Manolos in Manhattan (17 page)

“Really? He has such a dislike for you, I thought maybe...” Her voice trailed away. “Oh, never mind. Thanks again for being so...nice. And so understanding,” she added.

“You know, Holly,” he said as he leaned forward to gently cup her face, “crying suits you. Most women look appalling when they cry. But your eyes are shining like stars.”

He kissed her then. His lips were warm, and at once tentative and assured. Holly kissed him back, allowing herself the comfort and closeness of a man who treated her like an adult, not a child.

Ciaran’s arms came around her as their kiss deepened. She was vaguely aware of the smooth leather seat pressing against her back and the passing blur of lights and traffic outside the tinted Town Car windows; but all she cared about was Ciaran’s mouth on hers.

His lips moved from her mouth and traveled slowly down her neck. “I want you, Holly,” he whispered, his breath hot against her skin. “I have done since I first saw you at that party.”

She didn’t – couldn’t – respond, but as he slid the strap of her dress down her shoulder and pressed a button to close the partition between the chauffeur and themselves, she froze.

“What – what are you doing?”

Ciaran lifted his head. “Isn’t it obvious?” he asked softly. “I want to make love to you, Holly. Now.”

“No.” She pushed him away, more forcefully than she intended, and slid the strap of her dress back over her shoulder with shaking fingers. “I can’t do this, Ciaran, not now – not ever. I’m engaged. You know that. I’m
engaged
!”

“Then tell me, where’s your fiancé?” he shot back, and straightened. “Why are you here with me, and not with him?”

“Because...because he’s working. You know that.”

“Of course he is. And does he know his fiancée is in the back seat of a limo snogging a famous film star?”

Tears sprang to her eyes, tears of guilt, and anger, and yes, shame. “No.” Her voice was a thread.

“I didn’t think so.” He lowered the partition and told the driver to take them back to Holly’s hotel.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lead you on, honestly.”

Ciaran’s jaw tensed, then relaxed. “No, I’m the one who should apologize. I should never have allowed things to go so far. If your father were here,” he added with a trace of bitterness, “he’d say I was living right up – or truthfully, down – to my reputation as a skirt-chasing shit. And he’d be absolutely right.”

“You’re angry,” she said, and studied the hard lines of his face. It was a face that had filled a thousand theatre screens, a face that commanded a staggering salary and one that women everywhere lusted over. And she’d rejected him.

“Of
course
I’m angry,” Ciaran snapped. He plowed a hand through his hair. “Sorry. I’m annoyed with myself, mostly. I’m frustrated, precisely because I
do
want you, very badly. I won’t lie. But I’m trying to do the right thing here, Holly.” He added wryly, “It doesn’t happen very often, believe me.”

“Oh, Ciaran...I’m the one who’s sorry. I didn’t mean to lead you on – if that’s what I did.”

He slanted her a smile. “No, of course you didn’t. Any leading was strictly on my part.” He sighed. “I like you, Holly, a lot. You’re lovely, and Jamie’s very lucky to have you. Now let’s get you home before he dices my balls and sautés them for breakfast.”

Holly smiled back. “I’ve had a fabulous evening, Ciaran, truly.”

“I think we’d have a good time together no matter where we were or what we did.” He squeezed her shoulder affectionately.

As they glided to a stop in front of the Midtown Hotel a few minutes later, Holly gathered up her clutch. “Where are you staying?”

“At the St. Regis,” he replied. “Why? Are you inviting yourself back to my hotel room, you cheeky little minx?”

Holly laughed. “You wish! No, I just wondered if you’d decided on an apartment yet. When we looked last week, you said you couldn’t decide between the Dakota or the Dunleigh.”

“And I still can’t,” he agreed. “I hoped you might go along with me and help me make a final decision. I’m free Saturday afternoon, but I don’t want to cause trouble between you and Jamie.” He frowned. “Or between you and your father.”

“I’d love to go.” Holly leaned forward and kissed him impulsively on the cheek. “I’ve had such a lovely time, Ciaran. Thanks. And thanks again for being so understanding.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. And I’m sorry I was such an oversexed wanker.”

“You weren’t,” she protested.

“I was,” he said firmly as the driver came around to open the door. “I’ll warn you now ‒ you have that effect on me. Now let’s get you inside.”

He walked her inside and pressed the lift button. Holly felt a new closeness to Ciaran. He hadn’t taken advantage of her vulnerability tonight, even though he easily could have.

She blushed. She’d all but thrown herself at him, after all.

The lift arrived and the doors slid open. “Well...goodnight,” Holly said, and smiled. “Thanks again for another amazing evening, Mr Duncan.”

“Goodnight, Holly. Sweet dreams.” He leaned forward and kissed her chastely on the cheek, and left.

And as Holly rode the lift back up to the seventeenth floor, her smile lingered. Ciaran had comforted her, reassured her, driven her half mad with desire...and then, despite her mixed signals and his own desire, had been a complete gentleman for the remainder of the ride home.

Holly arrived at their hotel room and swiped her passkey to click the door open. Her father was dead wrong about Ciaran. He wasn’t a wolf in posh clothing, out to seduce her, break her heart, and abandon her.

On the contrary, she realized, as she shut the door quietly behind her, Ciaran Duncan might – possibly ‒ be everything she’d ever wanted.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Yen Ho Fook’s was crowded the next day when Holly arrived just past noon and found Chaz. He’d grabbed a table in the back and waved her over. Over shared plates of crispy beef, vegetable lo mein, and Mandarin pancakes, he demanded the details of her previous night’s date with Ciaran.

“Well, you know...it was nice,” Holly said evasively as she sat down, and reached for a spring roll. She offered nothing more.

“Nice?” he echoed. “Puppies are nice, Holly. Chocolate cake is nice. But a second date with a major British film star? That’s
so
beyond ‘nice’ I don’t even know where to begin. Details, please.”

“Okay, sorry.” She sighed. “It was wonderful, Chaz. Ciaran was wonderful. He got us tickets to
Wicked
– a private box, no less – and his car picked me up and brought me home afterwards.” Holly speared a Mandarin pancake and transferred it to her plate. “I could really get used to his lifestyle.”

He doused his spring roll with hot mustard. “Well, if you play your cards right, it could be your lifestyle, too...if Ciaran is really as smitten as it sounds.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m happily engaged and have no interest in Ciaran, believe me. Besides, I have work, and – and other stuff to keep me busy.”

“And does this ‘other stuff’ have anything to do with that painting of the flapper you found?”

She nodded and leaned forward. “I did some checking, and I found out she was a singer. Her name was Daisy Drayer. She used to perform at the brownstone when it was a speakeasy.”

“Really? What happened to her?”

“I don’t know.” Holly’s face clouded over. “I found a couple of newspaper accounts that said she disappeared the night she was supposed to elope with her beau, Bix Averell.”

“Disappeared? As in, no one ever saw her again?”

“Yes. The police suspected foul play, and they questioned Clyde Caruso – he was a gangster who owned the speakeasy at the time ‒ but they couldn’t pin anything on him. They never found poor Daisy’s body.”

“Wow,” Chaz murmured, his eyes wide as he twirled lo mien around on his fork. “Sounds like an episode of
Unsolved Mysteries
. Wouldn’t it be cool if you could figure out what happened to her, all these years later?”

“Cool, yes. But it’s not going to happen.” She thought of Daisy’s portrait, and the sense of her presence she’d felt in the attic. But she didn’t tell Chaz.

He’d never believe her, for one thing. Besides, Daisy was
her
secret...and finding out what happened to the flapper was her responsibility.

“Who knows?” he said. “You might crack the case. Look at all those Nancy Drew books you said you read as a kid. You must’ve learned something about sleuthing along the way.”

She bit into a pancake. “The only thing I learned was not to turn my back on anyone, or I’d get conked in the head like poor Nancy always did.”

“She must’ve been permanently concussed,” Chaz agreed. “Listen, your birthday’s coming up in a few weeks. I want to take you out for our second annual ‘celebrate till you puke’ birthday excursion. I was thinking body shots at Ruby’s.”

He caught sight of Holly’s horrified expression and laughed. “Kidding! We’ll get dressed up and go to that new tequila bar in Hell’s Kitchen. What do you say?”

Holly toyed with her half-eaten lo mien. “That sounds great, Chaz, really, but...”

He paused, a forkful of her crispy beef halfway to his mouth. “But?”

“But I’ve already made plans,” she said in an apologetic rush. “Ciaran’s got a film première that night, and I’ve promised to go along. For publicity.”

‘It’s only fair,’ the actor had said over the phone that morning. ‘I spent the day with you in New York to publicize the store; now you can repay me by spending the evening with me to publicize my film.’

Chaz carefully smoothed the linen napkin in his lap. “Well, I certainly can’t compete with
that
, can I?”

“It’s not a competition, Chaz,” Holly said in exasperation.

“Tell me, how does Jamie feel about this...thing, with Ciaran? Isn’t he a tad jealous? Seems like you spend more time with that movie star lately than you do with your fiancé.”

She took a sip of her water with lemon and avoided his eyes. “Jamie understands. He knows it’s good publicity for the store.”

So
, Holly thought glumly,
add lying to my many sins
. Jamie didn’t know, yet. She hadn’t told him.

But there was no need to tell Chaz that.

“Look,” she said now, “I can cancel. You’re right; our birthday thing’s a tradition. Besides, body shots at Ruby’s sounds like lots more fun than going to a stupid film première—”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” His words were sharp. “There’s no comparison, and you know it. You have to go. I’m a big boy, Holly. I’ll survive.”

“I’m really sorry, Chaz,” she said, and reached across the table to rest her hand atop his. Her expression brightened as an idea occurred to her. “Why don’t we celebrate a week early? We can go out another Saturday night instead.”

“Can’t,” he replied immediately, and pushed his plate away. “I’m busy.”

Holly raised her eyebrow. “Karl?”

“I wish,” he sighed. “No, he’s in Hong Kong, doing a photo shoot for
Vogue
. I promised my brother I’d help him move. He’s so desperate for help – even mine – that he’s offering free pizza AND tickets to the Knicks game.”

“Wow. Well, you can hardly pass that up.”

Chaz pushed his chair back and stood. “No, especially not in view of how cheap Patrick usually is. I’ll get lunch.” He reached for his wallet.

“No,” Holly said firmly, “it’s on me.” She hesitated. “I’m really sorry I can’t go with you, Chaz. We’ll do something together soon, okay?”

He made an attempt at a smile. “Sure. That sounds great. Now stop apologizing and let’s get back to work, before Rhys and Coco have our asses.”

“Holly, we need to talk.”

Holly bit back a groan as her father spoke behind her later that afternoon. A conversation that opened with “we need to talk” never led anywhere she wanted to go. She just wanted to finish the rest of her workday without any drama and go home.

It looked like that wasn’t going to happen.

“Look, Dad,” she said as she turned around, “I get that you don’t want me to see Ciaran, okay? But sorry, it’s for publicity. I’m doing it to help D & J.”

“I see.”

“It’s my life,” she went on, “and I’ll see whoever – I mean, whomever – I like, and there’s nothing you can do.”

There was a tense silence. Then, “You’re absolutely right,” Alastair said finally.

Holly blinked. “I-I am?”

“Yes, Holly, you are. I was wrong to forbid you to see Ciaran; I realize that now. I have no right to tell you how to live your life.”

“You’re mistaken about him, you know,” she informed him.

“I don’t think so. But I won’t argue Ciaran Duncan’s moral ethics with you; I haven’t the time, for one thing. Let’s just say I have a different perspective on him than you do.”

Holly frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Never mind, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you know that I love you, Holly, and I’ll always be concerned for you. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“Oh, Dad,” she chided him gently, touched by his concern, “you needn’t worry. Ciaran’s been a perfect gentleman.”

Alastair’s expression was grim. “He’d best see that it stays that way.”

She stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “I promise that we’ll
both
be on our best behavior.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

On Sunday morning, Holly woke to the scent of coffee brewing and eggs frying. She sat up, blinking at the sunshine spilling in through a gap in the bedroom curtains, and stretched. A glance at the alarm clock told her it was five minutes past ten.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” she grumbled as she joined Jamie in the kitchen.

“I knew the smell of coffee would do the trick.” He set a spinach and feta omelet and two slices of toast in front of her and poured her a cup of coffee. He nodded at two envelopes lying on the table next to the marmalade. “Those are yours. They came in the post yesterday.”

Holly picked up the envelopes, forwarded, like all of her mail since she’d arrived in New York, to Gordon Scots ‒ and made a face. “Ugh – British Gas. I didn’t pay the electric bill before I left London.”

She sighed. In truth, her finances were getting just a bit tight. Manhattan was expensive. Although she knew her father would spot her a loan to tide her over, she refused to ask him. It’d be like admitting she couldn’t make it on her own.