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  "You're tense," he murmured. "Jittery. I like it."

  "You would. I need a clear mind and a good night's sleep. I'm going to take a sleeping pill."

  "Let's try something else." He shook his head when she eyed him balefully. "Can't you think of anything but sex? I'm going to rub your back."

  Doubt mixed with interest. "You are?"

  "Guaranteed to beat off tension and chase away insomnia," he promised as he led her back to the bed. "Lie down on your stomach, duchess, close your eyes, and leave it to me."

  Wary, she twisted her head to look at him. "Just my back?"

  "Neck and shoulders, too. That's a girl." He eased her down, straddled her, and grinned when all those long lovely muscles bunched into wires. He pressed the heels of his hands just at the base of her neck. "What's worrying you, baby?"

  "Things."

  "Name one."

  You was the first answer on her tongue, but she bit that one off. "Those quarterly tax things are almost due, and sales are down."

  "How down?"

  "We've never matched the sales from the first two weeks. Kate says Candy hasn't done that much damage—it's just the natural leveling off of a new business. But I'm afraid I might have made a mistake funneling money into this reception when I should be using it for day-to-day expenses. God, you have wonderful hands."

  "That's what they all say."

  "The necklace I'm contributing was priced at eighty-five hundred. It's a big chunk out of inventory."

  "It'll also be an excellent deduction."

  "That's what Kate said." Her voice thickened as he stroked the tension out of her shoulders. "I'm tired of being afraid, Josh."

  "I know."

  "I never used to be afraid of anything. Now everything scares me."

  "Including me."

  "Hmm." She was drifting off, too tired to deny it. "I don't want to mess things up again."

  "I'm not going to let you." He leaned down to touch his lips to her shoulder. "Go to sleep, Margo. Everything's on the right track."

  "Don't go away," she managed before she sank.

  "When have I ever?"

  Chapter Seventeen

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  It had to be perfect. Margo was determined that every detail of the night would go off flawlessly. It took hours of rearranging stock before she was satisfied that she had achieved just the right presentation, the best traffic pattern, the most attractive corner for the harpist, who was even now tuning up.

  She had redressed the window, highlighting the pearl choker with just a few carefully selected bottles and trinket boxes and silk scarves to add color.

  The gilded banister that ringed the second floor was sparkling with fairy lights. Vases and decorative urns were filled with fall flowers and hothouse roses, culled from the Templeton gardens and greenhouse and elegantly arranged by her mother. On the tiny veranda, still more flowers bloomed lusciously out of copper pots and glazed pottery.

  She had personally buffed, polished, and scrubbed every surface of the shop until it shined.

  It was just a matter of controlling every detail, she told herself as she puffed manically on a cigarette. Of making sure everything was first class and overlooking nothing.

  Had she overlooked something?

  Turning, she studied herself in the wall of decorative mirrors. She wore the little black dress she'd chosen for her first dinner back at Templeton House. The neckline, that low square, was the perfect canvas for the choker. It had seemed a smart sales pitch to remove it from the window and display it against soft, female flesh. And she realized she'd chosen well when she'd selected that piece to auction.

  Not just because it was elegant and lovely, she mused. Because it reminded her of a time of her life that would never come again. And a lonely old man she had had enough heart to care for.

  So rare, she thought, for Margo Sullivan to have heart, to do something out of kindness rather than calculation.

  Dozens of Margos, she mused. It had taken her almost twenty-nine years to realize that there were dozens of Margos. One who would throw caution to the winds, another who would worry endlessly. There was the Margo who knew how to hot-wax an antique table and the one who could laze away the day with a fashion magazine. The one who understood the rich pleasure of buying an art nouveau bottle for no more reason than seeing it sit on a shelf. And the one who'd learned to thrill at selling it. The one who could flash a smile and turn men to jelly, no matter what their age.

  And the one who was suddenly able to think of only one man.

  Where was he? Sick with nerves, she lit yet another cigarette. It was nearly time, nearly zero hour. He should have been there. This was a crisis point in her life. Josh was always there at the crisis points.

  Always there, she thought, with a dull jolt of surprise. How odd that he should always be there at her turning points.

  "Why don't you just chew that pack up, swallow it, and get it over with?" Kate suggested as she came through the door. "What?"

  "If you're going to eat that cigarette, you might as well use your teeth. Traffic's murder out there," she added. "I had to park three blocks away, and I don't appreciate the hike in these stupid shoes you made me buy." Shrugging out of her practical coat, she lifted her arms. "Well, am I going to pass the audition?"

  "Let's have a look." Margo crushed out the cigarette and with lips pursed circled her finger so Kate would turn around. The long sweep of the simple black velvet suited the angular frame, and the flirty scoop-necked bodice added softness. The back dipped alluringly.

  "I knew it would be perfect for you. Despite being all skin and bones and flat-chested, you look almost elegant."

  "I feel like an impostor, and I'm going to freeze." Kate didn't mind the critique of her body nearly as much as the inconvenience of bare shoulders. "I don't see why I couldn't wear my own clothes. That dinner suit I have is fine."

  "That dinner suit is fine for the next accountant convention you go to." Margo knit her well-shaped eyebrows. "Those earrings."

  "What?" Protectively, Kate closed her hands over earlobes decorated with simple gold swirls. "They're my best ones."

  "And so department store. How could we have been raised in the same house?" Margo wondered and marched over to the jewelry display. After sober study, she chose jaw-length swings of rhinestones.

  "I'm not wearing those chandeliers. I'll look ridiculous."

  "Don't argue with the expert. Put them on like a good girl."

  "Oh, I hate playing dress-up." Bad-temperedly, Kate strode to a mirror and made the exchange. She hated more that Margo was right. They added dash.

  "Kitchen's under control." Laura started down the winding steps balancing a silver tray with three flutes of champagne. "I thought we'd have our own private toast before—" She paused at the bottom, grinned. "Wow! Don't we look fabulous?"

  Margo studied Laura's slim black evening suit, trimmed in satin, winking with buttons of rhinestone and pearl. "Don't we just?"

  "I don't see why we all had to wear black," Kate complained.

  "We're making a statement." Margo took her glass, lifted it. "To partners." After one sip, she pressed a hand to her stomach. "My system's gone haywire."

  "Want a Turns?" Kate asked.

  "No. Unlike you, I don't consider antacids a member of the four major food groups."

  "Oh, yeah, you'd rather hit the Xanax, chase it with a little Prozac."

  "I am not taking tranquilizers." But she had one in her bag, just in case. No need to mention it. "Now take that thing you call a coat into the back room before it scares off the guests. You sure I shouldn't check upstairs?" she asked Laura.

  "Everything's fine. Don't worry so much."

  "I'm not worried. This little party's only costing us about ten thousand dollars. Why should I be worried? Did I overdo it with the fairy lights?"

  "They look charming. Get a grip, Margo."

  "I'm getting one. But maybe a little Xanax wouldn't hurt. />
  "No, no." She tugged another cigarette out of the pack on the counter. "I'm handling this without chemical assistance." She caught Laura's bland look at the wine and tobacco and hissed out a breath. "Don't expect miracles."

  But she made herself put the cigarette back. "I know I'm obsessing."

  "Well," Laura said with a bland smile, "as long as you know."

  "What I don't know is how this event got to be worse than the opening. Maybe it's because your parents put off going back to Europe to stay for it."

  "And because rubbing Candy's nose in a bust-out success wouldn't hurt," Kate added as she came back from the storeroom.

  "There is that," Margo agreed and found some comfort in it. "Bottom line, the shop isn't a means to an end the way I expected it to be. And I'm not just worried that we'll all lose what we put into it. It's gotten to be more important than money." She glanced around at the setting where what had been hers was offered. "And I'm feeling a little guilty, I realize, that I've dragged this charity, this children's charity into it just so I can keep the doors open."

  "That's just plain dumb," Kate said flatly. "The charity is going to benefit. Without fundraisers and patrons eyeing the tax deduction, it would have to close its doors."

  "Be sure to tell me that whenever I get a greedy gleam in my eye." And she had one now. "Damn, I want to empty some deep pockets tonight."

  "That's more like it." Kate lifted her glass in approval. "You were starting to worry me." She looked around as the door opened. "Oh, God, my heart." She patted her hand against her chest. "There's nothing like a man in a monkey suit to start it fluttering."

  "You look nice, too." Josh, sleeked into black tie, held out three white roses. "Actually, the three of you would knock the breath out of the Seventh Fleet."

  "Let's get this charming man some champagne, Kate." Taking her friend firmly by the hand, Laura tugged her toward the steps.

  "It doesn't take two of us."

  "Get a clue."

  Kate glanced back, noted the way Josh and Margo were staring at each other, and shook her head. "Jesus, isn't knowing they're sleeping together enough without having to watch them smolder? People should have some control."

  "You have enough for everybody," Laura murmured and pulled her up the rest of the way.

  "I was afraid you wouldn't be here in time."

  Josh lifted Margo's hand to his lips, then angled his wrist to look at his watch. "Fifteen minutes to spare. I figured if I made a fashionably late entrance, you'd kill me in my sleep."

  "Good guess. What do you think? Does everything look right?"

  "You really expect me to look at anything but you?"

  She laughed even as her pulse jittered. "Boy, I must be in bad shape when a shopworn line like that hits the mark."

  "I mean it," he said and watched her smile fade. "I adore looking at you." Laying a hand on her cheek, he leaned down and buckled her knees with a long, slow, thorough kiss. "Beautiful Margo. Mine."

  "Well, you're certainly taking my mind off my… kiss me again."

  "Glad to."

  Deeper this time, longer, until everything but him drained from her mind. When she eased away, his hand remained gentle on her cheek. "It's different," she managed.

  "You're catching on."

  "It's not supposed to be." New nerves, different nerves, jittered. "I don't know if it can be."

  "Too late," he murmured.

  There was the panic again, spurting up through mists of pleasure. "I have to—" She nearly shuddered with relief when the door opened.

  "Thought we'd beat the rush," Thomas claimed. "Take your hands off the girl, Josh, and give someone else a chance." When Margo rushed into his arms, he wiggled his brows teasingly at his son. "She was mine first."

  First didn't mean a damn, Josh thought as he leaned negligently on the counter. Last was what counted.

  At least, he was trying to believe that.

  By ten, two hours after the doors opened for Pretenses' First Annual Reception and Charity Auction, Margo was in her element. This was something she understood—beautifully dressed people chatting, bumping silk-covered elbows as they sipped wine or designer water.

  It was a world she had focused her life on entering. And this time, they'd come to her.

  "We thought a week or two in Palm Springs would do the trick."

  "I don't know how she continues to turn a blind eye to his affairs. They're so blatant."

  "I haven't seen him since the last time we were in Paris."

  Small talk among the privileged, Margo thought, and she knew how to chat right back. Entertaining had been one of her hobbies in Milan. She knew how to juggle three conversations, keep an eye on the roving waiters, and pretend she had nothing on her mind but the next sip of champagne.

  She also knew how to ignore, when necessary, the catty and sly snippets that came to her ears.

  "Imagine having to sell everything. I mean, darling, even your shoes."

  "…just last week that Peter asked her to file for the divorce so that she could save face. The poor thing's frigid. The doctors haven't been able to help her."

  Margo wouldn't have ignored that one, if she could have found the source, but before she could ease away and try to locate it, there was more.

  "So clever, the way it's all set up like some interesting European flat. And I simply adore the collection of compacts. I must have the little elephant."

  "There's a Valentino in the other room, darling, that just screamed your name. You really should see it."

  Let them talk as much as they wanted, Margo decided and pasted a smile back on her face. And let them buy. "Great party." Judy Prentice slipped up to Margo's side. "Thanks."

  "I guess Candy had a prior commitment."

  Matching the gleam in Judy's eye, Margo smiled. "She wasn't invited."

  "Really?" Judy leaned closer to Margo's ear. "That'll burn her ass."

  "I do like you."

  "In that case, you won't mind putting that flora minaudiere aside for me until I can get in to pick it up?''

  "The Judith Leiber? Consider it yours. There's a matching lipstick case, and a compact too. It makes a really fabulous set."

  "Your middle name's Satan, right?" Judy tossed up a hand. "Put them all aside for me. I'll be in next week."

  "We appreciate your patronage." She laid a hand on Judy's shoulder as she eased by. "Oh, and don't forget to save something to bid on the choker. I heard it screaming your name."

  "You are the devil."

  With a laugh, Margo moved on to the next group. "So nice to see you. What a gorgeous bracelet."

  "She's a natural, isn't she?" Susan murmured to her son. "No one would know there's a nerve in her body."

  "See the way she's running her fingers up the stem of her glass. She can't keep her hands still when she's tense. But she's pulling it off."

  "So well that I just had Laura put aside two jackets, a bag, and a jeweled snuff bottle for me." Tucking her arm through Josh's, Susan laughed at herself. "They were Laura's jackets, for God's sake. I'm buying my own daughter's castoffs."

  "She comes by her excellent taste honestly. Except in men."

  Susan patted his hand. "She was too young to know any better, too much in love to be stopped." Laura was older now, Susan thought, and hurting. "You'll keep your eye on her and the girls once your father and I leave, won't you?"

  "I guess I haven't been doing my brotherly duty very well lately."

  "You've been distracted, and you've earned your own life." Her eyes, sharp and maternal, scanned the room until they found Laura. "I'm a little worried that she's holding up too well."

  "You'd rather she fell to pieces."

  "I'd rather be sure that if and when she does, someone's there for her." Then she smiled, watching Kate and Margo grab a quick moment with Laura. "They will be."

  "We've got to make some sort of list," Margo whispered. "Otherwise, we're going to be promising the same things to different people. I'll ne
ver keep it all in my head."

  "I told you to keep the cash register open," Kate grumbled.

  "It would be tacky."

  She sent Margo a withering look. "It's a store, pal."

  "Margo's right—you don't go ringing up sales and making change at an affair like this."

  "God save me from delicate tastes." Kate blew out a breath that fluttered her bangs. "I'll duck into the storeroom and log the promised merchandise. What the hell was it you said, a minatoe?"

  "A minaudiere," Margo said with a superior smirk. "Just put down 'jeweled evening bag.' I'll know what it is. And don't start playing with the computer. You have to mingle."

  "I'm mingled out. Except there's this one guy. He's kind of cute." She craned her head, zeroed in. "There, the one with the moustache and shoulders. See him?"

  "Lincoln Howard." Laura identified him easily. "Married."

  "Figures." Muttering, Kate walked off.

  "You ought to make her keep that dress," Laura commented. "I've never seen her look better."

  "She'd look better yet if she didn't walk as though she was late for an audit." Margo caught herself before she pressed a hand to her jumpy stomach again. "We're going to have to start the auction, Laura." She gripped her friend's hand. "Christ, I need a cigarette."

  "Make it fast, then. The rep from Wednesday's Child has been giving me the high sign for ten minutes."

  "No, I'll suck it in and make another pass so people can cast avaricious looks at the pearls. Then I'll work my way over to Mr. T., and tell him to start the auction."

  She started the glide, pausing here and there to touch someone's arm, share a quick laugh, to note who needed a refill of champagne. The minute she saw Kate come back out of the storeroom, she stepped up to Thomas.

  "It's showtime. I want to thank you again for helping us out."

  "It's a good cause, and good business." He patted her head affectionately. "Let's hose 'em."

  "Damn right." She kept her hand in his as they stepped to the front of the room. She knew the murmurs would grow as people turned their heads to study them, knew how to let them play out as she, in turn, sized up the room. From close by, she caught a curious whisper.

  "I don't know what Candy was talking about. She doesn't look debilitated or desperate."

  "Tommy Templeton wouldn't have let things go so far with his son if she was the conniving whore Candy claims she is."

  "Darling, if men recognized conniving whores when they saw them, it wouldn't be the oldest profession."