Authors: Debbi Rawlins
“A pleasure meeting you,” Eric said and released her hand as quickly as he could without seeming rude.
She blinked, surprise flickering across her face. “The pleasure is mine,” she whispered, her voice soft and breathy and matching her perfectly.
The heady scent of roses and mystery swarmed his senses and he actually felt weak in the knees. His lips tingled from the silky warmth of her skin.
Too much scotch. That’s all.
He caught the tail end of the amused look Tom and Serena had exchanged and he cleared his throat. “Tom, could I speak with you for a moment in private?”
Tom hesitated. Long enough for their boss, Morgan Webber, to call for Tom and motion for him across the room.
“Sorry, pal,” Tom said, looking anything but as he hurried across the room toward Webber, Serena in tow.
Eric took a deep breath and turned back to Dallas. Her long, delicate fingers absently stroked the gold chain she wore around her neck. It held a small ruby heart that followed the deep V of her dress and rested in the tantalizing valley between her breasts.
He tried his damnedest not to stare. Forced his gaze up to the slender column of her neck, to her lush peach-tinted lips, the cute upward tilt of her nose and then to dive headfirst into eyes so sexy and blue, he thought he might have to loosen his collar to breathe.
He cleared his throat. “It’s nice to see a new face at one of these parties. They get pretty stale after a while.” He stopped, swore under his breath. “Tell me you aren’t the Webbers’ niece.”
She smiled and shook her head.
“Or in any way related.”
This time she laughed, the simple innocent sound seductive as hell. “No, you’re safe.”
Eric exaggerated a sigh of relief and then smiled. Up close he realized the scar on her jaw wasn’t that old. Maybe a year or so. At least he knew she was a real live person.
God, he was losing it. He had to talk to Tom. Or then again, maybe he shouldn’t. His friend was likely to have him committed. “How do you know the Webbers?”
Dallas looked blankly at him for a moment. And then her gaze shifted past him. “Would you get that waiter’s attention, please? I’d really like a glass of wine.”
“Of course.” Damn, he should’ve brought the champagne Chuck had poured.
Eric snagged the waiter’s attention. On his tray he had both white and red wine and flutes of champagne. Eric turned back to her to ask which she preferred and was surprised to find her nibbling nervously at her lower lip.
Their eyes met, and her lips immediately stretched into a smile, her expression one of utter composure.
“Red, white or champagne?” he asked.
“Red, thank you.”
He lifted the glass off the tray and handed it to her. He thought about having another drink himself but decided he needed a clear head to survive the twilight zone.
“At the risk of sounding tedious, have we met before?” he asked and then waited for her to finish her sip.
She lowered the glass, and a tiny droplet of wine shimmered from her upper lip. Battling the urge to lick it was bad enough, but when she pursed her mouth, her lips forming a tempting pout, he totally lost his train of thought. What the hell had they been talking about?
“I’m sure I would remember,” she said finally.
“Oh, yeah, right. Me, too.” He should have had another drink. Never had he been so tongue-tied or at such a loss for words with a woman. “I mean, Dallas is an unusual name.”
“Not in my family. My sister’s name is Dakota. My brother’s name is Cody.”
“I’m sensing a pattern.”
Her lips curved in a wry smile. “Very astute.”
He smiled back. “Cody isn’t so unusual.”
“Not now. Thirty-three years ago it was, and he hated it with a passion.”
“Ah, he must be your much older brother.”
Laughter sparkled in her eyes. “
Much
older.”
He guessed she was in her midtwenties, not that it mattered. “Where do you fall in the pecking order? Middle?”
Her eyebrows rose, and she seemed a little annoyed. “Does it show?”
Eric shrugged. “I haven’t been around you long enough to know.”
She didn’t say anything but sipped her wine, still looking a little put off.
He understood her touchiness, which he wisely didn’t point out. As far as he was concerned, whoever had come up with the “middle child syndrome” theory was on to something. He knew firsthand. “I’m right smack in the middle myself. A brother three years older and one three years younger. Both pains in the ass.”
Her smile returned. “But you love them anyway.”
“Yep, though I admit I don’t always like them.”
“Amen.”
“We have something in common then.”
Her voice lowering to a husky pitch, she said, “I wonder what else we have in common.”
He took another sip of scotch. This had to be a joke. She was too perfect. And she’d just handed him the perfect opening. “How about we find out over dinner sometime?”
She blinked, uncertainty flitting across her face.
Eric silently cleared his throat. Had he misread the signal? Had he screwed up? It wasn’t as if he’d been pushy. “Look, I—”
The lights flickered once, twice.
The room quieted for a few seconds, until the tinkling sound of metal meeting crystal broke the silence.
“May I have your attention?” Mrs. Webber stood with a crystal goblet in one hand and a silver spoon in the other. “I’d like you all to return to the table. We have a special dessert we’re about to serve.”
Great.
Just how he wanted to spend the next hour. Eric turned back to Dallas.
She was gone.
A
FTER EVERYONE WAS SEATED
,
the lights went out and two waiters carried trays of flaming Baked Alaska high above their heads into the dining room. Several people clapped, and during a chorus of oohs and aahs, the lights came back on.
Across the long table, where Tom had made sure Dallas was seated with him and his wife, Eric’s eyes bored into hers as if the lights had never gone out. As if even in the dark he’d been drawn unerringly to her. And like a deer caught in the headlights, Dallas held his gaze, totally powerless to look away.
“This is rich. This is just too friggin’ rich,” Tom murmured, drawing her attention. “I should have brought a damn camera.”
Thankfully the waiters began serving the Baked Alaska, and Dallas used the distraction to pull herself together. If she were smart, she’d excuse herself from the table and leave the party. Between his staring and the other guests’ curiosity, she was bound to trip up. Make a fool of herself.
She’d purposely come after dinner so that she could flit about the room just out of his reach, engage in some
harmless flirting, make him a little crazy and then disappear. The last thing she’d wanted was to be stuck at the table. Damn, she didn’t even like Baked Alaska.
Her gaze drew back to him. Sitting beside him, a slim fortyish woman wearing too many diamonds on her fingers and an unhealthy tan had managed to monopolize his attention. Dallas used the opportunity to give him a once-over. Watch the way his mouth quirked up on one side in a sort of lopsided smile.
He really was good-looking in a conservative way. She’d like to see his hair a little longer, but that was cosmetic. The basics—the structural stuff, like the strong square chin—were there. Great lips, too. Nice and full on the bottom.
Then again, the clean-cut look wasn’t bad for a change. Many of the guys she worked with had hair long enough to tie into a ponytail. Except for her best bud Tony, and even his dark, shaggy mop rested on his collar.
Tom made an odd gurgling noise behind his napkin, trying to stifle a laugh. “Look at him. He’s in a daze talking to Miriam Lancaster. Doesn’t even know what hit him. Did you see when he was trying to get my attention earlier? Do I have a poker face, or what?”
“Tom, stop it.” Serena’s warning voice was low, but both Dallas and the woman next to her heard. Serena’s voice dropped a few pitches. “Besides making an ass out of yourself, you’re going to blow it.”
“Okay, okay.” He stared at his plate until he was able to compose himself. It lasted three seconds before he started to chuckle again. “Did you see his face when—?”
“Tom, I mean it. I’ll leave.” Serena glanced at Dallas. “This is so incredibly juvenile. I’m sorry he involved you.”
“Juvenile, hell. This is priceless.” Tom’s eyes gleamed until Serena picked the linen napkin off her lap and started to fold it, preparing to get up. “All right, I’ll shut up.”
She hesitated and then laid the napkin back down on her lap. Tom cast another glance at Eric and then at Dallas, pressed his lips together and picked up his fork.
Through the rest of dessert, Dallas sat quietly even though her heart raced like a thoroughbred rushing for the finish line. She’d figured she’d be nervous. And she was a little. Had almost backed out at the last minute. She’d certainly never expected the exhilaration she felt or the giddy headiness of power and control that continued to build.
While Eric knew nothing about her, she knew a lot about him. Knew he was a Columbia graduate who’d been steadily climbing the ladder of success from the day after he’d graduated. His hard work had paid off, and he was a rising star with Webber and Thornton, a company that believed in family and socializing outside of the office. Eric was the only holdout, unmarried and never even bringing a date to the company functions.
She liked that about him. A rebel, kind of like herself. But the similarity ended there. His friends and acquaintances belonged to an elite circle. The kind she shunned. No, not shunned, really. That wasn’t accurate. But her world was definitely more eclectic. By choice.
But that’s what made tonight’s cameo appearance fun. No one knew anything about her. Not even Tom. He assumed she was a freelance model. She hadn’t bothered to correct him. Wouldn’t he be surprised if he discovered the truth?
She surveyed the other guests, all dressed to the nines, every hair in place, perfect manicures and polite smiles. They’d all be surprised to learn what she really did for a living. Disgusted maybe. As her parents were. To some extent, at least her brother and sister understood her need for autonomy. Not that they approved of her choices.
Dessert seemed to go on forever. Lots of cognac and fancy liqueurs were served. Fortunately enough subdued chatter muffled private conversations that she was able to easily fend off the polite curiosity of the other guests before Eric could get wind of their exchange.
According to Tom, only he, Serena and Mrs. Webber knew about the joke. Everyone else thought she was a visiting friend of the Webbers’ absent daughter. Dallas stuck to the story, and curiosity generally died quickly.
Not Eric’s, though. His gaze often strayed in her direction, although to his credit, the woman beside him would never know he was distracted. He smiled and inclined his head toward her when she spoke, did all the courteous things expected of him.
Only Dallas knew his thoughts were about her, that more than curiosity burned in his eyes when they met hers. Every nerve ending in her body reacted. As if two live wires connected and sparked with each look.
She tried to avoid the contact. Pretended interest in a boring conversation with Serena about the upcoming Heart Ball and the local celebrities who’d be attending. But she was just as hopeless, her gaze drawing back to him, admiring the breadth of his shoulders, the generosity of his smile, as the woman kept him busy.
He looked at her suddenly as if he’d felt the weight of her stare. To her amazement, she didn’t look guiltily away. She held his gaze for a long, torturous moment, gave him a slow smile that invited all sorts of possibilities.
He wasn’t shy about returning the volley. His gaze wandered down the front of her dress, lingering just long enough on her breasts to remain respectful yet make her tingle all the way down to her toes.
She finally had to look away. Or end up in an embarrassing puddle on the floor. He had the most incredibly intense eyes. The eyes of a man who knew what he wanted and went after it with everything he had in his arsenal. The thought frightened her, fascinated her, and then she remembered that she had the power here. Anything that happened would be by her design. She was no Cinderella hoping to be swept off her feet, rescued from life’s drudgery.
Dallas’s life was just fine, with or without a man. Less reliance on the old vibrator might be nice for a change, but that didn’t mean she was willing to settle for just anyone. But Eric…well, he was looking like a pretty damn good substitute. Smart, attractive, successful, ambitious. Not that his view of success was impor
tant to her. In fact, her lack of interest in such matters was what put her at odds with her family.
But all that along with his standing in the business community made him a safe bet. At least for a couple of nights. What would it hurt? He didn’t even know who she was. Even if he tried to contact her through the store, Trudie was the only one who knew her and Trudie wouldn’t tell him anything. Trudie thought she was insane for doing this as it was.
Maybe she was crazy. This certainly wasn’t her style. Her gaze drew to Eric again. He’d been watching her. Her pulse skidded. She nearly dropped her fork. This was going to be one hell of a night.
H
E HAD TO TALK TO HER AGAIN
. Alone. Away from the party. The Baked Alaska dishes had been cleared from the table. Cognac had been served. People had begun milling around. In about a half an hour they would start leaving. He had to make his move.
If he could find her. She’d left the table five minutes ago. He’d tried to follow but gotten waylaid by Brian Sutter’s wife. Brian motioned for her a moment later, but Eric couldn’t get away before Eve Dinton ambushed him.
Tonight of all nights it seemed as if everyone had to talk to him. Normally he didn’t mind making polite conversation with his coworkers’ wives, but if he heard about another unfair Little League game or about the rising cost of produce, he’d jump off the…
“Hello again.”
Her feminine scent tickled his senses even before he turned to find her directly behind him. His attention immediately went to her glistening peach-tinted lips. They parted slightly and she drew back a step.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude,” she said almost in a whisper, and he realized he was just standing there. Staring. Speechless. Like an idiot.
“You didn’t.” He touched her arm when it looked as if she might take off. “Not at all.”
She smiled tentatively. “You seemed so deep in thought.”
“The truth is—” he lowered his voice “—I was thinking about the Webbers’ rooftop garden.”
“Oh.” Her eyebrows drew together, and she hesitated, looking confused. “You like to garden?”
He laughed. “I was thinking about jumping off.”
Her eyes widened.
“This isn’t exactly my first choice for spending an evening.”
“Ah, I see.”
“Nice people.” He shrugged. “But I see most of them every day at the office.”
“Coworkers are kind of like family. You don’t choose them,” she said thoughtfully. “But you do have to make nice whether you like them or not.”
He snorted. “That’s debatable.”
She smiled. “You get a point for honesty.”
“Does that mean you’ll go someplace for a drink with me?”
“Leave here?”
“I know this bar right around the corner. It’s a nice place with piano music and—”
She’d started shaking her head. “I can’t.”
“Okay,” he said slowly, “no problem.”
“I’d like to, really…”
“But?”
She glanced over at Tom and Serena still sitting at the table. “I just don’t think I should leave.”
“Tell you what, how about we take a couple of cognacs up to the garden?”
“On the roof?”
“Sure. It’s quiet. Great view of Central Park and Columbus Circle.”
She seemed reluctant though definitely interested. “Won’t the Webbers mind?”
“Not a bit.”
“Sounds like you’ve done this before.”
He smiled. “Actually I’ve only been up there once, when Mrs. Webber gave the grand tour a couple of years ago.”
She glanced at her watch. “I suppose it would be all right for a few minutes.”
“Then you turn into a pumpkin?”
Her lips curved in a mysterious smile. “Something like that.”
T
HE GARDEN AREA WASN’T LARGE
. Dimly lit, about the size of a guest room, flowers grew everywhere. Red geraniums, white daisies and sprays of pink blossoms spilled from several barrel-size stone urns. A trellis lean
ing against the reddish brick was covered with tiny climbing white roses that perfumed the air with their seductive scent.
Beyond the decorative black wrought iron that surrounded the rooftop garden were the lights of Manhattan and the shadows of Central Park.
“What a fantastic view.” Hands gripping the rail, she leaned out, a gentle breeze blowing back her honey-blond hair, giving him an unobstructed view of her profile. The small, slightly upturned nose and skin that was remarkably flawless except for the scar.
Eric’s curiosity got the better of him and he asked, “How did you get that?”
She turned to look at him and he pointed to his own chin. Her hand shot up to touch the marked area, her mouth twisting wryly.
She rolled her eyes. “Totally my fault. I got it at work when I wasn’t paying attention.”
“At work? How?”
She looked away. “This is a beautiful view. I wonder how much one of these co-ops cost.” She smiled. “Not that I’d ever be able to afford one.”
“I will someday.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Ambitious or optimistic?”
He laughed. “Both.”
“I wish you luck.” She gave him a peculiar smile and then turned away to look out over Central Park.
“You must make good money modeling.”
A smile played at the corners of her mouth. “What makes you think I’m a model?”
He stared, waiting for a telltale flicker to cross her face. She didn’t even blink. “Aren’t you?”
“No. But I’m flattered.” She seemed so damned sincere. Maybe he was going crazy.
“Then what do you do?”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “Just making conversation.”
“Then you won’t mind talking about something else.” Her lips curved in a smile that made him her slave.
A totally new experience for him. He liked women, of course, but he hadn’t found one yet that had him thinking with the wrong head. Not since high school, anyway. “You like being the mystery woman, huh?”
The smile lingering on her lips, she lifted her chin and shook back her hair, lifting her face to the balmy breeze.
“So, if I can’t get more than your name, how am I going to ask you out to dinner?”
After a moment’s hesitation she looked directly at him and asked, “When?”
“Tomorrow night.” God, he hoped he could get a reservation this late. “Amuse Bouche. It’s that new restaurant at the—”
“I know it.” Amusement lit her eyes. “Trying to impress me?”
“Damn right.”
She laughed. “Another point for honesty. But unless you had another date cancel on you, we will not be getting into Amuse Bouche tomorrow night.”
“I confess. No reservations, but I know the maître d’.”
“Ever been to Hakata on West Forty-eighth?”
He frowned. “Sushi place, isn’t it?”
“Among other things.”
Just his luck, the woman was one of those adventurous-eater types. That was the trouble with New Yorkers. They weren’t happy with a simple steak. “You wanna go there?”
She grinned. “Ever tried sushi?”
He sighed. All the guys in the office kidded him. When they went for sushi, he went to McDonald’s. “I have a feeling I’m about to.”
“Your enthusiasm is overwhelming.”