All Through the Night (16 page)

Her association with Regan was barely ever mentioned— a passing question now and again, which made her think sometimes that Bobby had his own sources to provide him with information about Regan. But, then, the divorce had been so acrimonious, she thought most times she was wrong, and he was just as happy to know nothing about her at all ever again.

Bobby had made his own life, deliberately headquartered far and away from his youthful mistakes. It had worked out well, only Mother hadn’t wanted to move cross country. Mother wanted to stay, but Regan hadn’t left and nothing their father offered in settlement could move her, so Mother had suffered all these years with Regan flaunting herself around town.

And Bobby was right: Angie
had
snuck behind Mother’s back to maintain the relationship with Regan. Regan had been her best friend, before, during and after the marriage. You didn’t throw that away when a marriage didn’t work, or if a mother was mired in hate. That was Mother’s problem, and Bobby’s, and Angie had tried so hard to remain neutral for the benefit of both parties.

Which had been so easy when he was far away, but now Bobby was here for the foreseeable future. And he was no callow twenty-four-year-old, and Regan wasn’t the exotic and romantic twenty-year-old she had been.

Trouble. It could only mean trouble. Regan hadn’t changed in one respect over the years. She was still a man magnet, still attracting attention like a heat-seeking missile. All flash and fizzle, that was Regan. With loyal Tony invariably downrange, waiting for the right time, the right place, the right weather.

Regan wouldn’t want her past dogging her just as she was stepping up and out. She’d want to keep out of Bobby’s way. She’d run as far as those wiggly wobbly Mascolos would carry her, if she knew Bobby was back in town.

Angie was sure of it. She’d tell Tony, she thought, and Tony would tell Regan, and then he’d protect her, just as he always did.

So maybe this wasn’t such a disaster, Bobby’s return. Maybe it would be the impetus for Regan to begin valuing Tony’s unswerving friendship, and to see finally that Tony really was the man for her.

Tony wasn’t going to tell Regan anything. He put down the phone slowly, thinking about everything it meant to have Bobby Torrance back in town.

It meant everything was gone to hell. It meant a continual looming presence at a time when the last thing Regan needed was that kind of distraction. And it would be a distraction; their past would underscore everything she did, and she’d be looking for ways and means to avoid him. She’d always be conscious he was somewhere around and that would take her focus off business, and that alone could shoot everything to kingdom come.

Shit.

God, that man had the timing of a master clock maker. Of all the times for him to stage a return.

Damnit to hell.

The less Regan knew, the better. She’d find out soon enough, anyway. Which was what he told Angie. He wasn’t going to tell her. And especially not on the eve of the party celebrating her success.

Tomorrow was soon enough, he told Angie. Although he didn’t want to bet that someone wouldn’t tell her at the party tonight.

No matter: this was Regan’s night. And his. And maybe, in some small way, his father’s. His father who had taken a gorgeous out-of-her-depth twenty-one-year-old and molded her with kindness and care, and made her into the spectacular businesswoman she was.

Oh, yes, all the memories. They flooded out at the thought of Bobby Torrance. All the fights. All the jealousies.

Bobby banging at the agency door, demanding his wife back. Bobby threatening him. Bobby demanding that Regan give up her job. Bobby, Bobby, Bobby—spoiled bad boy the-world-was-his-because-he-was-rich Bobby… Possessive, entitled Bobby… who’d just swept into town after graduating from that high-powered, high toned university in Chicago, took one look at Regan, and had to have her. Had to,
had
to, and stopped at nothing until he’d married her.

And for several dazzling months, she’d been deliriously happy. And then it all deteriorated, first in bed, and then in their day-to-day life. First, it turned out that Regan’s needs and capabilities didn’t mesh with Bobby’s in bed. And the mother didn’t want her working. And Bobby was insanely jealous of every man she came in contact with because their private life was in such a shambles.

And then Alex came along.

Alex—mature, sexy, sympathetic, knowing, manipulative Alex… Whatever it was that was between them, it broke up the marriage like a time bomb, imploding from the inside and radiating out.

The papers were filed, the settlement was made, and Bobby tore out of town like a tornado.

And now he was back like a storm cloud, dark, ominous, hovering, ready to unleash a torrent of trouble when conditions were right.

Still rich. Still on the hunt. Still thinking he was entitled.

Men like Bobby never gave up what they thought belonged to them.

Well, Bobby had to learn what they all had learned over the years: Regan belonged to no one, and Tony had reason to know that better than anyone else.

Chapter Two

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She wore the Mascolos. And black. A column of long, slinky, shimmery black that grazed her curves, showed off her legs, and fastened with a jet-black choker collar around her neck. Crystal and jet earrings dusting her bare shoulders, framed by her tumbling curls, her only jewelry. A black sequined bag. Restrained makeup. A long glittery sweater coat to ward off the chill.

Nothing out of line here. Perfectly fit, formal and worthy of a celebratory party. Even Angie couldn’t quibble. There wasn’t a hint of anything blatant. No cleavage. Nothing tight. No messages here that could be misinterpreted by anyone.

But she was disabused of the comfort of that notion the moment she walked in the door of Mary Mackey Lee’s spacious Tudor home.

Everything stopped dead as she paused in the archway to the sunken living room. She felt a wave of heat suffuse her whole body as she realized how many people were there, and that they all were staring at her.

“Come on, Regan.” Tony came forward, and took her hand to help her down the step. “You look fabulous.” But
fabulous
didn’t begin to express how she looked. She looked different: sensual, elusive, exclusive.

Not his.

No. His, while the world outside could be held at bay.

His, while she was on Mackey turf, surrounded by Mackey friends, family and colleagues. His, as she always was, one minute at a time.

His, for tonight.

He led her to the open bar. “Here we go. What would you like?”

“White wine—Riesling if you have it.”

“Sure. Anything you want, Regan.”

Oh, God
—
did that mean something other than casual conversation
?

She took the goblet and lifted it to him. This was
not
the time to say she owed everything to him. “Thanks, Tony.”

“Hey”—he grabbed his beer and clinked his glass against her wineglass—“you earned it.”

She sipped and savored the fruity taste of the wine while she surveyed the crowd. “God, everyone’s here.”

“Everyone we’ve ever sold to. All your neighbors and friends, everyone you grew up with and everyone you never wanted to see again,” Tony said with a trace of irony. “That about covers it. And my sister, of course,” he added as Mary came up to them.

“You look
stunning
tonight,” Mary murmured, signaling for a refill. “And it’s about time Tony promoted you— shame on you, Tony.”

“Hey, you, too, can earn those kinds of commissions, and you don’t need a title to do it,” Tony retorted, putting his hand on Regan’s shoulder and squeezing lightly. “And the best is yet to come.” He slid his hand down her arm.

“I think so too,” Regan said. “We’ve got the right strategy at the right time.” She sipped again so that she could move her arm out of Tony’s reach. “It’s brilliant, actually. No one else has thought of it—yet.”

“
Yet
is the operative word,” Tony said. “But that’s business, that’s for tomorrow. Tonight—is pure pleasure—and we should enjoy it while we can.”

“Thank God he has a sister who can wave a magic wand and set it all up with one day’s notice,” Mary put in. “It’s my pleasure, too, Regan. You deserve it. You’re like family, but you know that, and frankly, I don’t know what Tony would do without you.”

Regan ignored the warning bells. “Thanks, Mary. It’s not an exaggeration to say that your family has been like a second family to me too.”

Mary hugged her. “I wish you even greater success then, and I leave you to it.”

Regan lifted her wineglass to her as Mary withdrew. “You don’t know how lucky you are, Tony.”

“Sure I do.” He took her elbow. “Let’s mingle.”

But she couldn’t take a step without someone stopping her to comment on her dress, or to congratulate her on her promotion. It was so lovely to have all these people, some she’d known all her life, some of them new friends she’d made in the course of selling them a house or an apartment, so undeniably pleased for her.

She felt full, suddenly, in a way that she hadn’t in a long time. What Mary had said was true: Mackey’s
was
her family, and they were pushing her out of the nest and letting her fly.

And, in a way, it made up for all the barren years.

“Well, look at you…” Angie murmured, as she joined her and Tony in a little knot of friends near the door. “Oh, my, Mascolos and everything.”

“Yep. I’ve got nothing to hide. What about you?”

Angie cringed. “That’s for sure, in that dress.” Oh, that was snappish. There was nothing wrong with the dress and everything wrong with her. She was still disturbed by Bobby’s unexpected return, still unsure of how to handle it.

She caught Tony’s eye and he shook his head imperceptibly.

Right. Pretend it didn’t exist. Pretend
Bobby
didn’t exist.

She needed a drink, said so, and Regan offered to come with her. “I need five minutes away from Tony; he’s absolutely smothering me.”

Angie ordered a martini. “Told you. You should’ve deep-sixed the shoes.”

“You’re completely overboard today,” Regan muttered, taking a refill on her wine. “What is it with you?”

Angie shook her head as she sipped at her drink. “It’s nothing. I guess I’m a little unsettled by the way things are changing—for you, I mean. Sometimes you think things are going to go on the same way forever.”

“Well, nothing much is going to change, either, except I’ll be in Manhattan more, pitching the project. And the money. I
love
the change in the money.”

Oh, yes, the money. Hadn’t that always been the cornerstone of everything Regan had ever done, including marrying Bobby?

It was absolutely nerve-wracking to have Bobby back in town and have to act like nothing was different.

Everything was different, everything was going to change.

Tony cornered her when Regan went off to the powder room. “So where are we at?”

“You probably know as much as I do at this point. Bobby’s bidding on the
Herald
, and he’s staying on site to manage and relaunch it. That means, he’ll be in our house, in our town, and in our lives.”

“Shit.”

“Exactly.”

“So how did you manage to get out of the house without him asking questions?”

“I waited till he went into the library with an armful of papers.”

“Good thinking.”

“Well, I can’t keep sneaking around, and he’s going to see Regan by the simple expediency of going to the office. And then what?”

“We’ll sell him some commercial space,” Tony said mordantly. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea. The
Herald’s
office is this cramped little storefront on the avenue…”

“Tony—”

“Right. Tonight is mine, tomorrow, the deluge.”

“Always assuming my feelings have been on target all along,” Angie murmured.

“On target? Hell, bull’s-eye. She hasn’t had a serious relationship in seven years, she hardly plays around, she lets off steam at the local spa—and she goddamned doesn’t want me,” Tony growled. “She’s been on a girls-just-want-to-have-fun kick for years, but I haven’t seen any evidence of it, and when you ask her, she makes up the most outrageous stories, and everything just rolls off her like teflon. You’re abso-damn-lutely on target. And now he’s back… God…”

“We’ll lose her,” Angie interpolated.

“Or get burned in the conflagration,” Tony said moodily as he watched Regan make her way back into the room. She was so magnetic; people just stared at her, drawn to her, to her unfeigned interest and the way she listened. To her beauty, although that really was the least of it, because in any setting where business was a priorty, Regan was as proper as the most Victorian matron.