Going All the Way

He’d never given them reason to—he’d been proving himself ever since his grad-school interview with the communications technology partnership of Andrews, Gunn and Innes. David had been eager to be a part of the strides the company was making in the field of voice-related software, and he’d been pleased by the fact that the firm was in Massachusetts. David had deliberately looked outside the southeast to make his mark, which made him something of an exception in his family.

The Grants of Savannah often had things handed to them by virtue of their social status and wealth, but he enjoyed the challenge of relying on his merits rather than on his name. A definite contrast to his older brother, Ben, who had made it clear that when he ran for Congress next year, he planned to milk his connection to the two previous Senators Grant for all it was worth. But David looked forward to returning to Georgia now and demonstrating just how successful he could be on his own.

“Do you have plans for lunch?” Richard asked. “In light of your possible promotion, I might even consider picking up the tab. Unless you’d rather celebrate with the lovely Tiffany? I’d ditch me for her any day of the week.”

“Actually, Tiff and I, um, decided to part ways over the weekend.” Tiffany had decided, anyway. David had been rather bemused when she broke up with him…mostly because he hadn’t realized they were dating.

Richard frowned at his gaffe. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s for the best. I’m about to move, and Tiffany will find someone more suited to her in no time.”

Tiffany Jode was intelligent, gorgeous and the heiress to a small fortune—small as compared to national budgets. She and David ran in the same social circles and had ended up in bed on several enjoyable occasions. But the evenings they’d spent together had as often been a product of coincidence as of deliberate planning, and he’d never thought of Tiffany and himself as a couple. So he certainly hadn’t seen the breakup coming. He’d mentioned a few weeks ago that the AGI partners were considering Atlanta for their new headquarters, and that he’d enjoy returning to Georgia, if given the chance. On Saturday, when the subject had come up over their lunch at Turner Fisheries, she’d grown silent, barely touching the nearly famous clam chowder. On the way back to her place she asked if he’d even once considered inviting her to move South with him.

An immediate and unintentionally appalled no hadn’t been the answer she’d wanted.

“Ah, well.” Richard clapped David on the arm. “You’re a young man with plenty of other options. And there’s a lot to be said for the bachelor existence.”

Yes, there was. David had led a rich and varied social life for the last few years, work permitting. He enjoyed women. Even if lately he’d been subconsciously comparing them to the one who had pushed him away.

“Lunch sounds good,” David said, lifting his charcoal suit jacket from where it hung on the back of his chair.

“Excellent. I’ll have Francine call ahead to get us a table at the club. Meet you in about an hour?”

That gave David just enough time to finish outlining a report he was supposed to summarize this week and maybe read a few e-mails. But after he’d returned to his office, all he could think about was his impending return to the land of peaches, bad traffic and sexy Southern women. He hadn’t mentioned to his family that he might be moving back. He knew they’d be excited about his being just a few hours from home, and he’d wanted to wait until he knew for sure.

Now, he could tell them he was not only moving, but that before this time next year, he would quite probably take over as AGI’s Vice President of Business Development. The current VP had lived in Boston his entire life and had no desire to relocate now, within a few years of retirement, whereas David was young, ambitious and had contacts in the southeast. The partners could have put the move in the hands of Richard Gunn, who would also eventually transfer to Atlanta, while Andrews and Innes remained in Boston running the technological development side of the company. But obviously they wanted to give David this chance to prove himself.

He savored the thought of announcing the promotion to his proud family. Much as he loved them, he reveled in the knowledge that they hadn’t exercised any of their considerable influence to get him the position.

David had e-mailed Serena about the possibility of relocation, but in a vague, almost hypothetical way. When her “oh, that might be nice” response hadn’t exactly denoted her jumping for joy in front of her computer monitor, he’d strategically dropped the subject. I just didn’t want to jinx my chances at the leadership role. Not that he believed in jinxes…unless it was convenient.

He could call her now, he thought, as he glanced through his window at the soft rain that had begun to fall. April showers were hardly rare (hence the popular term), and the undoubtedly chilly mist outside bore no resemblance to the summer deluge that had taken him and Serena by surprise. Still, considering the way she’d been crowding his thoughts since the news this morning, it didn’t take much to bring that August downpour to mind.

They’d started the evening at an outdoor café in her eccentric neighborhood. Sharing a bottle of wine, they’d talked about being single, swapping progressively naughty anecdotes about their love lives before the unexpected storm sent them fleeing to her apartment, a renovated building that had once been a public school.

David had been sexually aware of her since he’d first seen her years ago arguing with someone in Student Affairs. But throughout their college friendship, which had begun while he briefly dated her roommate, one or both of them was usually involved with someone else, up until the time David had gone to Boston. Most of Serena’s boyfriends—such as the current touring artist David had dubbed the Happy Wanderer—were David’s polar opposites. So, when he’d spontaneously kissed her in her apartment, it had been without the usual Savannah Grant guarantee of getting what he wanted. He hadn’t been absolutely one-hundred-percent sure she’d kiss him back.

But she had. And then some. She’d gone from a flirtatious friend he met for a few annual dinners to a blond siren with glinting brown eyes and a body like hot satin.

His memories played in digitized HiDef with surround-sound: the wanton invitation in her body as she’d reclined across that ridiculous purple couch of hers—a couch he hadn’t been so inclined to mock the next morning—the glow of her ivory skin and the tiny gold navel ring illuminated by flashes of lightning. The feel of her beneath his hands and mouth as he’d conducted a slow, teasingly soft exploration in direct contrast to the urgently pounding rain on the roof above them.

It had been sexual nirvana, and when his plane had touched down the next day at Logan, he’d already been thinking about how soon he could get back to Atlanta—not that they’d discussed seeing each other again. They’d overslept, and he’d barely caught a cab in enough time to make his flight. Then he’d come home to that damn e-mail that professed her longstanding “affection” for him and ended with the insistence that they resume a platonic friendship.

Since her announcement that she’d started dating Happy, David had dated plenty, too. He’d had a good time, but he’d yet to reexperience the explosive chemistry he’d shared with Serena. He supposed they’d never know what would have happened if she hadn’t been “too busy” to see him when he’d returned to Georgia for the holidays.

Now, he’d be returning permanently. David grinned at the possibilities. Yes, Serena was strong-willed and in a quasi-relationship. But David was a Savannah Grant, and judging by this morning’s signs, he had to conclude the universe was on his side.

Had she reconsidered the platonic guidelines in the months since he’d last seen her? Did she think of their night together? How would the sexual innuendo that had crept back into their e-mails translate to a face-to-face meeting?

Only one way to find out.

SERENA DONAVAN’S computer screen displayed the spreadsheets for this month’s income and expenses, but the information there was depressing enough that she was mostly staring out through the reception area’s picture window into the tiled hallway. For a Friday, today had pretty much sucked. Should’ve worn my lucky earrings.

The two-room office suite with its eclectic furniture might not be posh, but the near-Buckhead address for her self-owned business wasn’t cheap. She needed more lucrative offers than the earlier fraternity request, asking if she’d exchange her party-organizing services for beer—or, even less likely, for the amorous attentions of a post-grad who claimed he could ruin her for other men.

On the bright side, the slow business day meant her assistant’s absence wasn’t a strain, but it also meant reduced chances of a profit this month. Or electricity next month. Since Serena had to shell out money for caterers and deejays ahead of time, she was the one in a crunch if clients missed a payment or, in the case of this morning’s thrilling news, bounced a check.

When the phone rang, Serena mentally crossed her fingers. She settled the headset behind her ear, summoning her optimism as she pressed the call-intercept button. Even another dead-end inquiry was better than her bank informing her that her account was being charged for someone else’s insufficient funds. She’d have to ask her father, the southeast regional manager of a bank chain, about the logic behind that penalty.

“Inventive Events,” she said with a smile, trying to infuse her words with the right blend of bold creativity and competitive pricing. “We party professionally.”

“Hi.” There was a pause before the warm male voice asked, “Serena?”

David.

Speaking of ruining a girl for other men…

“Hey.” She blinked. “Long time, no hear.” In the technical sense, anyway.

They kept up with each other, but not usually by phone. E-mail allowed her to write if she happened to be thinking of him at two in the morning, and helped him stay in touch despite his executive workload with a voice technology corporation. Or his ever-so-slightly less hectic schedule squiring around socialites.

Maybe she was just feeling grouchy about his dating because her most recent relationship had fizzled.

It suddenly occurred to Serena that the pause in their barely begun conversation bordered on awkward. “David?”

“Sorry,” he said. “Hearing your voice threw me for a loop. I was expecting your assistant to answer, so when I got you, it caught me off guard.”

“I gave Natalie the day off to nurse a broken heart,” Serena explained.

“Softie.”

The slight warble of cellular static didn’t mask the grin in his voice. When she’d made the uncharacteristic decision to major in business—one of the few her father had ever approved of—no one had doubted she was smart enough to handle the coursework. But plenty had questioned whether or not she had the personality and killer instincts for it.

Her good-boss gesture, however, had been a purely selfish act of sanity preservation. Natalie saw her breakup, coming so soon after Serena’s, as a huge potential for bonding. She refused to believe that Serena wasn’t upset about being abandoned by Patrick…which she still hadn’t mentioned to David. He’d teased her enough during her relationship with the celebrated sculptor who was wandering the country in a quixotic quest for inspiration.

I’ll tell David about the breakup some other time, Serena rationalized, when we’re not on his dime. Yeah, because a Savannah Grant ever worried about dimes. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”

“Oh, the usual. Just wanted to ask what you’re wearing.”

She laughed, echoing his teasing tone and glib reply. “The usual. Leather pants and black bustier.”

His appreciative wolf-whistle made her wonder where he was and if there were people in earshot speculating on his conversation. Clearly, David had ducked out a little early and wasn’t stuck inside his office on a gorgeous spring day. Assuming it was gorgeous in Boston.

She spared a wistful sigh for the afternoon she could have had if she’d been irresponsible enough to play hooky. Tricia, the mother who had raised her in a modern-day art commune after the divorce, would have blown off work to spend the day “nurturing herself,” but Serena had been influenced just enough by her father to keep her in the office today. He’d been so dedicated to work that his wife and daughter had seen him less and less each year.

Dismissing thoughts of her parents, she asked, “So, where are you calling from?”

“You’re going to have to give me a minute. I’m still working on this visual,” David drawled in a send-shivers-up-her-spine tone. In the sterile, black-and-white, Arial 12 e-mail format, their flirting was mostly benign, but when rendered in that husky voice…