“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 tin
y 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.”
Cinderella and the Playboy / The Texan's Happily-Ever-After Page 4
