“Developments?” Elm eyed him suspiciously.
“Put it this way, you were, uh…proportionally different.”
“Proportionally?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
As he watched her expectantly, clearly daring her to take the bait, it occurred to Elm that she was way out of her depth. This man was obviously a practiced playboy and entirely too aware of his own appeal. But boy, this was fun. Curiosity won and she raised a questioning brow. “Okay, I’ll bite. So tell me, was I a freak?”
“No,” he said, turning into the parking lot of the Palace, then drawing up under the porch where the valet hastened down the steps. “But even you must admit that you were a bit of a gangly girl—lovely, of course, but gangly all the same. Whereas now,” he drawled, “you look every inch a woman—with certain inches being especially impressive.”
She blushed. Well, she’d asked for that, she realized, feeling his gaze intent upon her and grateful that the valet had opened her door, providing her with a quick escape.
Elm alighted from the vehicle and strode up the steps toward the hotel entrance, ruefully aware that the passage of twenty years had done nothing to strengthen her defenses against Johnny’s charm. Thankfully, he didn’t mean anything by his nonsense; he’d probably used that line a thousand times. Johnny Graney, she reflected with a grin, was obviously a serial flirt.
And luckily, she assured herself, she was smart enough to realize it.
8
Two hours, and two glühweins later, Johnny returned to the family chalet, satisfied that he’d extracted from his old schoolmate a promise to meet for dinner. He was intrigued by the unexpected encounter and smiled to himself as he walked upstairs. Elm Hathaway was charming and intelligent and genuinely fun. A pleasant change from the majority of women he came across.
He knew he had a reputation as a playboy—his mother had asked him point blank if he was auditioning ladies for a harem—but the truth was he just plain lost interest in most of them after the first date. Beneath their flirtatious smiles and eager questions was an obvious fascination with his title and the size of his bank account; sometimes he’d barely get the woman out the restaurant door before she was bluntly offering to share his bed. No wonder he was happiest at Graney Castle—at least there he didn’t feel like a piece of prime horseflesh on the auction block.
He grinned, suspecting his teenage son Nicky would tell him to “get over it.” And, admittedly, being the object of enthusiastic female pursuit had its pluses. Still, he found himself hoping for something more. Not that he was looking for a serious relationship—his heart always had and always would belong to Marie Ange—but in certain dark moments he recognized in himself a deep loneliness, a yearning for quiet companionship.
And whose fault is that? he reminded himself sharply, feeling the inevitable pull of the past, the memory of what he’d lost. He drew himself up, determined not to let the contentment of his afternoon with Elm fade. He’d ring up the Chesery and make a reservation for tomorrow night. At least they could talk there without being constantly interrupted, and the food was delicious. He frowned. Usually he avoided being too chummy with his old Rosey friends because they reminded him of Marie Ange, of the past. But somehow Elm was different.
He shrugged and proceeded down the corridor, wondering if Nicky was home. He must make a call to Graney, too, and talk to O’Connor before he left for the evening, to get the latest report on Blue Lavender. He’d ponder the unexpected appeal of Elm Hathaway later.
She most definitely would not “go for it,” Elm reflected, amused, recalling Gioconda’s excited outburst when she’d told her of the encounter. But now, as she sat across from Johnny in the intimate yet elegant ambience of the Chesery, she was glad she’d accepted his invitation to dinner. The Chesery was one of Gstaad’s best traditional restaurants and it was almost impossible to get a table.
Pretending to study the menu, Elm eyed the man sitting across the table. It was easy to see why she’d fallen for him all those years ago. It wasn’t just his patent good looks or seductive charm or lethally athletic figure that attracted, but the warmth and intelligence that lay behind his smile. Although he came across as somewhat guarded in his manner—not distant, exactly, for he was quite playful, as she’d learned yesterday afternoon—she sensed that he was simply a man who didn’t reveal himself easily to others. And this atmosphere—superb quality and efficiency enveloped in an intimate yet highly sophisticated setting—suited him perfectly. Her mouth curved and she surveyed him and the appetizer, oeuf surprise, a delightful concoction of scrambled egg placed in an eggshell and topped with caviar. Johnny looked deliciously elegant in a blazer and tie, and utterly at home in this charming restaurant where waiters addressed him by name and he called the shots.
Harlan would hate him, she thought wryly, for Johnny was the type of man Harlan could only pretend to be—effortlessly confident and in control, someone whom others instinctively looked to as a leader. Harlan had his own brand of power, to be sure, but the truth was, his backers—including her father, she reminded herself with a twinge of unease, remembering this morning’s stilted phone conversation with him—could take that away as quickly as they’d given it to him.
She had sensed the concern in her father’s voice, but already he seemed, albeit reluctantly, to have accepted the fact that she’d had to get away, even if he didn’t agree with it. But then, he still didn’t know the real reason for her departure. Her divorce from Harlan was going to be a bitter pill for the senator to swallow, and she wanted to tell him herself when the time was right.
But enough of that, she decided, determined not to spoil the evening, and bit back a smile at a sudden vision of Gioconda, wagging her finger and admonishing her not to waste her thoughts on a failed marriage, or on a faithless, feckless man like Harlan, when she had such a magnificent specimen within arm’s reach.
And she was right. For Johnny was proving to be an amusing dinner companion, regaling her with hilarious stories of his son Nicky’s escapades. She felt young and carefree as she laughed at Johnny’s hilarious description of Nicky’s unfortunate decision to host a sidewalk sale of Grace Graney’s prized collection of Ming porcelain—at decidedly bargain prices—realizing that she’d laughed more since being here in Gstaad than she had in the past twelve years. And that laughter was something she’d missed.
The meal was delicious, but by the time they’d reached dessert, even Elm, with her lack of experience, could sense that Johnny hadn’t invited her out just to talk about their old school days. Most definitely not. The realization that he was obviously attracted to her was remarkably enticing, she admitted, savoring a shudder of excitement and a tiny spoonful of delectable chocolate mousse. More surprising was the recognition that she, too, was drawn to him.
Not that she could act upon that attraction, of course. She hadn’t come to Gstaad for romance. She was still a married woman, after all, one who’d never thought of betraying her vows even at the worst of times. Yet Johnny was making it plain that he found her company very pleasant—and he struck her as the type of man who didn’t hesitate to go after what he wanted.
The thought was so shockingly alluring that Elm nearly choked on the mousse. Before, whenever she’d sensed that a man was interested in her, she’d distanced herself automatically. But then, she’d been married—really married, not filing for divorce—and living behind a wall of Southern protocol, the subtle protection offered by her husband and her father’s position and the strict rules of the society she lived in. She’d let those walls imprison her, separate her from the hopes and dreams she’d once aspired to.
And suddenly she longed to break free.
This, even more than her own growing fascination with the man across the table, made her realize she