by Carol Caiton
"What did I do?"
"You ruined my thank-you. I wanted to tell you how beautiful the gown is, that I never dreamed of owning something so exquisite. And I wanted to tell you . . . I wanted to tell you I've never known anyone as thoughtful and generous as you are."
The anger melted out of his eyes and they warmed. "You just told me," he said softly. "And you're welcome."
"Ethan—"
"Sit down while I heat up some dinner." He opened the refrigerator and removed a familiar casserole dish. "Tell me about your job. Do you like it?"
He wasn't going to let her pursue that sizzling statement.
She watched him move about the kitchen and wondered how he could shut himself down like that. "Yes," she said eventually, "I like my job. It challenges me."
"What about the people you work with?"
She hesitated.
He slid the casserole into the microwave, set the timer, then turned to face her. "Problems?"
"What? Oh. No, no problems. Most of them are friendly and helpful."
"Then why the hesitation?"
She considered shrugging it off but he'd probably badger her until she told him the truth. "There's an attorney. He's been with the firm a long time—since they opened the Florida office I think. If the rumors about him are true, he'll probably make junior partner after the first of the year."
"What's his specialty?"
"Bankruptcy. With the declining economy of the past few years he's been making a lot of money for the firm. An awful lot of money."
"So he's about to make partner. How does this affect you?" He folded two linen napkins, set out two plates, then added cutlery.
"Making partner doesn't affect me at all. At least I don't think it will. It's just that . . . well, it's a lot of little things."
"Like what?"
"Like he seems to be everywhere I go if I leave my office. And no, I'm not being paranoid."
"I didn't think you were. Tell me about him. When did this start?"
"His name is Bill Durrand." She frowned. "It started my first day on the job. He came down to my office, introduced himself, and invited me to be his date for the Christmas party tonight."
"What did you tell him?"
She averted her face. "I thanked him for asking me, but I told him I was involved with someone."
"And he's been stalking you ever since?"
She made a face. "I wouldn't exactly call it stalking. He just seems to be everywhere I go. If I have a question for one of the secretaries, he's standing in the doorway when I turn around to leave. If I go out to the lobby, he shows up there as well. And when I buy something from the snack machine, he comes into the break room."
"Does he say anything? Talk to you?" He poured two glasses of iced tea and set one in front of her.
"That's the creepy part," she said. "Sometimes he nods hello, but mostly he just stares at me until I leave. Even when I come out of the restroom, I'll see him in the corridor sometimes. I have no idea how he makes so much money for the firm. As far as I can tell, he's never in his office."
"Paralegals. Does the firm employ paralegals?"
"Yes. Several."
"Then he probably has one or more doing the legwork for him. It's standard practice."
"Then why would they offer him a partnership if he doesn't do anything?"
Ethan chuckled. "He does something. He knows how to organize and run an efficient department. He's probably very detail-oriented, and he's personable enough to attract clients."
The microwave ended its cycle and he removed the casserole. Digging a large serving spoon into the center, he scooped out a rice-and-broccoli covered chicken breast and slid it onto her plate then another onto his own.
"Where are they holding this party tonight?"
"At the house of one of the partners." She told him the address.
"I'm familiar with the area."
"Well the house must be a mansion to hold so many people."
"Did the invitation include a date? These things usually do."
"Yes but—"
"Black tie?"
She put her fork down. "Why?"
"Because I'm going with you."
"You're—" She shook her head. "No. You have issues with this firm."
"Relax. I know how to play nice. I just want to have a look at the bankruptcy attorney."
"No. This isn't a good idea."
He stabbed a slice of chicken. "It's not up for debate, sweetheart. Now eat your dinner."
CHAPTER 45
Her guess was correct. Phillip Davidson's house was indeed a mansion. A sprawling white structure with a sparkling fountain centered inside a wide circular driveway, every window facing the street was lit from within by a single electric candle. The double front doors bore big, beautiful wreaths, and tiny white lights decorated the outdoor trees.
A valet service had been hired for the evening. One uniformed attendant stepped forward as Ethan turned the Audi onto the brick pavers while another waited to open the passenger door.
There was a bite in the air, though it wasn't as cold as some nights had been. Warmed by the fur stole, Nina looked up at the clear starry sky while Ethan handed over his keys.
"Give me your hand," he said when he rounded the car to join her. He tucked her fingers into the crook of his elbow and started them toward the front doors. "Smile, sweetheart, we're going to a party."
She was nervous. Her insides had begun fluttering the moment Ethan appeared in the living room and they hadn't stopped. That was the moment she realized this was no ordinary company party. Granted, she'd learned enough to know that 'black tie optional' meant formal attire was preferred, and thanks to Ethan she was outfitted accordingly. But it wasn't until she saw him clothed in perfectly tailored evening wear that she comprehended the social stratum she'd unknowingly bridged.
"Ethan?"
"Hmm?"
She cleared her throat. "I just wanted to say you look very handsome tonight."
He drew her to a stop. Lifting her fingers from the crook of his arm, he bent and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. "And you look exceptionally beautiful."
"Thank you. But I'm a little worried about my gown."
"Why?" He started her forward again.
"Because it's provocative. Not as provocative as my R-link wardrobe," she hurried to assure him, "but I'm going to feel exposed here. With these people, I mean."
He smiled. "That's because you are."
She was the one who stopped this time, pulling him to a standstill. "Ethan, I love this dress, really I do, but maybe it isn't the best thing to wear to a company Christmas party."
"Relax. No woman inside that house will be wearing a business suit."
"I know, but—"
"You're perfectly presentable. No naked body parts." He dropped his eyes to her breasts. "Cleavage to kill for—"
She gasped.
"And I like the high heels. They bring the top of your head to my nose."
"Don't look at my breasts!" she scolded in a whisper. She shifted the fur stole to conceal more of herself.
He chuckled. "Honey, it wouldn't matter if you were wearing a turtleneck sweater. Men are going to look, whether they work in a law firm or at RUSH. And yours will be a hot topic for weeks."
"I want to go home."
"Sorry. Too late for that."
"I don't want to be ogled by people I have to work with."
"There'll be other women inside wearing less. I've been to dozens of these parties. Believe me, you aren't dressed inappropriately."
"You don't understand," she tried again. "Bill Durrand—the bankruptcy attorney—is going to be here. I don't want to give him anything to look at or gossip about."
Ethan reached for her hand and tucked it back in his elbow. "You let me take care of Bill Durrand. You're here to enjoy yourself. Mingle. Have a good time."
Enjoy herself? After that remark? Let him take care of Bill Durrand?
A whole new cause for anxiety set
off warning bells in her head. "Ethan, don't you dare get angry and cause any problems."
"Going to give me some pointers from your etiquette class?"
"I'm not joking. This job is important to me."
"Smile, honey."
"What?"
"People are watching."
While she'd been telling him to behave, he'd walked her right up the steps and into the house.
Above them a gazillion faceted drops of glass dripped from a grandiose chandelier. Beneath her feet, the tip of a huge, gleaming Star of David was set in white marble. As entryways went, it appeared to be the size of her parents' entire house. In the center, twenty feet ahead, a wide sweeping staircase rose midway up the extensive flight then branched off in two directions to complete the climb to the second story. Forget mansion, she thought, this was a mini palace.
"I'll get you back for this," she whispered.
"And I'll look forward to it."
He met her eyes, his warm with amusement and . . . affection? Yes. He was the playful bully of Thanksgiving Day again and she felt suddenly, blissfully alive.
"May I take your wrap, Miss?" an unfamiliar voice asked.
She turned to find a uniformed footman waiting for her answer.
"Yes, thank you." She unfastened the frog and felt Ethan lift the stole from her shoulders.
"You must be Nina."
She turned again as yet another unfamiliar voice addressed her.
Walking toward them across the gleaming marble floor was a tall and slender, distinguished-looking man dressed in formal black similar to Ethan's attire. His salt-and-pepper hair and the crinkles at the outer edges of his eyes placed him somewhere in his forties. Beside him, wearing a slim-fitting white gown that shimmered with sequins, a blond woman offered a welcoming smile.
"I'm Phillip Davidson," the man said. "And this is my wife Janette. We haven't met until now because I've been in court these last two weeks."
Their host.
Nina extended her hand, then introduced Ethan.
"Ethan Vale," Phillip repeated. "The name sounds familiar. What line of work are you in, Ethan?"
Another wave of panic began to rise up inside.
"Security," Ethan promptly answered. "Technically I suppose it's research and development since I design specialized systems to meet specific needs."
Phillip asked about corporate security, and Nina's heart began to calm.
"Your gown is stunning," his wife said. "It suits you."
"What a nice thing to say. Thank you."
"Are you settling in at the office?"
They talked briefly about the myriad corridors and it helped to know that Phillip had once drawn a map of the various departments so Janette could picture where everyone was located.
"—And if Nina distributes the Christmas bonuses on time," Phillip told Ethan, "she'll have friends on every floor."
Christmas bonuses? She looked up in alarm.
"Gotcha, didn't I?" Phillip chuckled. "Relax, Nina. Andrew will get with you on Tuesday to go over that."
A hundred people seemed to be milling about the house and more kept arriving. Food was plentiful, served by a platoon of uniformed caterers bearing platters of hors d'oeuvres, and a wet bar was manned and stocked to service the growing crowd.
Ethan slid a hand around her waist and kept it there as they moved through the guests. His show of possession was probably meant to send a message to Bill Durrand, wherever he was, but all too often she was tempted to lean into his side.
She introduced him to the people she knew as they happened upon them and others came forward to introduce themselves, some having seen her wandering the corridors.
She noted that most of the gowns the other women wore were far more prudent than her own. But there were a few deeply cut bodices and a couple of daringly backless dresses, so Ethan's conjecture had been accurate.
They wandered from room to room, meeting people and talking. He was engaging and attentive, courteous and interested. He charmed her co-workers and his ready smile and easy conversation unveiled the side of him that had enchanted her before she ever knew his name. And when he looked into her eyes as though no one else in the world mattered, she had to remind herself that this was all she would ever have of him, that there would never be anything more.
When a small ensemble of musicians took up their instruments and a waltz, surprisingly full and robust, paved the way for dancing, it was like watching a chapter taken from the Regency romances she used to read. Until that moment, she'd had no idea people today entertained in such a manner or that so many modern-day couples were adept at ballroom dancing.
"Did you sign up for any of the dance classes at RUSH?" Ethan asked close to her ear.
She tilted her head back and looked up at him with a mischievous smile. "You should already know the answer to that."
"Really? And why is that?"
"Because dance was one of the few classes the board of directors allowed me to add to my schedule."
He smiled back at her and that look was there in his eyes again—the one that excluded everyone else around them.
"Then dance with me," he said.
Her heart began to skitter along, but when the opening strains of the next song led to a soft dreamy melody, it squeezed achingly. If she followed him out to the dance floor and he held her in his arms, all her efforts at maintaining emotional distance would fall to pieces. At the end of the night he might be able to walk away and go on with life completely unaffected, but she will have lost the willpower. Against her will, and against her better judgment, she knew she was falling in love with him.
Don't do this, she told him with her eyes.
He read her message and the smile left his eyes. Velvety dark heat gazed down at her. "Dance with me," he murmured. "I want an excuse to hold you."
Her fate was sealed.
He held out his hand and nothing short of an earthquake could have stopped her from sliding her fingers across his warm palm.
It was everything she knew it would be, and it was everything she feared. The arm that lifted to her back, strong and sure, brought her close and the rest of the world drifted away.
She heard only the music, felt only the warmth and strength of his body against hers, the brush of his thigh, the light pressure of his chest against her breasts. As the music progressed his steps slowed, then slowed again, until they scarcely moved. He tucked her hand in against his chest, slid his other arm around her waist, and bent his head to rest beside hers. The warmth of his breath fanned her ear. His steps became a mere sway. And the beauty of it, the rightness of it was so poignant, she lowered her forehead to his chest and closed her eyes.
"Ethan," she whispered, knowing he could neither see the movement of her lips nor hear her silent plea. But the soft verbal breath that carried his name was a balm to the yearning inside. And when both his arms circled around her, enfolding her closer still, she wanted to believe he yearned as well.
Had the music segued into another hypnotic tune with no change of tempo, they would probably have stayed where they were, holding one another under the guise of dancing. But the jazzy concoction that followed was such a jarring reversal of mood, it brought them both back to reality with a start.
Disengaging, their eyes connected for one meaningful moment. Then Ethan flashed his easy, sexy grin and opened one arm to her. "Let's go find some food."
Unable to fight it and no longer wanting to, she fitted herself against his side with ease. But it was different this time. Something had changed. The hand at her waist no longer felt like a deliberate performance. Instead, Ethan tucked her close to his side as if the barriers they'd been living with had lifted, as if by silent agreement they'd reached an understanding and would live out the rest of this night as though it was theirs, a stolen segment of time.
He smiled into her eyes with the warmth of a lover, teased one of the earrings dangling from her ear with a gentle finger, and when they were hailed and s
topped to talk, he turned her into his body so that she rested against his chest.
Immersed in his affection, wrapped in the cocoon of realized dreams, it came as a shock when someone stepped directly in front of them and brought her enchantment to a crashing end.
"Hello, Nina."
It took a moment to shift from romantic euphoria and recognize the need for caution. Then she stiffened.
"Hello, Bill. Ethan, this is Bill Durrand, one of the firm's attorneys. Bill, Ethan Vale."
Bill extended his hand. "Bankruptcy," he clarified. "I understand you work in security."
"That's right," Ethan said, shaking the other man's hand.
Nina wasn't deceived. All of her senses picked up on the change in Ethan, the heightened awareness, the air of cool readiness that surrounded him.
You let me take care of Bill Durrand.
Please, no, she prayed.
"Ethan Vale. I know that name. You wouldn't happen to be the same Ethan Vale who runs that sex club, would you?"
It wasn't her imagination. The tone of Bill Durrand's voice had been modulated to reach anyone standing within ten feet. Somehow he knew exactly who Ethan was and he wanted everyone else to know as well.
Ethan released Bill's hand and the arm across her back tensed, the fingers at her waist applying subtle pressure. "I didn't realize my name was so popular."
It was a clever, evasive response, but she knew Bill wouldn't let it ride. He'd go for the deathblow.
"I wonder how Phillip would react if he knew someone from RUSH was in his house."
Ethan merely raised a brow and said, "Having just met our host, I couldn't say. Now if you'll excuse us . . . ."
He began to steer her away, but Bill stopped them with his next words. "Is Nina one of your sex club babes?"
The arm at her waist fell away.
"Ethan, no. He's drunk."
She had no idea if her words were true but she hoped everyone around them would assume the same thing.
Bill, however, denied her claim. "One scotch on the rocks doesn't constitute inebriation, Nina. I find it interesting that your friend hasn't answered a single question I've asked." He gestured nonchalantly with his half-filled glass. "So, are you affiliated with that sex club?"
