Читать книгу Wed In Wyoming - Allison Leigh - Страница 6

November

“Are you insane? What if someone sees you here?” Angeline Clay looked away from the tall man standing in the shadows of the big house to the wedding reception guests milling around behind her, barely twenty yards away.

“They won’t.” The man’s deep voice was amused. “You forget, sweet cheeks, what I do for a living.”

She rolled her eyes. They stood outside the circle of pretty lights that had been strung around the enormous awning protecting the tables and the dance floor from the chilly Wyoming weather. Her cousin Leandra and her brand-new husband, Evan Taggart, were in the center of the floor dancing away, surrounded by nearly every other member of Angeline’s extensive family. “I’m not likely to forget, Brody,” she assured drily.

Since then, her brief encounters with the man had been few and far between, but they’d nevertheless been memorable.

Annoying, really, considering that Angeline prided herself on keeping her focus squarely where it belonged. Which was most assuredly not the impossible appeal of the elusive Brody Paine.

She flexed her bare fingers around the empty platter that she had been on her way to the kitchen to refill when Brody had stepped into her path. “How’d you even know I was here, anyway?”

The corner of his lips lifted. “It’s a small world, babe. You know that.”

Sweet cheeks. Babe.

She stifled a sigh. She couldn’t recall Brody ever using her actual name. Which was probably one of the reasons why she’d never tried very hard to take the man seriously when it came to anything of a personal nature.

When it came to the work he did, however, she took him quite seriously because Brody Paine was well and truly one of the good guys. Since she’d learned at a particularly early age that the world was definitely on the shy side when it came to such people, she tried to give credit where it was due.

“I’m just visiting Weaver,” she reminded him. “For the Thanksgiving holiday and Leandra’s wedding. I’m going back to Atlanta soon.”

He blandly reeled off her flight number, telling her not very subtly that he was perfectly aware of her schedule. “The agency likes to keep track of its assets.”

She looked behind her again, but there was nobody within earshot. Of course. Brody wouldn’t be likely to mention the agency if there had been. “I’m hardly an asset,” she reminded him needlessly. She was a courier of sorts, true. But in the five years she’d worked for the agency, all she conveyed were pieces of information from one source to another. Even then, she was called on to do so only once or twice a year. It was a schedule that seemed to suit everyone.

“Believe me, hon. You’ve got more than any woman’s fair share of assets,” he assured drily. His gaze—she’d never been certain if it was naturally blue or brown because she’d seen his eye color differ over the years—traveled down her body. “Of course for some stubborn reason you keep refusing to share them with me.”

She’d seen appreciation in men’s eyes when they looked at her since she’d hit puberty. She was used to it. But she still felt absurdly grateful for the folds of the cashmere cape that flowed around her taupe-colored dress beneath it. “That’s right,” she said dismissively. “I assume this isn’t a social call?”

His lips twitched again. “Only because you’re a stubborn case, sweet cheeks.”

Her lips tightened. “Brody—”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist.” He lifted one long-fingered hand. “I’m actually in the middle of another gig.” He looked amused again. “But I was asked to give you this.”

She realized that a small piece of paper was tucked between his index and middle finger. She plucked it free, careful not to touch him, only to nearly jump out of her skin when his fingers suddenly closed around her wrist.

She gave him a startled look.

The amusement from his face had been wiped away. “This is important.”

Nerves tightened her throat. She wasn’t used to seeing Brody looking so serious. “Isn’t it always?” He’d told her, chapter and verse, from the very beginning just how important and sensitive her work with Hollins-Winword was.

“Like everything else in life, importance can be relative.”

Behind them, the deejay was calling for everyone’s attention since the bride and groom were preparing to cut their wedding cake. “I need to get back there. Before someone comes looking for me.”

He slowly released her wrist. She stopped herself from rubbing the tingling that remained there just in time.

The man was entirely too observant. Which was, undoubtedly, one of the qualities that made him such an excellent agent. But the last thing she wanted him to know was that he had any kind of affect on her.

They were occasionally connected business associates and that was all. If the guy knew she’d been infatuated with him for years—well, she simply didn’t want him knowing. Period. Maybe the knowledge would make a difference to him, and maybe it wouldn’t. But she didn’t intend to find out.

Playing immune to him was already hard enough.

She couldn’t imagine how hard it would be if she spent any real time with the man.

He gave that small smile of his that had her wondering if mind reading was among his bag of tricks. “See you next time, babe.” He lifted his chin in the direction of the partygoers. “Drink some champagne for me.”

She glanced back, too. Leandra and Evan were standing in front of the enormous, tiered wedding cake. “I can probably get you a glass without anyone noticing. Cake, too.”

She looked back when he didn’t answer.

The only thing she saw was the dark, tall form of him disappearing into the cold night.