Eye Candy (City Chicks) (19 page)

"Lead on, captain."

Phelps followed as I wove through the pea coats and bomber jackets and Gore-Tex parkas.

"I still can't believe you've never been to Bradford's," I reflected as we came to a stop in front of a rack of London Fog. "How can a New Yorker 
not
 come here? It's like church. Only without the preaching."

And occasionally without the guilt.

"Don't know," Phelps shrugged as he pulled a hip-length coat and held it out to look at it. "Never needed to, I guess."

I shook my head at the coat and at him. "Bradford's is not about need."

Setting the coat back on the rack, he shrugged again. "I have more clothes than I could ever ne—" He paused when he noticed my mouth preparing to repeat my last comment. "More than I could ever want. I have better things to spend my money on."

"Like trips to the Andes?"

"Nah, that was work." He shoved his hands in his pockets, as if he'd been admonished not to touch anything.

"You don't spend your money on clothes or trips and you obviously don't spend it on rent." I scanned the racks from just the right coat. "What do you spend it on? Drugs, whiskey, and women?"

"Children."

I stopped my search and stared at him. 
He had children? 
Not that I believed it wasn't possible, but he just did not strike me as the fatherly type. More like the troublemaking older brother type.

"Ch-children?" I repeated, incredulous.

He turned away, presumably to look at a rack of black leather pea coats, but I had a feeling it was to avoid my questioning gaze.

"I started a charity." His voice was flat, like he didn't care. Or was afraid to show that he cared. "A foundation to get underprivileged kids involved in their community. In making their community a better, more prosperous place."

Great Gobstoppers. He was a philanthropist.

Now that was a surprise.

"That is a noble thing," I squeaked, unable to hide my shock at his revelation.

He shrugged again, keeping his back to me. I took that as flashing neon sign to drop the topic. Reluctantly, I returned to my coat quest.

Then I saw it. The perfect, damp English night, Sam Spade trench. Knee-length camel with polished horn buttons and cashmere lining. I held it up to Phelps' back and nodded.

"This is the one."

He turned.

"Let's get it on."

The seductive look he gave me could have fried ice.

14

Q: Where does a penguin keep his money?
A: A snow bank.
— Laffy Taffy Joke #165

"I mean try it on," I quickly retreated. "You try it on."

Jeez, some people just have a one track mind. Usually men. And usually the same track.

"You're welcome to join me." He flashed that cocky grin as he slipped past me, grabbing the coat and heading for the three-way mirror.

"Just try the coat on, Elliot."

I just managed to twist out of the way as he reached to pinch my backside. I was getting faster.

"You know," he said as he shrugged the coat onto his broad shoulders, "I've always had a trench coat fantasy. It just never involved a credit card."

He tightened the belt around his lean waist, tugging it into a knot and turning for inspection.

"As a matter of fact, it never involved 
me
 wearing the coat." His smile turned seductive. "But I'm always open to adaptation."

Stepping closer, I brushed at the shoulders of the coat, smoothing out the wrinkles across the yoke and down the arms. Phelps was only inches away, smelling like Contradiction and being endearingly philanthropic to children.

Before I could stop myself, I stood on my tip-toes and pressed my lips to the corner of his mouth. "You're a good guy, Phelps Elliot," I whispered before pulling back and proclaiming, "The coat looks good."

"I'm not that good," he returned. His hands gripped my shoulders and crushed me to him in a heart-stopping kiss.

I was instantly on fire and devouring. His mouth opened, urging mine open to let him in. As his hot, hard lips pressed furiously into mine, I clutched at him, slipping my hands beneath the brushed canvas trench to sculpt his muscles with my palms.

One masculine hand pressed into my lower back, sending my body into full contact with his. I felt something cold at my back and distantly registered that he had backed me up against a mirror.

Unfortunately it was a freestanding mirror that started to topple the instant I leaned back.

With quicker reaction time than mine, Phelps wrapped one arm around my waist to hold me up while catching the tumbling mirror with the other.

"That was fast," I breathed.

"Too fast," he answered, dipping his head to resume our interrupted kiss.

But sanity returned. We were in the middle of Bradford's outerwear, shopping for business—to some extent—and he was not only my hire-a-date, but was also several years my junior. One lapse in judgment with dismissible. Two would be a pattern. Three was a habit.

I held him off with a hand to his chest. "We'd better pay for this and get out of here. I need to get to work."

Not that I had any duties to take care of. Ferrero was busy this week with preparations for Milan. Kelly had my job and with it all my responsibilities. Still, I felt I should make a showing, just to make sure everyone knew I still worked there.

The last thing I needed at this point was someone cleaning out my desk.

"You can't hide forever, Lyd." His voice purred as he caressed a finger down my cheek. "There's a heat between us and someday we will find out how hot we are."

My mouth went dry.

I backed away slowly, my eyes locked on his, unable to look away.

"Lydia," he began and reached out, "don't—"

I hastily stepped back.

Right into the mirror.

The elegant gilded frame fell to the floor with and echoing crash.

"—step back."

And I tumbled down right on top of it.

Before Phelps could stoop to help me up I rolled to the side and climbed to my feet. Thankfully my stomach had cushioned Dyllie's doggie tote in the fall, but my stomach learned that even a tiny little puppy can pack a punch with enough velocity.

"Here, let me—"

"Don't." I shrugged off his offer of help, not because I didn't want or need the help. Because I was afraid of his touch.

I was afraid to find out he was right.

That we would be scorching together.

"Let's just get the coat and go." I tried for a steady, unaffected voice, but knew that my fears quavered through.

In the tote, Dyllie whimpered and I reached in to sooth her fears. Too bad no one could sooth mine.

My desk was completely obscured by the piles of shopping bags from Puppy Love. Ferrero was in the construction studio, overseeing the final details of the Fall collection, so I had my office to myself for the first time all week.

In less than ten minutes I had checked my email, voicemail, and snail mail, thus exhausting all my current duties. I had two choices: Stay at the office trying to look busy and bored to tears, or go home and set up Dyllie's new possessions. Perky had told me the most important thing you could do for a new dog was make them feel at home, give them their own space.

I had already decided to give her a corner of my bedroom.

Decision made—there was only so much solitaire a girl could play—I lifted Dyllie into her tote and began gathering the bags.

When the phone rang I knew who it was before I answered.

"Hello," I reached into my replenished drawer and found a bag of Bon Bons.

"It's Gavin."

"Yeah, I know."

I started to unwrap a shiny pineapple, but his words stopped me.

"Can we meet somewhere?"

I told myself it would be better to talk in person. "The café around the corner?"

"I'll be there in five."

The phone clicked dead in my ear. He must have been nearby, far from his Wall Street office.

"Come on, Dyllie-girl," I slung the tote over my shoulder and slipped my hand through all the handles. "Let's go have the talk."

Gavin was waiting in the café when I got there. With a cup of coffee in front of him and a frothy drink at the place opposite him at the small metal table.

"Hi," he greeted and stood as I approached. He even took the bags from my aching wrist and set them in the corner of the terrace barrier. Always the gentleman. "You look good."

I almost said, "I look haggard," but thought better of it. Let him think I looked good.

Because he damn well looked good enough to eat on a stick.

His dark blonde hair—full of the kind of highlights women paid hundreds for—brushed neatly, as always, but one runaway lock curled across his forehead. Soft brown eyes smiling in anticipation or expectation, with little crinkles at the corners that befit a man of thirty-five.

When I didn't say anything, he tried to start the conversation. "So, you wanted to—"

"Why did you cheat on me?"

"—talk," he finished lamely. "Why did I 
what
?"

"Cheat. Sleep around. Two-time. Cuckold." I didn't know if cuckolding applied to women, but it sounded good. 

He looked shocked. Genuinely shocked. Maybe he never knew I found out. But why else would he think I broke off our engagement and never returned any calls or emails? I mean, I know adulterers never expect to get caught, but they should realize when they are.

"Lydia, what are you talking about? I never—"

"Don't deny it, Gavin, I don't have the energy." I swirled the froth on top of my drink with a spoon, too emotionally tired to look him in the eyes. "I just want to know why."

"Look at me," he commanded.

I resolutely stirred the coffee until the froth melted into the creamy drink.

"
Look 
at me." He slammed his fist on the table when I still refused. "Damn it, look at me."

Blinking away the thin sheen of tears, I lifted my head and met his burning gaze. His eyes were open and honest and intent on me. In complete opposition to his lies.

"I never cheated on you." He enunciated each word with specific clarity. "I was unwaveringly faithful."

"Ha!" The shocked laugh burst out before I could stop it. "Then we must have a different definition of faithful. Let me clue you in: mine does not dismiss a hook-up with a secretary as a business meeting."

He closed his eyes and shook his head, as if he could not comprehend what I was talking about. Man, he was good.

Must have a lot of experience.

"I don't know what you're—"

"Let me refresh your memory, just so you know exactly which time I caught you." I gripped the edge of the table, seeking an anchor before my hands started shaking. "It was the night before our anniversary and you were working late. I decided to surprise you with Chinese take-out, but when I showed up I found Rhonda on her knees at your feet and your pants around your ankles. There was nothing to misinterpret."

You would think that after two years, I would have these emotions under control. But when you loved someone that much— this was a result of lack of closure.

Which made it all the more imperative he tell me why. I had to understand what drove him to cheat. Was it me? Had I done something wrong? Not done enough?

Or was it him?

That was what I'd been telling myself for two years, but what if I was wrong. What if I was delusional, and it was really a deficiency in my makeup that drove him to the arms—or rather the bed—of another woman.

"I don't know—" His eyes widened suddenly. "Jesus, I remember."

Well that was good news. At least there hadn't been so many that he couldn't recall them all.

"Lydia, what you saw wasn't... Jesus, it wasn't a hook-up."

I snorted. He must have thought I was born without the capacity for direct observation.

"Listen, I want you to listen to me very carefully." He spoke softly, as if speaking to a distraught child. "And keep in mind the picture of what you saw."

"As if I could forget," I snapped. As if I didn't see that mental picture every single day.

"Rhonda and I were working on a presentation for the Kleinfitch meeting. We had to finalize everything and make copies for all fifty attendees."

Not that it made a difference, but I did remember how stressed he had been about that meeting. It was the meeting that could make his career. And had.

"She got back fifteen minutes before the meeting with the copies and coffee. I took one sip and spilled the scalding coffee in my lap. Not only was it burning my thighs, but my pants were stained with coffee. When you must have walked in, Rhonda was dabbing at the coffee on my thighs and I was getting my pants off so I could rinse them in the sink. Jesus, that's all that happened."