Читать книгу Cinderella and the Playboy / The Texan's Happily-Ever-After - Karen Rose Smith - Страница 9

At seven-fifteen on Saturday night, Jennifer was well on her way to being transformed into Cinderella. Linda, Yolanda and Shirley had knocked on her door at 5:00 p.m., laden with bags. They’d dropped boxes, bags and bottles atop her bed before they raided her kitchen for wineglasses. After pouring wine and setting out a tray of crackers and cheese on her dresser, they had shooed her into the shower.

She had shampooed and scrubbed with Linda’s gift of plumeria-scented gel before toweling off and smoothing the matching floral lotion over her skin. She had heard Annie’s giggles over the throb of music from the radio on her bedside table and when she had pulled on her robe and left the bathroom, she had found Annie dancing with Yolanda. The two had twirled and spun in the small carpeted space at the foot of the bed while they sang along with a 1980s disco song.

Their enthusiasm had far outweighed their vocal talents and Jennifer had laughed as the song ended with a flourish.

Jennifer replayed the fresh memories just made over the past hour. “Hi, Mommy.” Annie left Yolanda and wrapped her arms around Jennifer’s waist, dimples flashing in her flushed face as she grinned up at her. “We’re disco dancing.”

“I see that,” Jennifer told her. “Very impressive.”

“But now I have to dry your mom’s hair,” Yolanda said, handing Jennifer a glass of wine and motioning her to have a seat on a chair she’d placed at the end of the bed. “We’ll dance more later, okay, Annie?”

“Okay,” the little girl agreed promptly. She curled up on the bed and settled in to watch as Yolanda worked on Jennifer’s damp hair.

Yolanda wielded blow dryer and curling iron with expertise and a half hour later, stood back to eye Jennifer.

“Perfect,” she declared with satisfaction.

“Will you do my hair next, Yolanda?” Annie asked, gathering fistfuls of red-gold curls and bunching a handful of the silky mass on each side of her head.

“Absolutely, kiddo.” Yolanda grinned at her. “Shirley’s going to help your mom with her makeup in the bathroom. You can take her place over here.”

Jennifer left Annie chattering away as Yolanda French-braided her long curls. In the bathroom, Shirley upended a brocade bag of makeup onto the small countertop and lined up pots of eyeshadow, brushes for the loose powder, several tubes of lipstick and a handful of lip color pencils.

Jennifer heard Annie chattering and laughing with Yolanda as she applied makeup and Shirley offered advice. At last, she slicked lush color on her lips and smoothed clear gloss over the deep red lipstick, then stood back to critically view the effect.

The mauve eyeshadow turned her eyes a deeper blue, smoky and mysterious, set within a thicket of dark lashes. Subtle rose color tinted her cheeks. She tilted her head, loving the soft brush of silky blond curls against her nape and temples.

“Perfect,” Shirley pronounced, standing behind her. Their gazes met in the mirror. “Just perfect. You look fabulous, girlfriend. Time to get dressed.”

“Ahem.” Jennifer loudly cleared her throat and struck a pose in the doorway.

“Ooh, Mommy.” Annie’s awestruck voice reflected the delight shining in her widened blue eyes. “You look just like a princess.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” Jennifer caught her daughter close, receiving a tight hug in return. “Now you have to scoot,” she said, giving her one last hug before looking down at her. “Be good for Linda, okay? And have fun.”

“I will.” Annie twirled away to grab her backpack. “I’ll tell you all about it when I come home on Sunday.”

“I can’t wait,” Jennifer assured her solemnly, exchanging a glance with Linda that shared a wry understanding, one mother to another.

Fifteen minutes later, Jennifer waved goodbye from the window as her friends climbed into their cars on the street below. Annie and Linda paused to wave up at her and moments later, the brake lights of Linda’s blue sedan disappeared around the corner at the end of the block.

After the laughter, chatter and teasing advice of her friends, the apartment seemed too quiet with only the radio for company. The air in the room felt hushed and expectant, as if the place itself was waiting. Jennifer swept the neat living room with a quick glance before walking into her bedroom to collect the satin wrap that matched her dress.

Turning to leave, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the long mirror mounted on the back of her bedroom door. Jennifer paused—the woman staring back at her seemed like a stranger. The scarlet gown fit as if custom-sewn for her alone. It had a square neckline, cut low across the swell of her breasts, with tiny cap sleeves and a bodice that hugged her narrow waist. The skirt was made up of yards of floating chiffon and lace and the toes of red, strappy high heels peeked from beneath the hem.

She wore her few pieces of good jewelry—three narrow gold bangle bracelets inset with tiny diamonds and small diamond studs in the lobes of her ears. Around her neck she wore her silver locket with Annie’s picture. She knew it didn’t quite match, but she’d never taken it off. Yolanda had pinned her caramel-blond curls atop her head in a soft upsweep that left the line of her throat bare, but wisps curled down her neck at the back.

The designer dress truly made her feel like Cinderella, waiting for the Prince to take her to the ball. The fanciful thought made her smile as she thought ruefully of her date’s playboy reputation.

A knock sounded on the outer door and Jennifer froze. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach and she pressed the flat of her hand to her abdomen, drawing a deep breath and reaching for calmness. Then she quickly left the bedroom and crossed the living room where a cautious glance through the hall door’s peephole sent her heartbeat racing once again. She drew another deep breath, slowly exhaled and opened the door.

Chance stood just outside in the hallway. He wore a classic black tuxedo, a white formal shirt fastened with onyx studs, a black bow tie and polished black dress shoes. She’d thought him handsome in casual jeans and leather jacket, but she realized helplessly that he was undeniably heart-stopping in formal wear. His gaze swept over her from head to toe and back again without the slightest attempt to conceal his interest.

“Hello.” His deep voice drew out the word, the raspy growl loaded with undercurrents.

“Hello.” Jennifer felt the brush of his gaze and desire curled, heating her skin, making it tingle with awareness.

“Ready to go?” Chance asked. He hadn’t missed her reaction to his slow appraisal and the throb of arousal beat through his veins as he watched a faint flush move up her throat to tint her cheeks. She lowered her lashes, concealing her eyes.

“I just need to collect my purse.” She left him to cross the room.

He watched her walk away, his gaze intent on the gown’s long skirt. It swayed with each step, outlining the feminine curve of her hips and thighs with tantalizing briefness. The nape of her neck and the pale skin of her back to just above her narrow waist was bare, framed by crimson lace and a few loose curls. She disappeared through a doorway, momentarily releasing him from the spell that held him.

His gaze skimmed the room. The apartment was as neat as the rest of the old, well-maintained building and Jennifer’s living space held a warmth that was missing in his professionally decorated town house. A blue and cream-colored afghan draped over one arm of a white-painted wood rocking chair that sat at right angles to an overstuffed blue sofa. A framed poster of the New York Metropolitan Museum of Art hung on the wall above the sofa. At the far end of the room, a bookcase was stuffed with hardcovers and paperbacks, the overflow stacked in a bright pile at one end. Chance resisted the urge to walk closer and inspect the titles on the spines, curious to learn what she read. A television and DVD player took up the two shelves on a low cabinet against one wall and beyond, a kitchen area boasted a white-painted table with four chairs pushed up to it. A bright blue cloth runner ran down the center while a small stack of notebooks and what looked like a thick textbook were spread out over one end.

Just as he was about to step over the threshold, drawn inexorably by the rooms that he instinctively knew would give him a deeper insight into Jennifer, she reappeared.

“Got everything?” he asked as he watched her walk toward him. Heat stirred in his gut, just as it did each time he saw her at the diner.

“Yes.” She stepped into the hall, turning briefly to lock the door before they moved toward the elevator.

Outside, the spring night was slightly chilly and Jennifer draped the long satin wrap around her shoulders and throat. She tossed one crimson end over her shoulder and let it drape down her back, covering her bare shoulder blades above the gown’s skirt.

“Cold?” Chance asked as he keyed the lock and opened the door of a sleek black Jaguar sedan parked at the curb.

“Just a little,” Jennifer murmured, sliding into the low seat.

“I’ll turn the heater on in a second.” Chance bent to tuck her skirt out of the way and closed the door.

A moment later, he slid into the driver’s seat beside her.

Jennifer fastened her seat belt and stroked her fingertips over the butter-soft leather of the seat. Her gaze swept the compact, luxurious interior. “Nice car,” she said, breathing in the faint scent of leather and men’s cologne.

“Thanks.” Chance grinned at her and winked. “I like it.” His fingers moved over a series of buttons on the dash and heated air brushed Jennifer’s toes. The seat warmed beneath her. “How’s that?” he asked.

“Lovely.” She smiled at him, feeling distinctly cosseted.

“Good—let me know if you want it warmer.” He glanced in the mirrors, shifted into gear and the Jag pulled smoothly away from the curb.

“Where is the ball being held?” Jennifer inquired as they left her block and headed downtown.

“Same place as last year, apparently,” Chance replied with a sideways glance and named a posh hotel that was fairly new but built in a traditional turn-of-the-century style. It had become an instant Boston landmark, its dining room and ballrooms favored by society mavens.

“I’ve never been there,” Jennifer said, intrigued. “But I read an article in the Boston Herald about the grand opening. The design alone sounded fabulous.”

“Rumor has it the financier was a mad count from Austria who was a distant relative of Dracula.”

“What?” Jennifer’s gaze flew to his. His dark eyes were lit with amusement. “You’re joking.”

“Nope.” He raised his hand, palm out. “I swear someone actually told me that.”

“And did you believe them?” Jennifer asked with a laugh.

“Not a word.”

“Excellent,” she responded promptly. “I’m glad to know you’re a sensible man.”

“Oh, I’m sensible,” he replied. “Now if you’d said I was a ‘nice, safe’ guy, I would have had to rethink my answer.”

She shot him a chastening look from beneath her lashes and found his mouth curved in a half smile that set awareness humming through her torso. “Hmm,” she said. “I don’t think I’ll ask you why.” With an abrupt change of subject, she pointed out the window. “Isn’t that the hotel?”

Chance lifted a brow and his gaze met hers for a brief moment before he nodded, downshifting as he turned out of traffic and drove beneath the portico.

The lobby was a fascinating blend of old and new, with jewel-toned, blown-glass Chihuly light fixtures hanging from boxed ceilings. A broad expanse of thick black and gold carpeting covered the floors, and round seats upholstered in gold were arranged at intervals between the reception desk and the wide hallway on their left.

Jennifer loosened her wrap from her throat and let it slip down her arms to catch at her elbows. Chance took her hand and tucked it through the bend of his arm, the move securing her against his side.

She didn’t shift away from the press of his body against hers although she had the feeling she was playing with fire. She was all too aware of his reputation with women; in fact, she’d overheard several diner conversations about the subject between female employees from the institute. She didn’t doubt that Chance had plans for ending the evening with her in his bed. Which left only one question—did she want the same thing?

She was certainly attracted to him. She also knew that their conversations over the past six months had led to her feeling more than just physically drawn to him. Still, she wasn’t sure if she wanted more from this evening than the sheer pleasure of an adult night out with a handsome man. And since she was undecided, she told herself to stop worrying and simply enjoy the party.

Chance led her down the wide hallway, one side lined with upscale shops. Some were filled with jewelry and designer clothing while several stores resembled Aladdin’s cave, aglow with colorful glassware and gifts. Directly across from the shops was a long bank of elevators.

“Going up?” a man called, holding the door of a half-filled car.

“Yes, thanks,” Chance told him, handing Jennifer ahead of him into the elevator.

They shifted to the rear of the car as three other couples entered and Jennifer found herself standing in front of Chance. When the elevator stopped on the next floor up and several other people entered, the crowd shifted backward once again, compressing the free space even farther.

Jennifer stepped nearer to Chance to avoid being bumped by the large man in front of her and Chance slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer and into the shelter of his body. By necessity, however, the move brought her bare back flush against his chest, his arm a warm bar across her midriff.

She felt surrounded by him. Each breath she took drew in the faint scent of his cologne and shifted the texture of his black jacket against her mostly bare arms, pressed the round black shirt studs against her waist.

She closed her eyes, flooded by sensations as her awareness of him intensified. She wanted to sink against his powerful body, wanted to pull his arms closer and wrap them around her, but instead, she forced her eyes open. And caught her breath when she gazed directly into the mirrored elevator wall and the reflection of Chance’s heavy-lidded eyes. Heat flooded her, matching the burn in his dark stare.

She stood still and his hand tightened at her waist, muscles flexing in the hard body that held her close. The moment was taut with silent tension. She nearly groaned with frustration when the connection was abruptly broken by the ping of the elevator when it came to a smooth stop. The doors opened with an audible whoosh, the sound further shattering the moment.

“Our floor,” Chance murmured in her ear, his voice deeper, rougher.

Jennifer didn’t reply, unsure if her voice would actually function. She and Chance moved with the crowd, conversation unnecessary amid the laughter and chatter. Chance’s hand rested at the small of her back, a warm weight that tied her to him as surely as if it were an invisible chain.

Never had she been so conscious of the differences between male and female, nor so compelled to explore the undeniable pull on her senses that drew her inexorably toward him.

They reached a wide archway and the guests around them slowed, forming a straggling line as they waited to enter the dining room.

“Dinner should be great,” Chance murmured. “I happen to know one of the chefs.” He took a square, gold-embossed, cream-colored card from his inner jacket pocket as the line moved forward.

“Good evening, Dr. Demetrios.” The tuxedo-clad man standing just outside the door smiled with warmth, nodding at Jennifer. “Ma’am.”

“Hello, Frank,” Chance replied. “Tell your boss I’m glad he’s doing the catering tonight. I was seriously considering skipping the dinner until I heard he was the chef.”

“I’ll tell him.” The man’s smile broadened. He took the invitation from Chance and consulted a seating chart. “You and your lady are with the senator and his wife at a front table.” He snapped his fingers and a waiter instantly appeared. “Joseph, show the doctor and his guest to table number four.”

“Yes, sir. This way, please.” The young man sketched a quick, respectful nod and led the way across the room.

Jennifer tried not to stare as they crossed the beautifully appointed art-deco dining room. White linen tablecloths covered round tables, each set for eight guests with polished silverware, gold-trimmed china, sparkling crystal glasses and fresh floral centerpieces. Crystal chandeliers were spaced at intervals down the ceiling and glittered and gleamed, adding their brilliance to the recessed lighting in the boxed ceiling.

“Chance!” A tall man with a mane of white hair and sun lines fanning from the edges of shrewd blue eyes stood as they reached a table just to the left of the speaker’s podium. “I told Emily Armstrong to make sure we sat at your table. I’m glad it worked out.”

“Hello, Archie.” Chance shook the man’s outstretched hand before draping an arm over Jennifer’s shoulder. “Jennifer, this is Senator Claxton and his wife, Evelyn. Their son, Ben, was my best friend from kindergarten through college. Archie and Evelyn, this is Jennifer Labeaux.”

“Good evening,” Jennifer held out her hand and received a firm, warm handshake.

“Glad to meet you, Jennifer,” the senator said, his eyes kind, his smile welcoming.

Seated on his left, his wife nodded and smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, dear.” The silver-haired woman leaned forward. “We must make a pact to keep Archie and Chance from talking politics or funding for medical research all during dinner. When they get started, they argue for hours.”

“Then we definitely need to divert them,” Jennifer told her as she slipped into the chair Chance held. “You lead, I’ll follow.”

“Excellent.” Evelyn nodded with approval.

“Now, Evie,” her husband protested as he and Chance settled into their seats. “I don’t know how you can object to a little friendly discussion, especially since tonight is a fundraiser for the institute and it’s one of your pet projects.”

“Oh, I certainly want to raise money for research,” Evelyn said serenely. “I just don’t want you and Chance to spend all evening discussing nothing but political funding. Especially when there’s bound to be so many other interesting subjects to talk about tonight. Like for instance,” she continued as she tilted her head, her voice lowering, “the not-quite-divorced starlet who just walked in on the arm of a certain land-development billionaire. Don’t stare!” She caught the sleeve of her husband’s tuxedo jacket to keep him from turning to look.

“Shoot, Evie,” the senator grumbled. “How do you expect me not to react when you hit me with one of your bombshells?”

“I’m continually amazed at the depth of your knowledge about society’s movers and shakers and the gossip they stir up,” Chance teased. He lounged in his seat, one arm resting across the gold-trimmed back of Jennifer’s chair. His fingers moved lazily, brushing her arm just below the edge of her capped sleeve. Goose bumps lifted in the wake of his touch.

“A senator’s wife has to have something to occupy her while her husband is off doing governmental things,” the older woman told him. “I just happen to have access to a very well-informed network of gossips.” She winked at Jennifer.

Jennifer laughed, charmed by the couple. Before she could respond, however, two other couples arrived to take their seats at the table and there was an ensuing flurry of introductions and conversation.

She felt as if she’d been dropped back in time to the country club in her hometown. The Claxtons reminded her of a couple who had been longtime friends of her grandparents and their comfortable, loving repartee had her laughing out loud along with Chance. They clearly adored Chance, too, which Jennifer took as an endorsement of her growing conviction that he was definitely one of the good guys.

One of the other couples at the table had a four-year-old daughter and Jennifer had to make a conscious effort to keep from sharing stories about Annie at that age. The husband was a TV producer and his wife was a local Boston news anchor. Jennifer often watched her on the late-night broadcast and was delighted to learn that she was every bit as nice in person as she seemed on television.

When dinner—which was truly delicious—was finished, the doors were opened into the adjoining ballroom. Lush music filled the high-ceilinged room from the orchestra seated on a dais, edged with potted palms, at the far end of the polished floor.

Shoulder propped against the wall, his hands thrust into his pockets, Chance waited at the edge of the ballroom while Jennifer disappeared into the ladies’ room.

“Hey, Chance.”

The tap on his shoulder had him straightening from the wall. Behind him were Paul Armstrong and his siblings Derek and Lisa.

“Evening, everybody,” Chance smiled at the twin brothers and winked at the petite, dark-haired Lisa. The two men wore traditional black tuxedos with pristine white shirts and bow ties, while Lisa’s dress was clearly a designer gown, the oyster-and-bronze-colored dress held up by a collar of jewels. It left her back and shoulders bare and Chance reflected idly that both she, and her brothers, looked every bit the society powerhouses they were. “This is quite a party.”

“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” Lisa said with a smile of satisfaction, her gaze sweeping over the crowded ballroom. “Everyone seems to be having a good time.”

“I’d say so,” Chance agreed. He flagged down a passing waiter and took champagne flutes from the tray, handing one to each of the Armstrongs. “Congratulations, you three. I’m guessing the institute’s coffers will grow after tonight.”

Chance lifted his glass in salute and they all sipped.

“Is the whole family here?” He glanced past the trio to briefly scan the crowd for their sister and her husband. “I don’t think I’ve seen Olivia and Jamison.”

“Oh, yes, they’re here,” Lisa assured him. “We were just talking with them.”

“Yeah,” Paul said with a shake of his head. “They were telling us about their adoption plans.”

“Adoption plans?” Chance echoed, surprised. “I didn’t know they were thinking of adopting a child.”

“Children—plural,” Derek told him. “Two brothers. The younger one is autistic.”

“Really?” Chance wasn’t sure what to say. Adopting an autistic child was a noble action but a very big challenge for the parents—especially when one parent was a busy junior senator with one eye on the White House. “That’s quite an undertaking.”

“I agree,” Lisa said, worry underlying her tone. “I can’t help but wonder if they’re truly prepared for the impact of a special-needs child in their lives.”

“I think Olivia is determined,” Paul said with a shrug. “Only time will tell but my money’s on her and Jamison.”

“Excuse me, sir.” A woman, carrying a clipboard and wearing a unobtrusive “Staff” button on her green evening gown, interrupted them with an apologetic look. “Senator Claxton would like to introduce all of the Armstrong family members to a friend of his.” She lowered her voice to murmur, “The senator asked me to tell you the friend is a potential donor to the research program at the institute.”

Derek slipped his arm through Lisa’s and clapped Paul on the shoulder. “Then we’d better go meet-and-greet.”

“Duty calls. See you later, Chance.” Paul let his brother urge him into motion.

“Have fun,” Lisa called over her shoulder as the three followed the clipboard-carrying woman into the throng.

Chance lifted his half-empty flute in farewell.

“Who are they?” Jennifer asked, having returned in time to see the Armstrongs leave.

Her voice stroked over his senses, lush, sensual, and when he turned, the sight of her did the same.

“My bosses—and coworkers,” he answered, dismissing them with a wave of the champagne class before deftly depositing the flute on a passing waiter’s tray. “They were called away to meet potential donors. For them tonight is both business and pleasure. I’d like you to meet them—hopefully we’ll see them later and I’ll introduce you.” He held out his hand. “Dance with me?”

She smiled shyly. “I’d love to.”

Chance swept Jennifer onto the floor. They circled the room amid the crowd of dancers, moving gracefully to the strains of a waltz.

“I feel like Cinderella,” Jennifer murmured.

Chance tucked her closer, his leg brushing between hers as he executed a turn. “Does that make me the prince?” he asked.

She tilted her head back to look up at him. “I’m not sure,” she said. “I think the jury’s still out.”

“Damn.” His smile was wry. “And I’ve been on my best behavior tonight.”

His eyes twinkled, inviting her to laugh.

“After listening to you and the senator tell stories about the pranks you and his son pulled on your friends in school, I’m not sure you grasp the concept of ‘good behavior,’” she teased.

“Isn’t there a statute of limitations on being a dumb kid? Dave and I did most of that stuff in high school and college,” he protested.

“Nothing recently?” she pressed with a smile, unconvinced.

“No,” he assured her. “We had a lot of fun in school but my days of setting up practical jokes are over. I wish I had time to see more of the senator’s family,” he added. “But for the past few years, Ted and I have been too busy with our research.”

Her gaze softened. “You work too hard. Lately when you come into the diner, you seem exhausted.”

“There have been a few weeks when sleep was a rare commodity,” he admitted.

“What exactly do you do at the institute?” she asked, insatiably curious about every aspect of his life.

“I treat women with fertility issues,” he told her. “Part of my day is spent with patients in one-on-one appointments and procedures. The rest of the day is spent in the lab with my partner. We’re searching for a way to increase the success rate of implanted embryos, among our other projects.”

“That’s marvelous.” Jennifer couldn’t help but think about how difficult it must be for couples who wanted children but couldn’t conceive. Annie was the most important thing in her life—what if she couldn’t have gotten pregnant? “I can’t imagine doing anything more important.”

“That’s how I feel. How I’ve always felt.” His voice deepened, eyelashes half-lowering over dark eyes. “You understand and you’ve only known me a few months. I started bandaging the neighborhood dogs when I was eight years old but my parents still can’t understand why I want to be a doctor.”

“Why not?” Baffled, she searched his features. “Most parents would love to have a doctor in the family.”

“They wanted me to go into the family business. My father especially. He’s the CEO and he wanted me to take his place.” He shrugged. “If they’d had more children, it might have been easier for them to accept my decision but unfortunately I’m an only child.”

“It must have been difficult for you to disappoint them,” she murmured in response to the hint of regret underlying his words.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “It was—still is, sometimes.”

“But you love your work so it’s worth it to you,” she guessed.

“Yes.” He smiled at her, his dark eyes warm. “How about you? Do you like working at the diner?”

“I do,” Jennifer replied. “I like the customers, the other waitresses, even my boss. I plan to keep working there until I get my degree.”

“What are you studying?”

“Education—I want to be a teacher.”

“Good for you.” His smile held approval and respect. “What kind of classes are you taking?”

“An English lit class, which I love,” she told him. “And a psychology class, which I don’t like very much. Still,” she added, “at least it’s not an art class.”

“You don’t like art?”

“Oh, I love art,” she assured him. “I love going to museums and looking at sculpture, oil paintings, watercolors…I especially love Impressionist paintings. But I have very little artistic talent, unfortunately, and I need a passing grade in several art classes to finish my degree.”

“How many hours are you at the diner every week?” he asked with a frown. “Aren’t you working full-time? How do you have time to study?”

She smiled impishly. “I don’t date. It’s amazing how much free time a woman has when she cuts men out of her life.”

His arms tightened, pulling her closer. “That’s got to change,” he growled.

She laughed, her breasts pressed to the muscled strength of his chest, his powerful thighs hard against hers. Excitement and heat shivered through her and she tilted her head back to look up at him. “But I have to earn my degree if I want to become a teacher—and I really, really want to be a teacher.”

His gaze studied her before he nodded. “I can see you being a teacher—little kids, right? Or are you thinking of teenagers?”

She shook her head. “I’m more interested in grade school.”

“Yet another thing we have in common,” he commented. “Both of us want careers where we can help people.”

She stared into his eyes, struck by the truth of his comment. They did seem to have a lot in common—and with each new revelation, her feelings for him deepened.

Conversation lapsed as they danced, the brush of their bodies casting a spell that held them, growing stronger, hotter with each movement of body against body as they swayed to the music.

When the orchestra took a break, Chase tipped his head back to look down at her.

“Thirsty?”

Jennifer nodded and Chance released her, his hand stroking in a warm caress down her arm before he threaded her fingers through his and led her from the crowded dance floor.

Guests strolled the periphery of the ballroom, sat with wineglasses at small tables, or gathered in groups to chat and observe the colorful swirl of other guests in the center of the room.

The champagne fountain sat on a white linen-covered table. Chance handed a filled crystal flute to Jennifer and lifted a second one.

“Hello, Chance. Frank told me you were here.”

Jennifer looked over her shoulder, her eyes widening at the lanky, blond man in a white chef’s coat. His features were movie-star handsome and a counterpoint to Chance’s dark masculinity.

“Jordan,” Chance greeted him with a wide grin. The two men shook hands and then Chance slipped his free hand around Jennifer’s waist to draw her closer. “Jennifer, this is Jordan Massey, the best chef in Boston.”

“Pleased to meet you, Jennifer.” The swift glance Jordan raked over her was pure male interest.

Jennifer felt a subtle tension in Chance. The possibility that he might be jealous of the good-looking chef was intriguing but she dismissed the notion. Instead, she smiled and held out her hand. “It’s lovely to meet you, Jordan. I’m so glad I have an opportunity to tell you how wonderful our dinner was—I can’t remember when I’ve enjoyed a meal more.”

“Thank you.” He took her hand, holding it a second too long and giving her fingers a light squeeze before releasing her. He lifted an eyebrow at Chance. “She’s beautiful and she loves my cooking. Where have you been hiding her, Chance?”

“Never mind.” Chance’s voice held a definite possessive warning. “Back off.”

Jordan laughed and winked at Jennifer. “Duty and my kitchen calls but we’ll have to talk later, Jennifer, and you can tell me how you’ve managed to make my friend so possessive.”

“I’m just protecting her from the wolves,” Chance drawled.

“Of course,” Jordan said blandly. “Enjoy the evening, my friend.”

Jennifer didn’t miss the enigmatic look he gave Chance before he disappeared into the crowd.

“Where did you meet him?” she asked Chance, curious about the chef.

“His sister was a patient of mine,” he told her. “He threw a party when the baby was born and after everyone else went home, we killed a fifth of Scotch toasting his new niece. We’ve been friends ever since.”

She sipped her champagne, her gaze drifting over the glittering gathering before stopping on a couple. The man wore a tux and the woman’s gown was a formfitting sapphire blue, her hair a long, wavy mane that gleamed like silk beneath the chandelier’s light. The two had eyes only for each other—until the man glanced up, grinned and waved.

“There’s Ted,” Chance commented, lifting his champagne glass in salute.

“Who’s the woman with him?” Jennifer asked.

“His wife,” Chance replied. “And I’m damned grateful Sara Beth said yes when he proposed. I work with him and he’s been a pain in the…well, let’s just say he was in a bad mood until he worked things out with her.”

“They look very much in love,” Jennifer said softly, her gaze on the two as the man brushed the woman’s long wavy hair over her shoulder and smiled down at her.

“They are.” Chance emptied his champagne flute and caught her hand. “Let’s dance.” He deposited their glasses. “I’m glad to know I was right,” he said as they circled the room.

“About what?” she asked, a tiny frown drawing her brows into a vee.

“The food,” he replied easily as he guided her out through open French doors and onto the wide balcony where other guests danced beneath the night sky. “Unless you were lying to Jordan. You did enjoy dinner?”

Her brow smoothed and a smile curved her mouth, lighting her eyes. “Oh, yes. The lobster was wonderful and the chocolate mousse was perfect.”

“I told you the food would be worth the cost of the ticket,” he said with satisfaction, executing a series of smooth, sweeping turns to move them down the length of the wide stone balcony. “Jordan doesn’t serve tiny slivers of artsy-looking food. His food is elegant without being precious—you know, no tiny portions that leave a guy so hungry that he has to stop for a burger on his way home.”

Jennifer looked up at him, a smile curving her lips. “It sounds suspiciously as if you’ve been forced to sit through dinners filled with…maybe, cucumber sandwiches and tea?”

He laughed. “Not since my grandmother made me eat them when I was a kid. Since then, though,

I’ve had to attend dinners where we were served rubbery chicken or tiny plates with three or four artfully arranged celery and radish slices.” He shuddered. “Makes me hungry just to think of it.”

“I’m guessing it takes more than celery and radishes to fuel a guy your size,” she joked.

“You guess right,” he said with a nod. “Lots more. I have a big appetite.” He winked at her.

She studied him, contemplating an answer to what was clearly an invitation.

His lips brushed her ear. “Aren’t you wondering what other appetites I have?” he teased, lazy amusement underlaid with darker, more volatile emotions.

She tilted her head and his mouth brushed over her cheek, with scant inches separating his lips from hers. “I was considering asking,” she said quietly. “But decided I should give the subject more thought before asking questions that might provoke dangerous answers.”

“I’d be happy to answer any questions, Jennifer,” he told her. “Dangerous or not.” Heat flared in his dark, heavy-lidded gaze.

“I’ve never been a woman who courts danger,” she murmured. “I’ve always preferred safe and sane.”

“You’re safe with me, Jennifer,” he muttered, pressing his lips to her temple. “I’d never hurt a woman, especially you.” His arms tightened as he swept her into a series of fast, graceful turns.

“I believe you,” she replied softly once she was back in his embrace. “At least, not physically. But you’re a very attractive man, Chance, and a woman could lose her heart to you.”

“Could she?” he rasped, his voice deeper.

“Yes.” She nodded, her hair brushing the underside of his chin and his throat. “I don’t want a broken heart, Chance.”

“I won’t break your heart. Come home with me, Jennifer.” His fingers trailed over her cheek, tucked a tendril of soft hair behind her ear, and returned to brush over her lower lip. “I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you.”

“I don’t sleep around,” she told him honestly. They’d stopped dancing but still stood within the circle of each other’s arms. Beyond the balustrade, the lights of the city glowed while on the street below, the faint sounds of traffic drifted upward. Down the length of the stone veranda they’d traversed, a series of French doors were thrown open to the ballroom. Gold light poured out, illuminating the guests at the other end of the veranda as some strolled or leaned on the wide, chest-high stone bulwark and some danced, swaying in time to the orchestra’s lush notes. Chance and Jennifer were alone at their end of the long veranda, shadowed except for the spill of soft light that fell through the glass panes of the French doors beside them, drawn closed against the crowded ballroom inside. The yellow light highlighted his face and she searched his features. “In fact…I haven’t been with a man since my divorce, and that was more than five years ago.”

His eyes darkened, his mouth a sensual curve. “Honey, that’s a damned shame. A woman as beautiful as you should be loved often and well.” He bent and brushed his mouth over hers, then lingered to slowly trace her lower lip with the tip of his tongue. “Come home with me. Please.”

He urged her closer until she rested against his chest, her thighs aligned with his. Jennifer shuddered at the press of her breasts against hard muscles.

“I don’t want to complicate my life,” she managed to get out. She struggled to remember why she needed to resist him, closing her eyes against the heat that bloomed beneath his lips as he traced the arch of her throat. “Or yours,” she added.

“This doesn’t have to be complicated,” he murmured, his lips on her throat, just below her ear. “It can be whatever we want it to be.”

An enticing shiver ran down her spine, and Jenny knew she couldn’t resist him. “Just tonight,” she whispered. She forced her eyes open and leaned back, cupping his jaw in her palm to tilt his head up. Beard stubble rasped faintly against the sensitive pads of her fingertips, his eyes ablaze with need. “No complications—and after tonight, we go back to waitress and customer. Can we do that?”

She read the objection that flared in his eyes and saw the swift refusal on his face as his jaw flexed and muscles tightened beneath her hand.

“Please,” she said softly, desperate to hold on to some shred of control. “I can’t make promises beyond tonight.”

His fingers tightened on her waist and then he nodded. “All right. If tonight’s all you can give me—” he brushed a kiss against her cheek “—I’ll take what I can get.”

His mouth covered hers with searing heat. Her senses were fogged and she was reeling with want when he lifted his head. He tucked her along his side and led her to an exit. After waiting—for what felt like an eternity—for the valet to bring his car, they were off. Threading her fingers through his to keep her close, he laid her hand palm down on his thigh and covered it with his own as they sped through Boston traffic, his touch anchoring her to him. Desire seethed, swirling and heating the air between them in the close confines of the car.

Jennifer was only peripherally aware of the neighborhoods they drove through, her senses focused on the man beside her. When he tapped a control on the dash and then turned off the street and beneath a still-rising garage door, she caught a brief glimpse of the exterior of a brick town house before they pulled in.

Chance switched off the engine, the sudden silence enfolding them. His gaze met hers, heat blazing. “If I touch you before we’re inside, we won’t make it out of the garage.”

She swallowed, throat dry. “Okay.”

He smiled, the sudden amusement easing the tension. “Unless you have a fantasy about making love in the backseat of a Jag.”

She blinked, distracted by the curve of his mouth. “Um, no.”

“Too bad,” he said, his voice suddenly lower, huskier. “The idea has possibilities. But I don’t want our first time to happen in this car, either, so let’s go.”