Kitabı oku: «Promises, Promises», sayfa 2
Groaning, she buried her head in her hands. She really was hopeless. Having a wild, crazy affair with any man, let alone one as virile as Marco Garibaldi, wasn’t going to be easy. In truth, she had to face the fact that it might prove downright impossible.
Gretchen felt herself grow as hot as the air outside as she remembered the way her tenant had looked, his thick, nearly black hair tousled, his well-muscled legs and broad chest on view in a way she had never glimpsed before beneath his loosely belted bathrobe, his smoky, heavy-lidded eyes half-closed from exhaustion. Heaven help her, if he had smiled that slow, crooked grin of his, she would have melted into a puddle at his feet. And the heat would have had nothing to do with it.
There was no denying that he possessed all the qualities Jill had stipulated. Just as there was no denying that, since Jill had put the notion into her head, having a wild, crazy affair with Marco Garibaldi was just about all Gretchen could think about.
She had always pictured herself as the PTA-baking-cookies-and-sewing-Halloween-costumes type of woman. And, if no man ever gave her a chance to exercise those skills, she gave a bang-up presentation before a board of directors and could summarize a company’s financial situation in thirty words or less.
When asked for a résumé, seductress and temptress had never made the list. For heaven’s sake, she wore high-necked cotton nightgowns in the summer and flannel pajamas in the winter. She never slept in the nude, something—if that loosely belted bathrobe was any indication—she suspected Marco Garibaldi was quite comfortable doing. Face it, she knew as much about having a wild, crazy affair as she did about flying a rocket to the moon.
Her recent encounter with the doctor in question more than bore out that conclusion. She hadn’t exactly gotten off to a rousing start, so far as seduction was concerned. Although she could have sworn that, for the briefest of seconds, she’d actually seen a flare of interest in his eyes. She’d even imagined that he’d reached out to her. Of course, the minute he’d all but tripped over his feet in his haste to get away from her, she’d realized how mistaken she’d been.
Good thing Jill hadn’t given her a time limit to accomplish everything she’d promised she would do, because something told Gretchen her powers of seduction needed a complete overhaul.
She was making headway on the rest of her promises, though. Over the three weeks that had passed since she’d listened to Jill’s tape, she’d done a lot of thinking on how she would spend the money Jill had left her. To date, she’d solicited bids to have the years of grit and grime covering the outside of her duplex sandblasted away and to have the bricks themselves repointed. Next week, central air-conditioning would be installed, and she and her tenant could throw away the window units that were working overtime in this heat. While the expenses could hardly be called impractical, it was money she normally wouldn’t have spent.
She’d also filled out an application to compete in a piano competition in Morgantown, West Virginia, next November. The age cutoff was thirty, which meant she would just squeak in under the wire. This truly was her last chance to find out whether she had any talent, and, if she was accepted, she had only a little more than four months to prepare. She was nervous, but she was also excited.
Filling out the application and writing the check for the entry fee had been the easy part. Much harder had been sitting down at the piano itself.
Though she’d kept the upright in tune, she’d rarely played it these past years. She didn’t know why, other than that when she’d given up her dream she’d also given up playing. She’d even, after her parents died, had the piano moved from the living room into the spare bedroom on the second floor. Out of sight, out of mind, she supposed.
Tonight, however, the minute she’d rolled back the lid from the keyboard, she’d lost herself in the wonder of the music. It had been obvious from the first note that she had a long way to go before she was ready to compete. But, oh, the joy of playing again. She’d forgotten how wonderful it felt to run her fingers over the keys and the sense that always filled her when she sat down to play—that the world was a wonderful place and that all things were possible.
She’d played the same piece over and over again, a Beethoven sonatina that was perfect for stretching lazy fingers. Marco Garibaldi had thought she was playing a CD. Surely that was a good sign. Surely that meant she hadn’t grown irredeemably rusty and that she had a chance.
Yes, she decided as she pushed off the door and turned to see that it was properly bolted, she was making progress. She was doing everything she could to keep the promises she had made.
Everything, that is, except try to find a way to seduce her tenant. She’d been putting off the hardest task for last, which was totally unlike her. When it came to work, she had always done the thing she least wanted to do first, getting it out of the way so she could enjoy the tasks that made her job such a pleasure.
She supposed she was dragging her feet because she had little confidence that she would succeed. Also, she’d never been lucky where affairs of the heart were concerned. An engagement had ended when she’d decided to care for her dying father. Subsequent relationships had all been unsatisfying. When Jill got sick two years ago, Gretchen had abandoned dating altogether, in order to spend as much time as possible with her friend.
She thought of the men she’d dated: sedate, sensible, dependable. Or, as Jill had so succinctly put it, dull, dull, dull. Then she thought of the women she’d seen on Marco Garibaldi’s arm. Beautiful. Vibrant. Vivacious. Anything but dull. She’d have to do something drastic, if she was ever going to compete with them.
Just how did a person go about having a wild, crazy affair? How could she make Marco Garibaldi look at her like she was one of the beautiful women he frequently squired, instead of his landlady? Gretchen didn’t have the first idea, but she knew someone who might.
“Do you have a minute?”
Gretchen peered around the office door of the senior partner of Curtis, Walker, Davis and Associates. Gary Curtis had been her mentor and friend from the day she was hired to work for the firm. Aside from Marco Garibaldi, he was the most virile-looking and devastatingly handsome man she had ever met. Good thing she loved him like a brother because he was also gay. She’d seen more than one smitten woman delude herself into believing she could change the way nature had made him, only to wind up heartbroken in the end.
Gary closed the file he was reviewing and smiled at her. “For you, I’ve always got time. Come in.”
After carefully closing the door, Gretchen took a seat.
“What’s the problem?” Gary asked. “Is this about the Harrison account?”
“No.” She made a show of crossing her legs at the ankles and smoothing her skirt while she gathered her thoughts. “It’s…personal.”
“Sounds serious.”
She drew a deep breath. “It is. I need your advice, Gary. About men.”
A light of interest gleamed in his eyes. “What about them?”
“This is going to sound stupid, but I was wondering if you could tell me how I should go about attracting one.”
Gary spread his arms. “Gay men I know. Straight men…” He shrugged. “That’s a whole ’nother story.”
“Your brother’s straight, isn’t he?”
“As a ruler.”
“Does he look like you?”
“People have been known to remark on the resemblance. Why?”
“That means he’s a handsome devil, which means women must like him.”
Gary’s lips curved. “Let me put it this way. They often come to blows over the favor of his company.”
“That’s what I was hoping for,” she said. “I want you to pretend you’re him for a few minutes. Can you do that?”
“I think I can manage it.”
Like an actor preparing for a role, he leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes and drew in a deep, cleansing breath. When he opened them again he said, “Okay. I’m a macho, heterosexual male who is irresistible to women. What do you want to know?”
She knew he expected her to smile, but she regarded him intently instead. “What would I have to do to get you to want me?”
“Are we talking purely physical here, or something deeper?”
“Purely physical.”
He nodded. “You want it flat out on the table, or sugar-coated?”
She squared her shoulders. “Flat out on the table.”
Tilting his head, he ran his gaze over her. “Okay. For starters, stop slouching. You’re tall. Accept it. And lose the suits. They’re way too businesslike, and I assume you have a figure under there, somewhere. Your legs, what little I can see of them, seem nice. You need to accentuate them. Buy lots of dresses. Short dresses. By short, I mean nothing longer than the top of your knees. And a push-up bra. It’ll give you cleavage.
“You also need to have a total makeover. Hair, nails, makeup, the works. Take notes. You need to get fitted for some contacts. And you need to go to the bookstore.”
Her eyebrows raised. “The bookstore?”
“The bookstore. I want you to buy every book you can find on attracting a man. Study them the way a theology student does the Bible. Once you’ve done all that, come see me, and we’ll talk some more.”
Gretchen couldn’t help laughing. “You sure you’re not secretly straight, and just waiting for the right moment to burst into the closet?”
He grinned back at her. “Not a chance. So, I assume this all has a purpose. Whom are we trying to attract?”
She told him about Jill, the tape and Marco Garibaldi.
“It must have been hard for you to listen to Jill’s voice like that.”
“In the beginning it was. After a while, though, it was just comforting. I miss her a lot, Gary.”
Sympathy filled his eyes. “I know you do. What do you plan on doing with the money?”
“I’m not entirely sure. I’ve scheduled some maintenance work on the house. I’ve also made an appointment for lasik surgery, so you don’t have to worry about me wearing glasses anymore.” She spread her arms. “Other than the makeover and a new wardrobe, I’m still thinking.”
“May I make a suggestion?”
“Of course.”
“Buy a sports car.”
“Why a sports car?”
“Because the car you’re driving now is ten years old, and there’s nothing sporty about it.”
“It’s a Volvo, Gary. It’ll still be going strong ten years from now.”
“And what does Volvo say, when the man you’re trying to seduce sees you in it? Especially a ten-year-old Volvo.”
Her smile was wry. “Point taken.”
“Good. Buy a sports car. Park it in your driveway. I guarantee it won’t be long before the illustrious Dr. Garibaldi will be begging to take you for a test drive.”
She raised her eyebrows at the vision Gary’s words formed in her brain. “The double entendre was deliberate, wasn’t it?”
“Of course.”
“You really think I have a chance?”
“Why would you doubt it?”
“Look at me, Gary. I’m not exactly the temptress type.”
“So what if you’re not a raving beauty. Neither are most supermodels before the makeup department gets their hands on them. All you need is a little confidence in yourself. A makeover and the appropriate wardrobe should give you that.”
“If you say so.”
“Smile for me, Gretchen.”
She curved her lips in a perfunctory motion.
“No.” He shook his head. “Really smile.”
This time the smile she gave him let him know how precious he was to her.
“Honey,” he said gently, “when you smile like that, you make me wish I hadn’t been born to an alternative lifestyle.”
“Have I ever told you how good you are for my ego?”
“A time or two.” Gary regarded her for a long minute. “Can I ask a personal question?”
“Sure.”
“Are you a virgin?”
Gretchen felt her cheeks heat. “I was engaged at one point, remember?”
“So?”
“No, Gary, I’m not a virgin.”
“Thank God.” He looked relieved. “There are some things I just can’t teach.”
Gretchen laughed. “I love you, Gary.”
“Where did that come from?” he asked, looking startled.
“From Jill. She told me to tell the people who are most important to me how much I care for them.”
He seemed to think it over, then his expression softened. “I love you, too. Now get a move on. You’ve got a lot of work to do. And I don’t mean in the office.”
“Thanks for the advice.” She headed for the door.
“Anytime. Know something? I like this. I’m starting to feel like Professor Higgins in My Fair Lady. Between you and me, I always thought the man was gay.”
Gretchen laughed. “Well, Professor Higgins,” she said, “I’ll let you dress me up and make me over. But I’m telling you right now, this Eliza Doolittle draws the line at filling her mouth with marbles and singing about the rain in Spain.”
“We’ll see about that.” Gary waggled an eyebrow at her.
Chuckling, Gretchen returned to her office. As she opened one of the Harrison files, she thought about what she’d jokingly told Gary. When it came down to it, for Marco Garibaldi she just might fill her mouth with marbles and sing about the rain in Spain. Because he was worth it.
Chapter 2
His landlady had legs. Killer legs. Eye-popping legs. Long, gorgeous, endless legs. How had he never noticed?
As Marco unfolded his body from the car he’d just parked on his side of the garage, he let his gaze travel the length of Gretchen Montgomery’s legs to the simple black dress she wore, and he had his answer. He’d never noticed her legs because, before today, he’d never seen her hemline above her calf.
In his wildest imaginings, he’d never pictured her permitting said hemline to climb to thigh level, as it did now, or allowing the fabric of her dress to cling so tightly it looked as if it had been glued onto her. His mouth went dry when his gaze fastened on the low, square neckline. Not only did she have great legs, she also had cleavage. And one stunner of a figure.
“Wow,” he murmured under his breath, thinking that it was about time Gretchen Montgomery broke out of her shell.
Leaning back against his car, he loosened his shirt collar. The weather might have cooled to a balmy eighty degrees, but looking at his landlady in that dress definitely had him hot under the collar. Uncomfortably hot.
Sometime, during the three-and-a-half weeks since their midnight conversation on the front porch, she’d undergone a complete transformation. It was incredible. She was the caterpillar who had emerged a butterfly, Cinderella after her fairy godmother had outfitted her for the ball.
She’d cut her hair, he realized. Now he would never get a chance to run his fingers through its lustrous length. Instead of feeling regret, he couldn’t help admiring the appropriateness of the new style. Her now shoulder-length brown hair curled gently around her face, emphasizing her cheekbones, the curve of her chin and the elegant length of her neck. Should the occasion ever arise, her hair was still plenty long enough to run his fingers through.
She wasn’t wearing her glasses, and he saw that her eyes were a rich, chocolate brown. They still gleamed with the intelligence she couldn’t hide, but there was something else there, too. Amusement? Awareness of the effect she was having on him? As she leaned against her car, he saw that his landlady was inspecting him as closely as he was her.
Something was still up with her, that was for certain. Whatever it was, today Marco liked it a lot. After the day he’d had, she was a sight for sore eyes. Or, to take the trite analogy one step further, she was just what the doctor had ordered—he being the doctor in question.
It had to be a man, he decided, and wondered at the sour taste the thought left in his mouth. In his experience, no woman went to such trouble unless a man was involved.
“You like?” she asked.
It took him a beat to realize she meant her car. Expecting the aging, sedate Volvo, he did a double take at the sleek, black Dodge Viper that now graced his landlady’s half of the garage.
Marco gave a low, appreciative whistle. “That is some car. When did you get it?”
“An hour ago. It has an 8.0-liter V10 engine, 450 horsepower and six-speed manual transmission. It can accelerate from zero to sixty miles per hour in 4.1 seconds.”
To Marco, she sounded as if she were reciting painfully memorized facts, much like a second grader reciting her times tables.
“You know what all that means?” he asked. His heart skipped a beat when she grinned impishly.
“I haven’t a clue. All I know is that the salesman made a big deal out of it, and that the car can go fast.”
He laughed. “Mind if I look it over?”
She stood aside. “Be my guest.”
Slowly he walked around the vehicle, running a finger over the sleekness of its gleaming curves. It was the kind of car he’d always dreamed of owning. Once he paid off all his school loans, that is. It cost a small fortune, he knew, more than most people earned in a year. More than he’d be able to afford for quite a few years to come.
How, he wondered suddenly, and with a start of concern, had his landlady afforded it? Now that he thought about it, she had spent a lot of money lately. That outfit didn’t come cheap. Nor did the ongoing repairs to the duplex. Like the music that had kept him awake three weeks earlier, the way she was dressed today, not to mention buying a vehicle like this, seemed so out of character for her that he couldn’t help wondering what was going on. Was she involved in something—or with someone—that, in the long run, would only bring her trouble?
Before he let his imagination run away with him, Marco decided a note of caution was in order. After all, what, if anything, did he really know about her? Maybe she’d scrimped and saved for years, just to savor this moment of ownership. As for the improvements to the house, it only made sense for a homeowner to keep up her property. Probably a tax write-off, as well.
And the new clothing? The answer to that one was also simple. She couldn’t drive around town in a car like this wearing a three-piece suit. Could she?
“I removed the hardtop myself,” he heard her say. “It was surprisingly easy.”
“So I see,” he replied, peering into an interior that was all cognac leather and fancy gadgets.
“Impractical, isn’t it?”
Straightening, he returned his gaze to hers and smiled. “The most impractical thing I’ve ever seen. That’s what makes it so great.”
“It is great, isn’t it?”
Was that a flicker of doubt in her eyes? Did she need him to convince her that she’d done the right thing?
“Sure is,” he said with a heartiness he didn’t feel, his own doubts resurfacing. “You don’t see many cars like this around here.”
“Which means,” she said, surprising him with her candor, “you’re wondering how I could afford it.”
Again he thought of the improvements she’d made to the duplex. And to herself. As for the duplex, it was a comfortable, middle-class home. Nothing about it, or Gretchen Montgomery herself, had ever indicated she could afford to spend money the way she had been lately.
Had she won the lottery? Received an inheritance? Robbed a bank? He felt his lips curve at that last, fanciful imagining.
“The thought may have crossed my mind,” he admitted, deciding to be as frank with her as she had been with him.
“Just think of it as creative financing,” she replied. “I am a CPA, after all.”
Which told him nothing, even though it wasn’t any of his business in the first place. Whatever the source of her newfound wealth, it did seem to be accomplishing one thing. It was definitely pulling her out of her shell. And that was a good thing.
“Let me reassure you,” she added with a smile. “I’m not going to lose the roof over your head.”
“I’m happy to hear it.” Relieved was more like it.
The conversation underscored how little he knew about her, even though he had been her tenant for two years. Was he really so shallow that a change in her looks, and a flashy car in her garage, were what it had taken to arouse his curiosity?
No. There was more to it than that. Part of the reason had to do with the fact that Gretchen Montgomery had always put up walls around herself. Now that she’d pulled them down, he should probably take advantage of the opportunity to learn more about her.
So long as he remembered that she was his landlady and nothing more, he cautioned himself.
“Would you like to go for a ride?” she asked.
He knew she meant the car, but he couldn’t help thinking of a far different, exceedingly intimate kind of ride that, landlady or not, he’d like to take with her. “I don’t know how to drive a stick shift,” he said.
She maneuvered those long legs of hers into the driver’s seat. Looking up at him expectantly, she replied, “That’s okay. I do.”
When he hesitated, she patted the creamy leather of the passenger seat with fingernails that had been painted a bright red. “Don’t worry, Dr. Garibaldi. I promise I won’t bite.”
She might not, but he was afraid that if he was cooped up in close quarters with her for too long, he might.
“Marco,” he said. “The name’s Marco.”
“Call me Gretchen.”
“Very well, Gretchen.” Swinging the passenger door open, he sank with a sigh onto the soft leather seat. Inhaling a heady breath of new-car aroma, he said, “Take me away from all my troubles.”
“My pleasure.”
When she started the engine and began backing down the driveway, he glanced over at her. “Don’t you need your glasses to drive?”
“Lasik surgery,” she explained. “You are now looking at an emancipated woman. Twenty-twenty vision, both eyes.”
She was emancipated all right, he thought, eyeing her body in that tight dress. Any more emancipated, and he might not be able to contain himself.
“Must feel good,” he said, mentally adding the cost of the lasik surgery to the growing column of cash outlays she had made in recent weeks.
“You don’t know the half of it,” she replied fervently. “To have the weight of glasses off my nose is heavenly. And the exhilaration of waking up in the morning and being able to see—”
She broke off, looking embarrassed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bore you with all the details.”
Bore him? How could she bore him, when the light of pleasure gleaming in her eyes had his pulse rate accelerating like mad? How could she bore him, when all he could think of was how exhilarating it would be to wake up in the morning and see her lying next to him? He, Marco Garibaldi, who made love to women but who avoided sleeping with them.
He forced his gaze out the window and shoved his inappropriate thoughts to the back of his mind. “Trust me, I’m not at all bored.”
Ten minutes later they were out on the open highway.
“Let’s see what this baby can really do, shall we?” she said.
Marco felt the rhythm of the engine change as she shifted gears and the vehicle picked up speed. In fascination, and not a little trepidation, he watched the speedometer needle edge past sixty, to seventy, then eighty, until it finally rested at eighty-five.
Outside, the scenery rushed past, wildflowers and trees melding together in one big blur. Thank goodness they were on a flat stretch of road and there wasn’t another car in sight. Of course, that wouldn’t help them if a deer darted out from nowhere, or an unseen patch of oil sent the car into an unexpected skid.
Tossing her head back, Gretchen laughed. It was the delighted, triumphant laughter of an explorer discovering a new land.
“Quite a kick, isn’t it?” she said.
“Oh, it’s a kick all right,” he replied tensely. “A real boot to the backside.”
“I’ve never felt so exquisitely free in my entire life.”
And he’d never felt so exquisitely terrified.
“You do know that the posted speed limit is fifty-five, don’t you?” he felt compelled to say.
Her hair blew wildly around her face, and she raised one hand to tuck a stray strand behind her ear. “I know.”
“Just thought I’d mention it.” He watched carefully until she’d placed her hand back on the steering wheel.
“Consider it mentioned.” She glanced at him out of the corner of one eye. “Did you know that the top speed this car can reach is 189 miles per hour? That’s why the manufacturer doesn’t install anti-lock breaks. Without them, the driver can maximize the car’s acceleration potential.”
He hadn’t known that, could have lived a long and happy life without knowing it, and prayed fervently she wasn’t going to try to attain warp speed this outing.
“Let me guess. Part of the salesman’s pitch?”
“Uh-huh.”
Suddenly she turned to him again, and her eyes flashed with an emotion he could only describe as regret. There was a self-accusatory tone in her voice when she said, “Do you realize that I’m almost thirty years old, and I’ve never gotten so much as a traffic ticket? Worse, I’ve never even been stopped by a policeman. Isn’t that a crime?”
Swiftly, and to his relief, she faced forward again.
“Well, I’m thirty-four,” he said tautly, fingers clenched against the dashboard, “and I’ve never had a traffic ticket or been stopped, either. You ask me, a lot of people would envy your record. I’m sure your insurance company appreciates it. Of course, if you keep traveling at this speed, you’ll most likely discover the thrill of being stopped and ticketed. Any second now.” If they were lucky.
She flashed him a look of surprise. “Am I making you nervous?”
He didn’t know what scared him more: the speed at which they were traveling or Gretchen Montgomery herself. He’d never met another woman like her, one minute shy and quiet, almost reserved, the next vibrant and outgoing, and totally unpredictable. Talk about a paradox; he was looking straight at one.
“Terrified,” he admitted.
“I’m sorry.” She eased up on the accelerator. “I thought all men loved to go fast.”
“Only with women, and only when they feel like they’re in control,” he muttered, watching in relief as the speedometer nosed its way back to a sedate fifty-eight miles per hour.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing.”
“You don’t have to worry, you know. I’m an excellent driver.”
“I’m sure you are.”
It was just that he had a thing about excessive speed. He’d seen its tragic aftermath too often in the E.R. not to respect that there were some things best left to the professionals. Traveling at a high rate of speed in an automobile was one of them.
Several miles flew by without either of them speaking. Relaxing at last, Marco leaned back against the seat, closed his eyes and wallowed in the feel of the fresh air washing over his face.
“Long day at work?” she asked.
“Long week,” he said.
“You work at Bridgeton Hospital, right?”
“Yes. In the emergency department.”
“Been there long?”
“Three years as a resident. Three years now on staff.”
“You must find it very rewarding.”
“It has its moments. What about you, Gretchen? Do you enjoy your work?”
There was only a slight hesitation before she replied, “Very much. It’s quite challenging. If you’re like most people, though, you think accounting, and CPAs in particular, are deadly boring.”
Eyes still closed, he smiled. “I suppose I’ve fallen victim to that stereotype once or twice.”
“Who hasn’t? By the way, you wouldn’t happen to own a Harley, a leather jacket or have a tattoo, would you?”
He ranked Harleys up there with driving at a high speed: too dangerous. Leather jackets were okay—his brother Carlo practically lived in one—but tattoos were definitely out. Why subject himself to needless infection?
Bemused, he swiveled his head toward her and opened his eyes. “No. Why?”
She shrugged. “I just realized we’ve been next-door neighbors for more than two years now, and I really don’t know very much about you.”
His thoughts precisely. “What would you like to know?”
“For starters, why do you rent from me?”
“Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”
“Only that you’re a doctor. I assume you could afford a place of your own.”
He grimaced. “You haven’t seen the bill for my medical school loans.”
“I’m not the type of landlady who steams open her tenants’ mail,” she said lightly.
“For which I’m heartily grateful.” After a pause he added, “I suppose I could swing a house if I wanted to. I just don’t want to.”
“Would you mind my asking why not?”
“It’s simple, really. I have a job that demands a lot of my time. What little I have left over, I’d rather spend with my brothers and my sister, and not have to worry about the care and upkeep of a house.”
“Makes sense to me,” she said.
“Me, too. Anything else you want to know?”
She startled him by pulling to the side of the road. Car idling, she removed her hands from the steering wheel and placed them in her lap before turning in her seat to face him. She seemed oddly tentative.
“Are you involved with anyone?”
The unexpected question knocked him totally off balance. “Not at the moment,” he replied carefully.
She digested that for a minute before asking, “Do you find me…attractive?”
“I think the answer is obvious.”
“Is it?” She seemed to be holding her breath.
He ran his gaze hotly over her, paying particular attention to her legs and her cleavage. When he returned his attention to her face, he saw that her cheeks were red.
“Do you still doubt it?”
“No.” She licked her lips. “In that case, what do you think of the idea of us having a wild, crazy affair?”
His heart surged into his throat. “An affair?”
She nodded. “No strings attached.”
“And when it’s over?”
“We go our separate ways.”
“No hard feelings?”
“None.”
“Now?”
Her lips curved. “I was thinking of someplace a little more private.” She nodded at their surroundings. “Also, a little more romantic. And roomier.”
