All Through The Night. Kate Hoffmann

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СКАЧАТЬ wasn’t only about great sex and a centerfold body. He just wasn’t sure what it was about.

      Pete sighed. At the moment, he found himself wanting lunch with Nora Pierce, odd as that seemed. “It’s just a simple lunch,” he said with a grin. “What could they possibly say about you and me having a burger together?” Though he meant the question rhetorically, he saw another trace of hurt in her expression, then realized how she’d taken it. Of course, a quiet lunch with Prudence Trueheart couldn’t possibly end in anything other than dessert and separate checks. She had her reputation, too, and it was spotless. But her reaction came out of left field, and he wasn’t sure if he should apologize or rephrase.

      “I—I’m not hungry, but thank you, anyway,” Nora replied, her voice suddenly cold and distant. She held out the burrito. “Here, you better put this back in the freezer. I wouldn’t want anyone to miss it.”

      Pete slowly shook his head and took the burrito. For a few minutes, he’d thought he’d managed a truce of sorts with Nora Pierce—maybe even the beginning of a friendship. But after sticking his foot in his mouth, not once but twice, he realized that the woman before him would be a tough sell. If discarding his reputation meant losing his touch with women, maybe he’d have to rethink his options.

      “Fine,” he murmured. “But if you change your mind, just let me know.” He walked to the door, then turned around to take one last look. She watched him from behind her desk, her blue eyes wide. He should have insisted on lunch, or at least been insulted by her refusal. But something told him not to burn any more bridges with Nora. “I’ll…see you later.”

      She nodded curtly, then picked up a file folder from her desk and efficiently spread the contents out in front of her. When she’d managed to ignore him for a full ten seconds, he silently walked out of her office, closing the door behind him.

      The teams had reassembled in the Bullpen, and the game had started up again with Sam Kiley’s team at bat. As he walked back to his spot in the infield, he caught a foul ball and threw it to the first baseman.

      “So? What happened?” Sam asked.

      “The hell if I know,” Pete murmured. “I’m usually pretty good at figuring out women, but Prudence Trueheart is one confusing lady.” He took his place as shortstop, rubbing his palms on his thighs. His mind drifted back to the feel of her skin beneath his fingertips. It wasn’t going to be so easy to write off Prudence Trueheart—or Nora Pierce, for that matter. Besides confusing and capricious and condescending, he found her incredibly intriguing.

      And it had been such a long time since Pete Beckett had found any woman intriguing.

      Dear Prudence Trueheart,

      My boyfriend and I have been doing the nasty from the night of our first date. The sex is fantastic, but now that our wedding date is approaching, I’d like to practice celibacy to make the wedding night special. How can I convince my horny fiancé of my decision?

      Signed, Steadfast in San José

      Nora Pierce read the letter over again and again, crossing out the word horny and replacing it with ardent, then trying to come up with a euphemism for the nasty. But the edit couldn’t possibly change the tone of the letter. This wasn’t etiquette! This was a country-and-western song. A bad talk show topic. Beauty parlor gossip. She sighed and rubbed her forehead. When she’d taken the job as Prudence three years ago, she’d been hired to answer questions about gracious living. But all that had changed on April Fool’s Day six months ago.

      On a lark, she’d answered a silly question from a cross-dresser who wanted to know whether he should ask his wife’s permission first before borrowing her underwear or whether the lingerie was community property. Her answer dripped with sarcasm and disapproval, and she’d published it to illustrate the limits of true etiquette. “The only excuse a man has for not wearing proper underwear is if he’s not wearing any underwear at all!” she’d written. “And the only places where underwear can be considered an option is in the shower and the doctor’s office.”

      That single, silly column had been the end of her noble life as an etiquette columnist. The phone lines lit up and the fan mail poured in to all the newspapers across the country that carried her column. Her readers wanted more—more dirt, more trash, more sleaze. And more of Prudence’s sharp-tongued reprimands and subtle put-downs.

      “Great column yesterday!”

      Nora glanced up. Her publisher, Arthur Sterling, leaned into the doorway of her office, a broad smile on his face. Though he rarely descended from the twelfth floor, he’d been seen more often lately in Prudence’s vicinity. Though a more naive columnist might believe they’d become friends, Nora knew that Arthur Sterling had no friends. He had assets and opportunities. And he wanted her to agree to syndicated television spots as “Prudence.”

      He chuckled and nodded his head. “Sex, that’s what sells. I just got off the phone with Seattle. They want the column. And Biloxi and Buffalo are in negotiations as we speak.” Arthur gave her the thumbs-up. “Good work! And I’m still waiting for your answer on that television deal.”

      “Thank you,” she murmured. But he was already gone, on to some other profit center, some other opportunity that was going to pad his already sizable bank account. To him, Prudence wasn’t a beacon in a sea of chaos, a behavioral standard. She’d become dollars and cents. More trash meant more readers. And that meant more money for her syndicated column. Etiquette is part of the past, he’d told her. It might have been all right for the first Prudence Trueheart in 1921, but the world was changing.

      If only she’d never written that April Fool’s column. Since then, Sterling had insisted she devote at least three columns a week to “modern” problems—questions on morality and relationships. Her monthly appearance on Good Morning, San Francisco, a popular television show, had turned from table settings and wedding etiquette to advice for the lovelorn.

      With her sudden rise to popularity, she had become a celebrity around town. For every moment that Nora felt as if she were prying into her readers’ personal lives, her readers seemed to intrude on hers. The grocery store, the dry cleaners, even the dentist’s office—all had become venues for advice sessions. And her readers seemed to cherish Prudence’s impeccable behavior even more than she did, always watching her, waiting to catch her in a manners misstep or a moral backslide! Prudence was supposed to be pure of heart and filled with virtue.

      To ensure the purity of Prudence, her publisher had even included a morals clause in her contract. Prudence didn’t curse or chew tobacco. She didn’t wear revealing clothes or frequent biker bars. And she certainly didn’t sleep around! That final point hadn’t taken much effort on her part. She could barely remember the last time she’d been with a man, in the biblical sense.

      Nora groaned and buried her face in her hands, shaking her head. Her lack of contact with the opposite sex had become painfully obvious in her unbidden reaction to Pete Beckett’s touch. And since she’d been beaned by that baseball, she’d been having a difficult time keeping her mind on work, preferring, instead, to dwell on the color of Pete Beckett’s eyes and the warmth of his smile.

      She thought back to their conversation, to her disturbing reaction to his touch, to the feel of his gaze on her body. She replayed the incident, trying to remember every detail and every word spoken. “‘Prissy,”’ she murmured. Is that really what he thought of her?

      She silently scolded herself and snatched up another letter. Nora had always found a certain comfort in Prudence’s world, a place where there were rules and obligations, where people behaved with propriety СКАЧАТЬ