CHAPTER THREE
BELLE HARRIS WAS one of the models for the January fashion shows. She was being fitted with one of Miss Raines’s new designs, a sheath dress, and while that was being done, she looked over the accessories that Ivory had chosen to go with it.
Accustomed to Miss Raines’s constant criticism of her choices, Ivory waited for the gloriously beautiful redhead to make a stinging remark of her own. But she didn’t.
“Why, you have a wonderful eye for color,” Belle remarked, her green eyes glowing as she watched Ivory adjust the patterned green scarf and gold belt that she’d paired with the simple gray silk sheath. She looked around to make sure Miss Raines wasn’t eavesdropping. “Honestly, when I saw the sketch for this dress, I groaned. Virginia Raines has no imagination. None whatsoever. Why Curry keeps her on is beyond me. Perhaps it’s because she’s the age of his mother.”
“Curry?” Ivory ventured, curious.
“Curry Kells, silly,” Belle explained. “He owns a lot of companies around town, and he’s super rich. He takes me out a lot. He’s a real gentleman. No kinky stuff, no fighting him off at the end of the evening—although, just between us, I’d love the chance! He’s good-looking and cultured, and he smells like a male cologne commercial. He always wears one of those sexy scents that make you want to purr.”
“One of the girls said he was...visually challenged.”
“How politically correct!” Belle said with a laugh. “He’s got one eye, Ivory. He lost it in a gang fight in his teens.”
“Oh!”
“Don’t look so dismayed. The other boy lost his freedom. He killed one of Curry’s friends and was arrested for it. But not until after Curry caught up with him.”
“Gangs never seem to go out of style,” Ivory remarked. “I’ve seen them, and they scare me.”
“It seems every neighborhood has one.” Belle looked in the mirror, frowned, then swept her hair up and pinned it. “There, doesn’t that suit the dress better?”
“Yes, it does.”
“I’ll have the hairdresser do it that way for the show. How about shoes?”
“I had these covered...” She produced a pair of pumps covered in gold satin.
“Elegant!”
“Trashy!” Miss Raines harrumphed when she saw them. “Black pumps, Ivory, not those vulgar things. Not with my dress!”
Belle and Ivory exchanged resigned glances and Ivory replaced the pumps. Miss Raines had no tolerance for people who disagreed with her ideas. In her world everything was structured, measured, with no allowance for spontaneity. The sad thing was that everyone around her was expected to comply with her design sense. Ivory despaired of ever using her creative abilities under that stifling control.
Later, when she had a little time to herself, she mulled over what Belle had said to her about Curry Kells. She began to suspect that the man she’d met on the cathedral steps was Kells. His presence at the company that day, only half a block from the cathedral, and the black eye patch clinched it.
If that was the case, how would she approach him about her designs now? He’d probably think she was pursuing him for another handout! On the other hand, the party would be the ideal time to catch his eye, and she wouldn’t have to work too hard if her dress drew the attention she expected. He’d be bound to ask her who the designer was. And she’d tell him. She hoped Miss Raines would be standing right at her side when he asked.
* * *
IN HIS WALL STREET office, Curry Kells was just finishing a complicated financial report for his board of directors. He saved the file and turned off the computer, feeling as if he’d done two days’ work in a quarter of the time.
He stretched and grimaced at the protest from his sore muscles. The leather chair was remarkably uncomfortable for something that was supposed to be both functional and luxurious. He remembered the ramshackle office he’d occupied years ago when he was only a clerk in a manufacturing company, and the tattered but very comfortable chair he’d used.
He looked around his carpeted office with its solid oak furnishings and black leather chairs and sofa. There were five awards in a cabinet against the wall, three of which were for humanitarian efforts in the inner city. The other two were from business associates: one was a Chamber of Commerce Man of the Year award, and the other was a youth club honor for organizing a sports club for underprivileged boys. He hadn’t done the humanitarian work for the awards. To him, his community service was a payback. If it hadn’t been for a successful businessman giving him a boost up the ladder, he’d still be an underpaid clerk. A man much like the man he’d become had made all his advancements possible by funding his education and supplementing his mother’s meager income as a hotel housekeeper. He’d been able to see his sister through college and pay for a good nursing home for his severely mentally challenged brother now that his mother was no longer physically able to look after him.
He stood up and looked out his office window at the city skyline that reached to the river. His mother’s condition was far more serious than he’d realized. He’d thought she was indestructible, immortal. It had been her confidence in him, her quiet support, that had made it possible for him to rise above their hopeless poverty and make a success of his life. With little more than a good brain and some business sense, he’d made more than two million dollars already. He’d made sure that his mother shared his success, that she lived well. But now all the money in the world wasn’t going to help her. He was helpless, and the fury he felt was spilling into his business life. It infuriated him that he could do nothing for the woman who’d worked herself almost to death providing for her family.
The buzzer sounded twice before it distracted him from his morose introspection. He turned impatiently and pushed the button on his telephone. “Yes?”
“You asked Miss Raines to come and see you, sir.”
“Yes. So I did. Send her in.” He’d had some comments from Harry Lambert, one of his vice presidents, on Miss Raines’s treatment of the younger designers and her stranglehold on the company’s seasonal designs. She was one of the senior designers he’d kept on from the old company. She was, in fact, the senior designer, and about his mother’s age. She reminded him of Teresa Kells—salt-and-pepper hair and no frills, ever.
“Send her in,” he said again curtly.
A minute later, the door opened and his secretary admitted a visibly ruffled Virginia Raines. She was wearing a dark suit with a simple white blouse, probably one of her own designs. He wondered irritably why she didn’t deviate from the same pattern she seemed to use for all her work. He didn’t like dismissing senior staff or demoting them, but Miss Raines was costing him sales. The company was still operating in the red, which was really all that he expected from such a new acquisition; but he’d been hoping for some small rise in sales over the months since his takeover, and it hadn’t been forthcoming.
“Come in and sit down, Miss Raines,” he invited, motioning her into a chair.
“Yes, sir.” She sat primly, her legs to one side, her hands folded neatly in her lap. “If it’s about the new lines, they’re coming along very well, Mr. Kells.”
“They may be. Sales are not,” he said bluntly. He leaned forward, his lean hands on the desk. “We need something exciting for our salesmen to push to the buyers for summer, Miss Raines. Our sales haven’t risen one percentage point since I’ve been here. Our executives and our stockholders are getting worried. I can’t say I blame them. Our competitors are gaining ground with some, shall we say, fairly outlandish designs.”
She flushed a little. “Sir, elegance is still a matter of simplicity. I can’t remind you often enough that frills and fads go out of style as often as they come in.”
“And I can’t remind you often enough that fads are a boon to the industry. As long as women purchase more clothes each season to keep in step, we make money. If we produce only time-honored designs that carry over for several seasons, we bankrupt ourselves.”
She cleared her throat and lifted her chin. “I have been a fashion designer for twenty-five years...”
“And a very good one.” In your day, he wanted to add. He forced a smile. “However, I feel that we need some new blood in our design staff. I want to see some outrageous fashions, Miss Raines, some eye-catching, controversial things that will make the top fashion writers look twice at us. On that note, I asked you here to check on the winner in that design competition we held in the spring. How is she measuring up? I can’t say that I’ve had a single progress report from you since her arrival.”
Miss Raines smiled with faint condescension. “Well, she’s very young, of course—only twenty-two. And the contest was really more of a publicity thing, wasn’t it? I mean, you hardly expect to find a creative genius come from a Texas design school.”
He gave her a hard look, and she squirmed. He didn’t relent. He’d found over the years that when it came to flat intimidation, a wordless glare got more results than volumes of words. He let her squirm some more before he answered the insulting remark.
“I should hardly think it matters where the design school is, if the girl is talented. You sound as if she should never have been hired.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to imply that, sir! It’s just that she’s...causing dissension,” she said firmly. “I don’t dislike her. She’s a hard worker. But she interferes with my models and she’s always trying to put herself forward as a designer. She’s just a sketch designer, and she’s only been with the firm for six months. It’s impossible to let her have a hand in our new lines with so little experience. She’s just twenty-two,” she repeated, to emphasize the age. “Perhaps you could find her another spot, another place in the organization. In another building,” she emphasized.
Curry stared at her curiously. It was highly irregular for an employee to ask him personally to remove another employee. Miss Raines looked more than ruffled. She looked frightened.
“Doing what?”
“She might work well in sales,” she said vaguely.
“You want her removed. Why?”
The question, so deftly fired at her, caught her unawares. She stammered. “Well, she might be happier somewhere else.”
He recognized professional jealousy when he saw it. His gaze narrowed. “The happiness of the staff is hardly a day-to-day concern of mine. Unless you have some tangible evidence of incompetence, you’ll leave her where she is and work out whatever problems you have.” He sat back in his chair, fixing her with that cold stare. “In the meantime, Miss Raines, I want to see some new designs in our spring and summer line, something different and exciting.”
“Mr. Kells, perhaps when you learn a little more about design...” she began with faint condescension.
“Perhaps you should learn a little bit more about spreadsheets and profit,” he returned icily. “If you can’t or won’t ditch your outdated designs and show me something new, then by God, I’ll find someone who can. Do I make myself clear?”
Her face drew up like a prune. She cleared her throat. “I’ll do what I can,” she said, almost choking. The former president of the company had been an elderly man with a kindly attitude toward her work. This barracuda was cut from different cloth.
She rose to her feet. He was dangerous, and she’d realized it just in time; but she couldn’t resist one last gambit. “One more thing, Mr. Kells. Surely you didn’t mean to invite the entire design staff to this party you’re giving?” she asked hopefully.
“I did,” he corrected. “I don’t play power games and I’m no snob. I want everyone connected with the company present. Everyone.”
She shifted restlessly. “Very well, sir.”
He watched her leave, scowling. Odd question. He was still bristling at her tone. Something would have to be done about her. He admired loyalty, but there was such a thing as loyalty being detrimental to profit. Whole families depended on the jobs of his workers. He couldn’t sacrifice them to Miss Raines’s pride.
When the door closed he waited a few moments and then buzzed his secretary. “Rowena, get me the file on that girl who won the design competition we sponsored. Bring it right in.”
“Yes, sir.”
He put down the phone. The interruption had accomplished one thing, he told himself. It had diverted his mind from his own worries.
* * *
THE PENTHOUSE WHERE Curry Kells lived overlooked Central Park. It was big enough to allow for the entertainment of a small army; it took two maids and a valet to keep it in order, and the caterer had brought on additional staff. Lavish tables were spread with platters of caviar and shrimp, dainty savory pastries, vegetable slices and dips, and little cakes and tarts. In addition to the amply supplied bar, there were soft drinks, fruit juices and a huge urn of coffee for teetotalers. He seems to have thought of everything, Ivory mused as she arrived with Dee.
She recognized only a few faces in the colorful crowd. She was nervous, even in the exquisite white satin gown with its lavish, intricate embroidery, and the white satin-covered pumps that matched it. Clutching a small embroidered satin bag she’d made to go with the outfit, she looked exquisitely regal, even to Dee, who was wearing a couture silk sheath dress of taupe that went well with her flowing blond hair.
“You look like a visiting princess,” Dee remarked under her breath. “Don’t blow the image by letting your knees knock. Look confident. Smile!”
“I’m scared to death,” Ivory whispered back. Even her voice was shaking, and for once, her carefully controlled accent was noticeable. “God almighty, Dee, the closest I’ve ever come to this in my life was a church party in high school! I don’t even know what to say to people like these!”
“Don’t panic,” Dee said, squeezing her arm comfortingly. “Take deep breaths and don’t look down!”
“Good advice for someone standing on a precipice,” a silky deep voice mused behind them.
Ivory actually jumped, because the unexpected voice was right over her shoulder.
She whirled, and there he was—the man she’d seen at the cathedral.
He wasn’t half as surprised as she was. His expression was one of amused mockery as he looked at her dress and then back into her flushed face. Her eyes were huge, gray as a sparrow’s wing and full of apprehension. Her short golden blond hair circled her face like spun silk. She wasn’t beautiful, but she was striking. Those gray eyes mesmerized him, but it was the faint fear on her features, the barely perceptible trembling of her slender body that touched him. He felt suddenly, shockingly, protective.
He caught Ivory’s upper arm in a gentle but steely grip. “Come with me,” he said. He looked over her shoulder. “Get her something nonalcoholic,” he told Dee, taking charge. “Not coffee,” he added dryly. “Something decaffeinated!” Dee chuckled as she went off to comply with the request.
“Don’t faint,” he said with soft mockery as he led her out onto the glass-enclosed balcony. It was icy outside, but this area was heated and filled with dozens of potted plants. It looked like a greenhouse.
“I wasn’t about to faint,” she replied, regaining some of her stamina. “I’m a little out of my depth, and strangers make me nervous, that’s all.”
He glanced back inside at the noisy crowd. “They’re just people,” he reminded her. “Some of them are probably as intimidated as you are.”
“I very much doubt that.” She looked up at him and allowed her eyes to linger. He fascinated her. She thought again, as she’d thought the first time she had seen him, that she’d never come across such a handsome man. He had a smile that made her insides feel warm, and there was interest and amusement in that black gaze.
He was looking, too. Her face was just a little rounded, just enough to make it vulnerable and soft without making it heavy. Her big gray eyes dominated it. She had high cheekbones and a straight nose and a firm little chin. Her mouth was a sweet curved bow that made his lips tingle just looking at it. Her figure was exquisitely displayed in that well-fitted gown, and he could not restrain his desire to linger just a moment too long on the line of her breasts. He was tall enough that he could see into the neckline, see the soft, firm swell of delicate pink flesh that the flat slash of the square neckline only enhanced.
“Please don’t stare,” she said in a quiet voice with a dignity beyond her years, clasping her hands over her bodice in quiet discomfort.
He lifted his gaze back to her eyes with a start. She was flushed with embarrassment. The white purity of the gown she was wearing seemed suddenly appropriate, and those annoying protective instincts began to stir in him all over again.
“Ivory Keene,” he said.
Her eyes widened. “You know who I am?”
He nodded. He didn’t add why. “I gave you a five-dollar bill in front of the church, didn’t I?” She had a face that wasn’t easy to forget. Neither was the kindness in those gray eyes.
She laughed at the memory. “I guess I did look tatty in that coat. I really must replace it.” She didn’t add that she couldn’t quite afford something nice just yet, because she sent half her paycheck home to keep her mother at bay.
“Surely you can afford a coat,” he chided. “Unless you’re making payments on a yacht...?”
“I have...a financial obligation,” she said evasively.
“We all have those.” He turned as Dee came onto the balcony with a glass of tonic water and a cup of coffee. She handed them to her companions with a grin. “The bartender mentioned that you never touch liquor,” she said to Curry, “and that you liked your coffee black and strong.”
“Thank you,” he said, surprised.
“Yes, thanks,” Ivory added belatedly with a smile.
Dee looked from one to the other quickly and excused herself. “There’s a gorgeous male model over by the bar, and we share a hobby. I have to get back before someone appropriates him.”
She was gone in a flash. Curry studied Ivory as she looked toward her departing friend.
“Dee and I came together,” she said involuntarily.
“If her new acquaintance wants to take her home, I’ll see that you get back to your apartment,” he assured her.
She lifted her eyes back to his face with breathless excitement. There was something she should remember; something, someone... Belle! Belle was dating him. She couldn’t infringe on the other girl’s territory, no matter what the temptation.
“Wouldn’t Belle mind?” she asked carefully.
He pursed his lips and smiled, balancing his coffee cup in one hand. “No.”
“Oh. I thought, well, I heard...”
“That Belle and I are an item? We were. We’re still friends,” he said simply. “But she doesn’t own me.”
“I see.”
“Probably not.”
“Why did you look so sad?” she asked impulsively, and regretted it at once.
“At the church?”
She nodded.
He sipped his coffee. “I’d stopped by to talk to the priest on my way to the office, but he was out on a visit. I was tired and I sat down on the steps because it felt comforting, somehow. My mother has cancer,” he added stiffly.
“I’m sorry. Do you have other family?”
“A sister and a mentally challenged brother. Severely challenged. He has Down syndrome.”
She frowned.
“That’s what they mistakenly call a mongoloid child. It’s caused by a defective chromosome. He was born late in my mother’s life.”
“You take care of all of them. All your family.”
“Yes.” He searched her uplifted face carefully. “I was rude to you.”
“You were hurting,” she said simply. “Wounded things always lash out.”
“You sound as if you know a lot about wounded things.”
She lowered her eyes to his spotless white shirt. “Oh, a little perhaps,” she said with a smile.
His lean, immaculate hand started toward her shoulder, then hesitated. “I’m keenly aware that some people dislike being touched,” he said when she looked up, surprised by this hesitation from a man who acted as if he never paused to ask permission.
“I don’t mind,” she said, surprising herself, because she was one of those people who didn’t like it.
He smiled, and his hand smoothed over the shoulder of the garment. His fingers traced the embroidery. “Where did you get this?” he asked. “I haven’t seen stitching like that since I was a child, watching my grandmother make blouses for my sister.”
“I made it,” she said simply.
He stared at her. “You made it?”
“I like the Tudor period,” she said. “I don’t have a college education, but I love history and I like to read about the Tudors. I saw a similar design in a painting of Elizabeth I, and I adapted this from it.”
His hand stilled on her shoulder. “You designed this? And embroidered it?”
She nodded.
His breath caught. “Good God!”
“It isn’t too flashy or anything?” she asked uncertainly. “I mean, outlandishly so?”
His hand smoothed down the sleeve, savoring the soft warmth of her arm under the satin fabric. “It’s virginal,” he said. “Pure. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”
“Miss Raines thought it was overdone.” She spoke without thinking, from pain.
His hand slid down to her fingers and tangled sensuously in them. “She’s quite mistaken,” he said, deciding to do something about Miss Raines before she destroyed this budding talent. “It’s elegant,” he added, his deep voice soft and reassuring. “Beautiful.”
She smiled shyly. “Thank you.”
His heart was acting up. He cleared his throat and withdrew his hand from hers. He’d never experienced such a feeling before, as if something inside him were melting sweetly.
She looked up at him with curious, trusting eyes.
His lips parted as he let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “You’re twenty-two,” he said involuntarily, remembering what Virginia Raines had told him.
“Yes. And you?”
“I’m thirty-seven,” he said, smiling. “Ancient, in your young eyes, I imagine.”
“Oh, no,” she said at once. “You have the sort of face that age is kind to. You won’t look old even when you are.”
“Flattery, too,” he mused, chuckling. “You’re a charmer, Miss Keene.” He was attracted and he didn’t want to be. He moved away from her discreetly. “I want that design,” he said.
She was reeling from the effect he had on her; that, and his withdrawal, his sudden coldness. “This...dress?” she faltered.
He turned. “Yes. I want it for the upcoming collection.”
She was stunned, and it showed.
“I’ll send word to Miss Raines. Furthermore, I want you involved in design projects from now on.”
“She won’t like it,” she faltered.
“I don’t give a damn if she likes it or not, I give the orders around here!”
His temper was quick and hot. She was reassured by it, rather than frightened, because she knew that a man who let off steam often was less likely to become homicidal all at once. Repressed anger was the dangerous kind, the psychologists said. She smiled.
“Well?” he asked. “You’ll get a bonus if your design sells at the showings in January. I think it might—it has potential for a wedding gown as well as an evening dress. On the strength of its originality, I’m going to promote you to junior design status. That will mean a raise in salary, too.”
She couldn’t find the words to express her delight. Her open mouth spoke for her.
He chuckled at the rapt pleasure she couldn’t hide. “You’re welcome,” he said with a grin. He glanced inside the apartment and found several pair of curious eyes directed toward them. “Uh-oh. I see a scandal developing.”
“A scandal?”
“Us.” He smiled down at her confusion. “I’m seducing you, Miss Innocence. Can’t you tell, from the wolfish grins and the noses pressed against the windows?”
“Oh!”
“Not to worry. I’m not the rake I used to be. I’m too old and too tired for instant seduction. But watch those male models. Some of them are straight, and you’re green for your age.”
“A lamb among wolves?” she teased.
“Good analogy.” He was moving toward the door.
“Thank you for giving me a chance, Mr. Kells,” she said seriously. “I won’t disappoint you.”
He glanced at her. “Curry. Not Mr. Kells.”
“Curry.” She frowned. “It’s unusual.”
“It’s my grandmother’s maiden name,” he explained. He opened the door for her. “Into the breach, as they say. Harry Lambert’s drooling over you. He’s the tall brown-haired man wearing the red tie with his dinner jacket—something of a roué, but nice people. You could do worse. He’s one of my vice presidents.”
“Yes, I know, he’s in charge of our division. I’ve seen him in the elevator. I don’t really want to get involved with anyone,” she added honestly.
He closed the door. “Why?”
She shifted uncomfortably. “You ask a lot of questions.”
“I’m a curious man.”
“I don’t really think I should offer you the story of my life.”
“I’d hardly expect it from a casual acquaintance. But you and I are going to be considerably more than that.”
Her eyes sought his and were captured by a glittery black gaze that seemed to penetrate right into her mind. Her knees went wobbly at the intensity of emotion he kindled in her. She’d never known anything like it.
“You don’t want involvement,” he prompted in a terse, strained tone.
“I...didn’t,” she amended huskily, studying his lean, hard face with eyes that clung to it against her will.
He lifted his hand and touched her full bow mouth tenderly. His forefinger traced it and her lips parted on a soft murmur of pleasure.
“My God!” he bit off.
His finger trembled. She felt her body going taut, going rigid. She looked into his eye and imagined that she could see right through to his soul. Why, I’ve known you all my life, she thought inexplicably. I’ve known you since the beginning of time, and I don’t understand how or why!
As if he could hear her jumbled thoughts, he moved away from her and turned his back. The night sky was misty. The streetlights had halos. Taxicabs sounded their horns impudently on the streets below. He began to breathe normally again.
He heard the door open and close. He didn’t turn around. It had been twenty years since a woman had had such an impact on his senses. But he had to remember that she was the wrong woman. He had his mother to care for. He couldn’t afford the luxury of embroiling himself in a love affair right now, least of all with a naive woman not much more than half his age. And anything serious was out of the question. It was the night and the stress of the past few days, that was all. Besides, the girl had probably been playing up to him to get that job. She wouldn’t be the first.
Having convinced himself that he’d taken it all too seriously, he went back to his guests and played the role of perfect host for the rest of the evening.
Still the promise he had made came back to mind when Dee left with her male model. Ivory was stranded, and Harry Lambert was buzzing around her like a persistent honeybee. Curry might have been able to ignore her, except that once she looked across the room at him with eyes that could have touched the cold heart of a statue. No silent plea for rescue had ever been more eloquent. He found that he couldn’t ignore it.