What was going on?

What was he up to?

Why the delay? What was going to happen at six?

I turned to Dizzy, the questions on my lips.

“Uh-uh,” my brother shook his head, reading my expression. “I’m sworn to secrecy.” He hugged me. “Don’t look so worried.”

I drew back and took in a deep breath.

“He’s the one.” Justin hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “The guy you said you’d never get over.”

I’d forgotten that he was even there.

“Looks to me like the feeling’s entirely mutual.”

“I hope so,” I sighed.

He smiled and kissed my cheek. “Call me later.”

“Alright.” I managed a small smile of my own before turning back to Dizzy. “That all your luggage?”

He nodded. “Just that and my guitar.”

“Ok.” We weren’t going to need a bellhop. “I’m on this side.” I gestured to the left. He grabbed his bags and started to follow me down the corridor. We passed the tiny gift shop and I led him to a narrow hallway that had just two small elevators. “How are King and Sager doing?” I asked trying to make small talk. I needed a distraction. What I really wanted to do was grill him about Bryan.

“They’re good,” he replied as we rode up. “Usual K&S routine on the plane ride, both of them cutting up and trying to get a cell number from the first class flight attendant. Without Bryan to help me keep them in line it was tough.”

“What?” I asked, my brows furrowing. “You said you all came up together.”

“Oops.” He gave me a sheepish smile.

I let him off the hook until I had him inside the apartment. “Dizzy Lowell.” I put my hands on my hips, confronting him. “You tell me right now. What the hell is going on?”

He set down his cases and pulled an embossed vellum envelope out of his jacket pocket. It had my name scrawled on the front in Bryan’s handwriting. “He’ll tell you himself in a couple of hours.”

43

I clutched the invitation in my hands and looked down at my formal gown. The light pink silk dress was a 1965 vintage Oleg Cassini, strapless and gathered in an elegant rhinestone encrusted bow beneath my breasts. It was a real find, very Jackie O. The dress and shoes had been delivered to my apartment moments after Dizzy and I had entered.

My palms were sweaty as I waited in the lobby for him to pick me up. I didn’t know what to expect tonight. The invitation just said dinner and dancing and was signed, “Love, Bryan.”

Oh yeah, I read a lot into that salutation and was mulling over the possibilities when the limo pulled into the front circle past the clipped topiaries with their twinkling white light adornments. Keeping with the sixties theme, the car was a 1968 cream colored Mercedes Benz.

Wow. This was quite the elaborate set up.

I pulled the matching silk wrap around my shoulder. It didn’t do much to ward off the damp, chilly Vancouver night air but it gave me something to do with my hands. My legs were another story. My heels felt as shaky and fragile as glass slippers as I walked out to meet him.

A uniformed driver popped out of the vehicle and scurried to open the back door for me. I thanked him as I ducked in, expecting to see Bryan, disappointed to discover that he wasn’t there.

The driver folded himself into the front, and tipped his cap to me in the rearview mirror. “Mr. Jackson said to tell you that you look beautiful.”

I smirked. I couldn’t help it. How could he know that?

“He also said to tell you that he’s waiting for you at the restaurant. It’s only a short drive from here.”

I nodded my head, settled into the seat and tried to relax. I looked out the window as he drove. The lights of downtown sparkled in the light evening mist. I noticed we were driving downhill toward the waterfront.

After just a ten minute drive, the driver pulled up in front of a tall glass building, turned off the engine, and came around to open the door for me. He waited as I smoothed out the ankle length skirt before offering me his arm.

“I’m to escort you to him,” he explained.

We rode the elevator up to the thirty-fifth floor in silence. I found myself more and more curious as to what was coming next. When the door slid open, I gasped. I didn’t even remember stepping off the elevator or the driver leaving. I just stood there in complete awe.

The restaurant was deserted, but all around me candles flickered atop tables draped in white linen and sprinkled with red rose petals. Out the windows and beyond the waterfront, the lights of West Vancouver sparkled elegantly in the distance.

The invitation, the gown, the car, and now this. I was overwhelmed with the emotions that swirled around inside of me. He’d gone to an awful lot of trouble. No one had ever done anything so special for me. Tears filled my eyes, and then he stepped out before me.

“When a Man Loves a Woman” began to play over the sound system, but my blurry eyes, my heart, my soul were all focused on him. He’d never looked so handsome or so serious. His hair was un-gelled, the longer strands resting against his forehead. A tuxedo black jacket hugged his broad shoulders, a white shirt and black silk tie underneath. Black trousers moved fluidly against his thighs as he walked toward me his hand outstretched, his grey green eyes beckoning with deep emotion.

“You look wonderful, Lace.”

I put my hand in his, a surge of warmth blushing my cheeks as soon as we touched. He led me out to the middle of the dance floor. I moved into his arms, inhaling deeply, my senses flooded with the familiar spicy scent of him. I licked my suddenly dry lips.

His presence, his hands on my bare skin, the strength of his shoulders beneath my fingertips, the evening, the way I felt about him, all of it, made me sway a bit as if I were a little tipsy.

I drew in a shaky breath and gazed up at him. His eyes were heavy lidded, his face drawn tight with desire I was sure matched my own.

He closed in. I didn’t resist.

The time for caution was over. This man had me from the moment he’d made that first silly face when I was five. I’d only gotten a tiny glimpse of his tender heart back then, but it had been more than enough to completely rock my world. He was the constant in my life, my irresistible refrain. I could no more keep myself from needing, wanting, or returning to him than I could keep myself from breathing.

It was always going to be him.