Karen Young - Never Tell

“Someone like Mom, I assume,” Hunter said, wanting to knock the smirk off Morton’s face. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt a fierce desire to defend Erica. He didn’t like the idea that Erica might compromise herself for a shot at publicizing her art.

“Considering the success of her label, the auction committee was lucky she was willing to participate,” Lillian said quietly, nibbling on a bit of cheese. “And I’m not a member of that committee.” There was some color in her cheeks now, but she still seemed not quite right to Hunter. It was always like this when he had to be around the two of them, a tense undercurrent with Morton throwing his weight around and Lillian holding her breath for fear that her son and her husband would get into a row. But Hunter wasn’t in the mood tonight.

“Is Erica going to be there or is she just donating something for the auction?” he asked.

“Why, can we stick you with a couple of tickets?” Morton said, rubbing his hands together. “Your mother’s always looking for takers. And it’ll take some of the heat off me. I warn you, though, they’re overpriced.”

“Hunter isn’t interested in charity events for the symphony,” she said softly.

“Somehow, I can’t see Erica at an event like that,” Hunter said, smiling at the memory of her standing barefoot in her office amid a sea of wrapping paper. “Won’t everybody be wearing shoes?”

“What?” With cheese suspended in midair, Lillian looked at him, frowning.

“She has this goofy habit of kicking her shoes off.” Hunter headed to the bar to refill his drink. Morton intercepted him and did the honors while Hunter took the lid off the box to get another look at the jacket. “Are you sure this is okay, Mom? There are quilts as well as these jackets. And there’re other things from some pretty spiffy designers in the shop. I don’t know anything about this stuff, but Jason was pretty proud of what they carry. Me, personally, I liked Erica’s stuff best.”

“Jason Rowland,” Lillian murmured.

Hunter gave her a quick glance. “You know him?”

“He’s Bob Rowland’s boy,” Morton told him.

“Who’s Bob Rowland?” Hunter asked.

“One of Morton’s business acquaintances.” With a look at Morton, Lillian got to her feet, setting the cheese aside. Then, to Hunter, “I could never be disappointed in any gift from you, dear. Thank you. It’s simply beautiful and I’ll treasure it.”

“If you’re sure…” He still felt something was wrong here, but he didn’t have a clue what it was.

Morton set his glass down with a thump. “Well, our reservations at Annie’s will be lost if we don’t leave soon. Hunter, you sure you won’t join us?”

“Thanks, but I’ve got some paperwork on my desk that I can’t ignore.”

Lillian touched his arm. “When will I see you again, Hunter?”

“Not sure. I’ll call you.” He bent and kissed her cheek. “Happy birthday, Mom.”

Lillian returned to the den to find Morton studying the jacket, still in the box, its decorative trim twinkling like so many diamonds. “What are the chances he’d choose her shop from all the places in this town to buy a gift, babe? Damn thing looks expensive, too. She’s making a killing selling that flashy stuff.”

“I can never wear it.”

“No?”

“No.” Lillian stood with her arms tight around herself. “And it’s not flashy, Morton. It’s quite beautiful, really. I just—I mean, it’s not…possible for me to wear something Erica’s designed. I’d be afraid lightning might strike me dead.”

“Oh, get a grip. You don’t even know the woman. And go get whatever jacket you intend to wear tonight. I meant it when I said they wouldn’t hold our reservations. We’ve got twenty minutes before they go to someone else.”

With a sigh, she turned to do as she was told.

Erica scribbled her signature at the bottom of the umpteenth document put in front of her and tossed the pen on the table. “Well, I hope that does it, Michael. My fingers are cramped from all that signing.”

“It’s the last for a while.” Her financial adviser collected the documents from her desk, tidied them up and slipped them into his briefcase. “We’ll watch both the stock and bond markets and if we decide you need to move some of your assets, I’ll give you a call.”

“Tell you what,” she said, standing up. Her shoulders were tight and she put a hand up to massage her neck. “I appreciate your advice, Michael, but I’ve been keeping pretty close tabs on my investments. I’ll give you a call when I’m ready to make other changes.”

“Erica, Erica, Erica…” He was shaking his head. “I know you feel quite confident in some of the choices you’ve made on your own recently, but—”

“I’m happy with all the choices I’ve made recently, Michael,” she said dryly. It irritated her that he thought he needed to guide her like a blind person through the mysteries of money management.

He gave a pained smile. “Well, of course, but these are precarious times in the financial world and there are pitfalls that you may not be aware of. If you’ll allow me—”

“I’ll call you, Michael.” She’d relied on Michael Carlton’s expertise to manage her money at a time when she had little or no interest in whether it grew or not, but that had been a few years ago. She was now quite capable of managing on her own with occasional professional advice…when she asked for it.

As Michael snapped the locks on his briefcase, she came around from behind her desk to escort him out of the shop. She would have to let him out, as it was a few minutes after closing time and Jason had left for the day. But instead of following her out of her office, Michael put out a hand and stopped her.

“Since business is done for the day, how about having dinner with me?” he said. Michael was a man of medium height, dapper and exquisitely coordinated in his Brooks Brothers suit and tasseled loafers. But even features and a flair for clothes didn’t quite disguise the fact that he was about as interesting as a financial prospectus. Dinner with him would probably include a lengthy analysis of the day’s market activity.

“Thank you, Michael, but I’m working on some new designs and they’ve kept me up several nights in a row. I think I’ll have an early night.”

“You have to eat something, don’t you?” To her surprise, he reached out and brushed a stray curl from her cheek. She withdrew slightly, resisting the urge to actually slap at his hand. Was the man making a pass?

“I’ll get takeout,” she told him, her hand on the doorknob.

“Then a drink. You have time for that, don’t you?” His tone lowered and his blue eyes roved lazily over her face. He moved in a little closer and she took a matching step back against the open door. “You’ll be nice and relaxed, then you can have that takeout and snuggle in for the night. Better yet—” he gave what he probably assumed was a sexy smile “—I’ll snuggle with you.”

She thought she heard the faint tingle of the shop door and with a sigh of relief realized that Jason must have forgotten something. The tension she felt eased and she said laughingly, “Michael, you can’t be serious. What are you doing?”

Now he had both hands on her waist. “I’m making a move, Erica, something I’ve wanted to do for a long time. But I knew you weren’t ready.” He pulled her a little closer and touched his lips to her temple. “You’re beautiful, but it’s like you don’t realize how beautiful. You drive me crazy.”

“Oh, please, Michael. If that’s a line, it’s a ridiculous one.”

“See, you think you have to deny it.” He sniffed her hair and it was all she could do not to laugh. Wait’ll she told Jason. He’d get such a hoot out of this. She was startled when he suddenly pulled her close enough that she felt just how aroused he was. “I love your hair. I’d like to just lose myself in it,” he said.