Summer Love: The Best Mistake / Impulse

“Nothing that would interest you.”

“You’re wrong. Tomorrow I intend to find out all there is to know.” He saw the quick flicker of unease in her eyes. Other men, he thought with an uncomfortable surge of jealousy. The hell with them. “No more evasions. I want you, all of you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, but—”

“Tomorrow.” He cut her off, suddenly, completely, frustratingly Greek. “I have business that can’t be avoided now. I’ll come for you at seven.”

“All right.”

Tomorrow was years away, she told herself. She had time to decide what she would say, how she would say it. Before tomorrow came tonight. She would be everything she’d ever wanted to be, everything he wanted her to be.

“I’d better go.” Before he could touch her again, she bent to gather her bags. “Stephen…” She paused at the door and turned to look at him as he stood in the middle of the room, comfortable with the wealth that surrounded him, confident with who and what he was. “You might be disappointed when you find out.”

She left quickly, leaving him frowning after her.

Chapter 7

She was as nervous as a cat. Every time she looked in the mirror Rebecca wondered who the woman was staring back at her. It wasn’t a stranger, but it was a very, very different Rebecca Malone.

Was it just the different hairstyle, poufed and frizzed and swept around her face? Could it be the dress, the glittery spill of aquamarine that left her arms and shoulders bare? No, it was more than that. More than makeup and clever stylists and glamorous clothes. It was in her eyes. How could she help but see it? How could anyone? The woman who looked back from the mirror was a woman in love.

What was she going to do about it? What could she do? she asked herself. She was still practical enough to accept that some things could never be changed. But was she bold enough, or strong enough, to take what she wanted and live with the consequences?

When she heard the knock on the door, Rebecca took a deep breath and picked up the useless compact-sized evening bag she’d bought just that afternoon. It was all happening so fast. When she’d come back from Stephen’s suite there had been a detailed message from Elana listing appointments—for a massage, a facial, hair-styling—along with the name of the manager of the hotel’s most exclusive boutique. She hadn’t had time to think, even for a minute, about her evening with Stephen. Or about any tomorrows.

Perhaps that was best, she decided as she pulled open the door. It was best not to think, not to analyze. It was best to accept and to act.

She looked like a siren, some disciple of Circe, with her windswept hair and a dress the color of seductive seas. Had he told himself she wasn’t beautiful? Had he believed it? At that moment he was certain he’d never seen, never would see, a more exciting woman.

“You’re amazing, Rebecca.” He took her hand and drew her to him so that they stood in the doorway together. On the threshold.

“Why? Because I’m on time?”

“Because you’re never what I expect.” He brought her hand to his lips. “And always what I want.”

Because she was speechless, she was glad when he closed the door at her back and led her to the elevators. He looked different from the man she had first met, the one who dressed with such casual elegance. Tonight there was a formality about him, and the sophistication she had sensed earlier was abundantly apparent in the ease with which he wore the black dinner jacket.

“The way you look,” he told her, “it seems a shame to waste the evening on a business dinner.”

“I’m looking forward to meeting some of your friends.”

“Associates,” he said with an odd smile. “When you’ve been poor—and don’t intend to be poor again—you rarely make friends in business.”

She frowned. This was a side of him, the business side that she didn’t know. Would he be ruthless? She looked at him, saw it, and accepted it. Yes, a man like Stephen would always be ruthless with what belonged to him. “But enemies?”

“The same rule, in business, applies to friends and enemies. My father taught me more than fishing, Rebecca. He also taught me that to succeed, to attain, you must learn not only how to trust, but how far.”

“I’ve never been poor, but I imagine it’s frightening.”

“Strengthening.” He took her hand again when the elevator doors opened. “We have different backgrounds, Rebecca, but, fortunately, we’ve come to the same place.”

He had no ideahowdifferent. Trust. He had spoken of trust. She discovered she wanted to tell him, tell him everything. Tell him that she knew nothing of elegant parties and glamorous lifestyles. She was a fraud, and when he found out he might laugh at her and brush her aside. But she wanted him to know.

“Stephen, I want to—”

“Stephen. Once more you outdo us all in your choice of women.”

“Dimitri.”