Dakota’s dress was artfully draped in the front and the skirt swirled away from the empire waist and showed off her legs in her Manolo Blahnik pumps, a gift from Billie, who’d gotten them free after a runway show. Billie had to laugh at the way Nick was looking at his wife. They needed to be leaving the house right now or Nick would talk Dakota right back up the stairs to the bedroom and no one would see the couple for the rest of the weekend. She decided she had to break the spell or miss the chance to meet her real-estate idol.
“You two are just gorgeous. I love that dress, Dakota, and Nick, your tux is slammin’. Let’s go so we can pay our respects and leave early,” she said hurriedly.
Dakota knew better than that, however. “You want to meet Jason Wainwright, don’t you? Just watch yourself around him—he’s supposed to be a big player. Real big,” she added as she inspected Billie’s outfit. “You can ask Toni about him. She’s going to be there tonight, so you can get the scoop from her.” Toni was Dakota’s close friend and just happened to be the lifestyle editor of the paper for which Dakota worked. She knew just about everyone in Chicago, but Billie didn’t care.
“I’m a big girl,” Billie said mildly. “I know how to handle myself with some ol’ wannabe Casanova. Besides, I’m interested in him for strictly business reasons. He’s not even my type,” she said with a sniff.
Dakota made a comical face to keep from laughing. “You’re right, you’re absolutely right, you are good and grown. But from what I’ve heard, Mr. Wainwright is any woman’s type. Very potent, from what I understand.” She paused as her husband held out the arms of her evening coat.
Billie slipped into her own faux-fur coat that Nick held for her while Dakota continued talking.
“All I’m saying is that you’re so gorgeous you’re going to knock his eyes out of his head. You’re the type he goes for, hot and sexy. Just don’t be surprised when he puts the moves on you,” Dakota said.
Billie made a sound of disagreement. “Stop being so overprotective! I’ll bet you that Louis Vuitton bag you’ve been eyeballing that you are one hundred percent wrong about this,” she told her sister. “Nick, you’re my witness, okay? I say he’s going to be strictly business, and if I’m wrong Dakota gets my bag, which I haven’t even used yet.”
Nick chuckled and shook his head. “You’re on your own, little sister. My name is Bennett and I ain’t in it,” he said in his Georgia drawl. He went out the front door first so he could help them both across the threshold. Giving them each an arm to hold onto, he looked down at them with a smile. “But I’m on Dakota’s side on this one. Watch yourself around this guy because he eats up pretty girls like candy. Or he tries to. Be careful. That’s all we’re saying.”
Billie just shook her head. As much as she appreciated their caring advice, she was positive it was totally unnecessary.
Jason Wainwright was standing at the top of the suspended staircase, which was the centerpiece of the atrium in the lobby area. He had greeted so many guests and accepted so many kudos and good wishes that his throat was getting dry. He took a flute of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter and sipped it while he watched the throng of fashionably clad partygoers on the main floor. He hated to admit it, but he was getting a little bored with his own party. He was hosting this gala event to show off his new office building on Lakeshore Drive and it was a smashing success. His new building, all black marble and glass, was beautiful and the perfect place from which to conduct the real-estate business that had made him a millionaire several times over.
All the right people were there, the food was perfect, the music was perfect and the Moët was flowing. Even his date was perfect. Her name was Patrice and she was very pretty. She was an actress/model/singer or dancer; he couldn’t keep up with all her aspirations. She had everything he required in a companion; she was gorgeous with a nice personality and no inhibitions. Since he never spent more than a month with any woman, he had no interest in the more intricate aspects of their personas. As long as she looked good on his arm, she could be flavor of the month and get his signature kiss-off gift, a Tiffany necklace. It was what it was and there was no use in trippin’ over it.
He was deep in thought when his younger brother Todd joined him. The resemblance was there, but they were far from identical in appearance. Both were tall, although Jason, at six-four, was the taller of the two. They were both muscular, but Jason was slimmer than Todd. His cheekbones stood out in sharp relief and he had a more sculpted appearance. They shared a deep-brown skin color, but Jason’s eyes were the tawny color of sherry while Todd’s were dark brown. Todd was clean-shaven and Jason wore a mustache and goatee with his close-cropped hair, a marked contrast to Todd’s long locks. What they shared more than anything was the ability to read each other’s thoughts. It bordered on clairvoyance and it excluded everyone else in their family. It was like a connection between the two brothers. At the moment Jason wouldn’t have minded severing that connection.
“You look like you’re at a funeral, Slappy,” Todd said, using the childhood nickname that they often called each other. “You got all of Chicago to turn out on the coldest night of the year and you look like you just lost your last million,” he said with a wicked grin. He scanned the crowd to see what was causing his brother to look so disenchanted with his own party. When his eyes fell on Patrice, he understood everything.
“I gotcha. You’re getting ready to bounce Patrice and it’s bothering you,” he said.
Jason drained the last of the champagne and looked around for a waiter to get rid of the flute. “You’re half right, half-wit. It is about time for Patrice and I to go our separate ways, but it’s not bothering me, as you so eloquently put it. It’s not bothering me at all,” he said.
Todd raised an eyebrow. “That’s what’s got you so upset, Slappy. You’re getting tired of tossing away perfectly nice women, but you don’t know how to stop,” he said wisely. “You have no reason to dump her, but you’re gonna do it, anyway. You need help, bro.”
Jason didn’t even bother to roll his eyes at his brother. “Drop the psychobabble, would you? If I wanted to hear that crap I’d start watching talk shows. Talk about something you know for a change.”
Todd didn’t hear the edge in his voice because he was looking at some people who’d just arrived. “Isn’t that Nick Hunter? Didn’t you say he just got married? Dang, his wife is fine,” he said reverently.
Jason glanced in Nick’s direction and he had to agree. Nick was hard to miss, even in a crowd, because of his towering height. Tonight he was impossible to ignore because of the woman next to him. Todd was right, she was a beauty. He’d heard a lot about the prizewinning journalist Dakota Phillips and he was looking forward to meeting her. But his eyes were drawn to the woman on Nick’s other side. Her head was turned away from Jason, but even from a side view she was a treat for the eye. He was wondering if Nick had a sister he’d never mentioned when she turned so that she was full-face to the two men. A flash of recognition raced through Jason, and Todd took a deep breath.
“Man, that’s Wilhelmina! You didn’t tell me she was coming tonight! Damn, she looks even better in person than she does in pictures.”
Jason tried to act nonchalant, but he had to agree with Todd. The woman was beyond fine and he’d seen her in magazines, on magazine covers, in commercials and in a couple of movies. Suddenly there was no place he wanted to be more than where he was right now. He gave Todd his usual cocky smile and said,