it's profitable.'
'Ah, so the London business has to do with Celtic Records, then.'
'For the most part, yes. If you need something and don't see it, just ask.'
She turned back to him. 'I see everything I need.'
He lifted a hand to toy with the ends of her hair. 'Good. Let's get started.'
'Haven't we already?' she murmured as they walked back to their seats.
Darcy settled in, accepted the glinting flute holding her mimosa, and prepared to have the time of her life.
The pilot was a man of his word. The flight was short and smooth. As far as Darcy was concerned, she could have flown for hours and been thrilled. She'd made casual small talk until she'd realized Trevor was distracted. About his upcoming meetings, she imagined, and left him to his planning while she looked over the list of suggestions from his assistant.
God, yes, she wanted to see it. All of it. Hyde Park and Harrods, Buckingham Palace and Chelsea. She wanted to experience the wild traffic of the streets and the grand shade of the great parks.
The trip through Heathrow was hardly more complex than the airport at home. Money paves the way, she thought as they slid through customs. Still, she hadn't expected the car and driver he'd arranged for her to be a limo and a chauffeur. Words stuttered into her throat and were ruthlessly swallowed down again until she could smile up at Trevor easily.
'Are we dropping you at your meeting, then?'
'No, opposite directions. I'll see you this evening.'
'Good luck with your work.' She started to take the driver's offered hand, to slip into the limo as she'd practiced doing in her mind. Smoothly, gracefully, as if she'd done it all her life.
But Trevor took her arm, said her name, and had her looking back up at him, lips just curved.
Then she was yanked up on her toes, her hands clutching at his shoulders for balance, her mouth gloriously assaulted. The swift change of mood from coolheaded businessman to hot-blooded lover was so swift, so complete, so erotic.
Before the moan could slither from heart to throat to lips, he released her. After one smoldering look, he nodded in what might have been satisfaction.
'Enjoy your day,' he told her, and left her standing, nearly swaying, beside the discreetly blank-eyed driver and the open limo door.
She managed to slide in. The fact was, her bones were so loose it felt as though she was pouring herself into the rarefied air inside the limo, scented with roses and leather.
It took every ounce of will to click herself back, to absorb and appreciate her first ride in a long, quiet car. She trailed her fingers along the seat. Butter-smooth and the color of storm clouds. Like his eyes just moments before, she thought.
The driver seemed to be a full block away behind the smoked-glass privacy screen. Determined to remember every detail, Darcy noted the television, the crystal glasses, the shimmer of lights along the roof, and the window in it. She relaxed to the romantic sweep of classical music already playing over the stereo. And as she started to stretch out her legs and purr, she finally spotted the slim box on the seat beside her.
It was wrapped in gold with a silver ribbon. She snatched at it, then, wincing, glanced toward the driver.
A woman of the world would hardly dive into a gift. She'd be so used to them as to nearly be bored.
Chuckling to herself, Darcy opened the small envelope.
Welcome to London. Trev.
'Doesn't miss a trick, does he?' Darcy said to herself. 'Well, good for me.' Assured that the driver wasn't paying attention, she picked at the tape with her fingernail. She didn't want to tear the paper. Wallowing in anticipation, she tucked both the ribbon and the gift wrap, carefully folded, into her purse, then took a breath, held it.
Opened the long velvet box.
'Oh, Mother of God.' She yelped it, forgot about the driver, about sophistication. About everything but the outrageous sparkle currently dazzling her eyes.
Gaping, she held the bracelet up, letting the glinting stones stream down like water. It was slim, and might have been delicate if not for all those bold colors. Surely that was emerald and ruby and sapphire and all framed by diamonds as brilliant as the sun.
Never in her life had she touched anything so beautiful, so fine, so ridiculously expensive. She really shouldn't accept it. She'd only just try it on. See how it looked. How it felt.
It looked gorgeous and felt even better.
As she turned her wrist, watched it wink, felt that almost liquid slide of gold over her skin, she decided she'd rather cut off her hand than give the bracelet back.
Her conscience would just have to adjust.
She spent so much time admiring the bracelet she nearly missed the thrill of the drive through London.
When she snapped back she had to struggle with the urge to roll down the window and lean out. To take in everything all at once.
What to see first, she wondered, what to do? It was all so much to squeeze into two short days. She would unpack her things quickly and dive straight in.
She began outlining her stops as she watched London sweep by. When the limo stopped in front of a dignified town house she frowned and searched for the hotel.
No, she remembered with a jolt. Trevor had said 'house,' not 'hotel.' The man lived three thousand miles away in New York City and had a house in London.
Would wonders never cease?
Composing herself, she took the driver's hand when he came around to her door.
'I'll bring your bags straight in, Miss Gallagher.'
'Thank you very much.' She crossed over and started up the short set of steps between rigorously formal hedges, hoping she looked as though she knew what she was doing.
The door opened before she'd worked out whether she should knock or just go inside. A tall, slim man with a fringe of white hair bowed to her. 'Miss Gallagher. I hope your trip was pleasant. I'm Stiles, Mr. Magee's butler. We're pleased to welcome you.'
'Thank you.' She started to offer her hand, stopped. That probably wasn't done, particularly with British butlers.
'Would you care to see your room, or may we offer you some refreshment?'
'Ah, I'd like to see my room, if that's convenient.'
'Of course. I'll see to your luggage. Winthrup will show you upstairs.'
Winthrup moved forward with barely a sound, a wisp of a woman in the same formal black as the butler. Her hair was a colorless ash, quietly styled, her eyes pale as water behind thick lenses.
'Good morning, Miss Gallagher. If you'll follow me, I'll see you settled.'
Don't gawk, you idiot. Trying desperately for casual, Darcy crossed the gleaming golden wood of the foyer, walked under the magnificence of the central chandelier, and started up the grandeur of the staircase.
She couldn't say it was like a palace. It was too ruthlessly dignified for that. Like a museum, she thought, all polished and hushed and intimidating.
There was art on the walls, but she didn't dare take time to study it. The walls themselves must have been papered in silk, so smooth and rich did they appear. She had to curl her fingers to keep them from touching.
The housekeeper, as she imagined Winthrup was the housekeeper, led the way down a corridor wainscoted in deep, rich wood. Darcy wondered how many rooms there were, how they were furnished, what she would see from the windows. Then Winthrup opened a deeply carved door onto luxury.
The bed was big as a lake, its four posters spearing toward the deeply coved ceiling. Darcy didn't know what sort of rugs were spread over the polished floor, but she could tell they were old and magnificent.
Everything-chest of drawers, bureaus, mirrors, tables-was polished to mirror gleams. Dozens of white roses bloomed out of a crystal vase that she imagined weighed ten pounds if it weighed an ounce.
Draperies of deep forest green were tied back with gold tassels, framing the glinting glass.
There was a fireplace fashioned out of white marble veined with rose, and towering candlesticks flanked the mantel. More flowers, lilies this time, in that same blinding white stood in the center.
