A Night to Remember (6 page)

The kind of woman who pestered the interior decorator about paint colors and material swatches, worried about her charitable fund raisers and doing well in the country club golf tournament. Certainly not a woman famous in her own right, successful in a highly competitive, creative field.

Joshua accepted another pile of books from Eleanor. He read them carefully and, as the plane flew steadily through the bright afternoon sky, they discussed the originality of Rosemary's artwork and her gift for fitting the artwork to develop the story.

“You know a lot about this business,” Joshua concluded. “Have you ever considered writing your own children's book?”

“Well, I did have an idea for a picture book that I thought would be great,” Eleanor admitted, with a telltale blush of color in her cheeks. “I worked on it for nearly a year, even had a friend who is a graphic artist do a few illustrations for me. When I thought it was perfect, I sent it off to several different publishers.”

“And . . .” Joshua prompted, fascinated by the risk she had taken.

“And . . .” Eleanor replied, elongating every sound in the three-letter word. “As I said before, writing a good picture book isn't nearly as easy as it seems. My story was rejected by every publisher who saw it. And rightfully so.” Eleanor gave him a self-deprecating smile. “I was initially crushed, so I put the manuscript away. Then I read it six months later and had no difficulty pinpointing the major flaw in my work. Bottom line, the book had everything—except a plot.”

Joshua's eyes met hers. She was laughing. He told himself there was nothing inherently funny about failure or rejection, yet Eleanor chose to remember her foray into the world of publishing with humor instead of bitterness. Admirable.

As he helped her put the books away Joshua realized that some of the apprehension he felt over meeting his father's new wife had eased. He wouldn't be a complete outsider. At least now he could converse intelligently about Rosemary's work. He felt slightly calmer, more in control, dreading a bit less the events of the upcoming weekend.

He smiled at his teacher. She really did understand this stuff and was sensitive and knowledgeable enough to teach others. Despite the odd moments of inappropriate and completely unexpected sexual jolts he felt for Eleanor, Joshua decided taking her along on this trip had been the best decision he'd made all week.

“Thank you, Eleanor,” he said sincerely.

Impulsively Joshua reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. It was a courtly gesture, an old-world, time-honored custom that somehow seemed appropriate for this old-fashioned woman. He placed a single, gentle kiss on the top of her delicate knuckle.

And got the surprise of his life.

Who would have ever imagined that such a simple act could turn into a truly intimate moment? Her skin felt smooth and unbelievably soft beneath his sensual caress. As his lips brushed against its silkiness, he detected a faint scent of lemons.

It was more enticing than any exotic perfume he had ever inhaled. His body tightened, his blood pressure climbed.

He heard her breath catch, felt her skin heat beneath his possessive grip. Leisurely he stroked the valley of her palm with his thumb. The pulse at her wrist jumped and Joshua smiled faintly. Amazingly this casual contact was exciting him more than any kiss he could remember. Feeling bewildered and restless, Joshua lifted his head and stared at her.

Eleanor looked as startled as he felt. Her eyes widened, then narrowed, and for a moment she seemed frozen in place. Suddenly the plane dipped and Joshua wasn't sure if the sharp pang in his stomach was due to the sudden loss of altitude or the contact with Eleanor's soft, warm flesh.

The plunge effectively broke the mood. Eleanor pulled her hand out of his and turned away, hunching her shoulders and wrapping her arm around her waist.

The red signal light near his seat began blinking. Joshua answered the call from the pilot automatically and reality returned in full force.

“We should be landing momentarily,” Joshua stated, in a voice that came out gruff and deep and husky. “I made arrangements for a car to be left at the airstrip so we can drive directly to the house.”

“Okay.”

Her voice was breathy, but steady. A difficult feat considering how rattled she had been by his actions. That little episode seemed to affect her almost as much as him. With effort Joshua managed to avoid looking at Eleanor as the plane continued its descent.

Not that scrutinizing her would provide any of the answers he craved. But since she was the cause of his discomfort, she was the logical place to start looking for explanations.

He busied himself by putting away his briefcase and computer and fastening his seat belt in preparation for landing. Yet all the while one thought kept nagging at his brain.

If kissing Eleanor's hand got him so worked up, how the hell would he feel if he kissed her on the lips?

 

 

What in the world had happened on that plane?

While Joshua drove the car that was waiting for them at the airfield, Eleanor sat primly in the passenger seat, knees together, hands folded in her lap, and tried to figure it out. It was impossible.

One minute they had been discussing picture books and Rosemary Phillips and Caldecott awards and the next Joshua had been kissing her hand. It was without question the most romantic, and oddly erotic thing that had ever happened to her. Her toes curled inside her shoes at the memory.

It must be all the leather,
Eleanor decided with a grim appraisal of the car interior. That rich, subtle odor was turning her brain cells to mush. First the Bentley, then the plane, now the inside of a Porsche. A Porsche! When Joshua had mentioned that a car would be waiting for them she assumed it would be a rental car. A boxy sedan, solid, safe, dependable.

Instead there had been a black Porsche. Sleek, sexy and fast.

Joshua drove it commandingly and way too fast. But it took the turns in the road smoothly and the straight stretches like a bullet. Eleanor had always appreciated the thrill of speed, but mixing it with nerves, silent tension and Joshua Barton was almost too much sensation.

She glanced at him. He was focused on the road, so she studied his profile. Straight nose, square jaw, sensual mouth, strong chin. His pure male beauty nearly took her breath away.

This time he must have noticed her scrutiny. He turned his head, flashed her a quick smile, then returned his attention to the road. Eleanor's pulse quickened. She struggled to regard him in a rational, cautious manner, but it was difficult.

Ever since he had taken her hand and kissed it, all she could think about was kissing his lips. Being held tightly in his arms, bodies pressing, tongues caressing while the world exploded into passion.

Eleanor sucked in a breath. Was the hot sun getting to her already? Frying her common sense and heating up her vivid fantasy life? Not that it needed much heating. When it came to Joshua, her romantic, sensual, and sexual flights of imagination quickly took on a life of their own.

Eleanor took a mental breath and crossed her ankles. Time to regroup and refocus. She turned her attention to the passing scenery, admiring the bright blue sky, brilliant sunshine, and beautiful green slopes rolling out toward the horizon. She had never been in this part of the country and she found it very pretty.

Joshua made no attempts at conversation. The silent tension built slowly, but Eleanor decided she preferred it to stilted conversation. Besides, by keeping her mouth shut she was able to avoid saying something totally inappropriate. Like, what kind of underwear do you wear, boxers or briefs? And would you be so kind as to show me?

The road narrowed but Joshua didn't adjust the speed of the car. Still, she felt safe, trusting his judgment and ability to handle the powerful automobile. Eleanor concentrated on the ever changing view, wondering if they were getting close to the house. She caught a fleeting glimpse of a large building in the far distance, towering trees with Spanish moss draped romantically in the branches, and a spot of blue ocean.

“Reflections,” Joshua announced as he turned into the end of the long gravel driveway. He punched a code into the security panel and two huge black wrought iron gates slowly swung open.

Eleanor craned her neck back and watched the majestic gates in awe. Then she firmly pulled up her jaw and murmured, “Excuse me?”

“Reflections,” he repeated, enunciating each syllable separately. “Home sweet home, sugar.”

The sugar threw her, so it wasn't until she read the engraved brass plate discreetly located on the brick wall surrounding the estate that she realized Reflections was the name of the property.

Was he kidding? The house had a name?

Panic whispered along Eleanor's spine. She wasn't sure if she was ready to deal with all of this. And he really didn't need her help anymore. She had already given him a crash course in Rosemary's books and explained the basic philosophy of picture books.

Maybe if she asked very nicely he would turn the car around and bring her back to the airstrip. Or drop her near a pay phone so she could call a cab. They must have cabs in North Carolina, right?

“Is this where you grew up?” she asked, when intense curiosity helped her find her voice.

“No. We spent summers here when I was a kid and Thanksgiving once in a while. My father's family were genuine carpetbaggers. They came south after the war and built this place with—”

“The war?” Eleanor interrupted. “You can't possibly mean the Civil War?”

“The War Between the States,” Joshua corrected with a smile. “You're below the Mason-Dixon Line now, so you'd better watch your tongue, sugar.”

His imitation of a slow Southern drawl turned her insides to mush. She leaned back into the comfortable car seat and briefly shut her eyes. Maybe she could call for that cab after they arrived at the house.

Joshua waited until the gates closed behind them before proceeding down the driveway. As they approached, she sat up and clutched the door handle. Then the house came into view and for the first time ever while in his company, there was something other than Joshua that claimed Eleanor's complete attention.

The house was huge. At least five stories and more Victorian or Gothic in style than the traditional white-columned Southern-style mansion she was expecting. There were turrets and rounded edges, gabled roofs, soaring towers of pale gray stone and shutters of dark green. Window boxes overflowed with blooming annuals beneath the upper floor windows.

Wide, sweeping verandas edged the house, complete with white wicker furniture artfully grouped in conversation clusters. Lush dark-green-striped cushions added graciousness and a romantic flavor of by-gone days.

The lush green grounds seemed to stretch all around until they were finally stopped by the blue ocean. The only other structures in sight were made with the same stones, clearly part of the estate. It was all so vast, private, and secluded, with an atmosphere that exemplified the very essence of grandeur.

She had envisioned taste, elegance, and wealth, but this went one step beyond. Every blade of grass in place, every flower in perfect bloom. Even the air smelled crisper, cleaner. The entire picture spread before her eyes looked like a magazine layout. Eleanor couldn't imagine anyone actually
living
in this beautiful place.

“It's magnificent,” Eleanor said with sincere awe. “Unbelievable. Like something out of a movie set. Or a fairy tale.”

“No need to romanticize it,” Joshua said sharply, as he switched off the ignition. “It's just a house.”

Eleanor flushed. “Sorry,” she whispered, feeling like a complete idiot.

Joshua sighed loudly. “No, I'm sorry,” he said as a flicker of regret marred the perfect symmetry of his handsome face. “My remarks were rude and totally uncalled for. Please forgive me.”

“Okay.” Eleanor turned the car handle and scrambled to climb out of the car. Anything to put some distance between herself and Joshua.

Then she felt the pressure of his strong grip on her forearm, forestalling her exit. She raised her head to stare at him and instantly saw regret darken his eyes.

“The house is beautiful. I guess I had forgotten.” He ran his fingers impatiently through his hair. “I'm feeling very unprepared for this visit and it isn't fair taking it out on you.” He opened his door and got out, making his way around to her side.

Eleanor couldn't begin to understand why he felt the need to be
prepared
to meet his father and his father's wife, but she appreciated his apology.

“Well, if you're feeling unprepared you can only imagine how I feel,” Eleanor replied lightly, picking up the thread of conversation as Joshua assisted her out of the Porsche.

He paused and tilted his head. A small, sexy smile tugged at his lips. “I have no doubt that you'll impress the hell out of them.”

Eleanor groaned at the outrageous flattery and fell in step beside him. “You have no idea how much I want to believe you,” she whispered softly, as they walked to the wide entrance doors.

They didn't get very far. After taking only a few steps toward the house, they saw those gorgeous wide double doors suddenly open. A couple stepped outside. Eleanor immediately recognized the woman as Rosemary Phillips. If anything she was prettier than her publicity photo, which Eleanor thought was most remarkable, since she had walked past many an author at a book signing because she had naively expected her to at least resemble her photograph.

Rosemary was probably close to sixty years old but certainly didn't look it. Her hair, a frosted blond, was cut short and full and framed her slender face artfully. She had large, expressive eyes, high cheekbones, very few wrinkles, and the most beautiful complexion Eleanor had ever seen.

Standing beside her, hovering in an almost protective manner, was Joshua's father. Although he was a handsome man, Eleanor could discern little resemblance between father and son. The older Barton's face was longer and narrower than his son's, his features sharper and more angular. Yet upon closer inspection she noted that physically the two men were very similar—tall, broad-shouldered, and well built.

Though their faces were not alike, there was more than a hint of masculine pride and confidence in their expressions that was so similar it spoke of the blood ties between the older and younger man.

There was no welcoming smile on Warren Barton's face. He watched their approach silently, with brows drawn together over sharp, shrewd eyes. Eleanor thought longingly of the smothering hugs and kisses she always received from her widowed mother and vowed to call her mom the moment she returned home.

Beside her, Joshua walked rigidly. His obvious tension made her even more nervous. Taking a deep breath for courage, Eleanor forced one foot in front of the other while her eyes darted anxiously between the two people standing so imposingly together.

Rosemary and Warren made a very attractive pair, fit, trim, tanned, and dressed in elegant, casual clothes that said
wealthy
in a rather understated fashion. Yet Eleanor couldn't help but think,
Where is that famous Southern hospitality you always hear about? Honestly, would it kill them to at least smile?

“About time you got here,” Warren Barton suddenly bellowed. “I expected you two hours ago. We've been holding luncheon, but who knows what it will taste like now.”

Joshua stopped dead in his tracks. “Hello, Father,” he said coolly. “Sorry about lunch. We've already eaten. And if I remember correctly, I told you we'd arrive sometime before three. Since it's only two-ten, we're technically early.”

Warren Barton huffed his reply. Eleanor watched Rosemary reach over and give her husband's hand a reassuring pat. The older man answered his wife's gesture of comfort by squeezing her hand. Then he stiffened his spine and glared down at his son.

Their eyes clashed. Neither man moved, nor blinked. Their expressions held such an identical look of stubbornness it might have been comical, if it weren't so tense and uncomfortable. It reminded Eleanor of a wildlife program she had seen last month on her favorite cable station. Two bull elks, squaring off for territorial rights. Any minute now she expected Joshua and his father to hunch their shoulders and start banging their heads together.

Eleanor glanced at Rosemary and saw the same feeling of helplessness she was experiencing reflected in the other woman's eyes. Both women understood this was not their battle. They could only wait and silently witness the struggle between father and son.

Just when she thought her wobbly knees were going to give out, Joshua took a small step forward. Eleanor latched onto his arm. She felt the immediate tension that rippled through him, but was determined to keep him moving at all costs, figuring if this unexpected stress didn't get to her she would probably die of sunstroke out here in the blazing June heat.

Joshua's arm felt stiff beneath her fingers, but he gave no outward sign of emotion. She tried to imitate his unemotional mask—after all, these two people were strangers to her—but it was difficult. She had no experience with family members who treated each other so coldly and formally. Eleanor felt like she was walking through a minefield. Just one wrong step and everything was going to explode.

After what seemed like an eternity they reached the veranda. Joshua took two steps up, but halted on the third. Warren Barton blinked at his son and his lips curved upward in a ghost of a smile.

“It's nice to see you, Joshua,” Warren said, advancing toward them. The two men shook hands briefly. Neither seemed comfortable with the physical contact.

“This is Eleanor,” Joshua said simply by way of introduction.

Eleanor smiled tentatively and held out her hand. “Hello, Mr. Barton. It's very nice to meet you.”

“Welcome, Eleanor. Please, call me Warren. I'm glad you were able to join us this weekend.” Warren turned and gestured toward the woman standing at the threshold. “I'd like you both to meet my wife, Rosemary.”

The older woman smiled fleetingly and came forward. Eleanor deliberately thrust her free hand behind her back, forcing Joshua to greet his new stepmother first.

“I'm delighted to finally meet you, Joshua,” Rosemary said sincerely. “Warren has told me so much about you.”

“Hello, Rosemary,” he replied somberly as he shook her hand.

Rosemary looked startled for a second. She made a slight move forward and Eleanor could have sworn she intended to hug Joshua, but one glance at his stony expression must have effectively squashed that impulse.

Eleanor's mouth tightened. She had seen warmer greetings at an IRS audit. Determined to do something, anything, to shatter the impossible tension, Eleanor followed her instincts.

“I'm thrilled to meet you, Rosemary,” she said enthusiastically as she embraced the older woman in a quick, friendly hug.

After a slight hesitation, Rosemary quickly recovered and hugged Eleanor in return. When the two women separated, Eleanor swore some of the uncertainty in Rosemary's eyes had been replaced by a spark of hope.

With the introductions over, a heavy, awkward silence descended. Eleanor could feel a small trickle of sweat roll down the center of her back. She, who was seldom at a loss for words, struggled to find her voice.
What an odd family!
Stiff, formal, outwardly polite, inwardly hostile. It was becoming increasingly more uncomfortable watching this strained interaction between them.

“Well, there's no need to be standing outside in all this heat,” Rosemary finally said. “Why don't we all go in and have a drink? I know you've already eaten lunch, but I'm sure you're thirsty.”

“A cold drink sounds wonderful,” Eleanor replied. “A tall glass of iced tea or lemonade would really hit the spot right now.” She didn't dare look over at Joshua, knowing she should have waited for him to respond. After all, this was his home, his family. But frankly she was too terrified of what he might say.

“I'll call Robert to bring in your luggage,” Warren declared.

“No need for that,” Joshua insisted, walking back to the car. “There aren't many bags. I can manage.”

Warren's eyebrow shot up. “Remarkable. Leave it to my son to find the only woman in the Northern Hemisphere who travels light. Looks like your luck with girlfriends has finally changed, my boy. For the better.”

The older Barton gave Eleanor a quirky smile. She swallowed hard and turned to Joshua for support. His girlfriend? Not in this lifetime. Yet her palms grew damp and a restless wildness rose inside her as she waited for Joshua to correct his father's outrageous mistake.

But Joshua wasn't paying any attention to her. His father had followed him down to the car and now stood with outstretched hands, offering assistance with the luggage. After a slight hesitation, Joshua handed off one of the bags.

“Wow, this is heavy,” Warren exclaimed. “What do you have in here? Rocks?”

Joshua laughed. “No rocks, just books. Eleanor is a big fan of Rosemary's.”

“Really?” This time Warren's smile was warm and genuine. “It's nice to meet a woman with such good sense. Better not let this one get away, son.”

Everything inside her went still. Surely now Joshua would correct his father.

Instead he grinned broadly at her. A dimple formed on his cheek and she forgot entirely what she had been thinking.

The men joined the women on the porch and they entered the house with Rosemary leading the way. Eleanor tried not to openly gape at the opulent surroundings as they walked into the formal living room, but it wasn't easy: a sweeping ocean view, soaring twelve-foot ceilings with detailed, molded plasterwork, priceless antiques, museum-quality artwork, heavy, expensive carpets over shining hardwood floors, numerous bunches of fresh flowers arranged in silver or crystal or porcelain vases.

The sunlight poured through the long French windows, reflecting off the rich wood accent pieces, giving an inviting glow to the peach and soft green fabric designs on the cushions, rugs, and spare window treatments.

“What a lovely room!” Eleanor exclaimed.

“I just finished the redecorating this week. I wanted everything ready in time for the party.” Rosemary twisted her hands and glanced anxiously at Joshua. When he didn't say anything, she wandered across the room, straightening a pillow on the love seat, then brushing a speck of dust off the edge of an exquisite Pembroke table. “I hope you like it. I know you don't get down here often, Joshua, but this is still your home.”

“Very nice,” Joshua muttered, but his set face gave away none of his inner feelings.

Eleanor bit her lip. Once again the undercurrent of tension reigned supreme.

“It's a beautiful room,” Warren boomed out. “You did a superb job, Rosemary. Didn't she, Josh?”

“Superb,” Joshua repeated stonily.

They were saved from the strain of trying to make further conversation by the arrival of an older woman carrying a silver tray of drinks. Judging by the warm greeting Joshua gave her, Eleanor assumed the woman, Martha, had worked for the family for many years.

Martha blushed and protested, then grinned proudly when Joshua took the heavy tray from her and carried it the rest of the way to the sideboard.

Although both lemonade and iced tea had been brought as Eleanor had requested, she recklessly decided to join everyone else and have a vodka tonic. If the first half hour was any indication as to how the rest of the visit was going to be, Eleanor suspected she was going to need something a whole lot stronger than iced tea.

Everyone settled awkwardly on the beautiful furniture and gave their complete attention to their drinks. The moments of strained silence steadily ticked away. Eleanor searched her mind frantically for a neutral topic of conversation to introduce but was unable to come up with anything.

Well aware that with this crew any topic posed the threat of alienation or all-out war, Eleanor prudently decided it might be smarter to keep her mouth shut. She realized she had landed herself in a situation that was way over her head and the only thing she could do was hope that someone else possessed the courage to start a civilized discussion.

“Did you have nice flight down?” Rosemary finally asked, breaking the awkward silence.

“Very pleasant,” Eleanor jumped in quickly. “The flight was very smooth and the plane was so comfortable.”

“Does the company still own that gas-guzzling corporate Learjet I advised you to sell three years ago?” Warren Barton asked his son.

“Yes, it does,” Joshua replied steadily. Although his posture remained relaxed, there was no mistaking the hard, challenging glint in his eyes. “As a matter of fact, I'm seriously thinking about buying a second one so the partners don't have to share.”

“Waste of money.” Warren snorted with disapproval. He walked over to the bar and freshened his drink. “Didn't you read that article I sent you about fractional ownership of private aircraft? For a much smaller initial investment, reasonable management fees, and competitive hourly rates you can be guaranteed a jet with as little as four hours' notice.”

“Our profits have exceeded all predictions for the past three years,” Joshua said forcefully. “The firm can easily justify the cost of owning a second corporate plane.”

“Just because you can afford it, doesn't mean you should buy it,” Warren insisted. “Didn't I teach you anything?”

“Oh, I learned plenty from you.” Joshua rose from the couch. “Warren Barton, the famously frugal millionaire.”

“Now, what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It's a compliment, Father.” Joshua sighed heavily. “Without fail, I hear it at every board meeting.”

Eleanor saw Warren cast his son a puzzled look. Joshua squared his shoulders and lifted his head. “It's been a very long day. If you'll excuse us, Eleanor and I would like to relax before dinner.”

“Of course.” Rosemary jumped up from her chair like a scalded cat. “How rude of us not to realize how tired you might be. Traveling can be so draining.”

“It would be nice to freshen up.” Eleanor struggled to summon up a reassuring smile, knowing it was hardly a secret that it wasn't the traveling that was so exhausting. “We'll see you at dinner, seven-thirty in the dining room,” Warren said in a tired voice. “Maybe you'll have time for a walk on the beach or a swim in the pool before we eat. I remember when you were a youngster we could never keep you out of the pool.”

Warren Barton's wistful gaze strayed to his son, but Joshua didn't notice. There was something so sad and troubled lurking in the depths of those eyes that Eleanor immediately forgave the older man's belligerent attitude toward his child.