Bed of Roses (Bride Quartet #2)(89)

"You thought right."

She waited on the sidewalk while the doorman took their bags, then she reached for Jack's hand. "Thank you, in advance, for a lovely evening." 

"You're welcome, in advance. I'm just going to check in, have them take the bags up. The restaurant's about three blocks from here."

"Can we walk? It's beautiful out."

"Sure. Give me five minutes."

She wandered the lobby, entertaining herself with the shop windows, the lavish flower displays, the people swarming in, swarming out, until he joined her. He skimmed a hand down her back.

"Ready?"

"Absolutely." She put her hand in his again to walk out on Park Avenue. "I had a cousin who got married at the Waldorf-before Vows, of course. Huge, ultrafancy formal affair as many of the Grants' affairs are prone to be. I was fourteen, and very impressed. I still remember the flowers. Acres of flowers. Yellow roses the feature. Her bridesmaids were in yellow, too, and looked like sticks of butter, but oh, the flowers. They'd done this elaborate arbor of yellow roses and wisteria right there in the ballroom. It must have taken an army of florists. But it's what I remember best, so it must've been worth it."

She smiled at him. "What struck you most about a building that left that kind of impression on you?"

"There've been a few." He turned east at the corner, strolling while New York rushed around them. "But honestly? One of my strongest impressions was the first time I saw the Brown Estate."

"Really?"

"Plenty of mansions where I grew up in Newport, and some incredible architecture. But there was something-is something-about the estate that stands out. Its balance and lines, its understated grandeur, the confidence that combines dignity with touches of fanciful."

"That's it exactly," she agreed. "Fanciful dignity."

"When you walk in the main house, there's an immediate impression that people live there. Really live, and more, the people who live there love the house, and the land. All of it. It remains one of my favorite places in Greenwich."

"It's certainly one of mine."

He turned again, to open the door of the restaurant. The minute she stepped inside, Emma felt the pace, the rush drop away. Even the air seemed to hush.

"Nice job, Mr. Cooke," she said quietly.

The maitre d' inclined his elegant head. "Bonjour, mademoiselle, monsieur."

"Cooke," Jack said in a James Brown deadpan that had Emma biting the inside of her cheek to smother a laugh. "Jackson Cooke."

"Mr. Cooke, bien sûr, right this way."

He led them through elaborate flower displays and flickering candles, around the gleam of silver and glint of crystal on snowy white linen. They were seated with all expected pomp and offered a cocktail.

"The lady prefers champagne."

"Very good. I'll inform your sommelier. Enjoy your evening."

"I already am." Emma leaned toward Jack. "Very much."

"Heads turned when you walked through."

She sent him that smile-that sexy, sultry smile. "We're a very attractive couple."

"And now, every man in this place envies me."

"I'm enjoying the evening even more. Don't let me interrupt."

He glanced over at the approach of the sommelier. "Let me get back to you."

When he'd ordered a bottle that met with the wine steward's lofty approval, Jack laid his hand over Emma's. "Now, where was I?"

"Making me feel incredibly special."

"An easy job considering what I've got to work with."

"Now you're turning my head. Do go on."



       
         
       
        

He laughed, kissed her hand. "I love being with you. You're a lift to the day, Emma."

What did it say about her, she wondered, that "love being with you" made her heart jump? "Why don't you tell me about the rest of your day?"

"Well, I solved the mystery of Carter."

"There was a mystery?"

"Where does he go, what does he do?" Jack began, and told her the studio routine he'd observed. "I'm only around for short periods," he continued, "but those short periods range from morning to late afternoon, so my canny observations have taken in a variety of slices of the pie of their day."

"And what were your conclusions?"

"No conclusions, but many theories. Was he slinking off to have a torrid affair with Mrs. Grady, or indulging in a desperate and downward cycle of online gambling on his laptop?"

"He could do both."