“Just dinner.”
“You make the reservations and I’ll meet you downstairs at eight.”
He grinned broadly, then turned around and whistled to himself as he headed toward the elevator.
Maybe he should have simply told Ms. Perkins that he was a PI sent by her father and husband to bring her home. But if she put up a fuss and refused to return to Chattanooga, all he could do was call her father and tell him where she was. By the time the old man could get to Palm Beach, his darling daughter could well be on her way to Timbuktu. And he could hardly pick her up, kicking and screaming, then carry her down the hall, into the elevator and through the hotel lobby. She was, after all, over eighteen and had a legal right to go wherever she wanted to go, with or without her daddy’s approval.
No, the best thing to do was wine and dine her first, then maybe take her on a moonlit stroll along the beach before presenting her with two alternatives. One: she went with him willingly to the airport and flew back to Chattanooga on the Dundee jet. Two: She telephoned her father and assured him she was well and happy and did not want to return home.
DOM HAD EXPECTED to be kept waiting at least half an hour, so when Audrey showed up promptly at eight, he was pleasantly surprised. Once again, the very sight of her stirred something sexual and predatory within him, something he wanted to deny, but couldn’t. She was so completely feminine that on a primeval level she appealed to all that was masculine in him.
If every man she met reacted to her the way he did, he could see how easily Audrey could lure men into her snare. He had to remind himself that she was not what she appeared to be. Behind all that beauty lay the ugliness of self-centeredness and betrayal.
When the maître d’approached them, Dom took her arm and draped it over his.
“You look lovely.”
That statement was no lie. She did look lovely. The bronze silk dress she wore made her fair skin radiant and her reddish blond hair shimmer with copper highlights.
Audrey didn’t reply. Instead she offered him a fragile smile that implied she was pleased with his compliment.
Once seated across the small, linen-covered table in a secluded corner of the dimly lit restaurant, Audrey lifted her gaze and looked directly at him. “Do you make a habit of picking up women in elevators?”
“Actually, you’re the first.”
“Am I?”
“You find that difficult to believe?”
She shrugged.
Why was she so leery of him? She had no idea he was a PI hired to track her down. He suspected that her distrust extended to all men, perhaps to people in general. Had she spent a lifetime trying to figure out who liked her for herself and who liked her because she was a wealthy heiress?
Don’t go making her into a victim, Dom warned himself. Audrey Bedell Perkins was a user, a taker, a woman who’d been unfaithful to her husband most of their six-year marriage.
After they ordered dinner and sat together sipping the merlot, Dom broke the silence with a risky question. “Your name seems familiar,” he said. “Your accent is decidedly Southern, but not deep South.”
She visibly tensed. “I’m from Tennessee.”
“Tennessee, huh? I live in Atlanta. Could I have seen your picture in the newspaper or read something about you in the society columns?”
She took a deep breath, forced a smile and replied. “I’m Audrey Bedell Perkins. It’s possible you’ve heard of my father.”
“You’re Edward Bedell’s daughter, aren’t you? Of course, you are. I wouldn’t have recognized you from the newspaper photographs I’ve seen. You’re far prettier in person.”
Her cheeks flushed a delicate pink. “Thank you.”
“If I remember correctly, you’re married, aren’t you?”
Nodding shyly, she set her wineglass down on the table and folded her hands in her lap. “Yes, I—I’m married.”
“And your husband isn’t here in Palm Beach with you?”
“No, he isn’t.”
“Are you traveling alone?”
“Why so many questions, Mr. Shea? You aren’t a reporter, are you?”
Dom laughed. “Good God, no. I’m a businessman. And as for all the questions, let’s just say that I find you fascinating.”
“Do you find me fascinating or do you find the fact that I’m a wealthy heiress fascinating?”
“I suppose you want me to tell you the truth.”
“Yes.”
“Then the answer is both. If you didn’t have a dime to your name, I’d find you very interesting, but the fact that you’re Edward Bedell’s daughter simply makes you all the more intriguing.”
“I appreciate your honesty. It’s a rare quality these days.”
The waiter set their salads in front of them. Dom lifted his fork, then asked, “Will you answer a question for me and answer honestly?”
She scrutinized his face, as if hoping she could figure out just what he was getting at. “I’ll try.”
“Are you in the habit of accepting dinner invitations from every man who finds you fascinating?”
She studied him for a moment longer, then replied, “You’re referring to the fact that I’m a married woman, aren’t you? Would you be shocked if I admitted that I don’t feel very married, that you make me wish I wasn’t married.”
The knot in Dom’s stomach tightened. Shit! She was good. Damn good. She was playing him like a fiddle. How many times had she used that line on a guy? If he didn’t know her for what she was, he’d take her straight from dinner this evening to bed. And he’d keep her there all night and maybe all day tomorrow.
He reached across the table and grasped her hand. “I usually steer clear of married women, but in your case, I could make an exception. Of course, I wouldn’t want your husband or perhaps a jealous boyfriend to—”
“My husband is in Chattanooga,” she said. “We—we’re sort of separated. And there is no jealous boyfriend.”
So, Audrey hadn’t run off with Bobby Jack Cash or if she had, she’d dumped him somewhere along the way. Her being alone should make things easier. After dinner, he’d suggest a stroll along the beach and then he’d tell her who he was and ask her to return to Chattanooga with him tonight. If she refused, the best he could do was either persuade her to call her father to set his mind at ease or call the old man himself.
Of course, there was a third option. He could simply throw her over his shoulder, shove her into his car and take her to the airport. Maybe an evening drive might be a better idea than a walk along the beach. He could wait until she realized he’d driven her to the airport before confessing he was a hired gun. If she refused to go with him, he could carry her aboard the Dundee jet and strap her into a seat before she realized what had hit her.
But technically that would be kidnapping. Then again, it would be her word against his.
“You’re awfully quiet,” she said. “Is something wrong?”
He squeezed her hand. “I was just thinking about how I’d like this evening to end.”
She jerked her hand away. “No expectations. You promised.”
He held up both hands in an I surrender gesture. “A guy can dream, can’t he?”
“All I agreed to was dinner.”
“What about a ride around town