of relief. “I’ve got a date with the Urban Animals.”
She raised a pruned eyebrow. “Urban Animals?”
“A group of punked-up ice skaters in Central Park.”
“Oh. You’ll be missed.”
Jack could contain his laughter no longer. God, she was a pain in the ass. Only their second face-to-face meeting and they were already in hate. He loved to razz her. “You know,” he said, “I might just be able to tear myself away….”
Her wide, beautiful eyes flashed a message of distress. For an ice goddess, she was a damned poor liar, and her habit of blushing made her seem almost human.
“Don’t worry, Princess,” he said consolingly, dropping the invitation into the overflowing wastebasket beside his desk. “Prince Charming has other plans.”
Chapter Two
W earing the perfect dress, Madeleine Langston stood in the perfect suite in the Dakota. In the center of the room stood a perfect designer Christmas tree. She heard the perfect strains of the swing band, watched the perfect poise of the guests and nibbled one of the perfect hors d’oeuvres.
“Madeleine, darling!” William Wornich, the gossip columnist of the
Courier
, leaned forward to kiss the air beside her cheek. “Wonderful party. It’s perfect, a perfect fairy-tale ball.”
“Thank you, William. Isn’t it just?”
Acrid smoke from his cigar made her eyes smart. Damn. She would have to take her contacts out, and she was practically blind without them.
Unrepentant, Wornich stood back and held her at arm’s length. “And that dress! Too cunning. Wherever did you get it?”
She gave him a practiced smile. “Darling, you’d never believe it if I told you.” It had been her grandmother’s: a vintage 1940s affair of black silk taffeta set off with cascades of bugle beads at the shoulders and hem. Theperfect dancing dress. The problem was, there was no one here with whom she wanted to dance.
Oh, Daddy
. The thought of him came unbidden, as evocative as the spice of wassail or the scent of pine boughs. The lavish apartment in the Dakota had belonged to him, and next week it would be sold. It was strange being back here, strange seeing the people he had known. He himself had planned the party, months in advance, never knowing he wouldn’t be around to play the host.
There was one advantage to being back at the apartment that was full of achingly sweet memories. Having the party here meant she could leave. She could escape.
“Madeleine, dear,” Wornich said with a sly wink and a fresh puff of smoke, “I must ask you. I know you’re hosting this in memory of your father, but what’s the real purpose of the party? Husband hunting?”
She was so inured to the question that she didn’t bother to take offense. After Daddy’s death, everyone had expected her to find a husband who could take over the helm of the
Courier
. Or a tycoon who would buy her out.
Madeleine had chosen a completely different route. She had demanded that the board of trustees appoint her publisher. Lately she had worked herself into exhaustion as managing editor. No one could figure out why.
Madeleine Langston knew why. She had to find a way to define herself, to look in the mirror and see a person who did things. Important things. Useful things. Things that made her human.
“Don’t be foolish, William,” she said breezily, blinking away smoke. “All the men I meet are either after my money, my status, or they’re scared to death of me.”
“All of them, darling?”
“All of them.”
As William flitted off to alight amongst a group ofbook critics, Madeleine ducked into the powder room to remove her contacts. The cigar smoke had made them unbearable. No matter. Her nearsightedness would just serve to blur the dullness of the company.
She stared into the mirror and thought about her exchange with William Wornich.
“All of them, darling?”
“All of them.”
She finally admitted to herself that there was one exception—Jack Riley.
The thought of him
She raised a pruned eyebrow. “Urban Animals?”
“A group of punked-up ice skaters in Central Park.”
“Oh. You’ll be missed.”
Jack could contain his laughter no longer. God, she was a pain in the ass. Only their second face-to-face meeting and they were already in hate. He loved to razz her. “You know,” he said, “I might just be able to tear myself away….”
Her wide, beautiful eyes flashed a message of distress. For an ice goddess, she was a damned poor liar, and her habit of blushing made her seem almost human.
“Don’t worry, Princess,” he said consolingly, dropping the invitation into the overflowing wastebasket beside his desk. “Prince Charming has other plans.”
Chapter Two
W earing the perfect dress, Madeleine Langston stood in the perfect suite in the Dakota. In the center of the room stood a perfect designer Christmas tree. She heard the perfect strains of the swing band, watched the perfect poise of the guests and nibbled one of the perfect hors d’oeuvres.
“Madeleine, darling!” William Wornich, the gossip columnist of the
Courier
, leaned forward to kiss the air beside her cheek. “Wonderful party. It’s perfect, a perfect fairy-tale ball.”
“Thank you, William. Isn’t it just?”
Acrid smoke from his cigar made her eyes smart. Damn. She would have to take her contacts out, and she was practically blind without them.
Unrepentant, Wornich stood back and held her at arm’s length. “And that dress! Too cunning. Wherever did you get it?”
She gave him a practiced smile. “Darling, you’d never believe it if I told you.” It had been her grandmother’s: a vintage 1940s affair of black silk taffeta set off with cascades of bugle beads at the shoulders and hem. Theperfect dancing dress. The problem was, there was no one here with whom she wanted to dance.
Oh, Daddy
. The thought of him came unbidden, as evocative as the spice of wassail or the scent of pine boughs. The lavish apartment in the Dakota had belonged to him, and next week it would be sold. It was strange being back here, strange seeing the people he had known. He himself had planned the party, months in advance, never knowing he wouldn’t be around to play the host.
There was one advantage to being back at the apartment that was full of achingly sweet memories. Having the party here meant she could leave. She could escape.
“Madeleine, dear,” Wornich said with a sly wink and a fresh puff of smoke, “I must ask you. I know you’re hosting this in memory of your father, but what’s the real purpose of the party? Husband hunting?”
She was so inured to the question that she didn’t bother to take offense. After Daddy’s death, everyone had expected her to find a husband who could take over the helm of the
Courier
. Or a tycoon who would buy her out.
Madeleine had chosen a completely different route. She had demanded that the board of trustees appoint her publisher. Lately she had worked herself into exhaustion as managing editor. No one could figure out why.
Madeleine Langston knew why. She had to find a way to define herself, to look in the mirror and see a person who did things. Important things. Useful things. Things that made her human.
“Don’t be foolish, William,” she said breezily, blinking away smoke. “All the men I meet are either after my money, my status, or they’re scared to death of me.”
“All of them, darling?”
“All of them.”
As William flitted off to alight amongst a group ofbook critics, Madeleine ducked into the powder room to remove her contacts. The cigar smoke had made them unbearable. No matter. Her nearsightedness would just serve to blur the dullness of the company.
She stared into the mirror and thought about her exchange with William Wornich.
“All of them, darling?”
“All of them.”
She finally admitted to herself that there was one exception—Jack Riley.
The thought of him
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