Читать книгу Christmas with Him: The Tycoon's Christmas Proposal / A Bravo Christmas Reunion / Marry-Me Christmas - Jackie Braun, Christine Rimmer - Страница 8

DAWSON cursed and yanked at his bow tie as he stood in front of the vanity mirror. This was his third attempt at tying it and it still had turned out lopsided. He wasn’t sure why his hands wouldn’t cooperate, any more than he could put a finger on the origin of the nerves fluttering in his stomach.

He hadn’t felt keyed up before either of the other dates, disasters that they’d wound up being. And his evening with Eve wasn’t a date at all. It was business, he reminded himself, as he finished with his tie, checked his watch and called for his driver to bring the car around.

Business was forgotten, however, the moment Eve opened her apartment door. She was wearing red, her lips and nails painted the same dangerous shade. She’d done something different with her dark hair, pulling it back and up to reveal the slim line of her neck. Diamond studs caught fire on her ear lobes as she tilted her head to one side and regarded him with a smile that he was pretty sure dated back to the original Eve.

“Hello, Dawson.”

“You look …” Words failed him. For a moment, he thought his heart might fail him, too. The woman should come with a cardiac arrest warning.

“This works for the occasion, right?” She did a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn that made him wish he had a defibrillator handy. “I wouldn’t want to stand out.”

“You’ll stand out, but for all the right reasons,” he replied with more honesty than he’d intended.

Her smile bloomed again. “That’s quite a compliment. You look pretty good yourself. It’s a sin there are so few places for a man to wear a tuxedo nowadays.”

“I doubt you’ll get many men to agree.” He pulled at his collar as he said it. The damned thing seemed to have grown too tight.

Eve laughed. It was a husky sound, entirely too provocative for the mere reason that it wasn’t intended to be. “Come on, a tuxedo can’t be as uncomfortable as my shoes. My arches are going to hate me by the end of the night.”

Dawson allowed his gaze to skim down, which he regretted almost immediately. He’d already known she had a pair of killer legs. Tonight they were accentuated by black pumps that added a good three inches to her already respectable height. His pulse took flight along with the little butterfly tattooed on her ankle. He didn’t particularly care for the reaction. Business, he reminded himself.

“Ready to go?” he asked. “While I have no problem arriving fashionably late, my mother is a stickler for punctuality.”

“Ah. Right. So, exactly what have you told her about me?”

“Your name.”

“A man of few words,” she said on a laugh. “Just let me get my coat.”

He glanced around while she did so. Her apartment was a loft in a former commercial building that had been converted to residential use. Its exposed ductwork, distressed wood floor and battered brick walls gave it an almost industrial feel. It was small, its total square footage probably not equal to that of his master suite, but Eve certainly had made the most of every inch.

Her taste was as bold and uncompromising as the woman. Vivid colors were splashed against neutrals and a rather eclectic mix of artwork adorned the walls. At the far end of the room, he spied a slim staircase that led to the sleeping loft. A horizontal chrome railing defined the space up top and allowed a tantalizing glimpse of a platform bed beyond. He saw more bold colors there, rich crimsons, plums and golds. For a moment, he allowed himself to wonder what one might interpret from her decorating choices.

“Dawson?”

He turned to find her standing directly behind him. She held a small clutch in her hands and was already wearing her coat, a long wool number that was cinched in at the waist with a belt. Even covered up with not so much as a scrap of red showing, she still exuded far too much sex appeal for his comfort.

He glanced away and cleared his throat. “Nice place you have here.”

“Thanks. I like it.”

“Excellent location given your job.” He made a circular motion with one hand. “Close to shops and all.”

“Yes.” She smiled. “But work wasn’t the only reason I chose it. I like being in the thick of things.”

She would. Though he didn’t know her very well, he’d already figured out that Eve was the sort of woman who grabbed life with both hands and held on tight, even when the ride got wild.

“Well, we should be going.” As he followed her out the door, Dawson wondered why he felt both eager to leave and disappointed that they couldn’t stay.

He knew the answer to at least half that question when they arrived at the Wilmington Hotel twenty minutes later. The large ballroom could accommodate seven hundred guests. Only a fraction of that number had arrived, as it was early yet. But his mother gave him a pointed look when she spied him. Dawson sent her a wink and purposely steered Eve in the opposite direction. He needed a little fortification before he faced his family and began fielding their questions. He also needed to clue Eve in on a few pertinent facts.

“How about a glass of wine?” he suggested.

“I suppose that even though this is technically a work function for me a nice glass of Chardonnay wouldn’t be out of line,” she replied.

“Not at all.”

As he ordered their drinks from a bar that had been set up in one corner, Eve said, “I guess you weren’t kidding when you said your mother doesn’t believe in doing things halfway. I wasn’t expecting the party to be quite this large. This room must be set up for at least a few hundred people to dine.”

“Seven hundred, actually.”

She blinked in surprise. “Is everyone in Denver on the guest list?”

“Sometimes it feels that way,” he said. He swept an arm out to the side. “But what you see here are the people with the deepest pockets. My mother’s specialty is getting them to reach in, grab a wad of bills and make a donation.”

“She sounds like a formidable woman,” Eve said.

He merely smiled. She could be, he thought, recalling the previous day’s conversation. At times, Tallulah could be downright relentless. The bartender handed them their wine.

“So, is your family here?” Eve inquired, taking a sip. “I’m eager to meet them.”

“Some of them are, I believe.” He cleared his throat. “Before I introduce you, though, I need to ask a favor of you. I would prefer that they didn’t know what it is you do for a living.”

“Ashamed of me?” She tilted her head to one side, sounding more amused than insulted, although he thought he saw something akin to vulnerability flicker briefly in her dark eyes.

“Of course not. It’s just that I don’t want them to feel …” He groped for the right word.

“Like you brought in a designated hitter because you couldn’t be bothered to shop for their gifts yourself?” She smiled sweetly before taking another sip of her wine.

Because his conscience had delivered a swift kick to his nether region, he replied, “You know, you can be annoyingly blunt at times.”

Her shoulders lifted in a delicate shrug. “I know. It’s a gift.”

“It’s something,” he muttered. “Maybe you should sign up for a Dale Carnegie course.”

“I already took one. Passed with flying colors, as a matter of fact. A star pupil.” She smiled at him over the rim of her glass. “So, who exactly do they think I am?”

Dawson felt as if he had been dumped back into junior high school when he admitted, “They think you’re my date.”

“Ah. Your date.” She was enjoying his embarrassment. Of that much he was sure. “And how long have we been an item?”

“We’re not an item,” he groaned.

“First date. Got it.” She grinned. “Well, I promise I’ll try not to be obvious while I’m plying them with questions to get an idea of their likes and dislikes.”

Eve wouldn’t be the only one with questions, Dawson thought. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted his mother. She was homing in on them with the precision of a heat-seeking missile, not even stopping to chat with the people who greeted her along the way. There would be no avoiding her this time.

He put his arm around Eve, leaned close and whispered, “My mother is headed this way.”

“Uh-oh. Should I bat my eyelashes at you or something?” she asked.

“This was a bad idea,” he mumbled, not quite sure if he felt that way because of her glib reply or because he’d caught a whiff of her perfume. It was sexy, sinful. He ignored the tug of lust it inspired and pasted a smile on his face as his mother reached them.

“Dawson, darling,” Tallulah called. “I thought I saw you come in a moment ago.”

He kissed her cheek. “Hello, Mom. You look as radiant as ever. Is that a new dress?”

“It is, though I doubt you could give a fig,” she replied on a chuckle, letting him know that his attempt at flattery had not sidetracked her in the least. Indeed, speculation lit her eyes even as her lips curved into a smile. “And who might this lovely young woman be?”

Eve knew she was being inspected from head to toe even if Tallulah Burke was smiling and greeting her in as gracious a fashion as she did it.

Dawson performed the introductions, all the while looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable. All of his usual cockiness was gone. Eve liked him all the more for it.

“Mom, this is Eve Hawley. Eve, my mother, Tallulah Burke.”

“Eve, it’s very nice to meet you.” Tallulah shook Eve’s hand, covering it with both of hers, which were fine-boned and heavily bejeweled. She didn’t let go immediately afterward. No. She held on as she added, “I have to say, I was a little surprised when my son mentioned yesterday that he would be bringing a guest to the party this evening. I wasn’t aware he was dating anyone. I guess the mother is the last to know.”

Even as she said it, Eve got the feeling that very little got past Dawson’s mother. This was no flighty society maven. Her blue eyes were keen with intelligence and, at the moment, a great deal of curiosity.

“Eve and I haven’t known one another very long,” Dawson hedged.

“Oh?”

“First date,” Eve supplied. She didn’t quite bat her eyelashes, but came close. Dawson scowled.

“Really? How exactly did you meet?” Tallulah asked, her gaze never wavering from Eve.

“A mutual friend got us together.” Since it wasn’t exactly a lie, Eve had no problem supplying the information.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dawson nod, apparently pleased with her response. Then, before his mother could probe any further, he added, “It was no one you know, Mom.”

Someone called her name then. Tallulah turned and waved. “Well, I need to mingle. You should do the same, Daw. It’s expected.”

“Right.”

She turned to Eve then. “I’ll look forward to getting to know you better over dinner.”

Oh, I bet you will, Eve thought.

Will I measure up?

The question had her stomach knotting and some of the old insecurities managed to sneak in, despite the fact that her relationship with Dawson wasn’t the romantic one his mother had been led to believe.

“I have a feeling that the salmon won’t be the only thing grilled here tonight,” she murmured once she and Dawson were alone.

“Don’t worry. My mother is harmless.”

Eve decided to reserve judgment. Admittedly, her first impression of Tallulah had been a positive one. The woman seemed kind, and the very fact that she threw an annual ball to raise funds for charity elevated Eve’s opinion of her. But Eve had had enough negative experiences in her past to know better than to trust first impressions.

Pot calling the kettle, she thought, since she did her best to make a stellar first impression. It was important to her.

Thanks to her penchant for sniffing out sales and spending her pennies on quality pieces, Eve knew what to wear. She also had no problem holding her own in social settings. One of the great aunts she’d lived with had been a stickler for etiquette. Eve knew how to sit with her legs crossed demurely at the ankle. She knew how to walk—head up, shoulders back. She knew which fork to use for the various courses served at dinner. And when it came to the art of small talk, she could hold her own with the best of them.

But she was a fraud. An absolute and utter fake underneath all of her props and polish.

She had not been born into money, and, as she’d learned with her last boyfriend, when it came right down to it, for some people it was the pedigree that made all the difference.

Eve notched up her chin, crooked her arm through Dawson’s and in her best haughty voice, asked, “Shall we go forth and mingle?”

He heaved a sigh. “I’d rather not, but yes. Just let me do most of the talking.”

“Oh, don’t worry about me. I’m a regular chameleon,” Eve assured him. “No one will ever suspect that I don’t belong here.”

He sent her a questioning look, which she ignored. Despite those noxious self-doubts, she continued to smile brightly.

Everyone with whom they stopped to chat seemed surprised to see Dawson and, oddly, a little tongue-tied around him. Eve might have thought that was because he was the sort of man who exuded power. Some people found that intimidating. But it was more than his importance. She felt an undercurrent here, something just below the surface of the polite conversations that seemed almost like sympathy. It didn’t make sense. Why would anyone feel sorry for Dawson Burke? The man had it made: a high-powered job, wealth, exceptional good looks and a body that appeared to have been chiseled from granite.

Yet for all that, he couldn’t manage a real date for an evening. Hmm…

As they made their way over to the tables where the items for the silent auction had been set up, Eve said, “I’m curious about something.”

“Yes?” he replied absently.

The first item they came to was a gift basket full of aromatherapy bath products. The opening bid was far more than the actual value of the individual components and yet several others had already topped it. Dawson scrawled his name down along with an outrageous amount. She added generous to his list of attributes.

“I’m trying to figure out what’s wrong with you,” Eve stated bluntly.

He straightened and regarded her from beneath furrowed brows. “Excuse me?”

“Well, you’re obviously successful and you’re attractive.” She gave one bicep a squeeze through the sleeve of his tuxedo jacket. “Your body’s definitely all male, even if you do have a penchant for lavender-scented bubble baths.”

“It’s for charity,” came his dry reply.

“Right.” She winked because she knew it would annoy him. The man seriously needed to lighten up.

“Charity,” he muttered a second time.

“So, why couldn’t you get a real date for tonight?”

Dawson looked perplexed by the question. “Aren’t you having a good time?”

Surprisingly, she was and so she admitted as much. “All things considered, I’m actually enjoying myself. I’m just, you know …” She motioned with her hand. “Curious.”

“Curiosity killed the cat, Eve.”

She merely shrugged. “Cats have nine lives. So, why aren’t you dating?”

“Who says that I’m not?”

She settled a hand on one hip. “Everyone we’ve met tonight seems shocked to see you out at a social function.” She paused for effect before adding, “Especially in the company of a woman.”

“I have a very demanding position as the head of Burke Financial.” The excuse was weak and he knew it based on the way his gaze slid away after he said it.

“Okay, got it. Work is the love of your life, so you have no room for a flesh-and-blood woman,” Eve deduced, being purposefully blunt.

His gaze snapped back. “I enjoy what I do. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I agree wholeheartedly.” She crossed her arms. “I enjoy my job immensely. I’m paid to shop and that’s not a bad way to spend the day, in my humble opinion.”

Dawson snorted. “Name me a woman on the planet who doesn’t like to shop?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Got a pen and piece of paper handy? The list is long, which is why I’ve remained gainfully employed twelve months of the year since I started doing this. Not everyone who hires me is male or in need of someone to buy their holiday gifts.”

His smile was tight when he conceded, “Point taken.”

“Actually, my point is that while there’s nothing wrong with liking what you do for a living, you also need to enjoy, well, living. That’s hard to do when what goes on at the office sucks up nearly every waking hour.”

He frowned and said nothing, but for just a moment, when she’d spoken of enjoying life, his expression had turned grim and almost haunted. She’d struck a nerve, of that she was sure. Which nerve, however, remained a mystery.

They moved to the next item up for auction. When Eve saw what it was, she squealed in delight: two tickets to the stage production of Les Misérables. Its limited run at the Denver Center for the Performing Arts was scheduled to come to an end just before Christmas. The set of seats being auctioned were prime, a fact that was reflected in the most recent bid. Even so, she snatched up the pencil and jotted down a sum that topped the previous one by twenty-five dollars.

Dawson was rubbing his chin when she straightened. “Your line of work pays very well.”

She laughed ruefully. “I’ll be eating salad for a month, but I’m dying to see this show. Tickets for seats this good are impossible to get at this point. I’ve checked. And checked. And checked.”

He tapped the paper with the tip of his index finger. “Well, if you really want them, you’re going to have to bid higher than that.”

“You think?”

“I know. The evening’s young yet and the people with the fattest wallets tend to arrive fashionably late to these things.”

“Great,” she muttered.

“You can always buy the soundtrack.”

“I have the soundtrack.” She listened to it so often she could sing every song from memory. Sucking a breath between her teeth, she leaned over to erase her first bid. Then she raised the previous amount by fifty dollars. Afterward, she sent him a weak smile. “I like salad and I’ve been meaning to lose a few pounds anyway.”

His gaze detoured south and his brows rose right along with her pulse rate. Though he said nothing, his eyes communicated something quite clearly. She knew that look. It was all male and interested. Her heart thudded in response, which struck her as outrageous since she wasn’t even sure she liked Dawson Burke. Of course, like and lust weren’t mutually exclusive.

Then he shrugged and his expression once again turned aloof and arrogant, leaving her libido feeling duped.

They moved on. Standing before the next auction item was a couple Dawson apparently knew well.

“Hey, look who’s here,” the man said, smiling as he reached out to clasp Dawson’s hand.

“Hi, Tony. Christine,” he added, leaning over to buss the woman’s cheek. “It’s been awhile.”

“That’s because you haven’t returned any of our phone calls,” Tony reprimanded lightly.

Apparently he made a habit of that, Eve thought.

“We’ve been worried about you,” Christine added.

Dawson cleared his throat as he sent a fleeting glance in Eve’s direction. “There’s no need to worry about me.”

The couple followed the direction of his gaze, spied Eve and attached a far different meaning to his glance.

“So we see. We’re glad for you, Daw,” Christine said. “Really, glad.”

“Yeah,” her husband added. “It’s about damned time you returned to the land of the living.”

Because he hadn’t actually introduced her, Eve did the honors herself. She recognized their names from Dawson’s gift list, so she discreetly sized them up during the brief conversation, trying to concentrate on the kind of item that might suit their tastes, rather than their curious comments that Dawson had already made clear related to something that was none of her business.

“Well, we probably should make our way to the head table,” he said, winding up the conversation just after Christine mentioned running into the parents of someone named Sheila at the theater recently. “It was nice seeing you both again.”

“Yes. We’ll be having our annual party weekend after next. The invitations go out on Monday. Do you think you might make it this year?” Tony asked. “And, of course, Eve is welcome to come, too.” He sent a smile in her direction.

Uh-oh.

But she was saved from having to answer. Dawson was shaking his head. “Sorry. Other plans.”

“Oh.” Tony shrugged, though he was clearly disappointed. “Maybe we can get together for dinner one night between Christmas and New Year’s. Christine and I have been meaning to try out that new steak house.”

“Sorry,” Dawson said again. “I’ll be in Cabo from Christmas Eve ‘til the first of the year.”

“Cabo?” Tony glanced at Eve and then back at Dawson. “I guess I thought that maybe this year …” His words trailed off awkwardly.

“We should head to our table, too,” Christine said, taking her husband’s arm and sending a tight smile in Dawson’s direction. “It was nice meeting you, Eve. Hopefully we’ll see you again.”

Though it was the other couple who moved away, Eve was left with the distinct impression that Dawson was the one who had gone somewhere else.