by Barbara Lohr
But she hadn’t gone out with anyone since she’d come to live with him. She snorted. Not at all pretty and definitely not mysterious. “Right. Like that’s going to happen.”
“Let’s circulate.” He took her arm. Electric prickles traveled across her skin. Maybe this dress was too revealing, the back dipping too low. Her body became a lightning rod for his touch.
As she spun through the room on Cameron’s arm, he smiled and nodded. The noise level was high and no one really expected conversation—at least, not from her. Some of the guests looked familiar, like she’d seen them in a news article. She was hobnobbing, as her mother would say.
But McKenna had been right. The less she said, the more people seemed to accept her.
When the auction began, she was almost relieved. The lights dimmed and all attention turned to the auctioneer spotlighted in front of a huge screen at the podium. The painting of a pheasant sold for an outrageous sum, as did the street scene of downtown Savannah.
Paddles flashed discreetly. The room was full with what Chicagoans would call high rollers.
“See anything you like?” Cameron’s breath tickled her bare neck.
“Not really. I’m a sightseer tonight.”
His chuckle circled her stomach and squeezed. “My dear lady, you are one of the sights.”
She cut him a side glance. “No need for flattery, Mr. Bennett.”
“None given, Ms. Kirkpatrick.”
The auction picked up speed. So did her heartbeat. An easy camaraderie knit this group together, and she felt woefully out of place. They encouraged each other with private jokes born of familiarity. Cameron held back in the bidding. “Last thing I need is another painting or a Limoges porcelain box for Bella to throw.”
“She would not!” Bella had never shown that kind of physical anger.
His glance held what sure looked like appreciation. “Your loyalty to Bella touches me.”
“Isn’t that my job?”
“Not for the others.”
“I’m so sorry.” But the backwash of guilt was followed by remorse. Hadn’t she considered leaving too?
“No more than I was when we parted ways.” Sad acceptance laced his words.
A child’s birthday party had come up for auction.
Cameron met her eye. “Now?”
“Go for it.” She had no idea when Bella’s birthday was, but having a party already packaged sure would save her a lot of work.
If she still had the job. Could Harper stand to live with Bella if she couldn’t help her?
Could she bear to leave?
The auctioneer went into overtime, warbling the climbing numbers. Everyone there probably had a child or grandchild. Paddles beat the air. But in the end, Cameron prevailed, buying the birthday package for an outlandish amount. Many in the audience raised their glasses to him. Obviously Cameron was well liked. Probably went to prep school with these men. Standing in the nest of his cronies, she felt entitled wealth ooze around her like liquid gold.
“A prize for Bella!” one man’s voice rang out.
“Such a good father,” an elegant woman commented.
The auction rolled on, the people-watching the best ever. Her mother had always taught Harper it was impolite to stare, but darn, so much to see. Women posing in expensive gowns. Men exuding power and old money.
In her opinion Cameron outshone them all, with Mallory Thornton coming in a close second. Both were southern gentlemen to the core, no doubt with the pedigrees to prove it. And she was a girl from the west side of Chicago.
What was she doing here? Harper shifted in her strappy sandals that had cost a week’s pay. The night felt endless. The women in their subdued black or white gowns made Harper feel garish and out of place, her citrus green way too conspicuous. The reddish brown hair? Too much of it and Adam’s curls, way too girly compared to their sleek knots and short bobs.
Remembering McKenna’s advice, she pasted a Mona Lisa smile on her face.
Relax. Breathe deeply.
“Are you feeling all right?” She turned to find Cameron considering her with concern.
“Of course. Why?” Her smile slipped.
He shrugged but definitely looked worried. “You have the strangest look on your face, like indigestion, but we haven’t even eaten dinner yet. Hang in there, girl.”
So much for Mona Lisa. Harper’s stomach flopped over at the thought of food. But she wasn’t going to let him down, even though escaping to her cloistered bedroom was looking really good right now.
Following the auction, the group filed out of the historical Academy to trail down the street past Trinity Methodist Church to the more modern Jepson Center for dinner. Woman donned shawls in the light evening breeze, and Cameron helped drape the black pashmina around her shoulders. The gleaming white marble of the newer building beckoned, but Harper concentrated on her feet as they negotiated the uneven sidewalk. Cameron steadied her with one hand.
“My, oh, my. If it isn’t my old buddy Cameron...and friend.”
The snarky voice whipped her head up. Cripes, she’d almost run right into him.
Blocking the path stood the idiot from the bachelor party, mustache twitching and a drink spilling from his hand. “What have we got here tonight? And how much did you pay her?”
Harper gasped.
Anger rolled off Cameron in hot waves. “Randy, I do believe you have had a bit too much to drink.”
The sneer didn’t budge, not even in the face of Cameron’s warning. “So where is Ms. Kimmy tonight?”
“Home sick, Randy. You’ve had too much to drink, and I do not care to repeat myself.”
Wow, every syllable slit the air like a dagger.
The other partygoers gave them a wide berth. A scene? Really? Harper shivered in the darkness while the limbs of a live oak swayed overhead. Moving in front of Harper, Cameron muscled his friend out of the traffic pattern and into the side street. Not wanting to be left behind, Harper followed. Cameron widened his stance and fisted his hands.
Cameron, a street fighter? No way. But the pose looked shockingly natural.
Thank goodness Randy got the picture and backed off into the darkness. When he was gone from sight, Cameron relaxed and ambled back to her. “You okay, Harper?” The same hands that had been ready to duke it out gently took her shoulders. She shivered.
“Yes. Fine.” She had no breath. The constriction began in her throat until it throbbed in her head. Ripping open her handbag, Harper grabbed her inhaler and sucked.
Cameron’s hold tightened. “You don’t look fine to me. Sure you’re okay?”
Finally her lungs released like an escape hatch. The blessed oxygen rushed in.
“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”
“Positive?”
“Cameron, I’m not Bella. I can handle myself.” Twisting away, she tucked the inhaler away.
Cameron raked one hand through his blond hair. He was a guy who looked good mussed up. “This breathing thing worries me.”
She squared her shoulders. “You don’t have to worry about me. Bella? Something else entirely.”
His surprised laugh bubbled into the night air. “Spoken like a girl from Chicago.”
“Ready to push on?” She wanted to get this over with.
He held out his arm, and she took it. “Madam, I am at your service.”
Her annoyance eased. Really, he could be so darn sweet.
They moved toward the light pouring from the Jepson Center. By the time they were shown to their places at a long narrow table, she’d managed to stop shaking. The room glistened with colorful swirls of ribbon and silk flowers, reflected in the huge glass windows that fronted York Street.
She was easily the youngest person at this event, and Cameron might come in a quick second. More than half the guests had gray hair. And the rest? Dye jobs that Adam would highly approve.
“Hungry?” Cameron whispered.
“Not really.”
The woman on the o
ther side of the table looked up. “Oh, don’t you look lovely, dear.” Unlike most of the other women, her silver hair was set in marcelled waves that brought to mind black and white movies.
“Thank you.”
“The dewy beauty that comes with youth,” she continued in a voice accustomed to being respected. “No fussy jewelry can take the place of that.” Her sizeable broach, earrings and bracelets glimmered. She was the real thing.
“Amelia Grafton, I would like you to make the acquaintance of Harper Kirkpatrick.” Cameron promptly introduced them. The man knew everyone.
“So nice to meet you, Mrs. Grafton,” Harper murmured.
“Please call me Amelia, dear.” The older woman nodded her head at Cameron. “Aren’t you the lucky man.”
“Oh, I’m not...” Harper began.
“You are quite right and I thank you.” Cameron jumped right in with his elegant southern manners.
Then her companion spoke to her and the matron turned away.
Cameron snapped his napkin open. “Well, at least we have Bella’s birthday taken care of thanks to the auction.”
“When is her birthday?”
“May second.”
“Oh, I’m a May baby too. We’re both Taurus.” Harper’s bond with Bella grew stronger.
Cameron’s eyes sparkled. “Well, I declare. A joint celebration might be in order.”
Not the time to tell him she didn’t know if she’d be here.
Chapter 12
Harper felt relieved when the waiters served the salads. The thought of not being with Bella for their birthdays struck a sad note. She may have assured McKenna that she was in this for the long haul, but tonight that comment rang hollow in her heart. Surrounded by people who didn’t know or care about her, she felt out of place and isolated.
The noise level in the room settled as guests sampled their hearts of palm salad. Harper liked her palms green and rustling overhead. Picking at the lettuce bed, she wondered if she were using the right fork. An amazing amount of silver gleamed at each place. With a sigh, she set the fork aside. Not hungry. Cameron kept up polite conversation with those seated around them. When the beef Florentine entrée was served, she barely touched it.
How great it would be to be tucked in bed with a book or sketching at her drawing board.
Dessert was served with a flourish by white-jacketed waiters. Harper stared at the two perky pale mounds on the plate in front of her. “What are these?”
Cameron checked the menu. “Nipples of Venus.”
“W-what?” An embarrassed heat zipped up her chest.
“Must be an Italian delicacy.” Giving her an outrageous grin, he teased one mound lightly with his dessert fork. “So this isn’t popular in Chicago?”
Her face burned while her breasts peaked. “Not that I’m aware. They never serve nipples or any other part of Venus in Chicago.”
Cameron broke into hearty guffaws that prompted Amelia to glance over. “Whatever are you laughing at?”
“Sorry. I can’t stop telling jokes,” Harper explained. She’d die before she’d share her comment with this lovely bastion of Savannah society. “Ignore him.”
Cameron unleashed another round of chuckles. Harper had never seen him this way. She wished he’d let loose with his daughter like this. Bella would probably love this side of her daddy.
Waiters circulated with steaming carafes and the rich scent of coffee soothed her. The night was almost over. Harper took her first sip. “What’s in this? It’s so sweet.”
“Anise. Tasty, isn’t it?”
“Wonderful.” She took a deeper gulp. Soon she’d be home, snug in her bed.
“And now for the dancing.”
“Dancing?” Setting her coffee cup down, she almost missed the saucer.
“What, you’re not up for a few spins around a dance floor?”
She sighed. “Sure. Whatever it takes.”
“Your enthusiasm warms my heart.”
“Really? Sarcasm is needed here?”
His lips were twitching again. She hadn’t danced in a long time. Maybe it was time. Cameron had been fun and flirty tonight.
Or was that her imagination?
Soon the festively dressed group filtered outside again, like butterflies searching for a place to perch. At the curb valets opened the doors of luxury cars. Not everyone was going to dance the night away. Silver-haired matrons were helped into the vehicles by husbands ready to go home. She wanted to ask for a ride.
But not tonight. Together with the younger group, she trouped across Telfair Square with Cameron, who had laced her hand over his arm. This time, Randy was nowhere to be seen and she exhaled. Her earlier fatigue had disappeared.
Maybe it was the coffee. Or maybe it was her employer and those darn baby blue eyes. By the time they reached the Telfair Academy, she was itching to dance. And only with Cameron.
~.~
Cameron’s mind moved a lot faster than their feet as they strolled back to the Academy. Amazing that he was enjoying the evening. He’d bought the tickets at Kimmy’s insistence. She was big on these fundraisers. The last time they attended a gala, she begged him to dance, but he wanted no part of it. For Kimmy, hitting the dance floor meant posing—not his thing. Dating a TV personality had its drawbacks. Truth be told, he had to take a close look at this relationship.
But tonight he just felt like dancing.
Of course, he had noticed Harper often treated him as if he were two days older than water. The horror on her face when Amelia Grafton assumed they were together had amused and then annoyed him. In fact, Harper’s long-suffering attitude tonight—like he’d invited her to a wet T-shirt contest—was an insult. Cameron’s competitive nature roared to life. She was going to have a good time if it killed him.
Music flowed through the open doors. Guests made their way to the rotunda where the evening had started. High tables were arranged around the perimeter, a respectful distance from the paintings. The musical group was playing a slow number with lots of saxophone that suited him just fine. He led the way to a table.
Harper settled onto one of the tall stools, crossing her long legs that seemed to go on forever. All long gowns should have slits to the thigh. And all women should have legs like Harper’s.
No way was he sitting down. “Ready to dance? You can leave your purse here.”
She clutched her bag to her chest. “Think I’ll keep it with me, thank you.”
The inhaler. “Sorry. Of course.” He held out one hand.
Eyes wide, Harper looked like Bella the first time he took her for swimming lessons.
“I won’t bite, Harper.”
With a blush he found very becoming, she moved into his arms.
But a truck could have driven between them. She held him off like the flu. “Really, I won’t bite,” he repeated. The thought of his lips on her long pale neck came out of nowhere. A rush of heat nearly buckled his knees. His grip must have tightened because Harper became ramrod stiff. Cameron recovered but her left arm kept pushing him away. Time for a distraction.
“You look stunning this evening. What are you wearing?” He drank in her scent, so delicate and enticing. Kimmy had a rather heavy hand with perfume.
“Spellbound. Thank you. So do you.”
“Look stunning? I look stunning?” He wanted to see that pink deepen in her cheeks again.
“Handsome. But you don’t have to flatter me, Cameron. I know you’d rather be here with Kimmy. This is just part of my job.”
That didn’t sit well so he ignored it. “You certainly didn’t eat much. Are you on a diet? Not that it’s any of my business.”
She pinned him with doleful eyes. “You’re right. It is none of your business.”
He choked back a chuckle. “Sometimes you can be sassy.”
“Sometimes I think you like it.”
Damn. She was right.
“And you’re a pretty good dancer,” Harper continued, relenting a little until he ha
d her close enough to glimpse golden sparks in her hazel green eyes. “Lessons, I suppose?”
“I never attended Mrs. Pritchard’s dance school, if that’s what you mean.” Perish the thought.
“Probably off playing polo with your friends instead?”
The thought of wielding a mallet while riding a horse cracked him up. “No indeed. That would be dangerous for the poor horse.”
The dance ended, drawing polite applause. More people had filtered into the rotunda where a small bar was set up in the corner.
“Would you care for anything?”
“Some kind of un-caffeinated soda would be great.”
“Be right back. If your honor should need defending, just tell them you’re with me.” His eyes searched the room. He hoped Randy had gone home. His blood pleasure rose just thinking of their earlier clash. Alcohol was the road to ruin.
Cecile Mason greeted him when he joined a long line in front of the bar. “And where is Kimmy this evening?” Her eyes sliced to Harper with the subtlety of a searchlight. Cecile didn’t miss a trick. He’d always steered clear of Kimmy’s friend.
“She wasn’t able to come, Cecile, as Kimmy no doubt told you when you spoke today.” Kimmy seemed to be Cecile’s on-call therapist.
Her lips pouted. “Well, I see you’ve found a substitute.”
“Bella’s nanny graciously agreed to forfeit her free evening.” Couldn’t this bartender pick up the pace?
Continuing to regard Harper with some interest, Cecile raised her brows. “How very convenient. Since you’re single, a nanny makes sense.”
“Bella needs supervision and company.” Sometimes he thought his daughter needed more than that, but he couldn’t wrap his mind around it. “And now, if you’ll excuse me. So nice to see you, Cecile.”
As he gave his order to the bartender, Cameron couldn’t help but feel a little peeved by the comment about being a single man. He certainly wasn’t in any hurry to tie the knot again, not with his history. Lately, Kimmy had been dropping broad hints about their future. How long had they been dating? Not long enough. He wasn’t about to be rushed into another marriage. Leaving a generous tip, he grabbed the two drinks.