Mr. Right There All Along Page 8

  “And it’s slow,” he was saying. “You said you’d dance with me. I’m even willing to protect you from the bride, since you don’t want to wear your shoes.”

  He put out his hand. His smile was devilish, but engaging. It said, I’ve behaved myself enough for one night. How was she to resist? Interestingly, dancing to music more suited to a wake than a wedding wasn’t the only thing Chloe found tempting once she and Simon were on the dance floor and he took her into his arms. Their bodies brushed, bumped together. They both pulled back, far enough at first that Orson Welles could have stood comfortably between them. Slowly they came back together, though a gap remained.

  Her sister referred to this as the chastity gap. Frannie claimed that if a man was interested in a woman in a romantic or sexual way, he breached that gap, leaving no doubt as to his intentions for later in the evening. Of course, Frannie had been the queen of dirty dancing back in her pre-marriage days. Still, she had a point. If a man wanted a woman, he held her close. She wasn’t thinking of Simon now, but the guy she’d dated three boyfriends ago. The chastity gap had showed no signs of closing the entire four months of their relationship.

  “Maybe he respects you too much,” had been Simon’s take.

  She liked that explanation far better than Frannie’s, which was that the only reason he was dating Chloe was for all of the free design help she was giving him with his start-up business. She’d mocked up a few—okay, seven—promotional brochures and fliers for him. And had created a company logo and slogan. And had gotten him a deep discount at the local print shop she used. And had hooked him up with an up-and-coming webpage designer whose prices were really affordable given the quality of his work. Hmm. Now that Chloe thought about it, he’d bailed on her just after the site went live.

  “You’re frowning,” Simon remarked. “How are your feet feeling?”

  Better than her ego at the moment. She smiled. “Better now that I’m not wearing shoes.”

  Without the heels, her eyes were level with Simon’s chin. She spied the scar just below it. A sixth-grade science experiment gone awry was responsible. He’d been lucky that the volatile mixture he’d accidentally concocted hadn’t resulted in more damage to either him or his apartment when the beaker exploded. The scar was visible only at certain angles and his eyebrows had grown back nicely.

  “I think my dad just saluted me.” Simon was the one frowning now.

  “What?” She glanced around. Mr. Ford was at the head table, grinning broadly as he sat next to his none-too-happy bride. He raised his hand to his brow again, this time apparently for Chloe’s benefit. “I think he appreciates how long you’ve managed to behave yourself.”

  The song ended and another slow one began. They stayed on the floor. Most of the other young people cleared off. This song was an oldie, dating back to the days of crooners such as Bing Crosby and Frank Sinatra.

  It got Chloe thinking.

  “How many weeks of ballroom dancing lessons do you think it would take to have the basics down?” she asked Simon.

  “I don’t know. Why?”

  “For the reunion, I think it would be really nice to be able to do more than turn in a circle like a drill bit.”

  His brows shot up. “Is that a stab at my dancing?”

  “Not at all. Besides, you’re not going to be my date.”

  The corners of Simon’s mouth pulled down. “You don’t know that Trevor will go or, assuming he does, that he knows how to ballroom dance.”

  “Good point.”

  “I’m still offended, by the way.” He grunted. “Drill bit.”

  “I wasn’t talking about you.” She coughed. “Not directly, anyway.”

  “That’s it.” The arm around her waist tightened.

  “What?”

  It sounded like he said, “Prepare to be dazzled,” before the hand on her hip pushed her away. She stumbled a few steps out only to find herself reeled back to him with the hand holding hers.

  “Simon?”

  “Shut up and follow.”

  No drill-bit dancing now. The style wasn’t quite ballroom and definitely not salsa, but his moves were choreographed rather than random. And he executed every one of them flawlessly, even as Chloe shuffled around after him. And forget that so-called chastity gap. He’d breached it half a dozen times already, each time a little more erotically than the last.

  “You’ve been holding out on me. When did you learn how to do this?” she asked as he guided her through a turn. It wasn’t the moves that left her breathless.

  “A while ago. Margo was fond of dancing.”

  Margo. Tall, thin, with jet-black hair and a pair of exotic green eyes. She’d been the understudy in a Broadway musical when she and Simon dated two years earlier. In addition to having the sinewy body of a ballerina, the woman sang like an angel. Chloe still wasn’t sure why she’d hated her. Or, for that matter, why it had been mutual. But they’d disliked one another from the start.

  “Get ready.” Simon was wearing that charming, devilish grin again. “For whaaaaaaat?” The word stretched until it became shrill. She couldn’t help it.

  One minute, Chloe was upright. The next, she was tilted back over one of his arms, far enough back that she could see the silver disco ball rotating overhead. And then Simon’s face appeared mere inches from her own. They were both out of breath. From the dancing? She couldn’t be sure. He wasn’t smiling. Not really, even though one side of his mouth was lifted smugly. She knew he was pleased with himself. Which was why the rest of his expression was so out of place. His brows were gathered together so that a line formed between them. He seemed disoriented, as if he were the one whose world had been turned on its axis.

  The song was over. An up-tempo one now played in its place. Slowly, he returned her upright. Chloe became aware of the floor filling up again around them with young people, mostly women dancing with their girlfriends. Simon was right, she thought idly. Most guys didn’t like to dance fast unless they were either really good at it or really drunk. Since he was neither, it was even stranger then that they were still on the dance floor.

  But, of course, they weren’t dancing.

  A woman bumped into Chloe from behind, causing her to stumble forward. She tried to catch herself before she could crash into Simon’s chest, but she couldn’t quite manage it. That chastity gap was a goner. What Chloe discovered in its place when their bodies pressed together was disconcerting.

  “We probably should sit down. I don’t think my bare feet are safe out here amid all these spiked heels,” she told him on a forced laugh.

  But it wasn’t only her feet that felt vulnerable.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Most Naive

  CHLOE WAS MEETING Simon for dinner. It had been his idea, but she had been planning to call him anyway and see if he wanted to cash in on that rain check for Chinese. The reason she gave was that they could go over plans for his upcoming cocktail party. Actually, she just wanted to see him. Even though only a few days had passed since his father’s wedding, it felt way too long.

  They’d left the reception half an hour after their dance. She’d felt light-headed, which she’d blamed on the champagne. Simon walked her to her door, as he always did. Every step of the way, her pulse had revved. Would he kiss her? Did she want him to? But he was a perfect gentleman, even if he’d hesitated for just a moment before bussing her cheek.

  She went to bed that night confused and needy and a little lost. He wanted her. At least his body had told her so after their dance. What was happening between them? In the past, she would have called Simon to discuss her feelings. But how could she do that now when he was the source of them?

  She took an unexpected detour on the way to the restaurant, stopping in at Bendle’s Books after spying Millicent through the window. It wasn’t like the older woman to work a weeknight.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “My daughter had a hot date and we’re short-staffed tonight. So, I offere
d to man the counter.”

  “That’s nice of you.”

  “More like crafty. She was going to cancel on him. At her age, she can’t afford to be canceling dates.” Millicent’s eyebrows rose then and her gaze skimmed Chloe’s attire. “Speaking of hot dates, where’s yours?”

  Knowing that Simon would be dressed in a suit since he was coming right from the office and that the restaurant required men to wear jackets, Chloe had gone with another of the dresses in the running for the reunion. It was sleeveless and black, but with a subtle print in charcoal around the hem. It looked best with the fun red stilettos she’d bought, but since the blisters on her feet hadn’t had a chance to heal, she’d gone with black kitten heels.

  “Oh, I’m not going on a date.” Chloe waved her hand. “I’m just having dinner with Simon.”

  “Oh?” The older woman smiled knowingly.

  “Come on, Millicent,” she chided out of habit. “You know that he and I are just friends.”

  “I never could figure that one out.” The older woman leaned over the counter. “It’s just the two of us here now. You can tell me. Haven’t you ever wondered what it would be like if you and Simon were more than friends?”

  “No.”

  “So, he’s like a brother to you?”

  “No!” Chloe coughed.

  Millicent grinned. “I thought so.”

  “We’re just friends,” she stressed.

  The older woman’s eyes narrowed. “Are you telling me that, in all the time you’ve known one another, he’s never kissed you?”

  “Well, sure, he’s kissed me.”

  “I mean, the way a man kisses a woman he’d like to take to bed.”

  Chloe’s skin prickled and the sensation was not completely unpleasant. “Millicent!”

  “Oh, don’t sound so shocked. I’m old, not dead. Well?”

  “No. Not really.” Given the gleam in the older woman’s eye, Chloe regretted her slip immediately. She only succeeded in making it worse, however, when she added, “It wasn’t a major kiss.”

  “What constitutes minor these days?” Millicent wanted to know.

  Chloe had put her foot in it now, so she said drily, “The same as what did in your day, I’d imagine. This was a peck, really.”

  “Was it recently?”

  “Last week.”

  “Where were you when he gave you this peck?”

  “At his office, waiting for the elevator. I was just leaving.”

  Millicent looked crestfallen. “When you said minor, you weren’t kidding.”

  “It’s just that he’s never kissed me on the mouth before.” Nor had he ever danced with Chloe quite as he had at his father’s wedding. She’d woken up more than once the past few nights, thinking of the way their bodies had fit together and the awareness that she’d felt simmering just beneath the surface. And then there was the telltale hardness she’d felt when they’d been pressed together.

  It was wrong. It had to be. Yet, in so many ways, it felt so right.

  “On the mouth, you say?” Millicent perked up upon hearing that.

  Chloe wanted to groan. It was for her own benefit that she said, “You’re making too much of this. Nothing Simon did or said was over the line. And, ultimately, the kiss was very platonic.”

  “You sound almost disappointed,” Millicent remarked.

  Was she?

  “Oh, no. Why would I be disappointed? Simon and I have been friends forever. If he were interested in me that way, he would have said something long before now. Besides, the women he dates are, like, supermodels.”

  “So, what does that mean? You’re not his type?”

  She’s not my type. A warning bell went off in Chloe’s head. Simon had made that very comment regarding his mystery woman when the two of them had talked on the telephone the night of their kiss.

  “Are you interested in him that way?” Millicent was asking.

  “I never really let myself be.”

  “That’s a curious answer. Why ever not?”

  “He’s my best friend. If I’m wrong, I risk not only making a fool of myself, I risk losing him.”

  “And if you’re right?”

  It was a lot to think about, unfortunately a glance at her watch revealed that she didn’t have time.

  When Chloe arrived at the restaurant fifteen minutes later, Simon was already seated at a table. The restaurant was a new, upscale eatery in the theater district that both of them had expressed an interest in trying. They’d sampled lots of new Manhattan restaurants together during the past decade. She’d never felt awkward about their quasi-couplehood until now. Tonight, she weighed his every gesture and expression.

  He stood when she reached the table. If the maître d’ hadn’t pulled out her chair, she knew Simon would have performed that simple courtesy for her.

  “I took the liberty of ordering an appetizer and a couple of glasses of wine. White,” he said before she could protest. “And don’t worry about blowing your diet. A little tomato and basil bruschetta won’t kill you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Another reunion contender?” he asked, his gaze skimming her dress.

  She nodded. “What do you think?”

  “I think you’d look great wearing a burlap sack, but this beats burlap hands down.”

  It was the sort of compliment she usually dismissed with a laugh. Tonight, her heart actually fluttered and her mouth went dry.

  He apparently noticed. “I like this.”

  “What?”

  “Your quiet acceptance of the truth for once. No arguing or brushing my words aside.” He nodded. “Yeah. I definitely like this.”

  The waiter arrived then with their wine, which was just as well. Chloe wasn’t sure how to respond without making a fool of herself.

  The food didn’t disappoint and neither did the ambience. Chloe couldn’t help noticing that the secluded tables and low lighting were perfect for intimate conversation. As usual, she and Simon never ran out of things to say, though every now and then one or the other of them seemed to lose their train of thought. The pauses weren’t unpleasant exactly, but they seemed pregnant with meaning.

  The evening ended on an awkward note, too. Outside the restaurant, after he’d hailed a cab for her, he leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. They both moved in the same direction, before both moving in the other direction. Finally, he cupped her face between her hands and turned it to the side so he could buss her cheek.

  They both laughed afterward. But something between them was off-kilter.

  The following afternoon, Simon made it to Chloe’s apartment in record time. He’d defied death and the speed limit after his secretary gave him the message that Chloe needed to see him. It was a matter of life and death.

  He should have remembered Chloe’s gift for hyperbole.

  Still, he was enjoying the show. She was stalking around her tiny living room, an enraged goddess, with one fist raised and shaking.

  “I can’t believe I didn’t get the mailing from the reunion committee about sending in a biography for our class booklet until today! When did you get yours again?”

  “It came with the invitation.”

  “Which you received an entire week before I did.”

  “I’m sure it was an oversight.”

  She stopped pacing. “Oversight my… It was intentional. And now I only have one day to get it in before the deadline. How convenient is that?”

  “You still have time. You can send it to them via email. The booklet doesn’t go to the printer’s until tomorrow.”

  “I need more time.”

  “For what? It’s a biography. No more than three hundred and fifty words.”

  “It’s our yearbook all over again.”

  “No.”

  But silently, he had to admit it was. For their yearbook, Chloe’s senior portrait had mysteriously gone missing. They’d plugged in a cropped down shot of her from Spirit Week when she’d painted her face the school�
�s colors. It wasn’t her most flattering look. Under her name, in the spot used to list the accomplishments of the high school seniors, hers was left blank. No mention of her involvement in several school clubs or her honor roll ranking.

  “Well, I’m not going to let them make assumptions about me. I’m going to email them a biography, and they’re going to weep when they read it.” She booted up her laptop, looking determined, looking lovely.

  It was after ten when she finally stood and arched her back. Several vertebrae cracked. Simon, who’d drifted off to sleep, stirred. He pushed her cat off his chest and sat up.

  “Are you done?”

  “I am. And it’s a masterpiece.”

  He didn’t trust her smile. “Mind if I read it?”

  “Sure. If you see any typos, let me know. I’m going to jump in the shower.”

  It was free of typos, but full of…embellishment. Heck, Donald Trump was a piker in comparison. She hadn’t been commissioned to design the invitations for the mayor’s inaugural ball. Nor was she responsible for new tourism brochures for Ellis Island. For that matter, she hadn’t done most of the stuff she’d listed in her biography. But Simon could think of dozens of things that Chloe had left off. Things that she didn’t think made her sound successful, but that in his mind spoke to her character.

  Such as the pro-bono work she’d done for her favorite bookstore and the internet blog she’d set up for Helga so the woman could keep in touch with family members who were spread around remote parts of Europe.

  Chloe still didn’t get it. She was measuring herself by some faulty past standard, unable to see her own worth. He started typing. He finished just as he heard the shower switch off, and he was quite pleased with the result. In his mind, it truly reflected the remarkable woman she was.

  He did a quick copy and paste of his version of her biography into the body of an email and sent it off to the address the reunion committee had supplied. When Chloe joined him a couple minutes later, her version was back up on the desktop.

  Her hair was wet and she’d pulled on a pair of sweats he’d seen her wear a million times. She smelled of soap and inexpensive shampoo, but expensive perfumes were no more enticing. The way his body reacted upon seeing her, she might as well have been wearing lingerie.