Winner Takes All (18 page)

Although he’d meant to have only a brief taste of her before dinner—an appetizer of sorts—the kiss quickly got out of control. Cole was an experienced man of thirty-five. He knew how to control himself. At least, he thought he did. But suddenly he felt his determination slipping away. The hours he had spent cooking—the many hours he spent buying food and peeling potatoes and scrubbing arugula—in hopes of impressing her faded from view. Instead he felt himself plunging deeper into a sensual abyss.

Cole was running his hand under her cotton T-shirt when a buzzer sounded. It was loud and persistent and demanded attention. He dropped his arms and stepped away from her. Eva looked down. She seemed determined to avoid his gaze. Cole let her have her way. Instead of saying anything, he walked over to the counter, turned off the alarm and took a baking sheet out of the oven. The walnuts were done. The salad was ready. There was no reason for dinner not to begin.

Except his shaking hands, he thought, as he took the tinfoil off the toasted walnuts.

Although Cole still wanted to tear the clothing off Eva and take her against the back wall of his kitchen, he was glad for the interruption. He had lost control. If that buzzer hadn’t sounded, he would have continued the heady plunge into the Eva abyss. And who knew how much farther he would have gone? There was no telling where it would stop—or if it would stop.

This wasn’t the way he wanted to do it. What he said last night was true: He was willing to take this nice and slow and see what developed. He certainly didn’t want to frighten Eva off with a quick tumble on hard ceramic tiles.

He took a long moment and struggled to regain his self-control. It wasn’t easy with Eva staring at him with hot, confused eyes. He kissed her lightly on the lips and reached for the bread bowl that was sitting on the kitchen table. “Here,” he said with a winning smile, “why don’t you put this on the table? Everything is ready to go. I just have to finish tossing the salad.”

Although Eva was surprised by his swift change in demeanor, she wasn’t put off by it. She could tell by the strain around his lips that it had cost him dearly to rein in his desire. She’d come to his apartment not knowing what to expect, and she found his determination to keep his word to take things slowly both endearing and exciting. Cole was unlike any man she’d ever met, and suddenly she relished the prospect of knowing him better.

Taking the bread and wineglass, she went into the other room. Cole’s apartment was large and spacious, and he had an actual dining room—not just a room where people sometimes dined. Eva’s “dining room” was also her living room and home office.

She was standing by the bookshelves perusing his reading choices—in some respects, they had very similar tastes—when he came in with the salad. He put it down on the table and pulled out a chair for her.

“You have an eclectic library,” she said, walking over to the table.

Cole smiled and waited until she sat down before taking a seat himself. As he served salad, he explained that most of the books in his collection had been his father’s. “I prefer ebooks,” he said. “If I do buy a physical copy, I usually pass it along when I’m done reading it, as I haven’t found many that are worth holding on to. My father, on the other hand, was an inveterate collector. And it wasn’t just about the money or appreciation of value for him. He would collect anything. When Mother and I were cleaning out his closet, we found his stash of matchbooks. He must have had at least three thousand of them squirreled away in shoe boxes.”

Eva nodded and asked more questions about his father. It was obvious that Cole liked talking about him—the two must have had a very close relationship. The evening passed quickly and painlessly. Cole was the consummate entertainer, and he knew exactly how to put Eva at ease. He made her laugh with stories about his childhood—he turned getting stuck in a barn during a hurricane into a wild adventure. And he asked thoughtful questions, soliciting her opinion on a number of topics, from recent movies she’d seen to her favorite local restaurants.

Before Eva knew it, she was accepting a generous slice of tarte tatin—humble apple pie indeed! “Where is this from?” she asked after taking a bite. “It’s amazing.”

He shook his head. “A little French bakery around the corner. Do you like to cook?”

“I can make a mean poached egg,” she said proudly. “The secret’s in the swirl, you know, making a whirlpool with the simmering water so the egg white wraps around itself. I’m also excellent at omelets and can soft boil an egg to perfection. You’ll note a trend emerging. I like cooking eggs,” she said as she took a bite of the tart. “Wow, this is good. I have a little French bakery around my corner too, but its tarte tatin isn’t nearly as gooey as this.”

“Then you’ll have to spend more time in my neighborhood.”

Eva felt her stomach clench at the implication: He was really saying that she should spend more time with him. “Oh, you are good,” she said, determined not to be taken in. She was here and she would enjoy herself, but she wasn’t going to succumb to the famous Hammond charm. Their relationship would be more honest—and perhaps more fulfilling—than that.

Not quite understanding her, he picked up the coffeepot and poured himself a second cup. “Good?” he asked, his left eyebrow raised questioningly.

“With the lines. You always know the perfect thing to say. But don’t worry, I’m not a swooning teenager anymore.”

Eva seemed so self-possessed he had a hard time believing she was ever a swooning teenager. “They’re not lines,” he said, fighting the annoyance that was rising in his chest. This was the second time tonight that she’d laid that charge at his feet.

Seeing the spark of anger that flashed in his eyes, Eva backed down. There was no reason to pursue it. He obviously wouldn’t agree with her no matter how well she outlined her case. “All right,” she said softly before turning her eyes away from his intent gaze. They settled on a glass sculpture on a side table. “That’s a very beautiful piece. Murano glass?”

Her comment successfully diffused the moment. Cole’s face brightened as he stared at the swirling colors. “Yes, I bought it when I was in Venice earlier this month.”

“Ah, Venice in September,” she said with a hint of longing. “That must have been wonderful.”

He nodded. “Have you ever been?”

“One hot July almost ten years ago when I was backpacking through Europe with a friend. We stayed across the canal at a hostel-convent run by nuns. It was wonderful, of course, but I couldn’t help wanting to stay at the fabulous hotels and eat at the expensive restaurants. Venice made me very covetous indeed.”

“Is that where you discovered your love of art?” he asked, charmed by the image of a younger Eva pressing her nose up against the windows of the Cipriani. He wanted to take her back there, to show her the Venice he knew and loved.

“No, that happened years before. When I was eight my grandmother took me to the Met to see the Temple of Dendur, but we never got there. As soon as we stepped into the main foyer, I saw the European paintings—you know how they’re at the top of the stairs on the second floor?—and that was the end of that. I still have a clear image in my head of Grandma trying to cajole me into leaving with promises of ice cream sundaes at Serendipity,” she recalled fondly. “We must have been wandering around the European painting hall for five hours before she picked me up and carried me out.”

Cole asked more questions about her childhood and Eva happily talked about her upbringing in suburban Ohio. “My mom comes out to visit pretty regularly, at least once a year.”

“And your dad?”

“Not so much. He can’t”—no, she silently corrected,
won’t
—“take the time off from work.”

“Are they still together?”

“My folks? Yeah, they just celebrated thirty years with a big party at a hotel in Cleveland. I went back for it, which was nice. I hadn’t seen my cousins in a couple of years.”

At some point during the evening, Eva and Cole had moved from the dining table to the couch. Sliding out of her shoes, Eva had curled her legs under her. She felt very comfortable in Cole’s company, which wasn’t something she’d expected. She tried to pinpoint the moment when she’d started to relax but found it impossible and began to worry that some part of her had always been relaxed in his company.

When she happened to glance at her watch, she was surprised to see that it was after eleven. “Yikes,” she said, “I should probably be getting home soon. I’ve got to be in the office early tomorrow.”

“More Hammond business?” he asked, hoping to distract her for a little while longer. He wasn’t ready yet for her to leave.

“Actually, no,” she said, sounding a little surprised by the answer. “I’ve done all I can on the collection and now just have to wait for your mom’s assistant to set up an appointment. I’ve got some other projects that I’ve fallen behind on such as Josiah Parnell’s chair collection. I never did thank you for your feedback on my proposal. The questions you asked were very helpful.”

Cole bowed his head slightly before looking her in the eye. “My pleasure.”

He was staring at her intensely again and she had to look away. “Having to wait for someone to call makes me anxious. I don’t like being passive, and it’s going to take all my willpower not to ring up your mother’s assistant myself first thing in the morning.”

Cole stood up. He knew Eva was a single-minded woman—he recalled again her standoff with Mrs. Hemingway—and smiled. “All right, let’s put you in a cab, so you can obsess over Cassandra not calling early enough in the privacy of your own home.”

As they walked down the stairs to the street, she thanked him again for dinner. “Everything was wonderful, and I had a really lovely time.”

He opened the door and stepped out onto North Moore. A cab with its light on drove by, and Cole put a hand out to catch it. The car jerked to a stop. “I had a lovely time, too. Thanks for coming.” Cole put his hand on the door but before he opened it he gave her a kiss on the forehead. He would have liked to do much more, but they were on the street and his control was still shaky. Something about Eva made him behave like a teenager on a date with the head cheerleader.

Disconcerted by the sweet gesture, Eva climbed inside the car. “Thank you,” she said again.

He nodded and slammed the door shut amid promises to be in touch. Eva gave the driver her direction and waved good-bye as the car pulled away from the curb. Replaying his parting comment in her head during the short ride home, Eva, who had heard such promises from men all her life—and not just from forgetful workaholics like her father—hoped with all her heart this one really would call.

CHAPTER NINE

Eva rang Loretta
Hammond’s doorbell at precisely ten-thirty, although she had arrived at the town house almost fifteen minutes before. Rather than break social custom and show up early, she walked around the corner to a Starbucks and bought a cup of coffee. While she sat in a comfortable armchair, she ran through her prepared speech one more time. She was ready. She knew she was, but she couldn’t help being nervous. The Hammond collection was still the biggest thing that had ever happened to her career, and with her promotion, she felt a need to prove herself.

After a moment, the door opened and a tall, thin woman in a brown tweed suit greeted her. “You must be Ms. Butler. Please come in. I’m Loretta’s assistant, Cassandra Douglass. Loretta is still on the phone with London,” she said, closing the door and indicating with a wave of her long, bony hand that Eva should follow her down the hall. The house was large and bright and decorated with fine antiques. Cassandra led her to the front parlor and told her to take a seat. Eva hesitated for a moment. She had been in the appraising business long enough to feel reluctant to sit on an authentic Louis XIV chair.

“There is tea on the sideboard and scones, crumpets and Danish with all the customary accoutrements. Please make yourself at home,” Cassandra said. “Loretta will be in in a moment. She was just finishing up when she asked me to get the door. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some business I must attend to. Feel free to ring the bell if there’s anything you need.”

Eva’s gaze traveled to the ribbon that hung in the far corner of the room. She had seen similar rigged contraptions before but in 1930 screwball comedies, not real life, and something about it made her oddly uncomfortable. Even if she were having a heart attack, she doubted very much that she would ever pull such a thing. “Thank you. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Cassandra smiled. “Very good.”

Alone in the room, Eva examined the breakfast spread, which was impressive. The customary accoutrements included an assortment of jams, butter, margarine and clotted cream. Eva’s mouth watered at the thought of clotted cream melting on a warm raisin scone, but she settled for a cup of Earl Grey. There was no way she was going to get crumbs on the chair. She sipped her tea as she examined the various antiques in the room. Loretta had many impressive museum-quality pieces, and Eva marveled at how integrated they seemed here in the Hammond home.

She was standing in front of a John Singer Sargent painting when her hostess joined her. “That’s my grandfather Cornelius, a rather austere man who didn’t know how to smile,” Loretta Hammond said as she came into the room. “He terrorized my mother for years before she finally agreed to marry my father. I believe she was sent to her room with only the proverbial bread and water. Of course, Sargent just caught a hint of the tyrant, I’m afraid—you can only see it in the slope of his nose—but that’s all right. All good paintings lie about their subjects.”

Eva shifted her eyes downward, from Cornelius’s eyes to his long patrician nose. Loretta was right. There was certainly something despotic about the feature. “It’s a wonderful painting.”

“Thank you, my dear,” said Loretta, “and thank you for waiting so patiently. One can never get off the phone with one’s bankers. They tend to run on. Here, please have a seat.” She gestured to the Louis XIV chair and Eva sat down, relieved that she had finished her tea and could do no harm to the very old fabric.