“You would. Up until an hour ago, I wasn’t looking forward to the party, and now I am.”
She blinked again. Her long, dark lashes splashed against her pale skin. Soft skin. “I thought you were dating Nicole Kidman.”
“No. We’re not dating. Our evenings out have been strictly business.”
“Gee, that must be so rough.”
He laughed. “With Nic, it’s not rough. But that’s not always the case. Sometimes it’s pretty hard pasting a smile on.”
She sat back in her chair, her T-shirt snug around her breasts. Abundant, full breasts. Her whole body was ample and curvaceous, and he felt the familiar pull at his groin. He hadn’t wanted to go to the party at all. Now, he could hardly wait.
“Why?” she asked.
“Why, what?”
“Why would you want to take me?”
“Why not?”
“I water your plants.”
“Yes, you do.”
“I’m no Nicole Kidman.”
“No, you’re not. You’re Tess, and I’d be honored to have you be my date. I’ll pick you up at five on Saturday. It’ll take us a while to get out to the island.”
She sighed again, then nibbled a bit on her lower lip. He averted his gaze, finally taking a drink of his coffee. It had been a long time since he’d had this kind of reaction to a woman. Not that he was immune to the considerable charms of the ladies he met through Noir, but this was something unrehearsed. A surprise in a world that held very few. Whatever happened Saturday night, it would keep him on his toes. Which appealed greatly.
“I don’t understand it,” she said, “but I’d be a total loon to say no.”
He grinned. “Good, then. It’s settled.”
“I suppose you heard why I’m going?”
“I know Cullen. He’s very savvy, and he makes most of his business decisions based on his reaction to the person, not the proposal. I think you’ll do very well.”
“Really?”
“You’ll have to tell me about your plans on the way to the party. Unfortunately, I have to get back to work.”
She stood up quickly, a splash of pink coloring her cheeks. “I really appreciate this, Mr. Black.”
“Dash.”
“Right.”
He stood next to her, took her hand in his, felt her tremble. Her scent, subtle, slightly citrus, made him want to touch far more. “I appreciate this. More than you can know.”
She looked down at her feet, then brought her gaze up to meet his. “I think you have that backward.”
“Five o’clock, Tess.”
“Do you know where I live?”
“I’ll find you.”
“Maybe I should just meet you here.”
He shook his head slowly. “I’ll find you.”
She swallowed. Blinked in that way she had. “I’ll be ready.”
He kissed the back of her hand, instantly registering that he’d been right about the softness of her skin. He didn’t particularly want to let her go, but he did. “Until then.”
“Uh-huh,” she whispered, looking a little dazed.
“You okay?”
“Oh, sure. No big deal. So what if you’re Dash Black. Frankly, I’m a little bored with it already.”
He laughed. “We’re going to have us a good time, Tess.”
She shook her head. “I think maybe you’re a little crazy.”
“A little.”
“Cool.”
He took a step toward his office, then turned back and kissed her cheek. Mostly because he’d wanted another hit of her scent. He’d expected her to smell like flowers, and she’d surprised him. Her blush was an added bonus. So was the spark of mischief in her eyes.
“Uh, Dash?”
“Yes?”
“I’m not really bored.”
“Cool,” he said back, liking the feel of the word almost as much as her pleased reaction. No, boredom wasn’t going to enter into this at all.
TESS HAD NO IDEA HOW LONG she’d stood in his kitchen after he’d left. It was still daylight, which was a good thing. She had to clean up her mess in the other room, and finish the plants. But her whole mind, hell, her whole being, was totally transfixed by one thing.
She was going on a date with Dashiell Black.
The most gorgeous man she’d ever seen in print or in life. She knew more about him than she should. That he was six foot three, that he had a passion for music. She could verify the first fact, but the music thing was something she’d read in the Enquirer. She’d also read that he’d had an illicit affaire with an ex-first lady, but come on. One thing she didn’t get from reading the tabloids was that luscious, slightly spicy scent of his. Or the way his hazel eyes snapped with amusement.
And he was taking her, Tess Norton of Tulip, Texas, to a party in the Hamptons. How could she think of anything else? This was huge. This was monumental. This was going to give her a heart attack. What was she going to wear? She had no shoes! Hair. Her hair looked like someone chopped it off with a bread knife.
Oh, God. Dash Black. It had taken her months to get over the fact that she worked for the man. Every time she’d seen him, she’d practically swooned. Swooned. He was…
Perfect.
And she was…
Tess.
Oh, God.
2
TESS STOOD IN THE MIDDLE of Rags to Riches, her favorite resale shop, holding a vintage Chanel when it hit her again. In two days, she was going on a date with Dash.
Dash Black. Who made her legs turn to jelly, her heart palpitate, her mind go blank. It wasn’t just that he was famous. In her years in Manhattan, she’d met lots of famous people. Everyone from Robert De Niro to Trent Reznor. She’d been lucky. One of the first people she’d met in the city was an interior designer to the stars. Shelly had unbelievable contacts, and when Tess started her plant-care business, Shelly had used her influence to introduce Tess to the A-list.
At first, it had been overwhelming. Scary. She’d been intimidated and shy, which wasn’t her natural state of being. But walking into the luxurious penthouses of the incredibly rich and famous was enough to turn her into a little mouse.
Eventually, as she became more relaxed, she began to see the similarities instead of the differences. Even Academy Award winners had bathrooms.
Then, when Cole Darden of daytime drama fame had asked her out, she’d been introduced into yet another strata. The club scene. Not the clubs she would have been able to get into. These clubs had bouncers that made a hundred grand a year. It was heady and wild and she found herself knee-deep in celebrity gossip that never made the Post.
The downside was that she wasn’t in a financial position to be a player. It wasn’t the drinks or the dinners or the tips. She didn’t drink much, and her dates usually paid for the rest. It was the clothes. Damn those women on Sex and the City. They had to be millionaires to afford those wardrobes. Unfortunately for Tess, she didn’t have a studio behind her, and she sure as hell couldn’t pay for a Prada scarf. So it was resale