“So?”
“No, I mean everything is white. The walls, the curtains, the sheets, the comforter—everything.”
“Why?”
“Because it was the easiest way to match everything.”
“Oh.” She was silent for a minute. “You have a ton of money, right?”
“I suppose.”
“So why didn’t you hire an interior decorator to fix up your bedroom so it wasn’t all white?”
He sighed. “You’re not the first person to ask me that, but you’re the first person I’ll answer honestly.”
“Oh, good. I love secrets.”
“Was that sarcasm?”
“No! I do really like them! Please tell me, Luke. I promise I won’t laugh.”
“Oh, that’s reassuring. You’re expecting you might want to laugh, aren’t you?”
“Sort of.”
“All right. I didn’t hire an interior decorator because this is my bedroom, the most intimate place in the house, and I figured that the person who chose the color scheme should be me.”
“A decorator would let you choose.”
“Yeah, but they’d be putting in their two cents’ worth. I wanted it to be all my idea.”
“So it could reflect your personality?”
“In a way.”
“So your personality is plain vanilla?”
“I knew I shouldn’t tell you.”
She rolled to face him. “Yes, you should, because I won’t breathe a word of that to anyone. Trust me. I know how to keep a secret.”
He reached over and touched her cheek. “I’ll bet you do. I’ll bet you plan to keep what happened here a secret.”
“I do, and I’d appreciate it if you would, too.”
“I will, Giselle. But that answers another question I had running around in my brain. Looks like what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”
“It’s for the best, Luke.”
“And you swear that you don’t have some guy waiting for you back in ’Frisco? You can tell me if you do. I won’t judge.”
“I don’t.” She held his hand against her cheek. “You don’t know me well enough yet if you’d even ask that.”
“I’m sure I don’t. And once you leave, I probably still won’t. But whatever happens, I will be forever grateful that you’re here with me tonight.”
“You’re welcome.” She caught his hand and placed a kiss in his palm. “So you never really grieved for your father?”
“Stupid, isn’t it? We’re given so many opportunities. At the deathbed, at the viewing, at the funeral, at the graveside, after the funeral. But all those occasions were so public. I’m a macho guy. I’m not supposed to start bawling in front of all my friends and family.”
“I’m honored that you trusted me enough, then.”
“You didn’t give me much choice. I tried to escape, but you came after me. I’m so glad you did.”
“So I could deliver my sympathy card.”
“Exactly.”
He tried to remember if he’d ever lain in the dark talking to a woman this way. He couldn’t remember a single instance. He’d heard people rave on about soul mates and had never believed in the idea. But he’d never met someone like Giselle, either, a woman he’d felt at home with from the beginning, despite some of the prickly comments she’d made to him. She was so easy to get along with that he was considering turning on the light and letting her see his white bedroom, even though she’d already made fun of it.
But lying in the dark and talking was fun, too. They had their own private world right now, where no one besides them knew that a special connection had taken place. He gave her hand a squeeze. “Tell me what you were like as a little girl.”
“Bossy.”
“I can believe that.”
She kicked him, but her bare feet tickled more than hurt.
“Tell me more.” He admitted to being fascinated by the subject of Giselle, maybe because she hadn’t given him much to go on. “Did you have pigtails? Did you play with dolls?”
“Yes on the pigtails, no on the dolls. I had a brother just two years older, and I thought he and his friends were so cool that I tagged after them. We built forts and ran races and staged elaborate battles.”
“Sounds like fun. Cynthia was eight years younger, so we never really played together. She was like . . . a little doll.” As he said that, he realized how it sounded. “Don’t jump on that, Giselle. Don’t read too much into it.”
“How can I help it? That statement illustrates the problem perfectly. You have to stop thinking of her as your doll-like little sister and think of her as an adult who is capable of taking care of herself.”
“I’m trying.”
“I know.” She reached out and brushed his hair back from his forehead. “I see that you are, and that’s fantastic.”
He lay there quietly and let her comb her fingers through his hair again. He couldn’t believe how much he loved having her do that. “So you were a rough-and-tumble kind of kid who liked to build forts and stage battles, right?”
“That’s right.”
“Did you ever play in the mud?”
“All the time. San Francisco has a moist climate. There’s always some mud around somewhere.”
“So you like the concept, then?”
She stopped combing his hair. “I did, when I was a kid. I can’t say I go out and roll around in it now that I’m an adult. Is there a point to this conversation?”
“There is.” The more he thought about it, the more he liked it. “It’s time to turn on the lights and let you see what sort of all-white environment you’ve stumbled into.”
“If you insist.”
“I do. Cover your eyes.” Reaching over her, he turned on the bedside table lamp nearest to him. One thing he hadn’t counted on with his all-white color scheme—white reflected light like crazy. There was a reason they used it in operating rooms. It made everything so much brighter.
In a bedroom, though, where he wouldn’t be doing surgery, it could be a mistake. He was beginning to realize that, but as long as he had the white going on, he might as well find a way to exploit it.
Giselle continued to hold her hand over her eyes. “Can I look now?”
“You can, but try not to be blinded.”
She uncovered her eyes slowly and gazed around the room. “You weren’t kidding, Luke. This is white.”
“Technically, it’s called linen, but I won’t quibble. It’s very white. Too white. I realize that now. Everything has to go.”
“No, it doesn’t! Keep the white comforter and put on different sheets. Leave those gorgeous pictures on the walls, but paint the walls a different color. White’s a perfectly fine choice in moderation.”
“Maybe, but are we agreed that the white sheets are history?”
“That would be the least expensive change to make.”
“Then, before they go, I want to give those white sheets a walk on the wild side. And since you once used to love playing in the mud, I’m hoping you’ll play along.”
“I hope you’re not planning to bring a vat of mud into the penthouse, Luke.”
“No. Mud is for kids. Grown-ups play with chocolate mousse.”
Chapter 13
Giselle was semihorrified when Luke announced his plan. But sure enough, he mounted an expedition into the kitchen and retrieved the two pieces of cake from the refrigerator, where Mr. Thatcher had tucked them away.
Once Luke had their cake, each on a serving plate, he announced his intention to eat the cake in bed. He suggested they’d have more fun if they used their bodies as serving platters.
“No way!” She tried to take the plates away from him. “If you’re hungry for cake, we’ll eat it in the living room.”