Body Movers (11 page)

“And Wesley? He must be what—sixteen years old now?”

“Nineteen,” she corrected, disappointed that he hadn’t

noted the passing of every year, of every day since their

breakup. Immediately, she recognized she was being

unfair. It hadn’t been as traumatic an event to him as it

had been to her.

“Wow, he’s all grown up.”

She nodded, wondering if he’d read of Wesley’s arrest but

was diplomatically avoiding the subject.

He pointed to the pink leather book in her hands. “And I

see that you’re still col ecting autographs. I guess you fil ed

up the black book you always carried around.”

“That was a long time ago,” she said, shoving the new

book into her purse, not wanting to admit she’d replaced

that black autograph book only recently—and not out of

choice.

“Can I get you a glass of wine?”

Deciding there was nothing wrong with him using one of

his drink tickets on her, she nodded.

“White zinfandel?” he asked.

“Pinot noir,” she said, letting him know that her tastes had

changed, matured. But while he ordered her drink, she

devoured him with her eyes—tall, commanding, self-

assured, polished. This was the man who would have been

her husband. No…Angela had told her what Peter had said

about marrying Carlotta. Even if they had married, it

wouldn’t have lasted.

But it was easy to put those troubling thoughts aside when

he walked back toward her. Easy to pretend that Peter

was her husband, returning with her drink. “Thank you,”

she said, taking the glass. His hand brushed hers, leaving

her unreasonably flushed with pleasure.

“To the good times,” he said lightly, lifting his glass.

She nodded and clinked her glass to his, then drank deeply

of the rich red wine. The flavors burst onto her tongue, the

alcohol pleasantly burning the back of her throat. Almost

immediately she felt the effects of the wine and warned

herself to take it slow on an empty stomach. Seeing Peter

again had already knocked her senses off balance—she

didn’t need an accelerant.

He studied her as he drank from his glass and she

wondered what was going through his mind. Regret?

Relief?

Suddenly his nose wrinkled and he waved his hand in the

air as the smell of cigarette smoke wafted their way from

the bar. “Damn cigarettes. Let’s get some fresh air,” he

said, nodding toward the patio doors.

She agreed, tel ing herself that it was perfectly normal that

they should have a conversation after the way things had

ended all those years ago. She fel into step next to him,

careful to maintain a respectable distance in deference to

the overwhelming urge to wrap her legs around him.

Dusk had settled on the patio where a handful of people

stood talking quietly. Low light sparkled from luminaries

hung all around that struck her as strangely romantic for

what was supposed to be a business event. “What brings

you here?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Thought it might be a good place to make

some new contacts for potential clients. I’m an investment

broker for Mashburn, Tul y and—” He blanched. “Sorry, I

stil want to add your father’s name to the partners list.”

“It’s okay,” she murmured. “I knew you were working

there. I saw your wedding announcement in the AJC.”

“Ah.”

“Is Angela with you?” she asked lightly, glancing around.

“No.” Then he cleared his throat. “So what are you doing

here?”

“I’m here with a friend.”

One of his eyebrows arched. “Boyfriend?”

“No. My friend Hannah.”

“Someone you went to school with? Would I know her?”

“No, I sort of…lost touch with the girls I went to school

with. I hardly see them anymore.” Then she decided to out

the elephant in the room between them that he refused to

acknowledge. “Except for Angela.”

He took a quick drink from his glass. “Yes, she always tel s

me when she, um, runs into you.”

Another stretch of awkward silence descended.

“I hear your home is very nice,” she offered. “Angela told

me about the new pool.”

He gave a dry laugh. “Pool, outside kitchen, waterfall, hot

tub and guesthouse.”

“Oh. How…nice.”

He looked up. “I wasn’t bragging. It’s all a little more grand

than I had envisioned. I mean, it’s just the two of us, and

I’m not home—” He stopped. “I mean…I work long hours.”

She thought about Angela’s flask of gin. It didn’t take a

rocket scientist to figure out that Peter’s “long hours”

were taking a toll on their marriage.

And God help her, wasn’t she just a little bit happy to

know it?

The realization left her flustered and searching for safer

ground. “How did you like the jacket that Angela bought

for you last week? Gorgeous, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, no, I’ve ruined

a surprise. She said your anniversary was coming up and I

completely forgot. Peter, I’m so sorry. Wil you please act

surprised?”

“Sure,” he said quietly. “But our anniversary was three

days ago.”

Carlotta fumbled to cover her gaffe. “Well, perhaps she

forgot about it, or is saving it for another special

occasion…or she…changed her mind.”

“Or perhaps she bought it for someone else.”

Mortification bled through her chest at the implication.

“Such as her father,” he added mildly, then smiled.

She laughed in relief at the obvious explanation. “Of

course. I’m sorry I mentioned it. I was just…”

“Making conversation?” he supplied. “That’s gracious of

you, Carly, considering all the things you’d probably like to

say to me after the way I behaved when…when your life

fel apart.”

Carly. His pet name for her. A name she’d used several

times when crashing parties incognito, under the disguise

of wigs and accents.

Her mouth opened and closed. Here stood the man who

had ripped out her heart and abandoned her, and now

when given the opportunity to ask him why, she didn’t

know what to say. She’d always known why, hadn’t she?

Would it really make a difference to hear him admit that

he couldn’t deal with the scandal of her parents’ actions,

and the responsibility of an instant family? Would it

change anything other than to tear open wounds that had

long since healed?

“We were young,” she said, turning away from him, trying

to keep her voice steady. “I understand why you did what

you did.”

He stepped beside her. “Then maybe you can explain it to

me, because I don’t understand why I did it—why I left you

alone to deal with the fallout of your parents leaving, of

raising a child.”

“It wasn’t your responsibility,” she said, closing her eyes

against his nearness. “It was mine. Your life was going

down a different path.” She looked up and smiled. “As it

should have. Everything worked out for the best.”

He looked as if he wanted to say something, but instead

he drained his wineglass.

“Peter, hey!”

They both turned to see a middle-aged man walking

toward them, all smiles. A memory chord vibrated in

Carlotta’s mind.

Peter straightened and even to her his body language

seemed guilty as he extended his hand to the older man.

“Hi, Walt.”

“When did you get back from Boston?” the man asked.

“This afternoon. The meeting with Matthews went wel .”

“Glad to hear it,” Walt said, then cut his gaze to Carlotta,

his curiosity plain.

“Walt, this is Carly, an old friend. Carly, this is Walt…Tul y.”

Carlotta blinked—her father’s former partner. No wonder

he looked familiar. She’d been to countless company

gatherings at his house, had gone to school with his

daughter. And no wonder Peter was acting so strangely.

But even though her father had stained the company’s

reputation, she had nothing to atone for. She stuck out her

hand and when the man took it, smiling, she said, “I’m

Carlotta Wren, Mr. Tul y. It’s been a long time.”

He seemed confused, then surprised, then uncomfortable.

“Er, Carlotta, yes, of course. How are you, my dear?”

“Grand,” she said with a big smile. “How’s Tracey?”

“Hmm? Oh…she’s fine. Married a doctor and lives in

Buckhead.”

One of Angela’s lunch buddies, no doubt. “That’s

wonderful. Wil you tel her I said hel o?”

He frowned. “Of course.” Then his gaze went back and

forth between her and Peter.

“I was just leaving,” she said cheerfully, setting her glass of

wine on the nearest flat surface. “Peter, it was nice to run

into you. Give Angela my best. Good evening, Mr. Tul y.”

She turned and fled, fighting tears as she wound her way

through the crowd back into the kitchen. If she’d needed

proof that being in Peter’s life would have been a constant

embarrassment for him, she had it. Walking blindly, she

nudged a tray of fish-shaped pâté from a sideboard and

sent it crashing to the floor.

“Who are you?” a man wearing a chef’s hat bel owed. “Get

out of here!”

She spied Hannah in the fray, who beckoned her toward

the door where they’d met. “What’s wrong?”

Carlotta bit her lip to keep her tears at bay, but failed.

Hannah grabbed her arm. “What happened?”

“It’s nothing,” Carlotta mumbled. “I don’t feel wel .”

“Liar,” Hannah said, herding her out into the hallway. “Did

one of Wesley’s thugs fol ow you here?”

“No,” Carlotta said, then released a hysterical laugh at the

absurdity of her life. “It was just a guy…I used to date.”

Hannah frowned. “A guy? I’ve never seen you worked up

over any guy you dated.”

“This was a long time ago. I’m overreacting. It’s nothing.”

Hannah stared at her, more curious than concerned.

Carlotta wiped her eyes. “I shouldn’t have come. I’m stil

worked up over Wesley’s situation. I’l call you tomorrow.”

Hannah squinted. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” She turned and walked down the hallway to

the elevator and stabbed the call button.

“Carlotta!”

She turned to see Peter leaving the main entrance of the

party and making his way toward her. She turned back to

the elevator and stabbed the button again. “Come on,”

she muttered.

“Carlotta, wait!”

When the door opened, she rushed aboard and pushed

the button to close the doors, but Peter was too quick. The

doors rebounded open and he walked on, his eyes dark

and troubled. The doors slid closed, sealing her into an

intimate space with the man she had loved for most of her

adult life.

“What do you want, Peter?”

“I’m sorry about that,” he said. “I was afraid if I introduced

you, wel …I was afraid that he would say

something…inappropriate.”

She watched the buttons light up as they descended

slowly, then gave a little laugh. “It’s okay, Peter. I’m used

to being snubbed by people like Walt Tul y. Do you want to

hear something funny? That man is my godfather—that’s

how close our families used to be. But the last time I saw

Tracey, she pretended she didn’t even know who I was. It

seems I’m invisible to most of the women I once thought

were my friends.” Her voice sounded surprisingly calm to

her own ears. “Except for your wife, that is. Instead of

ignoring me, she treats me like a servant when she comes

in to shop. She flaunts her life with you and grinds me

under her heel. She told me last week that giving me a

commission is her little good deed, as if I’m some kind of

pet project.”

His mouth tightened and he shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

She clenched her jaw, her chest aching. “Stop saying that.”

The elevator doors opened and she brushed past him.

“Goodbye, Peter.”

“Carlotta.” He kept up with her until they reached the

hotel entrance. “Give me your ticket, I’l have the valet

send for your car.”

She gave a little laugh. “I parked my own car, Peter, and

walked one whole block to get here.”

He looked ashamed. “Then at least let me walk you to your

car so I won’t worry about you.”

It was something in his voice that weakened her resolve—

the protective note that made her feel so cared for, so

safe. Darkness had fallen and in truth, she wasn’t looking

forward to walking back to her car alone. And this might

be her last chance to be with Peter, ever. “Okay,” she said

against her better judgment.

When they reached the sidewalk, away from the lights of

the hotel, they slowed, as if by mutual consent. A spring

chil had settled over Midtown, and Carlotta shivered

slightly, although the goose bumps could just as easily

have been caused by Peter’s proximity. She glanced at him

out of the corner of her eye, and more memories flooded

back—the perfection of his profile, the way his brow

furrowed when he was deep in thought.

The sidewalks in this area were nearly deserted, but cars

zipped by on Fourteenth Street in a steady stream. Peter

walked on the outside of the sidewalk, between her and