Barbara Dunlop - Sex, Lies and the CEO

“It was nice to meet you,” Darci said to Tuck, not having the slightest desire to get between Petra and her designs on the man. “Perhaps I’ll see you again later on.”

As she moved toward the back of the house, Darci left the great room behind and found herself in a wide open hall. It had twenty-foot ceilings, marble pillars and gleaming white archways. Antique-style lampposts dotted the perimeter, while an imposing wrought-iron chandelier hung in the center of the room. The decor focused on an equestrian theme, with a big bronze statue of a stallion on a large rough-hewn wood table. Rich oil paintings of rural stables and the countryside hung on the walls, and several red velvet-and-walnut armchairs bordered the room.

After an initial scan of the area, Darci found her attention drawn to a small open doorway. It led to a staircase, tucked in a corner behind a pillar and partially screened by one of the lampposts.

She wandered toward it, pretending to be fascinated by a grandfather clock against the wall. Feeling like a spy, she glanced around to see if anyone was paying attention to her movements.

The crowds were sparser here than out front in the great room. But there were enough people that she blended.

She eased her way behind the lamp.

Then she moved to the pillar.

With another quick check to make sure no one was watching, she scooted to the shadowed staircase and started down.

The stairwell was dim, and she gripped the rail. After what seemed like a long distance, she came out at a narrow white-walled hallway with a blue-and-silver-tiled floor and fluorescent lights along the ceiling.

Her heart began pounding harder as she chose between left and right. Right would take her to the back of the house while left would take her toward the front. It was a toss-up, but it seemed to her that decades-old business records would more likely be at the rear of the house.

She turned right and started along the hall.

She came to a closed door and tried the knob. It was locked. She jiggled it, thinking it was old and it might give way.

“Can I help you with something?” came a deep, accusatory voice.

She quickly twisted around, and her heart sank with a thud.

His face was shadowed, but she instantly recognized him.

She swallowed. “Mr. Colborn.”

He took a step forward, his piercing blue eyes pinning her in place. “Did you take a wrong turn?”

Her mind scrambled for a plausible explanation. “I, uh...I heard you were giving a wine-cellar tour.”

His eyes narrowed. “You did, did you?”

“Petra mentioned it. Petra and Tuck. I was talking to them earlier, and—”

“You know Tuck?”

Darci nodded. She’d known Tuck for all of five minutes. But she wasn’t about to get stuck on that detail.

Shane Colborn seemed to relax a bit. “I haven’t seen him yet tonight.”

“Petra found him. And, well, she didn’t seem to want to share.”

Shane cracked a smile. “She doesn’t. She’s had her sights set on him since we were teenagers.”

He moved closer still, offering his hand. “I’m Shane Colborn, the host of the party. Well, me and my cousin Madeline are the hosts.”

Darci immediately accepted the handshake. “I know who you are. I’m Darci Lake. You have a remarkable home.”

“Remarkable appealing , or remarkable ostentatious ?”

“A little of both,” she answered before she thought it through. She realized her words had sounded like a criticism. “I mean, it’s wonderful, of course. It’s just that I can’t imagine—”

“Living here?”

“It is intimidating,” she answered honestly.

His furrowed brow told her she was blowing the entire conversation.

Insulting his home was the last thing she wanted to do. “I didn’t mean it the way it came out.” She gave her head a brief shake. “Can I please start over?”

“Go for it.”

She braced herself. “It’s a phenomenal home. And I’m sure you love it here. But it’s more opulent than I’m used to, so it’s hard to imagine living in it.”

“That wasn’t a bad recovery.”

“Thank you.”

“Personally, I also find it intimidating. And I grew up here.”

“So, you were just messing with me?”

“I was,” he said.

“That wasn’t a very nice thing to do.”

“I found you skulking around my basement, trying to break into a locked room. I don’t think it’s my behavior that deserves criticism.”

She could have kicked herself for bringing the conversation back to what she was doing down here. But to her surprise, he offered his arm.

“Would you still like to see the wine cellar?”

“I would,” she quickly answered.

“The official tour is scheduled for later on, and I have some terrific wines lined up. But we can get a head start.”

She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. He was steady and sure. Her thumb brushed his biceps and found it defined and hard as iron.

“Do you prefer Old World wines or New World wines?” he asked as they came toward the front of the mansion.

“New World,” she answered, though it was just a stab in the dark. She knew nothing about wines but the color and the price.

“So, not a snob?”

“Not a snob,” she agreed easily.

“People seem all excited about malbecs. But give me a solid cabernet sauvignon any day of the week. What about you? Cab sauv? Or maybe pinot noir?

“Cabernet sauvignon,” she told him, to be agreeable.

“You’re lying.”

How could he tell? “I’m not.”

“Then you’re being polite.”

“That would be a change of pace.”

He gave a low chuckle. It was a very appealing sound.

She caught herself glancing at his profile.

He was an astonishingly handsome man. She’d already known that from his many pictures in the media. But the pictures hadn’t done him justice. Some tabloids called him Chicago’s most eligible bachelor, and she wasn’t about to argue the point.

What woman wouldn’t fantasize about being held in his strong arms and kissing those full lips? Add to that his wealth and his standing in the business community, and she could understand why the elite ladies of Chicago were taking turns as his date.

They passed another closed door, and she remembered why she was here. She needed to stay focused.

“What’s in there?” she asked of the closed door.

He gave her a puzzled look. “In where?”

She backed off, realizing she could easily arouse his suspicions again. “Besides the wine cellar, what do people keep in a great big basement like this?”

He gave a glance around the hallway. “Good question. The only place I ever go is the wine cellar, being a playboy bachelor.”

“Now who’s lying?”

His father might have been dishonorable, but a man didn’t run a billion-dollar company by being nothing but a playboy. She didn’t buy for a minute that he’d never looked through his own basement.

“Some antique furniture,” he said. “Boxes of things from my parents, probably some art and some silverware. There are no bodies, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“It wasn’t. But now that you mention it...” She made a show of gazing worriedly over her shoulder.

“We are all alone down here.” He finished her thought in a theatrical voice.

“Are you trustworthy, Mr. Colborn?”

“Not even a little bit. Here we are.”

He stopped in front of a wide oak door with a thick, twisted wrought-iron handle and long black hinges, strapping the aged planks together. Stonework bracketed the door on both sides, giving the entry an unfortunate dungeon look.

He extracted a long key and inserted it into a deadbolt lock.