Webber, of course, was here. It was his house. He always threw the parties. New money. He still had a lot of showing off to do. The firm’s other partner, Joseph Thornton IV, came from old money. Nice guy, old-school polite, but with the exception of Webber, no one from the office had ever seen the inside of his house. At least no one Eric knew of. Not that he was the type to be invited to the Thornton estate. But some day…hell, some day he’d have a nice three-story brownstone like this with a view of Central Park.
Near the white marble fireplace, Tom and Serena were talking to Harold Carter, the company’s controller and possibly the most boring human being in Manhattan. Eric wasn’t in the mood to make small talk, so he circled around the room, heading for the bar.
“Another cognac?” The bartender reached for the bottle.
“Yep, one for the road.” Eric put down his empty snifter. Most bartenders had amazing memories. “Go ahead and refill this one.”
He’d picked up a clean glass but set it aside. “No argument from me. One less to wash.”
Eric glanced at the guy’s name tag. He remembered him from the Webber’s Christmas party. “Tell me something, Chuck. You ever get tired of these private parties?”
Chuck shrugged. “They aren’t so bad. Pays the rent.”
Eric sighed. “Yep, that’s what it’s all about.” He surveyed the plush living room, impeccably decorated in gold and burgundy, a van Gogh over the fireplace and, if he wasn’t mistaken, a couple of Gauguins on the dining room wall. He hated these affairs. Ridiculously formal and mandatory—unspoken, of course. “Money.”
Chuck grinned. “Nothing wrong with that.”
“Not a thing.” Eric had to agree. Not to would make him a hypocrite. Wasn’t that why he was here when he’d rather be just about anyplace else? Not just because he was the only guest without a date—something which Webber had again commented on. But that was Eric’s choice. He could have brought a date if he’d wanted.
Most of the time he could be political and schmooze the bosses with the best of them. He certainly did his share when necessary. Frankly he had to. It was all part of the game. But social situations weren’t his favorite milieu. He always felt at such a disadvantage.
“The class of people at these private affairs are better than working the bars.” Chuck motioned with his chin toward the foyer. “Like her. What a knockout! Can’t believe I didn’t notice her earlier.”
Eric looked in that direction and saw the blonde entering the foyer. The Webber’s maid had just let her in the double glass front doors. No escort. Just her and that slinky black dress.
She turned in his direction and his jaw dropped. That face. Those lips. That tiny beauty mark near her mouth. Those legs. He knew her….
Impossible.
He blinked. Took a deep shuddering breath. Exhaled slowly.
Chuck muttered an oath. “Sorry, man, I hope that isn’t your wife or anything.”
“What?” Eric barely glanced at the bartender before his gaze drew helplessly back to the woman. “No, I, um, I don’t know her.”
“In that case, I’d go introduce myself if I were you, dude.” Chuck grabbed a crystal flute and poured some champagne. “Here. Take this to her.”
Eric didn’t move. He just stared. Blinked hard. Stared again. In total shock. The woman’s resemblance to the mannequin he’d seen three days ago was remarkable. The hair on the back of his neck went straight up as he watched her enter the living room and take Mrs. Webber’s extended hand.
“I need a scotch,” he said to Chuck, his eyes never leaving the woman.
“Hey, dude, you okay?”
No, he wasn’t okay. He was friggin’ hallucinating. He finished his cognac and set it aside as he waited for Chuck to pour the scotch, and then he downed it in one gulp.
Tom.
Eric peered toward the marble fireplace where he’d last seen his friend. Where the hell was he? Tom had seen her in the window the other night, too. He could prove Eric wasn’t going crazy.
Eric left the empty glass on the bar and moved toward the fireplace area while trying to keep the blonde in his sights. Wasn’t hard. Everyone else seemed to be eyeing her, too. Of course, all the other guests knew each other. But it wasn’t just that she was an outsider. She was stunning.
He spotted Tom, but before he could get to him, the blonde and Mrs. Webber approached him and his wife. Tom and Serena shook hands with the blonde. Not a trace of recognition on Tom’s face.
Eric took a step back. Obviously he’d been working too hard lately. He was losing it. He needed to sit down. Have another drink. Better yet, go home.
“Hey, Eric. Come here.” Tom motioned him toward them. “I’d like you to meet someone.”
The blonde smiled. Her teeth were dazzlingly white and perfect. So was her skin. Flawless. Golden and creamy. And her honey-colored hair…the way the light from the chandelier touched it, lighting it with shimmering highlights, was a work of art.
A tiny half-moon-shaped scar near her jawline surprised him. Nothing bad or ugly but certainly unnecessary. A cosmetic surgeon could probably eliminate the imperfection with a thirty-minute office visit.
Too late to retreat gracefully, Eric moved forward and forced a smile.
Mrs. Webber leaned over and straightened his tie. “Don’t leave too soon, okay? I have a very special dessert planned,” she said with a twinkle in her eyes before drifting across the room.
“This is Eric Harmon,” Tom said to the woman. “And Eric, this is Dallas.”
She smiled and extended her hand. Eric’s palm was so clammy, he was embarrassed to touch her. He took her fingers and brought her hand to his lips, pressing a light kiss to the back, which earned a choked snicker out of Tom.
“A pleasure meeting you,” Eric said and released her hand as quickly as he could without seeming rude.
She blinked, surprise flickering across her face. “The pleasure is mine,” she whispered, her voice soft and breathy and matching her perfectly.
The heady scent of roses and mystery swarmed his senses and he actually felt weak in the knees. His lips tingled from the silky warmth of her skin.
Too much scotch. That’s all.
He caught the tail end of the amused look Tom and Serena had exchanged and he cleared his throat. “Tom, could I speak with you for a moment in private?”
Tom hesitated. Long enough for their boss, Morgan Webber, to call for Tom and motion for him across the room.
“Sorry, pal,” Tom said, looking anything but as he hurried across the room toward Webber, Serena in tow.
Eric took a deep breath and turned back to Dallas. Her long, delicate fingers absently stroked the gold chain she wore around her neck. It held a small ruby heart that followed the deep V of her dress and rested in the tantalizing valley between her breasts.
He tried his damnedest not to stare. Forced his gaze up to the slender column of her neck, to her lush peach-tinted lips, the cute upward tilt of her nose and then to dive headfirst into eyes so sexy and blue, he thought he might have to loosen his collar to breathe.
He cleared his throat. “It’s nice to see a new face at one of these parties. They get pretty stale after a while.” He stopped, swore under his breath. “Tell me you aren’t the Webbers’ niece.”
She smiled and shook her head.
“Or in any way related.”
This time she laughed, the simple innocent sound seductive as hell.