You're Still the One (33 page)

“It is eye-catching, isn’t it?” she murmured, admiring its fiery sparkle.

“That’s one word for it,” he responded dryly, and dipped the loofah in and out of the water. “Hand me the soap, will you?” She slipped the scented bar off its ridged ledge and passed it to him. “I’m not surprised you fell madly in love with him. Chocolate’s a turn-on all by itself. Who needs foreplay when you have chocolate, right?”

She threw him a look of disgust. “You can be so crude sometimes, Sebastian.”

“That’s not crude. It’s the truth. It has something to do with endorphins. Oops, I dropped the soap.” He groped underwater for it, his hand sliding along the curve of her hip to her thigh.

A second later, Kitty felt the bar squirt under her leg, and his hand immediately came over the top of her thigh to search for it between her legs. He quickly became dangerously close to areas she didn’t want touched by him.

She pushed at his arm. “Stop it. I’ll get it myself.”

“Wait. It’s right here. I can feel it.”

“Don’t! That’s not it!” As she squirmed to elude his playful fingers, she slipped in the tub. She yelped in alarm as she started to slide under the bubbles. “Stop! I don’t want to get my hair wet!”

“I’ve got you.” His muscled arm was a band across her breasts, hauling her back upright.

Suddenly everything about this scene seemed much too intimate. There she was naked in the tub with his hands all over her. And Kitty realized that at some point she had lost control of things. Worst of all, Sebastian knew it.

“You bastard. Let me go!” She tugged to free herself of his hold, but between her wet hands and his wet arm, she was hardly successful.

“I’m only trying to help,” he protested.

“Help, my foot. You’re copping a feel, and you know it.” Abandoning the useless struggle, she located the loofah sponge and slapped at him with it.

“Hey!” He jerked back to elude contact with it, but he couldn’t elude the splattering of water droplets and bits of foamy bubbles. As he reached up to wipe at his face, he accidentally bumped the plate of strawberries, knocking them into the tub.

“My strawberries,” Kitty wailed.

“Let me get that plate out of there before it gets broken.” He plunged both hands into the water.

“Just leave it alone,” she exploded in anger, and pummeled him with her fists. “Get out of here! Out! Out! Out!”

“Will you stop it?” he yelled above her shrieks of outrage, hunching his shoulders against the raining blows.

The bathroom door burst open. Kitty squealed in dismay at the sight of the thunderous look on the face of a tall, dark man with distinctively Gaelic features—the man who was her fiancé.

“You! Get away from her,” Marcel Boulanger ordered in that gorgeous accent of his.

Sebastian started to rise, then lost his footing on the wet floor and slipped halfway into the tub.

“It’s all right, Marcel,” Kitty rushed. “It’s not what you think.”

“Who is this man?” he demanded, his accent thickening noticeably.

Half in and half out of the tub, Sebastian replied. “I’m her husband. Who the hell are you?”

“Your husband?” Marcel scowled blackly at Kitty. “What is this he is saying?”

“He’s my
ex
-husband.” She hurried the explanation and pushed Sebastian the rest of the way out of the bathtub, while trying to hide her own self among the bubbles. “We’ve been divorced for years.”

Whatever comfort Marcel found in that, it was small. “What is he doing here now?”

“I live here,” Sebastian answered, rising to his feet.

Kitty hastened to correct that impression. “Not here, precisely. At least, not in the house. He has a studio out back. He lives there.”

“A studio? This man is an artist?” He eyed Sebastian with considerable skepticism.

In all honesty, Kitty had to admit that Sebastian didn’t fit the popular image of an artist. He certainly didn’t possess the temperament of one. He was much too easygoing.

“This is Sebastian Cole. The Ridgedales have two of his landscapes hanging in their Santa Fe home.” Conscious of the rapidly dissipating bubbles, Kitty reached for the oversize bath towel lying on the tub’s tiled ledge.

The doubtful look vanished as Marcel smiled in recognition of the name. “Ah, yes, you are—”

“Please don’t say the great Sebastian,” Sebastian interrupted, his mouth slanting in a wry smile. “It makes me feel like a trapeze artist in a circus. Plain Sebastian will do. You must be Mr. Chocolate.”

Confusion furrowed his brow. “
Mais non
, my name is Marcel Boulanger.”

“He knows that . . .” Kitty gave Sebastian a dirty look as she maneuvered closer to the side of the tub. “It’s just a nickname he gave you. It’s his idea of a joke.”

“I sampled some of your family’s wares earlier,” Sebastian remarked. “Kitty had a plate of strawberries dipped in your chocolate. Unfortunately I knocked it into the tub.”

“That’s what he was doing when you came in—looking for the plate.” With one arm holding the towel high above her breasts and the other hand trying to hold the ends together behind her back, Kitty attempted to stand.

“Let me give you a hand.” Sebastian moved to help her out of the tub.

“I can manage just fine.” As she drew away from his outstretched hand, she stepped on a strawberry, slipped, and pitched forward with a yelp.

Sebastian caught her, swept her out of the tub and into the cradle of his arms, towel and all. Kitty was stunned to find herself in such a familiar position, and not altogether sure how she had gotten there. But the memories were much too strong of all the times their arguments had ended like this, with Sebastian sweeping her off her feet and carting her off to the nearest soft or flat surface and there making love to her. Most satisfactorily, she recalled as color flooded her cheeks.

“Put me down,” she snapped.

“Whatever you say, kitten.” He released her legs with an abruptness that took her by surprise.

She managed to retain her grip on the towel as she hissed an irritated “Don’t call me that. You know I hate it.”

Sebastian simply smiled with infuriating ease and turned his attention to Marcel. “Since I understand congratulations are in order, you might as well know she has a temper.”

“I do not!” She stamped her foot on the plush bathroom rug. The muffled sound didn’t add much emphasis to her denial.

Sebastian ignored her. “I wouldn’t worry about her temper, though. I’m sure you already know about her secret passion for chocolate. It doesn’t matter how mad she gets, just pop a piece in her mouth and she’ll melt in your arms.”

“That is not true.” Kitty pushed the angry words through her teeth and hurriedly wrapped the towel around her. “You’re making me seem like some foolish female, or worse.”

“Well, you’re definitely female.” His twinkling glance dipped to her cleavage.

Kitty wiggled the towel higher. “You came in here to borrow a razor. Take it and leave.”

“She’s a little upset about the loss of the strawberries,” he explained to Marcel. “She hates to waste good chocolate.”

“Go.” She pointed a rigid arm at the door.

He cocked an eyebrow. “Now, you know you don’t want me dripping water all through your house.” He pulled at the side of his T-shirt, reminding her that half of his clothes were soaked. She hesitated fractionally, visualizing the trail of water through her beautiful home. “You still have that spare terry-cloth robe hanging in the closet, don’t you?”

She hated the way Sebastian made it sound as though he knew where everything was. Of course, the truth was he did. She shot an anxious look at Marcel, worried that he might put the wrong construction on that.

“Yes, it’s hanging—”

“I’ll find it,” Sebastian assured her, and he headed for the bedroom, a faint squelch to his woven-leather sandals.

Kitty didn’t draw an easy breath until he was out of the room. Even then, she was a little surprised that he hadn’t lingered to make a further nuisance of himself. Fixing the warmest smile on her face that she could muster, she crossed to her fiancé.

“I am so sorry about this. It must have looked awful when you came in—a strange man in the tub with me. Thank God, he was fully clothed, or—” She broke off the rush of words and allowed chagrin to tinge her smile. “It’s absolutely impossible to explain any of this. You would have to know Sebastian to understand.” Then it hit her that she hadn’t expected Marcel to arrive until much later. “What are you doing here anyway?”

He seemed a bit taken aback by her question. “Your maid let me into the house as she was leaving. I heard your cries and thought you were being accosted by some thief.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I mean—I thought you weren’t going to be here until eight o’clock.”

From the bedroom closet came Sebastian’s muffled shout, “I found it!”

Deciding it was best to simply ignore him, Kitty bit back the impulse to shout back at him to put on the robe and get out. “Pay no attention to him.” She laid a hand on Marcel’s arm, drawing his attention back to her when he half turned in the direction of Sebastian’s voice.

“Yes, that is best,” he agreed, then explained, “I came early to your house because I received a phone call from home this afternoon. My
maman
has taken ill. Nothing too serious,” he inserted when Kitty drew a quick breath of concern. “But I must fly home to Brussels tomorrow. It is my desire that you come with me. I wish to have my family meet with you.”

“You mean . . . leave tomorrow?” she asked in shock, her mind exploding with hundreds of problems that would create.

“But of course. We would leave in the morning.”

“Marcel, it simply isn’t possible for me to fly off at the drop of a hat. Not with everything that’s going on at the gallery. This is one of our busiest times of the year. I—”

“Surely your assistant is able to take charge while you are gone.”

“Harve is very competent,” she agreed. “But I have a special exhibit scheduled in two weeks—actually less than that. The shipment should be here in two or three days. And there are so many other things that must be coordinated. Honestly, it just isn’t possible. I’m sorry, Marcel, but—”

A bare-shouldered Sebastian stuck his head around the bathroom door. “Sorry to interrupt, but I need a towel to wrap my wet clothes in.”

Teeth gritted, Kitty snatched a towel off the bar and shoved it into his hands. “There.”

“Thanks.” With a smile and a nod, Sebastian was gone.

Struggling to regain her calm, she faced Marcel once again. “All things considered, I think it would truly be best if I met your family another time, especially since your mother isn’t well.”

“Perhaps it would be,” he conceded, then reached out to grip her upper arms, his gaze burrowing into her with intensity, his eyes darkened with a passion that so thrilled her. “But it pains me to leave you even for a day.”

“Me, too.” The agreement came easily.

With a groan of desire, he pulled her against him and his mouth came down to claim her lips. But Kitty found it difficult to enjoy the devouring wetness of his kiss when any second they could be interrupted by Sebastian again. After a decent interval, she drew back from his kiss.

“We still have tonight, don’t we?” she murmured, one hand on the lapel of his suit jacket and the other pressed against the front of the towel to keep it in place. “After all, we do have an engagement to celebrate.”

“Indeed, we have much to celebrate. It may require all night.”

“I certainly hope so,” Kitty replied, then stepped away when he would have kissed her again. “Why don’t you go fix yourself a drink while I finish up here? I promise I won’t be long.”

As Marcel released a sigh of regret, Sebastian rapped lightly on the door, then looked around it, this time bundled in a white terry robe. “I don’t mean to keep busting in on your little tête-á-tête, but I thought I should let you know I’m leaving.”

“Promise?” Kitty retorted with a touch of sarcasm.

“Cross my heart.”

She didn’t believe him for one minute. “Marcel, why don’t you go with him and make sure he actually does leave?”

“With pleasure,” Marcel declared, clearly as eager to be rid of him as Kitty was.

“Something tells me Kitty doesn’t trust me.” Sebastian’s grin was wide with mischief.

“I wonder why,” she murmured, and followed both men into the bedroom, then ushered them out the bedroom door and closed it behind them.

Alone in the bedroom, she stood there a moment and struggled to regain that gloriously happy feeling she’d felt earlier. At the moment, she was much too annoyed with Sebastian. The man had an absolute talent for getting under her skin.

Determined not to let him spoil any more of her evening, Kitty stalked to the huge walk-in closet. The plush throw rug was damp beneath her feet, a reminder that Sebastian had been there before her. As if she needed one.

“Put him out of your mind, Kitty,” she muttered to herself, needing to hear the words.

Sighing, Kitty scanned the clothes in her closet. Now that Marcel had arrived early, she no longer had the luxury of dressing at her leisure. She told herself that she truly didn’t mind. It was better to look on the positive side of things; this much-anticipated evening would simply begin earlier than she had expected. Now that she had finally gotten rid of Sebastian, everything was going to be as wonderful as she’d thought.

In the closet, she loosened the towel and used the drier portions of it to wipe the remaining moisture on her skin, all the while surveying her vast wardrobe, regretting that she hadn’t already decided on something to wear. Until now, it was a decision that hadn’t needed to be hurried.

“Too bad Picasso isn’t around to do an abstract of this—Woman’s Derriere Amidst a Swirl of Clothes.”

At the first sound of Sebastian’s familiar voice, Kitty wheeled in fury, snatching the towel back around her. “Don’t you ever knock?” she hurled angrily.

He stood in the closet doorway, clad as before in the white terry robe, a portion of his wet jeans sticking out of the rolled-up towel under his arm. “It’s a bad habit I’ve got, I’m afraid,” he replied without a smidgeon of remorse.

“It’s one bad habit you need to concentrate on breaking,” she retorted, then demanded, “What are you doing here again? I thought you’d left.”

“I forgot the razor.” His expression was much too benignly innocent to be believed.

“On purpose, I’ll bet,” Kitty guessed, eyes narrowing on him. Careful to keep her bottom covered, she turned back to face the racks of clothes. “Get your razor and leave. Better yet, forget the razor and grow a beard. It would fit the public image of an artist.”

“You wouldn’t like it,” Sebastian replied easily. “I tried growing one before, and you didn’t care for the way it scratched, remember?”

“That won’t be a problem anymore.”

He snapped his fingers as if only recalling their divorce at that moment. “That’s right. You’re engaged to someone else now, aren’t you?”

“As if you didn’t remember.” She let the sarcasm through.

“Have you decided what you’re wearing for the big dinner tonight?”

“That’s what I’m doing now.”

“I recommend the cranberry silk number.”

“Good. That’s one I definitely won’t choose,” Kitty retorted.

“You should. I have to swallow a groan every time I see you in it.”

There was a part of her that was secretly pleased she could still turn him on. But only a small part.

She cast a challenging look over her shoulder. “The razor?”

“Right. That’s why I came back, isn’t it? I’ll just get it and leave.”

“That would be an original idea,” Kitty muttered as he turned to leave.

Sebastian swung back. “Did you say something?”

“Not to you. Go.” She waved him out of the closet.

This time when he left, Kitty wasn’t convinced he was gone for good. And she was determined that he wouldn’t catch her again without a stitch of clothing on. Hurriedly, she discarded the towel and donned a set of nude lingerie from the drawer. After quickly riffling through the rack of dresses, she selected a simple but elegant sheath of white lace with a plunging keyhole back. She removed it from its padded hanger and wiggled into it.

Still there was no sign of Sebastian, no sound at all to indicate he was anywhere in the vicinity. Kitty wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. But she couldn’t help being suspicious of the silence.

Crossing to the built-in shoe caddy, Kitty considered the possibility that he might have actually left. A second later, she stiffened, panicked by the sudden thought that he was out there talking to Marcel. Heaven only knew the sort of things Sebastian might be telling him. Sometimes the man was a devil in disguise with an absolute knack for making the simplest thing sound outrageous.

She bolted out of the closet and stopped abruptly as Sebastian came out of the bathroom. “You’re still here.” It was almost a relief.

“As usual, you forgot to let the water out of the tub. While I was at it, I went ahead and retrieved the platter and the strawberries.” He showed her the plate of sodden strawberries and partially melted chocolate.

Recovering some of her former annoyance, Kitty retorted, “When did you appoint yourself to be my maid?”

“I could have left it, I suppose. But I don’t think it would have been a very pretty sight come morning. You need to tell Mr. Chocolate that the flavor combination of bathwater and his chocolate is a poor one.”

“Will you stop calling him that? His name is Marcel.”

“Whatever.” Sebastian shrugged off the correction. “Actually the strawberries didn’t fare too well in the bath either. Their flavor got pretty watered down. Here. Try one.” He picked up a limp berry that dripped a mixture of brown and pink juice.

Kitty was stunned he would offer her one, even as a joke. Well, the joke was about to be on him, she vowed, and took the berry from him and squished it against his mouth.

Laughter danced in his eyes as he scraped the remains of it off his face and onto the plate. “I’ll bet that felt good,” he observed.

“Actually I got a great deal of satisfaction out of it.”

“I thought you looked like you wanted to hit something,” he observed.

“I wouldn’t if you would just leave.”

“Is that what you’re wearing tonight?” he asked, ignoring her broad hint.

“Please tell me you don’t like it. Then I’ll know I have chosen the right dress.”

“You look fabulous in it.”

She heard the hesitation in his voice. “But what?” She was furious with herself for seeking his opinion. She blamed it on her respect for his artistic eye.

“I was just thinking—don’t you think virginal white is a bit of a stretch?”

Glaring at him, Kitty demanded, “Give me that plate of strawberries so I can shove the whole thing in your face.”

When she made a grab for it, Sebastian held it out of reach. “I don’t think so,” he said. “Something tells me you’d break it over my head. What do you say we call a truce, and I’ll stop teasing you.”

“I have a better idea. Why don’t you go home?” Kitty suggested, then remembered, “You did get the razor.”

He set the plate on a dresser top and patted the pocket of his robe. “Right here.”

“Then leave, so I can get dressed in peace.”

“Let me fasten that hook in back first. You know you’ll never be able to reach it yourself.”

To her irritation, Sebastian was right. Against her better judgment, Kitty turned her back to him, giving him access to the hook.

“I could have had Marcel fasten it for me.” She could feel the light pressure of his blunt fingers against her skin as he drew the two ends together.

“I have no doubt he would have been delighted to do it.”

“As long as you understand that.”

“You need to wear your silver shawl with this, and those silver, strappy heels you have.”

“That’s probably a good choice. Silver is in this season,” she recalled thoughtfully. “And I will need something later this evening to ward off the chill. What about jewelry? How about the necklace of turquoise nuggets?”

“Everybody will be wearing turquoise. And it would be too chunky with the lace. Try that slender silver choker with the cabochon pendant of pink coral.”

Kitty didn’t need to try it. She could already visualize it in her mind and knew it would be perfect.

“Have you set a wedding date yet?”

“No. We planned to talk about it tonight.” But with Marcel’s mother being ill, she wasn’t sure it would be an appropriate subject. “It will be sometime soon, though. It’s what we both want.”

“I guess that means I’ll have to start looking for a new art dealer. It won’t be easy. You’ve spoiled me.”

“What are you talking about?” She twisted around, trying to see his face.

“Hold still. I almost have it fastened.”

“Then explain what you meant by that.” She squared around again. “Just because I’m getting married doesn’t mean I can’t still represent your paintings.”

“True, but it might be a little difficult trying to do that from Brussels.”

“Brussels?” She turned in shock, not caring that he had yet to fasten the top.

“That’s right. According to Mr. Chocolate, that’s where you’ll be living after you’re married. I suppose you could keep the gallery here in Santa Fe and find someone to manage it for you. Although it would probably be simpler just to sell it.”

“Sell the gallery? After I’ve worked so hard to build it to this point?”

Tilting his head, he scanned the bedroom’s ceiling, exposed beams spanning its breadth. “I don’t remember this room having an echo.”

“Will you be serious?” Kitty demanded impatiently.

“I am serious.” He brought his gaze back to her upturned face, a new gentleness darkening his eyes. “I take it you hadn’t thought about where you would be living?”

Truthfully, she hadn’t given any thought to it at all. The realization made her feel utterly foolish.

Once again, she turned her back to him, aware that those sharp eyes of his saw too much. “I more or less assumed we would be dividing our time between Brussels and Santa Fe. That’s what is usually done when two people have separate careers.”

“I suppose that could work.”

Reassured, Kitty relaxed a little. “Of course it could.”

“I guess that means you’ll be keeping the house, too.”

“Naturally. I’ll need somewhere to live when I am here.”

“Mr. Chocolate thought you would prefer to sell it and avoid the financial drain of maintaining two households. I told him that you didn’t have to look for a buyer. I’ll be happy to take it off your hands. We could even work out some sort of arrangement where you could stay here whenever you do come back.”

“That’s very generous of you, but I’ll keep it, thank you,” she stated firmly.

“It was just a thought.” The tone of his voice had an indifferent shrug to it, but Kitty wasn’t fooled.

“You’ve had a number of thoughts. It almost makes me think that you’re trying to put doubts in my mind about my engagement to Marcel.”

“Would I do that?”

“In a heartbeat,” she retorted.

“Honestly, I’m not trying to create doubts—”

“And just what would you call it?”

Sebastian finished fastening the hook and turned her around to face him, both hands resting lightly on the rounded curves of her shoulders. “I’m only trying to make sure that you’ve thought things through a little before committing yourself to this engagement. You tend to be a bit impulsive where your heart’s concerned. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. You have to admit that.”

“Oh, I do. And the first time was when I married you.” Standing this close to him, Kitty found it difficult not to remember how madly in love with him she had been.

“As your first husband, I think I have the right to vet any future replacement.”

Kitty bristled. “That is the most arrogant statement I have ever heard you make. And you have made quite a few.”

“Why is that arrogant?” Sebastian countered in a perfectly reasonable tone. “You have to know that I still care about you a lot, even if we aren’t married anymore. I don’t want to see you get hurt again. Believe it or not, I hope Mr. Chocolate makes you very happy.”

“Well, I don’t,” she stated flatly.

A frown of disbelief swept across his expression. “You don’t want him to make you happy?”

“Of course I do,” Kitty replied in exasperation. “But I don’t believe that you do. And his name is Marcel.”

“My mistake.” He dipped his head in mild apology, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“You’ve made a lot of them.” Kitty needed to get a dig in to negate the effects of that near smile.

“I have, but you were never one of them, kitten.”

“Don’t call me that. You know I hate it.”

“You used to like it.”

“Don’t remind me, please. That was long ago. And I was very young and very foolish.”

“And very beautiful. You still are.” With his fingertip, he traced the curve of her jaw.

The featherlight caress made her skin tingle. “Don’t start with the flattery, Sebastian. It doesn’t work anymore.” She did her best to ignore the rapid skittering of her pulse.

“It’s not flattery. It’s the truth.”

“Then keep it to yourself.”

“I will, on one condition.”

“What’s that?” she asked, instantly wary.

“You see, something tells me that I won’t be invited to the wedding—”

“It’s a wise little bird that’s whispering in your ear.”

Sebastian pretended not to hear that. “—So, this may be my only chance to kiss the bride.”

“Not on your life.” Kitty took an immediate step back.

“Why not?” He looked genuinely surprised.

“Because it’s just another one of your tricks. You know there’s a physical attraction that still exists between us. You want to use that to confuse me.”

“Do you think I could do that with just one little kiss?”

“I am not going to find out,” she stated.

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid? You, Kitty Hamilton?” His look was one of mocking skepticism.

She shook her head. “That’s not going to work either. You aren’t going to dare me into it, so you might as well give up.”

“Now you’ve hurt my feelings.” But his smile mocked his words.

“You’ll get over it.” Determined to bring this meeting to an end, Kitty stated calmly, “Thank you for hooking my dress. Now, if you don’t mind, I would like to finish getting ready. And you, as I recall, were on your way back to the studio to shave—with my razor.”

He started to sing, “ ‘You go your way. I’ll go mine.’ ”

“Don’t.” Kitty covered her ears. “Singing is not one of your talents. Stick to oils.”