Читать книгу Nanny to the Billionaire's Son - Barbara McMahon - Страница 7

CHAPTER ONE

SAMANTHA entered the luxurious lobby of the Atlantian Hotel with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. Her pace slowed as she looked around, taking in every detail. The spacious lobby was amazing, ceilings that soared at least twenty-five feet supporting crystal chandeliers that sparkled and gleamed with light. The floor alternated glowing hardwoods with lush Persian carpets centering seating arrangements of plush sofas and deep easy chairs. Sidestepping from a direct line to the ballroom, she deliberately walked on one of the crimson carpets, her heels sinking in dangerously. Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, she savored the luxury, smiling in sheer delight.

She felt like a schoolgirl let out into the real world for the first time. Only this was not her world. Elegant hotels, fabulous balls, expensive gowns and jewels were only things she normally read about. This was a first—to actually be participating. She couldn’t believe she’d actually let Charlene talk her into attending.

Samantha assumed an air of casual sophistication and crossed to the cloakroom hoping she appeared as if she attended events like this routinely. She checked in her coat, her practical wool a poor showing beside the cashmere and silk.

Clutching her small purse and purloined ticket, Samantha raised her chin and walked to the huge double doors opening into the ballroom. Atlanta’s Black and White New Year’s Eve Ball was one of the most prestigious charity events of the winter season. A recent tradition, its goal was raising funds for the Children’s League while celebrating the beginning of each new year. With such sponsors as Gideon Fairchild and Vanessa Winters, it attracted the crème de la crème of Atlanta society. And tonight Sam was mingling with them all!

Samantha smiled at the white-gloved man at the door checking the coveted tickets. She showed hers wondering if he’d immediately recognize she should not be here and block her entry.

He merely glanced at the embossed ticket and said, “Table twenty-one is near the dais.”

She nodded and entered the enchanted ballroom. Her gaze moved around the room taking in every lavish decoration. White lights sparkled from a dozen chandeliers reflected in the antique mirrors that lined one wall. Even more gorgeous than the ones in the lobby, the crystal illumination offered a rainbow of colors matched only by the glittering jewels displayed by guests.

Round tables were set with fine linens, bone china and real silverware. Small, discreet signs with table numbers sat in each center. Waiters circulated with champagne, filling flutes expertly. Uniformed waitresses offered hors d’oeuvres. People were already sitting at some of the tables, even more were roaming around greeting friends. Sam took her time sauntering through the lavishly appointed room. She felt like Cinderella at the ball. She didn’t know anyone here, but that wouldn’t dim her excitement.

People smiled at her and she returned the silent greeting with an answering smile and slight nod. Her gaze moved to the dais where a table for those sponsoring the event was already filling up. There she recognized one or two famous residents of the city from photographs in the newspaper.

True to the nature of the event, everyone wore either white or black or a combination. The men looked superb in their dark tuxedos. Occasionally she’d spot one wearing a white dinner jacket. Young and old alike looked more polished and debonair in a tux. She wished there were more events that required formal attire. Not that she’d likely attend any of those, either.

The gowns the women wore were fantastic. The only colors were the jewels that sparkled at throats, ears and wrists. Her own string of pearls seemed subdued in comparison to the emeralds and rubies and diamonds that predominated. But they had belonged to her mother and she loved them. She could only pretend so much.

Normally when Samantha thought about white gowns, she envisioned wedding dresses. Not tonight. The creations ranged from sleek and sophisticated to almost indecent. More black gowns were present than white, but all were obviously designer creations.

Her own gown blended in perfectly. On loan from her friend Margaret who owned a vintage clothing shop, the white satin strapless bodice gradually faded into gray then black at a wide band at the bottom of the floor-length skirt. It was more than fifty years old, but had been lovingly cared for and Sam felt as comfortable in it as she would have in one of today’s couture gowns. Because of its age, there was not a high likelihood of seeing another like it tonight.

She felt like a princess and held her head even higher to show off her gown. She had never worn anything so elegant before. Her hair, normally worn down or tied back in a ponytail, had been done by her sister into an upswept loop with a few curls cascading down her back. She repressed the urge to twirl around in giddy delight, feeling excited like nothing before. There would be dancing after the dinner. Would she get a chance? An assessing look around her showed most people seemed paired. Sighing softly, she made up her mind to enjoy every moment—whether she danced or not. It was unlikely she’d ever have another opportunity to attend a Black and White Ball.

“Champagne?” A waiter stepped close, a tray of filled flutes in his hand.

“Thank you,” she said, taking a glass. When he’d passed on, she took a tentative sip. Mmm. Another sip. Champagne was not normally in her budget. This was delicious.

Before she could move, a man stepped in front of her.

“I’m sure we have met,” he said with a grin. He sipped from his own flute of champagne and from the slight swaying on his feet she wondered how much he’d already had.

“I’m afraid not,” she said with a smile.

“Fred Pearson. At your shervice.” He shook his head. “Service.”

He reached out and caught her arm. “Here alone? I am. Don’t like to come to these events alone. Too shhhtupid, ya know? But I recognize you. I’m sure we have met.”

“No. I’m Samantha.” She didn’t want to be rude but Fred was impeding her way to her table and she caught a couple of people looking at them. The last thing she wanted was anything to call attention to herself. What if someone questioned who she was and when she’d bought the ticket?

“I need to get to my table,” she said, hoping he’d release her.

“Ah, my table is right over—” He looked around, peering at the numbers on the nearby tables, still holding on to her arm.

Sam began to wonder if it were to keep him upright.

“—somewhere,” Fred ended, obviously giving up on finding his own table. “Do you want to dance?”

“The music hasn’t started yet,” Sam said, trying to pull away without making it too obvious.

Fred glanced around again, finishing the last of the champagne in his glass. “It’ll start soon.”

“I think dinner is first. It was nice to meet you. I need to get to my table.”

“My table is around here somewhere,” he said, stumbling a step as he turned to look around, almost pulling Sam off her feet.

“There you are. I was thinking I’d missed you.”

Sam looked to her left where another man in a tux spoke to her. He looked at Fred.

“You need to let her go. I’ll take over now,” he said.

“Oh. Thought she was lost,” Fred said, swaying a little. He looked at his hand holding Sam’s arm and slowly released it. “Think I need another drink.”

“I think we don’t belong here,” her rescuer said. A warm hand grasped her upper arm and urged her quickly to the left. Guiding her through tables and making a way through the couples standing in conversations, she was soon whisked to the sidelines.

She turned and looked properly at her rescuer—and promptly caught her breath. Her heart fluttered, her breathing stopped. He was gorgeous, tall and dark and breathtaking. He just oozed sex appeal. She’d read about that before, but never experienced it. Now she knew what the books meant. Feeling slightly light-headed, she finally remembered to breathe.

He was so tall, her head barely cleared his shoulder. Wide shoulders that gave a new meaning to wearing a tux made the suit look as if it were designed with only him in mind and the ruffles on the shirtfront served to highlight his masculinity. His hair was cut just long enough to entice a woman’s fingers to thread through and dark eyes were framed by lashes a starlet would envy. His jaw was rugged. His sensuous lips curled into a slight smile, which showed a dimple indenting his left cheek. His gaze was firmly focused on her. Oh, dear, had he said something?

She blinked and looked away, her heart pounding. Good grief, she never paid attention to such things. Did coming to a ball like Cinderella give rise to Prince Charming expectations? She almost laughed, except she felt giddy with her conflicting emotions.

“Are you all right?” he asked. For the second time?

“I certainly didn’t expect a confrontation at this ball,” she murmured, glancing back to where Fred was making his way through the crowd. “Do you think he’ll be all right?”

“Probably. But you never know with Boozer.”

“Boozer?” she repeated.

“Fred’s nickname. Rumor has it he drinks bourbon for breakfast. He’s already three sheets to the wind and he’s only just arrived. Stay clear of him.”

“I shall. If I had seen him coming I would have gone the other way. Thank you for rescuing me.”

“My pleasure.”

A waitress stopped by them, offering tiny crackers covered with caviar.

Samantha hesitated. She had never tried caviar before and had heard mixed reviews from friends who had.

Her companion had no compunctions. He took a couple, then looked at her.

“Not having any?”

“I’ll try one,” she said, feeling daring. But with her small purse and the ticket in one hand and the other holding the champagne, she wasn’t sure how.

He solved that dilemma. “May I?” he asked. He fed her one, his fingers barely brushing her lips. She didn’t even taste the caviar, her whole being was riveted on the reaction to his barely felt touch. She shivered slightly, but not due to cold. She gazed up into deep brown eyes and felt her bones weaken even as every cell seemed to stir in anticipation of more. Oh, help, she was in trouble.

“Another?” he asked, offering a second.

She nodded and he fed her again. This time she paid attention to the strong taste by looking away.

“Mmm,” she said, wrinkling her nose. She was not sure caviar would ever become a favorite.

He laughed and took another cracker for himself before the waitress moved on to the next guest.

“Not your thing, I take it,” he said as he popped the hors d’oeuvre into his mouth.

Sam shook her head, her gaze on his lips as he chewed the tidbit. Get a hold of yourself!

“I’m glad I got to sample it. Now I know I don’t have expensive tastes,” she said.

“Is this your first time here?”

She nodded.

He glanced around. “Will your date know where to find you?” he asked.

“I came alone. I think Fred—Boozer—picked up on that.” Did that make her sound odd? Should she make up something about her date getting sick at the last moment or something?

“So did I. If you are ready to find your table, I’ll escort you,” he said genially.

She smiled, suddenly feeling like anything could happen tonight. Taking another sip of her champagne, she wondered why a man who looked like he did had come alone. Maybe his date really had got sick.

“Your wife was unable to attend?” she asked, fishing for an answer without being too obvious—she hoped.

“I’m not married.” His demeanor changed, instantly becoming somber.

Bad topic. She swept her arm toward the dais. “Mine is table twenty-one. The doorman said it was near the dais.”

He paused for a moment, staring at her. “How interesting. That’s my table also.”

She went on alert. For a moment tension rose. Surely he didn’t think she had deliberately set out to sit at his table? He had rescued her after all. Yet his reaction had definitely been odd. She still had the ticket out and showed it to him. He inclined his head slightly and gestured for her to walk toward the front of the large ballroom.

“My friends call me Mac,” he said, placing his hand at the small of her back as they wound through groups of guests chatting and laughing with enjoyment of the evening.

“Mine call me Sam. Short for Samantha,” she murmured, her heart pumping wildly—from his touch, or adrenaline, or just plain old fear of exposure, she wasn’t sure. No one had challenged her so far. She should feel safe. But she couldn’t help glancing around to see if anyone was paying special attention to her. Apparently not.

“Mac and Sam, sounds like a rock group or something,” he responded. Twice he spoke to people as they wound through the conversing groups, but he didn’t stop to introduce Sam.

The tables were set for eight. A couple was already seated at table twenty-one when Mac and Sam reached it. Everyone introduced themselves with first names as Mac seated Sam then took the chair beside her. It was obvious the others thought they had come together. She waited for him to deny it, but he ignored the assumptions.

By the time the salad was served two others had joined them. Conversation became general and Sam relaxed as the meal progressed. It looked as if her gamble had paid off. She could give herself up to the sole purpose of enjoying the evening and no longer worry about discovery. How long had it been since she’d gone out for fun and nothing more?

Longer than she cared to remember, thanks to Hurricane George.

Mac was a perfect partner for dinner. He spent his time talking with her and the woman on his other side. Two places remained empty at the table. How odd that those people had not used their tickets. Or had they, too, been trashed? The sponsors of this event had declared it to be a sellout. Was that just hype, or had something at the last moment prevented some ticket holders from attending?

When the final dinner plates had been removed and coffee served, the waitstaff quietly vanished and the night’s speaker was introduced. The speech was short and poignant, urging everyone present to take up the cause of the Children’s League and to be generous in support for disadvantaged children.

Then the wall to the right began to fold into panels and open revealing the dance floor and the orchestra providing the music. Along one wall a buffet table lavishly displayed desserts of all types. Two large open bars flanked the buffet tables. The rest of the room sparkled beneath the crystal chandeliers that illuminated the space, dimmed slightly to provide a sense of intimacy in the huge ballroom.

The music began and Mac turned to Sam. “Care to dance?”

She nodded, her heart kicking up again. She had hoped to have a chance, but hadn’t expected such a dashing partner. As they walked to the dance floor, she noticed the covert glances given them. All for Mac, she knew. She smiled, delighted to be in the company of the best-looking man in the room.

In seconds they were on the dance floor moving to the waltz the orchestra played so well. So far so good. She’d enjoy her dance and then leave. It wasn’t so awkward eating with a group but once dancing began, couples would rule the event.

As Mac continued to sweep her around the dance floor effortlessly, she forgot about the fear she’d be exposed and escorted from the ball. She could only see Mac, smell the enticing scent of his aftershave, relish the strength of the muscles beneath his jacket. He danced divinely and Samantha felt like a kid in a candy store. She loved to dance. With a sister confined to a wheelchair, however, she cherished it even more, though she rarely went to dances. Which made tonight especially delightful. Closing her eyes, she moved with the music, relishing the sensations that seeped in. Mac was an excellent partner. It had been far too long since she’d gone out for the sole purpose of enjoying herself. Perhaps it presaged a better year in the offing. She hoped so.

“You’re very quiet,” Mac said midway through the waltz.

“I’m enjoying myself immensely,” she said with a quick glance up. His dark eyes were mesmerizing. Seconds spun by. She wanted to trace that slight dimple in his left cheek. Wanted to shift her hand from his shoulder to his neck and feel the warmth of his skin. She wanted to learn more about the stranger with whom she danced so superbly. The night was full of magic and she savored every moment. All too soon it would end and she’d be back to her day-to-day routine.

She knew she was on borrowed time, but a few stolen moments of dancing with Mac were worth any risk. If anyone official made a beeline toward her, she’d dash out of one of the doors and vanish into the night.

“There aren’t many New Year’s Eve parties these days that have a full ballroom and the music to go with it,” Mac commented.

She nodded and murmured in agreement. She knew the ball’s primary goal was to raise money, but more than anything else, it provided an elegant evening to all who attended. What a way to end the old year and usher in the new.

“Are you from Atlanta?” Mac asked.

“Born and bred,” she said, giving up the quiet to respond. He was trying to talk and she was acting like a tongue-tied schoolgirl. Get with it, Sam. “You?”

“Born in Savannah, came here a decade ago.”

“Savannah has a lot of charm. Atlanta is the New York of the South—dynamic and exciting—but perhaps it’s not as charming as Savannah.”

“It suits me to a T,” he said.

Sam smiled and wondered what he did, where in the city he lived. What part of living here he liked best.

She wished she could say Atlanta suited her. She glanced over his shoulder, feeling the sudden aching longing for the path she once thought she’d take. Her dream of becoming a national park ranger and living in some of the western parks with wide-open spaces and nature’s bounty evident everywhere had ended with the car crash that had changed her life.

Instead she was surrounded by glass and concrete and heavy traffic. And she hated almost every moment.

The music ended, but Mac kept hold of her hand.

“Since you came alone, as did I, would you care for another dance?” he asked.

“Thank you, I’d like that.” She felt a tingling in her hand where his clasped hers. For a second or two she could almost imagine they were on a date together. That he was interested in her and wanted to see her again. They’d ring in the New Year together and then slip away to a quiet place just for the two of them.

But even if he asked her, she’d have to say no. Before long it would be midnight and time to leave. Even if they did spend some time together, once he met Charlene, he’d pull back like the others. The perfect man who would sweep her off her feet, loving her as no one ever had before, and committing to a life together forever, just didn’t exist.

Forget commitment, she admonished herself. Until it was time to leave, she should squeeze out every last bit of fun.

When the music began again it was a faster beat. The dancing wasn’t as conducive to conversation, which suited Sam. She liked dancing with Mac, but knew it was a night out of time. Monday morning she’d be back at her desk at the Beale Foundation and that night working with the cleaning crew at the towers.

When the song ended, Mac once again touched her, this time at the small of her back as he guided her from the floor. He was a sensuous man, and she felt cherished and feminine. She hadn’t been touched like that in a long time and she’d never felt this way before.

“Want something to drink?” he asked, nodding toward the bar.

“As thirsty as I am right now, the only thing would be water,” she said.

“Iced sparkling water it is,” he said as he escorted her toward one of the large bars serving the guests. The line moved quickly. Sam watched the dancers on the floor, glancing back to the dining tables. More people were standing around talking than dancing. She would have taken advantage of the orchestra and not merely talked with friends. She didn’t want to miss a beat.

“Here you go,” he said, handing her a tall glass of ice and sparkling water. She drank quickly, glad for the refreshment. He’d also asked for water and finished before she did, guiding them to where a tray for empties stood. Sam drained her glass and put it down beside his.

The lights dimmed and another slow song began.

“Another dance?” he asked.

She hesitated. But temptation proved too strong.

“I’d love one more,” she said.

Once they were circling the floor, Sam wondered if her imagination was playing tricks or if Mac held her even closer than before. Not that she minded. She rested her forehead against his jaw and closed her eyes again. Dancing like this was pure heaven. The shimmering feelings that swept through her only added to the magical feel of the night.

“Having fun?” he asked softly.

“The best time,” she replied, realizing it was true. She was so glad she’d come.

“Me, too. More than I expected.”

She pulled back and looked at him. “Why’s that?”

“I thought this more of a duty event—show up, be seen, go home. You’re an unexpected bonus.”

She smiled. “I don’t think I’ve ever been called a bonus before.”

His phone vibrated. She could feel it as they danced.

He stopped and pulled it out, glancing at the number calling. “Excuse me, I need to take this.” He guided them to the edge of the floor as he flipped open the phone and spoke.

“Tommy? What’s up? Why aren’t you in bed?”

Sam watched the others dancing, but listened to the man talking. Was the call from a child?

A few moments later Mac hung up. “Sorry about that. Tommy’s my son—he wanted to wait up to wish me Happy New Year, but has to go to bed now, he’s too tired to stay up.”

“Oh.” Sam had not expected something like this. “I thought you said you weren’t married,” she commented, suddenly wary.

“I’m not. My wife died three years ago. Today proved to be a hard day. Our longtime housekeeper is leaving in the morning and Tommy’s never known anyone else. I have a new person starting Monday, so for a few days we’ll be batching it ourselves.”

Sam nodded, her perception of Mac undergoing a subtle change. While he was still wildly attractive, any fantasy she might have had of them becoming a couple came to an abrupt end. She had her own baggage and couldn’t see herself taking on another’s. Not that children weren’t delightful and a blessing, but she was already tied down. She would never achieve her dream if she became entangled with children.

“How old is he?” she asked, curious despite her resolve.

“Just three. It’s a cute age.”

She smiled. She wouldn’t know; she didn’t have the occasion to be around many young children. Her work was with disabled adults, not kids.

The music was still playing, and he took her back into his arms and they moved onto the floor once again.

It wasn’t fair, Sam thought as she rested her head against him again. She wanted one fantasy evening and now that was no longer the same knowing Mac was a father and so involved with his son he’d answer a phone call in the middle of a dance.

But wouldn’t she if Charlene called?

Family came first. Sighing softly, she tried to capture the sparkle from earlier. It wasn’t hard being held in Mac’s arms. Soon she once again pretended it was just the two of them dancing on a cloud. The music was the perfect tempo; the feelings evoked were nostalgic and warm. Unlike the experience of being held in this man’s arms. She felt as if she were on the edge of a cliff—one step could send her flying, or crashing to the bottom.

When the song ended, she looked up as the countdown to the New Year began.

Ten, nine, eight…

People around the ballroom began the chant. Sam could feel Mac’s arms tighten slightly as the lights dimmed even more.

…five, four, three…two…one.

Balloons popped, confetti showered down and the band began the strains to the familiar “Auld Lang Syne.”

“Happy New Year, Samantha. May all your dreams come true,” Mac said and kissed her.

After the first second of surprise, she relaxed. His lips were warm and seeking. She closed her eyes and relished every nanosecond. She’d met him only a few hours earlier, but it seemed entirely right to return his kiss to bring in the New Year. Her heart pounded and her body quivered in anticipation. Heat swept through her. Was this the beginning of a great year? Would she ever see him again?

He ended the kiss when the band started to play a different tune. It took a moment for her to come down to earth. Once again he led and Sam tried to get her spinning senses under control. She never did things like this. She was practical, not given to girlish dreams and foolish hopes. Still, without thought, she smiled and snuggled just a little bit closer. She felt cherished, special, connected—as if they were a couple. A woman could dream once in a while, couldn’t she?

At the end of that song, the music tempo picked up and Sam pulled back. It was getting late. She should leave, however reluctantly.

“Another drink?” he asked as they walked from the dance floor.

“That would be lovely,” she said. This time the line at the bar wasn’t as long and in only moments they each had a glass of champagne. He touched his glass to hers.

“Make a wish,” he said.

She did, for the future to be brighter than the past. Sipping, she smiled at him.

“Is that a tradition I don’t know about?” she asked.

“In my family it has been. Weddings, christenings, whatever—when we serve champagne, we make wishes. Why not?”

She was charmed. If they had met in other circumstance, she would ask about his family, about other traditions they shared. But this was not her milieu. She was more the jeans-and-sweatshirt type, not one for designer clothes. Mac was perfectly at home, even speaking to people she only knew from the newspapers. Movers and shakers of Atlanta’s vibrant business community.

“Shall we sit this one out?” he asked.

“You needn’t spend the entire evening with me,” she said reluctantly. She didn’t want him to feel she was monopolizing him. And she had to leave. In a few more minutes. She’d claim just a bit more time before walking away.

“If not you, then who?”

She looked around. The only single woman she saw looked old enough to be his grandmother.

He caught her direction and laughed, leaning closer to speak softly. “She’s not my type. I like pretty brunettes with chocolate-brown eyes.”

Sam could scarcely breathe. He was too close. If she turned her face, her lips would brush his cheek. Suddenly she longed to kiss him again, to feel the stirring emotions his touch brought. Was he flirting with her?

She dare not take that for granted. Remember your real life, she admonished herself silently. Yet it seemed so far away this evening. In the normal course of events, she could never have spent five hundred dollars for a ticket to tonight’s ball. She didn’t move in these social circles. She was a working woman, with a dependent sister, an ancient house and no chance to change things in the near future.

He held out her chair and she sat, glad for the glass of champagne to hold on to, and to study to avoid looking at him. He couldn’t read minds, could he?

“I’m sorry your wife died. That must have been awful,” she said.

“It was.” He sat beside her, angling his chair slightly for more room. “Chris was only twenty-eight. Who’d expect anyone to die that young?”

“That’s tragic,” she replied sympathetically.

“She left me with Tommy. If it weren’t for him I don’t know if I would have made it. But he needed me as an infant, and he needs me even more now.”

The brief glimpse of Mac’s personal life touched her. He appeared successful and confident with everything going for him. Who would suspect such a tragedy had befallen him?

“Hey, Mac, I didn’t know you were coming. Thought you said you wouldn’t make it.” A couple stopped by the table and greeted him. He rose and shook hands with the man, kissing the woman on the cheek. “I changed my mind. It’s a nice event, and a good cause.”

The woman looked at Sam and then at Mac. “A change from your usual style?” she asked in a teasing tone.

Sam looked away. He was not seeing her, either. This was getting awkward. Maybe she should take this opportunity to leave, much as she hated for her special evening to end.

Another couple walked by and the first stopped them.

“Jerry, you wanted to meet Mac McAlheny, here’s your chance. Mac, this is Jerry Martin, head of Windsong Industries. I’m surprised you two haven’t met before.”

Samantha instantly went still. Oh, no! The CEO’s office of McAlheny Industries was where she’d found the ticket, crumpled in the trash. Her heart raced.

Ohmygod, she’d been dancing with the man! Talking with him. Kissing him.

She had spent the evening with Mac McAlheny!

She had to escape before he realized she’d taken the invitation from his office. She hadn’t exactly stolen it—it was trash after all. But she wasn’t sure the CEO of one of Atlanta’s fastest-growing high-tech firms would see it that way.

She looked at the door across the room in panic. She had to leave. Right now.

“Excuse me, I need to find the ladies,” she said, pushing back from the table. Her eyes met Mac’s. She wanted to smile, but was afraid to do anything but escape while she had the chance. To be discovered at this late date would be beyond embarrassing.

Weaving her way through the tables and the people standing around talking, she quelled the temptation to run. She kept taking deep, slow breaths to ease the screaming panic that assailed her. Once she reached the lobby she almost broke into a run to the cloakroom. She retrieved her coat and put it on as she hurried out into the rainy night. Escape was the only thought in her mind.

The doorman called a cab and she was ushered in like royalty. She’d avoided discovery. She sighed with relief and glanced back through the rain-drenched window, but saw only the glittering lights and the doorman in his fancy uniform.

“Goodbye,” she said softly. Her magical evening had ended.