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She climbed out, smiling ruefully to herself. It wasn’t that she was in bad shape. Just the opposite. Working in construction for the past year and a half had probably gotten her into the best condition she’d ever been. This was different. Holding the same position for an hour at a time wasn’t easy. Nothing like it had been eight years ago in college.
A couple of stragglers leaving the store stopped to stare at her. She accepted a robe from Trudie’s assistant and pulled it on over the tiny red bikini before heading for the dressing room. The lights flickered—the store’s final warning for everyone to leave.
“Hey, you wanna go for a drink?” Steve threw his robe over his shoulder.
Drink? Bathroom? Oh, God. “How about a rain check?” she said without breaking her stride.
“Sure.” He shrugged, smiled. “See you tomorrow evening.”
Dallas sighed as he walked ahead of her. He sure was pretty. Young but pretty.
“Excuse me.”
Dallas heard the voice behind her and glanced over her shoulder. It was him. The guy who’d been standing outside a moment ago. Her chest tightened. “The store is closed. You’ll have to leave.”
He gave her a boyish grin. “I know the security guard. Besides, I only need a minute of your time.”
“I don’t have a minute.”
“Look, I want to hire you.” He produced a business card from his jacket pocket. “For Saturday night. Your usual modeling fee, of course.”
She barely glanced at the card. “I’m not a model. I’m doing this as a favor for a friend.” She tried to hand him back the card but he wouldn’t take it.
“Call my office,” he said. “Check me out. Or ask Jimmy.” He inclined his head toward the security guard.
She shook her head. “Look, I—”
“I’m not a kook or a pervert.” His boyish grin took a chink out of her resolve. “Well, my friends may argue that point. But seriously, I only want to play a practical joke on my friend. He was here earlier with me and saw you and…well, we have a company dinner at the boss’s house this Saturday and I thought it would be pretty funny if you showed up.”
Of course she remembered the guy. His face was surprisingly clear in her mind. That strong, dimpled jaw stood out in particular.
“He thinks you’re a mannequin.”
That startled a laugh out of her. Oops! Bad move. She squeezed her thighs together. “I’ll think about it and call you, okay?” she said as she started toward the bathroom.
“Tom!” The security guard motioned the man to the door. “I gotta lock up.”
“I’ll be waiting to hear from you.” Tom backed toward the door. “Either way, call me, will you?”
“Sure,” she said, amazed that she was even considering it.
“I THINK YOU’RE NUTS IF YOU don’t go.” Wendy plopped down on the love seat with a bowl of buttered popcorn that she placed between her thighs. “How totally cool. You’d be like the mystery woman.”
If Dallas denied being intrigued by the prospect, she’d be a liar, but the situation was just so way out there. “Pass me some popcorn, would you?”
“You won’t like it. I used a whole block of butter,” she said, licking her fingers.
“I don’t suppose you set any popcorn aside for me.”
“Sorry.”
“Thanks.” Dallas sighed as she pushed off the purple beanbag chair. Some things never changed.
They’d been roommates for three years, but Wendy still hadn’t grasped the concept of sharing. She had other good qualities, Dallas reminded herself as she grabbed an apple from the basket of fruit they kept on top of the refrigerator—the only spare spot in the minuscule kitchen.
“So, you saw this guy, right?” Wendy asked between handfuls of popcorn.
“Briefly. Anyway, it’s not like it’s a blind date. Just a prank.”
“What does he look like?”
“Tall, kind of wiry, athletic-type body, dark hair, hazel eyes, strong square jaw.”
Wendy snorted. “Just a brief look, huh?”
“Keep stuffing your face and shut up.” Dallas sank back into the chair and stretched her legs out. “I called that guy Tom’s office. I didn’t talk to him. Just made sure he really worked there.”
“And what about Saturday night? How do you know it’s legit?”
“I pretended I was a florist and wanted to confirm the delivery date for the dinner.”
“Very sneaky. I’m impressed.”
Dallas groaned. “But I still don’t know if I should do this.”
“Did Trudie have an opinion?”
“Please, you need to ask? She thinks I’d be crazy to do it.”
“Screw it. She’s gotten too conservative since she caved in and got a nine-to-fiver. Go. Be daring. Have fun. What else do you have to do Saturday, anyway?”
Dallas watched a popcorn kernel slip from Wendy’s hand and fall to the floor to join several of its friends. Dallas sighed. Wendy was right. What else did she have to do Saturday night besides clean up Wendy’s mess?
ERIC FINISHED HIS COGNAC and debated having another one before he slipped out. As usual he’d come late, for-going the cocktail hour and arriving just minutes before dinner had been served, along with a different wine with each course. Easy to get stupid with all that booze. And he made it a policy never to get stupid in front of the brass.
Webber, of course, was here. It was his house. He always threw the parties. New money. He still had a lot of showing off to do. The firm’s other partner, Joseph Thornton IV, came from old money. Nice guy, old-school polite, but with the exception of Webber, no one from the office had ever seen the inside of his house. At least no one Eric knew of. Not that he was the type to be invited to the Thornton estate. But some day…hell, some day he’d have a nice three-story brownstone like this with a view of Central Park.
Near the white marble fireplace, Tom and Serena were talking to Harold Carter, the company’s controller and possibly the most boring human being in Manhattan. Eric wasn’t in the mood to make small talk, so he circled around the room, heading for the bar.
“Another cognac?” The bartender reached for the bottle.
“Yep, one for the road.” Eric put down his empty snifter. Most bartenders had amazing memories. “Go ahead and refill this one.”
He’d picked up a clean glass but set it aside. “No argument from me. One less to wash.”
Eric glanced at the guy’s name tag. He remembered him from the Webber’s Christmas party. “Tell me something, Chuck. You ever get tired of these private parties?”
Chuck shrugged. “They aren’t so bad. Pays the rent.”
Eric sighed. “Yep, that’s what it’s all about.” He surveyed the plush living room, impeccably decorated in gold and burgundy, a van Gogh over the fireplace and, if he wasn’t mistaken, a couple of Gauguins on the dining room wall. He hated these affairs. Ridiculously formal and mandatory—unspoken, of course. “Money.”
Chuck grinned. “Nothing wrong with that.”
“Not a thing.” Eric had to agree. Not to would make him a hypocrite. Wasn’t that why he was here when he’d rather be just about anyplace else? Not just because he was the only guest without a date—something which Webber had again commented on. But that was Eric’s choice. He could have brought a date if he’d wanted.
Most of the time he could be political and schmooze the bosses with the best of them. He certainly did his share when necessary. Frankly he had to. It was all part of the game. But social situations weren’t his favorite milieu. He always felt at such a disadvantage.
“The class of people at these private affairs are better than working the bars.” Chuck motioned with his chin toward the foyer. “Like her. What a knockout! Can’t believe I didn’t notice her earlier.”
Eric looked in that direction and saw the blonde entering the foyer. The Webber’s maid had just let her in the double glass front doors. No escort. Just her and that slinky black dress.
She turned in his direction and his jaw dropped. That face. Those lips. That tiny beauty mark near her mouth. Those legs. He knew her….
Impossible.
He blinked. Took a deep shuddering breath. Exhaled slowly.
Chuck muttered an oath. “Sorry, man, I hope that isn’t your wife or anything.”
“What?” Eric barely glanced at the bartender before his gaze drew helplessly back to the woman. “No, I, um, I don’t know her.”
“In that case, I’d go introduce myself if I were you, dude.” Chuck grabbed a crystal flute and poured some champagne. “Here. Take this to her.”
Eric didn’t move. He just stared. Blinked hard. Stared again. In total shock. The woman’s resemblance to the mannequin he’d seen three days ago was remarkable. The hair on the back of his neck went straight up as he watched her enter the living room and take Mrs. Webber’s extended hand.
“I need a scotch,” he said to Chuck, his eyes never leaving the woman.
“Hey, dude, you okay?”
No, he wasn’t okay. He was friggin’ hallucinating. He finished his cognac and set it aside as he waited for Chuck to pour the scotch, and then he downed it in one gulp.
Tom.
Eric peered toward the marble fireplace where he’d last seen his friend. Where the hell was he? Tom had seen her in the window the other night, too. He could prove Eric wasn’t going crazy.
Eric left the empty glass on the bar and moved toward the fireplace area while trying to keep the blonde in his sights. Wasn’t hard. Everyone else seemed to be eyeing her, too. Of course, all the other guests knew each other. But it wasn’t just that she was an outsider. She was stunning.
He spotted Tom, but before he could get to him, the blonde and Mrs. Webber approached him and his wife. Tom and Serena shook hands with the blonde. Not a trace of recognition on Tom’s face.
Eric took a step back. Obviously he’d been working too hard lately. He was losing it. He needed to sit down. Have another drink. Better yet, go home.
“Hey, Eric. Come here.” Tom motioned him toward them. “I’d like you to meet someone.”
The blonde smiled. Her teeth were dazzlingly white and perfect. So was her skin. Flawless. Golden and creamy. And her honey-colored hair…the way the light from the chandelier touched it, lighting it with shimmering highlights, was a work of art.
A tiny half-moon-shaped scar near her jawline surprised him. Nothing bad or ugly but certainly unnecessary. A cosmetic surgeon could probably eliminate the imperfection with a thirty-minute office visit.
Too late to retreat gracefully, Eric moved forward and forced a smile.
Mrs. Webber leaned over and straightened his tie. “Don’t leave too soon, okay? I have a very special dessert planned,” she said with a twinkle in her eyes before drifting across the room.
“This is Eric Harmon,” Tom said to the woman. “And Eric, this is Dallas.”
She smiled and extended her hand. Eric’s palm was so clammy, he was embarrassed to touch her. He took her fingers and brought her hand to his lips, pressing a light kiss to the back, which earned a choked snicker out of Tom.
“A pleasure meeting you,” Eric said and released her hand as quickly as he could without seeming rude.
She blinked, surprise flickering across her face. “The pleasure is mine,” she whispered, her voice soft and breathy and matching her perfectly.
The heady scent of roses and mystery swarmed his senses and he actually felt weak in the knees. His lips tingled from the silky warmth of her skin.
Too much scotch. That’s all.
He caught the tail end of the amused look Tom and Serena had exchanged and he cleared his throat. “Tom, could I speak with you for a moment in private?”
Tom hesitated. Long enough for their boss, Morgan Webber, to call for Tom and motion for him across the room.
“Sorry, pal,” Tom said, looking anything but as he hurried across the room toward Webber, Serena in tow.
Eric took a deep breath and turned back to Dallas. Her long, delicate fingers absently stroked the gold chain she wore around her neck. It held a small ruby heart that followed the deep V of her dress and rested in the tantalizing valley between her breasts.
He tried his damnedest not to stare. Forced his gaze up to the slender column of her neck, to her lush peach-tinted lips, the cute upward tilt of her nose and then to dive headfirst into eyes so sexy and blue, he thought he might have to loosen his collar to breathe.
He cleared his throat. “It’s nice to see a new face at one of these parties. They get pretty stale after a while.” He stopped, swore under his breath. “Tell me you aren’t the Webbers’ niece.”
She smiled and shook her head.
“Or in any way related.”
This time she laughed, the simple innocent sound seductive as hell. “No, you’re safe.”
Eric exaggerated a sigh of relief and then smiled. Up close he realized the scar on her jaw wasn’t that old. Maybe a year or so. At least he knew she was a real live person.
God, he was losing it. He had to talk to Tom. Or then again, maybe he shouldn’t. His friend was likely to have him committed. “How do you know the Webbers?”
Dallas looked blankly at him for a moment. And then her gaze shifted past him. “Would you get that waiter’s attention, please? I’d really like a glass of wine.”
“Of course.” Damn, he should’ve brought the champagne Chuck had poured.
Eric snagged the waiter’s attention. On his tray he had both white and red wine and flutes of champagne. Eric turned back to her to ask which she preferred and was surprised to find her nibbling nervously at her lower lip.
Their eyes met, and her lips immediately stretched into a smile, her expression one of utter composure.
“Red, white or champagne?” he asked.
“Red, thank you.”
He lifted the glass off the tray and handed it to her. He thought about having another drink himself but decided he needed a clear head to survive the twilight zone.
