Twins times two! (17 page)

It hadn't been at all surprising to her that he had a flair for entertaining. Nor did it particularly sur-

prise her that Ross had never known that fact. He'd always turned such events over to a professional party planner, assuming that Stibbs wouldn't want to work past his normal hours.

But Stibbs had been delighted. Before Cara quite knew what had happened, he'd arranged for a string quartet, called the caterers and the decorators.

And tonight would be perfect.

Crossing to the windows, Cara drew aside the curtain and gasped. In the late shadows the back terrace glittered like a fairyland. Tiny lights twinkled from every bush and tree. The pool was afloat with votive candles. Flowers and clinging vines graced the tables and every possible niche.

Surely Ross would have to be impressed.

Cara's stomach flip-flopped with nerves. She'd spent the morning with the twins, playing games and baking cookies. Then she'd turned the children over to Melba so that Cara could spend the rest of the day preparing for the party.

Turning, Cara gazed at her reflection in the full-length mirror, barely recognizing herself. It had been so long since she'd dressed in anything but "mom attire."

At Grace's suggestion she'd gone to a spa for the works—manicure, pedicure, facial and a complete makeover. Her hair had been trimmed and

feathered away from her face in a manner that was both dramatic and waifish. Her eyes and bone structure had been highlighted with a careful application of makeup, and her dress...

She had to give Polly credit for the dress. The two of them had gone shopping earlier that week. And while Cara had been leaning toward a simple black sheath, Polly had talked her into buying a gown that was a shocking scarlet.

Cara smoothed the fabric, twisting this way and that. From the front the dress gave an illusion of demureness with a bateau neckline and a bias cut that clung to her figure before swirling around her feet. But from the rear...

Twisting, she grinned when she caught sight of the expanse of bare flesh. The dress had a drape of fabric that rested low on her hips, while above, there was nothing but a naked expanse of skin.

Perhaps she shouldn't have been so bold, but she'd always had a flare for the dramatic—one that Elliot had never allowed her to express. So when Polly had insisted that the black sheath was too predictable for the evening, Cara had hesitated, wondering if the red dress might help her prove to Ross that she wasn't nearly as biddable as he'd thought she might be. Nor was she prepared to blend into the woodwork.

A soft tap disturbed her musings, and Cara's

heart leaped. Without being told, she knew who waited on the other side of the panels. And she also knew that the moment Ross saw her, the die would be cast. Either he would be dismayed by her audacity...

Or maybe, just maybe, he would finally see her as a woman who was more than just a mother.

Chapter Thirteen

"Cara, are you ready? Our guests are beginning to arrive."

Our guests. The inclusive pronoun gave Cara the impetus she needed to cross the room and open the door.

"Yes, I'm ready."

For long minutes she was greeted with silence as Ross's gaze slid from her waifish haircut to the tips of her toes.

"You look beautiful."

His eyes had grown dark and heated. The way he stared at her made her feel as if she was the only woman on earth.

"Thank you."

Ross was devastating, as well. He had dressed in a tuxedo, and she wondered idly if it was the same tuxedo he'd worn the night she'd met him.

So much had changed since their first encounter— and not just with their marriage and the children. Cara felt as if she were a different person. Stronger in so many ways and yet still so weak where Ross was concerned. So needy.

She shivered beneath his regard, soaking up the blatant desire than radiated from his gaze.

"So beautiful," he murmured again.

A frisson of delight sped down her spine, and she felt her pulse skip a beat. For a moment there were no ghosts between them, only pure, honest regard....

As well as a heady, unspoken awareness.

From far below, the doorbell rang again.

"Shouldn't we go down?" she prompted softly.

Ross's lips lifted in a smile, and she was shaken to her toes with the effect it had in softening his features. She was suddenly aware of the fact that she was seeing that smile more and more often. Could she dare to think that she was making a difference in his life? That she was helping him to forget the past and be happy?

Another peal of the doorbell caused his smile to fade into a grimace.

"It seems we won't be given any more time to ourselves." Ross offered her his arm. "Shall we?"

Nodding, she allowed him to escort her down the hall.

"The house and the grounds are beautiful. You've obviously been hard at work, Cara."

His praise warmed her as much as his earlier regard. "Thanks. Everyone has been working hard."

"But I'd bet you did the lion's share." She felt his gaze upon her again as Ross continued, "Yet you still found time to tend to the children and see to my comfort as well."

Ross stopped her short of the staircase so that they were still hidden from prying eyes.

"I never meant to hurt you by excluding you from the preparations. I merely thought—"

She placed her fingers over his lips. "I know."

Ross smiled. "If I'd known that you would be such a stupendous hostess, I never would have dreamed of interfering." His tone softened, becoming low and intimate. "I seem to discover something new about you every day." He touched her cheek, then stroked the line of her jaw. "You never cease to surprise me."

She grimaced. "I doubt there are many surprises left. I'm really a simple person."

Ross shook his head. "No, you're a complex mix—wife, mother, girl next door." His hand touched her back and he grew suddenly still. "Turnaround."

She felt herself flushing, knowing that he'd been

so intent on studying the front of her gown that he hadn't noticed there was no back to speak of.

Holding the slight train out of the way, she pivoted on her toe, slowly, tantilizingly. Then she looked up to see his reaction.

Ross's eyes flared with an instantaneous passion.

"What have you done?"

She shook her head in confusion, wondering if she'd offended him by being so bold in front of his guests.

But Ross merely slipped his hand around her waist, his fingers dipping beneath the edge of the satin drape.

"I've got hours before I'll have you alone again," he whispered. "Hours and hours."

Then he leaned down to kiss her, softly at first, then more and more intimately until both of them were gasping for breath. When he finally drew free, there was no doubt in her mind that he approved of her choice in attire.

"You'll need to add seductress to your list of qualifications," he whispered against her ear.

Cara gasped at the flurry of sensation inspired by his breath caressing her hair.

"I'm no seductress," she said softly as his hand spread wide, moving in slow circles against her back.

"You are in that dress."

She rested her hands at his waist when her knees threatened to buckle.

"If we didn't have guests downstairs," Ross said with patent regret, "I wouldn't let you out of my arms." He leaned toward her again, his lips grazing her hair, her cheek, her throat.

Her hands slid around his waist to draw him even closer. He'd been avoiding her ever since Nancy's picture had disappeared from his night-stand. But the hunger of his embrace, the firm pressure of his lips pressing against her own left her in no doubt that he'd been thinking about her.

Wanting her.

"The party," she whispered, hearing the murmur of voices floating up the staircase.

Ross pulled her tightly against him, tucking her head beneath his chin. "Just say the word and I'll send them all home."

Even though she knew the option was impractical, Cara was tempted. But she didn't give in to her baser yearnings. Instead, she stepped away, smoothing the fabric of her dress.

"We can't do that." She was stunned by the hunger evident in her own voice.

Ross touched her lips with his thumb, then took a deep, shuddering breath.

"I suppose not. You've gone to too much trouble to make the evening perfect."

But as his hand slid to the hollow of her back, and he ushered her to the stairs, he leaned close to whisper in her ear, "There's always later."

As the first of the guests began to offer their goodbyes, Ross felt a deep satisfaction warm him from within. The evening had been a rousing success from beginning to end. His associates had been impressed by the preparations and bowled over by Cara's charm. She'd been the perfect asset to Ross, making newcomers feel welcome and old friends feel cherished. She'd laughed when confronted with the latest stories about the twins that were being bandied about on the news and in the tabloids, then she'd skillfully guided the conversation to other topics. She'd been so at ease and captivating, Ross was sure that most of the people who attended would soon be spreading the word that the Giffords had a love match.

Through it all Ross had soon discovered that he no longer cared what his associates thought or the media reported. His one and only concern lay in what Cara was thinking and feeling.

She was so beautiful.

So alive.

More and more Ross was beginning to see that he'd been living in a fog for far too long. He'd been numbly sleepwalking through his job and his

role as a father. He'd gone through the motions, doing what was expected of him but little more.

Until now. He suddenly found himself hungry for life.

And love.

The thought frightened him more than he would ever have thought possible. Hadn't he vowed to remain emotionally detached? Hadn't he promised himself that this marriage of convenience would be based on mutual respect and little else? Hadn't he sworn that he wouldn't let his emotions become involved?

So when had he stopped listening to the inner warnings for caution? When had he begun to look upon his relationship with Cara as being more than a convenience?

His gaze clung to her as she circulated through the small handful of guests that still remained. She was so totally unaware of her effect on men that she made him want her all the more. She'd just about driven him crazy in that dress. He couldn't seem to keep his hand from sliding over the bare expanse of her back. Nor could he banish the image of slipping the straps from her shoulders and allowing the sensuous satin to slip to the floor.

As if she'd sensed his regard, Cara glanced over her shoulder. In that instant he caught an answering

heat in her gaze and knew that the platonic aspect of their marriage wouldn't last the night.

A heat flared low in his belly, but he made no effort to banish it.

It seemed like hours before the last guest finally made his way out of the door to where the hired valet had parked the man's car. Gripping the terrace railing, Ross watched the influential judge slide into his car and drive into the dark night. He vaguely noted the distant flash of light as the reporters took yet another round of pictures.

Then the night was silent and still.

Turning his head, he found Cara waiting in the doorway.

"I've sent the catering crew home," she murmured. "Tomorrow is soon enough to clean up."

"And Stibbs?"

"He disappeared into his room. I believe he's relaxing to the sounds of La Boheme."

Ross pushed himself upright and walked slowly toward her. "And what about you, Mrs. Gifford? Aren't you tired?"

"I'm too keyed-up to feel it yet."

She was watching him with wide eyes, and for a moment Ross considered ending the evening here and now. She had the look of a deer caught in the headlights—too stunned to move, too fascinated to resist. But just as quickly as his chivalric instincts

appeared they faded away. He needed her too much to let things end that way. He needed to touch her, hold her, caress her. He needed to reassure himself that he could still feel something in his heart other than grief, that he was still capable of loving.

Loving?

The thought hit him with the intensity of a lightning bolt. But as he drew Cara into his arms and began to kiss her—slowly at first, then with the hunger of a starving man—he knew that he had already crossed an imaginary line. He could no longer pretend to be emotionally uninvolved. Although his head warned him of the inherent dangers of caring for another woman, his heart could no longer be denied.

Forgetting the journalists with their telephoto lenses and night vision, Ross swept Cara into his arms and carried her into the house. But this time as he closed the door with his shoulder, he didn't set her down. Instead, sensing her tacit consent to his intentions, he continued up the staircase and down the hall to Cara's bedroom.

Cara woke to sunshine streaming through her bedroom window. Her body was deliciously lethargic and sated, and she smiled to herself, stretching luxuriously.

She couldn't remember ever feeling so wonderful, so at peace with herself and her surroundings.

Peeking beneath her lashes, she saw that she was alone in the bed. The fact didn't surprise her. Judging by the angle of the sun, it was late and she knew that Ross had been scheduled to appear in court first thing in the morning.

Turning, she reached her hand toward the pillow on the opposite side of the bed, then paused when her fingers encountered something other than fabric.

A tender smile formed on her lips when she peered through her lashes and discovered that a single rose had been left on her pillow.

In an instant her heart flooded with emotion, and she trembled from sheer, overpowering joy.

She was in love. Completely and utterly in love. And ironically, the object of her affections was her own husband.

Laughing softly to herself, she breathed deep of the rose's heavenly fragrance. The hours in Ross's arms had been beyond her wildest imaginings. He'd been passionate and tender, making her feel beautiful and desirable. Over and over again he'd brought her to the heights of ecstasy, only to hold her close in the aftermath.