Winner Takes All (16 page)

Touching her wasn’t enough. Cole needed to see her. He needed to see her right now, and with one swift moment he had her ragged T-shirt lying on the living room floor and her lying on the couch. His heated gaze stared down at her milk-white breasts. “You are so beautiful,” he said, his voice unsteady as he ran a hand across her chest.

Although usually shy, Eva welcomed his gaze. She liked the way he looked at her, with an almost reverential glint in his eyes, and suddenly she felt an intense need to feel him. First she had to remove his tuxedo jacket. She tried to pull it off, but without his cooperation, her efforts were useless. After a moment he realized what she was doing and held his arms still with a laugh of appreciation. Eva tossed the jacket to the floor and thought how wonderful it was that he could laugh even now. Then she applied her shaky fingers to the top button. It took her a moment to work it free because she was torn between a need to touch his skin and a desire to steep in the sensations he was creating.

Eva was working on the last button when Cole tore the shirt off with a groan. Her slow movements had been torturous, leaving him with an urgent need for more. He wanted to feel her quivering body under him.

“Damn it.” His voice was a seductive moan. “This couch is far too small for what I want to do to you.”

Eva sighed as he pressed his hard chest against her soft one. She knew exactly what he meant. God, how could anyone feel this good? “I have a bed right there,” she said, between kisses.

A bed and the sound of Eva calling his name as she found release were the only two things in the world that Cole wanted. But some part of him hesitated. That unknown part in the deepest reaches of his mind demanded that he stop. It was telling him not to rush his fences. Cole was forced to concede the wisdom of the thought. It was too soon for this. He didn’t know what he felt for Eva above and beyond a staggering amount of desire, but he wanted to find out.

“No,” he said, pulling away from her.

Eva opened her eyes and stared at him uncomprehendingly.

“No,” he said again, softening the word with a tender kiss on her lips.

Her body rebelled at the implication that he was stopping. Surely he couldn’t leave her now. “No?”

“Well, not yet,” he amended with a wry smile.

Eva tried to sit up but Cole wouldn’t let her. “Why?”

“Because you’re operating under the misconception that I’m some sort of playboy of the Western world, and making love to you now would only confirm that impression,” he explained, as he grappled to get his body under control. It was one thing for his mind to make a responsible decision and quite another for his body to fall in line with it. “Have dinner with me tomorrow night.”

Fighting the awful pounding in her chest, Eva closed her eyes. “God, why can’t it just be physical? I can handle physical.”

Cole laughed, but it wasn’t a very nice sound. “I know. I don’t know how I know but I do and I refuse to let you cheat both of us. Either we do this right or we don’t do it at all.” He laughed again, this time genuinely amused. “I can’t believe I just said that.” Then he kissed her sweetly on the cheek and climbed off the couch. “If I am going to say completely insane things like that, I should be at least ten feet away from you.”

Although terrified at the thought of doing it right, as he’d said, she felt giddy and excited. “See? I told you this was completely insane.”

He picked up her discarded tee and instructed her to raise her arms. She complied, and he put the shirt back on her. “You are a very wise woman.”

“I’m a foolish woman, Mr. Hammond,” she said, wondering how this can possibly lead to anything good. Disaster was only a heartbeat away. “If I were really wise, I wouldn’t have just been devouring you on my couch at three-thirty in the morning.”

A dangerous glint entered his eyes. “That’s the last one you get, Ms. Butler.”

“Last what?”

“The last Mr. Hammond. From now on it’s either Cole or Reed or even my darling, if you’d prefer, but no more Mr. Hammond in that cold detached voice. You accepted my apology. To go back on that only serves to make you look peevish.”

“Peevish?” she asked, as if she were trying the word out for the first time. “You think I look peevish?”

“No, I think you look devastatingly sexy,” he said, his tone no longer playful. “And there’s nothing I want to do more than to sweep you up in my arms and carry you into the bedroom and make love to you until we both can’t move to save our lives.”

Eva felt the breath leave her. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Say the right things to leave me weak. Although I suppose I shouldn’t wonder,” she said thoughtfully, answering her own question. “A man of your experience—“

Eva found herself being pulled rather violently into Cole’s arms. “Don’t throw my reputation in my face,” he said, almost angrily. “My past doesn’t matter. How can it matter? We hadn’t met yet. Everything I did before Tuesday of this week is irrelevant. Judge me by what I do now, by what I do to you and with you. Don’t make me apologize for things I did before I knew you existed. It’s not fair.”

She knew what he said made sense—it was entirely unfair to hold his past against him—but she couldn’t help doing it. The past was all she had to go on. No, a voice inside her disagreed, you have your instincts. Trust them. Eva smiled wryly. She couldn’t recall the last time she trusted her instincts. “All right.”

He loosened his hold. “All right?”

“All right. I’ll have dinner with you tomorrow night.” She paused a moment to think. “Or is that tonight? Do you want to have dinner Sunday or Monday night?”

“Tonight, as in Sunday night, with an option for Monday night if all goes well.” He started rebuttoning his tuxedo shirt. Eva’s fingers itched to help him, but she resisted the urge. It seemed too domestic, like something only a wife would do. “Why don’t you come by my place at six? I’ll cook.”

Eva had nothing planned for Sunday except maybe a late brunch with Ruth and Mark. A very late brunch, she thought, looking at the time. A quarter to four. “Sounds good. Is there something I should bring?”

Devil glinted in his eyes. “The red dress?”

“You’re out of luck. That’s going right back to the shop. I think the designer’s actually coming by in the morning to pick his baby up.”

His disappointment was almost palpable. “That’s a shame.”

“You’ll get over it, I’m sure. Is there something else I could bring?”

“Nope. I’ve got all the bases covered. Just your beautiful self,” he said, pulling on his black jacket. “Since I’ll be doing the cooking, is there anything I should know? Allergies? Foods you abhor? Things you refuse to eat on ethical grounds?”

“Raspberries, peanut butter and veal.”

“Well, there goes my specialty, scaloppini à la peanut butter with raspberry coulis.”

Eva laughed. “I’m sure you’ll muddle through. You seem very capable.”

He leaned in to kiss her good-bye. He meant only to lightly brush his lips against hers, but within seconds they were both breathing heavily. “If I don’t go now,” he said with regret, nibbling the side of her mouth, “I never will.”

Eva pulled away. “Go then, while I’m still thinking clearly.”

Cole opened the door and kissed her gently on the forehead. “There, I don’t think you’ll have trouble sleeping now.”

Eva watched him leave, only closing the door when his head had disappeared completely from view. She had been tempted to ask how he knew she couldn’t sleep, but she decided she didn’t want to hear the answer. A man of his experience knew very well the effect he had on a woman.

CHAPTER EIGHT

When the phone
rang at eleven-thirty the next morning, Eva was still in bed. She was lying on her back with her eyes closed, thinking of Cole; his apology, his earnest sincerity, his wonderful, sensuous kisses. She wasn’t quite awake yet—her mind was busy darting dreamily from one image to another—but she heard the phone and picked up after the third ring.

“Hey,
guapa,
we’re rounding the corner now,” said Ruth.

Eva smiled. She’d had hoped it would be Cole—of course she had hoped—but Ruth’s cheery alto was a pretty darn good second best. “Rounding what corner?” she asked, as she put her left hand over her head and stretched. Gosh, she was feeling good: well-rested and relaxed and so full of optimism she might actually explode. She looked at the clock. Only six and a half hours until she saw Cole again.

“Your corner, silly. Now we’re passing the cleaners in the building next door. Here that?” The intercom in the kitchen buzzed. “That’s Mark. We’re standing on your doorstep now. Let us up. I want to hear all about last night’s triumph.”

Eva laughed and rolled out of bed. She was still wearing the red T-shirt from hours before. When she’d gone to take it off, she’d realized that it smelled like Cole. “I don’t know what stories Mark has been telling you, but there were no triumphs last night,” she said, sauntering into the other room to press the button. She leaned on it for a second, stepped away and opened the front door. She looked down the stairwell and watched her friends trudge up five flights of stairs.

“Mark hasn’t told me
anything
,” Ruth said as she passed the first landing. “I’ve spent a long
frustrating
morning trying to get details out of him.”

“I have given you details,” Mark protested. His voice echoed in the stairwell as well as over the phone line. He sounded so outraged Eva couldn’t help but laugh again. Luckily, Mark was too busy defending his honor to hear her. “I told you who was there and what was served and which papers covered the event. I told you the name of the band and how much money the organization raised and what was in the goody bag.” By the time he was done listing his achievements, they were at the fifth floor.

Ruth greeted Eva with an absent kiss, flipped her phone off and turned to Mark. “Yeah, but did you notice if Julianne Moore was wearing Givenchy or Versace?”

Mark stared at her blankly for several seconds. He couldn’t quite grasp what this had to do with anything. “No. But I listed the newspapers alphabetically.”

Ruth rolled her eyes. “Really, I worry about you sometimes, my friend. You spend your life in war zones dodging bullets and chasing after freedom fighters with a recorder in your hand. How can you possibly tell the difference between friendly and enemy forces when you can’t distinguish between something as basic as Prada or Gucci?”

He didn’t have an answer for that. Even though he knew the question was ludicrous, Mark couldn’t form a proper response, and Ruth, giving him a moment to offer some kind of reasonable explanation, brushed past him.

Seeing the dazed, besotted look on his face, Eva threw a comforting arm around him and led him into the apartment. “The plan is working. She just admitted to being worried about you.”

“The plan
isn’t
working—she just called me her friend,” he said softly. “I don’t want to be her friend.”

Eva gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Don’t lose heart now. The fun’s just beginning.”

“Yeah, fun,” he muttered.

“So, where are we going for brunch?” Ruth asked, her eyes lingering for a moment on Eva’s arm, which was still thrown possessively over Mark’s shoulder. And she hadn’t missed the kiss either. It was harmless enough, on the cheek, but there was a familiarity about it that disconcerted her. She didn’t understand why it threw her off but it did—and she didn’t like that. Not one bit. “The brasserie on La Guardia has at least a thirty-minute wait. They’re lined up around the block like migrating wildebeests.”

“There’s a great place on MacDougal,” Eva said, disappearing into her bedroom to throw on some clothes. Her jeans were still lying in the middle of the floor and she put those on along with a clean shirt. She pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail and reemerged with sneakers in hand. She slid into them without bothering to undo the laces. “The food’s fantastic and for some reason it’s always empty.”

“Great, then let’s go,” said Ruth. “I’m starving.”

As expected, Thierry’s was empty. They had their pick of the small restaurant and settled on a cozy arrangement of couches near the front window. Eva took the cushion next to Mark on the love seat. Ruth sat adjacent in a large easy chair. She waited patiently as Eva scanned the menu, but as soon as her friend put it down, she was all over her for details.

“I want to know everything,” she insisted. “Start with Loretta Hammond and work your way down.”

Eva didn’t know any more about fashion than poor Mark, but she knew how to fake it better. She was able to describe the details and flourishes that made a dress unique and had the sense to agree with Ruth whenever she speculated about who the designer was.

The arrival of brunch only interrupted the questioning, it did not end it.

“This is very good French toast,” Mark said to no one in particular.

Ruth looked up at him quizzically, as if not quite sure what French toast was. “Huh?”

“This French toast, it’s very good. See how it gives?” he asked, taking his fork and pressing down gently in the middle of the bread. “This is what French toast is supposed to do—bounce back. That means it’s moist. The bread should soak up the batter. Someone—I can’t remember who; perhaps Martha Stewart—suggests letting the bread soak overnight. Most places don’t bother and the result is toast—plain old American toast with a yellow cast. Nothing Frankish about it.”

Eva watched and suppressed a smile as Ruth fixed her hazel eyes on Mark. Her stare was part impatience—she had been seconds away from hearing all about the walk up the red carpet—and part fascination. Sometimes Mark said the oddest, most surprising things.

He picked up the maple syrup and drizzled some onto his plate, unaware of the sudden, unexpected attention being devoted to him. It was only when he put down the sticky bottle and wiped his hand on a napkin that he noticed. “What?”

Ruth shook her head, as if freeing herself from a trance. “Nothing.”

“It’s been a very long time since I’ve had good French toast,” Mark said, feeling compelled to explain. “The parts of the Middle East where I spend my time aren’t known for their gourmet fare. It’s a lot of meals on the run.”