“I’m out of practice,” she said, hating how he could read her body language.
“Doesn’t your boyfriend ever take you dancing?”
She missed a step and came down on his toes, not entirely by accident.
He recovered instantly, but his smile turned wry. “I guess not.”
Annabelle pressed her lips together to suppress her own smile, then relaxed a fraction of an inch. Clay had no idea he was beginning to affect her—indeed, he thought she was engaged. She was completely safe.
Then she swallowed hard. So why was he
stroking
her back?
Squashing the desire stirring in her stomach, she told herself he was simply keeping time to the music as he swept her around. Nonetheless, his touch wasn’t wholly objectionable.
“You made me love you,” the singer crooned. “I didn’t wanna do it….”
Clay was outrageously handsome, she acknowledged. His face was a collection of superb, masculine lines that would undoubtedly incite legions of female fans. And certainly the Castleberry name would have opened a few doors in Hollywood. “You were never interested in an acting career?”
His scoff was quick and hearty. “Never.”
Although she suspected she was treading on dangerous territory, she asked, “Why not?”
He took his time answering, which gave her a legitimate reason to look into those bottomless blue eyes. A mistake, because it made her curious as to what was lingering behind them. Did the man still see her as a problem to be eliminated? Or had he graduated to plain indifference?
“Let’s just say I saw what it did to my father’s personal life, and I wanted no part of it.”
Did Clay have a personal life, she wondered? A lover waiting for him in Paris? “So you can understand why I don’t want my mother dragged into the spotlight.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, then he turned to watch their parents. “They seem rather determined, don’t they?”
A few feet away, the couple exchanged adoring looks as they moved together effortlessly.
Annabelle sighed. “Yes, they do. Maybe we should just give our blessing and get back to our own lives.”
His fingers stroking her back stilled. “Why the sudden change of heart?” His voice sounded odd—almost suspicious.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I’m thinking who am I to tell my mother she shouldn’t marry.”
“Especially since you’re about to take the plunge yourself?” he asked lightly.
She opened her mouth to tell him the truth, but the interest in his expression frightened her. Why make herself more vulnerable to his charisma by telling the man that not only was she not engaged, she hadn’t been on a bona fide date in eight months, three weeks, and four days.
She, Annabelle Garnet Coakley, was ripe for the picking.
“Well,” she managed to say, “my situation is a bit different than my mother’s.”
“Oh? Your fiancé isn’t a rich, older man?”
She averted her eyes. “No.”
“Someone you work with?”
Annabelle missed another step. She’d told her share of little white lies for the greater good, but something about this man made her feel as if she were turned inside out for him to analyze. “I’d rather not discuss my personal life.”
He arched one black eyebrow. “Careful—someone might think you’re hiding something.”
The man had radar like a bat. Swallowing hard, she said, “You seem determined to think the worst of me.”
Seconds ticked by while he stared down at her with that unreadable half-smile. “On the contrary,” he said finally. “Those freckles of yours are wreaking havoc with my better judgment.”
Struck speechless, Annabelle missed another step. Suddenly, he spun them around in a move that forced their bodies together. She sucked in a sharp breath, dismayed at the thrill that pulsed through her as her breasts pressed into his chest. His arm bridled her waist, holding her against him, their legs moving intimately, like the blades of scissors.
She closed her eyes against the sensation of her body moving against his. Some small part of her said she should resist, should break free of his embrace, but his arms simply felt too good wrapped around her. And his words reverberated in her head. The fact that he found her attractive shocked her, but the fact that he would admit it flat out astonished her.
Annabelle had no time to consider the matter further because the singer wrapped up the song with a flourish. Near them, Martin lowered Belle into a dramatic dip, to enthusiastic applause. For their own end, Clay released her slowly. Annabelle didn’t trust herself to make eye contact. She was afraid she might see an invitation lingering there, an invitation that would compromise her vow to avoid messy entanglements of dating, affairs or—horror of horrors—a relationship.
Not that someone like Clay Castleberry would ever embark on a relationship. At least not with her.
Alarmed at the shift in her awareness of the man next to her, she kept her eyes riveted on their parents, and noticed her mother was limping. Great—Martin wanted to show off his fancy schmancy moves and had managed to sprain her ankle, or throw out her back, or break her hip.
She rushed forward, ready to sweep her mother out of harm’s way. “Mom, are you hurt?”
“Thank goodness, no,” Belle said. “The heel to my sandal broke off.” She held up the 3-inch wedge, laughing.
Relieved, Annabelle nonetheless shot Martin a reproachful look. “I’ll take you home, Mother.”
“Nonsense, Annabelle,” Martin boomed. “I’ll take your mother home to fetch another pair of shoes. You and Clay stay and enjoy yourselves—we’ll be back before you know it.”
Clay fished the valet ticket from his pocket, his movements hesitant.
Panic blipped in her chest at the thought of spending time alone with Clay and her gaze flew to his. Her reaction must have shown on her face because her mother whispered, “Remember your manners, dear.”
Martin helped Belle to the table where she retrieved her purse and smiled graciously at onlookers before moving toward the exit. Annabelle stopped next to the table, feeling as if the situation was slipping out of her grasp.
With a start, she realized Clay had pulled out her chair and was patiently waiting for her to claim it. When she glanced up, a tight smile played on his handsome face.
“I suppose we have no choice but to endure each other’s company for a while,” she offered nervously, taking the seat.
He bent over, scooting her and her chair closer to the table, then whispered near her ear, “This could be interesting.”
Chapter Ten
DINING ALONE WITH CLAY Castleberry, interesting? Nerve-wracking, disquieting, and downright uncomfortable, perhaps, but not interesting. Annabelle sipped her champagne and studied the man sitting next to her as he asked their waiter to bring appetizers and delay the entrees until their parents returned. Admittedly, he was an intriguing man. If they had met under different circumstances, would they have—
“Well?” he asked.
Annabelle jerked—darn it, caught daydreaming again. “Well, what?”
“Well, what now? I can see the wheels turning in your head. I assume you have a plan.”
A guilty flush descended. How long would he gloat if he knew that her confusing attraction to him was distracting her from her main goal to…to…oh, yes—to stop the wedding.
She cleared her throat. “Short of kidnapping, I’m not certain what to do with my mother.”
“We’re running out of time,” he said, his words measured.
Did she imagine it, or did his gaze flit to her ring finger? “Yes, we are. The more plans they make, the less chance we have of changing their minds.”
Clay shook his head. “Women always manage to turn a simple ceremony into an overblown event.”
Annabelle blinked. “May I point out that getting married isn’t as old hat for my mother as it is for your father. Surely you can’t begrudge her a few indulgences.”
Clay rolled his eyes. “I suppose you’re neck-deep into planning your own production.”
Annabelle frowned, determined not to be distracted. “Don’t you think a couple should be surrounded by their family and friends when they take their vows?”
“Since
no
marriage is likely to last, why inconvenience everyone else?”
She was torn—half in agreement, yet faintly dismayed that neither of them carried within them the belief they could find one person to love for all time. His cynicism was jarring, but hadn’t she mouthed similar sentiments to everyone within earshot?
“Well, even if Mother goes ahead with this wedding,” she murmured, “I’m glad she at least wanted me to be here and take part in the ceremony.”
*****
Clay gripped his glass as the unwitting barb hit home. Conversely, his father had gone out of his way to prevent him from finding out about the ceremony. He preferred to think his father was trying to get away with something rather than excluding his son from an important day in his life. He tossed back the last of his champagne. Surely their relationship had not deteriorated that badly.
He probed his cheek with his tongue, irritated to realize that he’d rather be exploring fantasies with the lovely engaged Annabelle than discussing the shortcomings of the Castleberry men. Still, things were what they were—she was off-limits, and their parents were off their rockers.
“It won’t bother you,” he asked, “being witness to a union you know is destined to fail?”
“Yes,” she said, sliding her tongue over those wonderful lips. “But no matter what happens, I can’t turn my back on my mother.”
She looked earnest enough. But was it simply an act, to pretend she was being worn down when she was really fostering the marriage behind the scenes? The phone inside his jacket pocket vibrated. He pulled it out, half-hoping the call was from Paris and dire enough for him to return immediately.
Instead, it was his father reporting they’d driven Belle’s car home and arrived safely, but now the car wouldn’t start. They had opted to order in Chinese food and watch a video at Martin’s, but why didn’t Clay and Annabelle stay and have a nice dinner? They’d all catch up later, when Clay brought Annabelle home. Clay opened his mouth to say no, that they’d be right home, but stopped when he glanced across at Annabelle, her lips slightly parted, her eyebrows raised in question. Unbidden lust rolled through his body.
On the other hand, when might he have another chance to spend time with her one-on-one and discover something unpleasant to counteract the powerful attraction he felt when she cast those golden eyes in his direction?
“Sure thing, Dad. We’ll see you soon.”
He hung up slowly, scrutinizing his accidental companion for the evening. Had she felt the same stirring as he when he’d pulled her close on the dance floor? No, he decided. If the flash of interest he’d seen in her eyes was longing, she was thinking either about her fiancé, or about getting her graceful little hands on his father’s estate.
Clay broke the news to her, keen for her reaction. She appeared to be at loss for a reason to decline, and her silent acquiescence coincided with the waiter delivering skewers of proscuitto and cantaloupe. With an apology, he canceled Martin and Belle’s orders, then ordered another bottle of champagne, both to pacify the waiter, and to—hopefully—loosen her tongue.
She ate delicately, helping herself to a small portion of the appetizer. He was absurdly pleased when she smiled and nodded in approval at his choice. “Delicious,” she said, dabbing at the corners of her mouth. “You’re a wonderful dancer.”
Taken off guard, he said, “It helps to have a good partner.” Then he straightened. “Er, dance partner, that is.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Have you ever been married?”
He laughed without humor. “No.”
A dubious look came over her face. “Not even a near miss?”
“No. No time or inclination.” The waiter reappeared with more champagne and refilled their glasses.
“Hm. So tell me about your job.”
Darn it,
he
was supposed to be asking the questions. “What do you want to know?”
She shrugged. “Describe your typical day.”
He felt stubbornly resistant to disclosing details of his life, personal or not. “There’s no such thing as a typical day, but I spend most of my time reviewing start-up companies and their products, then marrying them with an investor or group of investors.”
“You’re a glorified matchmaker?”
Clay frowned. “That’s one way of putting it, I suppose.”
“And do you ever invest in these companies?”
Was she trying to determine his earning power? “Sometimes,” he said carefully. “But my value comes more from having strategic contacts, and recognizing the right fit people-wise.” She popped a small section of melon into her mouth. He’d never known the simply act of chewing could be so provocative.
“So,” she said, angling her head at him. “In a way, you can tell if two people are right for each other.”
Clay balked. “Strictly in the business sense.”
She drank more champagne. “But isn’t marriage sort of like a business deal?”
In spite of wearing a collar-less shirt, he suddenly felt pretty hot around the collar. “I never thought about it.”
“What with prenuptial agreements, and vows, and community property laws.” She smiled. “Not to mention bribes.”
“I suppose there are some similarities.” Clay shifted in his seat, wondering how the heck the tables had turned.
“So, in a way, you
are
able to tell if two people are right for each other.”
“I don’t think—”
“Or at least
wrong
for each other?”
Clay swallowed hard. Her eyes shone, her skin was luminous. Was she still talking about their parents, or someone else? In an amazingly short period of time, Annabelle Coakley had mastered the uncanny ability to turn his thoughts inside out. They were even more wrong for each other than their parents…weren’t they?
Luckily their entrees arrived, suspending the line of questioning. Clay exhaled and tried to relax, but became irritated when the waiter lingered at Annabelle’s elbow an inordinate amount of time, offering an array of unnecessary spices, condiments, and services. The transparent fellow, however, couldn’t seem to take his eyes from her chest. Clay cleared his throat noisily and frowned at the young man, who quickly moved along. Pesky pup.