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Her flame-red hair—usually tamed by some sort of elastic band or hair clip when she was at the office—was wild about her shoulders, making for a very sultry look. This new do made her normally pale skin glow and look more delicate, more beautiful than he’d ever seen it.
At work, Rachel looked like any typical woman. However, tonight she’d done something to accentuate her brown eyes. He’d never realized before that her irises were flecked with a warm gold color that reminded him of heated honey. And her mouth. The bow was…utterly perfect. And he’d never seen her full bottom lip glisten so. The effect was…overwhelmingly kissable.
His mouth went dry at the thought, and he knew he should be ashamed of himself. But his mind was too busy with other things to take the time to do any silent berating.
Her black cocktail dress was shot through with silver threads, the fabric following the contours of her slender body. His gaze seemed to have a mind of its own as it roved down the length of her, over the swell of her breasts, the curve of her tiny waist that flowed right on down into flared hips.
An hourglass. She was a soft, luscious hourglass.
He choked as the startling thought lodged in his throat like some inhaled morsel of food.
Immediately, Rachel was clapping him on the back.
“You okay?” she asked, following him as he retreated into the living room.
If the truth were known, he was trying to flee. From what, he had no clue. But she stuck with him, following on those long, black-stocking-clad legs. She raised graceful, milky arms, and with her petite hands began slapping him soundly between the shoulder blades.
Aren’t you cold? he wanted to ask. Didn’t she know it was winter? Where were the sleeves of her dress? He’d never seen Rachel display so much…skin.
He worked with her in the office every single weekday. However, it was office policy that the employees wore colorful smocks over their attire. The nurses and office staff had a different color smock for every day of the week. He’d never realized just how shapeless those uniforms were. Before this moment, he’d never even realized that Rachel had a body.
Well, of course he’d known she’d had a body. He was a doctor, for goodness sake. But he never realized what a body she had!
Oh, hell.
Get a grip, he silently commanded himself. What on earth was the matter with him?
He needed to put a bit of space between them, that was all. He’d anticipated opening the door to one of his daughters’ friends. He hadn’t expected to see Rachel standing there at all. Her appearance had startled him.
Startled him? She’d shocked clear thinking right out of his brain. Like a solid whack with a sledgehammer right between the eyeballs.
“I’m fine,” he told her, ducking to the left. “I’m okay.”
As soon as he spoke, she stopped, and he continued on several paces just to give himself a little distance. Once he reached the couch, he paused to catch his breath, gather his wits. Only then did he turn to face her.
“You sure you’re okay?”
The concern in her golden-bronze gaze affected him mightily. Usually, her interest was focused on his children. Rachel was their godmother. And she’d gone out of her way, especially since Olivia’s death, to see that his girls were well-cared for. But recently she seemed more attached to his family than ever.
No, he silently answered her question. I’m not at all sure that I’m okay.
However, what he said was, “Sure. I’m fine. Just got a little choked up is all. I’m okay now. Really.”
The entire time his mouth was uttering the words, he had to fight with his eyes to keep them focused on Rachel’s face. His gaze kept wanting to slide down the length of her body, to get one more glimpse of those sinfully long and shapely legs of hers. Sometime during the last few frantic seconds, his subconscious must have noticed that the hem of her sexy little cocktail dress ended at midthigh. The urge to gape, stare, ogle, was pretty darned near overwhelming. He couldn’t fathom what had gotten into him.
She sure did look like a million bucks. Certainly, to have realized that fact—obviously so, he was afraid—and not to comment on it would seem more than a little odd. So, tugging absently at the lapels of his jacket, he said, “Y-you, ah, you look great.”
“So do you.”
For the first time, he vaguely recognized that her gaze was clouded with what looked like confusion. A tiny crease marred the delicate skin between her eyes. However, he was still fighting off the strange effect her appearance had had on him, and that took so much effort that he didn’t really have it in him to wonder too awfully much about what she might find bewildering.
“You obviously have plans tonight.” As soon as he uttered the words, he was struck by the strangest feeling. An odd heaviness sat on his chest like a cement block.
“I was about to say the same thing to you.”
Was that accusation he heard in her tone? he wondered. This whole situation had him feeling odd. Just a little off-kilter.
When he didn’t answer, she said, “I’m going to the New Year’s Eve party with the girls. They asked if I would help Debbie’s mother by acting as a chaperone. And I agreed. I’m here to pick up the girls. Are they ready?” Then her head tilted and she asked, “They didn’t tell you?”
Immediately upon hearing that Rachel would be attending the same party as he, the bizarre heaviness seemed to evaporate. What took its place was a curious lightness that wafted around him like sweet, candy-scented air. But he no more understood this sugary feeling than he did the other emotions that had reached up out of nowhere to grab at him.
What was wrong with his central nervous system? Was he coming down with a cold?
“No,” he told her, feeling preoccupied with the emotions churning inside him. “The girls never said a word.” He felt his brow furrow with uncertainty. Why hadn’t the girls let him know they had asked Rachel to go to the party?
Kids. Would they ever become responsible for their actions?
Now, Rachel looked as if she felt awkward.
“Y-you,” she stammered hesitantly, “look as if you have plans for the evening. Are you going out?”
Then he chuckled, nodding ironically. “I’m going to the party, too.”
The glow he had noticed seemed to fade and Rachel’s face suddenly took on an ashen shade.
“You are?”
“Uh-huh,” he told her softly. “I am. They asked me today. I guess the three of them somehow got their signals crossed.”
“But they were all together when…” Rachel’s thought seemed to peter out, and she shook her head. “It doesn’t matter,” she said.
A sudden thought struck him. “Look, since I’m going…there’s really no need for you to be troubled—”
“But, Dad!”
“We want Rachel to go—”
“She’s gotta go, Dad. Debbie’s mom is expecting her help.”
Sloan turned to see his daughters standing at the foot of the stairs.
The first things he noticed were their expressions. Surreptitious. Sly. Even sneaky wouldn’t have been too harsh a word to describe the looks in their eyes. What were they up to?
Before he could give the question the attention it deserved, he noticed their attire. His little girls were beautiful in their party dresses and fancy shoes. Looking all grown-up. Their long, dark hair glistening. His mouth opened, his breath leaving him in a rush.
His daughters were lovely. Lovely enough to make everything else slide into the background of his brain as his heart contracted with love.
Music blared at an earsplitting level. Sloan positioned himself at the very back of the large banquet room in order to save his hearing. He couldn’t believe how elaborate the party decorations were. Mrs. Fox, Debbie’s mother, had gone to great lengths to make her daughter’s New Year’s Eve bash a success.
Colorful helium balloons bobbed from ribbons anchored to every conceivable surface. Streamers were draped from the corners of the room, some of them dangling straight down from the ceiling, making a sort of obstacle course that the kids seemed to love. The tables were covered with cloths that had been sprinkled with shimmering confetti. One long table was weighed down with food and beverages. The dance floor was lit from above with rainbow lighting, and the tunes were being played by a professional disc jockey. A professional DJ for twelve-year-olds?
Yes, quite a bit of money had been paid out for this affair.
Sloan was surprised by the number of children milling around. One group of kids ambled by him, and not one of them even acknowledged him with a look, let alone a verbal greeting. Ah, well, he thought, they were off in their own world. A world that didn’t include chaperones. He chuckled to himself.
He was feeling so…odd. And he couldn’t quite put his finger on why.
Lighthearted. Gleeful, even. The music was deafening, yes, and the pop tunes were definitely not his favorite style. But he’d found himself tapping his toes to the beat a time or two.
However, along with this peculiar breeziness, he also felt a sense of foreboding. He couldn’t help thinking that something was about to happen. Often he was struck by a feeling of premonition. And when he got that feeling, it usually wasn’t long before he received a call from his answering service with a message from a patient who needed him. He hated the idea of being called away from the triplets’ big night out. But if that were to happen, Rachel was here to save the day—or rather, the evening—for the girls.
Yes, something strange was in the air. That was certain. And he was struck by yet another odd sensation—that whatever it was had something to do with Rachel.
The thought of her had him scanning the room. It took no time at all to find her in the crowd. In fact, it was almost as if his subconscious had been keeping tabs on Rachel’s location—and the location of his daughters—ever since the five of them had arrived.
As usual, Rachel had pitched in right away, helping Mrs. Fox with various jobs. She’d laughed with the kids, who didn’t seem to ignore her the way they ignored him. She’d even dragged some of the girls and boys out onto the dance floor when no one had seemed willing to start the party rolling. Her shoulders had shimmied as she’d danced, her fanny swaying to the rhythm of the music. That sight had had him suppressing a smile, and reaching to loosen the collar of his shirt.
Even now, as he thought of it, his toe began to tap lightly, a grin tugging at one corner of his mouth. He could almost feel his blood pressure rising, although Rachel was no longer dancing, but filling up cups with punch for some thirsty adolescents.
Lord, she sure looked good—
“Dr. Radcliff—”
Sloan started, not realizing just how mesmerized he’d become by his surveillance of Rachel—by his surveillance of everyone, he silently and swiftly corrected the thought. It was his job to chaperone, wasn’t it?
“Mrs. Fox,” he said, greeting her with a nod.
“Please call me Virginia. Our daughters have been friends for too long for us to be so formal.”
He smiled. “All right, Virginia. And you can call me Sloan.”
“I’d love to.”
The unexpected sultry quality of her voice made him pause. Then he said, “Great party you’ve put on here. The kids are really enjoying themselves.”
“You think so?”
Anxiety tinged her blue eyes, clouding them a little. Again, he nodded his assurance.
“I came over—”
Her hand slid over his forearm as she spoke, and Sloan was engulfed by the urge to step away from the woman. Even though he didn’t back up an inch, she still moved closer to him, almost as if she sensed his impulse to retreat.
“—to thank you for coming to help,” she purred. Her smile was so warm it could have melted asphalt. He was actually taken aback. He was struck by the thought that Virginia Fox was some kind of Amazon huntress—and he was most definitely the prey. He’d never actually been made to feel like wild game before, caught in the crosshairs. This was a first.
She cast a quick glance over her shoulder and then turned to face him again, whispering, “After the party, do you think you might like to go out—” another covert scan of the room “—and have a drink?”
He did lean away from her now as he tried to control his astonishment.
“Won’t it be awfully late?” The question rolled from his tongue before he could think of anything else to say. “Besides, my girls will need me to…I’ll need to see that they…”
He was flabbergasted by the woman’s suggestion. They both had children that needed tending. How could she think he could leave them home alone in the middle of the night?
She waved away his pitiful excuses. “You can get that secretary of yours—what’s her name? Raquel?—to take care of them for you.” Virginia cast another glance around the party. “She seems nice enough. Competent, even.” The woman’s voice dropped an octave as she added, “If you like the flamboyant type, that is.”
Flamboyant? Rachel?
Sloan wanted to burst out laughing.
Granted, Rachel’s hair was a little wild tonight. But everyone was allowed to let their hair down every now and then, weren’t they? And, yes, that dress…The mere thought of it had him mentally shaking his head in wonder. If the black-and-silver fabric had any sense at all it would be deliriously happy to be snuggling against Rachel’s luscious curves.
He was definitely losing his grip. These sexual thoughts about his office manager were growing more curious and more unrestrained as the evening wore on.
Virginia’s hand slid up his arm, her fingers squeezing his biceps suggestively.
“Come on,” she breathed. “Having a drink together will be fun.”
He’d met Debbie’s mother at school functions a few times, but she’d never approached him in such an intimate manner before. He hated to hurt the woman’s feelings, but he just wasn’t interested—
“Hey, Dad.”
Sloan had never been happier to see anyone in all his born days as he was to see Sophie right now. Rachel was with his daughter, and Sloan seized the opportunity to extricate himself from Virginia’s possessive clutches.
“Hi, honey,” Sloan greeted his daughter. “You having a good time?”
“Yeah.” She cut her eyes up at Mrs. Fox who took a backward step, at least having enough sense to look chagrined. “Thanks for the party, Mrs. F.”
“Why, you’re welcome…which one are you?” She then laughed nervously as she looked at Sloan. “I can never tell your girls apart.”
“I’m Sophie,” his daughter provided.
Her mind obviously on other things, Virginia ignored the child completely, plastered on a smile and commented without much enthusiasm, “Why, look, Raquel brought us some punch. How nice.”
“It’s Rachel,” Sophie automatically corrected. “And the punch is for Dad.”
Rachel smiled apologetically at the woman. Handing the cup to Sloan, she said, “Sophie thought you might be thirsty.”
After a little shuffling that his daughter had seemed to initiate, Sloan found himself standing close to Rachel. Very close.
Rachel looked down at Sophie. “There’s plenty of room. No need to crowd your father.”
“Thanks,” he said. He looked down into the red fruity drink, but the awkwardness of the moment kept him from enjoying a sip.
Then Sophie blurted, “Dad, are you planning to dance tonight?”
He grinned down at her. “Is that an invitation?”
“Ick! No way!” she screeched. Then she let out a snort of laughter. “The kids really would think I’m a geek if I danced with my father. Bobby’s waiting for me.” She smiled up at him. “I thought you might like to ask Rachel.”
