A Bachelor At The Wedding

Stephanie had a far different view. She’d already heard the lowdown on Matt Harding. For one thing, the dynamic founder of Harding Hotels was reputed to be demanding and temperamental, totally charming one minute, then biting someone’s head off the next.

So far she’d barely glimpsed the charming side. The past few weeks had been mostly snarling, barking and a few nips here and there—or totally ignoring her. Which she found most unnerving of all.

Then there was this other problem. Matt Harding himself, an undisputable hunk. With enough masculine magnetism to light up Times Square. When her friends found out she’d been called upon to babysit “His Royal Hotness” they’d had a field day teasing her and giggling endlessly over silly, adolescent fantasies. Stephanie either ignored them, or denied that she felt any attraction.

Nobody believed her. Why would they? He was just that good-looking…or something. Stephanie could never quite figure out what it was about Matt Harding that set him apart—she just knew, whatever it was, he had plenty of it.

Yes, secretly she was attracted to him, though she’d never admit it in a million years, not even to her closest friends.

Insanely attracted.

It was insane, Stephanie often reminded herself. And pointless. Like yearning after a movie star or sports figure, some guy so distant and unattainable, he didn’t even know you were alive.

Besides, Stephanie knew by now a good relationship was more than a physical attraction. Matthew Harding had his shortcomings. To begin with, he was arrogant, a total egotist, and extremely insensitive. Not the type of man she admired and respected at all. Therefore, no problem. Right?

The kind of man she envisioned settling down with would be solid, sensitive and warm. He would share her values and background. He was not a self-centered playboy, running around with models and actresses half his age. He wanted a wife and family, a real life—and he’d want to make a real and lasting commitment.

The description of her ideal brought to mind her former fiancé, Tommy Torelli. They’d grown up in the same neighborhood of Brooklyn, homey Carroll Gardens. They’d gone to the same schools and had known each other forever. Their parents were friends and Tommy was almost like family.

Stephanie’s father had always predicted that one of his daughters would end up a Torelli. But Tommy, in his careful methodical way, took his sweet time making his choice. The summer after Stephanie graduated from college, he asked her out on a date. She’d thought he was joking at first, but when she realized he was serious, Stephanie said, “Sure, why not?”

Maybe that would have been good enough for most people—a comfortable, feet-on-solid-ground start for the same type of clearheaded romance. But it wasn’t quite good enough for Stephanie. She wanted more. Some indefinable but essential ingredient was missing. She hadn’t noticed it at first, but as time went on, she realized her so-called romance with Tommy never quite progressed beyond, “Sure, why not?”

She might be willing to date a man for that reason, and even go steady for several years. But she ultimately discovered she could not answer his mature and logical proposal of marriage by saying, “Sure, why not?”

Tommy was dear, he was sweet. He had good values, a strong character, an easygoing, pleasant personality. Their backgrounds were so similar, they could share a private joke with a mere glance. But Tommy was not the man she wanted to share her life with.

Her family was shocked and unhappy when Stephanie announced the breakup. Her parents had hoped Angie’s wedding would inspire Stephanie to set the date as well. They’d never imagined Angie’s nuptials would have just the opposite effect.

“You’re throwing away a good chance here, Stephanie,” her mother warned. “I just don’t understand you sometimes.”

Then her father chimed in, “You’re just nervous, sweetie. Everybody’s afraid to get married, believe me. Sure you like your job. It’s fine for a girl to work until the babies come. But you don’t want to end up like Aunt Lily, do you? Living alone with a bunch of cats to keep you company?”

Aunt Lily was her grandmother’s so-called spinster sister. The story was that when her fiancé died in World War II, Lily would have no other. A spinster or not, Aunt Lily had always seemed very happy and fulfilled to Stephanie. She’d been a schoolteacher and now was active in her retirement years, always traveling to exotic places on educational tours for seniors. Lily always invited Nana Bella to come along, but Stephanie’s parents always dissuaded her. Despite her father’s dire warning, Aunt Lily’s golden years didn’t look half bad to Stephanie.

Besides, women had far more choices these days. But try telling that to her well-meaning, but totally sexist, traditional father. He was hardly aware that women had the vote.

What was the use of arguing? Stephanie couldn’t explain it. Tommy was a little too steady and settled. She wanted to get married, not turn into a zombie.

Only Grandma Bella seemed to understand. “Don’t listen to your father. He’s not the one marrying Tommy. You did the right thing, sweetheart. Tommy’s a nice boy, don’t get me wrong. But figlia bella, he’s not for you,” Grandma agreed with a brisk shake of her head. “You need a little…fire.”

But who was for her? What faceless stranger would step out of the shadows to inspire that head-over-heels feeling she was holding out for? That breathless rush that reminds a person that life is more than going to work, eating dinner and watching the six-o’clock news? The pure elation and connection of two minds and souls that can fill you with absolute joy?

Who was that man, who would share this adventure with her, Stephanie wondered as she gazed out her office window.

It certainly was not Matt Harding.

If she felt he was taking some personal notice of her today, that was merely her overactive imagination. Matt Harding did not look at a woman like her twice. Not when he had the “flavor of the week” supermodels lined up as his Saturday night dates, she reminded herself. All she had to do was open the New York society pages to get dashed with cold water, washing away any misconceptions she might have about his interest in her. Not to mention the hotel grapevine, always ripe for the picking with rumors about her sexy boss’s exploits.

There were other rumors too, a sad story about his past. How he’d married his college sweetheart, but she’d broken his heart. According to the gossip, she’d not only left him for another man, but also somehow walked away with the savings he’d planned to use to start his business. He’d been spurned, burned and left with nothing. Somehow, he’d managed to survive those hard times and build his business anyway. But she suspected the scars from that episode went deep. Which might explain his apparent aversion to serious relationships.

But it was not for her to analyze or judge Matt Harding. She wished she didn’t think of him at all. He seemed content with his life and happy on his romantic merry-go-round. I probably make no more impression on him than a new piece of office furniture, Stephanie thought glumly.

So why did he get so personal today? Maybe he was merely curious, she reasoned. It didn’t mean anything at all.

Even if he was feeling some tiny spark of attraction, she couldn’t dare encourage it. That would be a total and complete disaster. She was in a very vulnerable state right now. She couldn’t let her guard down.

She glanced out her office windows at an extraordinary view of Central Park and the uptown skyline, which sparkled with points of light. The moon hung low in a smoky blue sky. Perfectly round and shimmering like a silver coin. Well, maybe that explained it. Nana Bella always warned her about the romantic powers of the full moon, Stephanie thought, smiling to herself.

Perhaps her domineering, gorgeous-but-grouchy boss was not immune to the spell?

Far below, she could see the sidewalks crowded with fast-walking, fast-talking New Yorkers, hurrying home to start their weekend or to meet friends…or meet a date somewhere special. Taxis darted in and out of traffic, and alongside the park entrance, horse-drawn carriages lined up, waiting to take passengers on a romantic moonlit ride.

It was a perfect night to be out in the city. But she had nowhere special to go, no one to meet. It was just as well that she worked late, Stephanie decided. Less time to feel lonely. She wouldn’t even bother trying to find another manager. Why ruin someone else’s plans, when she had none?

A dash of lipstick and a quick smoothing out of her sedate hairstyle, and she was ready to oversee the journalists’ big banquet. Who knows, she mused, as she walked toward the elevators, maybe some dashing international correspondent will sweep me away on his magic trench coat.

Like Nana Bella always said, “When you wake up in the morning, honey, you never know what’s going to happen. So make sure you always wear nice underwear, sweetheart. Okay?”

Chapter Two

Matt turned the key and let himself in his front door. A penthouse suite atop the hotel, the luxury apartment was a laughably short commute.

He strolled across the onyx floor of the foyer and into the sweeping living room. He kicked off his shoes, slipped off his suit jacket and yanked off his tie. Then he fixed himself a drink, the usual, bourbon with a splash of soda. Already past seven, he noticed. Not much time left to get ready for his date. The buff-colored leather couch, covered with large suede and Kilim tapestry pillows, looked tempting and he longed to sit back and put his feet up. But Jenna would read him the riot act if he was late. She had pull at the trendiest restaurants and hated to miss out on a good table. A table where she could see all and be seen by all.

At times, she seemed to have no greater joy in life than finding her blurry photograph in the gossip pages of the morning newspaper. Not his style at all, though so far, he humored her. He’d never courted publicity and actively avoided it. Though the paparazzi always seemed to find him a worthy subject, he couldn’t quite understand the fascination. Especially when the gossip columnists put out some absurd story about his private life. But as Jenna often reminded him, any publicity was good publicity. He wasn’t so sure about that theory, but never bothered to argue with her.

He took a bolstering swallow of his bourbon and headed for the bedroom, a large master suite. Jenna was not the deepest, most sensitive person he had ever met—but she was very good in bed. Hey, a guy can’t expect a woman to be perfect.

Unfortunately, the concept of female perfection brought to mind one woman and one alone…Stephanie Rossi. He stripped off his shirt and trousers, wondering what Stephanie was like in bed. She always seemed so quiet and controlled. Yet he had long suspected that was an act, mostly for his benefit—a “persona” she donned for the office.

For one thing, there was her sense of humor. Surprisingly sharp and even zany at times. And he’d always found you could tell a lot about a woman by watching her eat. One morning he’d spied Stephanie having breakfast at her desk, a sticky cinnamon roll and a frothy cappuccino. The way she had delicately devoured the pastry, her eyes half closed as she licked the tip of one finger, her tongue darting out, skimming the trace of sugary icing….

He felt a lump forming in his throat—and other places on his anatomy—just thinking about it. She was a deeply sensual woman—no question about it. Secretly sensual perhaps. But that would make it all the more delightful to unveil her hidden, erotic side. Yes, a man would be very lucky indeed to be granted that special privilege.

Unlike Jenna, who flaunted her sexuality so boldly he’d become numb to it. Ah, well. Like the song goes, you can’t always get what you want.

He strolled across the bedroom in his briefs, not even bothering to glance at his image in the large mirror that hung on the opposite wall. For all his good looks and the admiring glances he constantly received, he was not a vain man. His tall, wide-shouldered frame was lean and fit, with well-developed muscles in his long legs, chest and arms. His chest was covered with a mat of dark brown hair, tapering down his flat, sculpted stomach. He liked to keep fit and needed to be in top shape just to keep up with his demanding lifestyle. He worked out regularly in the hotel’s fully equipped health club, and swam laps in the Olympic-size pool. Living across the street from Central Park made it easier to take an early-morning jog, or even go cycling.

Like many men approaching forty, Matt found it wasn’t quite as easy to finish those fifty sit-ups, or sprint that last mile. He sometimes worried about going “soft” all over. Yet the truth of the matter was, he didn’t have much to worry about. The women in his life never had any complaints.

As Matt pulled a dark-plum bath sheet from the linen closet, he noticed the light flashing on the phone machine, which sat on a writing desk in the corner of the bedroom. He walked over and pressed the answer button. Jenna’s high-pitched voice greeted him. She tended to squeal when excited and he turned the volume down.

“Hey, Matt. It’s me. I was really looking forward to seeing you, sweetie. But something has come up at work and I’m leaving tonight for—guess where?—the French countryside. Top secret emergency, sweetie, so don’t tell a soul. Guess what? Brian and Melanie are getting married—” Matt frowned. He didn’t know any Brian, or Melanie. Then he realized Jenna was talking about two famous actors who were always on the cover of the supermarket tabloids. Brian Bigelow and Melanie Marsh? Something like that.

Jenna, the celebrity authority, often referred to total strangers on a first-name basis, a habit he found annoying.

Jenna’s voice rattled on, and he listened with half an ear. He already knew the punch line. He’d been stood up for Brian and Melanie. For some reason, instead of feeling let down, he felt strangely…relieved.