My One And Only (11 page)

And while that should have scared the hell out of him, he could feel the insistent gnawing hunger driving him toward her. "Tomorrow," he said carefully. "Tomorrow I'm going to Carlton's party too. I had assumed you would be there."

She seemed to process the information. "Carlton's party?"

"Letty invited me."

"Harrison will be there."

"I figured he would."

"You know what will happen if you go."

"There won't be a spectacle. I'm perfectly capable of behaving myself." At her skeptical look, he chuckled. "Despite all appearances to the contrary."

She shook her head. "Harrison is mad as spit that I went to see you." She frowned. "I've never seen him like that."

"That bad?"

"Worse. When he sees you tomorrow, I don't know what he'll do."

"Nothing," Ethan assured her. "The man's a coward."

She flinched, but didn't disagree with him. "Ethan"—she held out one hand—"please don't make this any harder than it already is."

"I won't humiliate him, if that's what you mean."

"I know you won't."

He didn't dare consider why the calm assertion meant so much to h
im. "But if I'm going to get in
volved in this, sooner or later he's going to have to face me."

Abby sighed. "I know. I just thought—I mean,
Carlton's party. It seems so public. Are you sure you want to subject yourself to the entire clan?"

"You'll make it worth my while."

"So you say."

He shook his head. "Don't argue, Abby."

"Would it do me any good?"

She sounded so disgruntled that he laughed. "Not really. You had to know when you asked for my help that you'd have to make certain concessions."

"Like always giving you your own way?"

He leaned forward and caught the scent of cinnamon lingering on her skin. "It's a start."

"I just think we should—"

He headed off what he knew was an inevitable objection. "Don't say you think we need to talk." He stepped back against his chair. "I've never had a good conversation that started that way."

"But I can't—"

"Can't what, Abby? Trust me? Is that it?"

"I don't know."

"You trust me," he assured her. At her disgruntled stare, he nodded. "You do. If you didn't, you never would have come to me in the first place. I wouldn't be considering bailing Harrison out of his financial woes, and I sure as hell wouldn't be in your house."

Abby stared at him for what seemed an endless stretch. He was beginning to wonder if she was
going to respond. Finally, she reached out a hand and laid it on his sleeve. "It's not you," she said softly—-so softly, he had to move closer to hear her over the hum of the dishwasher. "It's just that I— I'm not sure I can trust myself."

He raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"

She raised her extraordinary eyes to his, and the look he saw in them stole his breath. Surrender, desire, hunger, they were all there. Waiting for him. His fingers tightened on the back of the chair. Abby brushed a curl behind her ear. "I've had a week and a half to think about this," she admitted. "And it's nuts. It's certifiable. If I told this to anyone, they'd think I was the craziest person alive."

"And?"

She clutched her fingers together. "And—I don't think I can trust myself not to fall for you."

Peace settled on Ethan like a comfortable blanket. He felt the sudden stillness ease the tension that had been steadily building in him since Tuesday. "That," he said softly as he reached out to cup her face, "is undoubtedly the best news I've had in weeks." With a slight smile, he bent his head and pressed a brief, hard kiss to her lips. "Tomorrow, after the party, we'll go over the numbers. I'll show you what I've come up with."

"I have to help Rachel tomorrow."

"We'll do that too."

"You don't have to
—"

"I wouldn't miss it." He swept his thumb over her lips. "Have sweet dreams, Abigail. I'll see you in the morning."

E
than rested his back against the rail of the
Flying Cloud,
Harriso
n Montgomery's elegantly ap
pointed yacht, which sat dockside on Lake Michigan. He'd deliberately arrived early, wanting to board the sleek v
essel before the Montgomerys,
and more pointedly, before Abby. Several members of Harrison's crew remembered him, so he'd had no trouble talking himself aboard. He'd chosen a strategic spot near the starboard bow where he could watch the activity around the gangway and decide when to reveal his presence.

Abby and Rachel arrived soon after, despite their late night. He frowned as he watched them directing the caterers and the crew for the setup. Trust Harrison to invite the woman to his nephew's party only to expect her to coordinate it for him—as she did everything else in his chaotic and crumbling empire.

Abby seemed none the worse for the too-few hours of sleep she'd gotten, which made Ethan feel unaccountably provoked. He'd lain awake in his downtown hotel room replaying the evening in his mind. She, if the sparkle in her eyes and the spring in her step were any indication, had evidently slept like a baby.

She was giving orders with the practiced precision of a field marshal. He'd never had the chance to observe her, he realized, when she hadn't known he was watching. The experience was quite revealing.

Abby moved with a natural grace, like a woman who instinctively knew who she was and what she wanted. The underlying tension he'd seen in her before was gone. Easily in her element as she attended to the details, she exuded a quiet confidence that made him wonder what kind of lover she was. Unless he missed his guess, Abby would be the type of woman he most enjoyed.

He watched in masculine appreciation as she strolled across the deck and checked the caterers' supplies. Ivory shorts hugged her generous hips. He had a recollection of her telling him she'd gained five pounds from Rachel's cheesecake. If that was true, she owed her sister a debt of gratitude.

Her body was a seamless sweep of rounded lines. A navy blue tank top, practical, loose-fitting, and sexy as hell, hugged her breasts. Occasionally, when she reached for something or bent a certain way, he caught the barest glimpse of lace and silk underneath the pl
ain blue cotton. Absolutely fas
cinating, he decided as he took a sip of his drink. A woman of secrets, just as he'd thought.

She didn't seem to know that her braided hair begged to be mussed or that her tanned limbs
asked for his hands. She remained focused on the bustle of activity. Now and then she would pause to wipe a bead of sweat from her forehead or toss her thick braid over her shoulder, but she worked steadily with her sister, supervising the setup for the party.

One of the caterers said something that made her laugh. When Abby tipped her head back, the s
un
brought out red lights in her hair. Ethan decided he'd been patient long enough. He set his drink down and strode across the deck.

"Need a hand with that?" he asked quietly as she juggled a covered box of
canapés
.

Startled by his voice, Abby lost her precarious hold on the box. It tumbled into Ethan's arms. She suppressed a twinge of envy. "My God," she muttered, pushing a lock of hair off her damp face. "Where did you come from?"

He nodded toward the shadows. "I was waiting."

She moved to take the box back, but Ethan tightened his grip. "You're up awfully early— considering," she said.

"Couldn't sleep,"
he told her, and took a step
closer.

She pressed her lips together in slight disapproval. "Join the crowd."

She looked so disgruntled, he chuckled. "Bad night?"

She made a charming little squeaking noise
in the back of her throat. "You could say that." She moved a few inches away from him. "And stop looking at me like that. I can't think when you
do."

"That's generally the plan. Every time I give you room to think, you start coming up with excuses."

"And they're good ones," she pointed out. "Like the fact that Harrison is going to be here soon."

"And you don't want him to see us together?" He couldn't quite keep the accusation out of his voice.

"I didn't say that. I just don't want him to get the wrong idea."

"What idea would that be, Abby?"

She did him the favor of not saying anything inane. Instead, she shook her head. "I'm not going to have this discussion with you right now."

He shrugged. "Your choice. It's always been your choice."

No wonder her nerves felt scraped raw, Abby thought. The man was relentless. "You could try to make this a little easier."

"I'll be on my best behavior," he promised. He shifted the box under one arm. "If the old man doesn't throw me off the ship, you can consider it progress."

"I just wish you'd—"

"Try to understand him? See things his way?" His laugh was humorless. "I stopped being able to do that the day I had to bury my mother."

"I didn't deserve that," she said softly. "When have I ever said that to you?"

He frowned. "Sorry. He brings out the worst in me.
"

"I know." Abby studied him in the bright sunlight and felt the familiar tingles along her nerve endings. He wore a hunter-green shirt tucked into khaki trousers, and deck shoes with no socks. The look should have been comfortable, casual. But if she'd learned one thing about him, looks were almost always deceiving. There was nothing casual in the corded strength of his tanned forearm wrapped around the box; nor in the sleek, dark hair lifted slightly by the wind so it framed his angular face and strong jaw. He appeared to be brooding this morning, and the slight edge to his expression made her yearn to comfort him.

She placed a hand on his arm. "For what it's worth, I don't understand everything that's happened between the two of you, but I'm sorry I dragged you into this."

His lips turned into a slight smile that chased away the lingering sadness in his gaze. "There it is again," he said.

"What?"

"When you feel very passionate about something"— he seemed to roll the words off his tongue—"you get this breathy tone in your voice." He leaned close enough for her to catch the scent of his soap. It was masculine and unsubtle—
like him. He touched the end of her braid where it rested on her shoulder. "I think I'm getting addicted to it."

Before she could respond, Rachel bounded up the stairs from the galley. "Abby, I thought—" She stopped when she saw Ethan, then broke into a wide grin. "Ethan! Hi."

He hesitated for the barest of seconds, then dragged his gaze from Abby and gave Rachel a warm smile. "Hey, Rach."

"I didn't know you were coming here today." She took the box of
canapés
from him.

"Last-minute change of plans," he told her.

Rachel clearly shared none of Abby's trepidation over Ethan's presence. She grabbed his arm and started tugging him forward. "This will be great. I was going to be so totally bored all day, knowing I have all that baking to do at home."

"I told you I'd help you this afternoon."

"Yeah, I know. Still, it's going to take all night."

He shot Abby a wry look. "I do some of my best work late at night."

Abby rolled her eyes. Rachel laughed. "Well, at least this won't be boring, now that you're here."

"Stuffy parties not your style?" he teased.

"As if." Rachel linked her hand through his elbow. "Carlton's okay, though, so it shouldn't be too gruesome."

Ethan slanted another look at Abby. "I hope not. He's coming to work for me next month."

She had no idea how to interpret that comment. The man was tur
ning out to be every bit as per
plexing as she'd feared. Rachel, she noted, feeling strangely irritated, displayed no such qualms. "Come on, Ethan," she was saying. "I'll show you around."

Abby watched them go, frowning into the early-morning sunlight. In the days since his startling announcement on Tuesday night, she'd tried hard to persuade herself that she had everything blown completely out of proportion. Ethan was a very attractive, dynamic man, and naturally she found him compelling. She'd come very close to convincing herself that the strange nervousness she felt around him, and the way her skin seemed a little more sensitive and the blood seemed to ring in her ears, were merely symptoms of the stress she felt over Harrison's obvious displeasure with Ethan's involvement in MDS's financial crisis. Anyone in her shoes would feel the pressure.

Anyone, she'd told herself.

And almost believed it. Until she'd heard his deep voice this morning and her heartbeat had tripped into double time—reminding her that she had the worst possible timing and taste. While trying to help one of her oldest and dearest friends face a potentially devastating personal crisis, she was falling for his sworn enemy.