by Roz Denny
Harvey made impatient noises. Sarah broke off and handed Jenny money to order in pizza. She slammed the door hard as the man headed down the front steps.
At the bang, he glanced back and flushed, then returned to offer her his arm. "I'm afraid you'll have to sit in the back, Sarah," he said as they neared the car. "Jeanette's dress is quite full. It took five minutes to settle her. It'd be a shame to crush such pretty fabric."
Sarah clamped down on a retort. She could have said it took a full skirt to cover Jeanette's plump backside, but she wasn't given to cattiness. Harvey knew her dress was new, too, yet he hadn't made any comment. And he let her climb into the cramped back seat without help. Sarah reminded herself that she was a lady. It struck her then that for all his fancy manners Harvey was no gentleman. She kept silent, thinking it was sad when respect died. Sadder to think what a poor judge of character she'd been.
Jeanette darted a sympathetic glance her way, then began talking nonstop about her case. Harvey could have included Sarah, but didn't. She felt ignored. Insignificant. And by the time they reached the hotel, flat out furious. This wasn't sour grapes, either. No one enjoyed being treated like excess baggage.
She vowed to take that cab home. If she hadn't needed a hand getting out of the car, she'd be history now. Not wanting to make a scene, she went along when Harvey took each woman by an elbow and ushered them both inside.
As always, the Maxwell Reef was the ultimate in elegance and luxury. Tonight, the family had spared no expense in decorating the main ballroom. The entire west wall opened out onto a flagstone patio glowing with Chinese lanterns. Round tables for two, four, six or eight were draped with snow-white linens. Long rectangular tables groaned with hors d'oeuvres. On the patio, tiki torches lit the gently breaking surf. A romantic setting if ever Sarah saw one.
She tried pulling from Harvey's grasp to wander among the baskets of deeply colored island flowers stationed around the room's perimeter. His grip tightened. Before long, in the press of the crowd, Sarah felt smothered by the overpowering perfumes worn by Hawaii's elite.
Harvey stopped to greet two men in formal attire, and she murmured an excuse, intending to slip away. Their conversation ended and he propelled both women to a secluded table. Sarah wasn't pleased, but she had to admit there were no singles being seated. A major drawback to attending formal functions alone, she mused.
Harvey and Jeanette had their heads together. To keep from feeling like a fifth wheel, Sarah studied the battery of white-gloved waiters skittering like so many mice across parquet floors—floors polished to gleam like glass beneath the fragmented light falling from crystal chandeliers. Some waiters carried large trays of hors d'oeuvres, others trays loaded with colorful drinks. In keeping with island tradition, log drums began to throb along the beach, and girls with skin the color of cafe au lait shimmied effortlessly in time to the demanding music.
As the drumbeats escalated, so did Sarah's pulse. Soon the festive spirit edged out her anger, and she settled back to enjoy the party. After all, this might be her only opportunity to attend such a lavish event.
A passing waiter paused with an array of drinks. Sarah was about to ask which was plain fruit juice when she saw Jeanette watching. She'd be darned if she'd show her inexperience. With panache, she selected a dark red fruity-looking punch in a glass nearly filled with shaved ice. The waiter called it a Scarlett O'Hara.
Sarah smiled. What a fitting name to match her mood. It was tasty, too. Smooth. Cooling to her parched throat. She might have thought differently had she known it contained six parts bourbon to two parts lime juice and a splash of grenadine.
The next waiter to pass picked up Sarah's partially empty glass and promptly left a full one. Except this one was some sort of punch topped with citrus and a tiny umbrella. Sarah nibbled on the citrus as a conventional band replaced the island dancers and Jeanette began to tap her foot against the table leg in an irritating manner. Under her breath, Sarah muttered, "Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn."
Layman Maxwell arrived in a flurry of activity. Sarah stirred the ice in her punch and watched. He looked every inch the millionaire tonight. Mrs. Maxwell was a surprise. Take away the diamonds and she'd be almost dowdy.
All at once Sarah caught sight of Sheena Maxwell, and a piece of ice lodged in Sarah's throat. She choked and Harvey thumped her on the back. "Dowdy" definitely did not describe the birthday girl. Sheena's sleek black creation, slashed almost to her navel, left nothing of her budding maturity to the imagination.
Totally in awe of the young woman's nerve, Sarah took a big gulp of her punch. Then she wished she hadn't, for over the rim of the glass, she saw Gabe Parker. Goodness, he looked splendid in a black tuxedo. The tucked-front white shirt only amplified his deep tan. His honey-blond hair had been neatly trimmed since she'd last seen him. Not trimmed so short, however, that he lost the reckless, swashbuckling air Sarah found maddeningly attractive.
Unable to tear her gaze away, she barely acknowledged Harvey when he suggested she mingle. He and Jeanette were going to dance, he said.
"Mingle?" Sarah watched him leave. It was an unappealing edict. Her limbs felt weighted. Impossible, she knew as Gabe spun the lovely Sheena onto the dance floor.
A waiter snapped up the glass and left a full one. Sarah frowned at the ruby-red liquid. Had she finished that last one? She couldn't remember.
"Don't you look like a beautiful wallflower?" Mitzi's lilting voice jarred Sarah from her intent study of the punch. "Where's old Harv?"
"Out there somewhere dancing with Jeanette Lewis."
"So let's send Osamu to break his legs," Mitzi said lightly. "He has some nerve, leaving you."
"I knew I shouldn't have come, Mitzi. I'm supposed to be here for business reasons, but—"
Mitzi cut off her explanations. "If anyone needs this outing, Sarah, you do." She waved at someone in the crowd. "Oh good, here comes Sam. He stopped to check my wrap." She stood. "It's just too bad if Harvey can't remember who his date is. You come and sit with us."
Sarah let herself be led across the room. "Oh, wait, I left my punch!" she exclaimed.
Mitzi forged ahead. "Leave it," she instructed, and selected just the right table to suit her. "Go have fun. Dance with Sam."
"Will you quit fussing? You dance with your husband."
"Thank you, Sarah." Osamu grinned and waltzed his wife into the crowd of dancers. Left to her own devices, Sarah tapped her foot and hummed. It was warmer over here. She really should have brought her icy punch.
A waiter she hadn't seen before stopped. There were no red drinks on his tray. "Is this lime juice?" she asked, choosing a tall green one.
The man shrugged. "Beats me. I just serve 'em."
One sip of the sour drink and Sarah pushed it aside. The green complemented her dress, but the red tasted better. The notion of color-coordinated drinks made her laugh.
Someone slipped into the chair beside her.
"May I have this dance, gorgeous?" a deep voice said in her ear.
Sarah froze, then whirled so fast her head spun. For a moment, she had difficulty focusing on Gabe's twinkling blue eyes.
"Slumming, Mr. Parker?" Her voice held an edge. "Your volunteer work is with my son, not me."
That stopped him for a minute. Then Gabe stood and hauled Sarah to her feet. "I've done my duty dance for the evening. The rest are for my pleasure." Smiling, he circled her with his arms and twirled her away.
What did he mean by that remark? Sarah wished she didn't have to concentrate to keep from slipping on the shiny floor.
"Relax," he instructed. "Put your arms around my waist and go with the sound. I'm not going to bite, you know. Well, maybe a little nibble," he admitted, laughing as he bent his head and nipped at her ear.
Sarah's steps wavered. Never very proficient at dancing, she landed hard on his toe. Feeling the floor tilt, she grasped his waist, burying her nose in his chest.
"Ah, yes. That's it." He smiled and pulled her ag
ainst him from shoulder to thigh. "Hang loose. Let me lead." Lord, but she looked like a million bucks tonight. She felt even better. Dare he tell her? She seemed preoccupied. He wished he knew why. He tightened his hold and smiled down at her. Damn, it was good to be back.
Her fingers flexed nervously beneath Gabe's jacket. A big mistake, considering the way his body heat radiated through the thin silk shirt. Feeling her palms grow damp, Sarah slid them restlessly up his back.
A sigh, more like a groan, escaped Gabe's lips. He let both hands skim over the cool satin covering her back. "Did I ever tell you satin makes me crazy?"
She shook her head. A wall seemed to tilt toward her and she ducked.
Gabe pulled her closer and whispered in her ear. "Your perfume is more provocative than the dress," he murmured. "It's different. Addictive."
Sarah found his comment amusing. "Fermented, maybe? My father brought it from the Orient a long time ago. It's called Poppy's Splendor."
He grinned, guided them into a dark corner and slowed almost to a standstill. "I missed you," he said simply. "I thought you'd at least talk to me when Mike called." He would have told her how disappointed he'd been except that something in her eyes stopped him. Gabe hesitated, sensing her mood had changed.
"Don't do this," she begged. "I don't need any more complications in my life. I know you and Sheena went to Kauai together. Mike had me dial. Sheena answered."
He looked puzzled. "We went together, but we didn't stay together." The truth was, he'd thought about nothing but Sarah the whole time he'd been gone.
Feeling a need for air, Sarah turned and headed for the open patio. Her head pounded. He wasn't making sense. "I call sharing a hotel room staying together."
Gabe trailed her, pausing once to shake hands with someone who greeted him. When Sarah would have stopped on the patio, he placed a hand at the small of her back and kept her moving, past the flickering tiki torches out to the sandy beach. For the life of him, Gabe didn't know what she was talking about. "I thought I'd already explained my relationship to Sheena." It was just old family and business ties. Besides, he didn't want to talk about Sheena.
Sarah wobbled as her three-inch heels sank into the sand.
Gabe propped her up against a nearby palm. His gaze softened. "I know you're angry. But I honestly don't know why. I would rather have been at Mike's game if that's what's eating you. I'm sorry, Sarah."
Sarah turned her head and let a cooling breeze wash over her. "We're the ones who should apologize, Gabe. Mike's timing was bad."
"What do you mean? I told him to call. Granted, I thought he'd call earlier—I didn't know about the pizza party." A smile came and went. "I have to admit—if you two had been much later, I'd have checked with the police. That was me who tripped your answering machine three times." He traced a finger down her cheek. "I'm beginning to understand why you worry. I imagined something terrible had happened to you both."
Sarah braced a hand against the tree trunk. Why was it he could make her believe almost anything? To be fair, she supposed hotel business could have kept them together that late. But… Oh, for heaven's sake, why didn't he stand still? Sarah shut her eyes to deal with sudden queasiness and almost missed what he was saying.
"The Grand National Surfing Championship starts next week. I'll be at my beach house off and on until they're over. I mentioned it to you a while ago—wondered if you and Mike might come for the weekend. You said no then, but I thought maybe… maybe you feel differently now."
"No. My answer's still the same."
He frowned. Why was she so upset? Did she think surfing was unsafe? Probably. "I know what you said," he told her, "but Mike won't be surfing. Just watching. Nothing wrong with that, is there?"
Sarah's hands curled into fists at her sides. "I saw all I ever want to see of surfers when I was married. Nothing's changed."
"Really?" He pressed against her, his eyes blazing. "I'd say everything's changed." Burying both hands in her upswept curls, he claimed her lips in a searing kiss. Her per-fume filled his nostrils—a heady aphrodisiac invading his senses. Gabe wanted to kiss her until any lingering memories of Farrell Michaels left her for good. He wanted her. Lord, how he wanted her! He hadn't realized just how much until now.
Sarah's lips parted involuntarily. Gabe staked his claim with a reckless thrust of his tongue. When her knees trembled and she sagged against him, he gentled his hold on her, and his kiss.
Sarah felt the surf pounding in her ears. Or maybe it was the frenzied beat of her heart or the blood singing through her veins. Reality dimmed. She forgot Farrell, forgot surfing. Her hands brushed the ridges down the front of Gabe's shirt. Two of his onyx studs gave way and her hand recoiled from the heat her fingers encountered. Oblivious to all but a world of textures, Sarah didn't hear a woman's voice in the distance calling Gabe's name.
But Gabe heard and exhaling raggedly, willed his pesky sister-in-law to get lost. But she called again. From the edge of the patio this time.
Gabe leaned his forehead against Sarah's and retreated a space. "What is it, Mariel?" he called. "I'm—" He'd been going to say occupied, or busy, but those terms didn't come close to describing it. "I'm involved," he informed her. Which wasn't the half of it. He didn't remember ever being so affected by any woman.
"I can see that. The whole world can see." The woman on the patio sounded less than amused. She sounded perturbed.
Her tone brought Sarah to her senses. She struggled for release. What were they doing? In a public place, too.
Gabe pressed his lips in a tight line, but he let her go. "Mariel, meet Sarah Michaels. Sarah, my brother's wife." His tone was flat. Clipped.
Sarah focused on a pretty blond woman in a blue dress. An ocean breeze ruffled several layers of chiffon, revealing her to be quite pregnant. That didn't keep the woman from studying Sarah in a haughty manner.
"You've found me, Mariel," Gabe said curtly, buttoning his shirt with steady hands. "Tell me what's so damned important." He reached out and clasped Sarah's wrist to keep her from fleeing. He'd just broken through to what he thought was the real woman, the real Sarah Michaels. Family be damned.
"Layman sent me. Dinner's about to be served. You aren't going to be difficult, are you? Your father will be so annoyed."
Gabe gave a snort. "Tell someone who cares."
"Don't be that way," she begged. "The Maxwells have been planning this night for a long time, and they expect you to be there."
Sarah felt somewhat disconnected. Like an outsider looking in. The woman was wearing sapphires that probably cost as much as Sarah's house. And there was no mistaking her reminder of where Gabe belonged.
"Okay." Gabe shrugged. "Go have someone set a place for Sarah. I want her to meet the rest of the family. This is as good a time as any."
"Gabe!" Mariel sounded shocked. "Really, what are you thinking? She can't sit at the head table."
Not only was Sarah's head reeling, but she'd been insulted quite enough. Disengaging her wrist, she lifted her chin and said, "Excuse me, please, I'm going to the ladies' room. You two will have to conduct this family squabble without me." Although it cost much of her flagging energy, she managed to cross the patio with her back straight.
The moment she stepped inside, Sarah encountered a waiter holding a tray of drinks. The bright red of the fruit punch she'd found so refreshing caught her eye. She plucked up a frosted glass and succeeded in cooling her ire with a few swallows before she reached the ladies' lounge.
Gabe watched her disappear, his eyes glacial. "Find her, Mariel. I want you to apologize."
His sister-in-law gasped. "You can't mean that. Where's your brain, Gabe? What if Rainee Talbert of 'The Morning News' witnessed that disgusting display? She wouldn't think twice about linking your name with that nobody."
Gabe had never felt like striking a woman in his life— until now. A muscle jerked in his jaw as he clamped down on his anger. "Sarah Michaels is very much a somebody, dearest Mariel. And you
had better get used to seeing our names linked. She's the woman I intend to marry." Having made a declaration that surprised even him, Gabe left his sister-in-law gaping. Well, he didn't necessarily mean he was getting married tomorrow. But why was Mariel acting so shocked? The whole family had been hinting lately that it was time for him to settle down. Even his father had brought it up.
Mitzi interrupted Sarah's headlong flight to the ladies' room. She took in her friend's flushed face. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine. Peachy keen," Sarah said flippantly, looking for a place to deposit the remainder of her punch. "If I thought before I didn't belong here, I know it now."
"Harvey saw you go off with Gabe Parker. He's in a snit." Mitzi grinned. '"Course, I pointed out that what's sauce for the gander is sauce for the goose. And I made it very clear you're dining with us."
Sarah felt her color drain at the thought of food.
"Hey, you look a little peaked. Have you eaten at all today?"
Sarah shook her head, then reached to steady herself on the padded door.
"Hypoglycemia," Mitzi concluded. "Low blood sugar," she clarified when Sarah looked mystified. "Go into the lounge and take a few minutes to relax. I'll snag you a plate."
"Thanks, Mitzi. I won't be long."
"If you aren't out in ten minutes, I'll come looking. Say, you haven't been drinking, have you?" Mitzi's eyes narrowed.
"Only fruit punch," Sarah said. "You know I'm not much of a drinker."
"Yeah, but there's for sure some booze in that stuff. You be careful…" Mitzi's warning was lost in the swish of the door.
Sarah went through a second door and stopped at a porcelain sink. She was splashing cold water on her face when the outer door opened and she heard the unmistakable bell-clear tones of Gabe's sister-in-law. Not wanting to be seen, she plucked up a towel and hurried into the nearest stall.
"Mother Parker," the newcomer complained loudly, "Wade thinks you should try and talk sense into Gabe. Honestly, you should have seen him with that woman."