.”

He smiled. “Didn’t I?”

“No.”

“It hardly matters.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I think it does.”

Trevor shrugged. He loved her suspicious nature. He liked that she wasn’t buying his story completely, and she certainly didn’t appear impressed by his lineage. She should be sucking up to him, hoping for an introduction to his influential family or at least pushing for a booking.

Instead, she seemed genuinely, personally annoyed.

Wasn’t that great?

“Did Max pay his catering bill?” he asked, wondering who exactly she was mad at and why.

“Yes.”

“Did he come on to you?”

“No.”

“I’m sorry. He’s always had questionable taste in women.”

“I didn’t want him—” She narrowed her eyes. “You’re pretending not to understand why I’m here and pissed off.”

He reached deep for an innocent expression. “Why would I do that?”

“I have no idea.”

As much as he was attracted to her, and had planned to call her with both a dinner invitation and a quote on catering a business event, he didn’t know her well enough to throw open the family-closet door and let her see inside. He didn’t want her to suspect how big an embarrassment Max was to the family, or how Trevor was convinced this latest venture would be yet another failure.

Of course if Max’s check didn’t clear, or Shelby was a big fan of gossip mags, then his efforts at subterfuge would fail no matter what Trevor did or didn’t do. “Well, I’m pleased you’re here, but I’m truly in the dark about why you’re aggravated.”

“You kissed me.”

He didn’t have to pretend to be surprised by that accusation. “I’ve been complimented heavily in the past on my technique. Can you be specific about why you’re disappointed?”

Leaning across his desk, she propped her chin on her fist. “Can you explain why even absurd questions sound intelligent when spoken with an English accent?”

Her sass and directness were enthralling—as well as her proximity.

He tilted toward her. Their faces were bare inches apart. “That’s a fascinating debate. Why don’t we discuss it over dinner tonight?”

She simply shook her head. “Not so fast, Your Lordship. You kissed me while deliberately keeping your identity a secret. In fact, the only reason I found you was because Calla never throws anything away, and she uncovered a magazine article about you landing a high-dollar contract last year.” She raised her eyebrows. “At least I know you transport legitimate goods now.”

“What did you think I transported?”

“Could’ve been anything.”

“Like knockoff designers bags, I suppose.”

“Yeah, maybe, but I don’t like those. It’s real or nothing for me. I buy vanilla from Madagascar, for heaven’s sake. I was thinking more pharmaceutical for your possibly illegal transportation business.”

Terrific. The woman he had a massive crush on thought he was a drug dealer. “All the more reason for dinner. There’s a lovely Italian restaurant down the street.”

She angled her head, considering him. The anger had been doused, replaced by interest. “Why didn’t you want me to know who you were?”

“I don’t like to advertise my family background. It tends to make people act…unusually.”

“Suck-ups.”

With a satisfied grin, he nodded. “Precisely.”

“Why doesn’t your brother talk like you?”

“Max puts on an American accent. He likes to blend.”

By the way she cocked her head, Trevor assumed she found that as odd as he did, but he didn’t really want to discuss Max’s idiosyncrasies.

“I like your accent better.” Her eyes smoldered into golden. “Is this Italian place down the street Giovanni’s?”

Fascinated by the way her eyes changed in rhythm with her mood, he slid his finger down her arm. “It is.”

A smile teased her lips. “I could eat.”

“Excellent. Perhaps we could also work on my kissing technique. I’d hate to be a disappointment the second time around.”

“Were you planning this practice during dinner?”

“I could wait till after. Or be persuaded to before.”

Her gaze dropped to his mouth. “Let’s see if the pesto sauce is as good as I remember.”

Pleasure and anticipation raced down his spine. Their chemistry had been pretty electric the night before—maybe even more so because of the suspicion between them. “I’ll speak to the chef personally.”

“His name is Mario.”

He walked around the desk and assisted her to her feet. “He’s not your knife-wielding cousin or boyfriend, is he?”

“My cousin lives in Fort Lauderdale and runs a car wash, and I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“I always thought the men of New York had good taste. Clearly, I’ve been misinformed.” He opened his office door and allowed Shelby to proceed him. “I’m leaving, Florence.”

“For the day?” His secretary’s pink painted mouth rounded in shock. “It’s barely after five.”

“It’s Friday. Go home. Enjoy yourself.”

“Yes, I remember how. Do
you?
”

Trevor narrowed his eyes briefly as he passed Florence’s desk. “Of course I do.” The last thing he needed was Florence blabbing about his obsessive tendencies. Success didn’t come without sacrifice, after all.

The irony that his secretary wanted him to slow down and have babies she could spoil, while his mother’s worst nightmare was becoming a grandmother wasn’t lost on him.

“But you’ll miss out on your workaholic merit badge for the week,” she called after him.

“Good night, Florence,” he said, refusing to rise to her critique.

To his relief, Shelby laughed. “And here I thought we had nothing in common. My friends and assistants are always trying to get me to work less and play more.”

“Easy to do when it’s not your company on the line.”

“Exactly.”

Trevor pressed the button for the elevator, which arrived immediately.

“Is your brother a crook?” Shelby asked abruptly.

He nearly stumbled. It was rare for him to be knocked off stride, and this woman had done it twice in ten minutes. “No. Why do you ask?”

She shrugged as the elevator doors slid closed. “Just curious.”

* * *

C
ALLA
WALKED
AWAY
FROM
a lovely spring evening, through the police-station door and into chaos.