Jennifer Greene - Silver and Spice

From the corner of her eye, she saw him again. He was dancing, his partner a tall, sylphlike woman with a spectacular head of red hair. A lovely woman, really…

The silver-gray eyes met hers. Did he actually understand that once she’d paid her respects to the Cords she was free to leave? The man seemed to have no manners at all, deserting his redhead in the middle of a dance. Rapidly, Anne averted her eyes and frantically searched for a place to set her plate down. The game was fun, but the thought of an actual meeting caused panic to well up inside her.

He was moving slowly toward her, enjoying the stalk. Behind her host’s back, Anne set her plate down, took a single quick step and felt Link’s hand curl around her wrist like a velvet handcuff. “Come on, sweetheart,” he whispered. “There’s someone I’ve been wanting you to meet for a long time.”

With Link hugging her shoulder, Anne turned, smiling weakly as she stared with deliberate disinterest at a chin made of steel. Just a small distance up from that chin was a disconcertingly sensual mouth, curved in a half-mocking smile. “Anne Blake, is it?” She had to lift her head to meet his gaze. He had the advantage of looking down, his silvery eyes hooded for Link’s benefit. Not for hers. He was staring at her mouth, as if the only thing on his mind was crushing it…very softly, very thoroughly.

“This is Jake Rivard, Anne. I never did understand how the two of you never happened to meet up before,” Link said jovially. “Heck, you both had parents that hopped the globe, but your grandparents lived just three doors away from each other. And in the last few years Anne’s even done business for your grandfather, Jake.”

“Mr…Rivers?”

He took the hand she had not extended, chuckling appreciatively at her deliberate mistake. “Rivard,” he corrected lazily. “Fine party, Link.”

“I noticed you were having a good time, Jake,” Link said with satisfaction.

Anne had also noticed that Jake was enjoying himself. First with the brunette, and then with the redhead. And he was still having a good time, imprisoning her small hand neatly in his larger one. She could feel the grain of calluses on his palm, and she could also feel her control begin to slip, the control she always resented losing. The stalk had been going on for more than an hour. Her humor was beginning to give way to an attack of nerves. A delicious adrenaline was coursing through her bloodstream; she was well aware of the danger. She felt high, light-headed. He was a powerful sexual animal. She valued that in the same way that she respected any predator-as long as he understood that she wasn’t prey.

His hand slowly freed hers, his thumb gently rubbing against her slender wrist as he let her go. “You don’t mind if I take Anne away for a dance, do you, Link?”

“Of course not. You just show her a real good time, Jake. She’s one special lady to me.”

Anne smiled weakly. “Actually, I sort of left a friend all alone in the house. If you would mind just for a moment, Mr.-”

“Rivard,” he supplied.

“I’ll be right back to claim that dance,” she assured him.

“I’m sure you will.”

There would be a snowstorm in hell before her cool, calm flesh would come in direct contact with his lean, hungry body-and he knew it. She could feel his eyes on the open spaces in the back of her dress as she walked away.

It didn’t matter. Anne was leaving. Well, in a minute she was leaving. She wanted to see one last person before she left.

Angela Stone was a white-haired wisp of an aristocrat, dressed in a plain white gown with a blaze of sapphires at her throat. “How’s your grandmother, Anne? I spoke to her on the phone last week, but neither of us really had a chance to talk…”

Anne tried to relax, taking the straight chair next to the older woman. “I miss her when she goes south,” Anne admitted. “In fact, I’ve been worried about her lately.”

“Now, she has a horde of people to take care of her, dear. You’re so very like her, Anne, never letting anyone do a thing for you. One doesn’t quibble with that kind of character. One simply tries to relax and not worry. Tell me what you’ve been up to.”

Anne automatically shied from talking about herself. Instead, she switched to Mrs. Stone’s favorite subject-her artists and the scholarships she’d set up for budding sculptors. Occasionally, people came by to interrupt; Link, for one, bent over to kiss Angela’s cheek, and another neighbor did the same to Anne. The later it grew, the cooler the breeze became, and more and more people wandered inside. Still, it wasn’t until Anne felt a curl start to slip on her neck that she realized he’d been there again.

With a flush in her cheeks, she stood up-but not soon enough. She could feel all the snaky coils of long hair begin to unwind. “I’ll tell Gran everything you said, Mrs. Stone. How good it is to see you again.”

“So few people take the time for an old lady these days, Anne. Give Jennie my love.”

Anne managed to reach the front door before her hair actually tumbled. She reached up frantically; there were three pins left. Irritably, she wrenched those out, and the rest of the tumbling mane promptly cascaded down her back, all soft and tickly through the silk latticework of her dress.

It didn’t matter; she was through with the party anyway. From the front steps, she could see the long line of cars parked along the road; the cement walk that led down to them was bordered by hedges trimmed into animal shapes. One bush was a wolf. The long slope of grass had the sheen of dew; fall leaves whispered as she hurried through the darkness toward the shores of Lake St. Clair. She had parked her car a block away.

As she approached her little red MG, her step faltered. He was already there, leaning back against the car directly ahead of hers. The dark green Morgan had not been there when she parked; her MG had barely fit between two monstrous gas guzzlers, and she remembered both well. His sleek car was of classic vintage, long and low, not the type of car she was likely to forget.

He was leaning back, arms folded lazily across his chest. Even in the darkness, she could make out the silvery eyes, glinting directly on hers, the waiting in them controlled. Barely. Impatiently, she reached her car, leaned over to toss in her purse, and then, with exasperation, slipped off one shoe and hurled it at him. Then the other. He was picking up the silver sandals when she vaulted into the driver’s seat, hitching up her skirts in a motion that proved she had given up on ladylike modesty.

Her stockinged toe pressed lightly on the accelerator as she started the engine, and with practiced finesse she edged the MG rapidly out of the parking space. In seconds, she was roaring down the quiet boulevard, her long hair spinning a cloak around her. She saw from her rearview mirror that he hadn’t even gotten in his car yet.

During the fifteen-minute drive to her condominium, nearly all of Anne’s image of perfection was destroyed. Her stockings were snagged, her skirt was hitched up over her knees, her hair was a witch’s tangle around her, she’d bitten off the shiny lip gloss, and the wind had whipped away most of her other makeup. She was exceeding the speed limit, so she hugged the dark side roads where no one was likely to notice her. The police had little to do in this affluent suburb of Detroit except catch speeders.

Braking sharply as she reached her condo, Anne felt a moment of triumph when she saw that there wasn’t another car in sight. Certainly not a long, low Morgan. Holding her skirts up, she sprinted over the wet, grassy yard to reach her door, breathless as she worked the key in the lock.

In seconds, she was inside and throwing the dead bolt, and then she leaned back against the door until she could breathe normally again. Every nerve ending was tingling. Laughter was trying to bubble up inside of her.