She pulled the robe a little tighter, more for protection than reluctance to give up its warmth for some flimsy nightgown. “They thought of everything.”
“C’mere,” he said, reaching for her hand. “Unless you want to go back to sleep.”
She shook her head and walked closer, where he’d laid their comforter on the floor between a small sofa and the fire. The French doors were ajar, so she could still hear the sound of rain and thunder.
“The wet bar’s stocked,” he said. “You want anything?”
She considered that but then shook her head. “Too early for coffee and too late for wine.”
“That magic hour of four AM.” He took her hand. “Let’s enjoy the fire, and maybe you’ll fall back to sleep.”
Doubtful, but the offer was too good to fight, so she let him guide her to the floor, fluffing the down around them, making a soft bed. He leaned against the sofa, facing the fire, and she naturally—so, so naturally—curled against his chest and let him wrap an arm around her.
Silent for a moment, he stroked her hair.
“I don’t trust many people,” he said, the low baritone of his voice as soothing as the thunder outside.
Grateful he was initiating the shared revelations, she snuggled closer.
“I would imagine,” she said, staring into the dancing flames, “that when you are as successful and wealthy as you are, lots of people are out to use you.”
He made a small grunt of agreement in his throat, his fingers threading her hair slowly, circling one damp strand.
“I’m always stunned by how many fakes there are in the world,” he finally said.
The words hit low and hard, making her close her eyes while he continued.
“I guess because most of my life, I’ve really lived in and around numbers. Before those numbers translated to money, I knew who and what I could count on. But as the years went by, and I made more and more, I discovered that it is almost impossible to sift genuine people from phonies.”
“You have to trust your judgment,” she said.
“Funny thing about judgment. Mine seems to be in excellent working order when it comes to finance and business. I can smell a good investment, and my gut instinct is rarely wrong when sitting across the conference room table from a potential business partner.”
She waited, knowing there had to be a “but” to this confession.
“But with women?” He gave a wry chuckle. “Man, I suck in that department.”
“I find that hard to believe, Zeke. You’re gorgeous, you’re charming, you’re genuine, and you’re…”
“Loaded,” he finished for her.
“I wasn’t going to be that crass.”
He shrugged, moving one sizable shoulder under her head. “I am. It’s great, don’t get me wrong. Money buys freedom and houses and four-million-dollar baseball jerseys and a hell of a lot of security. I suppose, if I so choose, it could buy me companionship.”
Something dark in his tone made her look up. “They say it doesn’t buy happiness.”
He cupped her cheek, holding her face in his hand with such a gentle touch it made her eyes sting. “They’re right.”
“Aren’t you happy, Zeke?”
He didn’t answer, and her heart slipped a little. He stroked her cheek and met her gaze with one full of hurt and promise.
“Maybe you need…someone…” But not her. This was pretend…and pretend would end. It had to.
“Now you sound like my mother.”
“Maybe she’s right. Maybe you should…” She swallowed and rooted around for the right way to say this. “Maybe you should give some of those girls she’s bringing to the party a chance.”
He looked at her like she’d lost her mind, and then resumed his hair twirling and cheek caressing, their legs stretched out in front of them, his body stone still.
“I don’t want one of those girls.”
An icy cold fear tiptoed up her spine. Because she couldn’t be what he was looking for. She couldn’t.
“Have you ever given anyone a real chance?” she asked. “Surely you’ve met someone who you trusted.”
He didn’t respond, and she started to move to see his reaction, but he tensed his arm and kept her where she was, gathering up a handful of hair and bringing it to his nose to sniff. “You smell like rain.”
“Mmm.” She nestled closer, drawn to his warmth and body. “Good subject change.”
“I’m not…okay. Yeah. I got hurt.” He snorted softly, as if to say that was an understatement.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” She gave him a second to continue, but he didn’t. “How long ago?”
“Couple of years.” Another sarcastic snort. “Three years and three months, seventeen days.”
“Wow.” She sat up this time. “Must have been serious if you remember the date.”
“Well, I’m a math guy,” he said quickly, and then he gave a shake of his head, as if he were trying to erase that. “Everyone remembers their wedding date, Mandy.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it, letting the heartbreak in his voice settle over her. “Oh, no. Really?”
“Technically, rehearsal dinner.”
She inched back. “She broke up with you at your rehearsal dinner? Was she crazy?”
He laughed. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”
“As you should. What kind of lunatic would leave a man like you?”
His eyes tapered into icy blue slits, zeroing in on her with enough intensity to send chills over her whole body. “Someday, Mandy Mitchell, I’m going to hold you to that.”
Only he wasn’t being playful. And if she wasn’t careful, she would have herself in way, way too deep. But, honestly, the man was attractive, rich, and had a heart of gold. “What was wrong with this woman?” she asked.
“Apparently, everything, but I was too blind to see.” He shook his head, pulling her back into him and drawing the comforter over their legs. “You want to hear the whole story?”
“Every gory detail. I’ve got all night.”
“It’s not that long. Or gory. We were at the rehearsal dinner, a banquet for family and friends at the Waldorf, and she got a call.” He paused for a minute, as though traveling through time to remember.
“I could tell it was urgent and upsetting because she left the table in a rush and was gone…a long time.” His fingers stilled on her hair. “I was worried about her, of course, so I went to check on her and finally found her…”