Sticks and Stone (12 page)

“I don’t know why I’m so nervous,” she admitted. “I
suppose it’s because I don’t know what to expect.”

 
“My publicist is
excellent. She’ll find your comfort level, and book you accordingly. Just be
yourself. You’ll be fine.” He squeezed her hand lightly. “There is one thing,
however. It would be best if you didn’t mention we knew each other.”

She smiled, recognizing now that he was trying to
protect her. “You don’t want them to think this publicity is favoritism?”

“I want them focused on enhancing the value of the
publisher’s lead author, and public recognition of Silver Moon.”

“How long should we wait before telling them, do you
think?”

“They don’t need to be told.”

Eileen frowned. “Your limousine
driver,
and the two doormen at your building all know I spent the night with you. You
know what they say. It is not a secret if it is known to three people.”

“Don’t worry about it. They are well paid for their
discretion.”

“And when you run out of those whose silence you have
paid for, what then? Am I to be seen nowhere in public with you?”

“Don’t be silly. Of course we’ll be seen together. We
have to eat. And I’m eager to show you many of my favorite places in the city.
That doesn’t mean our personal lives need to be fodder for the gossip rags.”

The limousine pulled up before a utilitarian,
cement-walled building. As soon as it stopped, the driver hopped out and
hurried around the car.

Eileen pulled her skirts away from Dermot so that not
even her clothing touched him.

“No one who sees us now could mistake us for lovers.
Does this make you happy?”

His glance darted to his driver, leaning forward to open
the door. “We will continue this discussion later.”

“Only if you find a new tune to
sing.”

Pushing past him, she climbed out of the car and hurried
into the publisher’s building.

Dermot traded an exasperated look with his driver as he
exited the limousine.

“Would you like me to run any errands for you during
your meeting, sir?”

Dermot knew what Chris was asking—did he need a bribe to
regain his lover’s good graces. Chris had purchased roses, diamonds, and
coveted event tickets plenty of times in the past for him.

Dermot wasn’t certain what had just gone wrong, but he
knew enough to know that a gift wouldn’t make it right.

“No. No errands today. Pick us up in three hours. And
make reservations for dinner—someplace with a lot of people. Leave a message on
my cell with the details.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dermot forced down his frustration and put on his game
face.
Time to meet with the publisher and publicist.
At least now he’d get to see how Eileen handled herself, and if she could
remain professional even when she was upset.

She was not in the deserted lobby. Hoping she knew which
floor the meeting was on, he took the elevator up to the seventh floor.
Everyone was already assembled in the conference room. Everyone except Eileen,
that is.

He glanced around the four people already in the room to
make sure he hadn’t overlooked her, although he couldn’t imagine ever doing
such a thing. She wasn’t there.

“Where’s Eileen?” he asked.

“She’s in my office,” Brian Royce, the CEO of Silver
Moon, said.
“Adjusting her travel arrangements.”

 
“Will she be
long?” What the hell did ‘adjusting her travel arrangements’ mean? Her flight
back to Ireland was booked for next Tuesday, and he’d already canceled her
reservation at the
Niko
since she was staying with
him. Neither needed adjusting.

A chill rolled down his spine.
Unless
she wasn’t planning on staying with him after all.
Whatever had just
upset her hadn’t upset her that badly, had it? Surely she was going to give him
a chance to correct the situation.

“No, not very,” Royce answered. “In fact, here she comes
now.”

Eileen breezed into the room, the wind of her movement
rippling the fringe on her shawl with eye-catching waves. All he could think
about was chasing everyone else from the room, ripping it off of her, and
turning the cherry conference table into an impromptu bed. Far from getting his
fill of her, after their night of passion, he was well and truly addicted to
the pleasures of her body.

A slight smile slipped his iron control. Technically,
that wasn’t correct. The mind-blowing ecstasy she’d given him using that
wych
elm branch had been a pleasure of his body. But
whether they’d been making love skin-to-skin or pleasuring each other in one of
the other creative variations they’d found, it had been great, and he wanted
more. He didn’t think he could ever tire of making love to her.

Numbly, he took his seat at the table, across from
Royce. Where had that thought come from?

Royce began his presentation, introducing the people at
the table, but Dermot had no attention to spare for the man. He hadn’t given
the matter any particular thought, but had simply assumed that any affair with
Eileen would run the normal course of his affairs, a brief flare of passion
followed by growing disinterest until the embers were completely cold and he
moved on.

Could he possibly be thinking of something more with
Eileen? Something like marriage?

But that was ridiculous. They were completely unsuited
for marriage. She’d said it herself—they came from two entirely different
worlds.

Royce had finished his introductory comments, and Sara
Combs stood up to give her presentation of the proposed publicity campaigns.

“Our goal is twofold. First, we want to identify in the
consumer’s mind the name Eileen Lyons with the female-empowering neo-pagan
revival.”

“But I’m not—”

Sara shot a brittle smile at her, silencing Eileen’s
objection. “Those are just the buzz words. We’ll address your actual beliefs in
your product differentiation.”

Sara glanced around the table, checking for any
additional objections. When none were forthcoming, she plunged back into her
presentation.

Dermot listened to the ideas with a sense of impending
doom. Eileen had tried to warn him. She’d known that they were embarking on
more than a casual affair. That’s what had angered her so
badly
this morning—not that he didn’t want to disclose their relationship,
but
by refusing to plan for a future disclosure, he was announcing that he was only
interested in a brief fling.

His skill at manipulation that had engineered her
arrival so smoothly now worked against him. He’d bought into the publisher
under the pretext that his money would be used to fuel growth and expansion.
The publicity campaign was central to that growth.

Eileen was going to be associated irrefutably in the
public mind with witchcraft, bizarre and scandalous pagan rituals, and weird
occult powers. The news rags would be thrilled to exploit any personal
connection between the two of them. Eileen would be accused of bewitching him.
Dermot’s business judgment would be called into question.

He remembered how, after one of his parents’ legendary
scandals, the reporters had circled the family home like sharks scenting blood
in the water. An enterprising photographer had snapped a picture of a very
young Dermot playing in his sandbox, catching him in the act of demolishing a
sand castle, and used it to highlight an article about the effects of parental
discord on children. Dermot was forbidden from playing outside after that,
trapped in a state of house arrest for over a month until the reporters and
photographers finally disappeared.

He had vowed as a child that he would never endure that
particular hell again. His conduct as an adult had conformed
with
that vow, so that while he’d had his share of articles and photo spreads about
his personal life, especially after that most eligible bachelor nonsense, he’d
never suffered through another tabloid feeding frenzy.

Most of his adult life, he corrected. His trip to
Ireland had touched off a flurry of irrational behavior. First his telling the
men he’d gone leprechaun hunting with about his affair with Tami.
Then having sex with a dryad.
Confessing his sexual desires
to Eileen, and having unprotected sex with her.

His stomach clenched. He hadn’t used a condom this
morning, either. And the last time they’d made love, it had been in the
standard position that could easily have gotten her pregnant.

A sudden babble of voices recalled him to the meeting.
Sara had concluded her presentation, and the other attendees were now adding
their own comments.

Royce glanced his way and frowned. “You look concerned,
Stone. Do you see a problem with Sara’s proposal?”

“The proposal is fine. I said as much during our
prereview
.” And thankfully he had reviewed Sara’s material
once before, since he’d paid absolutely no attention during her presentation.
“But there’s a difference between a proposal and an executed campaign. I’ll
reserve judgment until I see how it all plays out.”

Royce didn’t look happy with Dermot’s answer. And why
would he be? Dermot had practically shoved the publicity campaign down his
throat, and now he was backing off his support.

Sara regained the meeting’s momentum like the trooper
that she was. “That’s a valid concern, Mr. Stone. And why we’re here today, to
hammer out the details of the execution. Ms. Lyons, after hearing the
presentation, which sections of the proposal did you
feel
most comfortable with?”

“I liked the idea of applying ancient wisdom to modern
situations. In fact, as soon as you said that, I had an idea. Women are so
often called upon to play the role of wife, mother, and caretaker of elderly
parents. Many times, they feel guilty about taking time for themselves, and end
up neglecting their needs in favor of others’. Or else they overcompensate and
always put their own needs first, with no regard for how their actions affect
those that rely upon them. One of my religion’s central beliefs crystallizes
how to balance those two extremes—do what you want, so long as it causes no
harm.”

Sara scribbled frantically.
“Oh, yeah.
That’s good. We can run with that.”

Dermot leaned back in his chair, stunned. How could he
have overlooked something so incredibly simple? In all of his plans and
deliberations, his schemes to get Eileen to come to him or his resolve to have
nothing more to do with her, he had not once asked what she wanted. Oh, he’d
considered her wants. How else could he have baited his trap with this
publicity campaign? But he’d never simply come straight out and asked her.

God, he was a fool.

He entered the discussion, offering his full range of
experience and support. He’d make sure Eileen had every opportunity for a
successful publicity campaign. If she chose not to go through with it, that was
one thing. But he wouldn’t cripple the campaign before it started
,
simply to make things easier for himself. That would run
counter to her prime dictate, and he was gaining more respect for that
philosophy every time he heard it.

* * * * *

The meeting broke up an hour and a half later. Dermot
stood immediately.

“Ms. Lyons, if I might have a word with you?”

“Certainly.”
Her cheeks glowed,
and sparks glimmered within her eyes.

The other attendees slowly filed from the room, most
telling Eileen how pleased they would be to work with her, or how successful
the campaign was going to be. Finally, the two of them were alone.

 
“You did great,”
Dermot said softly. “You’ll knock ‘
em
dead on the
talk show circuit.”

She blinked,
then
smiled. God,
he loved that smile. A barrel of honey would not be as sweet as the curve of
her lips.

“Thank you, Dermot.”

“You know why I’m so certain you’ll be a knockout talk
show guest?”

“Why?”

“Because listening to you speak made me have a
revelation. I have been a complete fool. Eileen, what do you want? For us, I
mean.”

Her eyes widened. “That was a revelation.”

“Don’t dodge the question.”

“I’m not dodging. I’m stalling.” She traced scrolling
patterns on the gleaming surface of the conference table. “What I feel for you
is different from anything I’ve ever felt before. Maybe it’s love. Maybe it’s
something else entirely. I want the opportunity to find out.”

“So, you want to date? I can do that. When you return to
Ireland, I’ll fly over every weekend I can get away, so we can keep seeing each
other.” He hesitated, his new resolve to focus on her wants warring with his
need to know. “Royce said you were readjusting your travel arrangements. Are
you still going back on Tuesday?”