After That Night. Ann Evans
lifted the glass in the air. “If you want anything deeper than that, you’ll have to buy me another Rum Blaster, because without benefit of liquor, I don’t find my life remotely worth discussing.”
He pinned her with a shrewd glance. “How many of those have you had?”
“This makes three. But they’re girlie drinks, so you really can’t baste the tooze.” She blinked in confusion. “I mean, taste the booze. Gosh, I guess it’s true what they say—the tongue’s the first thing that dissolves in alcohol. Or was that dignity?”
“Have you had any dinner?”
“No.” A colorful row of pineapple, oranges and cherries lay forlornly on a long toothpick in her glass. She pulled them off with her teeth and munched happily for a moment. “Unless you count this fruit.”
“My turn to give advice. Drinking on an empty stomach isn’t a good idea.”
“I’ll write that down,” she said in mock seriousness, patting herself as though looking for a pencil. Her hand stumbled across the bulge in her jacket pocket. “Oh wait, I do have dinner!” She pulled out the small jar of macadamia nuts, tilting it toward him. “Want some?”
“I was thinking of something a little more substantial.”
“They’re awfully expensive, you know? The fact that I’m willing to share them with you means that you must be very, very special.”
Silence. Then he sent her another one of those slow, confusing, blinding smiles. “That’s nice to know,” he said softly.
He was looking at her intently, filling her with an acute and perfect pleasure. How wonderful, she thought, to have a man look at you the way Mark Bishop was. She knew with a helpless, hopeless shudder that she no longer cared what Shelby or Lauren or anyone thought about him.
“Jenna—” her name on his lips was the most seductive sound she’d ever heard “—would you have dinner with me? A real dinner?”
“I suppose,” she said. “I don’t want to throw up.”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said with a short laugh. He rose, deposited a few bills on the table and held out one hand. “Come on, I know just the place.”
She seesawed up to her feet, a little surprised at how unsteady she felt. Was it the rum or her damned heels or the effect of standing this close to Mark Bishop? With one hand on her elbow, he led her out of the bar and onto the sidewalk.
They walked in silence, side by side. Jenna clutched her file folder to her chest as if it was the most valuable possession she owned.
Sunset was over, but night had yet to claim the streets completely. The air was soft, full of the promise of rain and a dozen different city scents. They passed bookshops and travel agencies and restaurants too numerous to count. Honky-tonk music drifted out to them from a cowboy bar, beckoning the sinful.
Jenna drew in a deep lungful of air. “I love this time of day, don’t you? All the anxiety and tension you’ve struggled with all day suddenly seem rounded out and smoothed over.”
“Yes,” he said. “It does seem to put all the complexities of the day into perspective.”
She hadn’t meant to remind him of any earlier unpleasantness. To change the subject, she touched the top of her FTW file. “You know, I’m really not a journalist.”
“You’re not?” he replied with no attempt at all to sound sincere.
She pressed the file against her face, grimacing. “I knew I wasn’t fooling anyone. Least of all you. Tell me I didn’t disgrace myself.”
“You didn’t. Regardless of the way it ended, I enjoyed it. I don’t think I’ve ever been interviewed in such an inventive manner.”
She turned her head to look at him, trying to read his features, trying to interpret the play of light and shadow on his face. The slight breeze had tossed his dark hair into a sexy, windblown tangle. She managed to swallow and find her voice.
“I’m an accountant,” she admitted. “A partner in the magazine, but a number cruncher at heart.” Briefly she explained why she’d been given the task of interviewing him, leaving out how desperately she’d tried to avoid the assignment in the first place. “Vic is going to scissor me up when I tell her there’s no article.”
“That’s hardly your fault.”
“True. Actually, I think it’s yours. We didn’t really get to finish the interview, you know.”
“I do business with several of the men that were on that list.” He touched the corner of her file. “One of them is about to announce his engagement to a very hot Hollywood actress. Maybe I could persuade him to give your magazine an exclusive.”
She halted abruptly. Turning, she looked at him in amazement. “Why would you do that for me? I mean, for us?”
“Because you’re right that we didn’t get to complete it. And because you deserve it,” he answered simply.
They traded a long, silent look. She had no idea what to say. A few people detoured around them. She must have swayed a little, because he stepped closer and took her arm.
When he pulled her into the stream of foot traffic and took her hand in his, she didn’t try to pull away. They continued to walk, hand in hand like lovers. The odd thing was how right and natural it felt.
Jenna’s senses were completely muddled now, afloat in rum-soaked, guilty delight. It wasn’t until they went through the revolving doors of the Belasco Hotel that she came suddenly back to earth.
“This is your hotel,” she said.
“Yes.”
Automatically she moved toward the direction of the hotel dining room. Mark steered her toward the elevators, instead. “Actually, I was thinking of my suite.”
She came to a dead stop and frowned up at him. “I can’t go up to your suite!”
“Why not? You were up there earlier.”
“That was different.”
“I’m not trying to seduce you. I’m trying to feed you.”
“Oh.” She dropped her chin to her chest, thinking hard, then lifted her face to eye him with renewed suspicion. “No ulterior motives?”
“Not right now,” he said with a smile. He didn’t look a bit perturbed or offended. “Maybe later, after you’ve sobered up.”
“I’m not drunk. Pleasantly buzzed, maybe. But not drunk. So what’s wrong with going to a restaurant?”
“Nothing. Except…”
He glanced away, as though debating something, then turned back to her. “Look,” he said with a long sigh. “Believe it or not, upstairs is a dining room full of balloons, a huge spread of food, a waiter to serve everything and a chef who, by now, is no doubt pouting. Having dinner with me in my penthouse will probably save my life.”
Maybe she was more buzzed than she thought. None of his words made much sense. She settled on trying to sort through something easy. “Why do you have balloons in your dining room?”
“Because before this afternoon’s fiasco, Shelby had asked the hotel to plan a private dinner for the two of us. She evidently forgot to cancel it. Once I saw all the preparation going on, I just walked out. I sure as hell wasn’t in the mood to celebrate anything. Then I found you. Now I’m thinking it would be a shame to see it go to waste.”
The idea of spending more time in Mark Bishop’s company held a lot of appeal. But she wasn’t sure she wanted to do it surrounded by a bunch of party decorations meant to celebrate the engagement of this man to another woman. “A celebration?”
“Actually—” he grinned, and for