Page 101 of Second Act
“Trust me, he’ll make a grand entrance with Gavin, so the paps can do their thing and INK can get their publicity. Also, he doesn’t want to have to schmooze for too long before the ceremony starts.”
As soon as they’d checked in and been admitted, Quentin piloted Jessica over to one of the bars set up for the preceremony cocktail hour. “Liquid courage,” he said, handing her a glass of white wine.
Peering over the rim of her wineglass, she watched the swirl of guests, many of whom looked slightly uncomfortable in their fancy gowns and tuxedos. She liked that about them.
“Too much black,” Quentin said dismissively. “It’s the amateurs’ safety net. They think you can’t go wrong with black, but, oh, you can.” He pointed out a woman in a black dress that sported both ruffles and fringe.
“It has lots of movement,” Jessica said, taking another swig of sauvignon blanc.
“Just like Jell-O.”
Jessica nearly spit out her wine.
Quentin continued to entertain her with comments on their fellow guests’ apparel, and after she drank a second glass of wine, Jessica could appreciate the lavish surroundings of glittering crystal chandeliers, cream wallpaper with glossy gold stripes, and deep-piled burgundy carpet. Music from a string quartet provided a counterpoint to the hum of conversation.
They’d meandered over to inspect a large oil painting of New York in the 1800s when the voices picked up a sudden note of urgency and heads began to swivel toward the entrance all the way across the crowded room.
“And he’s here,” Quentin said softly but with a certain tension.
Jessica spun around, her heart pounding like a racehorse’s at the starting line. She swallowed to clear the knot of tension tightening around her throat.
“Let him come to you,” Quentin reminded her. “I promise you he will.”
Somehow she stood still as she caught short, flashing glimpses of Hugh, devastatingly handsome in the tuxedo that fit across his broad shoulders like a glove. She tried to read his expression, but he wore his movie-star-meeting-the-public mask, giving nothing away. He smiled, he nodded, he shook hands, and he never stopped moving. She wondered with a sudden breathlessness if he was searching for her in the crowd.
Her nerves coiled tighter and tighter as he got closer, and she worried that her stomach might reject the wine she’d just drunk. Quentin was talking, but it was pure static in her ears. Her entire focus was on the man now just three knots of people away. How would he feel about her surprise appearance at the party? Would he walk away or hear her out? She scanned the polite smile on his face, the attentive angle of his head, the squared set of his shoulders, and his every gesture, desperate for any clue that might help her prepare for their encounter.
The crowd shifted as Hugh approached, leaving a clear line of sight between them. He froze into absolute stillness, his smile evaporating, his blue gaze locked on her like a laser, and she lost her ability to breathe. She summoned up a smile and nodded, just as he had been doing.
Without a word to the people around him, he came straight toward her, ignoring greetings and proffered hands as he passed. His dark tux and long, fluid stride conjured up a large, predatory cat prowling toward his prey.
She gripped her jeweled purse so hard that the frame pressed against the bones of her fingers as a quiver of nerves rippled through her.
When he was within three feet of her, he came to a halt. “Jess. I can’t believe you’re here.” Astonishment rang in his voice. His gaze skimmed down her body, and a strange, tortured smile twisted his lips. “Wearing scrubs.”
For a moment, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Seeing him again wrenched everything inside her with longing and loss. Then her heart told her exactly what to do.
Turning to the guests nearest her, she said, “You should get out your cell phones. You’ll want to take a picture of this.” More proof that she was prepared to fight for him.
Then she walked right up to Hugh, put one hand on the back of his head, and pulled his mouth down to hers for a kiss that poured out all of the feelings churning inside her: the wired coil of nerves, the hollow, gray ache of his absence, the sharp-clawed fear of losing him, but most of all, the heart-stretching love for everything he was.
When he didn’t respond, despair began to roll through her in a cold, dark wave, but then his arms came around her and he crushed her against him, his mouth slanting over hers as though trying to inhale her.
A rush of relief welled up inside her, and she allowed herself to simply revel in the wonderful, familiar feel of him: the silky texture of his hair, the exotic scent of his soap, the steel of his muscles under the wool of his tuxedo, and his mouth—oh, that clever, deft, sexy mouth! She felt the wisps of heat drifting through her body, fanned by the press of his lips to glow hotter and hotter.
As she became aware of a ripple of applause, Hugh broke the kiss, lifting his head to look around with a dazed expression. “I forgot we were...let’s go somewhere else,” he said, his arm banded around her waist as he headed for a plain door set in the wall near one of the bars.
She glanced back at Quentin, who gave her two thumbs up and a dazzling smile.
As Hugh swept her forward, Jessica noticed one guest with her cell phone raised to take a photo or video. “Hey, if you post that on social media, will you tag me?” Jessica asked with a grin.
The woman looked a little taken aback by Jessica’s directness, but she nodded.
“What is going on with you?” Hugh asked.
“Just enjoying myself.” And she was, because having Hugh’s arm around her felt so right.
As he drew them through the crowd, people moved out of their way, some whispering, some smiling. More cell phones were lifted in the classic picture-taking pose. There would be plenty of photos out in the world, so Jessica had accomplished one part of her plan.
