Yeah. Right. She was having a very difficult time remembering that. At the moment, she could barely remember her own name.
“Just imagine how many royals and prime ministers have danced on this very floor,” she said, leaning away, striving for casual conversation even though the music and the movement were anything but casual.
But her gesture just gave him an opportunity to lower his gaze to her throat, study the V in her neckline and eventually return for a good, long examination of her mouth. Only then did he politely follow her glance around.
“Many, since Guildhall has been hosting high-end affairs since the fourteen hundreds.”
“I guess the association can’t hold this event at a hotel,” she mused. “That would be like playing favorites.”
“Exactly,” he agreed. “This has to remain neutral ground for all the members. See that gray-haired matriarch under the arch? Genevieve Dufresne.”
“The Swiss resort Dufresne?”
He gave her a satisfied smile. “You do pay attention to the business, don’t you? Yes, she is the head of the mighty Dufresne family. So, believe me, there might be a spirit of shared camaraderie since we’re all in similar businesses, but there’s competition in the air.”
“Like in the elevator.”
He made a distasteful face.
“Why do you hate them so much?”
The music ended and he guided her toward the table, where she picked up her handbag.
“Let’s walk outside,” he suggested, pausing to snag two crystal champagne flutes when a white-tailed waiter walked by.
She took hers, but didn’t sip. The atmosphere and company were intoxicating enough. They wandered through one of the dozens of soaring archways that led to various halls, a museum and crypts housing centuries of folklore, legends and art.
On a wide stone veranda, where a number of partygoers dallied at tables and benches to enjoy the evening air, they found a cozy bench, blocked by a large planter and secluded from the other people.
“Perfect,” he said, taking her hand and tugging her next to him.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Anna said after a moment. “Why do you hate the Jefferies brothers?”
He gave her a wry smile. “You could ruin a perfectly awesome night with that line of questioning. Truthfully, I don’t hate anyone, but if I were going to, Jordan and Emilio would head the list.”
“Why?”
“They’re ruthless, cutthroat empire builders.”
She stifled a smile. “And you’re not.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but then let out a soft, self-deprecating laugh. “Not ruthless.”
“Yes, ruthless.”
“Not cutthroat.”
“Yes, cutthroat.”
“Not… All right.” He grinned. “But not underhanded. And I think they are and I don’t want that womanizer Jordan around my sisters.” He inched closer and draped a possessive arm around her. “Or you.”
“Me?” The champagne tickled her nose, mixed with the soft, masculine scent of man. Unable to resist, she nestled into the expensive fabric of his tuxedo jacket.
“Yes, you,” he said, his face perilously close to hers.
“He would want nothing to do with me,” she insisted.
“Not when you’re doing your level best to hide your assets behind your shapeless suits. But the secret’s out now.” He brought his face closer to hers, and lowered his voice to barely above a whisper. “You are a beautiful, sexy woman, Anna.”
She closed her eyes as the compliment washed over her, more potent than if she’d thrown back her champagne and his.
“Thank you,” she said, searching for some way to divert the conversation to a less personal area. “So how do you know the Jefferies brothers are cutthroat and ruthless? I don’t recall any dealings with them since I’ve worked for you.”
“You sure know how to wreck a moment,” he said, a smile on his lips. “Those brothers have made it no secret that they want to give Garrison, Inc. a run for its money. And they are doing a good job,” he conceded, taking a swallow of champagne. “They’ve made some major inroads into the luxury hospitality and entertainment fields.”
“You don’t strike me as a man who worries about competition.”
“Of course I do. I worry about squashing it. And I worry about the fate and status of the Garrison brand, which, as you know, I’m responsible for.” A shadow crossed his expression. “At least I was until my father’s will was read.”
“What’s happening to the brand?” Anna relaxed a little, encouraged that the conversation had been steered away from the undercurrent of sexual tension that had been ricocheting off the Guildhall walls for the last few hours.
“We’re just taking hits in the media, and some investors I’d counted on have backed out from deals for no apparent reason. Properties I want have suddenly been sold to someone else.” He snorted softly. “Usually to someone named Jefferies.” After a moment, he added, “I seriously think there’s a leak in my company.”
A shiver danced down her spine. “A leak?”
“A spy. A mole. A… someone feeding inside information to competitors. To the Jefferieses.” He turned to her, his expression fierce. “I’m going to find out who it is and ruin them.”
White lights burst behind her eyes and it wasn’t stars or romance blinding her. It was the hard, cold smack of her past hitting her in the face.
“A spy?” She heard the shakiness in her voice.
“Don’t sound incredulous. It happens, you know.”
Oh, she knew. She knew firsthand. She knew so well it hurt. “I’ve read about things like that.” The only problem was that when she read about them, her name was in the articles.
Her name—not the man who’d committed the crime. Not Michael Montgomery, a man she’d thought she loved and trusted. A man who’d used her to get into the computer system of her boss, another CEO.
The night air suddenly seemed stifling and the back of her neck burned with perspiration. If Parker ever learned of her past, of the accusation—however wrong—that she’d let her lover access files from her boss’s computer, then she would be fired. Of that, there was no doubt.
Who would ever give her a chance to explain? Her old boss hadn’t. The media hadn’t. She’d just had to run.
“All it would take is one person who has knowledge of my deals to slip the information to one of the Jefferieses,” he continued, his voice suddenly sounding distant as blood thundered through her ears.
“Do you think… someone has?”
“I’m certain of it. Jordan and Emilio Jefferies weren’t going to come to this gala. They weren’t on the list. But then, wham. They show up and no one knew I was coming but a handful of Garrison employees.”
Including her. At his words, her stomach tightened, her fingertips tingled, her head spun. Only this time, her reaction had nothing to do with attraction, but everything to do with the fear of detection.
Of course, she was innocent. Totally and completely and wholly innocent, and the charges against her had been dropped. But the stain was still there.
Could a man who’d just admitted he was ruthless, cutthroat and competitive even see past that stain? Could he ever see beyond the