by Sandra Cox
“I prefer the term cat burglar, so much more elegant. Don’t you agree?”
“A rose by any other name,” she retorted.
He grinned then turned toward Tamara. “Want me to order a limo?”
“That won’t be necessary. You take Gabriella in the Jag. And I’ll ride with the judge.”
“And where is Miss Davis to sit?” he asked dryly.
“The judge and I will pick her up.”
Christopher’s eyebrows shot up as he tilted his chin down and looked at her.
“It will give Miss Davis and me a chance to get better acquainted.”
“That’s certainly how Sherry will see it,” he drawled.
Tamara’s placid features tightened and her violet eyes snapped. “If she views this as my stamp of approval of her as my daughter-in-law she will be sadly mistaken.”
Christopher bit down on his lips, as if to keep from grinning, his features solemn as a judge. “Yes, ma’am.”
Tamara reached over and pinched his cheek, her good humor restored. “You’re a rascal but I love you.”
“And I you, ole girl.”
The smile he gave Tamara took Gabby’s breath away. Who would have thought those hard planes and angles could soften or those cold green eyes glow with such warmth? And who would have thought she could be so drawn to that smile?
He turned to Gabby his expression once more polite but distant, “Shall we go, Ms. Bell?” Then he arched an eyebrow as he studied her expression. “Is something wrong?”
How can he turn on and off his emotions like a water spigot? She ordered herself to stop gawking and gave a high-voltage smile of her own. “No, of course not.”
“Oh here, dear, your mask,” Tamara picked up the mask setting on a nearby marble-top table and handed it to Gabby.
Gabby gasped. “It’s beautiful.” It was a silver half-mask inset with tiny blue rhinestones. At least, she hoped they were rhinestones.
“If I were a gentleman, I’d say the blue of the gems pales in comparison to your eyes.” And mighty fine eyes they were too, Christopher thought appreciatively, studying her.
“And since you’re not?”
He shrugged. “Then I would just suggest we go.”
Christopher kissed his aunt’s cheek. It was as soft as rose petals and as thin as parchment. He felt a fleeting regret for her mortality. The old girl wasn’t going to live forever.
Tamara broke into his thoughts. It was uncanny, the way she always sensed his moods. “We still have plenty of memories to make. Now,” Tamara said more briskly, “Don’t forget your domino.” She reached toward the table and picked up a plain black mask that covered only his eyes.
“Thank you, dear.”
He could sense Ms. Bell watching the interplay between him and his aunt. Determined not to let her get too close, he schooled his features into his perpetual façade of ennui as he turned toward her. “Shall we go?” He held out his arm and she took it.
As they walked to the black sleek car parked under the streetlight, she glanced at the license plate that said SAINT in bold letters.
“Well that’s certainly low profile,” she murmured.
He grinned and opened the door.
Silk rustled as Ms. Bell sank into the gray leather upholstery.
Christopher slid into the car, closed the door with a muffled thud and inhaled. He never tired of the smell of expensive leather. As he started the engine, it purred to life. “So what do you think?” he inquired, patting the dash like a proud papa.
“It’s all right,” she answered indifferently, “Nothing out of the ordinary.”
Christopher’s teeth flashed in the dark as he grinned. “Good try, Ms. Bell, but I’ve seen your mode of transportation. Don’t you think its time to put the poor thing out to pasture?”
His passenger twisted to face him. “Clara is a fine car,” she said conveniently forgetting that for a brief moment she’d considered taking Robey’s money and using it as a down payment on a trade-in. “She’s reliable and sporty in an economy sort of way. She’s hardly in the league of this, this,” she waved her hand around wildly, “car,” she finished. “But then neither am I.”
He felt ashamed of himself. Who knew better than a ragged orphan boy about life’s challenges if you weren’t one of the rich and powerful? But there was just something about this woman that brought out the worst in him. She was pigheaded and opinionated, though, some might call those same traits proud and independent. And she carried such a lethal dose of sex appeal it was downright scary.
Gabriella Bell was beautiful in a sultry Swedish sort of way, but the world was full of beautiful women. He’d had them ever since puberty. What attracted him to her were her inner fire and the recognition of a restless kindred spirit.
Christopher drew himself up short. This would never do. He had chosen his path long ago. He had neither the time nor inclination for involvement of any kind. They were messy, time consuming and eventually boring. And this girl was no one’s one-night stand.
He broke the lengthening silence. “Well, you are right about one thing at least. We are leagues apart.”
Christopher gunned the car and tore off into the black night.
* * * * *
The twenty-minute drive passed in stony silence. Christopher had no idea that Ms. Bell had taken his remark to mean her lack of social status, when that had never entered his mind. What had, was his cynical outlook on life and shadowy background.
He was a creature of the night, at home both on the Riviera and in the back city streets where million dollar deals went down without the sanctity of law or taxation.
Ms Bell was a shoot from the hip personality, a middle-class girl with middle-class values. A policeman’s daughter, things were right or wrong, black or white. There were no shades of murky gray. And his dealings were very murky indeed.
Lost in thought, he nearly missed the drive of the Davis’ country home. He turned sharply to the right throwing his passenger against the door, ’til her seat belt jerked her upright.
He pulled the car in front of a white pillared mansion and shut off the engine. Lights glittered from every window. “What are you sulking about?” he asked abruptly, coming out of his preoccupation and noticing her stony silence.
“I never sulk,” Ms. Bell said coldly.
“Good. Then let’s get this over with shall we?” Getting out, he slammed the door. At least in any other car it would have been a slam. In the Jag, it was a muffled thud.
A handsome young black man, dressed in white livery, opened the passenger door.
Christopher tossed him the keys then pulled Ms. Bell out of the car and walked her up the red-carpeted outdoor steps, her arm stiff as a board.
“I’ll be watching you,” she warned.
“I’m flattered and may I return the compliment,” he drawled.
She frowned at him. “It wasn’t a compliment. I saw you in the courtyard this afternoon.”
“Oh, dear, a spy in our midst.” His schooled his expression to boredom.
Gabby scowled. How could she have ever felt attracted to this insufferable man? “You better put on your mask. You surely don’t want to be recognized when you lift the crown jewels,” she replied tartly.
Christopher threw back his head and laughed. A rich throaty sound that made Gabby temporarily forget that he irritated her beyond all bearing.
He did as instructed. His eyes twinkled down at her. “I can see the headlines now. ‘Cub reporter nabs cat burglar’. Or ‘Society stunned to learn Christopher Saint is famous cat burglar’. Hmm, I think I like that one better don’t you?” he said conspiratorially, bending his head close to hers.
A faint scent of whatever cologne rich playboys wear tickled her senses, making her weak at the knees. “Oh, do be quiet.”
They approached the receiving line behind two other couples. Luxurious red carpeting ornamented the wide hallway and a crystal chandelier glittered overhead.
Mrs. Davis
, Gabby assumed, was talking to the couple in front of her, her hand extended. While speaking, her hostess’s gaze darted about the receiving line. She saw Christopher and smiled. Then she noticed Gabby and the smile was, quite literally, wiped off her face.
Hurriedly, she ushered her next guests through, ’til Christopher and Gabby stood in front of her.
Gabby examined Mrs. Davis every bit as intently as Mrs. Davis did her. Dressed as a Southern belle from a bygone era, their hostess had a flawless complexion with eyelids drawn a shade too tight and red hair just a little too lush to be natural. Gabby smiled complacently and deducted that Mrs. Davis had had at least one tuck, possibly two.
Mrs. Davis smiled back, though her eyes remained cold. “Christopher, dear, how good to see you.” She held up her cheek for a kiss. “I thought you were bringing Sherry.”
Gabby fought back an insane desire to say, “No, he brought Scotch instead.”
Christopher dutifully brushed Mrs. Davis’ cheek with his lips. “My aunt and Judge Hermodson are picking her up.”
“Oh, really.” Mrs. Davis almost purred.
He could almost hear the wheels turning in the woman’s head. The aunt was reclusive and hard to pin down. It would be the first time she had made any effort to speak to Sherry. She must have finally decided to give the match her blessings. Yada,yada,yada.
“Judge Hermodson? It’s like that is it?” she said archly.
“I sincerely hope not,” Christopher said in bored tones.
Mrs. Davis protested, “The judge is from a very old and distinguished Southern family. He would be an asset to any family tree.”
He looked her in the eye, his jaw tightening, not bothering to hide his distaste of the subject.
Mrs. Davis glanced at him and hastily changed the subject. “And who is this enchanting creature?”
Christopher bit back a grin. The woman looked like she had just bitten into a particularly sour persimmon.
“A friend of the family,” letting his facial muscles relax, as he gave her a knowing look.
Taking Ms. Bell’s elbow, Christopher directed her attention to Mr. Davis, a thin balding man who eyed her lecherously.
Christopher deftly inserted himself between them. Mr. Davis was a pincher. He wasn’t as concerned about Ms. Bell getting pinched as he was about Ms. Bell slugging Mr. Davis. He always tried to avoid scenes. They were so tiresome.
Gabby and Christopher followed several others down a long hallway that ended in a vast room with a white marble dance floor. A tango was playing. “Shall we?” Christopher asked.
If he’d hoped she’d have to cry off because she didn’t know ballroom dancing, or dancesport as it was called these days, Christopher Saint was in for a surprise, Gabby thought with mean satisfaction. Dancing was one of the few things she excelled at.
“If you like,” Gabby said indifferently. But she knew the sparkle in her eyes belied any lack of enthusiasm.
As they passed a small table with a spotless white linen tablecloth, Gabby paused. “Excuse me,” she said politely to the older couple sitting at the table.
They watched in astonishment as she plucked up the red rose sitting in the middle of it.
Gabby turned to Christopher. “I’m ready,” she said, placing the rose between her teeth.
He quirked an eyebrow. “Like that is it?” He gathered her in his arms and moved across the floor.
Her movements were flawless and Christopher was no slouch. They moved as one with sultry grace. Neither took their eyes off the other as the music beat out its sensual tempo. One by one the other couples stopped to watch, clearing a path for the Lady of the Lake and her cat burglar. Completely lost in the moment neither was aware of the crowd gathering around them.
The music stopped. Christopher dipped her low then brought her up to where their lips were mere inches apart. A spontaneous round of applause broke the spell.
Gabby blinked disoriented. Reality came rushing back. Pulling her upright, he gave her a mocking bow, though his eyes seemed as unfocused as hers.
The band began to play a foxtrot.
As Gabby took the rose out of her mouth, she caught a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye and grinned. The judge and his party had arrived. A short, pudgy man was whirling Tamara around the floor like a demented dervish.
She moved her head this way and that trying to watch them, but they were lost to sight as several men came hurrying to claim her for the next dance.
Christopher was actually reaching for her hand, when an aging Romeo shoved his way through the male throng surrounding Gabby and whisked her away before she knew what was happening. He was tall and well-built, with a head full of thick white hair.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Christopher watch them then shrug and walk away.
Gabby stared over the shoulder of her partner, as Christopher wended his way through the crowd. Even with the erratic movements surrounding him, he moved lithely, with the grace of a cat, unlike herself. She stepped on her partner’s foot, ignoring his yelp, as a petite redhead that looked like a younger version of Mrs. Davis stopped Christopher. She was wearing a white, low-cut, diaphanous gown. Her hair was piled on top of her head in tousled disarray, with a silver ribbon running through it.
Gabby frowned trying to figure out who she was supposed to be. A hooker perhaps, she thought cattily.
Her partner, following her gaze, enlightened her. “Miss Davis has informed everyone ad nauseam that she is Venus rising from the waves. Did you happen to notice that the tip of her gown is tinged blue? If not she’ll be glad to point it out to you,” he told her grinning.
“You know Ms. Davis?” Gabby asked, craning her neck to get a better look at the lovely young woman.
“Known the family for donkey’s years.” His eyes twinkled mischievously. “Know she has every intention of bringing young Saint to heel.”
They watched the attractive couple. Sherry had her hand on Christopher’s arm, holding it close to her scantily clad bosom. She gazed up at him adoringly.
Romeo looked Gabby over appreciatively. “I’d say she has pretty stiff competition. I must say, I’m very impressed with his latest acquisition.”
Gabby could feel her jaw clench. She ground out, “I am no one’s acquisition.”
The aging Romeo drew her closer. “I’m glad to hear it.”
Gabby looked straight into his eyes and trod on his instep. “And I’m not on the auction block either.”
Romeo yelped then slackened his hold. He grinned, an engaging smile lit his face. “Can’t blame a man for trying,” he said.
Having made her point, Gabby smiled back. With the rules established, they both settled back to enjoy the dance.
Romeo fell silent as he glanced past Gabby. When he whirled her around, Gabby followed his gaze. Curious, she looked in the direction he’d been staring, but didn’t see anything. She raised her eyebrows.
He answered her unspoken question. “A beautiful young Asian woman was watching Christopher as intently as you and Miss Davis. When she noticed I was watching her, she just melted away.” He shrugged and changed the subject.
Gabby and Romeo clapped politely as the music ended.
A wildly painted young man, with long black, spiky hair, stepped forward to claim her for the next dance.
Romeo bowed and handed her over.
“KISS?” she inquired politely as the young man took her hand.
He grinned and tried to touch his chin with his tongue in reply.
She grinned back.
As the band played a swing number, her partner whirled her around in crazy gyrations.
The dancing continued. Gabby’s feet began to tire. She might not be the belle of the ball but she was damn close. Before a dance had quite finished someone else would be asking for her hand.
Mr. Mertz, the aging Romeo, managed a dance at every opportunity. A witty conversationalist, he talked continuously. While they danced, he gave her irreverent tidbits of anyo
ne they chanced to encounter.
One older gentleman had an even thicker more beautiful head of silver hair, than her partner did.
“Hair transplant,” Mertz said.
“I can see that.”
Mertz threw back his head and laughed.
Christopher who was dancing a few feet away, with Sherry, a bored expression on his face, looked over and frowned. He hadn’t approached her since their dance at the beginning of the evening.
A handsome young king asked for the next dance as the music stopped then started back up. She gritted her teeth and smiled when he stepped on her toes. Her feet were killing her. She visibly jumped as an ear splitting clang sounded. “What’s that?”
The musicians stopped playing and the dancers began walking off the floor.
“That’s the dinner bell. Must be midnight. Would you care…”
Before he could finish Mertz had elbowed his way between them. “May I take you to dinner?”
She looked around. Christopher walking toward her was hindered by Sherry clinging to his sleeve. He caught Gabby’s eye and shrugged helplessly.
Mertz winked at him then offered Gabby his arm.
As she took it, Christopher shot him a look that would have wilted a lesser man. Mertz just grinned.
To Christopher’s intense disgust a half-dozen young men trailed Ms. Bell into the dining room.
Dragging Sherry, he elbowed his way between the young men, following Ms. Bell and her Romeo. “Shall we make it a foursome?” he asked politely.
Mertz looked over his shoulder at Ms. Bell’s entourage and said, “Better get a larger table.”
“Quite,” Christopher said in a clipped voice.
The impromptu group, consisting of the two women and about ten men, sat down at a large round table, covered with crisp white table linen and a lovely floral centerpiece made of lilies and roses.
Christopher introduced the two women, his face stoic.
“So, Miss Dell, where did you say you were from?” Sherry asked sipping her champagne.
A chorus of voices rose to correct her.
“That’s Bell, Miss Favis,” Ms. Bell said crisply.
