Not that she had any intention of sharing that thought with Tomi. "Thanks, but I want to take my van so I'll have a ride home."
Tomi glanced at her rhinestone-adorned, magenta acrylic-nails, then fired a question. "Why isn't this guy picking you up?"
"It seemed better if he didn't."
Tomasina folded her arms over an ample bosom. "But you're okay about dancing with him?"
Brooke Anne shrugged.
Tomasina looked her up and down again. "Humph."
Sensing that Tomi was gearing up to spout out a long, drawn-out soliloquy, Brooke Anne started speaking fast. "I'll see you on Monday," she said as she opened the door, giving Tomi no choice but to get up and leave. "Thanks for coming by. I'm glad Vanessa's doing better."
"Me, too."
"Goodnight!"
"Good night," Tomasina replied with much less enthusiasm. "Hey, Brooke Anne?"
"Yes?"
"Have fun tonight, but be careful. You know what I mean?" Brooke Anne nodded. "I do, and I will," she said as she gave Tomi a quick hug. "I've got to go."
As soon as she'd closed the door, Brooke Anne pulled on a wrap, grabbed her beaded evening bag and set out. Her stomach was in knots, but she felt warm and Hushed and eager. She was ready for an adventure.
Ready to feel beautiful and statuesque.. .even for one night.
If only for one night.
*****
Chapter Six
She was late. How could she be late? Morgan checked his watch again, then scanned the crowd milling about in the lobby of the Excelsior Royal Hotel. Familiar faces returned his glance. Inwardly, Morgan groaned. Already it was starting.
People had their best social smiles pasted on, and were attempting to look interested and bored at the same time. Women were eyeing other women as potential rivals, measuring each other's jewels, gowns and hair styles.
Later on, things would only get worse. Casual conversations would morph into rumors about lifestyles and weight-management problems, followed by unsubstantiated gossip. And he, sure as hell knew that he didn't want to be the subject of any snide remarks. He needed his date and he needed to mingle, fast.
There was no way he wanted to stand by himself much longer without an excuse. He needed a reason as to why he was at the party by himself. Maybe he'd say Sheri had gotten pneumonia and her doctor wouldn't release her from the hospital. Would that be an acceptable reason to blow off the party? Car accident? Amputation? They had possibilities, but still sounded weak.
Maybe her mother could have died. Yeah, no one would blame him for showing up alone if there was a death....
"Mr. Carmichael?"
He turned toward the voice and stood in awe. A gorgeous blonde stared up at him, gray eyes wide and unsure.
"I'm sorry I'm late. I had a little trouble getting here and, well, I've been wandering around for ten minutes. It seems there are two entrances to this party, and a whole lot of people mingling together...and all the men are in black tuxedos...." Her voice drifted off. He could tell she was wondering why he was standing there like a fool, a blank look on his face.
Did he have a reason for standing in front of her, mute?
Not really, unless you counted the fact that he was staring at the loveliest little janitor he'd ever seen in his life.
His date.
"Don't worry about it. You're not too late - I was kind of early," he lied.
She was clearly relieved at his words. "I'm glad. You look very handsome, Mr. Carmichael."
"Morgan, remember? We're on a date."
She chuckled. "All right. Morgan. I'll remember."
He continued to stare at her, and wondered how a woman who normally wore old tennis shoes and mops on her sweatshirts could have transformed herself into such a knockout.
The ivory dress she wore accentuated her every curve. Its wispy, sheer fabric reminded him of a nightgown. That made him want to run his hands over it, check what it felt like. The dress flowed to the ground, and for a moment, when the door opened behind them, the gown molded to her legs. Legs that were long and firm and beautifully shaped, in those gold sandals.
"Let's go upstairs." He held out his arm for her to take. 'I'm glad you're here."
"Morgan," she murmured when they entered the elevator. Her voice sounded a full octave lower than he recalled. "What do you want me to do when we get there? Say to people?"
"Try not to say too much," he replied without thinking, then amended his words. "But when you do talk about yourself, gloss over the part about being the building's janitor.... Maybe just say you own your own business?"
"I think I can handle that," she murmured in obvious amusement.
Feeling like a heel for having said such a thing to her, he added, "Don't worry about anything else...you look very pretty. And if you can dance, we'll have it made."
"I can dance."
She squeezed his arm in reassurance, and he realized he was actually proud that she was by his side. This woman was lovely, had a ready smile and seemed eager to fit in. Already, she was a vast improvement over Sheri.
"You ready, Brooke?" he asked as they approached the center ballroom, the doors held open by two men in hotel uniforms. A live orchestra version of "Silent Night." Its familiar melody floated out of the room, along with a thread of laughter.
"Ready as I'll ever be," she said.
He patted her hand. "Don't worry, this'll be fun. Something to laugh about years from now."
Morgan pasted a relaxed smile on his face and entered the room, knowing he looked exactly as he intended to look: successful, self-assured and attractive, with a cool blonde on his arm. Things were going to be just fine.
It was hard for Brooke Anne to keep her cool; she was so tempted to stare around her in wonder. The grand ballroom was magical. Gold and ivory balloons decorated the center of each table, gold-foil-wrapped gifts lay on silver chargers at each place setting and wooden reindeer and Christmas trees decorated the borders of the room. Tiny gold and white lights twinkled everywhere.
And the people. There had to be at least three hundred people in the room, all dressed to the nines. Gems sparkled and richly colored gowns clung to beautiful figures. The scents of freshly applied cologne mixed with freshly cut pine and roses.
People stood in groups of four or six, talking avidly. The whole atmosphere gave Brooke Anne a strange feeling, like being on the set of Dynasty.
Who knew that people in Cincinnati entertained like this?
Apparently a lot did!
Brooke Anne glanced over at Morgan. He definitely looked as if he belonged in this crowd. Handsome and polished, rich and carefree. She caught her reflection in a mirror and was surprised to find that, at the moment, she appeared to fit in, too. She looked happy, almost tall, and radiant.
Resolutely, Brooke decided she was going to have the best time at this office party that she possibly could. Who knew when she'd get another chance to attend such a chichi gathering? She'd put on her best smile, dance as much as she could and enjoy her pretty dress and flat-out sexy shoes.
"Ah, here's Gary," Morgan said at her side. "Let's go over and talk to him." He guided her to a tanned, slim man with salt-and-pepper hair who sported a rich burgundy brocade vest. Gary looked pleased to see them.
"Morgan, where've you been? We've been solving all the world's problems and were just about to tackle the Bengals."
Morgan laughed. "I came just in time." He tilted his head in the direction of the elevators. "We've been downstairs for a little while, watching everyone come in. I'd like to introduce you to Brooke. Brooke, please meet Gary and his wife, Kathy."
"Nice to meet you," Gary said with a smile.
"Hello," Brooke Anne responded politely.
"I love your dress," Kathy gushed as she switched places with Gary. "Where did you get it?"
"At Time Worn Treasures."
"The resale shop?" Kathy sounded surprised.
Brooke Anne cringed inwardly. Oh, no. Was she not supposed
to mention resale shops, either? Well, too late now. "Yes, they had a lot of formal gowns to choose from."
Kathy examined her dress appreciatively. "Oh, I'm going to have to go there. We have another party to attend next weekend." She shrugged. "You know how that goes, I'm sure."
"It's a busy time of year," Brooke Anne said noncommittally,
"Do you have children?"
"No. I don't. Do you and Gary?""
Kathy beamed and opened up her evening bag. "Four. We just got their photos taken. Come see."
The next thing Brooke Anne knew, she was looking at Kathy's pictures and complimenting her on her beautiful children. A few other women noticed the photographs, and soon Brooke Anne was being introduced to them and listening to stories about kids and babies and Christmas toys.
As they moved to a more brightly lit area to get a better look at the photos, Brooke Anne reflected that this group of women was not too different from most of the others she knew. They all had the same universal stones to share about labor pains, spills on the carpet and trips to the mall to visit Santa. Brooke Anne even found herself telling a story about her sister's two girls and how they had decided to wash the dog in the ornamental fish pond outside their house.
Waiters approached and brought them flutes of champagne. Brooke Anne sipped her drink with care and began to slowly relax. She could do this. She could fit in with these women. She'd just be herself. And if her nerves threatened to get the best of her, well, she'd just think of the money. True, she was really just a spruced-up janitor, but Morgan Carmichael had known exactly what he was getting when he asked her to accompany him to this ball. Hadn't he?
The man himself suddenly appeared by her side. He was wearing a bemused expression, as if intrigued by her immediate acceptance into the circle of women.
"Ladies. I'm going to claim my date again." he said, with enough of a flirty tone to cause the ladies to look at each other knowingly. "The dancing is about to start."
Brooke Anne let him take her hand and lead her away. His fingers felt firm and warm clasped around hers. She felt a connection to him that she couldn't deny, and wondered why that was. Was she so attuned to Morgan's every move because she was simply trying to get a good read on him? Or was she completely smitten?
She glanced at him. He met her gaze, and a wealth of emotions they were too afraid to verbalize seemed to pass between them.
Morgan gently removed the champagne glass from her grasp and set it on a waiter's tray. Then, as the orchestra played the opening bars of "A Christmas Waltz", Morgan pulled her into his arms.
Although he was easily eight inches taller than she was, they fit well together. His left hand on the small of her back felt possessive and warm. She had no problem tilting her head to gaze into his eyes. It was as if she'd been in his arms before-it truly felt like the most natural place in the world to be.
Morgan Carmichael was a man who could waltz with the best of them. Obviously, he'd taken those dance lessons a little more seriously than he'd let on. There was no counting involved, or clumsy footwork, or any of the faulty movements that two people usually made the first time they partnered together. He was an expert leader; she was being twirled by someone who could have given lessons himself.
"You were right," he murmured after a few minutes.
"About what?"
"You can dance." The dimple appeared in his cheek again. "At the risk of sounding like Fred Astaire, I'll even say that you dance divinely."
"Thank you," she said, feeling somewhat like Ginger Rogers. "You dance well, too."
He rolled his eyes. "I need to work on turns some more. That's what my teacher said."
"Take it from me, you're doing great."
Morgan grinned at the compliment. They moved toward the edge of the dance floor and then glided to the center again. "So, you hanging in there? I know these parties can be tough."
"Absolutely. Those ladies are very nice."
"Yeah, I guess they are. You fit right in."
"All women can talk about kids and chores," she said, realizing that perhaps she had more in common with them than she'd previously thought.
The comment seemed to take him by surprise. "Do you have children?"
"I don't. Do you?"
"No."
"Gosh, I guess we really don't know anything about each other."
The reality of their relationship veered front and center once again. Her stomach tensed. They didn't even have a relationship...did they?
"Is there anything I should know about you before I make a fool of myself?" Morgan asked quietly.
"Such as?"
"I don't know-life-changing situations, schooling?"
It was as if he was asking her to condense her whole life into one sentence. The request was both amusing and bizarre. How did one do that? "No, I don't believe so. The biggest life thing was when I was in fifth grade and got my hair stuck in the electric mixer."
"Stuck? In the motor?"
"No. In the meringue I was beating in the bowl!" She laughed at the memory. "Nothing compares to the angst and embarrassment of having most of your hair cut off because it was practically glued to a pair of beaters. Your turn."
"My turn?"
"Tell me something about you-something I need to know."
"Well, at work -"
She squeezed his hand hard to stop his words. "Not about work. About you. Something personal."
He pursed his lips. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been asked to do that, the last time he'd wanted to share anything personal about himself with anyone else. "I'm not quite sure how to do this."
"Please, Morgan. I'm trying to get to know you...not judge you."
"Um..." He hesitated. It had been a long time since he'd spoken without worrying about the impression he would make. "My two front teeth aren't real. Does that count?"
She gave him a pretty smile. "Definitely. What happened?"
"Well. I really wanted a go-cart when I was twelve, but my parents said no way."
"Uh-oh. I know what's coming!"
Morgan laughed: "I decided to make my own. I got hold of an old lawn mower engine."
"And..."
"I made myself a go-cart, all right. But I forgot one important thing...'
"What?"
"A brake. I was forced to use the garage door as a convenient crash site."
She shook her head. "Oh, Morgan."
He spun her again. "I'll have to tell you about my mom's reaction one day." He glanced around them, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Boy, I hadn't thought of that in years."
Something about the manner in which he said it made her heart pound. He sounded wistful, tender - almost like a normal person. One hundred and eighty degrees different from the man she'd met on Thursday night, so concerned with appearances that he seemed to have forgotten what real problems were. With that in mind, she spoke. "Maybe it's time you did some thinking about that - you know, what's really important in life."
His eyebrows rose in surprise. "If bad experiences like electric mixers and go-carts matter..."
"It all matters," she said with feeling. "Everything always matters."
His eyes warmed at her words. "Maybe I should give it some thought, then."
The music ended with a flourish of notes from the pianist. For a fleeting instant, Morgan pressed her close to him, so her body was flush against his. Her gown felt as insignificant as tissue paper against his tuxedo. A hot curl of desire formed within her, despite the fact that her mind was saying a romance between them would be hopeless.
But what if it wasn't? She had a connection with him, a bond she couldn't deny.
What if his date's canceling on him was fate? What if they were meant to be together?
Those thoughts were hard to abandon as a colleague of Morgan's approached them and asked if she could fox-trot.
"Of course," she said with a smile and was promptly whisked off by his co-worker, hoping Morgan would be just a teensy bit jeal
ous to see her in someone else's arms.
She glanced in his direction and caught his eye for a brief moment. Once again, time seemed to stand still as their eyes connected from all the way across the room.
*****
Chapter Seven
Morgan wasn't sure if he wanted to think about how he felt seeing Brooke dancing in Stan's arms, her head turned up to him like a fresh daisy in the sun. A mixture of emotions coursed through him. But one thing was for sure: he was attracted to her. He wanted to spend more time with her and investigate these feelings.
There was something about her that made him forget all the inconsequential stuff in his life. When they'd danced, he hadn't given a single thought to his place in the company or the business goals he wanted to achieve.
He'd managed to forget about the lectures from his father, who always reminded him to put his personal feelings last. And the judging eyes of his mother, who'd skipped his football games because she hadn't been sure he'd play every quarter.
He could only think about the woman who'd accompanied him to the party, her shining gray eyes and the way she'd fit so nicely next to him.
And that was a good thing.
Restlessly, he wandered from one group of people to the next, engaging in meaningless small talk while keeping an eye out for Brooke and Stan. But the music seemed to last forever, and Brooke's attention was solely on Stan. Morgan tapped his foot impatiently when he caught Stan leaning just a little too close to speak to Brooke. Shouldn't that bother her? Wasn't Stan invading her space or something?
Morgan hoped Brooke had noticed Stan's wedding ring. The guy was married. He had no business whispering to her. Or letting his hand linger so comfortably on her waist....
"Hey. M.C., how are you this evening?" a familiar voice asked, snapping his attention away from the dance floor. It was Breva, her eyes scanning the crowd for his date.
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