The Foreigner’s Caress
Kim Shaw
Dedication
Over the past couple of years I have discovered
the depths of the loyalty romance readers have for the
writers they love. This novel is dedicated to romance
readers, who continuously demand the best from the
heroes, heroines and, ultimately, the writers.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue
Chapter 1
“Your invitation, please?”
Madison pulled the five-by-eight-inch, eggshell cardstock invite from the silver evening bag that hung on her shoulder and handed it to the usher. She looked at him over the top of the Armani shades that sat perched on the tip of her delicate nose. He read the name embossed in gold lettering, allowing his gaze to travel from her Christian Louboutin stiletto-clad French-manicured toes, up shapely tanned legs to a hemline that ended above her knees, continuing to round hips, a tiny waist and ample cleavage. He settled on her face, an approving smile on his lips as he handed her invitation back over to her.
“Thank you, Ms. Madison Daniels. Welcome to the ‘Friends to Elect the next United States President’ banquet. Enjoy yourself this evening.”
“I always do,” Madison said.
She glided through the door the young man held open, her steps poised, her grace evident of a childhood of grooming. The wine-colored carpeted foyer to the Grand Promenade Ballroom was peppered with tuxedos and cocktail dresses as men and women chatted and laughed gaily. The backless, minuscule Donna Karan dress she wore, stunning and shimmering silver, caused passing gazes to linger on the “redbone” beauty as she made her way through the room. She was used to the attention and was undeterred as she continued to the main room, a faint scent of Armani Code perfume accentuating the air immediately around her. She stopped just inside the door, looked around, a frown forming at the corners of her mouth.
“Are you disappointed because he’s here or because he’s not here?” a deep voice asked from beside her.
Madison turned slowly to the left, her gaze traveling upward until it landed on a chiseled face. Gleaming white teeth set inside supple lips curved in a smile greeted her. An even-toned nutmeg face with eyes like ebony marbles framed by curly eyelashes was fixed in her direction.
“Excuse me?” she quipped.
“You were looking around for someone and your expression was one of obvious disappointment,” he said.
“And naturally you assumed that I was looking for a man? Typical,” Madison scoffed.
“I suppose I could not fathom that a beautiful woman such as yourself could ever be unescorted to a well-appointed affair such as this. My luck has never been quite that good, although I did win a blue ribbon at a potato sack race once when I was seven years old.”
There was no doubting the charm of the debonair stranger. The unmistakably English accent was melodic to Madison’s ears, making his rash judgment of her mood sound less antagonistic. He was long-drink-of-water tall, at least six feet two inches, towering above her diminutive frame. The span of his broad shoulders was visible in the classic Ralph Lauren black tuxedo he wore, and for a moment she had a fantasy of him picking her up, tossing her over one shoulder and carrying her away into his jungle lair. She snapped out of it with a quick shake of the head. She was no Jane and he certainly was no chocolate Tarzan. What he was was extremely good-looking, smooth-talking and probably the sexiest man she’d ever laid eyes on. However, Madison was not a woman who was easily charmed by good looks and sweet words.
“Look, Mr.—”
“Elliott.”
“Mr. Elliott—”
“Stevenson. Stevenson Elliott—”
“Stop interrupting me, please. I find it rude and annoying,” Madison snapped. “Now, Mr. Elliott—”
“But all of my good friends just call me Steve,” he persisted.
Madison regarded the broad smile housed in a mouth that was sumptuous and boyish at the same time. She tried to force an expression of aggravation onto her face, but realized that she had already begun to enjoy the game of cat and mouse they were playing more than she should. There was an air about him that was both irresistible and engaging, yet she was not about to let such a pompous foreigner in on the fact that he’d moved her.
“Mr. Elliott, while I would love to stand around trading witty commentary with a presumptuous stranger, frankly, I’ve got better things to do with my time.”
Madison turned away from him in an attempt to keep her eyes from betraying the lie she’d just told him. At that moment there was nothing she’d rather do than remain in his presence, but she was a woman who was pursued, not the other way around. She walked away from Stevenson Elliott, certain that his eyes were trained on her receding figure as she felt them boring into her back. The natural twist of her huggable hips as she walked was slightly exaggerated for his benefit and his torment.
Stevenson laughed out loud, taken by the beauty with the unconventional hairstyle and prickly tongue. He watched her as she crossed the room with a self-assured spring in her step that was admirable. He started to go after her, but instinctively knew that it was probably not a good idea. This silver-clad goddess was hell on wheels, of that he was certain, and a distraction like her was the last thing he needed in his life. There were expectations on his shoulders that required clear thinking and undistracted diligence. Yet even as he reminded himself of his obligations, his smoldering eyes followed her around the room.
“There you guys are,” Madison said as she came upon the table where her parents were seated.
Dr. and Mrs. Joseph Daniels were sharing a table with Judge Kelly from the southern district of New York, his wife, Patricia, Senator Houssman from Poughkeepsie and his wife, Carla, and Georgetta Price, a world-renowned Broadway diva.
Joseph rose to greet his daughter, his face beaming with pride.
“You made it, pumpkin,” he said, kissing her cheek. Joseph