Kitabı oku: «The Foreigner's Caress», sayfa 2
Chapter 2
The abrupt flash of a photographer’s camera snatched Madison and Steve from their private thoughts, bringing them back to the crowded roomful of people, music and laughter. Before either could react, they found themselves flanked on either side by reporters and cameras.
“Madison Daniels, rumor has it that now that Felicia Worthington has withdrawn the divorce papers, you and Edward Worthington have taken it as a license to resume your relationship. Care to comment?”
Madison’s eyes were trained on the smiling, fire-enginered lipsticked mouth of the reporter who was thrusting a black microphone into her face, almost touching her nose with it.
“Wha-what?” she stuttered, unable to compose herself.
“Hey, what’s going on here? Get that thing out of her face.”
“So, Madison, does Edward Worthington know that you’ve taken up with Stevenson Elliott, son of the billionaire Gregory Elliott? Isn’t he a little young for your tastes?” the reporter persisted, her mouth twisted into a nasty sneer.
The light from the camera pointed at her by the cameraman was bright, illuminating her and the bewildered Steve. The scene quickly drew the attention of the entire room of well-appointed people.
“What are you talking about? I’m not in contact with Edward Worthington and I don’t know anything about him and his wife,” Madison stammered.
The reporter was poised to ask another question when, with the same swiftness as the woman and her crew had descended, security approached what had now turned into a melee of sorts. The band had stopped playing and every eye in the room was trained on the center of the dance floor. Steve roughly shoved the microphone away from Madison, causing the reporter to stumble backward, nearly losing her balance. The cameraman moved in, lowering his camera to his side, and Steve challenged him to make a move. The reporter stayed her guy with a hand on his arm, while Steve’s fist remained tightly balled at his side. He draped an arm protectively around the speechless Madison, and as security harshly removed the reporter and the two cameramen, Steve began moving her away from the action.
Joseph Daniels approached, yelling at either the security guards or the reporters or both; it was unclear. He followed the group out into the lobby area, his outrage at the press’ insinuation into his daughter’s privacy apparent. Steve kept his arm around Madison and was steering her in the opposite direction of security, the press and her father when his own parents intercepted them.
“Stevenson, it’s time for us to leave,” Gregory Elliott said sternly, approaching from behind them.
Steve whirled around. “Dad, I—”
“Now, Stevenson.”
Gregory Elliott was a couple of inches shorter than his son, his portly belly and balding head of graying hair indicative of his approach to middle age. Yet he had a power and a commanding nature that not many people would dare to defy.
“Dad, I’d like you to meet Madison Daniels,” Steve insisted, looking his father squarely in the face.
Reluctantly, Gregory pulled his gaze from his son, turning toward Madison for the first time. His eyes bored into her, taking her in from head to toe and back to head again.
“Ms. Daniels,” he said, by way of a greeting, his head nodding slightly.
“Mom, this is Madison,” Steve said, turning to his mother, who had just joined their circle.
“Young lady,” Janice Elliott said with her face set in a hard mask.
The ensuing chill in the air was noticeable, although the room itself was quite warm. Madison, who was slowly coming back to herself after the shock of the confrontation with the press, found her tongue again.
“Mr. and Mrs. Elliott, it is my pleasure meeting you.”
She did not wait for a response, but merely turned to focus her attention on Steve. “Steve, thank you for your help. It was very nice meeting you as well. Take care.”
With that she spun in a half circle, stepping out of Steve’s embrace. She moved quickly away from the trio, her head high and a no-nonsense swagger in her hips. She heard Steve call after her, although she pretended not to. Outside the ballroom, Madison encountered her father with the hall’s manager, who was apologizing profusely for his security having allowed the press to sneak into the affair. It turned out that the individuals were from one of the sleazy gossip rags and had managed to create a diversion outside to enable them to slip past the security guard when he was pulled away from the door.
“Dad, I’m going home,” Madison said as he approached, his face distorted with concern.
“Maddie, are you all right, dear?”
“Yes, Dad, I’m fine. I’m just going to go home and forget about this night,” Madison sighed.
“Why don’t I drive you home? I’ll have the valet get the rental and—”
“No, no, Dad. It’s okay. I’ll catch a taxi. You should get back in there with Mother. You know how she gets. I’ll stop by the hotel to see you guys Sunday afternoon before you leave, okay?”
Madison kissed her father brusquely on the cheek and moved past him, before he could protest.
Upon losing sight of Madison’s quickly retreating frame, Steve turned on his parents. “That was disgraceful. How could you guys be so rude to her—as if she’d done something to you?”
“No, son, what’s disgraceful is the scene this young lady just caused and, furthermore, pulled you into. How utterly embarrassing!” Gregory stormed.
“You don’t even know what happened,” Steve protested.
“We heard enough. Unless you’re going to tell me there’s been some sort of mistaken identity, that reporter indicated that that young lady has been caught up in some sort of sordid sex scandal. Judging from the overexposed manner in which she was dressed, I can’t say that I’m the least bit surprised. Now let’s go home.”
“I’ll catch up with you guys later,” Steve said.
With that he walked abruptly across the floor, very aware that his father had taken a few steps after him before his mother stopped him by squeezing his forearm.
Once on the street, the valet hailed a yellow taxi and within minutes of her departure from the hotel, Madison was safely ensconced in the backseat of the sedan. There was a line of departing cars ahead of them, all waiting to make their exit out onto the busy Manhattan street. She closed her eyes and ears to block out the cacophony of the world that existed outside her cab, tilting her head back against the seat as she willed the tension from her body. How long she would have to pay for the mistakes of her past she didn’t know. But what she did know was that she was tired of people looking at her as if she were damaged goods.
Her thoughts immediately traveled to Stevenson Elliott. He was one smooth operator, and there was a time in the not too distant past when she would have matched his charm and wit, tit for tat, and enjoyed every moment of it. Yet Madison realized that if she was serious about propelling her life into a direction that was far removed and decidedly different from the one it had been headed in, she could not jump to attention at the sight of every charming and good-looking man she met. Once upon a time, discretion had not been a word with which she maintained any level of familiarity, and this lack had cost her more than it had gained. If there was ever any hope of being seen for the person she truly was inside, she needed to lead a personal life that did not alert the media bloodhounds that seemed to be attracted to her like flies to cow manure.
A sudden sharp rap against the back window startled Madison. She sat upright in her seat, her eyes popping open. At first glance, all she could see was the black tuxedo jacket of a man, as the cab had resumed inching its way down the driveway toward the street. Suddenly, the body outside the taxi lowered itself and she was astonished to find the handsome face of the man she had just been willing herself not to think about smiling through the glass at her. She blinked, looked at him with a dumbfounded expression, yet made no other movement. He rapped on the window again, and then wiggled two fingers in an up-and-down motion, indicating that he wanted her to bring down the glass that separated them.
“Yes?” she asked as she pressed the lever just long enough to allow for a two-inch crack through which warm spring air brushed her forehead.
“I was wondering if we could share a cab. It’s quite busy out here,” Steve said.
“Share a cab to where?” she asked sardonically, her eyebrows a knot of genuine confusion.
“Well, I could have the driver drop you off first and then take me to my destination. Won’t you open the door or are you going to leave a poor stranded foreigner out in the cold?”
He smiled that scorching smile again, the one that could melt a frozen block of dry ice in zero-point-two seconds flat and leave it sizzling like bacon over an open flame.
“First of all,” she replied slowly, “it’s not the least bit cold out there.”
Steve’s mouth turned into a boyish pout, and that look was twice as deadly as his smile. Madison could not stop the laughter that bubbled up from her stomach and spilled from her lips. She clicked the lock and slid to her left to allow room.
“Boy, are all American woman as immovable as you?” Steve asked once he was securely inside the vehicle.
“Don’t start or you’ll be bounced back out of this taxi and onto the pavement so fast that your visitor’s visa will feel the shock!” Madison warned.
Steve held up two fingers in the peace sign, beaming warmly at her.
“I find it amazing that for such a little thing, you move very fast! I ran out after you and barely caught a glimpse of those beautiful legs as you slid into the taxi. Another five seconds and I would have missed you completely.”
“Steve, what do you want from me?” Madison asked.
The old Madison would have had something twice as coy and cultured to say, but at this point, as engaging as this tall, dark and handsome man was, she was not in the mood. After the outrage of her encounter with the press, the cold shoulder she’d received from Mr. and Mrs. Elliott and the enraged outburst of her father, she’d had enough for one night. She was tired and annoyed.
“Why do you automatically assume that I want something from you?”
“That’s because most men do want something, especially the wild ones who chase women out into the street.”
“Touché. Okay, I do want something from you. I’d like an hour of your company—just one hour to be spent over coffee perhaps. I’d like to talk to you and listen to you and have a mere sixty minutes more of the pleasure I find in being in your presence.”
Just when Madison had believed that at the age of twenty-five she had heard every line from every guy, had memorized the instruction manual of the quintessential player trying to play her and could never again be caught off guard by anything, Stevenson Elliott entered her taxi and threw her completely off balance. This was especially true because of the fact that somehow she instinctively knew that the words he had just spoken were authentic and not just those of a smooth-talking Mac dropping sweet lines to hook some fresh catch.
Chapter 3
Sixty minutes turned into six hours. Those six hours were spent at a tall, round table for two, tucked in a back corner of a twenty-four-hour café sipping lattes and picking at powdered, sugar-frosted scones. Their conversation was slow and easy, straying from random subjects with the agility that usually came with time but had somehow been mastered by them instantaneously. Madison found Steve surprisingly candid, as he talked about his family and childhood. In addition, he was also as keen to listen to her speak as he was to talk himself, and she got the impression that he was genuinely interested in hearing her speak as opposed to simply trying to earn brownie points.
“I’ve been to England a few times myself…with my family. We visited London, of course, Buckinghamshire and Oxford. When my sister Kennedy was in high school she even entertained the idea of applying to the university there. I was struck by the beauty of the country, but I could never imagine living there. I mean, it was rainy most of the time we were there and the temperatures pretty much stayed the same all of the time. Have you ever thought about living somewhere else?” Madison inquired.
“Well, it’s not all that bad. I mean, it’s got a mixture of different types of people, great beautiful natural sights and besides, we’ve got two awesome football teams. I mean, it’s no New York City, but it’s nice.”
“I’m sorry, Steve. I didn’t mean to trash your homeland. I was just wondering aloud. I tend to open my mouth wide and stick my foot in it sometimes before I realize what I’m saying or to whom I’m saying it.”
“No, please don’t apologize. To answer your question, I have thought about living somewhere else. You see, I was not actually born in England.”
“Oh, no?” Madison asked, raising her eyebrows in surprise.
Steve’s clipped British accent was as authentic as any she’d ever heard. Secretly, the lilt of his words and the velvet cadence of his voice had already begun to do something to her. She found it hard to believe that he’d ever spoken any other language or dialect, so perfect was his intonation of the king’s language.
“No. I was born in the West Indies—St. Elizabeth, Jamaica, to be exact,” he confessed.
“I would never have guessed that,” Madison responded. “Do you visit home often?”
A noticeable shift in Steve’s relaxed features occurred and his eyes filled with something she could not discern, but could not deny existed. “Well, no, I haven’t been to Jamaica since I was five years old. It’s a long story, but once my parents made England our home, we pretty much left our earlier lives behind.”
Madison regarded Steve quietly, taking a long sip from her coffee. Though she’d only known him for a matter of hours, she could tell that the thing that cast a shadow over his words as he spoke about his birthplace was a profound sense of loss. As she didn’t know him well enough to push for more, she just reached across the table and placed her hand over the one of his that had absently begun drumming on the table.
“I know a little something about leaving the past behind. Sometimes that’s what you have to do in order to make way for a better future,” she said softly.
Their eyes met and held, and the flurry of emotions between them was combustible. Madison’s butter-pecan cheeks flamed, bringing color to her face and a glisten to her eyes.
“Someday you’ll have to tell me what that whole thing with the reporters was about,” he said at long last.
“Steve—” Madison began to protest.
Steve shook his head vehemently, cutting her off.
“I didn’t say today…someday, perhaps. Someday when you’ve grown to know me and to trust me with all of you,” he interrupted.
“What makes you so sure we’re headed toward that day?” Madison asked.
“I believe in fate, Madison. I do not believe that there are accidental meetings or chance phenomena. People come into your life for a reason. You are confronted with various situations for a purpose. Sometimes, we choose to ignore those signs…maybe because we’re afraid or because we believe that what we’ve planned for ourselves is the only avenue that we should travel. However, I’ve learned to accept what is presented to me, knowing that God would not put anything before me that is not meant for me to have.”
“Are you a religious man?” Madison asked.
“I like to think that I’m in touch with my spiritual self. When I was little, my parents and I attended Mass every Sunday bright and early. I took communion, listened to the word of God and did all the things a good little Catholic boy was supposed to do. Yet, I don’t think it was until college that I really began to understand what I’d been reading and hearing all of my life. Now I don’t go to church much, but I know that there is one ruler, one entity whose mercy directs all things great and small. I also know that the responsibility lies within me to live a good life and follow my purpose. What about you? Are you a good little church girl?”
“Me? Well, like you, I was raised going to church. Say your prayers, repent for your sins and honor your parents. I don’t think I ever really felt a connection to God though. I mean, believing in something is one thing but trusting in it to govern your life is something entirely different.”
Steve placed his other hand over Madison’s, smiling at her. “You have a hard time with trusting, don’t you?”
“What makes you say that?” Madison asked defensively.
They held each other’s gaze for a moment before they both erupted into side-splitting laughter.
“All right, so you might be right. But, in my defense, there are a lot of people out in the world who don’t mean you any good. You can’t trust everybody you come across. For all I know, you could be a mass murderer, wanted all across England for accosting women in taxis and dismembering them,” Madison laughed.
“For that matter, so could you. In fact, I do think I’ve seen a Wanted poster with a woman who bore a striking resemblance to you. Let me get a good look at you.”
Steve leaned closer, his chest resting against the edge of the round table that separated them. “Mmm-hmm—a perfect match.”
“What am I wanted for?”
“The charge was breaking hearts in the first degree. I think I’m going to make a phone call to see if they’re still offering a reward for your capture,” he said.
“Oh, like you need reward money. The Elliott Corporation is one of the highest-grossing corporations in this century,” she said.
“So, what does that mean?”
“That means you’re loaded. Oh, I’m sorry, was that supposed to be a secret?”
“Let me correct you—my dad is loaded. The Elliott Corporation is his baby, not mine. Yes, I work for him, and yes, he’d like me to take over the business one day. To tell you the truth, I’m not sure if that’s what I want.”
“I see. Well, feel free to correct me again if I’m wrong, but your dad doesn’t seem like the type of man who’s going to let his son go off and find himself as opposed to taking his place at the helm of the family business. Just an observation,” she said.
Steve smiled a half smile and leaned back in his chair. “You’re not wrong, but I guess we’ll just wait and see what happens, huh?”
As the sun began to come up on the horizon, lighting up the never-sleeping, but quieter than normal streets of Manhattan, Steve insisted on sharing Madison’s taxi uptown to her apartment on East Seventy-fourth Street. They sat shoulder to shoulder, quietly enjoying the short ride. When they arrived, Steve paid the driver to wait while he walked Madison to the building’s door.
“I’d like to see you again,” he said softly.
They were facing each other, the fingers of their hands locked together. Once again, Madison’s faced felt flushed as she looked up into warm brown eyes. “When are you leaving town?”
“In a few days. Can I see you tonight?”
The urgency in his voice mirrored the feeling that had come over her. She struggled to recapture the common sense that had seemed to escape her mind from the moment she’d met Stevenson Elliott, but it was no use. She was under a spell and breaking it simply was not in her power at this point.
“Tonight?” She echoed his words as she stalled for time to get her mouth to say what the nagging voice in the back of her mind was telling her to say.
“Yes, tonight. You call the shots. Anytime you say. Anywhere you say. I just want to see you again,” Steve said forcefully.
The earnestness in his voice caused her resolve to melt instantly and the voice of doubt was bound, gagged and shoved in the back of a closet.
“Eight o’clock?” she asked.
“Eight o’clock. I’ll be here to pick you up.”
Steve seemed relieved as he accepted her concession to his request. He searched her face, as if wanting to memorize every inch of it in case he never had the opportunity to see her again.
“I’ll see you tonight,” Madison said, reassuring him.
Steve leaned forward, grazing his lips ever so lightly across Madison’s left cheek, and walked away. Her hand rose, her fingers landing on the spot he’d kissed, which was warm and tingling.
