Chance Meeting (41 page)

“Sorry, I didn’t catch what you were saying.” Steve grinned, his hand moving even more boldly. “Mind repeating that?”

She gave him a look that promised retribution. “I was saying that something about staying at the Plaza makes me feel like Eloise. Tempted to do really naughty things.” Then, with a sphinxlike smile, Ty lifted her leg, bringing her pointed foot up so that it nestled in Steve’s lap. It took all his skill, balance, and formidable control not to tumble into the tub right then and there. The witch, he thought happily. Where had she learned this kind of magic? The wet heat of her foot pressing against his erection, driving all rational thought from his mind.

“When’s the party?” he managed to ask as his hands tugged at the buttons on his shirt, his jacket already in a heap by the tub.

“Seven. But the best people are always late,” Ty added happily, her toes curling into him, testing.

“Thank goodness for that.” His torso was bare now, and he lifted her foot, dragging it up the hard blocks of his stomach, past the smooth contours of his chest, and up to his ravenous mouth. “So, this place makes you feel naughty?” Steve asked between prolonged nibbles and tastings of her damp pink toes.

“That’s certainly a four-star recommendation in my book.” This time Ty’s moan filled the steam-clouded bathroom. With the greatest reluctance he lowered Ty’s foot so he could unfasten his jeans, shedding them and his boots with truly impressive speed. As he stepped into the tub, she rose to meet him, meringue-shaped masses of bubbles clinging to her.

Urgently, Steve pulled Ty to him, needing her so much. “Time to get naughty.”

If tardiness went hand-in-hand with that enviable aura of exclusivity and chic, nobody rivaled Ty and Steve at the patron and exhibitor party for the National Horse Show that evening. They couldn’t have timed it better, actually. More than an hour late—from romping in the bathtub, sharing deliciously chilled champagne, and Ty needing time to repair her makeup and hair— their arrival was marked with the kind of excitement that was usually accompanied by a drum roll building to a dramatic crescendo. Cocktails were still being served; events such as that evening’s often dragged on interminably, and the people clustered in small groups were growing bored, their cocktail chitchat all used up, their eyes scanning the room restlessly, looking for a new source of interest, something to perk up their flagging attention. Then, suddenly, there was one.

Ty Stannard had arrived, looking so beautiful that people simply stared, arrested. She was dressed in a shimmering midnight-blue tulle-over-silk evening gown, the weightless tulle floating ethereally about her tall, slender body. Her shoulders were bare, skin flatteringly revealed. The color of creamy ivory, smooth and glowing with health, it called out to be touched. Her hair, artlessly styled into a high, twisted chignon, accentuated the delicate lines of her face, the clear gray of her eyes shone with energy and happiness. Standing beside her, Steve Sheppard looked as natural-in his severely cut dinner jacket as he did in the breeches, blue jeans, or worn leather chaps that most who knew Steve saw him habitually wearing. He possessed the kind of athletic build and classically structured face that made him look good in anything he wore, but this evening the women in the enormous ballroom who got close enough to him and Ty let out an involuntary sigh, wishing they could look like Ty Stannard. And wishing, too, that they could have a man like Steve Sheppard at their side. Especially once they recognized the special smile hovering on both Ty and Steve’s faces.

Steve and Ty paused on the threshold of the ballroom’s entrance, Steve having just handed Ty’s fulllength velvet cape to the coatroom attendant. “Now I understand why you sent me downstairs to ask for the Jaguar,” Steve was whispering out of the corner of his mouth, his voice pitched for her ears alone.

“It’s gonna be real hard to think about anything but getting you out of that frothy number.”

“This is not frothy,” Ty whispered back, her smile lifting a notch. “This is evening business attire. Formal, not frothy. Remember, we’ve got work to do tonight.”

“I haven’t forgotten. Business before pleasure. But the way you look right now, it’s impossible to resist contemplating how I’d like to mix the two. Or we could ditch this right now. Just say the word, Ty.” His knuckles brushed the almost transparent tulle.

“The word is
work,”
Ty said firmly, pressing her lips together. She loved his banter, how he made her feel desirable with such effortlessness. “Time to get to it, Steve. We’ve got everyone’s attention. You remember the people you’re going to concentrate on?”

“Yes, ma’am. And if I have any questions, I’ll come pick that awesome brain of yours,” Steve drawled, a bit peeved by Ty’s ability to focus on the decidedly less than thrilling task of spending the remainder of the evening talking up Southwind, when all
he
wanted to do was head straight back to the Plaza and have that thoroughly likable gentleman behind the reception desk send up another bottle of champagne to their suite. The pleasures to be found at the Plaza were definitely growing on him. It hadn’t been too terrible, Steve was forced to acknowledge two hours later. Luck had been on their side tonight. The first sign had been the major flub up in the kitchen that had delayed the dinner. While harried waiters carried out additional trays piled with canap?s and hors d’oeuvres to appease the hungry crowd, setting them down on the long, rectangular banquet tables at the far end of the ballroom, Steve and Ty used the extra time to mingle with potential clients and patrons for Southwind. Working separately, they went about their business. They chatted, horse talk cleverly mixed with nuggets of tantalizing information about Southwind— its facilities, the clinic Steve was holding, Steve’s winter show schedule, what stables he was planning on visiting for his buying trip, hinting that Europe, too, might be included later next spring. Ty and Steve had coached each other carefully. In the beginning, Steve was frankly astonished by the powerful aura Ty’s name carried. He hadn’t really believed Ty when she’d insisted it would make a difference if people knew she was backing him financially.

It was his first real glimpse of the power of big, big money. Throughout the evening, Steve was asked repeatedly to confirm the rumor floating about that Ty was Steve’s new business partner. Upon hearing his response, people became downright energized, looking at him with bright, eager expressions, firing off questions, saying they’d always intended to check out his place in Bridgehampton, that they’d be getting in touch with him directly after the National. After a few rounds, Steve learned just how long it was necessary to stay after detecting that sudden spark in the listeners’ eyes. He’d excuse himself, saying he hoped he’d be hearing from them in the near future, and move on, ready to tackle the next group. Yes, Steve thought happily. The evening, thanks to Ty, was going really well, his sense of optimism increasing with each contact he made. Even if only some of the people they talked to tonight came through, he and Ty might very well manage to get Southwind solidly in the black. A couple times Steve came real close to bungling it. But there, too, people had been unbelievably indulgent. It happened while he and Ty were still working the cocktail crowd. In the midst of a conversation, Steve caught sight of Ty across the room. That was all it took. His eyes upon her, and he was lost to the world, coming back only after receiving a discreet but nonetheless firm nudge to the ribs, and a prompting cough that pierced his desire-fogged brain. A second sign that luck was on their side this evening, for each time Steve suffered one of these spells, conscious only of his desire for Ty, he was in a group of men. The shared grins of understanding, the nudges, the hearty slaps on the back that followed, made for a true male-bonding experience.

Ty and he were placed at different tables. Naturally, Steve’s initial instinct was to try to switch cards with someone so that he could be near her. But, as it happened, Vicky Grodecki was seated next to him, and Steve was forced to shelve that particular idea. Ty would have given him hell if he’d ditched the
Times
reporter. Anyway, he liked Vicky. She knew her stuff and didn’t pepper him with idiotic comments the way many of her colleagues tended. They spent forty animated minutes talking about great riders and horses, about America’s chances in the upcoming Olympics. Steve realized that there were definitely worse people he could be stuck with while trying to chew his way through overcooked beef and undercooked vegetables.

But by the time the dessert of soggy angelfood cake appeared in front of everyone’s place, Steve felt he’d earned all the brownie points he needed for the coming week.

Throughout this evening, he and Ty had talked the talk. Now it would be up to him to walk the walk. He had to go out there tomorrow and all of the upcoming week and ride at the top of his form. And if it so happened that Macintosh and Gordo weren’t up to snuff, then Steve would have to use all his talent and skill to overcome that.

A few notes were launched into the air as the hired band found its way into a Gershwin tune. All around Steve, people were happily abandoning their desserts in favor of the dance floor, the women’s long dresses swishing against the polished wood. A sense of fierce anticipation surged inside him as he realized the business portion of the evening was over. A lot of time left for pleasuring Ty. Steve got up and made his way over to her table, where a strange man was speaking to her, leaning close, the sleeve of his evening jacket touching her forearm.

Steve decided on the spot that if the guy thought he was going to do business with Southwind, he could think again. This was as close as he’d ever get to Ty.

“Excuse me.” Steve could afford to be polite. Ty was his.

Ty stood, forcing the man to do so, too. “Steve,” Ty said simply. Not needing to say more. Steve’s smile spread, warming, in direct contrast to the other man’s increasingly hostile gaze.

“I thought you might like a dance before we leave,” Steve suggested, holding out his hand.

“That would be lovely,” Ty murmured, linking her arm with his, then turning to her dinner companion. “It was good to catch up with you, Edward. Best of luck with those stock options.”

Edward didn’t get a chance to reply, for Steve was already escorting Ty to the dance floor. “Want to tell me why I feel like I’ve got a knife sticking out between my shoulder blades?” Steve asked, easing her into his arms.

He moved easily over the floor, his steps graceful, as graceful as everything else he did. What a relief not to be subjected to some clunky, heavy-footed box-step. Ty loved dancing, but these days men seemed to believe it was perfectly acceptable to dance with a total lack of imagination and coordination. She’d seen people in checkout lines who moved with more vitality and awareness than some of her recent dance partners.

“So, who was that guy? He hasn’t stopped staring at us, by the way.”

“Probably not. My father tried to set me up with Edward a few years ago. Edward’s everything he’s looking for in a husband for me. Rich, ambitious, excellent family.”

Steve’s arms tightened fractionally, relaxing only when he felt her sink into him without hesitation. “Did you hit it off with this Edward?” His eyes watched hers carefully.

Ty laughed softly, shaking her head. “Not exactly. He’s simply one in a string of phenomenally boring men my father tried to foist on me. Though Edward certainly gets excited talking about mergers and acquisitions.”

Steve brushed a whisper of a kiss against her hair, inhaling the subtle trace of her perfume. “You know, I’ve been wondering about that. Mergers. How is it you’re not already married, with a passel of kids and three Ferraris in the garage? I’m assuming getting you hitched to the right man would have been high on your father’s todo list.”

Before Ty could respond, Steve saw an opening and took it, twirling her about in a perfectly executed turn. Ty gave him a smile of pure delight, and his left hand dropped, enjoying the sensation of her moving through layers of tulle and silk.

“Oh, Father had plans for several key mergers, as you call them. But I put a stop to it. One of my better moments, actually. Inspired.”

“Don’t keep me in suspense, sweetheart.” He was coming to love the light of mischief that entered those gray eyes.

“I informed him that if he kept shoving eligible men at me, I’d hold a press conference and announce that I was a lesbian. His face has only turned that particular shade of purple a couple of times that I know of.”

Steve gave a shout of laughter, Ty’s softer one joining in. Heads turned momentarily, then, recognizing the source, knowing smiles broke out, followed by handcovered whispers, hiding excited titters. Still laughing, Steve pulled Ty into a whirling spin, the lights above them blurring into gold-yellow streaks. As his feet slowed, Steve whispered in her ear, “You’re incredible, you know that?” Angling his head, his lips played sweetly over hers. “Brilliant.” From the corner of his eye, Steve saw Edward staring at them, his expression downright nasty, then Vicky Grodecki, saying something to her staff photographer. They, too, were watching Ty and Steve on the dance floor. “Feel like giving your father a new angle to worry about?”

“Would this be part of your plan to turn him into an enraged maniac?”

“Could be. If not, we can always use it as a Christmas card.” Steve locked his gaze with that of the photographer and inclined his head toward Ty. He seemed to divine Steve’s intent at once. Lifting his zoom lens, he caught Steve bending Ty over his arm, his lips capturing hers in a searing kiss. By the time the kiss ended, it wasn’t only the photographer who’d caught it. Around the dance floor, several people burst into spontaneous applause.

“You’re the hit of the evening, Ty.” The Gershwin tune had ended, but Ty and Steve continued dancing, Steve unwilling to let her go. The new song was slower; Steve held her close, their thighs brushing. She fit beautifully against him, her high heels bringing her even with his height. His body acknowledged the perfect fit, hardening, wanting an even tighter fit.
Soon,
he promised himself.
After this last dance.