gaze narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“We’re getting to know each other again.”
“Just what we want,” Ally said acerbically. “PJ, enough! I realize I’ve handled things badly. I know I should have got the divorce out of the way before I ever let things go so far with Jon. But I had no idea where you were. And I didn’t realize things were going so fast. My dad’s illness just sort of … accelerated things, and it just seemed like it was meant to be—between Jon and me.”
“Jon and me. Jon and me.” His tone was mocking. “If he’s your dear true love, where is he? Why didn’t he come with you?”
“Because he’s busy. He’s a doctor, for heaven’s sake! He doesn’t have time to run around chasing down my soon-to-be-ex-husband.”
“Does he have time for you?”
“Of course he does! He takes time when I’m there. I give him a reason to take time,” she said. And that was the truth. Without her Jon was consumed only by his work. “He loves me. I love him. And we want to get married, have a family, give my dad a grandchild. He wants a chance to meet his grandchild. And his health is poor. Time is of the essence.”
“So stick with me. We’re further down the road.”
“What?” She stared at him.
He spread his hands. “We’re already married. We wouldn’t have to waste time. No waiting for a divorce. We could have a family,” PJ said. “Give him a grandchild. What do you say?”
She wanted to scream.
And worse—in some tiny deranged part of her brain—she wanted to say, Yes!
Because Ally knew that if PJ had said those words ten years ago, after one night in his arms, no matter that they had planned it to be purely a marriage of convenience, she would have flung good sense and caution to the winds and believed they could make a marriage work.
Because right then—on that one night—PJ had touched her with such a mixture of passion and reverence, eagerness and gentleness that she’d actually dared to think he might really love her.
But this PJ?
This PJ was toying with her.
Oh, she had no doubt he was perversely serious about wanting her to come to his parents’ place. It would doubtless suit him to make sure his father and Connie Whosits knew he really was married.
In fact, he might simply want to stay married to her as a way of avoiding all future entanglements.
But there was no love involved.
As for wanting a child, well, maybe he did. Cristina seemed to think he was ready to settle down and have children. And of course, to his mind she would be convenient for that, too.
“I have half a mind to come with you,” she snapped. “Then go back home to Hawaii and leave you to sort things out. It would serve you right. Your mother knows I’m here. Did you know that?”
PJ shook his head. “No. But I can’t say I’m surprised. Cristina never could keep a secret.”
“Did you expect her to?”
“Not really.”
It was the last straw. He’d planned this whole thing, had been manipulating her all evening.
He’d set her up to deal with Cristina, had known his sister would pressure her into coming. He’d fully expected his sister to tell his mother. She supposed she was lucky that Mrs. Antonides hadn’t turned up on the doorstep, as well.
Well, be careful what you wish for, buster, she thought grimly.
“Fine. I’ll do it! You want me to meet your parents, I’ll come with you and meet your parents. I’ll be your wife for the weekend. I’ll be sweet and charming and wonderful. But after that you are on your own. The scales are balanced. You did me a favor. I’m doing you one. We’ll be even. And then, damn it, PJ Antonides, I’m filing for divorce!”
That went well, PJ thought grimly with more than a little self-mockery.
He stood outside the hotel in midtown Manhattan where he’d just left Ally and stuffed his hands in his pockets, shaking his head.
She’d insisted on leaving once she’d agreed to come to his parents’ on Friday. He’d invited her to stay at his place.
“Why not? We might as well begin as we mean to go on,” he’d said.
And Ally’s black eyes had flashed. “We don’t mean to go on. At least I don’t. One weekend, PJ. That’s all.”
And he might not have seen Ally for ten years, but he knew her limits. And the look on her face said that he’d pushed her far enough. He’d shrugged.
“I’ll see you back to your hotel.”
She’d argued about that. But he wasn’t taking no for an answer when it came to seeing her safely back to her room. She might have taken care of herself for ten years, but it was his turn now. At least for tonight. So they’d taken a cab across the river to the big midtown Manhattan hotel where she was staying.
She’d thanked him politely for “the lovely evening” as the cab had drawn up outside the main entrance. He knew she didn’t mean it. He also knew she’d mean it less by the time he really said good-night.
“Put your money away,” he’d said sharply. “And don’t say good-night yet. I’m not leaving.”
He’d followed her out of the taxi, paid the driver, then hurried to catch up with her as she was already inside the lobby. It was all polished marble and crystal chandeliers.
“This is totally unnecessary,” Ally insisted. “You can go home now. You never felt compelled to see me to my door before.”
“That was then. This is now. That was Hawaii. This is New York City. Humor me.”
She just looked at him and shook her head. But when he persisted, she shrugged. “Suit yourself.” And she turned and marched to the elevator. “But don’t expect me to invite you in.”
He didn’t expect she would.
If there was one thing he’d learned from his years on the beach, it was how to bide his time. You couldn’t rush the ocean. When you went out on the water, surfing or windsurfing, success didn’t come from pushing or trying to control.
You got into position and you watched and you waited. You learned patience and awareness. And timing.
When the time was right—when you and the wave were in sync—then and only then did you move.
And just like he couldn’t push a wave, PJ knew he couldn’t push Ally Maruyama.
So he simply accompanied her up in the elevator and down the corridor to her room. He waited silently until she opened the door of her room. He didn’t press. Didn’t
