Gentle Persuasion (19 page)

He wiped his fingers on a napkin before replying. “I don’t know yet. I’m glad the plantation will be saved. That part feels really good. As for the rest of it...” He shrugged. “I guess I’ll have to wait and see.”

He picked up his pizza again and gestured it toward her. “How about you? It must feel good to know you’re fulfilling your dream of moving to Paris.”

She thought about it. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess.” Tearing at the corner of her pizza crust, she avoided his eyes.

But she felt him grow still across from her.

“You’re not having doubts, are you?”

“Of course not!” she declared.

“Ophelia...can I ask you something?”

Every fiber of her body vibrated at his tone. “Sure.”

“Do you really think Paris is the solution to your problems? Do you think you’ll be happy there?”

She swallowed. “It’s been my dream for as long as I can remember.”

He nodded with seeming understanding. “But do you ever think you could be just as happy...somewhere else?”

She cocked her head, studying him. What was he really asking?

“I don’t know. I’ve wanted Paris for so long, I can’t imagine giving it up for anything.”

“Or anyone?”

She stared at him. “Are you saying—”

“Can I get you a refill?” Their waitress had chosen that inopportune time to interrupt.

Ophelia could only stare at her stupidly.

“Your Diet Coke?” the girl prompted, her eyes conveying her annoyance at Ophelia’s slowness.

“Um...no. No, thank you.”

The girl turned to Dane, her irritation turning to flirtation. “And how about for you, love?”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

By the time the waitress sashayed away, the moment had passed, and Ophelia didn’t know how to resurrect it.

“Tell me what you love about Paris.”

Ophelia frowned at this question, wishing he would ask her again—whatever it was he’d been asking in the first place.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s important to you, and you have a family history there. But what else do you love about it? I want to know.”

She considered for a moment.

“The smells,” she replied. “Of wet pavement in the morning. Baking bread when you pass a
boulangerie.
Perfumes in a thousand scents with hundreds of notes layered in them. Cigar smoke and flowers. It smells old and new at the same time.”

Something in his eyes sparked at her description. “What else?”

“The colors are the same way—everything is muted and ancient or fresh and vibrant. Chic coupled with vintage. There are fashions in every hue imaginable, and they stand out in sharp contrast to charcoal-gray sidewalks, faded red brick and weathered brown walls.”

Now that she had started, she couldn’t stop. “It’s magical. It’s not that people go to Paris to fall in love, it’s that Paris
is
the city of love. You fall in love with the place, more than the person you’re with. Every conversation is a story, and each painting is a new experience. You cannot be there without falling in love—in love with the idea of love.”

She suddenly stopped, surprised that these feelings had been buried within her. For a brief time, she hadn’t been in a New York pizza shop at all but rather experiencing the streets of her favorite city.

“But is it real?”

Dane’s question caused her to physically start. “Real?” she repeated.

“Do you love the city, or simply the idea of it? As you said—are you in love with the idea of love? Are you only in love with the
idea
of Paris, of the happiness it once represented?”

She drew in a sharp breath, disconcerted by such an enigmatic question. “It’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted, Dane.”

“But maybe...just maybe,” he clarified, “what you want isn’t really there. Maybe you want to go back to a time that’s gone—back to when your father was alive and your mother was—” he drew a breath “—someone different than she is now.”

She felt a prickling of anger. “You don’t even know my mother.”

“No,” he agreed. “But I know you. And I know her opinion matters to you, maybe more than anything else.”

She chafed. “You barely know me. We only met a week ago.”

She could tell this observation wounded him by the way he winced in response. Guilt wove itself in with her anger, complicating her emotions further.

“I think I know you better than you know yourself, Ophelia.”

“And what do you know?” she shot back, wondering how he could possibly think he had her figured out when she couldn’t figure herself out.

“I know that you care, more than most in your profession—that you want the people you place in careers to be happy.” His voice grew quieter so she had to strain to hear him. “I know you didn’t want to coerce me here against my own will. I know you feel bad about how things have turned out.”

He reached for her, grabbing her hand in his and holding on even when she tensed. His thumb ran in circles over her wrist until she felt herself relaxing.

“I know you try to hold it all in but once in a while, like with Masters, something more comes out—you don’t like bullies. Maybe because you grew up with one.”

She jerked her hand out of his grasp then. “My mother isn’t a bully,” she whispered. She wasn’t sure what hurt more—Dane’s observation or the ring of truth in it.

Dane only looked at her sadly, and his expression angered her all the more.

“You’re just miserable because you had to come back, and you don’t want to be here.”

“Maybe I don’t,” he returned. “But at least I’m honest about it. I’m here because I have to be. Why are you really going to Paris? Is it because you truly want to be there? Or because you’re trying to recapture something you lost a long time ago?”

She could only stare at him, hurt by his words. She held his gaze for some time before he sighed.

“I’m sorry, Ophelia. I’m not trying to be cruel. I’m only trying...to understand, I guess.”

She saw their waitress approaching again and issued her a glare that sent the younger woman scuttling back toward the kitchen. “Understand what?” she asked, turning her attention back to Dane.

“You,” he finally responded. “I’m just trying to understand you.”

Her lips parted to speak and then she closed them. “Why?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

He leaned forward. “Because I think I’m falling in love with you.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

D
ANE
HAD
THOUGHT
a lot on the flight over from the islands. And mostly what he’d thought about was Leilani’s advice—
You’ll never know if you don’t ask.
He had thought of a thousand things he might say to Ophelia to express his feelings, but he hadn’t planned to speak as he had until the words were already out of his mouth. Her reaction, however, was not what he had been hoping for.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t?” he questioned.

“Don’t do that. Don’t play games.”

He leaned back. “Why would you think I’m playing a game?”

She fidgeted in distress, her eyes meeting his and then darting away. “Because you can’t be in love with me. You haven’t known me long enough.”

“You don’t believe in love at first sight, then?”

Her eyes found their way back to his. “You’re saying you fell in love with me as soon as you laid eyes on me?”

He shook his head, choosing his words carefully. “No, I don’t think so. But in the days since then...yes. I think I have. And I also think...you have feelings for me, too.”

She stared at him before dropping her eyes to the table. “Cole’s asked me to get back together with him. He’s agreed to move to Paris.”

“Uh-huh.” In truth, this didn’t surprise Dane. He’d expected Cole Dorset to realize his mistake at some point and attempt to reconcile with Ophelia. “And?”

“And?” she repeated.

“What did you tell him?”

She frowned. “Nothing. Yet.”

Dane found himself breaking into a grin. “Good. Then I’ve still got a chance.”

Her eyes widened. “Wh-what?”

“Let me take you out on a date.”

She stared.

“Come on. One date. After all, didn’t you once say that you’d read I could be charming? Give me the chance to live up to my reputation.”

She eyed him warily. “Is this the jet lag talking?”

He laughed. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”

“I—” She stopped, clearly dumbfounded.

“Then it’s a date.”

He waved over their waitress, who’d been hovering nearby, and asked for the check.

“Dane, I’m not sure we should...”

“Should what?”

Her eyes remained fixed on the tablecloth. “I’m not sure we should pursue something when I’m going to be leaving for Paris. Long-distance relationships are difficult, especially when the distance is continental.”

“Were you happy when we spent so much time together in Hawaii?”

Her stare immediately rose to his, and he saw the truth in her eyes. He grinned. “Then it’s a date,” he repeated.

He could see she was struggling with herself, but a small smile crept onto her face, anyway.

“Okay,” she agreed, her voice soft. “It’s a date.”

* * *

O
PHELIA
HADN
’
T
EXPECTED
to be so nervous.

Or so excited.

She had skipped out of work for the rest of the day to go home and decide what to wear for her date the next night, discarding numerous outfits until she found one she thought Dane might like. She kept her cell phone on silent, and when she finally stopped to check the screen, she felt a swell of uneasiness. There were two missed texts from Holly, asking why she hadn’t returned from lunch, a missed call from Cole and then a voice mail from her mother. Fortifying herself with a glass of red wine, she listened to the message.

“Ophelia, I find it highly inappropriate that you’re not in your office this afternoon. There is so much to be arranged concerning your promotion, and Cole is simply beside himself at your disappearance. Holly never saw you return from lunch, although Cole assures me you reentered the building with him. He told me about giving you the earrings, which I thought was a perfectly lovely gesture on his part. What were you expecting? A proposal? I hope you’re not out sulking. I expect to see you back here shortly.”

The call ended on that note, and Ophelia defiantly deleted the message. She thought about what Dane had said earlier, about her mother being a bully. As much as this observation chafed at her, she knew it was true.

Her mother was a bully. She had been for nearly as long as Ophelia could remember. Certainly from the day her father had died, and her mother had been left to carve her own way in the world. She could have asked for help from her family, but she’d refused, knowing how they had disapproved of her marriage to a much older man. Ophelia well knew, from the few strained visits she recalled with her maternal grandparents, how they had chastised her mother.

“What did you expect?” she remembered her grandmother saying. “For the man to live forever?”

And then she recalled her mother’s words, from the message she had just played.

“What did you expect?”

What
did
she expect?

Her mother had experienced love and marriage to a man Ophelia suspected she still secretly mourned. The loss of him had turned her hard and ruthless. And ever since he had passed, she had spent her life trying to intimidate Ophelia into doing as she saw fit.

That included a relationship with Cole. She could only imagine what her mother would say if she knew about her date tomorrow night with Dane. In an uncharacteristic gesture of further defiance, Ophelia turned her phone off completely and laid it aside for the rest of the evening.

* * *

T
HE
NEXT
NIGHT
, Ophelia found herself feeling more relaxed than she had since her time on the island. That morning, she had managed to make excuses and apologies to her mother, Cole and Holly concerning her absence the day before, and she had sailed through her day in anticipation of her date with Dane that evening.

Now she happily strolled hand in hand with Dane through Central Park, enjoying the warm spring evening air, her stomach full with the Italian dinner Dane had ordered for them and her spirits light as Dane expounded on his first day at Towers International.

“She’s just nothing like what I expected.”

“You mean Bianca?” Ophelia clarified.

Dane nodded. “I feel really sorry for her, actually.”

“Sorry for her? Why?” Bianca Towers was the heiress to a fortune, plus she had managed to secure Dane Montgomery as part of her team—Ophelia couldn’t imagine why the young socialite should be pitied.

But Dane stopped walking at this question and turned to face her, his expression thoughtful. “You should have seen how they treated her in that board meeting today. The directors have no respect for her, or her ideas. They see her as this vapid, clueless girl, and the truth is...she’s actually really smart. She has a lot of solid ideas, and she’s working very hard to change her image from the one the media projects. But the board has no faith in her.”

“Do you think you can help with that, change how they see her?”

“I’m already trying. I pointed out the merits of some of her strategies, emphasizing to the board that she has the right idea, and they should give her suggestions a chance. I think it helped. In fact, I think that’s why she wanted me here so badly.”

“What do you mean?”

Dane released her hand to pull her arm through his own, and she leaned into him as they began walking once more. It was a lovely feeling, being drawn protectively into Dane’s side. She savored his nearness.

“She’s sharp, Bianca Towers. She knew that if she could get me back here, she’d have done what no other corporate professional had managed to do. I think she also recognized that if she won my support, the board would have to take notice and start seeing her in a different light—as a peer instead of just some silly girl they needed to indulge.”

He shook his head in amazement, and Ophelia could tell he was impressed. “Bianca Towers is going to go further than anyone could have imagined.”

“Well, she’s lucky to have you on her team,” Ophelia stated.

“You’re my recruiter—you have to say that.” He nudged her, and she laughed.

“Even so...it’s true.”

He turned the intensity of his stare on her, and she felt her skin warming as he scanned every one of her features. “Thanks for coming out with me tonight. I’m having a really great time.”

She felt pleasure course through her. “Me, too,” she agreed.

On a whim, just before walking out the door earlier in the night, she had tucked the disposable camera from Dane into her purse. She still had a few photos left on it, and she’d used most of them up throughout the evening. There was only one more in the roll.

“Do me a favor?” she asked.

He was leaning close. “Sure,” he breathed.

“Take a picture with me?”

His eyebrows rose in surprise at this request. “A picture?”

“Yeah. I’ve taken pictures of just about everyone and everything since I met you, but I don’t think I got a single one of you and me together, just the two of us.”

The fact that she had pointed this out seemed to please him immensely. “Well, we’re just going to have to fix that,” he declared.

Approaching another couple strolling through the park, Dane asked if they’d be willing to take a photo for them. Ophelia brought out the disposable camera and handed it over, then she returned to Dane’s side to pose with him. He drew her against him, his arms wrapping around her.

And she realized, for that brief moment before the camera flashed, what it was to feel like she had come home.

Now they approached her apartment building, and Dane insisted on walking her to the door, as any proper gentleman should, he said.

When they reached her floor, she asked if he wanted to come in for coffee.

“I brought some Kona that Leilani gave me.”

“Oh, thank God. I’ve been going through withdrawal.”

She laughed as she unlocked the door, and they entered her apartment. Dane followed her, and she moved toward the kitchen as he looked around. She suddenly felt self-conscious of all the Parisian decor on the walls and shelves. Her apartment was a veritable Paris shrine—a constant reminder of her goal to return. She had begun to wrap up some of the smaller items, sorting them for storage and packing, but most of her possessions still remained unwrapped. She was finding it hard to begin the actual process of boxing up her life.

As she began to move around the kitchen, Dane appeared in the doorway. Her stomach churned madly as she felt his eyes following her movements—opening the bag of Kona, measuring the beans into her coffee grinder, pulsing them into grounds, measuring water for the coffeemaker.

“It smells like home,” he commented, and her eyes found his in understanding. He looked slightly forlorn as she finished preparing the coffee and hit the button to brew.

“Feeling homesick already?”

She moved closer to where he was standing.

“I was homesick before I even boarded the plane,” he confessed. “The only thing that made it bearable was knowing you’d be here.”

She felt a tug of sympathy. “Dane, it’ll get better.”

“Not once you’re gone.”

Her stomach did a somersault as he reached out a hand and rested it against her jaw, his thumb stroking her cheek and sending tingles along her skin. She was relaxing into him, her eyelids sliding closed when his next question brought her to attention.

“If I asked you to stay...would you?”

Her eyes widened as she looked at him, the earnest desperation on his face, the flicker of longing in his eyes. “Dane, I—I can’t.”

“Why not?”

She licked her lips, searching for an answer, until she realized...she didn’t have one.

“I just can’t.”

He released her, and when the warmth of his touch was gone, she shivered.

“I’m sorry. It was unfair of me to ask. Just because I had to give up my dream doesn’t mean I have the right to ask you to do the same.”

“Don’t be sorry.” She stepped toward him, bridging the distance he’d created and ending up in his arms. “I wish...”

He brushed his fingers along her hairline and moved them down to tuck a sweep of hair behind her ear. “What do you wish?” he murmured.

She looked into his eyes. He loved her. This man really loved her. The way he looked at her now left no doubt. It startled, frightened her, even. Because for a minute, she had the overwhelming sensation that she might just love him back.

She stiffened and stepped away. This was a dangerous game to play. It risked everything.

“Nothing,” she whispered and went to pour the coffee. “Never mind.”

Her chest ached as he fell silent. She sensed him moving away from the kitchen and into the living area. When she carried in a tray with the coffee, he was settled deep in her couch. She placed the tray on the coffee table.

“If you’re planning to get rid of this couch when you move, I’d take it off your hands.”

She stared at him after this announcement.

“Really? You mean that?”

He eyed her. “Yeah...why?”

She moved to sit beside him. “Cole hates this couch.”

Dane straightened up and reached for a mug of coffee. “It’s comfortable.”

“Exactly!”

She felt a bit embarrassed as he smiled with bemusement. His next words, however, caused an even greater embarrassment for her.

“Do you love him?”

She hesitated. “We’ve been together a long time.”

“But do you love him?” Dane repeated.

She shrugged and looked away, wishing she could change the subject.

“Ophelia.”

Her gaze jumped back as she felt the warmth of his leg brush against hers as he shifted.

“It’s okay if you love him. You just need to be true to that.”

Despite these words, his voice sounded sad.

“Have you ever been in love?” she ventured.

He took a sip of his coffee and sighed—with pleasure or regret, she wasn’t sure which. “Once, I guess. But I was so young, I’m not sure it even counts.”

“Who was she?”

“A girl I grew up with. We dated in high school, but once we graduated, I wanted to move on to bigger and better things. She was content where she was—in the town where we grew up. I never faulted her for that.” He shrugged. “We should all be so lucky. Last I heard, she was happily married with two kids. It’s the life she’d always wanted.”