JENNIFER LABRECQUE - Barely Mistaken

Inside, a door opened and closed.

Luke pushed away from the oak and backtracked to the garage. He’d see his mother tomorrow at Grandma Pearl’s party. What the hell were his brother and father up to? Walking in and demanding answers would get him nowhere. Who, other than Olivia, had Adam planned to meet tonight at the party and what information did he need? And why would Adam willingly engage himself to a woman he referred to as an “ice princess”?

And what difference did any of it make? He could just walk away and pretend he’d never overheard that particular conversation. He’d head back home. Maybe stop off at Cecil’s Bar and Grill and throw some darts.

A full moon waited, heavy and ripe in the eastern sky, even as the sun edged toward the horizon. A familiar restlessness gripped him. He stepped into the cool dark of the garage and flipped on the lights.

Glimmering metal caught his eye. The scabbard housing the sword in Adam’s back seat, part of the pirate costume. Is this how pirates felt. Edgy? Restless? Seeking a treasure or excitement? Unsure of what they wanted, but knowing they wanted something? He’d felt this way all of his life. And it usually got him in trouble.

The eyepatch beckoned him. The scabbard flashed her beguiling jewels. The dark wig was about the same length as his own shoulder-length hair. They entreated him, calling to the always-lurking wildness in his soul. A slow smile edged his mouth as an idea took hold.

The car. The costume. The country club. The companion. Opportunity knocked and Luke answered. Could he pull it off? He and Adam sounded alike, and they were about the same build. Luke was darker than Adam, but with low lighting and a costume, if he could figure out who the mystery contact was, he might get some answers. Perhaps a dance or two with Olivia. Then, if he dropped some information her way, it shouldn’t be misconstrued as some misguided attempt at chivalry. It would constitute a leveling of the playing field.

Why the hell not? What could be more befitting of a pirate? And what could go wrong in a couple of hours out of one night?

“OLIVIA? OLIVIA COOPER? Is that you?”

Olivia forced herself not to squint, although she couldn’t see. Against her better judgment, she had surrendered to folly and abandoned her tortoiseshell specs in her car. The ballroom’s lighting consisted primarily of candles. She could barely see. Actually, being half blind lent her Dutch courage. She’d mixed and mingled and already raised more money for her beloved library expansion.

The man stepped close enough for her to identify him.

“Hi, Jeff.” An ambitious manager at Adam’s bank who resembled a rodent, Jeff looked much better as an obscure blur.

“Where’s Adam tonight?” he asked, eager for a suck-up opportunity, no doubt.

Blurred vision or not, she still saw Jeff ogling her cleavage. Olivia forced herself not to check herself out as well. Amazing. She actually had cleavage. That merry widow had done impressive things to her small breasts. They not only appeared fuller, they felt fuller as they strained against what had once been a modest neckline. The bra’s stiff lace teased her nipples. Further emboldened by a cat’s-eye mask and her upswept hair, Olivia felt sexy and terribly provocative. It was a heady sensation.

“Adam? He had a meeting late this afternoon and thought it might run late.” The party was in full swing and still no Adam. She bit back her disappointment.

“When you see him, tell him I’m looking for him.” With a final glance at her chest, Jeff took off to suck up to someone else.

Outwardly, she hoped she appeared her usual calm, composed self. Inside she was strung as tight as a crossbow. Good thing she didn’t drink, or she’d be tempted to knock back a few shots of Marty’s Wild Turkey. Instead, she slipped through a side door and stepped out into the crisp autumn night. The moon, a golden orb swollen with promise, hung suspended above the semi-dressed branches of water oaks and pines.

Olivia steadied herself against the rail of the wraparound porch. How many times had she listened to other girls chatter about their dates at country club soirees? Now she was one of them. Or she would be once Adam arrived.

As if her thoughts had conjured him up, headlights flashed down the azalea-lined driveway. Olivia recognized the hum of the BMW’s engine. A sudden case of nerves had her tucking hairpins more securely and plucking at her mask. What would Adam think of her costume?

She watched as he pulled up and relinquished his car to the club’s valet. Her breath caught in her throat, as her pulse pounded.

Wow! Blurred vision or not, there was no denying the pirate outfit tripled Adam’s sex appeal. Was it the eye-patch or the Errol Flynn shirt or the wig and tight breeches that lent a sexy swagger to his stride? Something primitive awakened and responded to his saunter. For one brief, disruptive second Luke Rutledge came to mind—doubtless conjured up by Beth’s earlier chatter. She brushed the thought of him away, much as she might a pesky mosquito. Luke was a pompous ass.

Instead she concentrated on Adam.

She gathered her wits as he climbed the broad stairs. “Adam,” she called to him, her voice a disgusting squeak. “Adam,” she tried again, this time sounding more like herself instead of a mouse on steroids.

After the slightest hesitation, he turned in her direction. “Yes?” His steps slowed as he walked toward her. A tall, dark, mysterious stranger.

“I wondered when you were coming.” Her voice came out low and husky.

“Olivia.”

How many times had he spoken her name in the past several weeks? Countless. Yet it had never slid off of his tongue like a caress. She didn’t need clear vision to feel the heat of his gaze as it flicked over her. He stopped before her.

Adam usually wore a trendy cologne she found somewhat cloying, but tonight he’d abandoned it. His clean, masculine scent, mingled with the sharp, cold, autumn air, aroused her.

Mercurial, quicksilver heat spread through her. Alarmed her. The staid, practical librarian demanded retreat. She stepped back and the darkness engulfed her. The distance didn’t diffuse the awareness that shimmered and danced between them.

Adam followed her into the shadows, the broad expanse of his shoulders silhouetted against the moon. “You’re beautiful. You take my breath away, Lady Olivia.”

Oh my. She checked the urge to make sure he wasn’t talking to someone else and decided to try something new—gracious acceptance. “Thank you.”

“We should go inside. It’s cold out here.”

His low-timbered voice shivered against her skin. His words said one thing, his body language said something else as he dipped his head toward her.

“Yes. We should…” Instead, she stepped closer, drawn to him regardless of her will.

“…go inside.” Even as he finished her sentence, he cupped her shoulders and drew her forward.

She braced her hands against the smooth texture of his shirt, the spring of male hair beneath tantalizing. Evocative. Unnerving. “Tell me why again,” she murmured.

“It’s cold.”

Every inch of her body responded to him. The black velvet mask pressed sensually against her face while the night air’s cool fingers brushed against her heated skin. “Is it?”

She’d accepted Adam’s kisses before. Now, for the first time, she craved his kiss.

“Olivia?”

Her insides melted at the rich roll of her name on his lips—an auditory aphrodisiac. The night and her vision—or lack of—blurred reality, yet intensified her other senses. The steady rhythm of his breathing whispered a melody to the background accompaniment of the party’s muted sounds. His scent evoked an awareness deep within her.