“It’s fine.” She cleared her throat when her voice came out as a squeak. “Part of the deal.”
But it wasn’t fine. They’d taken that kiss too far, and it had been a mistake. She liked this guy. He was a good person with something sad enough in his past that his friends’ wives called it a tragedy. They should keep their distance. Instead, they’d kissed and it had been amazing. Which was wrong. W...R...O...N...G. Because he didn’t like her and she was going to get hurt.
They spent an uncomfortable half hour trying to make conversation as Ricky’s friends, the people who would join them at their table, arrived. Her nerves continued as they ate dinner, danced and left the ballroom early, Ricky explaining to Preston that he had to rise before dawn for conference calls Sunday morning.
But in the limo on the way home, watching him sitting beside her, staring out the window, looking like a man lost, Eloise chastised herself. All night long, she’d held herself aloof, flummoxed by that kiss. This was a seriously unhappy guy and all he wanted was one nice Christmas, yet she couldn’t stop thinking about herself. Her reactions to him. Her stupid hormones.
But that kiss had been one of the best of her life. If not the best. It was hard to stay objective after that.
She shook her head. What was she doing? She’d finally found a way to put some meaning in her life. She couldn’t let one kiss distract her. Her back stiffened as she straightened on the limo seat. As God was her witness, she intended to give him what he really wanted. Christmas. A joyful, happy Christmas. No easing back into “the season,” as he’d said the night they made their deal. No fake date. She would be someone who really cared about him and who gave him joy.
* * *
Ricky walked her to her apartment door and for a crazy second he thought about kissing her good-night. He couldn’t get the mistletoe kiss out of his head. Or the expression of surprise on Eloise’s face. He wanted to kiss her just to see it again.
What was he doing? He was too depressed, too wounded to bring a woman into his life.
At her door, she smiled politely. “The party was fun.”
He sniffed in derision. “Preston’s a freak.”
“Or a guy who likes to have a good time.” She straightened his bow tie, smoothed her hands down his top coat collar. “Maybe we should work a little harder to have some fun?”
He studied her face, her pretty blue eyes, warm pink mouth and sweet smile. She was serious. She wanted him to have fun.
Syrupy warmth flooded his blood. A strange feeling tightened his chest, and although it took him a few seconds, he realized it was affection.
He wasn’t just attracted to her. He was beginning to like her.
But he knew that was wrong.
He stepped back. “Or maybe we should just put in an appearance at these things and leave early all the time?”
He turned and started down the stairs without waiting for Eloise to answer. No matter what happened at the rest of the parties, he wouldn’t kiss her again.
* * *
The next morning, he called to tell Eloise she only needed to wear jeans and a sweater to that night’s party, his fraternity reunion. The lilt of her voice tiptoed though him, reminding him of the kiss the day before, and he hung up as quickly as he could and lost himself in work.
That was the best way to deal with feelings—remorse over Blake, unwanted curiosity about Eloise. Work was the way to forget and give himself some peace.
When his phone rang a few hours later, he answered absently. “Yes?”
Tucker Engle laughed. “Is that any way to greet a friend?”
Tossing his pen to his desk, Ricky leaned back. “No.” He laughed. “Sorry. How’s Kentucky?”
“We’re knee-deep in sledding and hot cocoa.”
Ricky smirked. It was hard to imagine workaholic Tucker spending five or six weeks in the country. “Bored?”
“No. Actually, I’m enjoying it so much that I don’t want to leave, but I’ve had an emergency crop up and I need your help.”
Ricky sat up. After everything Tucker had done for him, he’d love a chance to do a favor in return. “What can I do?”
“I need to put in an appearance at a meeting for one of the companies I’m heavily invested in. I just need a presence. Somebody who can give my opinion.”
“I’ll be happy to go. Tell me the address and the date.”
“It’s today. I know it’s Saturday, so if you can’t go, it’s okay.”
“No. I’m happy to do it.”
Tucker covered the details with Ricky, who made a few notes, but only a few, because there wasn’t much for Ricky to do except make one brief statement.
Still, Tucker’s reply showed he was grateful. “Thanks again.”
“You’re welcome. It’s not a big deal. If it runs long, I’ll just call Eloise and tell her we’ll be late for my frat reunion.”
Even as he said it, Ricky realized his mistake.
Tucker pounced. “So, you and Eloise hit it off on that ride home after the party?”
He winced. “You could say that.”
“Good. You’ve been down too long, and Eloise could use a little pick-me-up, too. She’s had some rough patches.”
Ricky’s eyes narrowed. Pretty, sweet Eloise had had some rough patches? Just from the tone of Tucker’s voice, he could tell this was about more than her inability to get a job. He remembered the expression that flitted over her face when they’d talked about college. Obviously Tucker knew something Ricky didn’t.
He opened his mouth to ask but couldn’t. It didn’t seem right or fair to ask questions about a woman who was only attending a few parties with him.
He wasn’t supposed to care.
He didn’t care.
He didn’t need to know.
But even an hour after Ricky hung up the phone, as he dressed to go to Tucker’s meeting, he couldn’t get that odd look in Eloise’s eyes out of his head. Curiosity overwhelmed him, so he typed her name into his computer’s search engine.
* * *
Late Saturday afternoon, Eloise began getting dressed. That evening’s party was Ricky’s informal fraternity reunion, held in a pub in midtown. When he’d called that morning, he’d told her to just wear jeans and a sweater.
Still, knowing how men were about pride in front of fraternity brothers, and back to her mission of making sure he had a good time, Eloise dressed with care. She slid into an emerald green cashmere sweater that she’d been saving for a special occasion, fixed her hair in a long ponytail and applied just the right amount of makeup to look cheerful and festive.
She would get this guy out of his misery if it killed her.
He arrived, helped her into her parka and led her down the stairs.
“This might be like hell week.”
She laughed. The fact that he hadn’t mentioned putting in an appearance and leaving early encouraged her. “You think I can’t handle a roomful of men and their dates?”
He paused at the door and looked back at her. “Some won’t have dates.”
“Oh.”
He started walking again, and she stood rooted to her spot. He had to be in his midthirties. The people he went to school with would be about the same age, but they wouldn’t have dates?
What