Snowy Mountain Nights (11 page)

Chapter 9

I
n New York City, life went on as usual. Or at least, Reyna liked to think so. She went to work at the tattoo studio in Manhattan, took the train back and forth to her Brooklyn apartment, bought groceries and hung out with her friends when their schedules and needs permitted.

She did not think about Garrison Richards and what they had done together. She did not yearn for his touch in her lonely bed. She did not take out his business card, wishing that she was desperate enough to call him.

Days passed since the last time she saw him in that cramped dressing room. Then those days became a whole week. At the start of the second week, she ran his card through her shredder and took the papers to the recycling bin. As if she'd known exactly what Reyna had done, Louisa called to tease her about Garrison.

But she did not give in to the loneliness she felt.

Some nights she wished she had not opened that Pandora's box of need. After having a lover for the first time in many, many months, her craving—for Garrison, in particular—was a physical thing. Like the jitters she sometimes got from drinking too much coffee.

After a long afternoon and a late night at work, she opened her door at almost 5:00 a.m. to the ringing sound of the telephone in her apartment. Reyna frowned as she reached for it. Only her parents called her on her landline. She actually only had it because of them. Her mother was convinced that if Reyna needed 911, her cell phone would be of no use to her, and she would be dead in her apartment for days before the police came. Her mother watched the news too much. But Reyna kept a phone for her apartment and had an extra bill just because of her mother's paranoia.

Speaking of paranoia, she didn't recognize the number on the display. It was a Manhattan area code.

“Hello?”

“I was afraid you wouldn't answer.”

She lost her breath.

“Don't hang up.” Garrison's deep voice caressed her through the phone.

“I won't.” Reyna's legs were shaking too much for her to stand up. She sank to the floor and sat cross-legged with the phone's base in her lap. “I'm surprised to hear from you.”

“Well, you never called me, so I figured it was up to me to make the first move or risk missing out.”

“What exactly would you be missing out on?”

“Your company.” His voice dropped even lower. “The chance to wake up next to you again.”

Reyna took a quiet breath, trying to ignore the memories his words conjured. That morning in the cabin. Sunlight. His mouth on her. The way he'd made her feel.

“This is real life,” she said. “We're not on vacation anymore. You're not obligated to reach out to me.”

“Who said anything about obligation? I want to see you.”

“I—”

“Let me take you out to dinner.” She heard the dim sound of papers rustling in the background. He was working. She wondered if he'd been awake for hours already, or like her, just had not gone to sleep.

“Why?”

“Because I want to.” He paused. “Because
you
want to.”

Her hand tightened around the phone, and she bit her lip. “You don't know what I want, Garrison.”

“This, I do. I know what you want when my mouth is on your throat. I feel your pulse beating in your neck, your body's way of telling me how much you want me to—”

“Fine. I'll have dinner with you.”

“Good.” His deep voice resonated with satisfaction.

“But it's just dinner. I—” She wanted to say that she had made a mistake coming to his cabin that night, that they shouldn't have made love. But the words wouldn't come.

“I'm listening, Reyna.”

“Nothing.” She shook her head, although obviously he couldn't see her. “Pick me up on Saturday night at eight o'clock.” Normally, she wouldn't have had the weekend free, especially since she just got back from three days in the mountains. But she had asked for time off to visit her parents. At the last minute, longtime friends of theirs had invited them to Mexico, leaving Reyna suddenly with a free weekend.

That sound of satisfaction came from him again. “I think I can handle that.”

“Good. I'll see you then.” Despite telling herself that it didn't matter whether or not she saw him, her heart thudded heavily, Saturday being only two short days away.

“Aren't you going to tell me where you live?” he asked.

“I'm sure you can find out that information the same way you found my phone number.”

“You might have a point there.” His laughter, rumbling and unexpected, teased her through the phone. “I'll see you then.”

Reyna hung up and drew a trembling breath. What the hell had just happened?

She had been thinking intently of Garrison all day. So intently that she apparently conjured him up. She sat on her floor with the sounds of her neighborhood flooding through her third-story window: the rumbling of the subway nearby, reggae music pumping from a passing car, loud laughter and conversation in Spanish and an answering curse in Jamaican patois.

Her life in New York was so very far from Garrison Richards and the escape to Halcyon she had with her friends once a year. She wondered what he would think of her apartment when he saw it, what he would think of her life.

“It doesn't matter,” she said out loud.

Annoyed with herself, she jumped to her feet and left the living room. But her words didn't stop the glad beating of her heart, or the humming song that left her throat as she showered in preparation for bed.

* * *

Later that morning, after waking much earlier than usual, she sat at her window seat, drinking her first cup of coffee. Snow was still on the ground, long ago turned to gray slush, but it was still beautiful. Far off, the buildings and streets of Brooklyn glowed with their winter magic. The cars bumped along the streets while the pedestrians wound past each other, heading to whatever was important to them at ten in the morning. Reyna loved it all.

Her phone rang, her landline again, pulling her from her window-seat musings.

“Is this Ms. Reyna Allen?”

“Yes, speaking.” She automatically straightened her spine and hardened her voice at the sound of the professional tone coming through the phone. Was this about her parents? Her heart thumped wildly at the thought.

“Excellent. This is Amanda from the advertising agency of Kellerman-Stark.”

Reyna frowned at the name of one of the biggest ad agencies in the city. “What can I do for you?”

The woman didn't seem at all fazed by her coolness. “I'm calling because Garrison Richards recommended you to us. Do you have time to come into the office this week and take a look around to see if we are the right fit for you?”

Reyna blinked. She never sent an application to Kellerman-Stark. It was one of the best in New York, maybe even in the United States. It had never occurred to her to reach that high for her first graphic design job. And the woman, Amanda, didn't sound as if she wanted to interview her; she seemed ready to offer Reyna her own office right then and there.

“Um. I'm sorry...Amanda. I really appreciate you calling, but I never applied for a job there.”

“I'm well aware of that, Ms. Allen. However, based on what Mr. Richards said about you, we think you'd do wonderfully here.”

Exactly what had Garrison said? That she was a good lay and frequently took initiative? Reyna's face heated with anger and embarrassment. “Okay. Thank you. Um...unfortunately, I won't be able to come in and check out your office. I'll wait until you've had a chance to at least look at my portfolio.”

The silence on the other end of the line made Reyna check to see if they were still connected. They were. “Hello?”

“I'm sorry, Ms. Allen. It's just that you've surprised me.”

“It's okay. I think I just surprised myself, too. Thank you for calling. I really appreciate you taking the time out of your day to get in touch with me.”

“Very well. My apologies for wasting your time.” There was wry amusement in the woman's voice. “Have a great day. Maybe we'll be hearing from you later on and perhaps even see a portfolio?”

“Maybe. Thank you, Amanda.”

“Thank you, Ms. Allen.”

She very gently put the phone back in its cradle, even though her blood pressure soared through the roof. Who the hell did Garrison think he was? With this ridiculous job offer, he practically told Amanda and everyone at Kellerman-Stark that they were sleeping together. He was clearly saying she didn't have the talent to get the job herself.

Reyna grabbed the phone and quickly scrolled through her caller ID to get to Garrison's number. Her hand hovered over the redial button.

No.

She should wait and tell him in person what she thought of his patronizing and high-handed behavior. She ignored the gleeful voice in her head that said at least she would get the chance to see him before she wrote him out of her life for good.

Reyna left the phone alone. On Saturday she would see him again. Then she would tell him exactly where he could shove that job offer.

* * *

On Saturday night at eight o'clock precisely, her house phone rang.

“Good evening.” Garrison's voice was a shivering pleasure through the line. “I'm downstairs.”

Reyna, already dressed and ready for the past hour, peered in the small mirror near the door to double-check her lipstick. “Okay. I'll be right there.” She hung up the phone and took a quick breath.

Her reflection said she looked fine. Her curls were glossy and thick. They framed her carefully made-up face, the expression that said “look but don't touch.” A safe, cream dress hugged her figure from throat to knee. She had been going for feminine and reserved. But the few pounds she'd gained since the last time she wore the dress made the presentation a bit sexier than she'd have liked. It was the most date-ready dress she owned, so she was determined to make the best of it. Black shoes and a black clutch completed the outfit.

Downstairs, she closed the door to her building and turned in time to see Garrison standing on the curb next to a dark luxury sedan. He was mouthwatering in a long black coat that fit just so over his wide shoulders. A houndstooth scarf neatly tucked into the throat of the coat lent him a faintly European air. After two weeks, seeing him again made her choke on her own breath. Had he gotten even sexier in that time?

As she walked toward him with her coat unbuttoned to enjoy the brush of the night's coolness on her skin, Reyna suppressed the desire to greet him with a kiss. To press her cheek to his and feel if he was as smooth shaven as he looked, or if his hidden beard would rasp against her skin, provoking goose bumps and impure thoughts. She tucked her purse under her arm and walked toward the car.

Garrison opened the door for her, his eyes appreciative on her figure and face. A touch of heat flared in his gaze.

“You look beautiful,” he said.

“Thanks, so do you.” She could have slapped herself for saying that. But she refused to stutter and correct herself. Men could look beautiful if they wanted to, dammit!

His eyes crinkled in amusement. “Thank you.”

She slid into the passenger side of the black two-door Jaguar lush with the scent of leather and a subtly spiced aftershave. Garrison got in the driver's seat and put the car in gear. He glanced at her with another amused look.

“Thank you for coming out with me tonight.”

“Don't thank me yet. You don't know how the night will end.” She clasped her purse in her lap and glanced at him from the corner of her eye.

“That sounds ominous.” He pulled the car into traffic with practiced ease.

Reyna said nothing. During the drive, she felt his curious gaze on her, but he did not interrupt the comfortable silence.

Minutes later, the car pulled into the only remaining parking spot in front of a small restaurant Reyna had never heard of, The Beautiful Feast.

The exterior was classic Brooklyn brick, with wide glass windows facing the street and only a dozen or so tables inside. The interior was elegant and sparse, the walls decorated with chic black-and-white photographs of celebrities from the early twentieth century. Dorothy Dandridge. Sydney Poitier. Eartha Kitt. Nina Simone.

A chandelier spun with hundreds of tiny crystals hung from the ceiling, scattering pieces of light into every corner of the restaurant. The hidden speakers played a haunting, old-fashioned song that Reyna didn't recognize. It was a beautiful place. Dimly lit and perfect for a date.

Reyna could easily imagine sliding her shoes off under the table and resting her feet on top of Garrison's while they shared their meal. But she quickly came back to reality and shook herself out of it. Dinner probably wasn't going to turn out that well.

A hostess, slim and gray-haired and with a welcoming smile, greeted them at the door. She seemed as if she could be anywhere from forty to sixty-five, a charming woman who exuded the same elegance and poise as the restaurant.

“Mr. Richards, it's good to see you again.” She turned her smile and another warm greeting to Reyna.

“Your delicious food will always have me coming back, Ms. Taylor.” Garrison took off Reyna's coat and then his and hung them on the coat rack near the door.

With the coat gone, Reyna saw that he was wearing a charcoal-gray three-piece suit, slim fitted, with a gray paisley tie. Could the man get any more delicious? She distracted herself from his body with a pointless rummage through her purse.

But the hostess was openly enjoying Garrison enough for both of them. “Please,” she said with a brilliant smile. “I told you to call me Vivian!”

“Only if you call me Garrison.” A genuine smile lit his eyes, and Reyna was almost jealous of the woman. But she kept her misguided poison to herself.

Vivian laughed and pulled two menus from behind the small hosting station by the door. “All right, Garrison. Follow me. We have your table ready for you, as requested.”