The Driven Snowe (21 page)

I
T HAD TO BE PERFECT.

Josh realized that he was tapping his finger nervously on the table he was sitting at, on the top floor of the San Francisco Marriott. From atop the imposing glass structure that rather reminded him of a jukebox, he could see the city stretching out, cloaked here and there with clouds. The sun was setting, a deep cerulean blue edging into green, yellow and crimson before plunging gold into the bay. It was beautiful, serene.

Where the hell was she?

He had told Angela that he had a late meeting in Sacramento on Friday, which was true—he was late, working with the jeweler. He'd already set up restaurant reservations, and had everything ready. He was going to seduce her, tonight…and then propose to her.

His palms were sweating. Absently, he wiped at them with a cocktail napkin. He hadn't been this nervous during his first year running Solar Bars. Had never been this nervous in his recollection.

What if she says no?

The ring—a simple affair of yellow gold and tiger eye
flanked by diamonds that reminded him of her eyes—sat heavy as lead in his pocket, nestled in its black velvet box.

She wouldn't say no. Not if he had any power to convince her otherwise…and he'd never had an incentive to persuade anyone like he did tonight.

He glanced at his watch, noting the time still hadn't changed. She'd been very cagey about tonight. He wasn't sure if she were looking forward to it or dreading it. He was figuring her out, as she'd said, that was true, but it didn't extend far enough. He'd know tonight for sure. At the very least, when he saw her he'd know what sort of obstacles he was up against. Maybe she'd be dressed in jeans, ready to hit the wharf. Or in something drop-dead sensual, ready to show him what she wanted was more sex than talk. It was, he'd discovered, her none-too-subtle way of avoiding him. A neat trick, too, he noted. He was rarely able to resist it.

“Josh.”

He glanced up sharply, and it was all he could do to keep his jaw from dropping.

She was wearing a dress. Not a sexy, low-cut and high-cut number, nothing overt. It was simple, a warm peach that made her skin color glow. She'd put on contacts and makeup, he noticed, and her hair was up in a gentle knot that let tendrils curl gently around her face. It looked sort of gauzy, and sensual.

It looked romantic.

His heart did a quick double-pump in his chest, and for the first time that night, he allowed himself to hope that this wasn't going to be a pitched battle. In fact, it was starting to look like he'd won before he even took the field.

He stood up, and she walked over to him, her eyes twinkling gently. She looked at him like he was a super-hero and her best friend all rolled into one. She leaned up and kissed him, gently.

“I went shopping,” she said, doing a slow twirl. Her skirt fell to midcalf, and she wore peach heels. She looked like some glamorous forties movie star.

“I approve.” He took her hands, brushed kisses across each knuckle. “I made reservations at Charles of San Francisco.”

Her eyes glanced down at his suitcase. “Why don't we get you settled in first?”

He shifted uneasily. He sort of wanted to get this over with.

Is that any way to look at your marriage proposal?

She must have read some of his intention, because she smiled, cozying up to him. “What time is the reservation?” she whispered.

The proximity of her body wasn't making this any easier. “Um, eight-thirty, I think.”

“It's only seven. Why don't you go up, take a shower? You look really tired from your meeting.”

It wasn't the meeting. He grasped at the straw, anyway. He certainly looked and felt like he'd been through a meat grinder. Maybe a shower wasn't such a bad idea.

He walked with her up to their room, watching as she unlocked the door. She'd just gotten her nails done, he noticed. She'd really gone all out on her day in San Francisco. He breathed a little easier. A woman like Angela didn't go to all this trouble if it weren't something really important. And certainly not if she were going to try and let a guy down easy.

Of course, Angela wasn't like anybody else.

He took off his tie with a sigh of relief, and pulled out his suit. “I'd ask you to join me,” he said, kissing her gently, enjoying the way she lingered. “But you look so beautiful, I wouldn't feel right to spoil it.”

“That's okay. You take a long, hot shower.” She smiled, a mysterious smile that reminded him of the first time he'd met her. “I'll be here when you get out.”

He kissed her again, as if to assure himself that she really meant it.

He walked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him, and stripped. Stepping into the steaming hot jet of water was a blessing. He wanted to wash all the stress and tension off of himself. After what seemed like forever, he finally shut the water off. He wasn't relaxing, at this point. He was stalling.

Come on, Josh. You're just asking her to marry you.

Sure,
he told the bit of his reflection he could make out under the fogged-up glass.
Easy for you to say.

After a moment, he grabbed the suit from the back of the bathroom door where it was hanging. He pulled his clothes on, and hurriedly combed his hair. He heard noise, then some low music playing out in the room.
Angela, probably trying to kill time,
he thought, putting on his shoes.
I've been in here forever.

He stepped out, and immediately stopped, surveying the room as steam from the bathroom crept out around him.

The room was lit by the warm glow of what looked like dozens of candles, all in that same peachy color as Angela's dress. The small table by the suite's kitchenette was set for a candlelit dinner, complete with a
long-stemmed rose that went from pale peach to flame orange, sitting beautifully in a cut crystal vase.

He goggled. “What's all this?”

“This,” she said, sidling up to him, “is a surprise.”

He felt pushed off balance. He had been in control of the situation. Now, he was careening out of control.
Angela? Setting up a romantic seduction scene? Since when? And what's going on here?

“Um, Angela,” he said, trying to recoup. “Honey, we've got dinner reservations…”

Her eyes were wide and almost mischievous. “We're not going to make them. I wanted to keep you to myself tonight. Is that all right?”

Her voice was tentative, as if she weren't sure if he'd be angry. That, also, wasn't quite like Angela. He found himself nodding. “I suppose it's…”

There was a knock at the door, and her smile was brilliant with delight. “That'd be dinner.”

She glided over to the door, opening it to reveal a white-jacketed server with a wheeled cart. Delicious aromas emerged from the covered silver trays. After silently and efficiently setting out a beautiful meal that looked like prime rib and various side dishes, he disappeared out the door with a barely audible “enjoy your meal.”

Angela shut the door behind him and locked the dead bolt.

Whatever it was, she obviously meant business. And she wasn't going to let him follow through with his carefully laid plans.

For the first time that night, possibly that week, he wasn't worried.
New outfit, hair done, nails done. Romantic setting, ordered in food.

Maybe he'd been worried for nothing. Maybe, just maybe, what she had in mind ran parallel with what he'd intended. He would just ride this out, and see where she planned to go with this.

Her eyes glowed a warm brown-amber in the candlelight. “Are you hungry?”

He smiled, gesturing to the table. “After you.”

 

A
NGELA SAT, SIPPING
her wine gingerly. She'd ordered his favorite food, had all but kidnapped him. She was going to show him how much he meant to her—open up in all the ways she'd been afraid to in the past. She was going to tell him how much she loved him. She was going to
show
him how much she loved him.

And then she was going to tell him she was leaving for Italy. For six weeks. Without him.

He put his napkin down on the table, sighing. “That was great.” He studied her curiously. “So. We've had a wonderful meal, and some very pleasant conversation. What did you have in mind next? I'm completely at your disposal.”

She nibbled her lower lip. “I thought maybe…dancing.”

He got up, stretched a tiny bit. “Dancing. I could be up for dancing. Preferably something a little slower, though. Where did you want to go?”

She glanced at the living room floor. She felt ridiculous, but… “I was thinking we could improvise.”

He frowned. “Improvise?”

“Here,” she said. “I thought we could dance here.”

He smiled then, and she eased a fraction. He walked over to the CD player. They were listening to something
rich, jazz-inspired, with a sexy saxophone overlay. He reached for her, gracefully circling her in his arms. “How's this?”

“Just what I was thinking of,” she whispered, leaning her head against the lapel of his suit.

They moved like that for a few minutes, swaying gently, easily to the music. She felt the hand at her waist flex, pulling her closer. The hand that held hers was warm, comforting.

“Do you have any idea how much I love you?” she said, looking up at him.

He blinked, then rested his forehead against hers. “If it's anywhere near as much as I love you,” he said, “then I think we're both pretty lucky.”

“I know I'm lucky. I was lucky to find you. Lucky that you're more than I expected.” She leaned up on tiptoe, kissed him gently.

He kissed her back, more intently. They stopped dancing. He framed her jaw with his hands, kissing her with a series of soft, soulful kisses that teased warmth out of her as well as arousal.

She stroked her hands up the front of his suit, clinging to him.
He had to understand.

She pulled back a little, looking at him, almost willing him mentally to understand her intentions.
I love you, I need you. But I still need space.
“You've been so understanding, and so gentle with me.”

“I'll always be gentle with you,” he said, pressing slow, careful kisses on her neck. He pulled back, too. “I promise. I'll always care about you, and I'll always want to be with you.”

She stroked his face, concerned slightly by that
last remark. “But you've also given me the room to be myself.”

He smiled, and his hands moved to her waist, tugging her to him. “Of course. I love who you are, Angela. You're like nobody I've ever met. I don't think I could make you anything other than what you are.” He stroked up her sides lightly, brushing the sides of her breasts and making her gasp, involuntarily, with pleasure. “I don't think anything could change you.”

“Oh, you'd be surprised,” she murmured, then pressed a little more insistently. She felt his erection beginning to firm, and sighed, a little smile on her face. “I just wanted to show you how much you mean to me. Tonight.”

She kissed him, then started unbuttoning his shirt.

Minutes moved by slumberously. It was like making love for the first time—or the last time. She paid loving attention to every detail, from the spicy scent of his cologne to the way his muscles felt, firm and sleek. He turned her, undoing the zipper on the back of her dress with the same careful slowness. He kissed her from the nape of her neck, down the path the zipper had revealed, the long length of her spine unhindered by any bra strap.

She shivered, and let the dress fall to the floor, until she was only wearing her garter belt, stockings and shoes.

She turned, tugging off his suit jacket and tossing it over a chair, then kissing his chest down where the buttons of his shirt were opened. He removed his shirt, groaning slightly as she paid attention to his flat nipples, the planes of his stomach. The shirt went the way of the
jacket. He kicked off his shoes, and she stepped out of hers.

He pulled back the heavy cover on the king-sized bed, leaving only taupe blankets and cream-colored sheets. She went and stretched out on it, her butt firm and pert beneath the peachy-cream-colored garter belt. She still wore the stockings. They had delicate lace at the top and one single crimson rose in the front, and she thought he'd enjoy them. The flare of his blue eyes proved her theory correct.

“I love you,” he murmured, sliding out of his trousers and pulling off his socks. He was only left in black silk boxers. She smiled.

“I love you,” she answered, and reached for him.

They just lay there, still for a few moments, heating each other's skin with the close proximity of their bodies. The silk felt wonderful against her naked stomach. She smoothed herself over him, and he reached up and kissed her. She smiled against his lips, then pulled away, and removed the pins from her hair. It fell in mahogany curls, framing her face, tickling down her back. He fisted his hand in it gently, bringing her back down for a longer kiss, more lingering. His tongue came into play with hers, tasting the rim of her lips, giving gentle suction. He nibbled at her mouth. She felt as well as heard her breathing start to speed.

Always so wonderful,
she thought, distracted by the feel of him, the taste of him.
I love this man.

He turned, angling so she lay flat against the cushiony softness of the bed. She braced herself for another deliciously forceful kiss, but he paused. His eyes were wide, wondering. He moved her hair away from her face, then caressed her cheek gently with his fingertips. He
traced the arch of her eyebrows, ran a fingertip playfully down her nose.

“You're beautiful,” he said, his voice a reverent hush. “Every day I see you, you get more and more beautiful.”

It made her heart ache. She swallowed, hard, and her hand came up to do the same, tracing the hard planes of his face, the chiseled line of his jaw, the angle of his cheekbones.