Authors: Rita Clay
She watched
the
young senator amble over to a blonde in a tight-fitting red jersey dress
.
Dianna had seen her with another man earlier.
“So this is
The Upper Crust of Dallas
,” she murmured to herself as she bit into a small sausage roll
“This is it
.
But don’t judge them too harshly, Dianna. They work hard and play hard. It’s my guess that
they're not really that happy
.
They may not scramble for money, but they're searching for other things that will make them satisfied.
And they all have great business head
s
or they wouldn't have put their money in this company, which is why they're here.
” Jason looked sad as his eyes scanned the room before resting on Dianna’s down
-
bent head
."
Many of th
e
heads of various departments are all throughout here, too, but they're mixing with everyone also,
so it's
harder to
spot them
,"
“I
'm
not judging them.
But it's hard watching
them condemn themselves.”
“
You're as
white as a sheet.
Why don't we
sit down and relax.”
Jason
grabbed
a champagne cocktail from a
passing waiter,
and then
walked her to an unoccupied seat away from the pressing crowd
.
Dianna sat down, giving a grateful smile to her partner. “This is much better, don’t you agree?” Jason asked as he leaned back, balancing his drink on his thigh. “What do you think of
our CEO
? Not quite the run of the mill, is he?”
“Run of the mill?” Dianna repeated guardedly. She had already had too much contact with Noah Weston. There was something about the man that was too imposing, too... masculine. But
,
if it meant the difference between Tabby well and
no
Tabby, then there was no choice.
No choice at al
l.
Jason gave her a look she couldn’t quite read
.
“A guy who has everything—success, good looks, money, power—and all before he’s forty
, well, t
hat’s a rare man these days.” He smiled his litt
l
e-boy smile. “He’s quite a guy. Especially with the girls, or haven’t you noticed?”
Dianna knew exactly what he was asking, and she had to smile at his transparency. He was as easy to read as Tabby
.
“Since
I'm
no longer a girl, I guess
I'm
immune. Besides, there’s his obvious arrangement with Catherine Sinclair.”
Jason had the grace to look slightly sheepish. “This seems to be my night for being caught just outside the orchard with stolen apples,” he answered ruefully. “But I don’t think Catherine the Great has him as sewn up as the public thinks. If she did, then they’d be married by now.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Two things. One, she’s been in his little black book for
several years
, and he hasn’t seen fit to take her home to meet his
sist
er. Two, Mr. Weston has money in a record company and she’s the big singing star, so I think he’s trying to keep her happy until her
new album is completed
. At any rate, I think he’s just playing her along until something better comes his way. He doesn’t seem the sort to let a woman he’s really interested in get away with the things she does.”
“He lives with his sister?” Dianna asked, surprised. He’d never mentioned the existence of a
sis
ter when she’d known him!
“Yes, or at least she lives on his ranch. She’s much older than he is and raised him after their parents died
.
They had a younger brother, but
, like his parents before him, Charles
was killed in an auto accident several years ago. Right after that she had a stroke, and
Mr.
Weston's taken
care of her ever since.”
“I didn’t know,” she whispered, her face turning pale under the dim lighting of
the
room
.
She'd heard that
Charles had died,
but hadn't shed a tear. Listening to Jason, she realized that the man who had raped her and whom she hated
all this
time
had others who might have loved him; an older sister who had apparently
raised and
loved him and a
n older brother,
Noah
,
who missed him.
She sipped on her cocktail and stared straight ahead, not wanting to make conversation. She just wanted to leave
. She wanted to
go home to Tabby.
Her eyes sought Noah, watching him as he moved from group to group. He looked so distinguished in a tuxedo. His
s
andy colored hair, s
hort
sideburns lightly flecked with premature gray, accented the handsome features of a man obviously in charge. His skin, a coppery color, told of a great deal of time spent outdoors
, probably playing golf
.
Wasn't that the game of choice for executives?
Dark brows slashed straight across his arrogant Roman nose. His jaw was square; a deep cleft in the center of his bottom lip softened the look of determination that marked his appearance. His smile was devastating
ly handsome
and he seemed to listen with honest interest to every conversation. What sort of man was he?
She knew him as
considerate of other people, yet he seemed cruel in his relationship with Catherine. Which was the act and which the real Noah? She listened vaguely to the nonsense conversation Jason was holding with the older woman on his other side, but when he turned to include her
,
she was so startled she jumped.
“Hey,
I
didn’t mean to scare you!” he exclaimed. “Are you all right?”
Her muscles were so tight that Jason's concern w
as almost too much
to handle
.
The composure that had taken her years to build up was
sliding
away in one
night “Would you like to leave?" Jason asked. "
This is almost over anyway.”
She nodded her head, relieved at his suggestion. Her hazel eyes shimmered to an emerald green with unshed tears.
“Let’s go.” He stood and took her arm, leading her toward the far door. Just as they reached it a tall figure blocked their way.
“Leaving so soon, Mrs. Hammond?” Noah asked, one black brow
rose
slightly
. His expression showed
just a hint of boredom, as if he were asking more out of politeness than concern.
“I think Mrs. Hammond is worried about her daughter,” Jason replied quickly, defending her with the one piece of information she had not wanted uttered. She shook her head, denying his excuse.
“
I'm
sorry, Mr. Weston, but
I'm
just not used to parties.
I'
ve acquired a terrible headache,” she mu
r
mured, knowing it to be the truth. Her head was throbbing heavily, in time with her
pulse beat
and there was a definite hot spot behind her eyes. Ten
si
on
was doing its best to grab a toe-hold in her brain.
S
he knew
the
symptoms well enough to know she had to sleep the headache off.
"
I'll
see
Mrs. Hammond home, Jason,” Noah decided abruptly, ignoring the young man’s surprised stare. “You stay and help Miss Sinclair enjoy the party. It’s almost over anyway.”
He turned to Catherine, who had come to stand at his side with an expression of barely concealed impatience. She gave Noah a coy glance and tucked her arm possessively in his.
“Really, Noah
.
I’m sure Jason doesn’t mind driving Mrs. Hammond home.”
She smiled sweetly, but the emphasis on “Mrs.” was not lost, and Dianna’s face turned pink as she met Catherine’s cold eyes.
There had to be a way to get out of this impossible situation! “Please,”
Dianna
said quietly and with as much dignity as her tattered nerves would allow. “I’ll get a taxi. I’m sure there are plenty around
.
” She turned to Jason and held out her hand “Thank you, Jason. It was a
pleasure meeting you.” She
turned to both Noah and Catherine and pretended to smile
. “Good night, all.”
She walked quickly out the door and down the wide corridor toward
the bank of
elevators. Her legs were curiously weak as she waited for the doors to open and swallow her. Her head was spinning and she placed a hand on
the
cool metal door to steady herself.
Th
e doors silently slid open, almost knocking her off balance. A pair of strong arms came around her, guiding her inside the elevator, and the doors closed silently behind them. The elevator was moving by the time she turned to confront her rescuer.
“Thank you, but I can make it the rest of the way by myself.” She spoke more curt
l
y than she had intended, but would not relent as she stared into
Noah's
deep
gray eyes.
“I don’t remember asking you,”
Noah
retorted, his usually sensuous lips pressed together in an uncompro
mising li
ne.
"
And
I don't need your permission to go home, Mr. Weston. After all this time I can take care of myself."
"Really?"
"Really."
Tension crackled in the air as their eyes locked and fought a silent battle of wills
. D
ianna lowered her lashes just as the elevator stopped and the doors opened
.
Instead of the expected view of the lobby, she was met by the sight of an all-too-familiar hallway—the hallway outside Noah Weston’s penthouse suite. A man in a guard uniform stood leaning against the wall, a magazine in his hand
.
When he spotted them
,
he straightened
,
watching Noah guide
Dianne
toward the apartment door.
“Evening, Simon,” Noah muttered
“Good evening, sir.” The man
smiled
his expression both respectful and curious.
Dianna wanted to turn and run, but the pressure of Noah’s hand prevented her retreat more effectively than locks or keys could
.
The door opened to his touch and he led the way down the
short
hallway to the
over-
large living room
. It
was just as she remembered it
;
plus or minus a few paintings and additional shots of color on the large sofa cushions. T
wo
glass wall
s
overlook
ed Dallas, and framed the
expensive furnishings
and
quietly elegant
white,
tan- and-
chocolate-
brown color scheme. Gently he pushed her into a chair and leaned over, holding Dianna hostage as his hands gripped the sides of the cushioned arms.
“
Please.
Sit here and keep quiet for a minute,” he ordered before walking to a paneled wall and touching a small brown button. The wall rotated
,
disclosing a completely mirrored bar that revolved into
the
room to display fine cut crystal of every shape and size. Bottles of expensive liqueurs were standing on
the
back shelf. He poured a pure white liquid into two small stemmed glasses and returned to stand in front of her, staring down as if not really seeing her at all. He thrust the
glass
into her trembling hand.
“This will help your headache.” He
said before turning to sit
heavily in the chair across from hers. Dianna sipped it, barely noticing its licorice taste or the soothing way it passed down her dry throat
.
Her
eyes were focused on Noah.
Suddenly h
e
looked as tired as she felt. He
star
ed
down in
to
his brandy glass as if it held an answer to a secret. But his next words blew that theory.
“Why did you run away all those years ago?” he asked abruptly.