Just the Man She Needs Page 6

  “Hmm. In that case I’d better wear my Oxford-gray suit and brown turtleneck sweater, which I think of as my man-tamer.”

  “Your what?”

  “You heard me correctly. Did you grow up where your grandfather lives?”

  “Yes, it’s a tiny hamlet in what we call horse country. My brothers and I still consider that our home, although Damon and I also have residences elsewhere. It’s a beautiful region with bridal paths through wooded areas and along the brooks and little rivers. You can isolate yourself from the world. It’s so peaceful. But it’s a big responsibility for my eighty-three-year-old grandfather, although he has a manager and expert grooms and riding instructors.”

  In his mind’s eye, he saw her in a dark gray suit and brown high-neck sweater and cringed. “Felicia, if I promise to be circumspect, as you put it, all evening, will you wear something red tomorrow?”

  “I don’t know. Red makes me, uh, want to be kissed. You know…frisky. Do you think you can handle that?”

  “Listen, woman, you don’t live that far from me, and I’m still dressed.”

  “Tish. Tish. You should be getting ready for bed. You’re setting a bad example for Teddy.”

  He stretched out on his back. “Teddy is four. I’m forty, and that is one hell of a difference. Try not to get too frisky tomorrow, not that I wouldn’t enjoy seeing the sophisticated Ms. Parker shake it up. You’re as refreshing as a crisp spring breeze. See you tomorrow evening at seven.”

  “Good night, Ashton. Sweet dreams.”

  He hung up, wondering what would come next. He’d always thought he was up to any task, but he hadn’t met a woman like Felicia Parker. Sharp, intelligent and quick-witted. Fine. That didn’t impress him too much; he was used to that. But she had that other side of her, the warm, soft sweetness, the sexy femininity that was like hot quicksand. He blew a sharp whistle. He’d be a fool if he didn’t find out what she was really like. If he got sucked in, he’d probably enjoy himself.

  Felicia hung up the phone and leaned forward with her elbows on her knees and her palms cupping her chin and cheeks. If she had any sense, she’d stay out of Ashton Underwood’s way. There was nothing ordinary about him. Any woman in her right mind would avoid a man with Ashton’s looks, but there was that other side of him that attracted her the way honey drew Winnie the Pooh. Perfectly postured and tailored, as well as good-looking described the circle of men which she worked with and traveled among. But Ashton’s bearing, charismatic personality, manners and apparent values set him apart. Lord, that man was sweet. He surprised her with his seriousness, sweetness and tenderness. And men who came near Ashton Underwood’s looks didn’t usually impress her as being gentlemen. Good looks notwithstanding, he was the man she had dreamed of finding. She wanted to meet Cade. If he was like his brothers, she’d have to ask their grandfather for his recipe for raising boys to become men.

  “He won’t do a thing I don’t let him do,” she said to herself, jumped up from her perch on the edge of her bed and ran to her closet. He wanted red; she’d give him red. Her gaze landed on a red-velveteen sleeveless dress with a matching jacket that covered just enough of her hip to make the effect tantalizing.

  “If he can’t stand the heat,” she rationalized, “he should stay away from the kitchen.”

  The following evening she combed her hair down, put silver hoops in her ears and slipped on the most frivolous spike-heeled shoes she owned. He may as well learn that he was getting two women in one, she told herself and let the laughter pour out of her. She dabbed Givenchy’s Organza perfume in strategic places, glanced in the hall mirror at the total effect and, satisfied that she’d done her best, headed for the door as the bell rang. Seven o’clock. She’d known he would be punctual.

  His eyes widened when she opened the door, and when she reached up and kissed his cheek, his bottom lip dropped. “Hmm,” she said. “Come in. You look…Gosh, and just think, I don’t even own a gun.”

  As if he were confused, a frown covered his face. “A gun? Why would you need a gun?”

  She sent one of her eyebrows up. “Are you serious? I don’t have the strength to spend the evening fending off women.”

  “Hold on here,” he said. “I can get fresh, too.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips across hers. “You look wonderful. I’ll be careful about suggesting that you wear red. You’re fresh enough without it.” He shook his head as if bewildered. “I hope you’re not planning to give me a hard time, because if you do, I swear I’ll get even. Truce?”

  She wanted to wrap her arms around him and hug him, but she restrained herself. “Truce. Remember, Ashton, that I surprise myself every time I surprise you. I honestly don’t know this woman you’ve created, but I definitely like her.”

  His grin softened his lips, lit his eyes and then covered his face with a smile that weakened her. She gazed at him. “Sometimes, like right now, I could…” She nearly bit her tongue at that lapse in judgment.

  “You could what?” He stepped closer to her.

  “Let’s go, Ashton. That slipped out, and you know it.”

  He dropped his hands to his sides, and she didn’t think she had ever seen an adult with such an innocent facial expression as when he said, “I won’t touch. Do with me as you like. I’m yours for the evening.”

  “Sure you are. And what will you exact in exchange?”

  His smile, so sweet and beguiling, almost made her believe him when he said, “I only want your happiness and well-being, and whenever you’re with me, I’ll try to see that that’s what you get.”

  She walked right into that. He meant it, and because she knew he did, she couldn’t play and tease. He kept his hands at his sides, and she walked to him, put her arms around him, hugged him and heard herself whisper, “You’re so…so sweet. I can’t believe you’re real.”

  “I’m real, all right, Felicia, and I’m not acting. Neither, I see, are you. We’d better go before we light up this place.”

  She hadn’t noticed that he carried a red rose, and when he handed it to her, she had to fight back the tears. He’d given her the first red rose she had ever received. “I’m going to dry this,” she said, hating the tremor of her voice. “And I’ll wrap it in tissue paper and keep it.” She got a vase, filled it with water and put the rose in it.

  “I’m ready,” she said.

  “Where’s your purse?”

  She handed him her door key. “I don’t need one, unless you want to split the bill.”

  His lips curved into a grin and she said to herself, “Turn your head, girl, before he makes mush out of you again.”

  “Sure you trust me?”

  “As sure as I am of my name,” she told him. “Thanks for the beautiful rose. I’m glad I didn’t wear my gray suit.”

  His right hand rubbed the back of his neck, and he shook his head from side to side as if disbelieving something, she didn’t know what. “Woman, you get to me. Let’s go.”

  “You look so great,” he said after dinner, “and the evening’s been so short. I wish we could find a place to dance. It’s too early to take you home.”

  “Let’s just walk,” she said. “Maybe sometime we can go to a supper club. Then we can dance.” She grasped his hand. “It’s such a wonderful evening. Let’s just enjoy it. We don’t really need to dance, do we?”

  His fingers tightened on hers. “No, we don’t. Let’s go over to Lincoln Center, watch the fountains shoot up, and drink an aperitif. Or would you rather we took a taxi over there?”

  “Taxi? It’s only seven blocks. We can walk…unless you don’t feel like it.”

  He dropped her hand and put his arm around her waist. “I hope and pray that you’re real, Felicia.”

  What an odd thing for him to say at the moment. She wouldn’t pry, though. He seemed content, even happy, and that was what mattered. From Columbus Circle they strolled along Broadway, and even in the night, she saw the great boulevard as she’d never seen it before, bustling with energy and
alive with secrets. “Where have I been living?” she asked herself.

  “You’re so quiet,” he said.

  “I—I’m taking it all in. The streets are alive with people, cars and buses. The screeching of tires seems so controlled, as if wary. The subway rumbles along noisily beneath us. One radio spews rap and another delivers a drummer’s paradiddle. The odd and, somehow endearing, sounds of the city. It’s a strange, modern kind of music, atonal but with its own special rhythm. I’ve lived here all of my life and I never heard it before.” When he didn’t respond, she said, “Do you…does it sound that way to you?”

  They entered the Lincoln Center Plaza just as the center fountain sprang to life. After it dazzled its audience, he walked with her to a table. “I’m having Cointreau,” he said. “What would you like?”

  “Tia Maria, please. Thank you.”

  He placed their orders, leaned back in the chair and gazed at her. “You asked me if I heard that music. I may not have heard the same music that you heard, but I heard some.” He reached for her hands and held both of them. “The way you talked to me as we walked along Broadway, with every word, you made love to me, Felicia. I wished I’d had something on which to write, and I could have kept those thoughts forever. Don’t tell me you always think like that. Your columns are written by a realist, but your descriptions of this night were the thoughts of a romantic, and one capable of deep feelings. Where do you think this budding relationship is headed?”

  She felt exposed, naked, and she was tempted to tell him that he was way off, that he had misinterpreted her words, but she had promised herself to be honest with him, so she said, “I don’t know where this is headed, Ashton. I hadn’t thought at first that it would go anywhere.” She looked away, for his eyes seemed to drag her into him.

  “But now you know better,” he said. “Where do you want it to go?”

  “That question is consuming too much of my time lately,” she told him. “I’m not even sure I want to answer it.”

  “I’ll tell you what I want,” he said. “I want a chance to know you, to find out whether what I feel for you has staying power. That means spending a lot of time with you, getting to know the most personal things about you. What makes you cry, laugh. What hurts you, makes you happy. I want to know everything about you.”

  She wanted to know that and more about him, but he wouldn’t learn it from her mouth. If he proved to be the man she thought he was, in time, he’d know her well enough. “Can’t we…take it as it comes?” she asked.

  He winked, and a grin formed around his lips that nearly unglued her. “Isn’t that what we’ve been doing? I’ll be in Rose Hill with my granddad this weekend, and I usually leave Friday. Can we see each other Thursday evening? What would you like us to do?”

  “I don’t know what you like, Ashton. If it were summer, we could have a picnic or go bicycling in the park, maybe even take in an outdoor concert, but it’s still too cool for all that. Anyway, I don’t do much other than work, so you’ll have to decide. We can’t stay out too late, though. I get up early on weekdays.”

  “So do I, and if that’s a hint, I’d better take you home.”

  At her apartment door, he handed her the key that she had entrusted to him earlier and she opened the door. “Would you like to come in for a minute?”

  He stared down at her. “You sure?”

  She nodded. “I don’t think you should kiss me in the hallway. Do you?”

  “As long as you think I should kiss you…” He left the rest unsaid, stepped into her apartment, and his arms, strong and warm, locked her to his body. She waited while he gazed into her eyes. The pressure of his fingers on her body excited her. What if he…

  “Open your mouth for me,” he said, and when she parted her lips, he went into her, loving her and possessing her, searing her with his heat until desire plowed through her. She held the back of his head, telling him that she wanted all he would give her. He backed away.

  “Don’t you…know that isn’t circumspect?” he asked her, panting for breath. “Honey, you make it hard as hell for me to keep my word.”

  “You’re…Maybe you’ll have to keep your hands off me. I mean, if you don’t touch me, we can’t start these fires. Right?”

  “I’m definitely not promising that,” he said. “We’ll work something out. I’ll call you tomorrow morning. All right?”

  “I’ll look forward to that,” she said. “Thanks for a wonderful evening. Good night.”

  She couldn’t believe the grin that flashed over his face. What a devil he must have been as a child! “You don’t really believe I’m leaving here without a kiss good-night, do you?”

  “But I thought—”

  His kiss, hard and possessive, stunned her. “Good night.” He opened the door and left.

  Felicia slumped against the wall, took a deep breath and told herself to back up. “No point in losing your head, girl, just because the man has bedroom eyes and a smile you can’t resist.” She vowed to spend more time on her career and less time thinking about Ashton Underwood.

  Intent upon taking the advice she’d given herself the previous night, Felicia hired a speakers’ bureau to set up engagements on topics that would showcase her skill as a political analyst. She meant to put the business of writing a society column behind her and become a political columnist. However, Felicia couldn’t know it would be as a society columnist that she sealed her future happiness.

  She stepped up to the podium for her first talk in a series scheduled to take place at Brooklyn College, looked down at the first row of attendees and into the face of her arch rival, Reese Hall. After forcing herself to smile at the woman who occasionally addled her, she spoke about domestic abuse, its forms, prevalence and consequences, as well as the reasons why women continued to endure it. Reese appeared awestruck, and Felicia didn’t doubt that the woman had considered her a lightweight when, in fact, she was a journalist trained at an Ivy League school. At the end of the question-and-answer period, Felicia thanked her audience and walked over to Reese.

  “What a pleasant surprise, Reese. Thank you for coming.” She knew that by being gracious, she’d taken the wind out of Reese Hall’s sails, and she let herself enjoy the little victory, for she knew it would be short-lived. Felicia had not expected that her talk would be reported in the media, or that it would generate invitations to speak on social issues concerning women.

  “You got four or five hundred letters here,” her editor told her two days after her first lecture. “Maybe you want to start putting some of this in your column.”

  That was what she wanted to hear. “Thanks, Ray. I’ll do my best, but if it’s all right with you, I’ll continue reporting society news…for now.”

  She thought he half frowned, but he said, “Okay.” And as far as she was concerned, he had committed himself. She wondered what Ashton would think of her ambition to write a column covering political and other serious topics.

  At the moment Ashton’s concern focused on Dream and the possibility that he might lose it. Conversations with his brothers gave him very little comfort. “Julian Smith is almost three times Kate Smallens’ age,” Cade said. “He wants to give her our company, does he? We’ll see about that. Hang tight for a few days, Ashton. Smith may no longer have a reason for trying to purchase Dream.” Cade Underwood’s ethics were much the same as his brother’s, but he was not above playing by his adversary’s rules.

  Cade telephoned Kate. “Hi. This is Cade Underwood. Did I see you at Plaza Athenée last night?”

  “Why, no,” she said. “Gee, Cade, it’s been ages.”

  “You’re right,” he said, “which is why I’ve been wondering about the tales going around about us. Can’t you put a stop to this gossip?” He knew there hadn’t been any gossip about them, but he also knew she would hope that there had been.

  “Really. Oh, come on, Cade. It does a girl’s reputation good to be linked to a man who looks like you.”

  Never
mind what he had accomplished. To Kate, what mattered was a man’s looks and the way he moved in bed. He hadn’t been foolish enough to let her get her talons in him. “Knock it off, baby. I’m serious. It won’t do you any good with your old man, either.”

  “Oh, he doesn’t read the gossip sheets. The only thing he ever reads is the Wall Street Journal, and that, only on Tuesdays. He hires people to do his reading.”

  “You can’t be too careful, babe. One little seed of doubt can finish it.”

  “You may be right, Cade. I don’t know how to thank you.”

  Cade hung up, satisfied that the threat of losing Dream would soon be history, at least for a while. He bought half a dozen daily papers and leafed through them until he saw a columnist who might complete the job. He chose Felicia Parker and Reese Hall, and called Felicia first.

  “Ms. Parker, this is Cade Underwood. I don’t know whether you use such information, but I’d appreciate it if you would let your readers know that there’s nothing between Kate Smallens and me, and you can verify it by calling her.” He gave Felicia the woman’s phone number.

  Felicia’s antenna shot up. “Are you associated with Underwood Enterprises?”

  “I am, indeed, but this is strictly personal.”

  He wondered at her hesitation, but finally she said, “All right. I’ll call Ms. Smallens and confirm this. Thank you, Mr. Underwood.”

  Several days later Ashton opened the newspaper and, as usual turned to the second section and Felicia’s column. “‘Beautiful and sexy Kate Smallens wants everybody to know that she isn’t having an affair with Cade Underwood, and she handed me another little tidbit. She thinks Cade’s to die for, but she’s tied up with a certain bottling company mogul whose wife doesn’t understand him.’”

  “What the hell!” he exclaimed. Since when had Cade been involved with Kate Smallens? He read the remainder of the paragraph and wondered if he was about to faint. The woman hadn’t missed the opportunity for a bit of coquettishness by adding, “‘Not that any woman in her right mind wouldn’t love to hang out with a guy like Cade Underwood. People are always linking me with somebody.’”