Barbara Boswell - The Engagement Party

“Hannah Kaye Farley, you’re not allowed to invent new steps! You have to follow the rules!” A female voice, so loud and shrill that it sounded as if it were in the same room with him, startled him from his gloomy reverie.

Matthew looked around, discerned that the earsplitting voice came from downstairs and felt a flash of sympathy for those in close proximity. It seemed that somebody was scolding Hannah Kaye Farley for breaking the rules.

He smiled grimly. He’d bet that little Miss Farley was a rule breaker extraordinaire whenever it suited her purposes. From their brief acquaintance, he’d pegged her as a headstrong, spoiled beauty who said and did as she pleased. The kind of woman he avoided because he preferred quiet, compliant, worshipful types who let him call all the shots from beginning to end.

But thoughts of Hannah continued to haunt him as he sat on the bed listening to the rain pound on the roof. He had never met a woman who affected him as viscerally as Hannah Kaye Farley. She was vibrant and sexy, provocative and elegant, her face alight with laughter one minute, then stormy with anger the next. It occurred to him that she was the first woman since the accident to capture his interest, to make his body tauten and rise with desire.

He visualized her on his bed, but carried the image a step further, stripping her of that eye-catching silver minidress, picturing her silky, naked body lying open and ready for him. He thought of her mouth, not laughing or pouting, but swollen from his kisses, her gray eyes dreamy with passion.

Matthew stood, sensual heat and urgency coursing through him. Hannah stirred his senses, and while it was a relief to know that he was still a virile, functioning male, an affair with her was out of the question. She was already suspicious of him and with good reason. His imagination must still be in limbo if he couldn’t come up with a better cover story than that insect textbook nonsense. Katie was too tactful—and too interested in keeping him as a paying guest—to question the story, but Hannah had no such reticence.

And why should she? As the beautiful daughter of one of the first families in the state, she undoubtedly played by her own set of rules. And he was accustomed to making and breaking his own. An affair with her would be a disaster. She would expect things of him and from him, demand them even. The last thing he needed right now was a demanding woman who wouldn’t respect his need for boundaries and control.

No, he wasn’t willing or ready to get mixed up with the beautiful Miss Farley, however hot and hard she made him. He had to focus all his thoughts and energy on his secret mission, learning as much as he could about his birth parents. Only then could he make an informed, intelligent decision about whether or not to meet them and, possibly, introduce himself to them.

The surge of sexual energy made him restless, eager to turn the pulsating tension into action. Why not begin his investigation tonight?

It was as good a time as any to start, he decided, placing the canvas bag in the closet and pocketing his room key. He had an invitation from Miss Katie Jones herself to join the party of Clover citizens downstairs. He could ask some subtle questions, perhaps pick up some information about Alexandra and Jesse, as he’d come to think of them. Never mother and father. He preferred to view them distantly, like characters in a novel: interesting to contemplate but having nothing to do with him or his life.

He assured himself that the fact that Hannah Kaye Farley was there had nothing at all to do with his decision to join the party.

The music and the laughter grew louder as he walked downstairs. He stood at the threshold of the crowded living room and watched the couples dancing to some old rhythm-and-blues classics. He recognized some of the songs but not the fast, rather intricate dance steps they were doing. Hannah was one of the best dancers, animated and lithe and vibrant as she moved with her partners, and she seemed to have several.

Matthew tried to turn his eyes to others in the crowd. Invariably his gaze returned to Hannah.

“She’s a knockout, isn’t she?” A smiling blond preppy type joined Matthew and handed him a drink.

Matthew accepted the glass. “Who?” he asked, and the other man laughed.

“Hey, it’s nothing to hide. Every guy in town has been slavering over Hannah Farley for years. Unfortunately, she never slavers back. She likes to play things strictly as friends.”

“Is that so?” Matthew took a gulp of the drink, which was straight bourbon on ice. The liquid burned a fiery path down his throat and seemed to ignite sparks deep within him.

“I’m Blaine Spencer, a friend of Ben Harper’s.” The toothsome preppy introduced himself. “And I know you’re Matthew Granger. I understand you’ll be staying at the boardinghouse while you do some scientific research here in Clover?”

“News travels fast,” murmured Matthew. He found his new acquaintance overbearing and presumptuous. He had not been slavering over Hannah Farley like some slack-jawed dolt!

“Katie filled me in when she sent this drink over to you,” Blaine replied amiably. “She said you seemed more the bourbon on the rocks than the wine-punch type.”

“Wine punch?” Matthew grimaced at the concept.

“I believe the ladies are partial to it.” Blain winked. “So, Matt, I guess Hannah wins your vote as the best shagger here tonight. Am I right, my friend?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Matthew said testily.

Blaine took no offense. “The dance is called the shag. We’re in the midst of a highly competitive contest here tonight. My partner and I have already been eliminated. The shag was a classic fixture in the beach towns during the sixties and we like to keep the spirit alive. Every kid in Clover learns the shag and passes the steps along to future generations.”

Matthew finished his drink in one gulp. “This is a very strange town.”

“We Clover natives like to think of ourselves as colorful. Originals.” Blaine grinned, seemingly impervious to insult. “Clover is a timeless place, where the past is intermingled with today and tomorrow will—”

“Are you a real-estate agent?” Matthew demanded. “You might as well save your spiel because I’m not planning on buying any property here.”

Blaine laughed. “I’m a dentist, Matt. My office is a few blocks farther down on Clover Street, near the Beauty Boutique.”

“I’ll keep that in mind if I lose a filling,” Matthew muttered. Since his new friend seemed disinclined to leave—had Katie asked him to baby-sit her new tenant?—he decided to use Blaine’s affable presence to his own ends. “So you’re a Clover native, huh?”

“Born and raised here, like my daddy and his daddy before him,” Blaine said proudly.

“I guess you know the, uh—” Matthew paused. His pulses were pounding in his ears, so loudly they almost drowned out the blare of the shag dance tunes. “The Wyndhams.” For the first time, he dared to use the name of his birth mother’s family— his family—in conversation.

“The Wyndhams!” Blaine looked pleased. “Well, I don’t know them personally, of course. I mean, I’m not in their social orbit. They’re in the stratosphere of society and my family and friends are earthbound, if you get my drift. But occasionally I see members of the Wyndham family when they come into town to shop. Good-looking people. Classy. Upper classy.”

Mention Alexandra Wyndham, Matthew silently urged himself. Say her name. He felt almost sick with anticipation, desperate to hear even the slightest bit of information about the woman who had given birth to him. And had given him up. His mouth was dry. He couldn’t get the words out.