Claudia gasped. “Oh, Billy, I love this song. Let’s dance.”
Hudson recognized a ploy to leave him and Liz alone, but he didn’t object. He’d just keep staring at her until she got tired of it. It wasn’t as if he had anything to lose. He’d probably never see her again after this night.
“How about it, Hudson. Want to dance?” Liz raised one eyebrow playfully.
“Me? Not much of a dancer.”
“Oh, come on. Anybody can dance.”
“Sure, right.” He let her drag him to his feet. What the hell. Didn’t matter, really, in the grand scheme of things, and holding her in his arms didn’t sound like such a bad deal. All he had to do was move his feet a little, or at least pretend to try to dance.
A parquet floor had been laid out over the flagstone patio for dancing in the shadow of the band, which had switched from country-western to big band. Hudson dredged up some long-ago memories of a ballroom dance class he’d taken to please an old girlfriend. He’d forgotten her name, but maybe he could at least remember how to get into hold.
He took Liz into his arms. As other couples twirled and dipped around him, he shuffled his feet back and forth.
Amazingly, she moved right along with him, graceful as a swan. In her tall heels she met him eye to eye. Now he could examine those amazing inky-blue eyes up close. Little gold flecks shimmered in the irises like rays of sunshine on the surface of the ocean, and a pleasurable tingle wiggled down his spine.
“Are you a friend of the bride, or the groom?” she asked.
“I know both of them, but only slightly. I guess Claudia got me the invitation. She thought I’d be interested in seeing the Logan place.”
“It’s pretty amazing. And if there’s one thing Jillian knows how to do, it’s throw a party. What do you do for a living?”
He knew the question would come up. “Cop. You?”
“Social worker.”
Not what he expected. If she worked at all, he’d been guessing something glamorous—fashion editor, commercial real estate. “Enjoy it?”
“Immensely. You?”
“Usually.”
“Aren’t you scared?”
“Most of the time I’m just too busy to be scared.”
“Ever been shot?”
“No. That sort of thing is very rare.”
“Ever shot anyone?”
“Also very rare. I’ve hardly ever unholstered my weapon, much less shot at someone.”
“Still, it’s got to be dangerous at times.”
“I imagine your job has its dangers, too. You probably deal with all segments of society. Lowlifes.”
“Well, pretty troubled people, anyway. I wouldn’t call them ‘lowlifes.’”
The song switched to a slow number. Hudson thought the dance would be over, but she made no move to leave the dance floor. He pulled her close, resting his cheek against her hair and inhaling the scents of something clean and fruity. This was ridiculously pleasant.
But odd.
An unwelcome thought appealed to him. “Are you trying to make your date jealous, by any chance?”
She laughed. “Hardly. I think he’s in the cabana banging one of the bridesmaids. It was just a casual date. I don’t care.”
“You need a ride home?” The words slipped out.
“I might.” She tickled the back of his neck with her fingertips.
Was this exotic creature coming on to him? He wasn’t exactly a troll; he knew some women found him attractive. Some liked the whole idea of dating a cop—it was a power thing. Others liked his surfer-boy looks, or they found out he had a house at the lake and a boat and thought he had money.
But not this kind of woman.
He asked himself if perhaps he was being played, but he couldn’t figure out her angle. Yeah, this encounter felt...off somehow. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to put an end to it.
He didn’t like games. But something compelled him to find out how this one would play out. He would call her bluff.
“I wasn’t planning to stay long,” he said. “We can leave whenever you want.”
She put her lips close to his ear and whispered, “I can go anytime. But first, I think you should see the garden.”
The song ended and they pulled apart. He had no interest in flowers, but the idea of strolling among fragrant roses with Liz was oddly appealing.
“I love gardens,” he lied. “Lead the way.”
She wobbled a bit on her high heels as they made their way around the enormous pool illuminated by dozens of floating candles. Maybe she’d had one too many martinis. He didn’t want to hook up with her if she was going to regret it. And really, he had no business getting entangled with anyone, let alone a mystery woman, when his life was such a mess...no matter how alluring she might be.
They were just going to look at flowers, he reasoned. They hadn’t reached the point of no return. Either of them could still bow out gracefully.
She took his hand, pulling him along, wanting to go faster in a suddenly childlike way. “It’s the most amazing garden. The Logans’ gardener, Hung Li, is a world-renowned rose cultivator. He has some prizewinning varieties that were developed right here.”
She escorted him off the patio through a fancy gate in a redwood fence. A charming path of flagstones meandered through what had to be an herb garden, given the scents of sage and lavender greeting Hudson’s nose.
“The Logans’ chef, Cora, uses as many homegrown fruits and vegetables as she can,” Liz continued as if she were a tour guide.
Stone benches were scattered here and there, along with pieces of huge marble columns strewn about, an echo of the ancient Rome theme inside the foyer. More statues, too.
He’d heard that Daniel acquired archaeological antiquities from private collectors all over the world, and he’d made provisions in his will for the items to be donated to appropriate museums in the items’ countries of origin.
It took some kind of ego to do that.
They passed an enormous greenhouse, where Hudson caught glimpses of hothouse tomatoes through the windows. Row upon row of empty garden space, waiting to be planted, surrounded them.
Finally they reached another fence, a quaint white-picket affair that called to mind a country garden in rural England. On the other side, a small plot fairly burst at the seams with roses. Houston’s mild winters meant you could have flowers year-round, if you worked at it. Apparently someone here did.
Rosebushes climbed fences and trellises grew out of huge urns and directly from the ground. The garden overflowed with red and pink and white roses, peach ones, yellow ones, roses in colors Hudson had never seen before. Even in the falling dusk, the colors were so vivid they hurt his eyes.
Hudson would be the last person to expect the sight of a bunch of flowers to move him, but the explosion of color took his breath away.
Or perhaps it was the woman standing next to him, whose beauty outshone even the most stunning of these roses.
“See this one?” She pointed to a bright yellow rose with orange-tipped petals. “It’s called Texas Sunrise. And that one over there?” She pointed to a peculiarly shaded purplish-pink rose. “That’s the