Her skin tingling where Callaway McIntyre had held her wrist, Amanda stared resolutely at the stage.
What if Noelle was wrong? What if he wasn’t the careless womanizer the paparazzi made him out to be? He’d shown an alarming quickness. If he realized what she...
Sick waves roiled her stomach. Her mouth dried.
He wasn’t what she had expected.
Not at all what she had expected.
What had she let herself in for?
Chapter Two
Would she show or not? Cal hung around the entrance to the Lady's Hall as melodies from a dance band covered the crush of animated people trying to get from the door to the bar, the bar to a table, a table to the dance floor.
“Cal, sweetie!” A woman in hot pink grabbed his arm. Her other hand held a glass of white wine. “This place is
so-o-o
fab. Everybody who didn't get an invitation will be livid.”
A Texas heiress whose father had helped swing the land purchase for the new resort. What the hell was her name? It’d come, but for the moment: “Sugar!” He hugged her.
“Reeely big turnout.” Her unprepossessing escort boasted a fringed leather dinner jacket with matching boots. He looked for a place to discard a wooden skewer that had held lobster. “Now who woulda thought about a theater troupe based in a hotel?”
“My sister. Claire’s full of weird ideas. There’s a table here for empty drinks and plates.”
Thanks to his late mother’s coaching, the couple thought they held his full attention. Lila McIntyre Lathen had been strict in bringing up her children. Though Claire and Johanna never disappointed her, Cal always did. But she had succeeded in beating manners into him. The heiress and her date never once suspected he was staking out the door.
He went on easily, “Claire felt guests who didn’t want to go into Houston should have something to do besides drink. An acting troupe and dance company in the hotel seemed a perfect fit.”
Sonny Kirkman appeared out of nowhere with a barely touched glass. “Of course Robert executed the idea. He dealt with the logistics and negotiated with both groups. Even had the original architectural plans changed to accommodate the stage.”
Yeah, after I rustled up enough votes to keep it in the plans.
Claire’s husband had adamantly opposed the theater, but Cal had roused himself long enough to ensure Claire’s pet project would survive. He said nothing, though, because Sonny was okay and as Robert’s right-hand man, he was only doing his job, trying to put his boss in the best light. Loyalty was a rare commodity and should be encouraged.
As the dance floor filled, Cal nabbed champagne from a white-coated server and entered into the social niceties slicing the air like light from the flickering wall sconces. Two hundred selected guests decked out in party clothes milled, laughed and talked. Tables with ice sculptures and displays of fruits, veggies, cheese, sushi, paté, caviar, and the other usual finger delicacies lined one end of the room. Over the entire room hung the convivial bonhomie that marked the affair as a rousing success.
Cal mingled but didn’t stray far from the entrance. He kept checking his watch. Ten-forty. Eleven o’clock. Nearly eleven-thirty. The play had been over for an hour and a half.
He’d hoped she would come but wasn’t too disappointed that she didn’t. Those were the breaks.
Probably just as well. I can use an early night. Her no-show ought to please Robert. Might as well give Sonny his money.
When he strolled toward where Sonny and Miles de Graffen stood, Sonny saw him and broke away. “Whatsa matter, buddy? Your girl not coming? Still time, but not much. Oh.” His head swiveled.
The redhead walked in the door. A white satin cloak covered her dress, its feathered collar framing her face so that she looked like a flower.
The lights brightened, the music mellowed, the crowd livened.
No going to sleep right away tonight.
“Talk to you later, Sonny. Let's not plan on leaving for the brunch too early.”
A white-toothed smile enhanced Sonny’s good looks. “So long as you're dressed by ten twenty-five, dude. We're only entertaining the governor and one U.S. senator and three representatives along with the entire city council and mayor. Don't let my puny concerns spoil whatever plans you've made for tonight.”
“I won't.”
Sonny rolled his eyes. “Damn, you're so predictable. Bring on a slutty redhead and you forget everything but your pecker.”
Cal made his way to the arched entrance where Scarlet surrendered her cloak to a doorman. Her shoulders were as smooth as he remembered, but her figure was better. Average boobs, but a tiny waist and round hips a man could clutch. From the top of her shining hair to the black stockings glimpsed under the slit of the clinging dress, she was perfect.
This was going to be a good night. For a few hours he could forget his deficiencies and satisfy someone.
When he came up, she was straightening the strap of a tiny evening bag hanging off one shoulder, the movement swishing the aroma of oranges toward him. “I kept my promise.” Her voice was musical, sultry.
“I never doubted you would,” he lied. “Come meet some of the people you saw on the stage. If you want to.”
“Of course I want to. That's why I'm here, isn't it?”
She knew as well as he why she was here. This prelude was a required part of the game he could dispense with, but a part that women expected. He wouldn’t disappoint Scarlet because he tried never to disappoint people.
Taking her elbow, they moved across the ballroom where couples swayed under light reflected from a thousand chandelier prisms. Citrus filled his nostrils, blotting out the odors of food and every other perfume. In front of mirrored panels, he stole champagne from a passing waiter and handed her a flute. “To us.”
“Us?” Delicate brows arched. “There's no such thing.”
“There will be.” He lifted his glass to her and drained it.
Her own rim touched a mouth that didn’t object to his certainty.
Thinking to impress her, he pointed out some dignitaries but drew no reaction. Was he amusing her? Boring her? Antagonizing her?
The de Graffens came up and were duly introduced. Patrice, brilliant with huge sapphires from her husband's jewelry assortment, murmured in accented English, “Scarlet? How American. I've heard mothers hope their children live up to their names. What do you suppose your mother had in mind for you?”
Scarlet didn’t blink. “Running a sawmill. Patrice translates to Patsy in the south. What do you think your mother had in mind for you?”
Patrice stepped back, flushing. “There’s someone we absolutely must see. Come, Miles.”
“Yes, my love.” Miles shrugged at Cal and followed.
Scarlet gazed after them. “She's a walking jewelry store.”
“I suspect Miles married her so he could have a place to exhibit his collection.”
“She makes a good backdrop. I thought she was his daughter.”
“No, Patrice is
not
his daughter. But his daughter was in the box with us tonight.”
“The girl over there? The cute one in yellow?”
He looked in time to see Lynette beam as Sonny Kirkman caught her up and whirled her onto the dance floor. Sonny was too experienced for Lynette, but Miles had noticed and scowled after the dancing couple.
No need to worry about Lynette. Miles would take care of his daughter.
Good thing Scarlet wasn't a sheltered innocent.
As he introduced her to the singers he'd promised and several local officials he hadn't, he laid on the charm. Later, when he reached for more champagne, her hand covered his.
“We both need clear heads.” She looked him straight in the eye, pulling him into green depths he was more than ready to experience. “Let’s leave the bubbly for later.”
So there
would
be a later. He set down the flute and took her hand, soft and warm, a sign of what was to come. “Whatever you say, Miss Scarlet.”
When acquaintances stopped them, he held onto her. Across the room, Sonny had abandoned Lynette for Robert, and the two men looked at him and Scarlet. Cal maneuvered her in the opposite direction. He didn’t need any interference from them, not when he and Scarlet were getting along so well.
He told her about a painting hung prominently in the ballroom before closer inspection revealed a knight’s armor unfastened over a strategic area best left covered. “Unfortunately, an early open house for a Baptist youth group brought it to light.”
She told him about a friend who was supposed to come to the opening with her, but fell down a spiral staircase and broke both legs. “So I had to come by myself.”
Her pretty pout begged him to kiss it away. “I won’t say I’m glad, but if he’d been with you, I’d never have met you.”
“Did I say it was a he?” Lowered lashes didn’t hide the gleam behind them. The sensuous black dress shifted and clung and sighed with each tiny movement.
How the hell could a dress look so demure and reveal so much? “For you to bring a woman friend would be a crime.” As the orchestra began a slow number, he turned his back to someone vaguely familiar marching their way. “Dance?”
He didn’t wait for an assent but pulled her close and moved into the forest of suits and tuxedos, silks and satins. She didn’t resist. Against his chest, her breasts and hips beneath the fabric were supple and unbound. Images of white skin and tangled red hair against his naked body clogged his throat.
The old craving surged.
He pushed his need against her, murmured into her hair, “I could dance this way the whole night, but I'd rather be alone with you.”
“Alone?” The throaty voice hinted at moonlight and candles, crisp-sheeted beds perfumed with orange. She tilted her head, amused, understanding, expecting what was to come.
Exactly like all the others.
Disgust threatened to sabotage the evening's sweet obliteration, but he pushed it aside. “Alone. I have a nice suite upstairs. Ten minutes away in a lovely glass cage with twinkling lights that floats us away to wonderland.”
Her head bent back, her chin neared his.
Encouraging. “In the elevator, you can look out over the lake while we ride upstairs. My suite is quiet and peaceful. One whole wall is windowed so when we’re in the dark, we can look out over the lights of Houston. They’re beautiful. You have to come up and see for yourself.”
The champagne made her eyes gleam.
“Please,” he coaxed.
“Can you leave your guests?”
“They're not my guests. They're guests of the resort.”
Lips pursed. Forehead creased. For one long second, while he held his breath, she considered. “All right.”
Later, he’d be sorry. He’d think of her, if he thought of her at all, as one more liability to be shed with a minimum of money and publicity. Once again, he would wonder why he’d let his prick make him forget everything he knew about women like Scarlet.
But that would come afterward.
Now he wanted her, and he’d do whatever was necessary to get her. Maybe he’d be lucky. Maybe she’d get him through the dreariness of Johanna's wedding, till he could go back to his normal routine.
My stale arid routine
.
Damn this funk. Tonight Scarlet would make him forget. “Shall we go?”
It was so easy for him.
* * * *
It was so easy for her.
From experience, Amanda guessed his seduction wouldn’t take long. But when he’d clasped her wrist and she’d felt that jolt of recognition, her confidence had plummeted.
And her conscience kept nagging.
She hated feeling like a criminal, no matter how underhanded he’d been with poor Noelle.
If he’d been devious, callous, calculating, she wouldn’t feel so bad. But he was engagingly frank about his intentions, delightful in his efforts to amuse her.
Then there was his sleepy-eyed smile, reminiscent of a mischievous boy. Disarming, hopeful, eager. Endearing.
He’s a womanizer, a cheat, a user. He deserves this.
No need to suggest stopping for a bottle on the way to his suite. He plucked two glasses and a fifth of champagne from one of the serving trays as they left the ballroom, saying, “You wanted to wait till later for the bubbly.”
“Yes, and this is later, isn't it?”
He flashed a grin, the one that was jaded, appraising, and almost contemptuous.
That grin disturbed her.
“It will be.” Confidence oozed from him. He wore it like an entitlement and why not? He was a McIntyre, used to taking whatever he wanted.
After she collected her cloak, they went out on the best of terms. He was taller despite her heels so she had to tip her head back to see the chiseled cheekbones, the upturned nose, and the strong chin. An oblong mirror by the elevator reflected a striking, well-matched couple. No one would have guessed tonight marked their first meeting.
Waiting for the elevator, they talked about the play and its cast, but the game they played had nothing to do with the musical, and they both knew it. When he touched her back as they entered the elevator, she recognized the desire, naked and unabashed. For a terrible moment, her own appetite surged.