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“Oh, yes, they’re here,” Lisa assured him. “We were just talking with them.”
“Yeah,” Paul said with a shake of his head. “They were telling us about their adoption plans.”
“Adoption plans?” Chance echoed, surprised. “I didn’t know they were thinking of adopting a child.”
“Children—plural,” Derek told him. “Two brothers. The younger one is autistic.”
“Really?” Chance wasn’t sure what to say. Adopting an autistic child was a noble action but a very big challenge for the parents—especially when one parent was a busy junior senator with one eye on the White House. “That’s quite an undertaking.”
“I agree,” Lisa said, worry underlying her tone. “I can’t help but wonder if they’re truly prepared for the impact of a special-needs child in their lives.”
“I think Olivia is determined,” Paul said with a shrug. “Only time will tell but my money’s on her and Jamison.”
“Excuse me, sir.” A woman, carrying a clipboard and wearing a unobtrusive “Staff” button on her green evening gown, interrupted them with an apologetic look. “Senator Claxton would like to introduce all of the Armstrong family members to a friend of his.” She lowered her voice to murmur, “The senator asked me to tell you the friend is a potential donor to the research program at the institute.”
Derek slipped his arm through Lisa’s and clapped Paul on the shoulder. “Then we’d better go meet-and-greet.”
“Duty calls. See you later, Chance.” Paul let his brother urge him into motion.
“Have fun,” Lisa called over her shoulder as the three followed the clipboard-carrying woman into the throng.
Chance lifted his half-empty flute in farewell.
“Who are they?” Jennifer asked, having returned in time to see the Armstrongs leave.
Her voice stroked over his senses, lush, sensual, and when he turned, the sight of her did the same.
“My bosses—and coworkers,” he answered, dismissing them with a wave of the champagne class before deftly depositing the flute on a passing waiter’s tray. “They were called away to meet potential donors. For them tonight is both business and pleasure. I’d like you to meet them—hopefully we’ll see them later and I’ll introduce you.” He held out his hand. “Dance with me?”
She smiled shyly. “I’d love to.”
Chance swept Jennifer onto the floor. They circled the room amid the crowd of dancers, moving gracefully to the strains of a waltz.
“I feel like Cinderella,” Jennifer murmured.
Chance tucked her closer, his leg brushing between hers as he executed a turn. “Does that make me the prince?” he asked.
She tilted her head back to look up at him. “I’m not sure,” she said. “I think the jury’s still out.”
“Damn.” His smile was wry. “And I’ve been on my best behavior tonight.”
His eyes twinkled, inviting her to laugh.
“After listening to you and the senator tell stories about the pranks you and his son pulled on your friends in school, I’m not sure you grasp the concept of ‘good behavior,’” she teased.
“Isn’t there a statute of limitations on being a dumb kid? Dave and I did most of that stuff in high school and college,” he protested.
“Nothing recently?” she pressed with a smile, unconvinced.
“No,” he assured her. “We had a lot of fun in school but my days of setting up practical jokes are over. I wish I had time to see more of the senator’s family,” he added. “But for the past few years, Ted and I have been too busy with our research.”
Her gaze softened. “You work too hard. Lately when you come into the diner, you seem exhausted.”
“There have been a few weeks when sleep was a rare commodity,” he admitted.
“What exactly do you do at the institute?” she asked, insatiably curious about every aspect of his life.
“I treat women with fertility issues,” he told her. “Part of my day is spent with patients in one-on-one appointments and procedures. The rest of the day is spent in the lab with my partner. We’re searching for a way to increase the success rate of implanted embryos, among our other projects.”
“That’s marvelous.” Jennifer couldn’t help but think about how difficult it must be for couples who wanted children but couldn’t conceive. Annie was the most important thing in her life—what if she couldn’t have gotten pregnant? “I can’t imagine doing anything more important.”
“That’s how I feel. How I’ve always felt.” His voice deepened, eyelashes half-lowering over dark eyes. “You understand and you’ve only known me a few months. I started bandaging the neighborhood dogs when I was eight years old but my parents still can’t understand why I want to be a doctor.”
“Why not?” Baffled, she searched his features. “Most parents would love to have a doctor in the family.”
“They wanted me to go into the family business. My father especially. He’s the CEO and he wanted me to take his place.” He shrugged. “If they’d had more children, it might have been easier for them to accept my decision but unfortunately I’m an only child.”
“It must have been difficult for you to disappoint them,” she murmured in response to the hint of regret underlying his words.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “It was—still is, sometimes.”
“But you love your work so it’s worth it to you,” she guessed.
“Yes.” He smiled at her, his dark eyes warm. “How about you? Do you like working at the diner?”
“I do,” Jennifer replied. “I like the customers, the other waitresses, even my boss. I plan to keep working there until I get my degree.”
“What are you studying?”
“Education—I want to be a teacher.”
“Good for you.” His smile held approval and respect. “What kind of classes are you taking?”
“An English lit class, which I love,” she told him. “And a psychology class, which I don’t like very much. Still,” she added, “at least it’s not an art class.”
“You don’t like art?”
“Oh, I love art,” she assured him. “I love going to museums and looking at sculpture, oil paintings, watercolors…I especially love Impressionist paintings. But I have very little artistic talent, unfortunately, and I need a passing grade in several art classes to finish my degree.”
“How many hours are you at the diner every week?” he asked with a frown. “Aren’t you working full-time? How do you have time to study?”
She smiled impishly. “I don’t date. It’s amazing how much free time a woman has when she cuts men out of her life.”
His arms tightened, pulling her closer. “That’s got to change,” he growled.
She laughed, her breasts pressed to the muscled strength of his chest, his powerful thighs hard against hers. Excitement and heat shivered through her and she tilted her head back to look up at him. “But I have to earn my degree if I want to become a teacher—and I really, really want to be a teacher.”
His gaze studied her before he nodded. “I can see you being a teacher—little kids, right? Or are you thinking of teenagers?”
She shook her head. “I’m more interested in grade school.”
“Yet another thing we have in common,” he commented. “Both of us want careers where we can help people.”
She stared into his eyes, struck by the truth of his comment. They did seem to have a lot in common—and with each new revelation, her feelings for him deepened.
Conversation lapsed as they danced, the brush of their bodies casting a spell that held them, growing stronger, hotter with each movement of body against body as they swayed to the music.
When the orchestra took a break, Chase tipped his head back to look down at her.
“Thirsty?”
Jennifer nodded and Chance released her, his hand stroking in a warm caress down her arm before he threaded her fingers through his and led her from the crowded dance floor.
Guests strolled the periphery of the ballroom, sat with wineglasses at small tables, or gathered in groups to chat and observe the colorful swirl of other guests in the center of the room.
The champagne fountain sat on a white linen-covered table. Chance handed a filled crystal flute to Jennifer and lifted a second one.
“Hello, Chance. Frank told me you were here.”
Jennifer looked over her shoulder, her eyes widening at the lanky, blond man in a white chef’s coat. His features were movie-star handsome and a counterpoint to Chance’s dark masculinity.
“Jordan,” Chance greeted him with a wide grin. The two men shook hands and then Chance slipped his free hand around Jennifer’s waist to draw her closer. “Jennifer, this is Jordan Massey, the best chef in Boston.”
“Pleased to meet you, Jennifer.” The swift glance Jordan raked over her was pure male interest.
Jennifer felt a subtle tension in Chance. The possibility that he might be jealous of the good-looking chef was intriguing but she dismissed the notion. Instead, she smiled and held out her hand. “It’s lovely to meet you, Jordan. I’m so glad I have an opportunity to tell you how wonderful our dinner was—I can’t remember when I’ve enjoyed a meal more.”
“Thank you.” He took her hand, holding it a second too long and giving her fingers a light squeeze before releasing her. He lifted an eyebrow at Chance. “She’s beautiful and she loves my cooking. Where have you been hiding her, Chance?”
“Never mind.” Chance’s voice held a definite possessive warning. “Back off.”
Jordan laughed and winked at Jennifer. “Duty and my kitchen calls but we’ll have to talk later, Jennifer, and you can tell me how you’ve managed to make my friend so possessive.”
“I’m just protecting her from the wolves,” Chance drawled.
“Of course,” Jordan said blandly. “Enjoy the evening, my friend.”
Jennifer didn’t miss the enigmatic look he gave Chance before he disappeared into the crowd.
“Where did you meet him?” she asked Chance, curious about the chef.
“His sister was a patient of mine,” he told her. “He threw a party when the baby was born and after everyone else went home, we killed a fifth of Scotch toasting his new niece. We’ve been friends ever since.”
She sipped her champagne, her gaze drifting over the glittering gathering before stopping on a couple. The man wore a tux and the woman’s gown was a formfitting sapphire blue, her hair a long, wavy mane that gleamed like silk beneath the chandelier’s light. The two had eyes only for each other—until the man glanced up, grinned and waved.
“There’s Ted,” Chance commented, lifting his champagne glass in salute.
“Who’s the woman with him?” Jennifer asked.
“His wife,” Chance replied. “And I’m damned grateful Sara Beth said yes when he proposed. I work with him and he’s been a pain in the…well, let’s just say he was in a bad mood until he worked things out with her.”
“They look very much in love,” Jennifer said softly, her gaze on the two as the man brushed the woman’s long wavy hair over her shoulder and smiled down at her.
“They are.” Chance emptied his champagne flute and caught her hand. “Let’s dance.” He deposited their glasses. “I’m glad to know I was right,” he said as they circled the room.
“About what?” she asked, a tiny frown drawing her brows into a vee.
“The food,” he replied easily as he guided her out through open French doors and onto the wide balcony where other guests danced beneath the night sky. “Unless you were lying to Jordan. You did enjoy dinner?”
Her brow smoothed and a smile curved her mouth, lighting her eyes. “Oh, yes. The lobster was wonderful and the chocolate mousse was perfect.”
“I told you the food would be worth the cost of the ticket,” he said with satisfaction, executing a series of smooth, sweeping turns to move them down the length of the wide stone balcony. “Jordan doesn’t serve tiny slivers of artsy-looking food. His food is elegant without being precious—you know, no tiny portions that leave a guy so hungry that he has to stop for a burger on his way home.”
Jennifer looked up at him, a smile curving her lips. “It sounds suspiciously as if you’ve been forced to sit through dinners filled with…maybe, cucumber sandwiches and tea?”
He laughed. “Not since my grandmother made me eat them when I was a kid. Since then, though,
I’ve had to attend dinners where we were served rubbery chicken or tiny plates with three or four artfully arranged celery and radish slices.” He shuddered. “Makes me hungry just to think of it.”
“I’m guessing it takes more than celery and radishes to fuel a guy your size,” she joked.
“You guess right,” he said with a nod. “Lots more. I have a big appetite.” He winked at her.
She studied him, contemplating an answer to what was clearly an invitation.
His lips brushed her ear. “Aren’t you wondering what other appetites I have?” he teased, lazy amusement underlaid with darker, more volatile emotions.
She tilted her head and his mouth brushed over her cheek, with scant inches separating his lips from hers. “I was considering asking,” she said quietly. “But decided I should give the subject more thought before asking questions that might provoke dangerous answers.”
“I’d be happy to answer any questions, Jennifer,” he told her. “Dangerous or not.” Heat flared in his dark, heavy-lidded gaze.
“I’ve never been a woman who courts danger,” she murmured. “I’ve always preferred safe and sane.”
“You’re safe with me, Jennifer,” he muttered, pressing his lips to her temple. “I’d never hurt a woman, especially you.” His arms tightened as he swept her into a series of fast, graceful turns.
“I believe you,” she replied softly once she was back in his embrace. “At least, not physically. But you’re a very attractive man, Chance, and a woman could lose her heart to you.”
“Could she?” he rasped, his voice deeper.
“Yes.” She nodded, her hair brushing the underside of his chin and his throat. “I don’t want a broken heart, Chance.”
“I won’t break your heart. Come home with me, Jennifer.” His fingers trailed over her cheek, tucked a tendril of soft hair behind her ear, and returned to brush over her lower lip. “I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you.”
“I don’t sleep around,” she told him honestly. They’d stopped dancing but still stood within the circle of each other’s arms. Beyond the balustrade, the lights of the city glowed while on the street below, the faint sounds of traffic drifted upward. Down the length of the stone veranda they’d traversed, a series of French doors were thrown open to the ballroom. Gold light poured out, illuminating the guests at the other end of the veranda as some strolled or leaned on the wide, chest-high stone bulwark and some danced, swaying in time to the orchestra’s lush notes. Chance and Jennifer were alone at their end of the long veranda, shadowed except for the spill of soft light that fell through the glass panes of the French doors beside them, drawn closed against the crowded ballroom inside. The yellow light highlighted his face and she searched his features. “In fact…I haven’t been with a man since my divorce, and that was more than five years ago.”
His eyes darkened, his mouth a sensual curve. “Honey, that’s a damned shame. A woman as beautiful as you should be loved often and well.” He bent and brushed his mouth over hers, then lingered to slowly trace her lower lip with the tip of his tongue. “Come home with me. Please.”
He urged her closer until she rested against his chest, her thighs aligned with his. Jennifer shuddered at the press of her breasts against hard muscles.
