by Unknown
"Hello, Stacy. Your father told me to make myself at home." He raised a full glass, clinking with ice.
"Oh… good." She backed away. "I'll be ready in a minute."
Before she could retreat into the dimness of the hallway, Drew had moved with lightning speed to stand mere inches from her.
"May I be of help?" he asked with a mischievous grin.
Prepared to make a swift denial, she unconsciously straightened her shoulders. Then, with as much dignity as she could assume with the neckline of her dress sliding down her shoulders, she said, "I'll go find Dad… if you'll excuse me."
"Your father's in the middle of dressing." He continued mockingly: "Don't be so prudish; you're well covered." Authoritatively, he added, "Turn around."
With a resigned sigh, she turned around so he could examine the zipper. She shivered slightly as his lean fingers manipulated the twisted fabric. "Hold still!" Seconds later he slid the zipper closed.
"There, now, that wasn't so bad."
"Thanks," she murmured. Without another word, she turned and dashed back into the sanctuary of her room. Her heart was racing and her face was crimson from embarrassment.
For a moment she leaned against the closed door, trying to regain some degree of equanimity after the devastating encounter. With just the slightest of touches, Drew had robbed her of all her normal self-possession and she needed a few minutes before she could face him with any degree of detachment. She found it disconcerting to be so ruffled by a man she hardly knew.
With an effort, she pushed herself away from the door and completed the final touches to her appearance—slipped on strappy, high-heeled shoes, and added pierced earrings and a gold circlet around her wrist. Femininely, she had hoped to use this occasion to erase the sloppy tomboy impression of her last encounter with Drew. But her transfiguration had been marred by a drooping dress and bare feet!
On the other hand, she thought he epitomized the coolly sophisticated male, dressed as he was in a navy blue vested suit with a pale gray silk shirt and crisply knotted striped tie. It was a sharp contrast to the jeans and work shirt of their first meeting, but he carried it off with aplomb.
She left her bedroom carrying her short fur evening jacket over her arm and clutching her silk purse.
Drew stood as she entered the living room and sauntered over to take the jacket from her arm and courteously held it until she slipped it on. With an intimate squeeze of her shoulders, he said softly, his breath caressing her right ear lobe, "You look lovely, Stacy."
He straightened away from her and stepped back. His eyes leisurely roamed down her body and back to her face. Stacy's color heightened under his intimate scrutiny. His mouth twisted into a smile as he said drolly, "Quite a difference."
The flush deepened, but with a spark of resentment she said, "I'm glad you approve."
"I certainly do," he countered with a suggestive glance at her shapely curves.
She glanced uneasily around the room. "Will Dad be ready soon?"
"Your father will meet us at the party."
"Oh, really? When did you decide this?"
"When I arrived… All set?"
"I suppose so," she responded dispiritedly.
"Smile! We're going to a party, not an execution."
The words slipped out carelessly. "You could have fooled me."
He lifted one eyebrow and she said contritely, "Sorry. I guess I'm just nervous… meeting all these people."
"Take it easy. You know most of them." His deep voice was soothing, and Stacy had no choice but to precede him out the front door as he gestured her through with a gallant sweep of his arm.
Jumbled in her mind were niggling doubts about the evening ahead. Was it wise? This frequent exposure to such a blatantly virile male? Ultimately, would he…
Chapter Three
A short time later they were walking up the front sidewalk to a beautiful house the size of a mansion. The brick and the columns supporting the portico were painted white. A huge brass lantern illuminated the veranda. Lights blazed in every window. The early blooming wisteria perfumed the air.
Drew's fingers were locked with hers, and Stacy gained a certain strength from his support. Her mind balked at the ordeal ahead.
The brief ride in his black Corvette had been relatively uneventful. Drew had silently concentrated on steering the low-slung car through heavy traffic while Stacy had gazed out the window, trying her best to ignore her reaction to the vital man inches away. But this had failed. Every time she felt her dress stir as his hand brushed the fabric as he changed gears of the four-speed stick shift. She was relieved when it was time to leave the intimate confines of the car. He had taken her hand to help her out of the low leather bucket seat, and then he had kept hold of it as they strolled to the house.
The front door was immediately opened by a uniformed maid who directed Stacy to leave her jacket in an upstairs bedroom set aside for the ladies' use.
With a last-minute check in the antique mirror of the dressing table, she straightened her shoulders and steeled herself to face the curiosity and surprise of the people below.
Halfway down the curving staircase her heel caught in the plush carpeting. As her left hand grasped the mahogany banister, her right was taken in an iron grip.
"Careful, now, it wouldn't do to tumble down these stairs."
"Drew, where did you come from?" Stacy said, startled by his sudden appearance at her side. , "What? No thanks for saving you from an undignified entrance?"
"Thanks."
"That will do. There are too many people watching us. Now, smile, you're supposed to be happy. A woman newly engaged to a terrific catch."
Stacy found herself smiling at his blatant self-mockery.
"That's better. Come on. They're waiting for us."
He continued his firm grasp of her hand as they stepped down to the hall. The center of the terrazzo flooring was covered with a large Oriental rug woven with gorgeous yarns, ranging in shades from powder to royal blue. Touches of rose, cream, and gold added to its elegance. A sparkling crystal chandelier dominated the hallway. Its light danced through glass prisms onto the ivory walls.
Before Stacy could gain more than an impression of the large, beautifully proportioned and decorated living room, she and Drew were swallowed up by the crowd of people filling it.
Their hostess, Mrs. Woodward, an imposing grey-haired matron, made her way through the clusters of people to greet them warmly. She grasped their free hands in each of hers.
"Stacy and Drew, I'm so glad you could be here."
Stacy murmured an appropriate response, while Drew said, "Thank you for inviting us."
"Stacy, dear, you look charming."
"Thank you, Mrs. Woodward, but I could never compete with you."
The older woman laughed lightly. "That's nice of you to say, dear," she said. Then with a suggestive glance in Drew's direction, she added, "But we know who appeals to this young man, don't we?"
"I'm sure your husband is relieved," Drew teased.
"Oh, you." Her eyes sparkled.
Their light banter continued until their hostess left them to continue with her duties.
Drew adjusted Stacy's hand so it rested in the crook of his arm; her fingers curled into his jacket sleeve.
Their progress through the richly appointed room was halted several times. Drew skillfully made any necessary introductions, easing Stacy into her role as his fiancée. She kept a bright smile and carefully fielded the inquiries which came her way.
Stacy noticed that in every case Drew charmed the ladies. Several of them gave her sidelong looks which were obviously tinged with envy. And yet with the men he had an equal, if not greater, appeal. As she had told Katie, he was a man's man.
After several minutes, Drew excused both of them so they could partake of the refreshments. Once they were away from the throng, Drew said, "You did that very well."
"What?" Stacy was baffled by his comment and looked up into
his face to see an unfathomable expression in his eyes.
"Play the adoring fiancée," he gibed.
She responded somewhat tartly, "Isn't that what I'm here for?"
"Of course. Keep up the good work," he taunted.
Stacy was confused. Since they had arrived, he had seemed to be making things as pleasant as possible for her under the circumstances, and she had been relieved to find everything had been going so smoothly. She had felt some trepidation at publicly facing the consequences of his precipitous announcement. Now he seemed to be cynical, condemning the very thing he had wanted her to do.
"What would you like to eat? Do you need a fresh drink?"
His voice pulled Stacy back to the present and she faced a table filled with a variety of hors d'oeuvres and small, dainty sandwiches filled with cream cheese, tuna, and chicken salad. And for fish lovers, there were fresh shrimp cocktail and even black caviar.
Stacy wrinkled her nose as the pungent aromas assailed her. Suddenly she did not feel up to eating anything. Her stomach was churning from nervous tension.
"Oh, I'm not very hungry."
"Try something. It will make you feel better." He had switched back again to solicitude, and Stacy shrugged mentally, deciding that she would never be able to understand this enigmatic man. He was a law unto himself.
"I think you'll enjoy the sandwiches. The other is rather spicy."
"Thanks." She reached for a plate from the stack of bone china at the end of the table, but before she could grasp it, his body blocked her and he handed her the one he had been quietly filling.
"I can get my own, thank you."
"I do not want to argue with you, so please take it." The command in his voice could not be ignored, but Stacy gave it a try.
"I prefer to serve myself."
"Sure you do, but this once accept my gracious offering."
She felt chagrined, took hold of the plate, and quietly stepped back to wait as he piled another plate with food.
"Why don't we sit over there while we eat?" He motioned to two rather comfortable-looking upholstered velvet wing chairs set near the fireplace.
"Fine." The guests in this end of the room had melted away, so they were able to relax for a few minutes as they ate. Stacy only nibbled at her food, silently wishing he had not given her so much. She hated waste, and whenever she left food on a plate she remembered all the starving people of the world who could have benefited by it.
She had just decided she couldn't eat another bite when she spotted her father talking with their host, an urbane-looking man, just inside the doorway. Tom Woodward was motioning his guests for silence as Bob indicated with a glance and a wave of his hand that he wanted Drew and Stacy to join them.
Stacy hesitated a moment, but then Drew was at her side, taking the plate from her to set it on a convenient table before grasping her by the elbow and propelling her forward. Puzzled by what was happening, Stacy glanced at the faces of the other guests. They seemed to be waiting expectantly. Before she could form a question, she heard her father say proudly, "I am pleased to announce the engagement of my daughter, Stacy, to Drew Pitman. I hope you'll join me in wishing them every happiness."
Her eyes had misted over at the warmth and pride evident in her father's voice, but she was stunned when the announcement fully penetrated her mind. Quickly she schooled her features to smile, her lips curved up, but it did not quite reach her eyes. Stacy flicked a glance up at Drew's face. He did not appear at all surprised, and she wondered curiously why. No one had mentioned to her that he would make a public announcement this evening.
She felt a movement at her side as Drew released her arm to reach his hand into his jacket pocket. It came out with a tiny jeweler's box partially concealed by his long fingers. She found her carefully controlled poise disintegrating as he nonchalantly pressed the catch to open the box, revealing an exquisitely cut oval diamond solitaire set in a yellow-gold band. She gasped.
In a low voice only she could hear, Drew said, "Take it easy. What's an engagement without a ring?"
Equally softly, Stacy murmured, "It's beautiful. But this is too much!"
He ignored her comment and gently removed the ring from its velvet bed. He reached for her left hand and had to hold it steady as he gently slipped the ring on her third finger. "Your father told me your ring size."
She raised wide eyes to his. "It's perfect," she breathed.
"Good." Without another word he bent his head and kissed her lips, pressing his mouth into hers as his hands slid around her shoulders, drawing her close. Stacy reveled in their warmth, her treacherous body instantly responding to his touch. She forgot everything as she allowed her lips to be molded by his.
The spell was broken when Drew raised his head and turned to listen to the congratulations from the friends who were surrounding them. Stacy felt herself instantly catapulted back to reality. As she looked up, her velvet brown eyes caught a young woman's malevolent expression. She was standing a little apart from the crowd: flawlessly groomed, brassy hair pulled back in a sophisticated topknot emphasizing her strong cheekbones, and dressed in a modern gown of ice blue. The color of the dress matched her eyes. Their icy paleness enhanced the feeling of animosity Stacy found radiating from her. As she watched, the woman sauntered over, her eyes focused on Stacy's face.
Turning to Drew for an explanation, Stacy realized that during the intervening moments he had been drawn away from her side by some boisterous friends. When the stranger stood directly in front of her, Stacy forced herself to meet her cool gaze with one of her own.
"Congratulations, Miss Davidson." The voice was as chilly as her eyes.
"Thank you. I don't believe we've met."
"That's right. I'm Jennifer Hyatt."
She did not bother to extend her chalk-white hand.
Stacy maintained her poise and said politely, "It's nice to meet you."
"I'm sorry I can't say the same," Jennifer almost sneered.
Bewildered by the enmity obvious in her voice and manner, Stacy was at a loss for words.
"You may think you have him, but Drew will soon tire of your juvenile charms," Jennifer said insultingly.
Stacy flung back her head as though physically struck. Then her innate strength bolstered her. "I refuse to continue this." Without another word, she ignored the other woman's open-mouthed astonishment and pivoted on her heel. She walked over to stand beside Drew, wishing she could slip into his arms and draw upon his strength.
Drew looked down, noting the glazed eyes and pallor of her skin. "Ready to leave?" She was only able to nod her head in response and quickly found herself being led from the room. A maid fetched her jacket, and once it was on, they paused only long enough to say thank you and good night to Bob and the Woodwards. Then Drew grasped Stacy's elbow and steered her to the front door.
As the heavy door thudded behind them, Stacy paused to take a deep breath. The cool evening air was a refreshing change from the stuffy, overpowering blend of perfume and cigarette smoke inside.
After a minute she felt better, her color returning with the easing of the tension stimulated by the obnoxious Miss Hyatt.
"I'm hungry. Let's go get dinner," Drew suggested.
The churning of her stomach still had not ceased, but Stacy agreed. "Fine. I hope it's quiet. I'm not ready for another crowd."
"Just what I had in mind," he returned. "I hope you enjoy French cooking. My reservations are for a place operated by a Frenchman. His standards are high and he personally trains and supervises all his staff."
"Sounds delightful. There are so many good restaurants in town, but so many offer the same thing—steak, seafood, or Mexican food."
"Sometime I'll take you to a little Mexican place that I know. It's run by a family and you get the real thing there, not some Americanized version. But tonight I thought we needed someplace quiet where we can relax."
"Thanks. I can go for that."
"I thought so," he drawled.
/> "Don't you ever get tired of being right?" she said smartly.
"Nope." The flash of strong white teeth was illuminated by the moonlight. "Let's stop talking and get going. It'll take us about twenty minutes to get there."
He opened the door and she eased herself into the car. Stacy felt more of her tension float away as she relaxed in the comfortable seat, deliberately forcing herself to keep her mind blank, but ever aware of the strong, silent man beside her.
"You're very quiet," Drew said with a quick shift of his eyes in Stacy's direction. "Are you tired?"
"Not really." She clasped her hands to control their involuntary tremor and felt the diamond dig into her right palm. She glanced down, spreading her fingers. The streetlights caught in the many facets and made it twinkle. Suddenly, she felt depressed; this charade had gone way beyond her. Now, as well as the guilt she felt for deceiving everyone, especially her father, she had been entrusted with a valuable ring which she did not want. Compelled to make things clear, she turned her body sideways to face Drew and said, "I wish you hadn't bought such a valuable ring."
"Don't worry about it," Drew responded easily.
"But I am," she said stiffly. "I want you to know I'll take good care of it until it's time for me to give it back."
"I don't want it back."
"But I can't keep it!"
"Why not?"
"Because it wouldn't be right! I don't know much about jewelry, but even I know it wasn't cheap, and there's no need for you to be out such a large amount of money." She paused for breath. "It's one thing for you to take me out to dinner, but quite another to buy me jewelry."