“Maxwell, behave. Sam’s the luckiest man in the city. He hit the jackpot with this girl.” She winked while toying with a loose tendril of her auburn hair. “Dakota, you look fantastic.” The tips of her fingers brushed over my shoulder as she adjusted the strap of my gown. “I told you that dress was right for you. The fit is perfect.”
Because I’d been too busy to shop, Fran had provided the gown from her boutique, and I’d accepted it, sight unseen. I didn’t usually wear such revealing clothing, but she’d assured me that it was perfect for this event. As one of Sam’s longest friends, Fran had earned my trust and respect. Besides, it had been too late to return the dress for anything else.
“How’s your father, Fran?” Maxwell’s laser focus honed in on Fran’s classic features. He shifted his stance to cut me from the conversation.
“Stubborn, overbearing, and arrogant. Just like you,” she said as I took a sip of sparkling grape juice. I nearly choked. She smiled serenely. “But you already knew that. He and mother are somewhere around here.” She hooked an arm through my elbow. “You won’t mind if I steal Dakota for a minute? I want to introduce her to a few friends of mine.” Without waiting for his reply, she expertly guided me through a break in the wall of bodies and away from my father-in-law.
“You showed up in the nick of time,” I said. “We were about to throw down, I think.”
Fran’s bell-like laughter tinkled through the air. “I’m sorry I showed up so soon then. I would love to see someone put that arrogant bastard in his place.”
“I think you just did. You need to give me a few lessons.” We paused at the hors d’oeuvre table. I gazed longingly at a tray of forbidden sushi. My stomach quivered and a wave of nausea rolled through me. I turned away and drew in a deep breath.
“Good evening.” A tall man with windswept brown curls and intense blue eyes moved into my personal space. The top button of his collar was undone, and his tie was missing from an otherwise immaculate tuxedo.
“Hello, Blackwood. Nice to see you.” Fran leaned forward and air-kissed the gentleman on each cheek. In her heels, she stood eye to eye with him.
“Please introduce me to your beautiful friend,” he said in a smooth baritone and turned to me.
“No.” Fran arched an eyebrow at him then gave me a blinding smile. Her eyes twinkled with mischief. “Blackwood is a thief among thieves. Hang onto your purse, Dakota. He’ll lull you into a false sense of security then steal you blind when you’re not looking.”
He placed a large hand over the crisp white linen of his shirt. A plain silver band encircled his thumb. “You wound me, Fran. That’s not fair.” To me, he said, “Don’t listen to her. She’s got me all wrong. I’m really very harmless.”
Something in the depths of his clear eyes suggested the exact opposite. Still, I found his smile engaging and friendly in a room teeming with hostility. Yes, I’d noticed the sideways glances as I’d crossed the room with Fran. I was unwelcome, an interloper, a commoner among royalty.
“Oh, dear. The hounds are circling my date,” Fran said with a frown.
“And who’s your beard tonight?” Blackwood asked in a confidential tone. I bit my lower lip and glanced at Fran. The last I knew, her sexuality had been a closely guarded secret.
“It’s okay, Dakota. He knows.” She lifted a shoulder in a nonchalant shrug then nodded in the direction of a handsome young man surrounded by a circle of older women at the corner of the dance floor. “I’ll be back. Blackwood, be nice.”
“I’m always nice,” he replied, his gaze still locked onto me. I blamed the damn dress for his fascination. I never should have worn it.
“I’m Dakota Seaforth,” I said. Rough callouses brushed my palm as he shook my hand.
“I know who you are,” he said. “And I’m Cameron Blackwood. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I haven’t seen Sam here tonight. Surely he didn’t send you into this pit of vipers alone?”
“He’s running a little late. He should be here any minute.”
Blackwood caught the note of uncertainty in my voice. “Well, all the better for me,” he replied.
The tips of his shoes touched mine in the crush of people. I shifted away from him. A man pressed through the crowd at my left, nudged me with an elbow, and launched me forward until my breasts flattened against Blackwood’s hard chest. Heat climbed into my face. A photographer snapped our picture.
“Excuse me. I’m so sorry.” Recovering my dignity, I took a step back to put distance between us. Twice in one night and both times captured by the paparazzi. People would think I was a clumsy idiot.
“Don’t be. I’m not.” One corner of his mouth tilted upward.
A twitter of interest swept around the room like a wave, distracting me from my companion. Heads turned toward the entrance. I strained to locate the disturbance. Even from a distance, I recognized the sun-streaked blond hair, broad shoulders, and square jaw of my husband as he strode through the doors and across the dance floor. Our gazes collided. My pulse stuttered. He paused for no one, ignoring outstretched hands of eager businessmen and friends, and made a straight line to where I stood. In a room teeming with powerful people, Sam stood out from the rest.
The closer he came, the faster my heart beat. Would it never end, this all-encompassing thrill at the sight of him? I pressed dry lips together and tried to gather my composure. Now that I carried his baby, my body seemed intensely aware of him. His presence excited a rush of hormones and heat into my deepest core.
“Wow,” the woman next to me murmured to her female companion.
“Blackwood.” Sam’s deep voice vibrated all the way down to my panties. His tone carried a distinct edge. The two men didn’t shake hands.
“Seaforth.” They eyed each other. Tension lifted warning hairs on my forearms. After a beat, Blackwood bowed his head to me. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Seaforth. I look forward to seeing you again. Perhaps you’ll save a dance for me later.” He took a step backward and melted into the crowd.
Sam took my elbow and began to thread his way through a sea of formal gowns and black tuxedos to a less crowded area on the perimeter of the room. Once there, he released his grip and stared down at me, eyes turbulent.
“Hi,” I said, feeling as nervous as a schoolgirl who’d just come face to face with her secret crush.
“Hi,” Sam replied, his tone warm but tense. His gaze crawled along the length of my gown, from shoulders to toes and back up again, lingering on the deep V of the neckline and the high slit at my thigh.
“I thought you weren’t going to make it.” I pressed a hand over my heart to calm my breathing.
“What were you doing with Blackwood?” he asked. A muscle ticked below his cheekbone.
“Talking.” Something about the hardness of his jawline put me on the defensive. “Do you have a problem with that?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, really?” I arched an eyebrow. “Well, that’s what you get for making me come here alone.”
The hard furrow between his brows softened the tiniest bit. “I don’t have a problem with you. I have a problem with Blackwood and this—this—” His gaze raked over me once more. “This dress.”
“What’s wrong with my dress?” I bit the inside of my cheek to hold back a laugh.
“It’s indecent. You look naked.”
“Everything’s covered,” The dress skimmed over my curves and clung to my breasts. The snug fit of the thin material left little room for undergarments. I smoothed a hand down my hip, taunting him.
“Yes, but it’s the way it’s covered.” His eyelids lowered to half-mast, heavy with lust. My nipples, familiar with this look, puckered in anticipation. “What color is that exactly?”
“Fran called it nude. I’d say it’s more of a beige.” The hue exactly matched my skin tone and added to the illusion of nakedness. “You don’t like it.”
“I like it fine. I just wish there was more of it.” He slid a hand down my bicep to my el
bow and squeezed. An ache unfurled deep between my legs.
“Mr. Seaforth?” A stranger’s voice sliced into our interlude.
“What?” Sam held my gaze, ignoring the interloper.
“I’m Ed Edwards from Edward & Sons? We met at the country club last summer? I was hoping—” Through my peripheral vision I saw a short, bald man wearing thick glasses. Nervous sweat beaded on his brow.
“Not now,” Sam said.
“Um, I only need a minute,” the man said. Someone always wanted a piece of my Sam. I often forgot how powerful he was, how many lives he affected on a daily basis.
“I said later,” Sam replied. He tightened his hold on my elbow. “I need to have a moment alone with my wife.”
“If I could just leave my card with you?”
“Give it to one of my people,” Sam replied. We were never truly alone unless we were in our home. He was always surrounded by a team of assistants. He lowered his voice until only I could hear him. “Now, Mrs. Seaforth, I’d like to see exactly what is or isn’t under that dress.”
Chapter 11
SAM
I WASN’T sure what annoyed me most: Blackwood’s hands on my wife, or her damn dress. Swarovski crystals appeared to have been strewn across her body, held in place by a nearly invisible flesh-toned fabric. The cut emphasized the curve of her hips and narrow waist. I’d never seen Dakota look more stunning or more fuckable. Was it my imagination, or had her boobs gotten bigger since I’d last seen her? The pregnancy would change her body in numerous ways over the next months, and I looked forward to watching her belly swell while my baby grew inside her.
I bent and whispered into her ear. “I need you now.”
A faint pink blush swept over her cheeks. “Now? Here?” Her eyes grew wide, their aqua depths sparkling.
“Come on.” I slipped a hand around her waist, with the intentions of dragging her into the nearest broom closet if necessary.
“Sam? Samuel, dear, we’re ready for you.” Bitsy Fields-Barrett appeared at my side.
“Five minutes.” I didn’t turn around. From my position at Dakota’s side, I could see straight down the V neckline of her gown. Her breasts quivered with each breath, a scintillating sight. My cock responded.
“Five?” Dakota arched an eyebrow.
I probably only needed three. The sight of her in that gown would star in all my spank-bank fantasies for the rest of my life.
“No, dear. We need you now.” Bitsy rested a hand on my forearm. I tore my gaze from Dakota and stared pointedly at Bitsy’s hand. She dropped it to her side. In tandem with her request, the lights blinked twice, and a low roar of excitement rippled around the room. “You understand, don’t you, Denise?”
“It’s fine. Go on,” Dakota said, ignoring the slight.
“No, it’s not.” I’d had enough of Bitsy Fields-Barrett and all the other snobs in this room. I pulled Dakota’s hand through my elbow and turned us as a pair toward Bitsy. “Bitsy, her name is Dakota, not Denise. You know that, yet you insist on calling her by the wrong name. Either you’re extremely rude or becoming senile. I’m not such which.”
Bitsy blinked and pressed a hand to her chest. “Samuel Seaforth, what’s come over you?”
Dakota’s mouth dropped open then she recovered and snapped it shut.
“Let’s start over,” I said. “Bitsy Fields-Barrett, let me introduce you to my wife, Dakota Seaforth. Dakota, Bitsy was my mother’s best friend, and took over as chair of the Seraphim-Seaforth Gala after Mother passed.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Seaforth,” Bitsy extended her hand to Dakota. “I apologize for my error.” Although her words dripped with sweetness, Bitsy’s eyes glittered with anger. Few people had the balls to call her out in public. Unlike the others, who cowered in her presence, I didn’t give a fuck what she thought.
“Yes, of course. I remember you.” Dakota smiled and took Bitsy’s hand. “You used to visit Sam’s mother at their country house.”
“Oh, that’s right. I’d forgotten you were there. It’s been so long ago. Your mother was the one of the servants, wasn’t she?” Bitsy withdrew her hand from Dakota’s and dropped it to her side, as if sullied by the touch of a peasant.
“Mrs. Atwell was our head chef,” I said. “And a very good one. One you tried to steal from us on more than one occasion.”
Bitsy’s lips tightened. “Yes. She was a genius with puff pastry. How is your mother, dear?”
“She’s fine. Thank you for asking,” Dakota replied. In that moment, I loved her even more—for her grace, her dignity, and her self-control. She had more class than the purest bluebloods in this room.
The house lights dimmed in a final warning.
I sighed and traced a finger over Dakota’s temple. “I’ve got to go. Let me take you to our table. We’ll finish this later.”
Over the years, I’d given hundreds of speeches, but none of them meant as much to me as this one. In spite of her numerous flaws, my mother had given a large portion of her time and money to assisting children with disabilities. It was a topic near and dear to her heart. To see her honored posthumously warmed my soul.
From behind the podium, I spoke of my mother’s dreams for the charity and felt a profound sadness that she’d never see my child. To fend off the ache, I concentrated on Dakota, seated with Venetia and Beckett at our table in front of the stage. As I brought the speech to a close, Dakota mouthed the words “I love you” to me. I smiled back, thinking of all the ways I’d like to remove her dress later, then my gaze connected with Maxwell’s.
My father was seated at the next table, Rayna at his side. Her children and their spouses occupied the remaining chairs. The sight of their pseudo family sparked a fire in my gut. Not once, during my mother’s lifetime, had he ever attended the Gala. He’d treated my mother terribly, disowned Venetia, and driven Vanessa to a different continent, not to mention the anguish he’d caused Dakota. And there he sat, a smug smile on his face, taking credit for something in which he’d played little, if any, part.
“Fantastic speech.” He clapped me on the shoulder after dinner. “Your mother would be proud.”
“We both know the only reason you’re here is to try and boost your public image.” I shrugged away his hand.
“Can we get a few pictures from you?” A team of photographers descended upon us, eager for a rare photo of father and son together.
“Of course. Please.” Maxwell tugged at the cuffs of his sleeves. I straightened my bow tie. We both smiled. The cameras flashed. “And don’t forget the tax deductions,” he added smugly. “Which I desperately need right now.”
“Mother couldn’t drag you to this event with a team of wild horses,” I said. To the photographers, I added, “That’s enough.” I couldn’t continue the pretense of civility for another second without my head exploding.
“It seems that my new wife is also a patron of the less fortunate. From my viewpoint, this night is a win-win situation. My wife is happy, the public sees me as a saint, and I get to write the whole thing off.” With the lift of a finger, he summoned a waiter to refill his glass of scotch. Despite his recent financial issues, he still had a flock of minions at his side, waiting to fulfill his every desire and feed his ego.
The photographers continued to snap candid shots. When I didn’t reply to Maxwell, his gaze followed mine to Dakota. She stood a few paces away, chatting with Venetia. And on the other side of them stood Blackwood, eyeing my wife like a delicious side of beef. Cocky bastard.
“Looks like Blackwood’s got his eye on Dakota.” Maxwell chuckled. “Better keep watch on him. He’ll have her flat on her back and his hand in her purse the minute you take your eyes off him.”
My fingers curled into fists. One punch would put him in his place. Instead, I drew in a deep breath and calmed my temper. “I trust Dakota. Maybe you should be more concerned with your own wife. I hear she’s very fond of her tennis instructor.”
A crimson tide ru
shed up Maxwell’s neck.
“Samuel, it’s so nice to see you.” Mimi Barrett sidled up to me. The frothy pink layers of her ball gown flounced around her. Although I hadn’t seen her in years, she looked pretty much the same—nondescript brown hair, round face, pretty eyes. When I’d screwed her in the coat closet, I’d been drunk off my ass, and the details of the night escaped me. By the secretive smile on Mimi’s lips, she hadn’t forgotten any of it.
“Good evening.” I gave her a nod then searched for Dakota. Blackwood had wormed his way into her circle and was smiling devilishly at her. She tipped back her head, amused by something he said. A knife of white-hot jealousy sliced into my chest.
“Mother said to come find you. They’re about to begin the auction.” One of the photographers lifted his camera. Mimi placed a hand on my back and leaned in until her breasts mashed against my arm. A camera flashed, and I flinched. What was it with women always touching me? I shifted away from her. “You’re the star attraction tonight.”
Her words barely registered as a surge of testosterone robbed me of coherent thought. Blackwood had Dakota’s hand in his again. More photographers nudged into the circle around us. I scowled. “No more pictures.”
Mimi marched into my personal space. The crowd closed in behind her, blocking Dakota from sight. “It’s a wonderful thing you’re doing.”
When Mimi moved aside, panic replaced irritation. I scanned the room for my wife. She was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Blackwood. Xavier appeared at my side. Despite his flamboyant appearance, he’d mastered the art of being invisible unless needed. Tonight he wore a black tuxedo, at my insistence, but his ruffled shirt was hot pink and matched his sequined socks.
“What auction?” I asked him.
“You volunteered to have lunch with the highest bidder.” Mimi continued to bounce and weave, fighting to hold my gaze.
“Did I?” I arched an eyebrow at my assistant.
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