A Grand Seduction Read online

  He blinked twice at the mention of his wife, as though she were an intrusion shattering some private reverie. Still, his gaze betrayed nothing. “I did this afternoon. Told her not to expect me until late. I wasn’t sure how long this would take. Thought I might end up having to check out other stores.”

  Ridelle wondered how that conversation had gone. Did Fran sour at the news? Had something in her voice reflected suspicion? Or had she laughed and given Bruce her blessing? It was hard to know which way her friend would turn these days. Ridelle suspected that Frannie didn’t know that herself. And where had Bruce’s mind been when he’d called his wife? Just how “late” was he intending to be?

  The thought fluttered in her stomach as he tossed her own question back at her. “What about you? Is there someone at home you need to call?”

  She shifted in her chair at the question. “Oh, no, not me. Not even a pet. Goldfish died last year.”

  His eyes sparked with a hint of amusement. “Sorry for your loss.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s par for my course. Can’t even keep plants alive. I’m the only person I know who can kill a silk houseplant.”

  The waitress returned with cocktails, breaking into a shiny smile to join in on Bruce’s laughter. “Come on now, I’m sure it can’t be that bad.”

  The extent of how bad it was waited until after they ordered, which included Bruce’s impressively expensive selection of rack of lamb and an appetizer.

  “So, you don’t have the world’s greenest thumb, then?” he asked.

  “I really don’t. You’ve never seen how pitiful a silk plant can look until it’s been at my place for a month or two.”

  Bruce shook his head, indulging a hearty sip of his Manhattan, which for some reason she made a mental note that he ordered with no bitters and a twist of lime. “Okay, so no worried houseplants or fish at home. Then surely a boyfriend or five are frantically wondering why you aren’t there?”

  Her laugh bordered on incredulous. “Five? I don’t have five dates a year, let alone juggling them at the same time.”

  “Not five a year? I find that hard to believe.”

  She shrugged and sipped a light Chardonnay, warming her stomach with double intensity as Bruce’s words washed down along with it. “There are offers. I just don’t often accept.”

  He gave an obliging smile. “A woman of discriminating tastes.”

  “I know it must sound horribly conceited. I don’t think the guys are beneath me or anything like that. It’s just…” She trailed off, rolling her eyes and taking a less-than-delicate swig from her glass. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

  He raised a hand in apology. “I’m sorry. I’ve put you on the spot. It’s none of my business.”

  She shook her head. “No, not at all. I just tend to babble when I can’t put feelings into coherent words.” She sighed, staring into her wine glass as if it were a crystal ball. “I guess I don’t bother with dates because it seems like a waste of time. No sparks, you know? There just aren’t a lot of men out there who make me go weak in the knees.”

  The brief glimmer in his eyes caught in her throat, where she wished her comment had remained. Then again, she wasn’t here to play shy.

  In a rare moment of well-timed interruption, their waitress returned with a combination platter of steaming pan-seared scallops and beef short ribs. Garlic and BBQ sauce drenched the surroundings in heavenly aroma as the plate descended to the midst of the table.

  Bruce gestured to the food. “Feel free to dig in. I got it to share.”

  As eager for distraction as her stomach was for food, Ridelle dropped a napkin in her lap. “Looks wonderful.”

  “These are great,” he said as he forked a couple of ribs onto his own plate. “Try some.”

  She took one, along with a spoonful of scallops and herb butter. “You’ve been here before?”

  He frowned. “Uh, no. I meant they look great. I love barbecued ribs.”

  Ridelle wondered, but let the comment go. “Don’t get to have these very often anymore. Back home, ribs were at least a monthly occurrence.”

  A garlicky scallop melted in Ridelle’s mouth, prompting a full scale assault on her plate. The tangy rib meat was just as tender, and for a moment she closed her eyes in savoring wonder.

  Bruce murmured approval as he ate. “Feeding a house full of men requires a lot of red meat.”

  “That’s for sure. Come to think of it, meat was pretty much a three times a day necessity. Steak and eggs, roast beef sandwiches, brisket and potatoes.”

  “Same here. Of course, I grew up before red meat was declared a four-letter word.”

  Ridelle laughed. “My dad used to say that the only true four-letter protein is tofu.”

  He rolled his eyes. “How do people eat that and call it meat? It’s like chewing cardboard-flavored custard.”

  “It’s not bad if you think eggs rather than filet mignon. I like it in stir fry. Or deep fried. I’m pretty much a fan of anything involving the word ‘fry’.”

  The appetizer vanished in record time, and the pair sat back with new drinks and happier stomachs to await the main course. “You know,” he said, “it dawns on me that I don’t recall what you do for work.”

  Ridelle laughed. “That depends on who you ask.” His raised eyebrows prompted another round of laughter. “Nothing illegal, thank you. If you ask my parents, they’ll tell you I’m a professional procrastinator. Friends would say I’m a free spirit. Me, I’m still weighing my career options. It’s a definite bone of contention with my folks.”

  “Ah. You live at home, then?”

  “Not since I was eighteen. Moved out to go to college, which is where this whole odyssey began.”

  “Did you graduate?”

  “No, though not for lack of trying. I made the Dean’s list every semester.”

  “But?”

  “But I kept changing majors. I may possibly be the world record holder for having the most college units without a degree.”

  He laughed. “What majors?”

  She put down her half drained second glass of wine and ticked a list off her fingers. “Let’s see. First I believed nursing was my true call, which given my disastrous luck with living things was a questionable decision. Discovered I don’t like working with the public, and sick people are the public at their worst. Plus, anything with the word ‘bed’ in it breaks me out into a cold sweat.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Anything with a bed in it?”

  She rolled her eyes, but smiled a concession. “I mean like bed pan, bed bath, bed sore—you get the drift.”

  He made a face. “Fair enough. So what then?”

  “Then came marine biology, photography, a brief and highly uninspiring stint in theater, computer sciences, you name it.”

  “I’d think computer science would be a good match. Seems you enjoy your knowledge of it.”

  She shrugged, feeling a tingle of pink dust her cheeks at the compliment. “I thought so, too. So did my professors. In fact, he recommended me for my first job—doing I.S. for a company in Philly while I was still in school.”

  “Sounds promising.”

  “For about two hours. Then my supervisor handed me a bundle of wiring and offered to boost me up into a crawl space so I could slink around in fifty year old filth running network cable for the building. That was that.”

  He crunched an ice cube from his drained glass as he spoke. “They can’t all want you to share crawl space with rats? Maybe you could have branched out in another area.”

  “I did—web design. Still have the ulcer scars to prove it.”

  “Could be a lot of money in that.”

  “That’s what Dad said, so he shelled out yet more tuition. Trouble is, it came back to the whole people thing.”

  “People thing?”

  “Working with the public. You can’t believe how finicky web clients can be. They don’t know an HTML document from a web host, but they think they�
�re experts when it comes to layout and design. ‘Why can’t I have orange text on a purple-plaid-and-yellow-polka-dot background?’ ‘Why shouldn’t my non-pet-related business site feature a poster-sized photo of my mini Dachshund?’ I found the hair loss alone wasn’t worth it.”

  Bruce’s laughter lasted long enough this time to queue tears, and for Ridelle to bristle in annoyance. Catching a glance at what must have shown in her eyes, he sobered a bit. “I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you, really. Polka dot backgrounds aside, I relate completely. Clients are clients.”

  She relaxed a bit at that. Of course Bruce would know all about working with the public. “Anyway,” she grinned, “that about highlights the past ten years. Master of none and all that.”

  “Sorry. That must be frustrating.”

  “More so for my parents, I think. Can’t blame them, really. They’ve footed most of my bills. I did take some earnings and a twenty-first birthday gift and invest wisely, so there’s a bit from that. Still, Dad threatens to cut me off at least once or twice a year. More so now that I stopped school last year. I thought if I took a break I might find my focus, but it hasn’t happened.” Except her ambitious plan to lure a married man into bed. Mom and Dad would be so proud.

  “You’re intelligent and well-spoken. Perhaps an administrative position in the city? I might be able to make a couple calls.”

  She cut him off with a wave. “Thank you, but that’s okay. There are jobs I could get, but right now I’m looking for more of a, well, a reason. The whole ‘what I want to be when I grow up’ thing still eludes me, and I figure I should take advantage of the opportunity to figure it out while I still can.”

  He nodded. “True. That’s something not everyone can indulge. Had my dad not sent me on my way with my future already decided, who knows what I might have become?”

  The comment surprised her. “Looks to me like you’ve found your perfect niche, seeing how readily you handled those clients at your dinner party. No wonder your life is such a huge success.”

  He snorted. “My life, a success? Hardly.”

  The final comment was almost, but not quite, lost beneath the bustle of food and more drink arriving to their table. Moist, pink salmon and Portobello mushrooms held less interest than the need to hear more about Bruce’s confession, but while they attacked dinner he twisted their conversation back to Ridelle.

  “In any case,” he said, “I’d say you’ve had quite an interesting variety of experience in those ten years.”

  She grimaced. “Oh, I paint quite the picture, don’t I? No dates, no job, no desires. Big topic at family gatherings, by the way.”

  Bruce paused halfway into slicing his rack of lamb. In a twist of lighting, his bronze eyes flared amber as they caught hers. “No desires?”

  The tone flirted around light and teasing, but didn’t quite touch it. Juicy salmon dried to leather on her tongue. She willed her heart to stop pounding as he held his gaze, swallowing her fish to leave a raw, near whisper behind. “Okay, maybe I have a few. I’m just not sure whether I can have them.”

  Her eyes searched his as a pulse beat against her neck. The statement was general enough, but the searing look in response suggested she may as well have launched a Goodyear blimp flashing, “Take me now, Bruce.”

  A wave of dizziness reminded her of the need to breathe. By the time the man across from her found his voice, it was deeper and far less certain of itself. “There are few things this world can deny those who want them bad enough.”

  Try as they might, the pair never managed to resurrect the conversation, engaging instead in occasional idle chatter as she managed only a sparing amount of food under the weighted canopy of Bruce’s words. Afterward, Bruce and Ridelle—and the doggie bags containing a majority of uneaten food—journeyed at a leisurely pace back to the convertible. Old fashioned street lamps weren’t enough to drown out overhead stars, and the weather had chilled to where she wished for something to toss over the thin material of her blouse. She rejected an automatic desire to hide her perked nipples, instead crossing her arms across a belly that would have been full had she not lost the ability to finish dinner. This pushed her breasts to the center of the low v-neck, producing a thought-provoking cleavage silhouette.

  Once back at the car, Bruce leaned in over the passenger side, depositing Styrofoam containers on the seat before fiddling with the controls to put up the black leather soft top. As mechanics whirred and clicked the roof into place, he turned to Ridelle and fixed her with a determined stare. “So, I’ve been wondering something.”

  She swallowed, unable to reply. A span of heartbeats passed before he continued. “If I were to ask you what it was you said you desired, would you tell me?”

  Her eyes dropped to his Adam’s Apple, skimming down past the hollow to where chest hair disappeared under the top button of his shirt. He was close enough now that if she were to lean in and sniff at his pinstriped vest, she would swoon under the faint tang of remaining cologne. A thought which proved insanely appealing, rather than dangerously fatal as it should be.

  “I’m not sure I can,” she ventured. “It probably doesn’t matter anyway. I’m used to not getting what I want.”

  With a tentative reach, Bruce crooked a finger under her chin and raised her gaze to meet his. His touched seared away thoughts of cold night air. “We all want things, Ridelle.”

  Her voice dropped away to an accusing whisper. “But what if what I want is wrong?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with desire. Life deprives us of enough without us holding back from ourselves. If there’s something you want, don’t be afraid to take it. Don’t wonder later what might have been.”

  The invitation was clear enough, but the truth of his words sank far deeper than her current goal. Was that what held her like a cripple all these years? Was the reason she couldn’t commit to a direction in life the fact that she was afraid to want?

  She pulled herself to him, her arms wrapping around his shoulders in an embrace that cried for more than friendship. Burying her head in his chest, she let go of restraint and breathed him in deeply. Her shuddered gasp elicited a moan from Bruce’s throat, and he pulled her back to hold her at arm’s length.

  Studying her clouded gaze, a muscle worked along the set of his jaw. “Don’t be afraid of it, Ridelle.”

  Some universal force lured them closer. His lips were so close now, almost hypnotizing her with need. When they were barely a hand’s breadth apart, however, Bruce blinked and pulled back. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one who was afraid.

  His breath came in rasps, as though he’d run the two blocks from the restaurant. “I should get you back to your car. The store will be closing up now. Don’t want it getting towed.”

  Sliding onto the cold seats, the pair rode in blanketed silence to her car. Though rooted in frozen ambition on the outside, her body moaned and writhed within her, demanding his touch like a rushing wind howling through an unyielding tree. Sooner or later, she knew the tree must bow to that demanding storm, or else it would snap.

  Chapter Eleven

  The condo was silent when a soft rap caught Dominique’s attention. Turning from a cup of steaming chamomile on the kitchen counter, she frowned at the front door. “Who the hell? At this hour?”

  A peach satin pajama set fell in soft folds as she slipped through the dining room barefoot, the only light spilling in from the adjacent hallway leading to the back bedrooms as she peered through the peephole.

  “Good God.” She pulled open the door where Ridelle hugged herself with a shiver. “It’s after midnight.”

  “I know. Your neighbor informed me of that fact when I knocked on the wrong door. All these effing condos look alike in the dark.”

  The girl was pale as a moonbeam and appeared to have just swallowed something rotten and slimy. Dominique stood aside to allow her entry, then guided to her one of four damask-covered dining chairs at the smoked glass table. Flipping on the overhead hurricane l
amp chandelier, she noted her friend paled even further when awash in bright light.

  “You look chilled to the bone. Here.” Dominique padded back into the kitchen, retrieved the still steaming cup of tea, and deposited it in front of Ridelle before rounding the table to take a seat across from her. “And you look like hell.”

  “Thanks a lot. I didn’t have a sweater with me when I left town earlier.”

  “You’ve been out all this time?” To her nod, Dominique added, “With Bruce?”

  “Came straight here when I got back from Jersey.” Ridelle sipped at her tea.

  Despite cocking her head at various angles, Dominique couldn’t get into the girl’s direct view. She wouldn’t make eye contact. “So what happened?”

  The haunted shudder in response dropped an unpleasant lump in Dominique’s stomach. Did the bastard do something to her friend? She couldn’t see any marks. If he hurt Ridelle, he’d have more than just Dominique Trudeaux to deal with. He’d have Dominique Trudeaux pissed off beyond mortal reason.

  Ridelle took another drink of tea, as if gulping courage. “Bruce kissed me.”

  Dominique waited for the rest, blinking when nothing else followed. “And?”

  Now Ridelle hooked onto her gaze. “And nothing.”

  “That’s what all the drama is about? Good Lord, you either need to get out more or there’s something else on your mind besides Bruce giving you a tour of his lips.”

  Ridelle’s gaze shifted over Dominique’s head, landing on an abstract watercolor in splashes of blues, black, and red. Her voice was flat when next she spoke. “I don’t think I can do this.”

  Dominique wandered back to the kitchen and poured steaming water into another mug. “Why don’t you tell me what happened. Everything that happened.”

  Ridelle shifted around in her seat, facing the kitchen while Dominique pulled out a bag of chamomile, changed her mind, and reached back inside for the Earl Grey. Right now, she didn’t feel like relaxing. “We went shopping for the television as planned. Afterwards, it happened just like you said it would. It was getting near dark, and Bruce suggested dinner.”