Golden Opportunity Read online

  Hagen’s focus was entirely on Marigold, the way the dialogue captured her, the sigh of appreciation she gave with each new scene change. No doubt this stemmed from the designer in her, which he was accustomed to from his sisters, whose recall of movies came from the costumes and the sets. His recall centered on the dialogue. In a careful move, he took Marigold’s hand, and she left her fingers in his hold. A good sign? He hoped so.

  Finally, the credits rolled and the lights came back on. She turned to him and smiled. “I bet I loved that more than you did.”

  “I appreciated it, but more than that, I appreciated that you appreciated it. I’m easily pleased. You are not.”

  “A person tends to get picky when she lives on a limited income.”

  “Perhaps. I wouldn’t know, but I suspect the perfectionist in you is what makes you picky rather than the contents of your purse.” He stood. “Let’s get you fed.”

  “You made that sound as though you’re not hungry, too.”

  “My one talent is self-effacement.” He gave a deliberately off-kilter grin.

  She laughed. “Where are we going?”

  “You choose. Do you want to go to a nice little place where we can get a good meal, or do you want to be dazzled by beautiful people spending money?”

  “That’s a leading question.” She followed him down the stairs into the foyer.

  “I’m not too subtle, I’ve been told.”

  “You clearly want to go to the nice little place.”

  “I want you to choose.”

  “You’re trying to test me, as usual.” She sounded wary as she watched him push open the glass door for her. “What’s the prize if I decide to get it right?”

  He stood aside holding the door while she walked into the fresh night air. “A nice little meal.” A few cars drove past, headlights turned on. The car park in the pub over the road was half-full and the band nothing but a heavy beat as yet.

  “I want to be dazzled.” With a wholly mischievous smile, she tucked her hand under his arm, watching for his reaction.

  He couldn’t help smiling back. “No, you don’t, unless you’ve changed quite a lot in the last few years. You dressed to go somewhere quiet.”

  “So did you.”

  Covering her hand with his, he moved her in the direction of his car. “So, it’s settled. We’ll go to the nice little place. By the way, how was your date last night?”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “That good?”

  “I’m a dreadful snob. But you know that already.”

  “What did he do?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Waved his knife around when he talked.”

  “That was a bullet I dodged.” He gave a satisfied smirk.

  “Stop pretending that you have no class. You wouldn’t wave your knife around because you wouldn’t want to take out someone’s eye.”

  He stopped her and examined her face. “You were a snob about me, too, once, but not because of my ignorance of etiquette. You told me I would never amount to much because of my parent’s money.”

  “I used to be perfectly happy to insult you.”

  “But you’re not now?”

  “Clearly I’ve mellowed.” She moved so close that her soft hair tickled his face. “But Morgan decided he wasn’t as interested in me as he thought he might have been. We had nothing to say to each other. He might have been interested in my contacts, but I think he realized I don’t have any.”

  He studied the expression on her face. “You have a very jaded idea of your attraction.”

  “I’m realistic. I’ll never live in the fast lane he appears to be interested in, the sort you have. I’m a hick at heart.”

  “I live in the fast lane, do I?”

  “Not currently, I suppose, but you’ll get back to it.”

  He had no answer, but he didn’t plan on reuniting with his former crowd. They’d been quick with condolences after Mercia’s death and equally quick to try to get him back into the social scene. A spare man was always useful and not only for making up the numbers. During the first couple of weeks after Mercia had died, two married friends of hers as well as Scarlett had offered to contribute to his sex life.

  Even if he had loved Mercia, the last thing on his mind after she had died so wastefully was sex with one of her hangers-on. He had to go through shock, disbelief, disbelief again, disillusion, and guilt. Always the guilt. If he had loved her, perhaps she wouldn’t have died. He had taken quite a while to forgive himself, and he wasn’t sure he had, even now.

  He opened the passenger door for Marigold, and she slid into the car, folding in her long shapely legs. After carefully shutting the door, he walked around to his side and drove off to his favorite place in Mitcham, a discreet and small restaurant that he assumed Marigold would like. They were seated quickly near the front window in the dimly lit room and the orders were taken. Other people’s conversations murmured in the background. Cutlery clanked discreetly, and the nearby food emitted a delicious aroma. A bottle of red wine was delivered to the table, and two glasses poured.

  “This is very relaxing. Good choice.” Marigold leaned back, narrowing her eyes with appreciation as she sipped her drink. “Mm. Nice.”

  “So Morgan didn’t get lucky?” He knew he shouldn’t ask this and he tensed, waiting for her to tell him her sex life was none of his business, which it wasn’t. But if she’d had relations with Morgan, she wouldn’t swap over to Hagen, not until the other man was out of her system, so to speak.

  She made a rueful mouth. “He wouldn’t have called falling into bed with me, lucky. Aside from that, he didn’t smell right.”

  He blinked. “Smell right? He had body odor?”

  “No, he’s perfectly clean.” She shrugged. “I don’t know what I mean but when I was close to him, he smelled like a stranger. He didn’t have a familiar smell. Normally that would be a compliment, and I don’t mean it as an insult but as an observation.”

  “I have to presume I smell familiar.”

  “Hah.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re not leading me into any of your traps.”

  He leaned back, his gaze on her lovely familiar face. “I know what Morgan Evans smells like—books,” he said, aiming a satisfied glance at her. “His desk. Chalk. A musty tweed jacket.”

  She shrugged. “That’s the problem when you date strangers. You have to get used to them.”

  Before he could tell her she shouldn’t date strangers, the entrées arrived, a mushroom risotto for him and a prawn salad for her. Yet another lucky save because he knew how she reacted when he told her what to do, or in this case, what not to do. As he ate his main course, a perfectly pink steak, he plotted how to get into her house with her. Most likely she would try to leave him at the door, but if he was ever about to have his second chance with her, he needed his first, the second time around.

  She knew his obscure smell, so that wouldn’t cut him out of contention, but Hagen didn’t want to wait forever for Marigold. If he could bed her, she wouldn’t have the bad taste to go out with another man to check his smell.

  His tactics planned in his mind, he finished off his second glass of wine. Fortunately, Marigold drank two as well. This would possibly relax the wary creature. “Are we having dessert?” she asked, fiddling with the stem of her wineglass.

  “If you want dessert.”

  “I would like you to have the chocolate soufflé, and I would like a spoonful.”

  “You can have a whole one of your own.”

  “I knew you would say that, and you probably know that I won’t have one because I’m not hungry. I can only eat a mouthful, and I’m not about to either waste the money or send more food to waste.”

  He sighed, but only because he would be spending more time in the restaurant and les
s time in a more intimate situation, with luck. Other than that, her thought processes entertained him. “I’ll order whatever you like.” He caught the eye of the waitress and within a few minutes, a dessert he didn’t want was sitting in front of him with two spoons.

  Marigold took the first spoonful. Her eyes closed with sensuous enjoyment. He couldn’t remove his gaze for a moment because he imagined that same expression on her face when he made love to her. Although he didn’t want the dessert, he ate half anyway because she wouldn’t eat more. That was the way she was, controlled in her appetites. Annoying as all hell when he wanted her wild for him. But she never had been. He’d been the one who had always wanted more: more of her time, her attention, and lately her regard. She could pick him up and put him down at will.

  He had to force himself to ask her if she wanted coffee. She did. The longer she lingered, the more confidence he lost. She wasn’t making any attempt to flirt. She avoided his gaze instead. The time wasn’t right. He should forget all about trying for a new relationship with her.

  When she finally indicated she was ready to leave, he hustled her out to the car. Once in, she began to make good-bye speeches. He gritted his teeth. “Yes, the meal was good. That’s why I like the place. Nothing is too fancy and yet nothing is ordinary. They mix tastes and textures in an interesting way.”

  “I don’t know why you sound annoyed about it. It’s a lovely place, and I’m really glad you shared it with me.”

  “I’m not annoyed,” he said, annoyed.

  She rested her hand on his thigh, very briefly, as if placating him. “We’re nearly home, and really, this has been one of the nicest days I’ve had in a long time.”

  He forced himself to relax. “Though, last weekend was pretty good, or that’s what I thought you thought.”

  “It would be hard not to have enjoyed last weekend, or at least for me. I never imagined that I would get my new bedroom done in almost a single weekend.”

  “You should think about what you’re going to do with the sitting room.”

  “How rude.” She sounded prissy but when he turned to glance at her, he noted the upward tilt of her lips.

  “You can’t say that room is comfortable,” he said, frowning at the windshield. “You don’t have a chair worth sitting on.”

  “You didn’t do much sitting while you were there.”

  “You can’t depend on all your visitors helping you to paint.” He made a right turn onto Kensington Road. The sky was dotted with stars, not the millions a person could see out in the countryside, but quite a few because of the lack of cloud coverage. The temperature outside had lowered a good ten degrees while they’d been in the restaurant.

  “It was wonderful what you did, not only the painting, but asking Kell to help as well. I never would have.”

  “He and Calli have been friends of yours for a while, though. They would have helped at any time.”

  “I didn’t have any work to do because…you know.” She glanced away.

  “Money. Well, you have a good job, and you’ll be able to improve your house little by little.” If he thought she would let him, he would drop a bundle of money in her lap right now, or arrange to have whatever she wanted delivered. Better, he would move her into his house where she could have everything her heart desired.

  Except, all trace of Mercia needed to be removed from his house before he could offer that and his complete attention to Marigold. He wouldn’t normally see himself as a man with little confidence, but since he had been pushed out of contention once with Marigold, the idea of competing with other men tensed muscles in his back that he didn’t know he had.

  He pulled the car up at the front of her house, noting she’d left the porch light on. “Are you going to let me see your new bedroom?”

  She gave him an unreadable glance. “If you are interested, certainly. I would be pleased to do so, but the bedroom itself is neat and new, nothing really unusual.”

  “Don’t be modest. With your taste, it would be quite special.” He opened the car door and rounded the front to open her side, too. Unlike most other women, she waited. She expected courtesy from a man, and he imagined she would more often than not be treated like a lady.

  “It’s nice to have a boss who has faith in you,” she said as he handed her out of the low-slung vehicle.

  “I believe I’m the first boss you’ve had.” He followed her up the short front path past the fresh spring growth in her garden to the doorway.

  She pushed the key into the lock and swung open the door. “I’ve had a lot of firsts with you.” Without giving him any sort of significant glance, she switched on the passage light.

  As he had noted before, her house was awkwardly configured. Perhaps the design was smart once, but the whole place needed an overhaul. He would probably shift the bedrooms and bathroom to the front and make an open space of the other rooms. Marigold, on a single wage, would not be able to afford that.

  “So, this is my new bedroom.” She opened the door and walked inside the room, hooking her handbag onto the door handle.

  He followed. “It looks very comfortable,” he said, not surprised. “Did you make the headboard?”

  Her eyebrows lifted. “Does it look amateur?”

  “Not at all. It’s perfectly coordinated which means it had to be especially made for the room.” He had expected generic modern. Instead he saw a sparsely furnished area featuring a bed with a turned back old-fashioned quilt on the big bed, and a light aqua buttoned headboard of a moderate height. She had only used a few cushions, but to maximum effect. “I wouldn’t mind sleeping here myself.”

  “Make me an offer.”

  “All my worldly goods,” he said caught off guard. He tensed his shoulders and stared at her.

  Her eyes glistened, and she stared at him for a few seconds before looking away. “This past year has been ghastly, living alone, seeing almost no one, going almost nowhere. My days used to be filled either with rushing my mother off to the hospital and watching over her while she was there. Or she would be home, and I could cook for her and make her comfortable.” Her voice trembled. “Now I go to work and come home to cook for myself. I’m tired. So tired. I need to be held.”

  He reached out to her and enfolded her in his arms, resting his cheek on her soft hair. “I understand,” he said softly, and of course he did. He understood loneliness and regrets as well as anyone. He understood the need to be held, those rare moments of human kindness that so few people could offer. Most people found death awkward and a subject to avoid in conversation. For a moment he stood completely still, appreciating Marigold’s warmth and her ability to give as much or more than she received.

  As for him, without Mercia’s presence, his house was empty. The plain cold white of the rooms added nothing to his life. This room of Marigold’s held memories and love. Without thinking about rejection, he stared at her upturned face and slowly lowered his mouth to hers.

  The first soft touch of her lips sent his pulse racing. He realized what she meant about smell because hers was sugary and clean, lightly perfumed and warm. He remembered being twenty and kissing her for the first time at his parent’s twenty-fifth anniversary celebration dinner. He hadn’t realized how long Marigold had fascinated him but he still had the idea that she judged him and found him wanting. The wanting part was right. He had certainly been aroused, but he had made no further move because his mother had him in her vision.

  “Do you remember my parent’s twenty-fifth anniversary?” he asked, burying his face in her glorious hair.

  She lifted her arms to his shoulders and crossed them behind. “You kissed me.” Her body stretched to fit with his. A desire that grew each time he was with her brought his whole body to attention. He shifted his mouth to begin a new kiss while his hands slipped beneath her coat, palming her curvaceous behind. His rock-hard erection settled against
her belly. While keeping her gaze on his, she leaned back, smoothing his hair. “Your intentions were as obvious that day as they are now.”

  He cleared his throat. “Conditioned response.”

  “Another man would say that I’m irresistible.”

  “I would rather show you.” He put a palm either side of her face and slowly settled his mouth on hers again. As she kissed him this time, her hands clutched his shoulders. She slowly lifted to her toes so that he could let his erection nudge between her legs. His breath shortened. He shifted his hands back to her behind and held her in place, while her forced breathing demonstrated her interest in proceeding.

  She began to move, backing toward the bed. “Did you expect this?” she asked, her breath whispering across his lips.

  “I hoped,” he said into her hair. A half step and he could tumble her onto the bed. He shrugged out of his coat, tossing it over to the chair.

  Her coat followed and then she stopped. “So, you’ve come prepared?”

  Caught off guard, he stared at her for a moment. Whether having condoms in his wallet would make him smart or overconfident, he didn’t know. “Emergency supplies. I’m an optimist.”

  “Thank God.” And she laughed. “I bought some, too, just in case I could inveigle you into my bed.”

  He laughed and planted another kiss on her mouth, gripping her waist so that he could lift her onto the mattress.

  “Are you in a great hurry to get home?” She dropped with a bounce.

  He landed on top of her. “Not at all. I’m hoping to stay the night.”

  She pushed at his shoulders and shifted her legs out from under him, lifting a knee either side of his hips. “This doesn’t feel right.”

  “It feels good to me.” Hard against her tightly covered pubis, he shifted sideways and fumbled for her zipper. “Though I have to admit that it used to be easier in the olden days when women wore skirts,” he said, smiling against the side of her neck. He pressed a lingering kiss near her pulse, savoring the softness of her skin.