CHAPTER 8

WHEN SERENA finally forced herself to call David’s office on Wednesday to give him some price estimates and ask when he could squeeze in a meeting at the hotel hosting the banquet and auction, she was almost childishly relieved to learn from his new receptionist that he was unavailable and would be for the rest of the day.

“You could try catching him on his cell phone between his visits to prospective clients,” Jasmine suggested, “but the best you’ll probably do is voice mail.”

“Thanks,” Serena said as she hung up. Voice mail worked for her. Much as she had once enjoyed talking to David, she wasn’t entirely sure what to say to him yet. Price estimates, she reminded herself. Keep it professional.

She took a deep breath and dialed, prepared to sound proficient and detached when she left her message.

“David Grant speaking.”

Ack! Was it too late to hang up, or did his cell phone have caller identification?

“Hello?” he prompted.

“H-hi. It’s Serena, I wasn’t expecting to talk to you.”

“Ah, you meant to call another man?”

She leaned back in her desk chair. “Jasmine said I would have a tough time getting through to you.”

He muttered something that sounded like “Ironic,” but added in a clearer voice, “Well, whether you intended to or not, you got me.”

Refusing to read anything into his words, she said crisply, “Great. Then we can discuss meeting times. Although I can easily messenger over the program samples and—”

“That’s a pointless business expense when we’ll need to get together to discuss other issues anyway.”

Scowling into the phone, she thought that one little across-town mailing wouldn’t break the bank. She hoped. “All right. I gather today’s out of the question. What about to—”

“I have a conference call with our contracts department in the morning, and those boys who only speak legalese can be long-winded. Then I have lunch with Nate Filcher, the CEO of Digi-Dial, a company we’re trying to partner with. I have a callback interview in the afternoon for someone to help our HR department. And Friday’s even worse. It’ll be tough to fit you in.”

Well, don’t do me any favors, she thought, grinding her teeth. This was his project, after all, the event he’d hired her for at the last minute, insisting he be part of the planning.

“Look, David, if it’s too much trouble for you—”

“Any chance we could have dinner?” he asked. “I could pick you up—”

“That won’t be necessary,” she interjected quickly, having learned her lesson yesterday. “As it happens, I have an appointment downtown late tomorrow afternoon.” He wasn’t the only one with a schedule. “Why don’t I just meet you somewhere?”

“Great.” The background noise suddenly dulled some, and his tone became brisker. “I’m here, so I have to run. I’ll have Jasmine call you to finalize the details.”

He hung up before she had a chance to respond, and she blinked at the dismissal. And the irrational hurt over feeling insignificant, bumped down from David’s busy and important priority list to something his receptionist could follow up on. What was wrong with her? She was accustomed to working around a client’s schedule. To some extent, they paid her to be available at their convenience. It wasn’t something she took personally.

Of course, she’d never slept with a client before. Good thing she wouldn’t be doing it again.

No more confusing business and pleasure, she told herself as she slid into a restaurant booth the following the evening to wait for David. Mixing the two was as volatile as crossing friendship with sex. They didn’t necessarily blend, and as great as the sex was, the possibility of losing one of the few people she’d been able to depend on for years was too great a price to pay.

She watched the entrance, not really sure what to expect from today’s meeting. They’d both been highly annoyed when they’d parted ways two days ago…but the annoyance had come after both being highly aroused. Had he meant what he said about not even mentioning sex? That should make him easier to resist then, right?

Wrong. The second she spotted David enter the restaurant and start threading his way toward where she sat, her heartbeat started to race and her insides quivered. Every single cell in her body was attuned to his presence and clamoring for his attention.

Nothing’s changed. He wasn’t the man for her, she wasn’t the woman for him. But her warning went unheeded. Stupid cells.

“Hey,” David said as he dropped onto his side of the booth. “Been waiting long?”

She shook her head, unable to find her voice. Surprisingly, even more than she wanted to kiss him hello, she wanted to apologize—tell him she didn’t mean to keep leading him on and pushing him away. But they’d laid the sexual issue to rest, and digging it back up seemed like the textbook explanation of dumb.

A waiter bustled by, taking their drink orders and asking if they wanted an appetizer.

“Artichoke dip okay with you?” David asked.

The cheesy dip, actually baked inside a loaf of bread, was one of her favorites. Hardly low cal, but why not take this opportunity to add on a few pounds? No one was going to be seeing her naked anytime soon.

“Bring it on,” she told the waiter, who raised his eyebrows at her glum tone.

“Rough day?” David asked once they were alone.

His blue eyes held genuine concern, and she knew that he was ready and willing to listen to any problems she had. He’d be so much easier to resist if he was grouchy with her, or smug in the you-don’t-know-what-you’re-missing-baby kind of way. The trouble of course was that she knew exactly what she was missing.

“No, it’s just been a long week.” That was a nice, nonspecific way to encapsulate the turmoil of the last few days.

He nodded, his expression sympathetic. “You know what’s great for tension? A massage. I know some people are shy about it, but the reward for letting go of your hangups is definitely worth it. Nothing melts your problems away like the right person’s hands on your body.”

The right person’s hands on her body was what had caused her problems in the first place. “I don’t think so,” she said, reminding herself that this was business. Picturing her customer naked was inappropriate.

“What about just indulging in a weekend spent in bed, then?”

She bit back a groan. “I, um, have plans this weekend. In fact…” She hoped Alyson had been right about inviting David. Serena had to do something to get them back on track as friends. “Are you busy Saturday?”

His eyes got so wide she was glad no food had arrived yet. Judging by the apparent shock her question had caused, he undoubtedly would have choked, and performing the Heimlich would have necessitated her touching him. Which couldn’t possibly be a good idea.

“Why do you ask?” he wanted to know. “Business or pl—”

“Neither. I mean, pleasure, I guess. There’s a birthday party for my friend Alyson. I’ve told you about her.”

“The yoga instructor, sure. And you want me to come along?”

“Not as my date!” That really couldn’t be stressed enough. “But you’re new to Atlanta, and we’re friends, so I thought…But I completely understand if you’re too busy.” After all, the man’s belongings were still locked in storage while he worked too hard to find a place to live, and he’d just barely been able to make time for Serena this evening.

His jaw had tightened somewhere between “not as my date” and “we’re friends,” but he managed to smile anyway. The result was grim. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

Figured.

“Oh.” She forced a smile of her own. “Well, great. I know Aly really wants to meet you.”

The waiter returned with their appetizer and David’s frosty lager. Serena barely waited until the bread bowl was on the table before ripping off a piece and plunking it in the hot dip. Bread and cheese were comfort food, right?

David watched her silently, gallant enough not to comment on her uncharacteristic feeding frenzy. A moment later, she acknowledged that appetizers weren’t what she was hungry for and pushed the plate closer to him. She lifted a navy-blue folder from her seat. This was a business meeting, after all, and discussing the fund-raiser was the safest thing for her to do. Both in terms of her emotional state and staving off possible future cellulite.

“I got your e-mail with the final list of bachelors,” she told him, flipping over the printout where she’d jotted down the combined number of men available in all the participating companies and her suggestions for time periods. “I’ll give you my ideas and let the guys decide amongst themselves which they want. They can choose from my selections or brainstorm their own, but I need an answer fast if they need me to track down costumes. Here are three sample programs for the event.”

He lifted the one in the center, with fiery orange text on slate-blue paper. The words Time to Find A Cure were centered, encircled by from the dawn of time to a limitless tomorrow in a smaller font.

“I like where you’re going with this one,” he told her. “I’ll take a quick majority vote tomorrow morning, get you the specific information for the inside, and hopefully you can send the order to the printers before the weekend.”

With so many tiny details that had to be ironed out, Serena had plenty to distract her from the simmering attraction she was trying to ignore—even if, while they discussed the number of seats, she was more interested in the man seated across from her. His eyes crinkled at the corners every time he smiled at her, in a sexy, mischievous expression that made her want to lean across the booth and kiss him. The faint scent of an expensive, masculine cologne washed over her like a warm, seductive breeze, and it was difficult to imagine ever returning to a platonic friendship.

Could they do it?

Something sharp and panicky jabbed her in the heart. Surely it wouldn’t always be this way, with her so aware of him she was ready to come out of her skin. It was good that she’d invited him to the party on Saturday. Maybe being around other people would take some of this intimate pressure off and help them relax with one another again. Maybe being around some of her more off-beat friends would open David’s eyes to the fact that Serena was comfortable in a much different world than his.

With any luck—she’d be sure to wear her earrings—by the time the party was over, they’d be back on the right track. As opposed to the how-soon-can-I-get-you-naked? track where she was currently circling in fruitless laps.

* * *

UNDER different circumstances, Serena grabbing his hand and tugging him behind an oversized easel in a dark corner might have given David hope. Somehow, that wasn’t the case Saturday night in the dimly lit art gallery. For one thing, there were about three dozen other people in the spacious front room, and not even his free-spirited Serena was quite that exhibitionist. Also, since she’d given him a list of reasons why he should just meet her here rather than their driving together, he was pretty sure she wasn’t angling to get him alone. No, her actions probably stemmed from the fact that he’d gone in today for “a few hours” and had unintentionally worked until almost dinner time, only arriving moments before the expected birthday girl.

“You’re late,” Serena chided, her soft, husky voice a caress all its own even though she’d let go of his hand and was carefully not touching him.

“I got caught at work,” he whispered back.

“On a Saturday?”

“In my defense, I would’ve been here sooner, but I didn’t realize 285 would be backed up.”

“Oh, come on—285 is always backed up! But I’m glad you made it.” She sounded almost surprised about being happy he was here.

So why had she invited him? He thought he knew the answer to that question. Serena wanted to prove they were friends—safe, platonic friends who could go thirty seconds without wanting to tear each other’s clothes off. Delusional. He’d be surprised if she could make it twenty, and his personal best was eight-and-a-half.

A rustle of murmurs went through the crouching crowd in the gallery’s main room, a passing on of “I think she’s here” interspersed with “shh”s.

The front door opened. Illuminated by the outside lights, a woman and her taller companion stood on the steps. On cue, everyone yelled, “Surprise!” and appeared from behind urns and a reception desk and the sign stating exhibition dates.

An inside light flipped on, and David got his first look at Alyson Kane, a petite woman with almost waist-length dark-red hair and a beatific smile. She pressed a hand to her heart and laughed in delight, but as she scanned the room thanking everyone for coming and exclaiming over how shocked she was, he caught her send a sly wink in Serena’s direction. Then the woman’s gaze slid from Serena to David himself, and she advanced in his direction. Her date followed, but stopped to say hi to some acquaintances.

“Happy birthday, Aly!” Serena sidestepped David to hug her friend.

“Thanks. So, am I finally getting to meet David?” The woman’s expression was friendly, but judicious.

He realized he was being assessed, and it suddenly occurred to him how important it was that Serena’s friends not find him lacking. “David Grant. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Serena’s told me a lot about you.”

“Same here.” Alyson said, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

He slanted a look in Serena’s direction, and discovered she was blushing, from her cheeks all the way down to the neckline of her asymmetrical top. Her shirt, the color of lime sherbet, was held together at one shoulder by a beaded multicolored butterfly, then the material draped at an angle over her breasts, toga-style, leaving her other shoulder completely bare. As if that tantalizing glimpse of skin wasn’t enough to raise his rocketing temperature, the material stopped at her midriff, exposing her smooth, flat abdomen. The tiny blue crystal shimmering at her navel coordinated with the butterfly.

His gaze fell to her black jeans as he gauged how difficult they’d be to remove.

“David!”

Serena’s sharp tone caused him to glance up guiltily. Perhaps her definition of platonic friends didn’t include undressing each other with their eyes? Pity.

“There’s someone else I wanted to introduce you to,” she told him, waving her fingers at Aly as the birthday girl dutifully went to mingle with her guests.

Right, he was very interested in meeting people…as opposed to tossing Serena over his shoulder and finding someplace where they could be alone.

Afraid he was eyeing her like the big bad wolf with Red Riding Hood, he tried to focus on something neutral. “So, how surprised do you think she was?”

Serena laughed. “On a scale of one to ten? Not very. Come on, you have to meet Craig.”

Another male artist type. David ground his teeth together, hoping Serena didn’t decide to try dating this guy now that Happy was out of the picture.

A lanky man with dark hair and an eyebrow ring appeared in their path, shaking hands with David and engulfing Serena in an enthusiastic hug. The chances of David ever becoming friends with the guy increased drastically when Craig pulled back and grinned at a nearby pretty woman with a shy smile.

“Serena, this is my incredible girlfriend, Emma Baldwin. Em was a little nervous about meeting you, so no third degree.”

Serena sniffed. “I wouldn’t dream of putting her on the spot. Besides, I thought it would be more fun just to tell her lots of embarrassing stories about you.”

Emma laughed, but Craig narrowed his eyes in mocking retribution. “Oh, really? And does David here know all—”

“It’s lovely to finally meet you, Emma,” Serena interrupted.

“Same here,” the other woman said. “But I almost feel like I know you already. Craig speaks so highly of you, and of course I’ve seen his work, so—”

A strange croaking emitted from Serena’s throat, making her sound a lot like the little frogs outside in the velvety spring night. She coughed. “Sorry. Throat’s scratchy. Who wants a drink?” she asked brightly. Or manically, one might say.

“We’re good,” Craig said, nodding toward the glasses of wine they both held. “But the bar’s set up over in the corner. I should go wish Aly a happy birthday.”

David followed Serena, wondering where conversation would have headed if she hadn’t discovered a sudden thirst. Someone had turned on a sound system along with the overhead lights, and a strange ethereal music reverberated through the open space, accompanied by a much earthier electric guitar and occasional drum.

“That’s interesting,” David commented, tilting his head to listen.

Serena pursed her lips. “It’s a demo tape from someone Aly knows. You don’t like it?”

“No, it’s good. Different. Has an otherworldly grace, a sort of untouchable quality.” He ran his gaze over her. “But there’s just enough lusty, good old-fashioned rock and roll there, too.”

“It’s surbahar,” she told him as they stood in the short line at the bar.

“Su-ba-who?”

“A bass sitar.”

“That would mean more to me if I knew what a sitar was.”

“You know sitar. Remember that Indian restaurant with live music I took you to the last time you were up for Christmas?”

He’d always arrived for his visits with her in a state of amused anticipation, never knowing for sure where she’d drag him next but confident they’d have a great time. “Actually, Serena, I was here for Christmas a few months ago. But you were avoiding me then, remember?”

She bristled. “I was not. I told you, I was busy with work.”

“Yes. That is what you told me.”

“I can’t believe you of all people would give me grief about this. You were working today, on a Saturday!”

“This relocation is important.” In fact, if he hadn’t been seeing her tonight, he very well could have worked another few hours. He fully intended to be AGI’s youngest vice president ever and make his family proud, not that they weren’t already, but still…And Lou Innes himself had a trip to Atlanta scheduled soon to check on David’s progress.

“Having a place to live is important, too,” she argued. “You didn’t think today might be a good time to continue apartment hunting? Then again, if you’re going to live at the office, anyway, I guess an apartment is irrelevant.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“No, it’s not. Do you realize every time I called you in Boston, I reached you at the office? No matter what day or time it was, I knew odds were best I’d find you there.”

He wasn’t sure what to say to that. Yeah, he worked long hours. But she made it sound as if he didn’t have a life, which was nuts. He’d gone to his share of sporting events and even the theatre…of course, he often went with business connections. He dated often, too, although more than one woman had complained about his demanding schedule.

“What can I get you, buddy?” A dark-skinned man with a lilting foreign accent waited expectantly for their drink orders.

David requested a beer, and Serena took a bottle of water. She scanned the crowd, and he suspected she’d find more people for him to meet. And he wanted to, really, but not as much as he wanted to savor a few moments with her alone.

“So, can I get the tour, or is the rest of the gallery off-limits?” he asked.

She lifted an eyebrow. “Didn’t think you were much of an art enthusiast.”

“Just because I’m not one of those people likely to plunk down thousands of dollars for a blue triangle on a black background doesn’t mean I have no sense of culture. Besides, since when do you pass up a chance to broaden my horizons?”

“Fair enough. Come on, then.” Winding her way among the other party-goers, she led David out of the high-ceiling room and into a side corridor lined with stands displaying gleaming pieces of three-dimensional art, some depicting images of the jungle or the ocean, others far more abstract.

“Blown glass,” she told him. “These are all part of a traveling exhibit, done by a man in Oregon. Gorgeous, aren’t they?”

They truly were. He tended to associate glass with being clear and colorless, but the artist had trapped a rainbow of color in the smooth pieces. The corridor circled around to a staircase, leading to a second and third floor that looked down on the expansive lobby area. She pointed upward to a suspended sculpture that was clearly the artist’s rendition of the sun, even though it was made up of violets and blues instead of yellow or orange. David hated to imagine the destruction if the spiky spherical piece ever fell.

On the second floor, Serena led him through a room of canvases painted with acrylics, growing animated enough in her admiration for the artwork that she forgot to be tense because they were alone together. Unfortunately, he was so captivated by the sparkle in her eyes and flush of pleasure that he was uncomfortably aware of their intimate isolation. The buzz of conversation below seemed to be part of a different world.

“You ever think about it?” He nodded toward a picture that was somewhat harsh in its use of bright colors, but arresting nonetheless. “Pursuing art of some type?” Instead of pursuing the artists she so often dated. David knew her mom had “dabbled” in several mediums, and that Serena herself had worked nights at a community arts center when she was first trying to get her company off the ground.

She smiled ruefully. “My father would just love that. I spend all that money on a business education and then ‘blow it’ chasing a dream. Trying to make a living as a creative artist would actually make what I’m doing now look lucrative.”

Her father? It was so jarring when she made comments like that, because she didn’t seem at first glance to be the type who’d care too much about what others thought. But Serena was more vulnerable than people who didn’t know her might guess.

“You deserve to be happy. And you’re an adult. Who cares what your dad thinks?” The subject of James Donavan often set David’s teeth on edge, because he’d been on the consoling end of more than one conversation about her father, who might want what was best for his daughter, but who often approached it in a brusque, uncompromising manner.

Her laugh held an edge to it. “You’re going to tell me to disregard family opinion? Then I suppose you’re not at all concerned with living up to older brother Ben’s distinguished career in politics. Or proving anything to the older generations of Grants?”

He stiffened. Sometimes he forgot that knowing her so well was a mutual thing. “All right, I admit there’s a lot of pressure growing up a Savannah Grant. We succeed, period. And I want not only to succeed, but to show I can do it well on my own merits. But I’m not letting that run my life. I enjoy my job.”

“Sorry, I got defensive.” She ran her hand over his arm in a conciliatory, innocent gesture that still made his pulse quicken. “As it happens, I enjoy my job, too. I party for a living, don’t I? I get to be my own boss instead of answering to a committee of suits or dealing twenty-four seven with corporate politics…. Besides, all my attempts at artwork turned out looking like something I would proudly display on my refrigerator if I had a two-year-old.”

David blinked. Serena with kids? Shockingly domestic, but she was so loving and nurturing that any child would be lucky to have her as a mother.

“What?” she asked. “You’re looking at me weird.”

“I had a weird thought,” he confessed. “You ever think about having a family?”

Her eyes grew wide, almost panicky. “Not really. Maybe sometimes I—no. None of my relationships ever got serious enough to start discussing that kind of future, and even though some women might make it work, after growing up with Tricia, I’m not eager to do the single-mom thing.”

He tilted his head to the side, considering. “Now that you mention it, none of your relationships ever did get all that serious, did they?”

That had certainly never bothered him, since he hadn’t liked half of her boyfriends anyway. But it was interesting to think about now, especially since he’d only just started noticing her antsy reaction to things like family and home and long-term commitment.

“I imagine your parents’ divorce turning ugly left its share of emotional scars,” he added, wishing he could erase any past pain she’d suffered.

“Please.” She snorted. “Yours are happily married, and I didn’t see you popping the question to any of your past lovers.”

“None of them were the right girl. Guess I was waiting for someone else.”

She swallowed. “Well…good luck finding her. You know what? Your party conversation sucks. Let’s get you downstairs where you can get more practice. If you’re going to move to my town and start hanging out on Saturday nights, you’ll have to stop being so serious.”

Patience. Finesse. “You’re the events expert. Lead the way.” He wanted to get past whatever fears she had about giving them a chance, but he didn’t want to push her into the arms of the closest waiting poet, painter or Greenpeace volunteer. Not that David had anything against those men…so long as they stayed the hell away from Serena.

He followed her down the curved staircase, trying to rein in the sudden feeling of possessiveness and struggling not to be too obvious about the fact he was ogling her ass in those jeans.

When they reached the main room again, David saw that the party had mostly split into two factions. The larger group had taken over the lobby as a makeshift dance floor. A smaller cluster of people, including Alyson and her date, as well as Craig and Emma, sat to the side in some padded folding chairs and were passing around an oversized book.

Serena headed in the direction of her friends, and David was perfectly happy not to have to dance.

Alyson glanced up with a sly grin. “Hey, wondered where we’d lost the two of you.”

“Not lost, appreciating the artwork upstairs,” Serena said.

“Well, now you’re just in time to appreciate the artwork down here,” said a man David hadn’t been introduced to. “We’ve been looking at Craig’s portfolio. We’re trying to get Zach to book a showing.”

“Zach manages this gallery,” Serena explained, even though David had sort of put that much together on his own. “He’s the one in the red silk shirt, dancing.”

David had to admit he didn’t usually feel so stodgy in his wardrobe, but his chambray button-down rolled up at the sleeves and his khaki slacks made him the odd man out at this shindig. He nodded around the circle as Serena introduced the remaining strangers—Wes, the man who’d spoken, Summer and an attractive young woman named Billie.

“I’ll go grab a couple of chairs,” Serena said.

“I can do that,” David protested.

“And I can’t?” She laughed. “Don’t worry about it. Stay, get to know everyone.”

Someone handed him the oversized binder of Craig’s sample work, and David took it almost absently, watching Serena and still trying to perfect that not-ogling expression. He glanced down politely, thumbing through some sketches and realizing they were good. Really good. How did Craig create such a sense of motion in a drawing of a window, a clear sense of golden sunlight in a black-and-white medium? David flipped a page, recalling Serena’s comments in passing about her “starving artist” friend and trying to think if there were any commercial opportunities he could offer someone of Craig’s talent. Suddenly one image leapt off the page at him and David couldn’t breathe. Serena, naked.

Now there was something he hadn’t expected to see tonight.