Susannah nodded. “I think so.”
He turned his back to the room, blocking everyone from view. “I know a little bistro on the Left Bank.” He smiled into her eyes. “Why don’t I make reservations for eight o’clock?”
Susannah looked past his shoulder. “They’re all watching us,” she said in a breathless whisper.
“I’ll come by at seven. We can have drinks first.”
“Matthew, I don’t—”
“Yes. You do.” His eyes turned dark and smoky. “Shall I prove it to you the way I did this morning?”
Color flooded her face.
“Why?” she whispered.
He laughed, a low, sexy laugh that made her blood sizzle.
“I mean,” she said quickly, “why me? I’m not your type.”
“No,” he said. He ran his finger along the back of her hand. Goose bumps rose on her skin. “You’re not.” He smiled again, right into her eyes. “You’re not blond. You’re not dumb—although many of the ladies I’ve dated would be very upset to hear you use that word in conjunction with them, Susie.” His smile tilted. “I remember Miss North Carolina… She said she wanted to become a physicist.”
“Matthew, I’m serious.”
“So am I.” His smile faded. “You’re right. You’re not my type. You’re stubborn and hotheaded. You have a nasty temper and you like things your own way.”
“You’re a fine one to talk,” she said huffily.
“And I’d bet I’m not your type either, Madison. I don’t think you like being with a man who reminds you that you’re a woman.”
“Your ego is unbearable, Romano.”
“I’m just being honest.” His eyes grew hot. “Tell me if Sam or Peter ever made you feel the way I make you feel.”
Sam. And Peter. Oh, God…
“I can see the answer in your eyes, Susie.” Matthew smiled. “Seven o’clock. Don’t keep me waiting I like my women to be prompt.”
“I am not your—”
He bent his head and kissed her lightly on the mouth. Then he sauntered away.
Susannah stared around the room, trying to think of something to say. She wanted to murder him. The cat was out of the bag, for sure. Every eye was fixed on her. Claire was grinning, Jimmy was smiling, and Bebe looked as if she’d swallowed a shoehorn, but why wouldn’t she? Bebe was tall and stunning, with legs up to her armpits and masses of blond hair down to her waist. Matthew’s type, definitely.
But not anymore.
She was the woman Matthew wanted. She, and nobody else.
The sudden realization sent a flush of warmth through her blood. Me, she thought, he wants me…
And, in that moment, Susannah finally knew the truth.
She was deeply, completely in love with Matthew Romano.
* * *
They flew home late Sunday evening, Matthew to Los Angeles, Susannah to New York.
Her flight left first, and he waited with her at the airport.
It was silly, she knew, but she felt on the verge of tears. Already, the magical weekend seemed to have taken place in the distant past. Every time she looked at Matthew, she was afraid she was going to blurt out something she would regret, like those foolish, dangerous words, I love you.
So she talked, nonstop, about business. The next issue of the magazine and The Sexiest Man Alive issue, which would come out Valentine’s Day. Matthew teased her, gently, about which of the Sexiests she’d choose to be the centerfold.
“The only sexy guy I want you to think about is me,” he said, softly enough so no one could hear but with a look in his eyes that made her body flush with remembered heat.
She wanted to tell him the truth, that he really was the sexiest man alive and that she loved him. Instead, she talked about circulation figures and advertising revenues until, finally, her flight was called.
“Goodbye,” she said.
Matthew tugged her into his arms and kissed her, gently at first, then passionately. Any last hopes she’d harbored about keeping their relationship a secret were gone.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” she said shakily, when he lifted his mouth from hers.
“They all know, Susie,” he said, with a little smile. “They can see it in your face, and in mine.” He tucked a stray curl behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her cheek. “I have to be in L.A. all week, but I’ll fly to New York on Friday. Okay?”
How will I live without you until Friday? she thought, but she wasn’t foolish enough to say that.
“That’s fine,” she said, and smiled. “I’ll be busy all week, anyway. Even if you managed to fly in, I wouldn’t have time to see you.”
His smile seemed to dim. “Business is business.”
“Exactly.”
“You’d better make sure you’re not busy on Friday,” he said gruffly.
She knew he was going to kiss her again, so she didn’t give him the chance. “Until Friday,” she said, and she broke away and hurried to the boarding gate.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE week seemed interminable. She couldn’t believe it could take so long to get from Monday to Friday.
But Friday came and went.
Matthew phoned. He was apologetic, but business…
“I know,” Susannah said. “You don’t have to explain.”
He sent flowers and more flowers. He sent chocolates. The flowers were lovely. Peter thought so, too, and neatly beheaded them all. Susannah swept up the mess and told herself there was nothing meaningful in the sight of those sad little corpses lying among the coffee grounds in the kitchen trash.
“Next Friday, for certain,” Matthew said, when she called to thank him for the flowers. But as soon as she heard his voice the following Wednesday, she knew.
“Can’t make it, hmm?” Her words shimmered with artificial cheer.
“Susannah.” He sounded hurried. She could imagine him glancing at his watch while he spoke with her. “Susannah, I’m sorry. I really thought I’d be able to get to New York this weekend.”
“That’s all right, Matthew. I have plans anyway”
“Plans?” He sounded brusque. “What kind of plans?”
“Oh,” she said gaily, “just plans.” Peter leaped onto the counter and butted his head against her hand. “With—with an old friend.”
“An old friend?”
“Yes,” she said. “Goodbye, Matthew.”
She hung up the phone. He’d
sounded more than brusque, he’d sounded curt. She might have expected that.
She lifted Peter into her arms and kissed the top of his head. Matthew didn’t like the idea of her having a life that didn’t include him, even if the magic of Paris had worn off in the reality of San Francisco. He didn’t want to continue the relationship. Or maybe he did, but on more convenient terms. Business was business. Sex was sex.
“Of course,” she said.
And, really, no surprise. She wasn’t important enough to put before other things.
Tears filled her eyes, rolled down her cheeks. Peter blinked when they plunked onto his head.
“Mrrow,” he said indignantly, and demanded she put him down. Even he was deserting her.
“Even you, Petey, ” Susannah said, and then she slid down the wall, covered her face with her hands and wept.
* * *
In Los Angeles, Matthew slammed down the phone, tilted back his chair and glowered at his brother.
“She’s seeing somebody,” he said.
Joe looked up from the report he’d been reading. “Who’s seeing somebody?”
“The woman spends the weekend in bed with me and not two weeks later, she’s seeing somebody else!”
“What woman? What bed? What are you talking about, Matt?”
Matthew sat up straight. “Susannah, that’s what. I know she doesn’t confuse sex with—with anything more than sex, but damn, you’d think she’d put a little more value on that weekend.”
“Susannah? Our Susannah? You and she—”
“Yeah,” Matthew growled. “And she’s not ‘our’ Susannah. She’s…”
“Yes?” Joe said, with an interested smile.
Matthew shot to his feet. “It was meaningless. We were in Paris. It happened, that’s all.”
Joe’s brows rose. “Paris? I thought you and the French chick… Baby?”
“Bebe,” Matthew said, and shuddered. “Don’t tell me she called again.”
“She’s been lighting up the switchboard,” Joe said, and chuckled. “You should be flattered, Matt. It’s not every day a woman follows a guy across the ocean.”
“She followed her career. She’s got a modeling gig here, so she’s playing all her cards. She left a dozen messages at my hotel in Paris. Now that she’s here, she’s driving me nuts. The other day, she pounced as I was coming out of the office.”