“You being whatever I need you to be.”
“Oh.”
He leaned toward her and she held her breathe. He was going to kiss her. Oh, God. But he stopped short, inches away from her lips. His breath, a ridiculously intoxicating blend of scotch and spearmint, slipped inside her. “Very tricky,” he whispered. And then his lips touched hers.
Before she could even close her eyes, he was gone. She blinked, tried to remember how to breathe.
He cleared his throat. Tugged his cuffs down. Looked out the window, at the moon roof, at the bar. Finally, at her. His frown surprised her. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“There are no strings attached to this evening. I apologize.”
“Don’t worry on my account.” She gasped the second the words were out of her mouth.
He laughed, but not at her. Not making fun. In fact, the sound made her feel a fraction less foolish. “Okay, so at least we know one thing.”
“That I need to learn to keep my big mouth shut?”
“No. That we’re both a little nervous about tonight.”
“I can understand me, but not you.”
“I’m always a little nervous around a beautiful woman.”
She nearly made a smart remark, but something stopped her. His eyes, or maybe his hint of a smile. Something made her entertain the idea that he could be telling the truth. That he thought she was beautiful.
She wasn’t a hag or anything, but please. She was just Tess. Ten pounds overweight, ugly nails, hair that looked like it was done in a blender. Not Nicole or Meg or Julia. She was a hick from Tulip, that’s all. And he was the most sophisticated, debonair man on planet Earth.
Which, of course, explained it. He was working tonight. Despite his protests. He couldn’t help it. When you seduce women for a living, it must come naturally, like breathing or sleeping. So it would be wise not to let her imagination run away with her.
This wasn’t a coach, he wasn’t a prince, and she sure as hell wasn’t Cinderella.
“Tess.”
She focused on him with a start. She’d been far away in the land of insecurity. “Yes?”
“No matter the reason. Favor to you, favor to me. Whatever. I’m glad I’m here, now, with you.”
She smiled as warmly as she could, but she wasn’t fooled this time. He was the embodiment of a smooth operator. A man so suave he made Cary Grant seem like an oaf. Of course he was going to flatter her. “Thank you,” she said. “I’m glad, too.”
If ever there was a Man To Do, Dash Black was him. Never, not in a million years, would he become a Man To Marry. Not to her, at least. Never to her.
4
SHE DIDN’T ACTUALLY SEE the house for a long time. The gate had come first, ornate wrought iron with an incongruously hi-tech security box on the driver’s side. Then it was like riding through a park. An extraordinarily well-kept park. Manicured lawns. A rogue blade of grass wouldn’t dare show up there, let alone a weed. The trees, all native to this part of the country, were stately and thick, providing ample shade for their flowered skirts.
A full-time staff would be essential in keeping this gorgeous lawn so pristine, and she wondered about the budget. They probably spent a fortune on fresh flowers and plants for the house, too. Whoever had the account must be doing very well.
Dash shifted beside her, and her thoughts of plants and bank accounts fled. He’d been quiet since the kiss, in deference to her, she thought. Someone more savvy would probably have played the moment better. Teased him. Chastised him. But her famous aplomb had deserted her, and no soothing thoughts or distractions could bring it back.
“Have you been out here before?”
She didn’t jump when he spoke, and that was a bonus. “No, I haven’t. It’s stunning.”
“This house used to belong to one of the Duponts,” he said. “It’s got twenty-two bedrooms, not counting the guest house.”
“Well, that’s got to be a pain to vacuum.”
His laughter eased her somewhat. However, his proximity— They weren’t touching. But there was only enough space between them for one hand. If she let hers fall, she’d touch him, and that wasn’t smart.
She tried to think what her friends would do. Erin would tell her to wait. Samantha would tell her to go for it. Neither option felt right. There was a whole evening to get through, and she couldn’t afford to fall apart. Cullen would be watching her. Not to mention Brad and the Bitch.
Lacey. What a piece of work. Her nose was so far in the air it was amazing she didn’t constantly walk into walls. And that smile—
“Tess?”
She turned to Dash. Smiled. “Yes?”
“Where did you go?”
“Actually, I was thinking about Lacey Talbot.”
His expression hardened, which made Tess like him even more. “She’s an interesting young woman.”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
“Don’t pay any attention to her,” he said, as he leaned over to place his glass back in the bar. “She has issues.”
Tess couldn’t help but giggle. She hated to giggle. Hers was all girly, making her feel too young to handle her job let alone this date. Sort of date. Whatever.
“But I will warn you. The way you look tonight, you’re going to set her on edge.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. I told you before, you’re stunning.”
She held her breath for a moment, then let it out slowly. It didn’t mean anything. How could it? But she steadied her gaze and said, “Thank you,” just like her mother had taught her.
He looked at her quizzically, but said nothing, then his gaze moved forward and he nodded. “The palace.”
She turned to see lights. Lots of lights. The house, which did actually remind her of a palace, was bathed in white, and the long trail of parking lights from the limos in front of them reminded her of a red carpet.
She’d never seen a home like this. If it was even called a home. Estate, maybe. Or mansion. By any other name it was huge and she felt every year of her Tulip, Texas, education bite her in the ass. This was a mistake.
“If we get separated inside, just set off a flare. I should find you in two or three days.”
She smiled, although it didn’t seem like much of a joke. “I can’t imagine this. It’s like going to the moon.”
“Kay Nickleby has an eating disorder that’s sent four shrinks back to the minors. Her daughter, Phoebe, is a card-carrying kleptomaniac who once tried to steal one of Princess Diana’s tiaras. Not to mention William, who has been kicked out of every prep school on the east coast. Roger Nickleby is having his day with the SEC, and I expect he’ll be spending a large part of his fortune before he’s through.”
“So, you’re telling me it’s better to be poor?”
He frowned. “Hell no. I’m saying wackos come in every tax bracket.”
She had to smile. “What about you? Are you a wacko?”
He nodded. “Oh, yeah.”
The limo slowed to a stately crawl as they inched up the drive. Doormen stood at the ready, offering steady hands to extravagantly dressed women as they stepped out of their coaches.
Tess’s