CHAPTER 9

WELL, IT WAS official. She was going to have to take Aly and Craig out back and shoot them.

Serena had walked back to the circle, lugging a couple of chairs, in time to see David’s eyes go the size of potters’ wheels. And she’d realized very quickly why. Damn. In the sketches Craig had done of her, she’d had her head turned and almost none of her face was visible. Lots of people could stand next to her and look at one of the finished paintings, never realizing it was Serena in them. But to say David knew her body intimately verged on understatement.

Why did they have to show him that?

She should probably wait until it wasn’t Alyson’s birthday to throttle her for not interceding on Serena’s behalf. Not that Serena was embarrassed about posing, just that she’d been making a concerted effort to keep the “David” and “nudity” areas of her life separated. She tried to recall if Billie, Wes or Summer knew she’d been Craig’s model for the Contemplation series. She hoped that Alyson and Craig would be tactful enough not to remark; Emma obviously knew it was Serena, but she was the least likely to speak up in group conversation.

Serena set down one of the chairs with a thunk.

“Good timing.” David’s eyes met hers. “I need to sit.”

A brief electric moment passed between them, but then he flipped to another drawing. “Craig, you’ve got some amazing talent. Don’t get me wrong, I draw a mean stick figure myself, but these are incredible.”

“Thanks.” Craig beamed in Serena’s direction. “Feel free to bring him along whenever we get together.”

More time with David? Just what her sanity needed.

The techno-blues song that had been playing wound down on one last soulful note, and Zach gave up dancing in favor of sauntering toward them. “Alyson, love, I have to leave for South Carolina distressingly early tomorrow morning for the art festival, so how about we move on to cake and gifts now? I don’t want to miss your oohing and aahing over what I got you.”

Oohing and aahing was probably an accurate prediction. Zach was known for selecting fabulously extravagant presents.

“You don’t have to twist my arm.” Alyson laughed, waving her arm toward the gyrating party-goers. “Let them eat cake!”

“I’ve got candle detail,” Serena said, scooping up Craig’s portfolio and carrying it far, far away from David’s curious eyes.

The Red Velvet cake Serena had picked up this afternoon was back in a small concessions room where gallery guests could buy coffee and pastries. Alyson joined her only moments after Serena had flipped up the light switch.

“Hey, shouldn’t you be out there, guest of honor?” Serena asked.

“I wanted to count the candles, put to rest the ugly rumor floating around that I’m twenty-eight. Let’s not age me a year before my time.”

“You’re lucky I don’t tell everyone you’re twenty-nine.”

“Thought you looked perturbed.” Aly grimaced. “Sorry. So many people here are familiar with Craig’s work, it didn’t even occur to me beforehand that you might not want David to see the pictures. After all, it’s not as if he’s a stranger to you without clothes.”

True. Serena didn’t know why she was feeling so sensitive. Was it because of the heat that had flooded his gaze, encouraging a rebellious answering heat inside her? Or just because she was waiting for him to be judgmental about her stripping in the name of art? David could be more conservative about some things than she was, and she didn’t want an argument on the subject to strain their friendship. As if repeatedly making out with him then pushing him away hadn’t done that already.

She stabbed a candle into the cream cheese frosting with enough force that the only thing left showing was the wick. Oops. She managed a smile for Alyson. “You should go open your presents.”

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely. I’ll be out in a sec, just as soon as I get all the candles on. It was thirty-two, right?”

“Funny. I can’t imagine why you don’t have your own stand-up act at the Punchline.”

Alyson vacated the doorway, but the sudden solitude gave Serena time to ponder the conversation she’d had with David upstairs. What had that been about? She didn’t know all that many hot guys her age who cornered women alone at parties to ask them about motherhood, of all things.

It was just one more illustration of how she and David were different. Her “plans for the future” included keeping her business alive and kicking through the next financial quarter, and David was thinking about things like the next generation of Grants. Of course he was. With the possibility of being made a vice president and now only being a few hours away from his family, he’d start to consider finding the right woman. Someone who would make a good executive’s wife, someone he could take home to Mom and Dad.

The thought gave her a pang, and she shook herself mentally as she carried the cake into the other room. Everyone sang and clapped for Alyson, then Serena stood at the lobby desk, cutting pieces of cake for other guests. Most wandered off with their paper plates, but David made himself comfy in the sleek black chair behind the desk.

“Thanks for inviting me tonight,” he told her.

“Glad you could make it.” Sort of. She finished dishing up her own slice of cake, then leaned against the desk, facing him. “I hope you’re having a good time.”

Having just stuck a forkful of the rich dessert in his mouth, he didn’t answer, simply looked up and locked gazes with her. Her heart beat a little faster at the unreadable expression in his eyes. Was he sorry he’d come? Did he like her friends? Did he wish something had happened when he and Serena had been alone upstairs?

Did she?

He swallowed. “Craig’s very talented.”

Since he kept his tone neutral, so did she. “I couldn’t agree more. His work’s been reviewed in several magazines and newspapers, he’s just waiting for his big break.”

“In the meantime, I’d love to help him out any way I can. Think he’d sell me ‘Nude with a Navel Ring’?”

Her tummy clenched, in a combination of nerves and something far more tingly and pleasant. “I believe the piece you’re referring to is called ‘Repose.’ And I, ah, don’t know that it’s for sale. Some things were just meant to be appreciated, not owned.”

“That’s a shame.” His eyes swept over her, from her face down her sensitive breasts and abdomen to her legs and sandaled feet. “I really don’t think I can put into words how much I want her.”

She set her plate on the desk. “All right. Say you bought the finished painting or the original sketch, where would you put it? At the office? In an apartment you haven’t even found yet? I’m having trouble picturing just where she’d fit.”

He clucked his tongue. “I always pegged you as having more imagination than that, Serena. Isn’t that what makes you good at your job?”

“Yes, but…not everything should be work.”

Strangely enough, she thought of her father, and the last time she’d seen him and Meredith. Whatever personal differences Serena had with her future stepmother, the woman made James Donavan happy. Serena couldn’t remember her parents ever being happy. She’d heard tales that made her think they’d been drawn together with an immediate, fiery passion that was a sight to behold, but that spark must have burned out when she was still very young. What she remembered was how hard they’d worked to change each other.

And how bitterly it had all ended. Too bad James had married Tricia first and spent all those years being miserable, instead of waiting for someone like Meredith. Too bad Tricia, as was her way, had thrown herself into their relationship headfirst without stopping to think maybe they just weren’t right for each other. That’s what they’d both needed, for someone to say, “You know what, this is a mistake.”

“Now you’re the one who seems too serious for a party,” David said. “Want to dance?”

“With you?” Maybe she should have worked harder not to sound horrified. But she and David, close physical proximity, the pulsing beat…? Nothing about that spelled wise decision. “You don’t even like dancing.”

“True. But I would do it for you.” His expression made it clear that dancing would be almost as painful a sacrifice as taking a bullet for her. But she had no doubt he’d do it.

Her body moved without mental permission, and she leaned forward to reach down and squeeze his hand. “That’s sweet. But unnecessary.”

The contact was just enough for him to brush his fingers over hers, and warm chills quivered through her body. She tried to pull back, but for a second he refused to let go.

“David…” You promised.

“All right.” He released her and stood. “Let me know when you change your mind, Serena.”

She supposed there was no chance he was referring to the dancing.

* * *

“HEY.” Natalie looked up from her desk as Serena walked into the office, the second to arrive for a change. “How was your weekend?”

Tortured probably wasn’t the adjective Natalie was expecting. “Fine. Had that birthday party for Alyson.”

Natalie nodded. “Sorry I couldn’t make it. Previous plans and all.”

“She understands, but she says you still owe her a gift,” Serena kidded.

“So.” Swiveling back and forth in her chair, Natalie inspected her French manicure. “Did you take a date?”

“Nope.” Now would be a good time to quit chitchatting in the outer office and get to her own desk. She had plenty to do.

“Really? Because when I met Alyson for lunch yesterday to present her the certificate to Spa Sydell, she said David was there Saturday.”

Ambushed! “I invited David to go because he’s my friend and I thought he might like to meet more people in Atlanta.” Not that Serena could quite picture David on his days off hanging out with Craig or Zach. For one thing, it would require David taking days off. “He wasn’t a date.”

“Oh.” Natalie looked disappointed. “So he didn’t seem interested in you at all?”

“Hey! Who said I was interested in him?”

Natalie rolled her eyes. “Please.”

“For your information, I’m not. Do you know what he brought up when we were talking Saturday? Kids. Families, marriage, suburbs. He actually thinks about stuff like that.”

“No! The horror. Nothing worse than a hot guy capable of acting like a mature adult. Give me a smarmy commitmentphobe any day.”

So much for the who-needs-men? solidarity. “I think you’re forgetting who signs your paycheck.”

“Fine, fine.” Natalie raised her hands in front of her. “No need to threaten the poor assistant’s livelihood. Just forget I said anything, and I’ll get back to work.”

“Good. I’m going to do the same.” Or make an attempt, anyway.

The errands that demanded Serena’s attention would probably go more smoothly if she could get her mind off David, but, short of exorcism, she wasn’t sure what more she could do in that regard. Hadn’t she spent all yesterday trying not to think about him?

Resisting thoughts of him—resisting the man himself—had been a lot easier when he’d lived in Boston. Then again, not thinking about David would also be simpler if half the tasks she had to do this morning weren’t for the auction. Maybe she shouldn’t have taken on the fundraiser, but there had been too many reasons to say yes and no real logical one for refusing.

Luckily, despite her preoccupation, plans were coming along smoothly. The programs were being printed, most of the bachelors being auctioned had costume fittings scheduled, arrangements for the actual banquet would be finished this week and publicity was coming along nicely. In fact, if it weren’t for the fact that she and David were supposed to pay a visit to the hotel tomorrow afternoon, she might even be able to relax a little and concentrate on her other clients.

When her personal extension buzzed shortly before eleven, she had the brief hope that it would be David telling her he couldn’t make it the next day and that she should go on to talk to the hotel management without him.

“Serena Donavan speaking,” she answered.

“Oh good, Serena, I reached you.” Meredith’s anxious voice came over the phone line. “I needed to talk to you about the wedding.”

It was bizarre how often her future stepmother needed to talk about the wedding, considering Serena had absolutely no formal role beyond daughter of the groom, yet these calls increased in frequency the closer they got to the June first ceremony. A few weeks ago, Serena had fielded a hysterical call about napkin rings. Maybe the antsy bride had already alienated those closer to her, and Serena was the last resort as crisis hotline.

“What can I do for you, Meredith?”

“Tell me whether or not you have an escort. You RSVPed for two,” she explained. “So we used that for the head count and seating charts and all the other plans, but as your father was just pointing out last night, you’re between men again.”

Interesting coincidence that every time Meredith called, Serena got a migraine. Honestly, her father had never really liked anyone Serena had dated, yet after a breakup, he managed to make it sound as if the split was due to a defect on her part.

“So I worried that you were attending solo.” Meredith babbled on, oblivious to the fact that Serena was enjoying this conversation almost as much as that time she’d accidentally slammed her finger in the file cabinet. “Which would be okay, I suppose, but it’ll throw off the reception arrangements. And of course my children will be with their respective spouses…”

Meredith’s daughter, Eliza, was a doctor, and her son, Martin, had a PhD in economics. Naturally, both of the overachieving freaks were married. Oops. What Serena had meant was, in addition to succeeding in their chosen fields, her soon-to-be step-siblings had also found time for meaningful relationships.

“I’ll have someone with me,” Serena assured the nervous bride. “Hey, who understands better than me the nightmares of unbalanced seating at a big event, right?”

Meredith sighed in relief. “I told your father you’d take care of it. But you won’t bring that man with all the body piercings, will you?”

All the piercings?

“Craig? He only has one.” Fewer than Serena herself, though presumably Meredith didn’t object to pierced ears. “I’m not sure who I’ll bring, actually.”

“Oh.” Meredith’s breathing took a turn toward hyperventilation, as though it were napkin-ring trauma all over again.

Good grief. Do they really not trust me to pick a suitable escort? Serena was a little surprised they hadn’t given her tips on what she should wear to the nuptial gala. Perhaps that was next week’s call. Stay tuned for Serena’s Inappropriate Wardrobe.

“It’ll be okay, Meredith. I’ll find someone you’ll love.” Unbidden, the image of David flashed behind her eyes.

“Actually, dear, what your father and I want is for you to find someone you’ll love.”

“Th-thanks.” Serena blinked. Even though she knew James and Meredith did try, in their own way, to express affection for her, these unexpected moments of caring were difficult to process. She really shouldn’t be so cynical about their attempts to reach out to her. “That means a lot to me.”

“I’m glad. Neither one of us wants to see you end up like Tricia, in her fifties and gallivanting aimlessly around the world with men half her age.”

Considerably less choked up with emotion, Serena slapped a hand over her eyes. “I promise not to bring anyone half my age.” For one thing, she had no interest in teenagers.

Come to think of it, she hadn’t had much interest lately in grown men, either. At least, not in any man who wasn’t David Grant. And if she didn’t find a way to exorcise him from her system, she didn’t know what she was going to do—besides go quietly mad from distraction and perpetual lust.

* * *

SERENA THOUGHT maybe it was a good thing she was with David this afternoon and not some other client who might have given up on her and fired her half an hour ago because of her inability to focus. Then again, if she’d been with anyone other than David, she wouldn’t be suffering from this inability.

He sat in the armless Italian-style chair close to hers, his arm casually draped over the back of her seat. Her body buzzed with his nearness and the familiarity of his cologne. The smell brought back memories of David holding her close and moving inside her, taking her to new heights. Gee, and she wondered why she was having trouble concentrating?

Luckily, the hotel manager they’d been talking to had had to interrupt their conversation to deal with a guest crisis, giving her a moment to regroup. Except that the man’s absence left her alone with David.

“What are you doing after this?” David asked, leaning in her direction.

Taking a cold shower. “Just heading back to the office to tie up some loose ends on other projects.”

Since the hotel was located more or less between their two offices, they’d agreed it made the most sense to meet here.

“Can you spare a few minutes? I just realized you’ve never seen where I work,” he pointed out. “I’d love to show it to you. The view’s incredible.”

“I don’t know…”

“I have the finalized printout of silent auction items for you. I forgot to bring it with me.” He gave her a boyishly apologetic smile.

Convenient. The man was so…well, manipulative seemed harsh. He was just determined. And resourceful. Traits she admired, unfortunately.

“David, if you want me to go to your office, all you have to do is ask. You don’t have to resort to ‘forgetting’ documents.”

“I did ask. So you accept? If you want, we can even order sandwiches from the deli in the building’s lobby. It’ll be almost six by the time we get out of here, so you might as well stay with me until after-work traffic dies down.”

She blinked, trying to replay the situation in her head and figure out how they’d gone from immediately parting ways to her sparing a few moments to see his office to now having dinner together. “I probably won’t be all that hungry. As soon as you sign off on those papers, we get to do the fun part.”

“Really?” The word sizzled out of him like a stray bolt of lightning.

She hastened to add, “We have to finalize dessert selection for the banquet menu. It’s pretty much the last thing on our to-do list.” At least, the last part he’d be directly involved in, thank the good Lord.

“Dessert-tasting, huh? Well, it’s tough being the chairperson for the event, but someone had to do it.”

Did he know what a sucker she was for that grin? Even when they’d been in school, dating other people, she’d looked forward to making him smile, seeing the way his mouth quirked up and his eyes sparked with mischief, watching his lips—

“Serena.”

She jerked her gaze up to meet his. “Sorry. Did I space out?”

“You were staring.”

Staring. Right. Considered in most civil circles to be rude. “My mind just wandered. I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

“You have no idea how uncomfortable.” But I wouldn’t mind showing you, his heated expression said.

She shifted in her chair, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Hey. Your lucky earrings.”

Despite her inner tension, Serena smiled that he remembered. She’d bought the turquoise earrings in college at a spring Renaissance Festival some friends had dragged her to when she should have been studying. She’d invited David to go along, but he had insisted his chances of taking the business world by storm would be better if he didn’t bomb his finals. A woman in gypsy garb had given Serena a spiel about the inexpensive stones bringing good fortune to the wearer, and it hadn’t taken much more than a B+ on an econ exam to convince Serena.

She’d worn the earrings today because, knowing she’d be spending hours with David, she figured she’d need all the luck she could get. The slight click of the doorknob made her turn around, and she beamed at the returning hotel manager.

After blinking at what was probably the most blatant expression of relief he’d ever seen, the man returned her smile. They finished negotiating costs for such ballroom extras as a microphone and use of a stereo, with Serena frequently pointing out that this was for a charitable cause, then the hotel manager stood. “If you’ll follow me to the dining room, we have an excellent dessert sampling set up for you.”

As they walked down a carpeted corridor, David nudged Serena. “Good work back there.”

The pride in his voice sent a flush of pleasure through her. “Just doing my job.”

“You do it well. I knew I was right to put myself in your hands.”

“I aim to please my clients. But you should probably withhold opinion until the night of the auction, when you see how it all turns out.”

“Yeah. I’m pretty curious about that.”

She glanced in his direction, and their gazes locked. The night of the auction. His imposed deadline. Would he really give up on her if she managed to keep her hands to herself for the next couple of weeks, find someone else to lavish with his sensual attention?

It was what she wanted, after all. For both of them. Still, the image of another woman in David’s arms caused Serena’s steps to falter.

He reached out to take her elbow in his hand. “All right, there?”

“I’m great.” Aching at the thought of him making love to someone else, she snapped, “Absolutely great.”

He cocked his head, wisely letting go of her. “Hey, you don’t have to convince me. I always thought you were.”

Terrific. He was going to be nice even when she was practically snarling at him? No wonder she was crazy about the guy.

Don’t think like that.

The manager pointed them down the steps into the sunken, candlelit dining room, which wasn’t yet crowded with dinner guests, and excused himself. A waiter stood next to a table covered in crisp white linen. He pulled out a seat for Serena, and she started in surprise when David sat next to her. There were four chairs, and she’d been expecting him to sit across from her.

The farther away he was, the easier she breathed. When he was this close, her body felt softer, fuller somehow, more responsive to trivial stimulations she wouldn’t normally notice. Her thighs seemed hypersensitive to the brush of her broomstick skirt against her skin. She hadn’t bothered with the confinement of a bra under the thick weave of her short-sleeved sweater, but now she regretted the oversight. Each slide of the fabric over her bare breasts was like a caress from David himself.

“I figured it would be easier to reach everything if I sat here,” David said.

Blinking away the image of his reaching for her breasts, she conceded he probably had a point. The miniature dessert servings were arranged on rectangular pieces of crystal, each in a dish on its own lace-edged doily. It was a scale-model feast for the senses—tiny but scrumptious rations of fruit-garnished crème brûlée, dark chocolate mousse cake, raspberry sorbet, tiramisu, carrot cake and key lime soufflé.

Serena’s mouth watered at the tantalizing variety. “Wow.”

“Enjoy.” The waiter handed them each a set of silverware wrapped in cloth napkins and left them to their gourmet orgy.

“If anyone ever asks me my favorite part of the job, this is definitely it,” Serena added.

“So, what do we attack first?”

He had to ask?

“Chocolate. Definitely the chocolate.” She’d barely placed her individual portion on her plate before raising a big forkful. Moist, spongy layers of sweet and semi-sweet cake surrounded rich mousse so dark it verged on bitter. The contrasting flavors exploded in her mouth in a decadent taste that made her moan.

David watched her, looking hungry but not touching any of the food. “That good, huh?”

“You hafta try this,” she muttered, running her index finger over her bottom lip to catch any of the filling she might have missed, and wolfing down the rest of her piece.

It was gone too fast, and she shot a covetous glance at the remaining sample.

David clucked his tongue. “You didn’t savor yours and now you want mine?”

“Just one more bite,” she lied.

“That’s really going to be enough to satisfy you?” he asked.

No. Not even close. “You know what, you take it. There’s plenty more here.”

He lifted his serving of the soufflé from a plate drizzled with kiwi syrup and powdered sugar.

She couldn’t believe he’d passed over the cake. “Aren’t you going to try the chocolate?”

He laughed. “Some of us enjoy saving the best for last and taking our time.”

“I like instant gratification,” she muttered.

His clear eyes turned smoky with intensity. “There are times when that’s pretty good, too.”

She swallowed. “Speaking of good…how’s the soufflé?”

“Not bad.” He finished it, but he didn’t seem rapturous about the dessert.

“I assume it didn’t make the cut for our guests?”

“Definitely not. I mean, it was okay. Just not that special something, you know?”

She knew. What happened when you knew exactly what special something you were yearning for, but couldn’t have it? At least, not beyond the short term.

Move on. She took a bite of the raspberry sorbet, mostly to cleanse her palate before she inhaled one of the other desserts. But it was surprisingly delicious. Sharp, tart, addictive. As each spoonful liquefied on her tongue, she found herself immediately craving more.

“We should make this one of the two choices,” she advised David. “A good light dessert women especially can enjoy without guilt. But more than that, it’s fantastic. Here.”

She lifted her spoon, and he cupped his hand under hers, guiding her to his lips instead of simply taking the piece of silverware. His fingers slid softly against hers, and a small spasm of desire pulsed in her stomach. His warm breath against her skin had her melting faster than the sorbet.

“Incredible,” he pronounced.

With a soft breathy sigh, she pulled her hand away, as disappointed not to be touching him anymore as she was relieved.

“You know what I just realized was missing?” David asked, surveying the desserts with a critical eye.

“Missing?” Was he kidding? She glanced at the table. Throw in a harp and some halos, this was her idea of heaven.

“Come on, you grew up in Georgia!” He grinned at her. “Pecan pie. We had a housekeeper who used to make the most amazing recipe. You would’ve loved it. It had a touch of chocolate in it.”

“I can’t believe with all this in front of you, you’re thinking about pie.”

He met her eyes. “Tough to settle for substitutes when you know what you really want.”

“I…” Pretend he’s any other client, and not someone who causes you to wake up sweaty and aroused in the middle of the night, twisted in your own sheets.

“Never mind. I’m not trying to be one of those difficult customers demanding more. Guess I just had a moment of nostalgia for pie. The simple things in life, right?”

Sure. Except that his “simple” life had included servants, a guest house and stables.

He tried the carrot cake, declared it marred by the unfortunate presence of raisins, and shared her admiration for the crème brûlée. She tried to follow his suggestion of savoring the delicate crunch of caramelized sugar, but it dissolved away into nothingness too quickly. After he’d taken a cursory bite of the chocolate cake, he gallantly pushed the plate toward her, giving up the rest of his piece. Savoring, shmavoring, she told herself as she greedily consumed it. Why deny herself what she wanted?

She glanced over to where David had closed his eyes as he enjoyed the tiramisu. Why, indeed?

“We have a winner,” he murmured huskily, sounding like a man overcome with ecstasy. He gestured to the other serving with his fork. “Try yours.”

“I don’t know.” She’d been a little nervous about spending the afternoon with David and hadn’t eaten much for lunch. Mini-portions or not, this was a hell of a lot of sweets on an empty stomach. Turns out you could have too much of a good thing.

“You don’t have to finish it. But, as my official consultant on the dessert matter, would you just taste a little bit?”

“All right, but only because you’re paying me.”

As she’d done earlier, he lifted a fork to her mouth, and she dutifully tasted the sweet delicacy. Mmm. Wow. The full-bodied creamy dessert with just the right bite of espresso was indescribable. She ran her tongue over the metal tines, making sure she got every last bit.

When she finally managed to speak again, she raved, “I’ve found my bliss.”

David chuckled. “So, this and the sorbet are our final choices, right?”

“Absolutely,” she said. “This is…this is beyond words. I can’t believe it’s better than the chocolate cake. I didn’t expect to like anything better than the cake.”

It surprised her that even as well as she knew herself, without David’s prompting, she would have made the wrong choice. Even though she’d acknowledged moments ago that she’d probably had enough dessert to last a lifetime, she couldn’t resist finishing the last morsel of tiramisu. But then she really did groan. Good thing she hadn’t worn slacks—the zipper would have self-destructed two bites ago.

“No more,” she declared.

“Don’t worry, there isn’t any.” He indicated the empty plates, bare except for the decorative drizzles that served as memorials.

“I meant no more ever. I may have cured my sweet tooth once and for all.”

“I know what you mean. I think I did the same thing with root beer when I was younger.”

“Think you could ever have too much pie?”

He brought his finger to his chin, considering. “Hard to imagine ever having too much, but yeah, I guess maybe I could if I gorged myself.”

Perhaps that was the secret. Instead of denying yourself, indulge in what you wanted until you no longer wanted it. Could it really be that simple?

Why not? She clung to the idea with the frantic optimism of a desperate woman. Nothing else had worked.