"Your movie." She managed a smile. "It's exciting for you."
"It could be. If you'd go with me."
"Go with you?" Now she stopped dead in the road to gape at him. "To New York City?"
"A couple of days. Three or four." He scooped her into his arms again and led her into an impromtu waltz. "We could stay at the Plaza like Eloise."
"Eloise? Who-"
"Never mind. I'll explain later. We'll take the Concorde, be there before you know it. We could visit Worldwide there," he added as extra incentive. "Do all the tourist things, eat in ridiculously expensive restaurants. You might get some new menus out of it."
"But I couldn't. Really." Her head was spinning, and had nothing to do with the quick circles of the dance. "The inn-"
"Mrs. O'Malley said she'd be glad to pinch hit." "To-"
"To help out," he elaborated. "I want you with me, Brianna. The movie's important, but it won't be any fun without you. It's a big moment for me. I don't want it to just be an obligation."
"But, New York-"
"A wink away on the SST. Murphy's happy to look after Con, Mrs. O'Malley's bustling to take care of the inn."
"You've talked to them already." She tried to stop the whirling dance, but Gray kept spinning her.
"Sure. I knew you wouldn't go until everything was tidy."
"I wouldn't. And I can't-"
"Do this for me, Brianna." Ruthlessly he pulled out his best weapon. The trust. "I need you there."
Her breath came out on a long, slow sigh. "Grayson."
"Is that a yes?"
"I must be mad." And she laughed. "Yes."
Two days later Brianna found herself on the Concorde, streaking across the Atlantic. Her heart was in her throat. Had been since she'd closed her suitcase. She was going to New York. Just like that. She'd left her business in the hands of another. Capable hands, to be sure, but not her hands.
She'd agreed to go to another country, to cross an entire ocean with a man who wasn't even kin, in a plane that was a great deal smaller than she'd imagined.
Surely she must have gone mad.
"Nervous?" He took her hand, brought it to his lips.
"Gray, I should never have done this. I don't know what got into me." Of course, she knew. He had. He had gotten into her in every possible way.
"Are you worried about your mother's reaction?"
That had been hideous. The hard words, the accusations and predictions. But Brianna shook her head. She'd resigned herself to Maeve's feelings on Gray, and their relationship.
"I just packed and left," she murmured.
"Hardly." He laughed at her. "You made at least a dozen lists, cooked enough meals for a month and stuck them in the freezer, cleaned the cottage from top to bottom-" He broke off because she didn't merely look nervous. She looked terrified. "Honey, relax, there's nothing to be scared of. New York isn't nearly as bad as it's made out to be."
It wasn't New York. Brianna turned her head, burying her face against his shoulder. It was Gray. She understood, if he didn't, that there was no one else in the world she would have done this for, but family. She understood, if he didn't, that he had become as intricate and vital a part of her life as her own flesh and blood.
"Tell me about Eloise again."
He kept her hand in his, soothing. "She's a little girl who lives at the Plaza with her Nanny, her dog Weenie, and her turtle Skipperdee."
Brianna smiled, closed her eyes, and let him tell her the story.
There was a limo waiting for them at the airport. Thanks to Rogan and Maggie, Brianna had experienced a limo before and didn't feel a complete dolt. In the plush backseat she found an elaborate bouquet of three dozen white roses and a chilled bottle of Dom Perignon.
"Grayson." Overwhelmed, she buried her face in the blossoms.
"All you have to do is enjoy yourself." He popped the cork on the champagne, let it fizz to the rim. "And I, your genial host, will show you all there is to see in the Big Apple."
"Why do they call it that?"
"I haven't got a clue." He handed her a flute of wine, tapped his against it. "You are the most beautiful woman I've ever known."
She flushed, fumbled, and pushed a hand through her travel-touseled hair. "I'm sure I'm looking my best."
"No, you look best in your apron." When she laughed, he leaned closer, nibbled on her ear. "In fact, I was wondering if you'd wear it for me sometime."
"I wear it every day."
"Uh-uh. I mean just the apron."
Now color flooded her cheeks and she cast a distracted glance at the back of the driver's head through the security glass. "Gray-"
"Okay, we'll deal with my prurient fantasies later. What do you want to do first?"
"I-" She was still stuttering over the idea of standing in her kitchen in nothing but her apron.
"Shopping," he decided. "After we check in, and I make a couple of calls,