Scent of a Woman. Jo Leigh

click of the remote control and she paused at an old black-and-white Bette Davis movie. Now, Voyager. It had been one of her favorite films. She loved the way Bette Davis transformed from the ugly duckling into the beautiful swan. But as she watched the ending, Bette and Paul Henreid talking about their unrequited love, she shook her head. And then, the famous last line:

      “Oh, Jerry, don’t let’s ask for the moon. We have the stars.”

      “Hogwash,” Susan said to the screen. “You deserve the moon.” She snuggled against her pillows.

      “We all deserve the moon.”

      Screw it. She would go. In fact… Her phone was in her hand and she called the hotel. She debated for a moment after the reservation clerk asked if he could help. Then she threw caution to the wind and booked a suite.

      Once she hung up, her nerves got busy, illustrating in their own unique way that while her mind had confidently moved forward, heeding the call to adventure, her body was trying like hell to shrink back and stay in the cave. Her life might be dull and ordinary, but it was safe. Too safe.

      She was going. Tomorrow night. To a rendezvous with a beautiful stranger. Holy cow.

      “WHAT’S WITH SUSAN?”

      Lee Templeton dug into her crème brûlée with gusto, even as she bemoaned her current state of hugeness. After savoring her spoonful, she looked up at Katy, who was even larger, given she was eight months along. “What do you mean?”

      “Have you talked to her lately? She’s being very odd.”

      “How can you tell?”

      Katy giggled. “Odd for her. She’s doing something tonight, but she won’t say what.”

      “Huh.” Lee put her spoon down and took a big swig of milk. She shuddered a bit, not ever having been a big milk fan. But she’d do anything for her baby. Her hand went protectively to her stomach.

      “You think it’s something about Larry?”

      “I don’t know.” Katy ate a delicate piece of arugula, splashed with a hint of balsamic vinegar.

      Lee frowned with disgust. Pregnant women were supposed to have cravings for weird things. Sweet things. Not arugula, for heaven’s sake. “It’s probably nothing,” she said, remembering about Susan.

      “Yeah? When’s the last time she tried to keep a secret from us?”

      Lee didn’t have to think long. “That time she was dating that guy. That poet.”

      Katy’s right brow rose.

      “You think she’s seeing someone?”

      “Well…”

      “God, remember how awful he was? It wouldn’t have been so bad if he hadn’t written such terrible poetry.”

      “Or if he hadn’t been so damn proud of his abject poverty.”

      “Or if he hadn’t had a face like a fireplug.”

      Lee grinned. “We’re horrible.”

      “No. We’re gossips. He was horrible.”

      “She got over him quickly enough.”

      “One date was too many.”

      Lee went back to her dessert. “So you think she’s found another one?”

      “Maybe. She did promise to give the love thing another try. Although, I’m not convinced she’s completely ready.”

      “Think we should press her?”

      “Not yet,” Katy said, after a moment. “It may just be a one-time thing—an experiment or something. If that’s the case, there’s no need to worry.”

      “Where Susan is concerned there’s always need to worry.”

      “I know. Especially lately. She’s been down.”

      Lee nodded. “I think she’s feeling left out.”

      Katy’s hand went to her tummy. “Yeah.”

      “So I don’t want to, you know.”

      “Right.” Katy took another bite of salad. “We’ll let it go. See what happens.”

      “Keep our ears open.”

      “And call her first thing tomorrow morning.”

      Lee nodded. Then the crème brûlée captured her attention until the very last bite.

      DAVID WALKED DOWN Club Row, 44th Street, in Midtown Manhattan. He knew the street well, mostly because of the Bar Association headquarters, but also from going to the theater. His breath came out in sharp puffs of condensed air, and when he inhaled, it was cold enough to sting. But it wasn’t snowing, and the bitter weather wasn’t severe enough to keep most intrepid New Yorkers at home.

      He stopped outside The Versailles. The beautiful old hotel with its green and brown awnings. He tried to remember the name of the hotel that was here before. As soon as he stepped into the lobby the question vanished, replaced by the thoughts that had plagued him most of the day.

      What was he doing here? Aside from the fact that he hadn’t made love in an uncomfortably long time. And that the woman in question was stunning and mysterious and bold. And that she’d asked him.

      He walked slowly through the inviting lobby with its teakwood paneling, marble floors, and clusters of oversized velvety furniture. The hotel wasn’t big, not near the size of say The Plaza, but it screamed wealth.

      It said something about the woman that she’d chosen this place. A certain sophistication. A certain pocketbook. Or not. Oh, for God’s sake, who cared? He wasn’t here to discuss the architecture or the guests. At least he hoped not.

      He stopped and glanced at his watch. One minute early. All he had to do was turn left and walk into the bar. She’d either be waiting for him, or she wouldn’t. He wasn’t at all sure which outcome he preferred.

      After raking a hand through his hair, taking a deep breath, squaring his shoulders—he exhaled, then cursed himself for a fool. What had happened to him? Had be become so old that he couldn’t walk into a bar to pursue what might be an extraordinary adventure? In college, he’d been a madman. Yes, he’d studied, but that wasn’t the thing. He’d explored. He’d dared. He’d fallen flat on his face.

      But it hadn’t mattered. He’d wanted all life had to offer back then. What did he want now? Safety? Security? Yes. But that was the white bread of life. He also wanted spice. Heat. Daring. Dammit, he wanted Tabasco sauce, and plenty of it.

      He turned left and started walking. What the hell. The worst that could happen was… Hmm. He had no idea what the worst was. But he could clearly imagine the best.

      SUSAN LIFTED HER MARTINI to her lips, pleased that her hand barely trembled. Inside, she was a mess. Scared wasn’t the half of it. But on the outside, in the tradition of her mother and her grandmother, she was cool, calm, collected. It was a hard-won skill, but she’d had a lot of practice.

      Her mother had told her over and over that emotions had no place on the negotiation table. And what was the whole man/woman thing but negotiation?

      This was her party. She’d extended the invitation, prepared the room, including the party favors, and now, it was up to her to make certain everything went according to plan. No problem. Except perhaps for one detail: she had no idea what she was going to do with Mr. Gorgeous once she got him upstairs.

      He’d expect her to sleep with him, but was that what she wanted? A brief, sweaty interlude on a cold winter’s night?

      Maybe.

      But something told her that she’d be cheating both of them by jumping right into bed. The man, God, how could she not know his name, had something special about him. Nothing she