A Risky Affair

by Maureen Smith

  “I trust you found the ranch with no problem,” Crandall said to Tessa. “It’s been some years since you were last here.”

  “Yes, it has,” she agreed. “But I had no trouble finding my way.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  Tessa glanced down the walkway toward the large living room, where most of the guests had converged for champagne and exotic tidbits served on silver trays. “You have quite a gathering here,” she said to Crandall with the barest hint of censure in her voice. “I was expecting something a bit…smaller.”

  Crandall gave a hearty laugh. “Tessa, darling. Compared to the fancy shindigs I used to throw, this is small. Now why don’t you accompany me to the living room for some of those canapés you used to love so much? I had them specially prepared just for you.”

  For the second time since her arrival, Tessa blushed like a schoolgirl. “Why, thank you, Crandall. That was…awfully sweet of you.”

  “Nothing to it.” He held out his arm with a gallant flourish. “Shall we?”

  “All right,” Tessa murmured, accepting his proffered arm with a trace of reluctance. As they started away, she glanced over her shoulder at Solange. “Aren’t you coming, Miss Washington?”

  “In a few minutes,” Solange answered with a smile. “We’re still expecting a couple more guests, then I need to check on the status of dinner.”

  “Of course.” Tessa gave her a small, tentative smile. “I hope we’ll have a chance to get better acquainted at dinner.”

  Deciding that the woman was just being polite, Solange responded in kind. “I’d like that very much, Mrs. Philbin.”

  After welcoming the last of the arrivals, Solange made her way to the large gourmet kitchen where Rita had been supervising dinner preparations—much to the obvious displeasure of Crandall’s longtime personal chef Gloria Valdez, who felt she’d catered more than enough of her boss’s headlining dinner parties over the years to not need someone looking over her shoulder.

  When Solange appeared in the kitchen doorway—she didn’t dare cross the threshold—the two women were arguing about something as inconsequential as whether or not a bowl of potato-and-leek soup needed more garnish.

  Solange cleared her throat, hoping vainly to be heard above their bickering and the cacophony of clanging pots and pans, running water and shouted commands as members of the hired catering staff bustled about with last-minute dinner preparations.

  Solange cleared her throat again, louder this time. Two pairs of eyes swung in her direction, and softened at once.

  “Hey, baby,” Rita cooed. “Don’t you look pretty as a picture this evening.”

  “Absolutely gorgeous,” Gloria agreed.

  Solange grinned. “Thank you, ladies. I, uh, just wanted to make sure everything is on schedule.”

  “Of course,” the two women chorused in unison, then turned to glare at each other.

  “You tell Mr. Thorne that the first course will be served promptly—no thanks to his meddlesome housekeeper,” Gloria groused.

  Indignant, Rita demanded, “Who’re you calling meddlesome?”

  As they began quarreling again, Solange backed out of the doorway, chuckling softly to herself as she headed down the corridor to the living room.

  Pausing at the entrance, she took in her surroundings—the soft music drifting through the spacious room; the lively din of conversation and laughter; the tinkle of wineglasses; the fragrance of expensive perfumes mingling with the inviting scents of apple wood and pine from a crackling fire in the hearth; and the festive beauty of the Christmas tree that soared fifteen feet high in front of the tall living room windows, aglow with lights and festooned with silver, porcelain and sparkling glass ornaments. Several people had gathered around the giant spruce, their murmurs of admiration making Solange’s chest swell with pride and satisfaction.

  She and Rita had decorated the tree last night in preparation for the dinner party. With Christmas hymns playing in the background and frothy mugs of hot chocolate cooling on the mantel as they worked, Solange had been transported back to her childhood, awash with memories of decorating the family tree with her mother while her father was busy outside, hanging lights on the farmhouse and setting up the nativity scene on the front lawn.

  In the middle of sharing one of these reminiscences with Rita, Solange had glanced over and found Crandall framed in the doorway, watching her with an expression of such tender warmth she nearly dropped an ornament she’d been unwrapping. Seeing her reaction, he’d frowned, coughed into his hand then quickly retreated from the room, muttering something about an important phone call he had to make. It was the last she’d seen of him for the rest of the evening.

  “I don’t think my father’s ever had a more beautiful tree in his home.”

  Solange turned her head to find Caleb Thorne standing beside her in the doorway, one hand thrust casually into his pocket as he gazed across the room at the brightly lit tree.

  She smiled at him. “Thanks, but I can’t take all the credit. Ms. Rita did as much work as I did.”

  Caleb chuckled softly. “She must really like you, then. Usually she just supervises the work.”

  Solange grinned. “Well, she did get a little bossy at times. She has very specific ideas about what should go where, and she’s not afraid to say so.”

  “Not her fault. Her father was a career military man. Ms. Rita had a very regimented childhood.”

  “Yeah, she told me. Actually, we have a lot in common. We both grew up on a farm, but at least she had siblings to help with all the daily chores.”

  Caleb grinned down at her, and she was struck once again by how handsome he was. “I feel your pain. I grew up an only child, too, and I always prayed for a brother or a sister.”

  “To share the chores with?”

  “Nah. To take the blame for stuff I broke around the house.”

  Solange laughed, shaking her head reproachfully at him. “In that case, maybe it’s best that you remained an only child.”

  “Yeah. You’re probably right.” Sobering, he studied her face for a prolonged moment. “Have you had a chance to meet Tessa Philbin?”

  Solange nodded, smiling. “She was very nice. Classy. She and your father go back pretty far, don’t they?”

  “A lifetime,” Caleb murmured, his gaze settling on his father and the woman in question, who stood in a secluded corner of the crowded room, deep in conversation.

  Solange swept another casual glance around, pretending not to look for anyone in particular—though she’d already discovered that Dane was nowhere to be found. Daniela, whom he’d escorted into the living room earlier, was sipping from a glass of sparkling cider while talking animatedly to a group of colleagues from the law firm. The women had arrived around the same time, Solange remembered. Three attorneys and two secretaries, among them a young, attractive brown-skinned woman in a killer red pantsuit and Prada pumps—who was now missing.

  Along with Dane.

  Where the hell is he? Solange thought with an unwelcome stab of irritation.

  “Speaking from too many years of experience,” Caleb said with a lazy glance at the gold watch peeking from beneath the snowy cuff of his shirt, “I think they’re getting ready to serve the first course.”

  Solange gave him a blank look for a moment. “Who? Oh! Yes. Of course.” Idiot, she mentally berated herself. Stop worrying about Dane Roarke and do your damned job before you no longer have one!

  “Do you want to tell the guests to start heading into the dining room?” Caleb gently prompted.

  “Right. That’s exactly what I was about to do.” But after a few unsuccessful attempts to get everyone’s attention, she frowned ruefully. “I don’t think my voice will carry over all the noise—unless I stand on a chair and yell like a banshee.”

  Caleb grinned. “Allow me.” He put two fingertips in his mouth and whistled.

  Instantly a hushed silence fell over the room. The assembled guests turned toward the doorway li
ke spectators doing the wave at a football game. Mouth twitching, Caleb sketched a gallant bow, giving the floor to Solange.

  Smothering a grin, she announced in her most formal tone, “Ladies and gentlemen, your presence is now requested in the dining room.”

  Halfway through the lavish five-course meal, Solange realized that ignoring Dane would be a lot harder than she’d led herself to believe.

  While she sat directly to the left of Crandall, who’d taken his rightful place at the head of the long mahogany dinner table, Dane had been seated all the way at the opposite end, making it difficult, if not impossible, for them to speak to each other. The fact that Solange had to peer around the heads of several guests in order to catch a glimpse of him should have discouraged her from doing so, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. She was acutely aware of him, almost to the exclusion of everything else. And it didn’t help that every time she glanced down the table, he was laughing or engaged in conversation with the lovely woman in red, who was seated beside him.

  She now realized it was no coincidence that Crandall had insisted upon handling the seating arrangements, a task he normally entrusted to Rita. He’d not only wanted to keep Dane and Solange apart; he’d invited the attractive young woman from his law firm to serve as a distraction, because he knew Dane would never be able to resist the lure of a new conquest.

  “Is something wrong with your meal, Miss Washington?” Crandall inquired at that precise moment.

  Solange glanced up from her plate to meet his bemused gaze. “No. Not at all. Everything is delicious.” Which was true. She didn’t have a single complaint about the prime rib, lobster, new red potatoes and exotic pasta dishes, all of which were to die for.

  Crandall raised a dubious eyebrow. “One would never know that, given the way you’ve been picking at your food for the last half hour.”

  “I guess I’m not very hungry,” Solange murmured. “Daniela and I had a big lunch at the mall.”

  “And yet,” Crandall countered, inclining his head toward the opposite end of the table, where his daughter-in-law sat next to her husband, “that doesn’t seem to have stopped Daniela from enjoying her dinner.” He paused for a thoughtful moment, seeming to take pleasure in Solange’s obvious discomfiture. “Perhaps you’d enjoy your meal better if you were seated somewhere else at the table. Closer to a certain someone.”

  Solange blushed furiously at the insinuation. Before she could formulate a response, Tessa, seated across from her, intervened. “Leave the poor girl alone, Crandall. You just never know when to quit, do you?” Without awaiting his reply, she turned and smiled ruefully at Solange. “I’ve never gotten used to these social gatherings myself, and I’ve attended—and hosted—plenty of them. There’s so much pressure to make the right impression, whether you’re the hostess or an invited guest.”

  “Solange is doing just fine,” Crandall said gruffly, reaching for his glass of cabernet sauvignon. “She’s already received plenty of compliments this evening for the way she’s been handling herself.”

  “Really?” Solange asked, pleasantly surprised.

  Crandall nodded, taking a sip of wine then stabbing a finger at her. “So don’t ruin it by panting after Roarke.”

  “Crandall!” Tessa hissed, scandalized.

  Solange could only laugh. It was either that or hide her face under the table.

  Shaking her head, Tessa sent her an apologetic look. “Don’t mind him. He’s never quite grasped the concept of minding his own business. But enough about him. I want to hear more about you, Solange. Crandall tells me you’re interested in becoming a lawyer.”

  Solange nodded, smiling. “Yes, I am.”

  For the next hour, she ate good food, drank fine wine and talked mostly about, well, herself. Not because she was self-absorbed, but because Tessa—and even Crandall, to an extent—seemed to have an endless supply of questions for her, and it felt good to realize that these two people, who were virtually strangers to her, seemed to genuinely care about her well-being. At one point, Solange found herself enjoying their company, as well as the banter of others seated around her, so much that she almost forgot about Dane at the opposite end of the table.

  Almost.

  When the meal was over and the guests had returned to the living room for coffee and after-dinner drinks, Solange slipped into the powder room to freshen her makeup and to check on the supply of toilet tissue and liquid soap, as suggested in an online article she’d read about hosting the perfect dinner party.

  On her way back to the living room, she was unexpectedly captured around the waist and dragged into an empty corridor filled with moonlit shadows.

  She squeaked in surprise. “What the h—!”

  A big, warm hand was suddenly clamped over her mouth. “Shhh. Not so loud,” Dane leaned down to whisper, his dark eyes gleaming with wicked amusement.

  Solange glared up at him, even as her nerve endings responded to the intoxicating heat of his hard, muscled body pressed against hers. She tried to speak again, but the firm pressure of his hand muffled her words.

  Dane chuckled low in his throat, the sound curling her toes. “You’ve been avoiding me all night,” he murmured, gazing down at her. “What gives?”

  She lowered her eyes, staring pointedly at his hand over her mouth. A slow smile curved his sensuous lips. “If I let you go, do you promise not to scream?”

  Solange shot him an exasperated look, to which he merely smiled. “You have to promise, Angel Eyes.”

  She hesitated, then gave a jerky nod.

  Slowly he released his hand and stepped back, and Solange instantly missed the delicious warmth of his body. In retaliation, she reached up and punched him on the shoulder. She might as well have punched a brick wall, for all the damage she inflicted.

  “You scared me half to death!” she said accusingly.

  His teeth flashed in a quick grin. “I’ve been trying to think of ways to get you alone all evening. When you went to the bathroom, I saw an opportunity and took it.” The grin disappeared. “Why have you been ignoring me?”

  “In case you haven’t noticed,” she said with icy hauteur, “I’ve been very busy.”

  “Bull.”

  “What?” she sputtered in indignation. “I have been—”

  “I’m not denying that you’ve been busy. I’m saying that’s not the reason you’ve been avoiding me.”

  “Why do you care?” she flung back. “Already bored with little what’s-her-name?”

  Dane scowled. “Hey, don’t blame me for making friends! It’s a dinner party. You’re supposed to mingle with others—especially if the hostess has gone out of her damn way to make everyone feel welcome but you.”

  Solange felt a sharp pang of guilt. She started to say something, then stopped herself. She shook her head and dropped her gaze to the open collar of his shirt, where the strong column of his throat was revealed. She wanted to kiss him there, wanted to press her lips and tongue against his warm, velvety skin and tease the beating pulse at the hollow of his neck. And that was just the beginning of what she wanted to do to him, and with him.

  “Take a ride with me, Solange,” Dane said softly.

  Her eyes flew to his face. “What?”

  “Let’s go for a ride. Just the two of us.”

  She swallowed convulsively. “I—I can’t just leave the party.” She shouldn’t even be considering it!

  “The party is practically over. You can sneak away for a little while.”

  She gave her head a vigorous shake. “I can’t, Dane. Mr. Thorne will be looking for me.”

  Dane snorted. “The only woman on Crandall’s mind tonight is Tessa Philbin, or haven’t you noticed?”

  She had, of course, but that was beside the point. “Look, we really need to talk.”

  “That’s why you should go for a ride with me. We can talk…and do anything else you want,” he added suggestively.

  Solange held up a warning hand. “Just talk. That’s all I
’m interested in, Dane.”

  “Fine. We’ll talk. All night long, if that’s what you want. Let’s just go.”

  “I can’t leave now. I’m the hostess—I have to walk each guest to the door and say good night. We can leave when everyone else is gone.”

  He hesitated, looking as if he were debating whether or not to toss her over his shoulder and abduct her from the house.

  After another moment, he nodded shortly. “Fine. We’ll leave after the party. I’ll ask Caleb and Daniela to keep the old man preoccupied so he won’t notice you’re missing.”

  Solange nodded. As she moved to leave, Dane reached out and caught her wrist. She looked back at him questioningly.

  Big mistake.

  His focused, smoldering gaze heated the blood in her veins and set off a sweet, pulsing ache between her legs. As she watched, transfixed, he raised his other hand and touched her cheek, skimming his fingertips down her jaw. She shivered.

  In a low, compelling voice, he said, “It’s been pure hell being under the same roof as you, walking around the same room as you, eating at the same damn table as you, and not being able to touch you.” The pad of his thumb caressed the racing pulse in her wrist. “Don’t keep me waiting too long, Solange. I don’t know how much more hell I can take.”

  Solange swallowed. Not trusting her voice, she turned without a word and beat a hasty retreat.

  Crandall was in a celebratory mood later that evening.

  The dinner party had been a unanimous success. Gloria had delivered another top-notch culinary feast, justifying the generous salary and quarterly bonuses he paid her. The guests had enjoyed themselves immensely and would go back and tell all the naysayers that Crandall Thorne still knew how to throw the best damn party around. And Solange, that lovely granddaughter of his, had far exceeded his expectations in her capacity as hostess for the evening. Not only had she impressed his guests with her wholesome beauty, grace and hospitality, but she’d charmed the pants off Tessa simply by being herself. By the time dessert was served, she’d had Tessa eating out of the palm of her capable little hand.