“No?” Watching him, Magdelana traced a scarlet nail around the rim of her glass. “She must be quite a woman.”
“She is, yes. A remarkable woman.”
“She’d have to be. Would I like her?”
For the first time he laughed. “No. Not a bit.”
“What a thing to say.” She slapped playfully at his arm. “I’m sure I would. We have you in common to start.”
“You don’t.” His gaze was cool and clear. “I’m not who I was.”
Sipping again, she sat back to study him. “I suppose none of us are who we were. I liked who you were then. I…Well.” She shook her head, set down her drink. “That was then.”
“And now? What is it you want?”
“To have lunch with an old friend, and make amends. That’s a good start, isn’t it?” she asked as their salads were served.
“To what, exactly?”
“Well, that hasn’t changed at any rate.” Lifting her fork, she shook it at him. “Your suspicious nature.” When he said nothing, she toyed with her salad. “I’ve missed you, and I admit with the changes in my life recently, I’ve been feeling a bit nostalgic. I had a good run with Georges—my second husband—and I was fond of him—am fond of him, really. Our relationship afforded me quite a bit of the style and freedom I’d gotten used to having with Andre. More, actually. For a while.”
“Style you always had.”
Her lips curved. “Yes, but I liked not having to work for it. I never enjoyed that end as much as you.”
“Divorce hasn’t left you destitute.”
“Hardly. I outlasted the terms of the prenup both times and I’m solid.” She shrugged. “And at loose ends. I’d planned to contact you, when I worked up the courage. Running into you last night that way…I nearly turned around and left again. But you saw me, so I braved it out. How’d I do?”
He gave her an easy smile. “Smooth as ever.”
“I was hoping to surprise you, but wanted to prepare for it, set the stage. Tell me, does your relationship with your wife afford you any freedom?”
He understood the question and the very open invitation under it. Nor could he misunderstand the hand she’d laid lightly on his thigh.
“I don’t equate marriage with prison, but see it as a promise. A maze of them. I take promises very seriously.”
“Still…” She touched the tip of her tongue to her top lip. “If promises aren’t flexible, they’re more easy to break.”
There was a challenge in her eyes, and the come-on-let’s-play laughter along with it. He’d found the combination all but irresistible once. “Bending them only changes them into something they weren’t meant to be in the first place. You should know, Maggie, before you say or do anything that would embarrass you, that I’m completely in love with my wife.”
She stared at him for a moment, intensely, as if trying to see the con. Slowly, deliberately, she lifted her hand from his thigh, set it back on the table. “I assumed you had some angle for aligning yourself with a cop.”
“If you knew her, you’d understand Eve is no one’s mark. Regardless, I wouldn’t betray her for anything. Or anyone.”
“Well…” Then she gave that pretty shrug again, that quick and wicked smile. “No harm in trying.”
It was best, he decided, to table that area of conversation. “How long do you plan to be in New York?”
“It depend
s. You might help me with that.” When he raised a brow, she laughed. “That’s not a proposition, lover. I’d hoped to ask for your advice. Investment advice.”
“I’d think you’d have your own people for that.”
“Georges’s people—and however civil we are, it’s delicate. I have a very nice cushion of disposable income. Unreported assets. I’d as soon not involve Georges’s very efficient and by-the-book advisers in my investments. But an old, trusted friend who’s considerably skilled in this sort of thing. You’re the one who taught me, long ago, the value of…cushions. I was thinking real estate, tucking it under a few layers to avoid the tax dogs.”
“Are you looking for additional income, turning a profit, or sheltering your cushion?”