Ringing in Love (14 page)

She strode out of the ladies room without looking back, but once she was out of sight of the door she slowed, then stopped and slumped against the wall. This was not the fairy tale evening she'd hoped for. She had to face facts—she wasn't a princess, and Dominic Russo sure as hell wasn't a knight on a white horse. He was a man who dated women who were useful to him. He'd even told her that on the way back from their lunch at the shore. Although the ugly stepsisters in the ladies room certainly thought he used women for something other than business.

Did she really think putting herself in danger of having her ego trashed and her heart broken by a man who people talked about like those women had was a good idea?

• • •

Something had happened. Dominic could tell by the look on Catherine's face, the tension in her shoulders, the way she flinched when he touched her. When she moved her chair away from his, he asked, “Is something wrong? Are you okay?”

“I'm fine.” She sat facing forward, not looking at him when she answered.

“No, you're not. No woman I've ever known has said ‘I'm fine' that way and meant anything other than she wasn't fine at all.”

“And, of course, you've known enough women to have a statistically accurate basis for your observation.”

“Where the hell did that comment come from?” He grasped her shoulders and turned her toward him. “What's going on, Catherine? Talk to me, before the act starts.”

“It doesn't matter. Enjoy the opera.” She shook off his hands and moved her chair even farther away from his. He thought he could see tears beginning in her eyes, eyes with a frightened look in them.

The lights dimmed; the crowd hushed; the act was about to begin.

He could see the muscle in her jaw clenching and unclenching, as if she were angry. But the fear in her eyes and the tears he was sure were starting there said something else.

He scooted his chair close to her and whispered, “Catherine, what's upset you?”

She whispered back, “Hush. The curtain's going up.”

“The hell with the curtain. If you don't tell me what's going on, I swear to God I'll hoist you over my shoulder and take you to the lobby. Maybe then you'll tell me.”

“Is that how you treat all your bimbos? You caveman them until they do what you want?”

“My bimbos? What the hell …?”

A chorus of “shushes” came from the adjoining boxes.

He stood and yanked at her arm, whispering, “We're going out to the hall, and I'm getting to the bottom of this.” He could tell she was not happy about his demand, but she was apparently even less happy about making a scene, because she followed him.

Once they were outside the box, he asked again, “What happened while I was gone to piss you off so badly?”

She leaned against the wall and stared at the ceiling for an agonizingly long time before asking, “Do you ever bring the same woman to two events like this?”

“I have no idea. I've never thought about it. Why?”

“Do you pick your dates based on how good they'll look on your arm or in your bed?”

“Enough stupid questions. Get to what happened.”

There was another lapse of time followed by a deep breath and then one long, emotional sentence. “I left the box because everyone kept ‘accidently' dropping by to make sure I knew how many people had seen us together or maybe to see who the latest Dominic Russo conquest was or maybe figure out why it was me here and not someone else—someone better—I don't really know why they were all there, but they were. People I haven't seen in years. A client or two. People I've never met in my life.”

She paused to take a breath. “Anyway, when I couldn't take the attention anymore, I went to the ladies room hoping to escape, but while I was in the stall, two women were talking about how you never date the same woman twice, how all the women you date are bimbos, what a shame it is you have such bad taste in women …”

“
That's
what this is about? That kind of crap?” He ran his fingers through his hair as he paced in front of her. “Jesus, Catherine, I told you before. Most of the women I've gone out with have been business acquaintances, hardly bimbos. And how could you even think I consider you a bimbo? Or that I'm interested in you for only one date? I've been trying to get you to go out with me for months. Does it sound like I've got some hidden plan to get rid of you after tonight?”

She was twisting her fingers in front of her, looking now at the floor, the walls, anyplace but at him.

“I can't believe you'd listen to bullshit gossip,” he continued. “And I'm pissed you still think me capable of something like that. So pissed I feel like dragging you off to some dark corner and kissing you silly to show you exactly how I feel about you.”

Now she looked at him, seeming to fight a small smile. “I thought you said you didn't drag women off to janitors' closets anymore.”

“I said I feel like it. I didn't say I would do it.” He stopped pacing in front of her. “Why in the world would you let a bunch of catty bitches spoil the evening?”

“I was spooked. I wasn't prepared to be the object of such overwhelming interest because I appeared in public with you. I felt hunted, like Kate Middleton was when she first started dating William.” She reached for him and he met her halfway, grasping her hands with both of his. “I have no problem with people paying attention to me professionally. But this, this is different. It's uncomfortable. It made me wonder …” She looked down at the floor again. “I was worried I'd read the whole thing wrong about your interest.”

“You didn't read anything wrong. Except about comparing yourself to Kate Middleton. You're more beautiful than she is.” With a forefinger, he lifted her face and kissed her gently. “I'm sorry you got run over by my reputation. I should have warned you. I manage to ignore it because at least it means people know who I am, which probably helps my business. It doesn't mean anything otherwise.”

“I guess … maybe I overreacted. I did try to warn you how out of practice I am for social events.”

Dominic recognized the music coming from inside the Academy announcing one of his favorite parts of the last act. “If we can finish this later, I'd like to hear the end of the opera.” He kissed her as he opened the door to the box. “We both might find the lives of fictional characters easier to deal with for a while.”

The only way Catherine had expected to go from the top of the mountain to the bottom of the canyon in the course of the evening was through the music. She knew she'd follow the characters on stage on such a journey; she had no idea she'd go there in real life.

Was she so accustomed to the well-worn ruts of her normal routine that she'd forgotten how to cope with the unexpected? Was it because she'd never been associated with someone who everyone either knew or wanted to know?

Or did it run deeper? Was she still afraid of his motives? Wondering if he had some reason for pursuing her other than wanting to enjoy her company? Even more worrisome, was she still so afraid of being hurt that she'd push away the most attractive man who'd ever paid attention to her?

She almost wished he'd made good on his threat to take her off into a dark corner and kiss her silly. When he kissed her, she knew exactly what she wanted—him. Any way she could have him. Every way she could have him. When they were alone together—or even in the SUV with Jack driving—it was easy to be in the moment, not worried about anything. But when they were out in public, as they were tonight, it was obvious she was working without a net.

• • •

The opera ended with a standing ovation for the cast. Dominic put his arm around Catherine and whispered, “Do you want to leave now and avoid the reception?”

She shook her head, still clapping. “And give up the chance to meet the star? Of course not.”

They walked next door to the lobby of the Kimmel Center where the reception was already underway. Half a dozen people greeted Dominic as soon as he was in the door. He hesitated before letting one of his clients drag him off, but Catherine, too, had been immediately commandeered by someone she'd greeted with a big smile. He tried to follow both the conversation he was in and her progress across the room, but a heated discussion of the election the following year diverted his attention, and he lost track of her. Unable to see her in the crowd, he excused himself and went looking for her. A repeat of the conversation she'd overheard in the ladies room was the last thing he wanted for her.

He shouldn't have been concerned. She was obviously enjoying herself—with the guest of honor. The tenor was laughing at something she said, touching her arm, standing a damn sight too close to her for Dominic's comfort.

After making his way to her side, he wrapped his arm around her waist and kissed her on the cheek. “Here you are,
cara
. I thought I'd lost you.” He turned to the singer who'd just wowed the audience and put out his hand to introduce himself and compliment the performance. “
Sono Domenico Russo
.
Eri magnifico stasera. Grazie per la splendida performance
.”

The other man switched to Italian and thanked him for the compliment. “
Grazie
,
è stato un piacere
.”

“
Vedo che hai
conosciuto la mia ragazza.”
Dominic made sure the singer knew the woman he'd been flirting with was taken. By him.

But the tenor wasn't to be put off. He laughed and suggested if she got tired of American men, he'd be interested. “
Se lei stanca di uomini Americani …”

Catherine interrupted. “English, please.”

“I'm sorry, Catherine. I forgot you don't speak Italian. We were saying what an amazing night this has been.” He could tell from her face she knew he wasn't telling the whole truth.

“We were also saying how beautiful you are, Catherine. Truly a
bella donna.
”

Before Catherine could respond, the chairman of the symphony board approached with several major donors who wanted to meet the star, and Dominic took the opportunity to say “
addio”
to their Italian friend and lead her away. He didn't get far before another of his clients claimed his attention and Catherine went off on her own again.

• • •

It wasn't as bad as she thought it would be. The reception that is. The champagne was excellent, the spread of desserts tempting, and the background music—the tenor's newest CD, she was sure—perfect. As she watched Dominic work the room, Catherine admired how easy and comfortable he was, able to talk to anyone it seemed. Never once looking bored, impatient, or anything but eager to chat with whoever waylaid him in his progression through the crowd. He was the master of schmoozing.

Actually, she did all right herself. There were a number of people there she knew, including a handful of clients who introduced her to their colleagues and friends. She was back at the top of her game, at ease being the president of Bennett and Associates instead of Dominic Russo's latest conquest. She was glad she'd remembered to stick business cards in her purse, and ended up with a few leads on potential clients. Maybe Dominic's approach to marketing wasn't such a bad idea.

To make it perfect, she didn't see either of the two women from the ladies room. She had a nasty attack of smugness, assuming they hadn't donated enough money to get invited to the reception. It felt good. Even though she knew she hadn't either and was only there because Dominic had.

The evening began to wind down after a few remarks from the symphony president and a last round of applause for the guest of honor before he left. Dominic called Jack and asked him to pick them up out front.

As they waited on the sidewalk, Dominic put his arm around her shoulders and hugged her. “I'm glad you were with me this evening. Even our guest agreed that you were the most beautiful woman here. He said if you got tired of American men pretending to be Italian, he'd be happy to show you what a real Italian man was like.”

She was sure her nervous laugh told him exactly how surprised she was. “He probably said the same thing about every woman there.” She avoided his eyes and moved a few inches out of his embrace.

“I doubt it. He said it in his language, so I understood clearly he was making a play for you.”

“Well, whatever he thought, you know the truth—I wasn't the world's best date tonight. I was more like a teenager. Maybe Noah and I have more in common than I thought.”

His gaze traveled up and down her body. “Are you telling me you're smuggling out a bottle of champagne under your dress? I don't know where you'd put it.”

A sigh this time, rather than a laugh. “No, I meant I acted badly when things didn't go the way I'd expected them to.” She looked up at him. “I think I expected too much from the evening.” She saw his expression change to concern and hurried to explain. “Oh, not that the opera and the reception weren't wonderful. They were. And you've been patient, more patient than I should expect. It's just that …”

“Just that you've changed your mind about how the evening ends?”

In a wavering voice, she added, “Maybe. I'm not sure. I mean, I still want … it still might be …”

His brown eyes looked intense. “There's no expectation on my part that we end up back at my place, you know.”

“Don't you want us to …?” For the first time in her life, her heart, just like the cliché, was in her throat where she could feel it beating so hard she was sure Dominic could hear it.

“That's not what I said—or meant. You know what I want. What I've wanted all along. What do you want? Tonight, I mean,” he asked.

“I know what I wanted when the evening started out. But now …”