“Eight and a half.” Rhett arched an eyebrow at her.
Stanzi laughed and threw her napkin at him. “I’ll get the rest of you later, I promise.”
“Nine seems like a lot for one day.” Rhett looked around at the crowd. “How do you fit them all in? All the donors get a massage, right?”
“Oh, hell, no.” Stanzi shook her head. “Just the people who book a cabin. That’s eight.” She tilted her head toward him. “You make nine. The rest of these people donated to the rescue just to come to the party.”
“That’s a lot of donations.”
“I know. I told you, Sunny’s got a knack for this stuff. C’mon, let’s get more food.” She rose with her empty plate, and Rhett was happy to follow. They even helped themselves to the puddings this time, which turned out to be rich, decadent chocolate that needed the shot of whipped cream on the side.
“I think I’m officially full.” Stanzi scraped her fork around the chocolate crumbs left on the plate. “But give me about an hour and we’ll see.”
Rhett finished the beer he’d been nursing and looked around. The room had emptied out considerably. The harpist was packing up her things and louder, peppier music was just revving up from somewhere else in the house. “What now?”
“The party’s downstairs.” Stanzi pointed at the floor. “Sunny renovated the lower level into this huge party area, with a bar and a place for a band or DJ.”
Just the thought would normally send Rhett to his room for the night, but this time he rose, stretched and said, “Let’s check it out.”
They pushed their way through the crowded foyer and downstairs to the party area. Like the rest of the house, the room had a lot of wood, though the walls had been done in stone. It almost looked like something out of the late 1800s, except for the DJ, in the far corner, spinning out everything from Christmas tunes to classic rock. The air smelled of pine and sugarplums, which probably came from the fresh greenery and the big bowls of punch at the bar.
They made their way over and sampled cups of the brew, which turned out to be stronger than Rhett expected. Stanzi took about half of hers, fast, and held the tiny cup in both hands. He guessed she didn’t quite enjoy crowds and noise much, either.
“By request,” the DJ’s smooth voice came over the speakers, “Anne Murray.”
A slow country song started to play—“Could I Have This Dance”—causing Rhett and Stanzi to exchange confused glances. The abrupt change in tempo had everyone scrambling to either pair up or get off the dance floor and have a drink.
Rhett eyed Stanzi, still rolling her cup around. He extended his hand.
She looked at it, blinked, then looked up at his face and blinked again.
“What? You don’t know how to waltz?”
“Wait. What?” She set her cup on the bar and fiddled with her hair. “Waltz?”
“Sure.” Rhett nodded toward the handful of couples who were starting to push around the floor. “This song is a waltz. Somebody’s favorite.” He nodded toward a couple with gray hair who were moving so well together they had to have danced a million times in each other’s arms. “Maybe them.”
“I, um... No. I don’t. I don’t dance. Do you?”
“A little.”
Stanzi twisted her lips into a wry smile. “Okay. Show me.”
Rhett took her hand and guided her to an outside corner, where they wouldn’t run into the people gliding around the floor. He settled her left hand on his shoulder and took her right hand in his left. “Come in a little closer. We can’t be that far apart to dance.”
A soft ridge of pink colored her cheeks as she stepped in, close enough Rhett caught a whiff of a bright, rosy scent, not unlike his room upstairs. “We’ll just do a simple country-western waltz, since this is a country-western song. You’re going to step back with your right foot first, just as my left goes forward. Then your left will step parallel to your right. Then your right will close with your left. It’s a little box step. Light and airy, up on the balls of your feet. Just think one-two-three, one-two-three, with the downbeat on one.”
Stanzi held tightly to his shoulder as he guided her out to the floor. She counted silently, her lips moving, as Rhett spoke the tempo. “Back, side, together...back, side, together.” At first, she stumbled and her steps were a little clunky, but after one lap around the dance floor she started to let go, her body taking over.
She looked up at him for the first time, her eyes bright and questioning, looking for approval. “Not horrible,” Rhett said, noting that she trembled slightly. He resisted the urge to draw her in, to feel that soft tremor against his own body. Not only did he not want to mess her up, he wasn’t confident how his own body would react if he held her that close. “Now try to add a rise at each count and a fall between counts. Like this.” Rhett added the rhythm of the hips and feet that gave the waltz its elegant lift.
Stanzi went back to counting beneath her breath, her sweet, flowery scent enhanced by a light sheen of sweat that warmed her body wherever Rhett touched it. He slid the hand that was on her shoulder down to her lower back, drawing her a little closer, despite the warning in his head.
“How’d you learn this?” Her voice was soft and tentative. “Your mom?”
“Yeah, Mama taught me this stuff early. You’re not the only one who had to take care of their baby sister.”
Stanzi smiled, her lips no longer counting, her body gliding more smoothly, the hand he held in his damp with sweat and squeezing tight.
Just as the song wound down, they neared the edge of the bar. Rhett slowed his steps, but wasn’t quick to let go. The hand on her lower back tightened a little, his urge to draw her against him, inhale all those scents and press her warm, damp body against his almost too much to resist.
“So, when I asked if you knew how to dance and you said ‘a little,’ you were being sarcastic.”
“You’re in trouble if they play salsa.”
She smiled, but didn’t pull away.
“May I cut in?”
The words took a beat to register. The tone, however, was quick to stab him directly to the core. The hair on the back of his neck rose. It couldn’t be.
Stanzi released him, her blue eyes big and questioning as she turned in the direction of the voice. Rhett reluctantly let her go and turned to the sound of the bold, shrill notes.
“Rhett? It is you! What are you doing here?”
There she stood, towering over Stanzi in her four-inch heels, her brunette hair waving down her back and her eyes on fire with both determination and jealousy.
Katrina.
twenty
From across the room, Sunny watched as a tall brunette grabbed Rhett by the front of his shirt, drew him in and planted a long, hard kiss on his mouth. After a second, Rhett took her by the wrists and pushed her back.
“Who the hell is that?” Sunny whispered, close to Pete’s ear. “I don’t recall her being at the tour of the grounds earlier.”
Pete shrugged. It looked like he smiled a little bit.
“I’m going to get closer.” Sunny pushed her way through the crowd, until she was close enough to listen in, but still hidden.
The woman was about six feet tall with her heels on—still shorter than Rhett but well taller than Constance. She seemed to enjoy the height difference as she looked down her nose. Her black dress, which was most definitely not an ugly sweater, clung to well-muscled curves.
“What are you doing here, Katrina?” Rhett’s brow wrinkled, his eyes still blinking, like he was seeing things.
“More like, what’re you doing here?” Katrina dropped the arm that held a fancy gold clutch, but the other hand remained planted on her slender hip. “My mother donates regularly to this dog rescue—” Katrina waved her clutch around the room “—but she couldn’t make the party this year. I came instead.” She turned to Co
nstance and pointed the gold purse in her direction. “Who’s this?”
Just then, the music started back up. Hip-hop replaced Anne Murray, so Sunny couldn’t hear the answer, but she saw Rhett’s mouth moving as he gestured in Constance’s direction.
Katrina looked blank for a second. Then she held out her hand. Constance clasped her fingertips.
Pete was suddenly at Sunny’s side. He tugged on her elbow. “You’re eavesdropping.”
“This woman doesn’t care about my rescue.” Sunny narrowed her eyes in Katrina’s direction. “She’s using her mother’s ticket. I don’t like her.”
“What I meant was—” Pete eyed all the happy, tipsy, rich people and pulled Sunny in her sister’s direction “—if you’re going to eavesdrop, do it right.” He smoothed out his ugly sweater, which had a group of drunken reindeer on the front, threaded her through the people dancing and halted next to Constance. “How’s it going, guys?”
Rhett’s eyes were hard. Constance wasn’t quite the stereotypical deer in the headlights; she was more like a deer trying to recover from the headlights. Katrina eyed Pete’s sweater with distaste.
“Hey, Pete.” Looking relieved, Constance leaned in for a hug. “Haven’t seen you tonight.”
Pete squeezed her shoulder as they embraced. When they broke apart, he extended his hand toward Rhett. “Name’s Pete.”
“Hey.” Rhett clasped his hand. “Rhett Santos. Nice to meet you.”
“Pete runs Canine Warriors,” Sunny piped in. “He trains rescue pups to be service dogs for veterans. Were you able to see his demo this afternoon, out back?” She nodded toward the vicinity of the grounds and kennels.
“I missed that.” The corners of Rhett’s mouth turned down. “Sounds really interesting, though.” He looked torn between wanting to be polite to Pete and wanting to get away from the tall brunette who appraised everyone with cool detachment.
“I’ll take you out there tomorrow.” Constance offered a small smile. “If you want.”
“I need a drink,” Katrina said, her voice abrupt. “Let’s get a drink.” She nodded toward the bar.
Constance scanned the room, like she was looking for escape.
“I don’t want a drink,” Rhett said.
Katrina’s eyebrows, perfectly plucked and shaped, knitted together. “Are you back on the meds?” Her voice sounded hopeful.
The muscles at the front of Rhett’s neck tightened as his jaw clenched. “No. I’m not back on the meds.”
“I’m not going to lecture you. But you know you should be on the meds.” She gave Constance a pitying smile. “He’s a mess when he’s not on his meds.” She patted his chest.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Let’s not fight. Let’s get a drink.” Katrina took his arm and turned away from the group, trying to guide him toward the punch bowl. “A good bourbon buzz always beats lying awake, listening to the spiders talk, right?”
Rhett’s face paled.
Pete worked his jaw in silence.
Constance made a little gasp that Sunny was sure no one else heard. A second later she was off, her legs taking her as fast as she could go in the high heels she wasn’t used to, wobbling through the center of the dance floor and up the stairs to the main level.
“Excuse me.” Sunny went after her. Much more used to high heels, she quickly took the stairs and caught up to her sister. “Slow down.” Sunny took her by the arm.
“Where’s Fezzi?” Constance scanned the room, but Fezzi wasn’t snoozing anywhere obvious, his belly full on the many treats given him tonight. “I’m going home.”
“He’s here somewhere.” Sunny grasped Constance on either side of her shoulders. “Calm down. This isn’t like you.”
“I know. I just need to find Fezzi and go home. I’m exhausted from the day.” Constance drew away and whistled for Fezzi.
“Don’t worry, he’s got to be here.”
“Unless someone let him out.” Constance’s voice sounded high and thin.
“In which case, he’d just sit there on the porch until we let him back in. He’s done this before.”
Constance stared back at her awhile. “That woman was horrible,” she finally said. “I can’t believe I took off and left Rhett alone with her.”
“Do you want to go back down? It’s time for the silent auction, anyway.”
Constance’s fingers played around her lips. “No. I can’t meddle in whatever relationship they have. Or had. Or...whatever. It’d be best if I just went home.”
“I’m sure you’re exhausted. You massaged all day. Speaking of. How’d it go with Rhett today?”
“Good.” That’s all Constance would say. She was very protective of anyone she worked on. “Though that woman is down there, undoing everything I did today.”
“Pete’s still with him.” Sunny wasn’t sure how to act. She’d never seen Cici this rattled before; she’d taken down more than her share of bullies over the years. “I better get back down there. Pete will be mad I left him.”
“Go.” Constance nodded toward the stairs. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
* * *
Once Sunny was gone, Constance went into the living room and ordered a vodka tonic from the bartender, who was busy wiping the bar and tending to a couple of loners, nursing whiskey. She threw it back, had another, then went to the only place she knew she could be completely alone: the massage room.
Constance locked herself inside, laid down on the table, which still had Rhett’s sheets on it, and closed her eyes. Behind her throbbing temples she pictured Katrina, gorgeous and slim and reeking of power. She had the sort of energy that had to be fed constantly, like a roaring, greedy furnace.
Her biting words about medication came back into Constance’s head, along with the pained look on Rhett’s face. Constance couldn’t believe she’d fled, leaving him there. Then again, they obviously had a history together. Constance hadn’t any choice but to leave. She had no place there, between them, a third wheel while they argued.
The vodka started to work its magic. Constance drew in deep breaths, felt herself drifting. The room still smelled like Rhett, his spicy scents mixed in with the lavender and eucalyptus. It was soothing enough she allowed her mind to drift back to the waltz they’d shared. Rhett was smooth on his feet, touched her with just the right amount of pressure, had been just daring enough to slip his hand to the small of her back without being so forward as to slide it any farther down, and he’d held her up during every stumble.
These probably weren’t the things Constance should be thinking about. Nevertheless, that’s where her mind went, and stayed, until she felt sleep swallowing her up, little by little.
When Constance woke, forty minutes had gone by. She sat up, still buzzing from the vodka. The foyer was quiet, and Fezzi was not behind the desk. He wasn’t in the kitchen, where all the food had been packed up. He wasn’t waiting by the back door, which is what he’d done many times in the past when he’d slipped out with guests, gone exploring, then wanted back inside.
Constance sighed. Aw, damn. That left only one place he’d be.
* * *
Rhett tried to use his big gold key to get into his room, but the door wasn’t locked. In fact, it was ajar. At first he found that odd, but figured the door didn’t catch when he’d left earlier. There was nothing inside worth stealing, and if someone was hiding inside, waiting to mug him, great—he wouldn’t mind some combat practice. He fumbled his way into the darkness, intending to gather his meager belongings and go. He should’ve trusted his instincts. This whole idea with the party had been bad from the start. No good ever came from Mama’s meddling.
Rhett pushed the door closed behind him and didn’t even flip on the light. Moonlight from the garden shone through the windows of the tower, affording him enough to see by. He took a fe
w steps toward the bathroom, but only made it to the edge of the bed, where he sank to the floor. He’d felt so good after his massage. Now, his pulse was up and the urge to throw things against the wall was at an all-time high.
“Woof.”
Rhett lifted his head. Either those two shots of whiskey he’d had before coming up here were way stronger than he thought, or there was a dog somewhere in this bedroom. The sound was low, like a greeting, rather than a growl or a warning.
A second later, something licked his ear. Rhett turned his head and a tongue lapped at his cheek. He blinked in the darkness until the shape of a thick, stocky dog came into focus. Possibly a white-headed pit bull. There was a pit bull on his bed. Medium-size, white head, multicolored body.
A soft knock came at his door.
It couldn’t be Katrina. She’d stormed out half an hour ago, and even if she’d come back, it seemed unlikely that Sunny would give out his room number to anyone. She was professional and, as Stanzi had said, a good businesswoman. Besides, Katrina wouldn’t knock like that. That knock sounded like, “Hey, you in there? Can I bother you a sec?” Katrina’s knock would’ve sounded like she was going to beat the door down.
“It’s open,” Rhett called. He didn’t feel like getting up. Since he faced the door, nobody could surprise him, and if it was housekeeping they could just put the extra towels in the bathroom.
The moonbeam that shot through the room lit her silhouette as the door swung open. She sparkled in the light—red-blond hair, mussed like she’d been sleeping, and tight blue dress. The dog gave a happy whine and its tail thumped hard on the mattress.
“There you are, Fezzi.” Stanzi’s voice sounded warm and relieved.
It was the kind of tone you wanted for yourself, but Rhett knew it was for the dog. “His name’s Fezzi?” He nodded at the mutt, who rolled over on his back and stretched. Rhett noticed the dog was missing one of his front legs.
“Yeah. Fezziwig. Like the guy in A Christmas Carol? Who does the silly dancing? Fezzi hops around like that, because of his three legs.”
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