The ladies’ lounge was as glamorous as the barroom. The counter was set with bottles of scent, lotions, even cosmetics. Arlene sat before the mirror, crossed her legs, and gestured for Brianna to join her.
“Are you excited about the premiere tonight?”
“Yes. It’s a big moment for him, isn’t it? I know they’ve made movies of his books before—I’ve seen one. The book was better.”
“Thatta girl.” Arlene laughed, tilted her head. “Do you know Gray has never brought a woman with him to meet me before you?”
“I . . .” Brianna fumbled, wondered how best to respond.
“I find that a very telling thing. Our relationship goes beyond business, Brianna.”
“I know. He’s so fond of you. He speaks of you like family.”
“I am family. Or as close as he’ll let himself come to it. I love him dearly. When he told me he was bringing you to New York, I was more than surprised.” Casually Arlene opened her compact, dabbed powder under her eyes. “I wondered just how some little Irish tart had gotten her hooks in my boy.”
When Brianna’s mouth opened, her eyes iced, Arlene held up a hand.
“An overprotective mother’s first reaction. And one that shifted as soon as I got a look at you. Forgive me.”
“Of course.” But Brianna’s voice was stiff and formal.
“Now you’re annoyed with me, and you should be. I’ve adored Gray for more than a decade, worried about him, harassed him, soothed him. I’d hoped he could find someone he could care for, someone who would make him happy. Because he’s not.”
She snapped her compact closed and, out of habit, took out a tube of lipstick. “Oh, he’s probably the most well-adjusted person I know, but there’s a lack of happiness in some corner of his heart.”
“I know,” Brianna murmured. “He’s too alone.”
“He was. Do you know the way he looks at you? He’s almost giddy. That might have concerned me, if I hadn’t seen the way you look at him.”
“I love him,” Brianna heard herself say.
“Oh, my dear, I can see that.” She reached out to clasp Brianna’s hand. “Has he told you about himself?”
“Very little. He holds that in, pretends it isn’t there.”
Arlene’s lips thinned as she nodded. “He’s not one to share. I’ve been as close to him as anyone can be for a long time, and I know next to nothing myself. Once, after his first million-dollar sale, he got a little drunk and told me more than he’d meant to.” She shook her head. “I don’t feel I can tell you. Something like a priest in confession—you’d understand that.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll say this. He had a miserable childhood and a difficult life.
Despite it, maybe because of it, he’s a kind and generous man.”
“I know he is. Sometimes too generous. How do you make him stop buying you things?”
“You don’t. Because he needs to do it. Money’s not important to Gray. The symbol of it is vital, but the money itself is nothing more than a means to an end. And I’m about to give some unsolicited advice and tell you not to give up, to be patient. Gray’s only home in his work. He sees to that. I wonder if he realizes yet you’re making him a home in Ireland.”
“No.” Brianna relaxed enough to smile. “He doesn’t. Neither did I until a bit ago. Still, his book’s almost finished.”
“But you’re not. And you’ve got someone very much on your side now, if you feel the need for it.”
Hours later, as Gray tugged up the zipper of her dress, Brianna thought over Arlene’s words. It was a lover’s gesture, she thought as Gray planted a kiss on her shoulder. A husband’s.
She smiled at him in the mirror. “You look wonderful, Grayson.”
So he did in the black suit, tieless, with that casual sophistication she’d always associated with movie and music stars.
“Who’s going to look at me when you’re around?”
“All the women?”
“There’s a thought.” He draped the pearls around her throat, grinning as he clasped them. “Nearly perfect,” he judged, turning her to face him.
The tone of the midnight blue warmed against her creamy skin. The neckline was a low scoop that skimmed the soft curve of br**sts and left her shoulders bare. She’d put her hair up so that he could play with the tendrils that escaped to tickle her ears and the nape of her neck.
She laughed as he turned her in a slow circle. “Earlier you said I was perfect.”
“So I did.” He took a box out of his pocket, flipped open the top. There were more pearls inside, two luminous teardrops that dripped from single flashing diamonds.
“Gray—”
“Ssh.” He slipped the earrings over her lobes. A practiced move, she thought wryly, smoothly and casually done. “Now you’re perfect.”
“When did you get these?”
“I picked them out when we bought the necklace. Marcia was delighted when I called and had her send them over.”
“I bet she was.” Helpless to do otherwise, she lifted a hand and stroked an earring. It was real, she knew, yet she couldn’t imagine it—Brianna Concannon standing in a luxurious New York hotel, wearing pearls and diamonds while the man she loved smiled at her.
“It’s no use telling you that you shouldn’t have done it?”
“No use at all. Say thank you.”
“Thank you.” Accepting, she pressed her cheek to his. “This is your night, Grayson, and you’ve made me feel like a princess.”
“Just think how nifty we’ll look if any of the press bothers to snap a picture.”
“Bothers to?” She grabbed her bag as he pulled her toward the door. “It’s your movie. You wrote it.”
“I wrote the book.”
“That’s what I said.”
“No.” He slipped an arm around her shoulders as they walked to the elevator. She may have looked like a glamorous stranger, he noted, but she still smelled like Brianna. Soft, sweet, and subtle. “You said it was my movie. It’s not. It’s the director’s movie, the producer’s movie, the actors’ movie. And it’s the screenwriter’s movie.” As the doors opened he led her inside, pushed the button for lobby. “The novelist is way down on the list, honey.”
“Are you excited about the premiere tonight?”
“Yes. It’s a big moment for him, isn’t it? I know they’ve made movies of his books before—I’ve seen one. The book was better.”
“Thatta girl.” Arlene laughed, tilted her head. “Do you know Gray has never brought a woman with him to meet me before you?”
“I . . .” Brianna fumbled, wondered how best to respond.
“I find that a very telling thing. Our relationship goes beyond business, Brianna.”
“I know. He’s so fond of you. He speaks of you like family.”
“I am family. Or as close as he’ll let himself come to it. I love him dearly. When he told me he was bringing you to New York, I was more than surprised.” Casually Arlene opened her compact, dabbed powder under her eyes. “I wondered just how some little Irish tart had gotten her hooks in my boy.”
When Brianna’s mouth opened, her eyes iced, Arlene held up a hand.
“An overprotective mother’s first reaction. And one that shifted as soon as I got a look at you. Forgive me.”
“Of course.” But Brianna’s voice was stiff and formal.
“Now you’re annoyed with me, and you should be. I’ve adored Gray for more than a decade, worried about him, harassed him, soothed him. I’d hoped he could find someone he could care for, someone who would make him happy. Because he’s not.”
She snapped her compact closed and, out of habit, took out a tube of lipstick. “Oh, he’s probably the most well-adjusted person I know, but there’s a lack of happiness in some corner of his heart.”
“I know,” Brianna murmured. “He’s too alone.”
“He was. Do you know the way he looks at you? He’s almost giddy. That might have concerned me, if I hadn’t seen the way you look at him.”
“I love him,” Brianna heard herself say.
“Oh, my dear, I can see that.” She reached out to clasp Brianna’s hand. “Has he told you about himself?”
“Very little. He holds that in, pretends it isn’t there.”
Arlene’s lips thinned as she nodded. “He’s not one to share. I’ve been as close to him as anyone can be for a long time, and I know next to nothing myself. Once, after his first million-dollar sale, he got a little drunk and told me more than he’d meant to.” She shook her head. “I don’t feel I can tell you. Something like a priest in confession—you’d understand that.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll say this. He had a miserable childhood and a difficult life.
Despite it, maybe because of it, he’s a kind and generous man.”
“I know he is. Sometimes too generous. How do you make him stop buying you things?”
“You don’t. Because he needs to do it. Money’s not important to Gray. The symbol of it is vital, but the money itself is nothing more than a means to an end. And I’m about to give some unsolicited advice and tell you not to give up, to be patient. Gray’s only home in his work. He sees to that. I wonder if he realizes yet you’re making him a home in Ireland.”
“No.” Brianna relaxed enough to smile. “He doesn’t. Neither did I until a bit ago. Still, his book’s almost finished.”
“But you’re not. And you’ve got someone very much on your side now, if you feel the need for it.”
Hours later, as Gray tugged up the zipper of her dress, Brianna thought over Arlene’s words. It was a lover’s gesture, she thought as Gray planted a kiss on her shoulder. A husband’s.
She smiled at him in the mirror. “You look wonderful, Grayson.”
So he did in the black suit, tieless, with that casual sophistication she’d always associated with movie and music stars.
“Who’s going to look at me when you’re around?”
“All the women?”
“There’s a thought.” He draped the pearls around her throat, grinning as he clasped them. “Nearly perfect,” he judged, turning her to face him.
The tone of the midnight blue warmed against her creamy skin. The neckline was a low scoop that skimmed the soft curve of br**sts and left her shoulders bare. She’d put her hair up so that he could play with the tendrils that escaped to tickle her ears and the nape of her neck.
She laughed as he turned her in a slow circle. “Earlier you said I was perfect.”
“So I did.” He took a box out of his pocket, flipped open the top. There were more pearls inside, two luminous teardrops that dripped from single flashing diamonds.
“Gray—”
“Ssh.” He slipped the earrings over her lobes. A practiced move, she thought wryly, smoothly and casually done. “Now you’re perfect.”
“When did you get these?”
“I picked them out when we bought the necklace. Marcia was delighted when I called and had her send them over.”
“I bet she was.” Helpless to do otherwise, she lifted a hand and stroked an earring. It was real, she knew, yet she couldn’t imagine it—Brianna Concannon standing in a luxurious New York hotel, wearing pearls and diamonds while the man she loved smiled at her.
“It’s no use telling you that you shouldn’t have done it?”
“No use at all. Say thank you.”
“Thank you.” Accepting, she pressed her cheek to his. “This is your night, Grayson, and you’ve made me feel like a princess.”
“Just think how nifty we’ll look if any of the press bothers to snap a picture.”
“Bothers to?” She grabbed her bag as he pulled her toward the door. “It’s your movie. You wrote it.”
“I wrote the book.”
“That’s what I said.”
“No.” He slipped an arm around her shoulders as they walked to the elevator. She may have looked like a glamorous stranger, he noted, but she still smelled like Brianna. Soft, sweet, and subtle. “You said it was my movie. It’s not. It’s the director’s movie, the producer’s movie, the actors’ movie. And it’s the screenwriter’s movie.” As the doors opened he led her inside, pushed the button for lobby. “The novelist is way down on the list, honey.”
