Too Good to Be True - Softcover

Clary Sage

An essential oil with a warm, nutty scent, it has euphoric properties which promote a sense of well-being

When Carey Browne stepped out onto West 34th Street she stopped in surprise. Not that she should have been surprised, she said to Ben, who was standing beside her holding at least half-a-dozen Macy's bags thanks to her indulgence in a sudden frenzy of last-minute shopping; last night's report from the Weather Channel had shown a shocking weather system heading in from the Midwest and they'd said there was a likelihood of snow on the East Coast. It was just that despite the bitingly cold morning air which had caused their breath to hang in little puffs in front of them when they left the hotel, there hadn't been any signs of snow as they walked into the store over an hour earlier. Now it was falling in a slow-motion frenzy of heavy white flakes and was at least an inch thick on the sidewalk.

"Sorry," said Ben, who'd told her that the Weather Channel wasn't always accurate and that January snowstorms often blew themselves out. "I wanted to be optimistic."

She linked her arm through his and snuggled closer to his fur-lined leather jacket. "It doesn't matter," she told him. But she frowned because if the snow continued falling at this rate their flight was sure to be delayed. She did some mental calculations and hoped that even if they were delayed, she'd still manage to get back to Dublin in time for her shift the following day. If worse comes to worst she could always phone, let them know she'd be late and get someone to cover for her. But she didn't want to phone Ireland because, if she did, she'd have to tell them everything that had happened in the last few days, and she wasn't ready to do that yet. She'd hardly got her head around it herself. Besides, she wanted to tell them face to face.

"We'd better leave ourselves a little extra time to get to the airport," she told Ben as they walked down the street, carrier bags bumping against their legs. "I've never been here in a snowstorm before, but whenever it snows at Dublin there's always problems with people getting delayed."

"I do my best to be optimistic because you always look on the worst side." He grinned at her. "I bet you anything we get away on time."

"You think?" There was amusement and challenge in her voice.

"Absolutely."

"How much?"

"Five dollars," he told her. "It's all the cash that I've left since you cleaned me out in the store."

She looked at him penitently, but her brown eyes twinkled. "I couldn't help it. The discounts were so utterly brilliant that those clothes just begged to be bought."

"I know," he said. "But to max out both your credit cards and all of your cash..."

"Give me a break!" she cried. "I didn't do it all today."

He laughed. "I know, I know. New York, Las Vegas, New York -- what's a girl to do? And," he added, "there were some unexpected expenses."

She flung her arms round him and kissed him on the lips. "I loved the unexpected expenses," she murmured. "And I love, love, love you."

"I love you too," he said.

"Sure?" she whispered.

"Sure I'm sure."

"Certain?"

"I've never been more certain of anything in my life." He brushed melting snowflakes from the mass of nut-brown corkscrew curls that framed her face and from the pair of tiny, dark-rimmed glasses perched on her nose. "You're a wonderful woman, and you'll certainly be the best dressed woman in town when we get home if today's spree is anything to go by -- what's not to love?"

"I don't want you to think that we've made a terrible mistake," she told him. "And I'm sorry about the shopping. Really I am."

He grinned. "I don't think that I've made a terrible mistake -- at least I managed to keep my credit card number to myself!"

"You think?"

"I hope so."

"'Cos if you really loved me you'd definitely give me your credit card number." She smiled teasingly at him.

"I'm hoping our love transcends mere money," he told her sternly. "All the same, I'd better take you away from the temptation of the stores. Besides, we should get a move on if you want to pack and leave earlier than we planned."

He put his arm round her waist and they hurried back towards Penn Station and their hotel. A whirlpool of people and their luggage took up most of the lobby, getting bigger all the time as more and more of them hurried in from the snow-filled streets, brushing the huge white flakes from their shoulders and stamping their feet with the cold.

Carey looked at the throng. "Our car had better turn up," she remarked. "We haven't a hope in hell of getting a cab with that lot lurking round."

"You're being pessimistic again," said Ben cheerfully. "You don't have to worry -- I've got it under control."

"My hero." She looked at him in mock-adoration.

"What I haven't got under control is the packing," he informed her. "Everything has to be crammed into the cases, and it seems to me that we have finite space but infinite purchases to put in it."

She made another face at him and followed him to the bank of elevators. He pressed the button for the thirty-sixth floor and she leaned against his shoulder as the elevator moved upwards.

"I still can't believe it," she murmured. She lifted her head and looked into his eyes. "I believed it when we were in Vegas and when it was all happening, but now, getting ready to go home, it doesn't seem real."

"It's real all right," said Ben. "Don't for one minute think you can get out of it."

"I don't." She turned to him and kissed him again. "I don't want to get out of it."

The elevator stopped on the twenty-first floor, but the couple who were waiting decided not to interrupt the pair who were already occupying it. Carey and Ben were too engrossed in their kiss to notice them anyway.

"Have you ever done it in an elevator?" he asked as the doors closed again.

"Nope."

"Would you like to?"

She giggled. "Of course I would. But I rather have the feeling we'll be at the thirty-sixth floor before we can really get down to it. Don't you think?"

"Yes," he admitted. "Though I can be very quick, you know."

"I don't know whether that's a good thing or not!" Her chuckle was warm and happy as she nuzzled against his neck.

The elevator stopped and the chime told them that they were at their floor.

"Oh well." Carey straightened her jacket. "Another time perhaps."

"On the plane," suggested Ben. "That Mile-High Club thing. Have you ever done that?"

"What kind of sex-life d'you think I've had?" she demanded. "I went to a convent school, for heaven's sake."

"Convent girls." He sighed. "Always looking so demure in those uniforms. But we all knew what little vixens you were really."

She shoved him in the small of the back, then followed him down the narrow corridor to their room. Ben opened the door and both of them groaned as they looked at their already full luggage.

"We'll never manage to pack this lot in as well," she wailed as she peered into the Macy's bags. "Why didn't you stop me?"

"I tried. I tried. But you were like a woman possessed."

"Rubbish," she said robustly, and stretched out across the bed.

"Don't do that," said Ben.

"What?"

"Disport yourself like that," he told her. "You're taking my mind off the task in hand."

"Sorry," she said, though her tone belied her words. "I suppose I shouldn't take your mind off the task because if we do miss the damned plane, I'll be fired when we eventually get home."

"We won't miss it. It'll leave on time and you won't be fired," said Ben. "Anyway, you told me that there's always someone to cover for you."

"There is," she told him. "But I don't want to let them down. It's a team, you know?"

"I know." He kissed her on the nose. "It's nice to know that underneath that ditzy exterior is a responsible adult."

"Oh yeah?"

"Well..." Ben laughed and then groaned as she caught him by the waistband of his jeans. "Even still, we probably don't have time to -- "

"Of course we do," she interrupted him. "I'm on a roll right now. I don't want it to end."

"It won't," he promised her. "You know it's only just beginning."

The driver of the limousine which Ben had booked to take them to the airport was making better time than they'd expected. But the snowfall was now even heavier, and deep white drifts had piled up at the side of the roads. The driver left the freeway and took a route through the suburbs which, he told them, would get them there faster, though Ben looked skeptical.

"I'm not sure I want to get there faster," murmured Carey. "This is probably the first and last time I'll ever travel in a limo. The least I can do is enjoy the experience." She stretched out across the rear seat and put her feet on Ben's lap. "Thank you for surprising me with this. I thought it was just going to be an ordinary car." She smiled at him. "And I know that we should probably be doing all sorts of sexy things back here, but you have me utterly worn out. What would be nice would be a little foot massage. I'm wrecked from all the walking around this morning."

Ben eased her tan leather boots from her feet and began to rub her soles.

"I just might keep you." She sighed with pleasure. "I really might."

They arrived at the airport with plenty of time to spare. Ben tipped the limo driver lavishly and then followed Carey to check in. According to the clerk, flights were still departing on schedule.

"Haven't heard of any delays yet," he said cheerfully as he handed them their boarding cards.

"You see?" said Ben. "No need for all that pessimism earlier. I think that secretly you want to stay a little longer. That's why you're hoping the weather will get worse."

"Sod off," she said amiably. "It's still a five-dollar bet."

They had coffee and doughnuts, then strolled to the gate, where a knot of people were already waiting. They sat side by side, Carey skimming through a copy of Vanity Fair while Ben read USA Today. They both looked up when a small squadron of stewards and stewardesses walked through the gate.

"Hand over the money," said Ben.

"It has to depart on time," Carey told h...