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Fourteen years. Fourteen years he had led Bradford Global. Fourteen years’ worth of holidays and other important milestones he’d spent alone. Most of the time, he could keep the pain at bay. But tonight, more than anything, he wanted his parents by his side, to share the news and revel in how far Bradford Global had come, from a small plant in Illinois to being considered for Royal Air’s luxury airplane contract, one of the most coveted projects in the manufacturing world.
Brown eyes ringed in gold appeared in his mind, with humor glimmering in their tawny depths. Damon’s fingers tightened around his phone. He’d let down his guard tonight with the mysterious cellist. She’d intrigued him the moment those first haunting notes of her solo had carried across the ballroom and grabbed hold of something deep inside him. His interest had been furthered by her amusing way of handling Harry Dumont’s drunken attempts at seduction.
Although his own flirtation had surprised him. He had no interest in long-term relationships, in marriage. Losing his parents had severed most of his interest in loving another person. He’d found salvation from his pain, his nightmares of the hell of his parents’ final moments, in work, in things he could control.
If there had been any lingering desire for something like what his parents had enjoyed, it had been torpedoed by the kind of women he’d dated or associated with professionally. His last lover, Natalie Robinson, was the daughter of a senator. Refined, driven in her work as a marketer for a prominent hospital. Yet her true colors had shown as soon as he’d shown an ounce of leeway and allowed her to keep some things at his Park Avenue penthouse. On Valentine’s Day less than two months later, she’d pounced like a predator and told him she had decided they were getting married.
Damon still thought about her sometimes when he walked past Cartier on Fifth Avenue and the $1.2 million ring they had tried to charge him for the next day. He’d sent her the bill and a professional mover with her things neatly packed in cardboard boxes. She’d accused him in a series of text messages and one nasty voice mail of being cold, of never opening up and forcing her to take action. He hadn’t corrected her. He was cold. He had no interest in opening up, of being emotionally vulnerable to anyone.
Emotions couldn’t be controlled. Emotions were chaos.
But he was more than capable of conducting a discreet, enjoyable affair without letting himself succumb to feelings.
He glanced back at the hotel once more. He’d been rude when she’d asked about his mother. He hadn’t intended to be. His initial reaction had been one of surprised pleasure that someone would ask about her. That was by his choice, he reminded himself. He had made it clear to everyone, from his uncle and distant family to employees and lovers, that his parents were not to be a topic of conversation.
The realization that he’d done both himself and his parents a disservice by burying their memory had unnerved him. As had the sudden desire to tell a woman he’d just met what had happened the night a college student had drunk one too many, gotten behind the wheel and taken his family from him.
It was that want to share with her that had made him step back. He’d seen the hurt in her eyes, felt an uncomfortable prick of guilt that she had shared a moment that was obviously personal to her while he’d kept his walls firmly in place.
Irritated, he shoved his phone into his pocket and looked back out over the sea of taxis, limos and other vehicles inching their way along the road. He had no reason to feel guilty. She was, after all, just a woman he’d shared a drink and a dance with. She’d made the choice to share her past. He’d made the choice not to.
His logic failed to dislodge the discomfort that lingered on the edges of his satisfaction with Bradford Global’s latest accomplishment.
With a softly muttered oath, he turned around to go back inside and do his due diligence as CEO. Make the rounds, shake some hands, keep Tracy Montebach’s manicured talons off him and...
His checklist faded as the cellist walked out of the hotel. Incredible what the simple act of letting one’s hair down could do. He’d already been intrigued by the mix of elfish softness and sharp angles in her face, displayed prominently when her hair was pulled back into the tight bun.
Now her hair fell in golden waves just past her shoulders as she stopped at the edge of the sidewalk. The casual disarray of soft curls sent a bolt of heat straight to his groin.
She looked up and down the street, probably searching for a cab, one hand wrapped around the strap of her purse, the other carrying her cello case. He was close enough to the building that he’d escaped her notice so far. He took advantage and let his eyes rake over the confident set of her shoulders, the flattering cling of a black trench coat belted at her narrow waist, her elegant legs clad in black tights, which were a far more sensual sight than Tracy’s plunging neckline.
What would she look like, he mused as her head turned toward Central Park,in red?Or gold, to match her eyes?
Black suited her, added a layer of mystique. But it also made her seem aloof, distant, like an exquisite painting or sculpture one might gaze on in a museum.
Untouchable.
Which was for the best, he reminded himself as she crossed the street and started down the sidewalk. She intrigued him too much to be worth the risk of getting to know her better.
His resolution dissolved like a puff of smoke as she turned onto Center Drive, walked past the collection of horse-drawn carriages lingering on the street and disappeared into Central Park.
He stared for a moment. She’d struck him as an intelligent woman. Surely she wouldn’t be so foolish as to walk in Central Park alone at night.
But she didn’t reappear.
Before he could question himself, his feet carried him across the street, down the sidewalk and into the park. Her meandering pace and the giant cello case in hand made it easy to reach her side.
“Where are you going?”
She glanced over her shoulder, surprise passing over her face before her features settled into a wary frown.
“Walking through the park. What are you doing out here? Did you follow me?”
“I was outside taking a call when I saw you leave. You’re walking in Central Park at night?”
“Yes.”
“Why not catch a cab?”
