Читать книгу Heart's Reward - Donna Hill - Страница 11

Melanie had been to her share of high-class soirees—from Paris to the Caribbean, rubbing elbows with athletes, billionaires, movie and television stars, corporate moguls and media-shy executives. But it was always a treat to be in the company of real power, the political machine that made the decisions about everything from health care to appointments to the Supreme Court. There was an unmistakable energy that emanated from the men and women in politics that could be found nowhere else in the world. For Melanie, it was a definite turn on.

Tonight the party was being hosted by the newly named American ambassador to Spain, which decidedly influenced the evening’s décor, entertainment and menu.

Alan escorted his small entourage through security and took them into the grand ballroom. When Alan said black tie, he wasn’t kidding. The men were decked out in tuxedos, some with tails and cummerbunds. The women perfectly complemented their escorts’ attire in cocktail dresses and evening gowns. But it was the jewelry that competed for attention, sparkling from ears, wrists and throats with enough joint wattage to light up the heavens.

Melanie preferred cocktail dresses over full-length gowns. She had great legs and used every opportunity to show them off. Tonight she’d chosen a bronze Vera Wang dress that was so close to her natural skin tone that she almost appeared naked were it not for the rhinestone appliqué that framed her décolletage. Her stilettos, in a matching color, accentuated her five-foot-nine height. The dress hugged her upper body, dipped dangerously low in the back and flared from the waist to just above her knees.

A trio of Spanish guitarists played in the background as the wait staff, outfitted in traditional dress, moved in and around the well-heeled crowd.

“You probably know a lot of these people,” Alan said as he and Melanie made their way across the room, nodding and smiling at familiar faces.

Vincent had taken his wife, sister and cousin to get drinks while Alan and Melanie mingled.

Alan lifted his chin. “There’s Claude over by the balcony talking to the attorney general.”

Melanie followed the direction of Alan’s gaze and spotted Claude. Perhaps it was the timing, a sixth sense or kismet, but he turned his head in her direction at the very moment she focused on him.

A sudden rush like that feeling you get in the pit of your stomach when the roller coaster drops down from its highest point at breakneck speed swept through her. Air shot up from her lungs and lodged in the center of her chest. His eyes, as dark and mysterious as the edge of the universe, held her in place. The barest hint of a smile teased his mouth and her before he gave her an imperceptible nod and turned back to his conversation.

Claude Montgomery was a standout in any room. There was a commanding air about him, a swagger that amplified his deep chocolate skin, broad chest and long legs. Wearing an Armani tux, Claude Montgomery was damn-near edible. He was a shoe-in for Idris Elba’s better-looking brother. Whoever was lucky enough to land him was in for a treat—at least in the looks department. She’d have a better idea once they did his profile. In the meantime she needed to regain her composure and quit imagining herself naked in his bed.

“Come on. I’ll introduce you,” Alan said, oblivious to the shift in her world that had just taken place.

The last time Melanie was nervous about meeting a man was in fifth grade when she got called into Principal Harrison’s office for starting a hunger strike in the lunchroom to protest the lousy food. That was a long time ago. But she hadn’t forgotten the racing pulse, wobbly knees and damp palms.

As they approached, the conversation drew to an end when the attorney general was pulled away by his wife.

Claude deposited his empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter. His broad smile was in full effect as he extended his hand to Alan.

“Good to see you, Al,” he said, shaking his hand heartily while slapping him on the back with the other.

They both turned to Melanie and there was that look again that seemed to suck her into his soul.

“Claude, this is my sister Melanie. Mel, Claude Montgomery.”

The seas parted and disappeared into the background. It was only the two of them waiting to cross that great divide.

Melanie reacted first. “Alan has been singing your praises,” she said, extending her hand toward him.

Claude took her slender fingers in his hand and brought them to his lips. He placed a feather-like kiss on the back of her hand. “Your reputation precedes you,” he said, his voice low and throbbing like distant thunder.

“I do hope that’s a good thing,” she said forcing herself not to concentrate on the currents of electricity that shot up and down her arm.

“Most definitely. Can I get you a drink?”

“Thank you. Yes.”

He raised his hand and signaled for a waiter, who was at their side almost instantly. He plucked a glass of champagne from the tray and handed it to her.

“Thank you.” She took a tiny sip. “Alan says you’re chief of staff for Senator Lawson. I’m surprised we haven’t met before.”

“I try to stay away from these shindigs whenever possible,” he said with a gleam in his eyes. Melanie grinned.

“I’ll let you two get acquainted. I’m going to look for my son and company,” Alan pressed Melanie’s shoulder and walked off.

“So, Alan tells me that you are the consummate matchmaker.”

Melanie lowered her gaze for a moment. “That’s the rumor,” she answered, her tone teasing. “And I understand that you may be interested in our services.”

Claude drew in a long breath. “I’ve been considering it for a while now,” he said, the levity gone from his voice. “My job takes up a great deal of my time and I believe I’m reaching the point where I’d like to come home to more than paperwork, my BlackBerry and cognac.”

Hmm, he likes cognac. A man with taste.

“I see. Believe me, I totally understand. If I didn’t know better I’d think I was talking to my brother.”

Claude chuckled. “I don’t think Alan will ever settle down again. He lives and breathes his job.”

“Tell me, what type of woman are you looking for?”

His deep gaze played across her face, like the sun warming the earth, and something stirred inside of her.

“There you are.”

They turned in unison to see Senator Lawson come up beside them.

“Melanie. Melanie Harte?”

Melanie beamed. “How are you Bradford?”

He captured her in a hug. “I had no idea you’d be here. What a pleasant surprise.”

“It’s good to see you, too.”

“I knew her grandmother, God rest her sweet soul. I watched this little lady grow up. Her grandmother introduced me to my late wife Louisa and the rest is history,” he ended with a wistful chuckle. He lowered his voice. “I understand you took over the business.”

Melanie nodded. “I did, along with my nieces and nephew.”

“Wonderful! We’ll have to talk before the night is over. I want you to meet my son Rafe.” He looked around. “If you’ll excuse me, I want to catch Senator Morgan before he tries to slip out.” He lightly bussed Melanie’s cheek. “Don’t leave before we talk.”

“I won’t,” she promised, squeezing his hand.

The newest Supreme Court justice walked by and waved at Melanie.

“Congratulations,” Melanie mouthed.

“Call me,” she said in return before being swept into a crowd of senators vying for her attention.

“You travel in lofty circles,” Claude said, finishing off his drink.

“My grandmother and then my mother traveled in these circles all their lives. They made sure that I knew everyone that they did. I really don’t think about it much. It’s part of my life, which happens to help with the business that I’m in. I’m totally unimpressed by status and celebrity at this point. Once you strip that all away, the real person emerges. That’s who I want to get to know. And most of them, once you get beyond their public personas, they’re just regular folks with the same wants, needs, flaws and fears as everyone else. They simply have the money and the power to hide it better than the rest.”

“Point taken.” He paused a moment. “So what do you see beneath my layer?”

She looked up into his eyes. Her heart suddenly thumped. “That’s what we’ll have to find out. Won’t we?”

“You’ve been monopolizing this beautiful woman all night, Claude.”

Claude turned to his left. “Rafe. Your father was just looking for you.”

Rafe chuckled and his light-brown eyes sparkled in the light. “I’m sure he was,” he murmured, the hint of his Louisiana accent seeping through. He stepped closer and zeroed in on Melanie. “Raford Lawson,” he said, taking her hand. “Melanie Harte.”

“My pleasure.” He kissed her hand. “Dance with me.”

She hesitated a moment. “Of course. Please excuse me, Claude.”

Claude gave a short nod of his head as Rafe escorted Melanie onto the dance floor.

“So Melanie Harte, what brings you to this stuffy affair?” He took her hand in his—the other went to the small of her back as they swayed to the music.

Melanie laughed lightly. “My brother Alan invited me.”

He arched his neck back and looked down into her face. “Alan Harte is your brother?”

“Yes, he is.”

“Well I’ll be damned,” he said over his laughter.

“You’re that Melanie Harte. Your grandmother fixed up my daddy and mama.”

“So the story goes.”

He stepped back, released her and made a gallant bow. “I am in the arms of greatness,” he teased.

Melanie shook her head and chuckled. “You are much too dramatic.”

He swept her back into his arms and whispered deep in her ear. “I’ve been called much worse.”

They danced together for two more songs before Melanie begged off.

“Save the last dance for me,” Rafe said with a light kiss on her cheek.

He was definitely a charmer, she thought with amusement as she watched him saunter away toward a group of beautiful women, who all but swooned when he approached. Melanie shook her head and smiled.

“I see you’ve already become acquainted with my son,” Senator Lawson said.

Melanie turned in his direction. “Yes. He’s certainly a charmer.”

The senator chuckled. “Oh, is that what you call it?”

“What would you call it?”

“Oh, I’d never say what I thought to a lady.” He winked. “But I will say that he needs taming. Rafe is a free spirit. Can’t get him to settle down to anything serious. But I think the right woman could do what me and the whole damn family have not been able to,” he said, his Creole background filtering through. “That’s where you come in. I’d like to secure your services.”

“Are you sure he would be agreeable?”

“Every now and again I can get the boy to listen to me. And if it has anything to do with women, he’ll listen.”

Melanie’s right brow rose for an instant. “I’m sure we could find someone special for your son.”

“Good. I’m counting on it. I want Rafe to step into my shoes one day and I want him to have a good woman at his side—someone strong enough to stand up against some of his foolishness.”

She drew in a breath, reached in her purse and handed him her card. “If he’s willing and when he’s ready, have him call me.”

The senator took the card and tucked it into his jacket pocket. “It will be sooner than you think.”

Melanie moved around the room, chatting with many of the familiar faces and catching up on the political gossip. Throughout the evening she caught glimpses of Claude and each time her insides quaked. It was clear that he was a man completely comfortable in who he was and how he’d gotten there. She noticed the way he held his muscular body, never lording his height over people but rather inviting them into his space. He focused on people when they talked as if they were the only person in the world that mattered. He was intelligent, witty, a great dancer and well-connected. Yes, on the surface, Claude Montgomery was a man that any woman would desire. Not to mention that his sex appeal was off the charts.

Then there was Raford Lawson. There was no doubt that Rafe could charm a blind woman out of her panties. He was breathtakingly gorgeous from the natural waves of his ink black hair, the honey brown of his eyes, his dark sweeping brows down to his imported Italian shoes. He was wealthy, spoiled and brought up to believe that he could have whatever he wanted. He was like an unbridled Arabian stallion: magnificent and wild, never harnessed and never ridden. His father was right. It would take a special woman to rein in Rafe Lawson. Inwardly, she smiled. The Platinum Society would certainly have their work cut out for them.

As the family was preparing to leave, Raford stopped Melanie at the door. He took a sip of his bourbon. “My father insists that you can find me the perfect woman.” He extracted the card his father had given him from his pocket and held it between his two fingers.

“It’s what we do.” A glint lit her eyes.

The corner of his exquisite mouth curved upward. “You’re on Ms. Harte. Expect my call.” He winked and walked away.

“What was that about?” Veronica asked, draping her wrap across her shoulders.

Melanie turned to her niece. “It seems that we may have two new clients instead of one.”

“What do you think about Claude?” Alan asked as they headed back to Sag Harbor, cocooned in the luxury of a stretch limousine. Everyone chimed in except Melanie. Sensing she was being scrutinized, she glanced up and focused. “What?”

“You were definitely someplace else,” Alan teased.

“I was asking what you thought of Claude.”

That’s exactly who she was thinking of when she’d zoned out of the conversation. “I’m sure we can find someone for him. On the surface he totally fits our criteria. Of course we’ll know much better after Veronica works up his profile.”

“And Senator Lawson wants us to find someone for his son,” Veronica added.

“Rafe?” Alan asked, clearly surprised.

Melanie nodded her head. “That’s what he told me.”

“And Rafe agreed?”

“He told me in no uncertain terms that I would be hearing from him,” Melanie said. “It was almost a challenge.”

Alan chuckled and leaned back against the plush leather seats. “Trust me, it will be.”

“Rafe, are you ready to leave? I’m tired.”

Rafe turned his gaze away from the entourage as they said their good-nights. He focused on the lovely woman in front of him. For a moment he couldn’t recall her name. It didn’t matter really. They all loved being called sweetheart or baby. He set down his glass on the tray of a passing waiter and turned his hundred-watt smile on his date.

“Not too tired,” he teased, trailing his finger along the curve of her exposed back.

She purred with pleasure and moved closer to him. “Never too tired for you. You should know that by now.”

He probably should, he thought while he absently nuzzled her neck, imagining Melanie’s warm caramel skin beneath his lips. The truth was this woman who was ready to do whatever he asked was one of so many like her. Beautiful, nameless women that saw the Lawson name, heard whispers about his skills in the bedroom and put themselves in his path. He loved women. All types of women. Tall, thin, thick, short, black, white, Latina, Asian. They were all wonderful, willing and desirable in their own way. And the southern gentleman in him compelled him to please as many of them as he could.

His trio of sisters—Lee Ann and the twins Dominique and Desiree—steered all of their friends clear of their playboy brother and admonished the youngest Lawson, their brother Justin, not to follow in their big brother’s footsteps.

Rafe grinned to himself as he helped his date with her wrap. He loved his family dearly, even though he constantly remained on the receiving end of their reprimands. But no amount of scolding, threats of being cut out of the family fortune or hints of scandal stopped him in his relentless pursuit of women.

It was in his nature. It was in his blood as sure as the champagne that flowed through it now. He accepted that. He knew that deep inside he was looking for something. He simply didn’t know what that something was and he would not stop until he found it.

Rafe slid into the back seat of the chauffeured limo. He tossed his tuxedo jacket across to the other side of the horseshoe-shaped leather seat. He leaned toward the mini bar and uncorked a bottle of wine. He poured a glass for himself and his date, confident that before the night was over her name would come back to him.

“Rafe,” she cooed, leaning forward to expose her heavenly depths. “I was hoping you’d like to join me and some close friends for a weekend in Cancun.”

He looked at her over the rim of the flute. Her makeup was a little too heavy and he concluded it was to mask her acne. Her body was lovely but he could tell from experience that it didn’t come naturally. She did have interesting eyes and a lovely mouth. Kissable. That much he did remember. “Sounds appealing.”

“Say yes.” She all but batted her eyelashes.

It was as if the action lifted the veil that had covered his eyes and he wondered why he was with her. What was he doing? “I’ll check my schedule and get back to you.” He smiled to soften the disappointment. “Where do you live again, cher? Forgive me.” He held up his glass. “One too many.”

“Park and 62nd Street.”

“Of course.” He winked at her and tapped on the partition that separated them from the driver.

The Plexiglas whirred downward.

“Park and 62nd,” Rafe instructed. He reclined against the thick leather back seat. He ignored her pout.

“I thought we were going to your place,” she whined.

“I’m sorry, cher. Not tonight. Maybe another time.”

She flopped back against the seat and folded her arms tightly to her body, elevating the expensive enhancements. Rafe turned his attention to the traffic outside the window, lighting up the night sky with the gleam from streetlights that danced off their hoods, their headlights illuminating onto the blacktop. It seemed to create a magical lightshow, much like his life. It was all smoke and mirrors. He’d mastered the art of illusion. The ability to charm and woo, to talk his way into and out of anything he wanted.

He draped his arm along the back of the seat and drummed his long fingers against the firm surface. He hated these introspective moments, those times when all of the scolding, threats and warnings from his family stirred his conscience. In those moments he came face to face with the pointlessness of the life that he led.

His father was a powerful senator, his sister Lee Ann had the education, skills and family lineage to move into politics. The twins, when they weren’t trying to spend the family fortune, were both involved in philanthropy. His brother Justin was being primed for the political arena. Rafe’s unambitious lifestyle went against everything that the Lawson family stood for.

“Much as I loved your mother, God rest her soul, she spoiled you rotten, boy. Doted on you like you were the king of damned England and enabled all of your philandering ways,” Bradford Lawson had said, glaring at his son with the same vehemence that he reserved for his opponents on the senate floor.

Rafe endured the periodic tongue-lashing from his father with practiced chagrin. There was probably some truth to what his father said, although he would never admit it to him. His beloved mother had been his rock, the only one in the family who understood him. She knew how to rein him in without holding him in place.

God he missed her. There was an emptiness in his soul since she’d been gone and he filled it with one woman after another, wild parties, good liquor and tabloid-worthy adventures. For a while the space would be filled, but inevitably the emptiness would return.

Maybe his father was right. Maybe he did need a good woman in his life to help him settle down. And his thoughts shifted to Melanie.

She was different from the other women he had known and bedded. She couldn’t care less who he was. She was independent and didn’t appear to need the arm of a man to make herself look good or feel important. She already was—all qualities that were rare in the women he saw. Melanie Harte.

“You’re smiling again,” his date said, cutting into his thoughts. He turned from the window and realized that she was sitting right by his side. “I thought I’d done something to upset you.”

His smile wavered and held. He stretched a finger toward her chin and gently lifted it. Yes, she had beautiful eyes and kissable lips. He remembered now. Her name was Stephanie. His gaze caressed her slightly over-made-up face. He leaned forward and pressed his lips toward her kissable ones. She sighed ever so softly.

“Should we bring the wine up to your place?” he said against her mouth. He felt her body loosen with delighted relief.

The idea that he was the source of her happiness, real or imagined, only helped to reaffirm his mantra. He couldn’t disappoint a woman. After all, he was a southern gentleman.

The car pulled to a stop in front of Stephanie’s building on Park Avenue. The driver opened the door. Rafe stepped out first and helped Stephanie to her feet. He slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her close to his side.

She laughed and it was the music that always made him weak, made him dance—the sound of a woman’s laughter.

He walked behind her as the building doorman greeted her. She turned, her smile bright and her eyes inviting.

His dimple appeared. The elevator door closed behind them. He’d let Melanie Harte try to reform him tomorrow.