A Risky Affair (15 page)

Dane groaned in protest as she bolted upright, then launched herself from the bed. “I have to go! Mr. Thorne will be expecting me there when he gets back!”

Dane sat up slowly, propped his weight on his elbows and watched in amusement as she scrambled around the room, gathering her discarded articles of clothing.

“We've got this incredible room for one whole night,” he reminded her. “We could have an early dinner, take a romantic stroll along the Riverwalk, then come back here and have each other for dessert. What do you say, Angel Eyes?”

Solange whirled around so fast her breasts bounced enticingly. The look she leveled at him would have shamed a lesser man. “This isn't funny, Dane. I really have to go.”

Scowling, he fell back against the pillows and heaved a deep, resigned sigh. “All right.”

After another prolonged moment, he swung his long legs over the side of the bed and stood. “I'll walk you back to your car. But don't blame me when you're tucking your sweet little grandchildren into bed one day, and they look up at you with wide, innocent eyes and ask you why you never took the time to see the Riverwalk lit up at Christmastime like a Norman Rockwell painting.”

In the middle of tugging on her rumpled skirt, Solange stopped and burst out laughing.

I
t was three o'clock by the time Solange returned to the ranch—nearly eight hours after she'd left that morning for the meeting. As she crept into the silent house, she felt like a wayward teenager sneaking in past her curfew, something she'd done often enough while growing up.

“Oh, you're back. How was lunch?”

Solange whirled around, heart in throat, to find Rita standing in the wide entryway leading from the kitchen. Her smile was warm and inquisitive.

Solange swallowed hard. “Um, hi, Ms. Rita. Lunch was good.”

“Where did you eat?”

“Boudro's.”

“Really? I've never been there before, but I've heard it's a wonderful restaurant.”

“It is. You should definitely go sometime.” Solange fidgeted nervously. “Is…Has Mr. Thorne returned yet?”

“No, dear.” Rita gave her a small, knowing smile. “You beat him back.”

Solange tried not to let her relief show. “I, ah, didn't mean to be gone so long.”

“That's all right, baby,” Rita said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “All you would've been doing around here is hanging out with me and watching soaps. I'm sure you had a much better time with Dane.”

You can't even begin to imagine.
“H-he's a very nice man,” Solange stammered, her face heating at the memory of his fierce, possessive lovemaking. Her nipples still stung from his hungry mouth, and her thighs still ached and burned from the force of his deep, powerful strokes. Just thinking about the way he'd taken her in that hotel room made her feel hot and flushed all over.

“What happened to your shirt, baby?”

Solange glanced down quickly and remembered, too late, that Dane had popped three of her buttons in his haste to undress her. Afterward, she'd been in such a hurry to leave that she'd completely forgotten to fasten her jacket to hide the missing buttons on the silk blouse.

Lifting her head, she stared in stricken silence at Rita, whose dark eyes twinkled with suppressed mirth.

“I brought you something,” Solange blurted, thrusting the bag of gourmet fudge at the older woman.

Rita looked pleasantly surprised. “You brought something for me? What is it?”

“Belgian fudge. I remembered you saying how much you like chocolate.”

“Oh, that was awfully kind of you, baby,” Rita said, stepping forward to accept the gift. “But you really shouldn't have. I'm too old to be indulging in sweets. Besides, you don't have to bribe me.” She winked conspiratorially. “Your secret's safe with me.”

And while Solange stood there blushing to the roots of her scalp, Rita turned and shuffled back into the kitchen, chuckling as she went.

Thirty minutes later, Solange had just emerged from the shower when her cell phone rang. Wrapping a thick terry-cloth towel around her body and wringing out her wet, freshly shampooed hair, she padded to the counter where she'd plunked down her purse earlier, and dug around for her phone.

She hoped it wasn't Lamar again. He had already called her twice since their last conversation, but she hadn't gotten around to returning his messages. Not because she wanted to spite or punish him; she simply wasn't ready to deal with another marriage proposal. Especially in light of what had just happened between her and Dane.

Locating her phone, she glanced at the unfamiliar number displayed on the screen before pressing the talk button. “Hello?”

“Hey, you,” Dane greeted her, the low, husky timbre of his voice pouring heat into her ear.

She felt an answering tingle in the pit of her stomach. “Hi,” she said shyly.

“Hi, yourself. I just wanted to make sure you got back safely.”

“I did. Thank you for leading me out to I-35. I probably would have gotten lost if you hadn't shown me the way.”

“No problem. Was the old man there when you arrived?”

“No, thank goodness.”

“Mmm. So that means I could have enjoyed you a little longer.”

Oh, God.
Solange sank weakly onto the stool in front of the vanity mirror. A fine sheen of perspiration broke out across her skin. She didn't know whether it was caused by the steam from the shower or her elevated body temperature.

“When can I see you again?” Dane asked huskily.

“I don't know.” She caught her lower lip between her teeth. “Dane—”

“Don't say it was a mistake,” he growled in soft warning. “You know damned well what we shared this afternoon was anything but a mistake.”

She closed her eyes, her heart drumming wildly. He was wrong. Of course they'd made a mistake. But, God help her, she couldn't remember another time in her life when making a mistake had felt so good…so perfect.

Eve probably told herself the same thing as she bit into the forbidden fruit.

“You don't belong with him,” Dane said in a low voice.

Snapping back to attention, Solange said, “With who?” and immediately wanted to kick herself when Dane chuckled softly.

“My point exactly. You've already forgotten his name.”

“I have not! I just…I mean…You and me—” She broke off helplessly. He had her so flustered she didn't know her up from down.

“You and me,” Dane murmured. “Mmm. I like the sound of that.”

The velvety purr of his deep voice had erotic images stealing through her mind. “I have to go,” she said weakly.

“You haven't answered my question.”

“Which one?”

“When can I see you again?”

She groaned. “I don't know. Really, I don't. It could be a while. Like I said before, I'm going to be pretty busy.”

“All work and no play…”

She laughed. “I know, I know.”

“Seriously, though.” Dane's voice softened. “I had a great time this afternoon, and I'm not just talking about what happened in the hotel room. I really enjoyed spending time with you, Solange. I can't remember the last time I laughed so much.”

She warmed with pleasure, cradling the phone to her ear. “I feel the same way,” she admitted. And she did, which scared the hell out of her. Developing feelings for Dane Roarke was not only foolish; it was downright dangerous.

Yet there she was, dancing closer and closer to the seductive flames.

“It's so quiet there,” Dane murmured. “Where are you, and what are you doing?”

“I'm in the bathroom,” she said, rubbing droplets of water from her arm. “I just got out of the shower.”

He made a low, rumbling sound that bordered on a groan. “Don't tease me, woman.”

“You asked.”

“I know. Next time we're taking a shower together.”

Instantly her body grew hot and weak, so sensitive that the mere brush of the towel across her skin aroused her. She didn't even bother challenging his assumption that there would be a next time.

She already knew there would.

“I—I should go,” she said abruptly. “Mr. Thorne will probably want to be debriefed on the senator's speech when he gets home.”

“All right,” Dane said grudgingly. After another moment, he said, “Are you sure I can't talk you into meeting me back at the hotel tonight? You could sneak out when everyone's asleep—”

Solange gave a shaky little laugh. “Nice try. Goodbye, Dane.”

No sooner had she hung up the phone than a firm knock sounded on her bedroom door. She quickly rewrapped the towel around her body and hurried out of the bathroom.

“Yes?” she called through the closed door.

“It's me, Solange,” Rita answered. “Crandall has returned and would like to see you in his study.”

Uh-oh.
Solange swallowed as a knot of apprehension fisted in her stomach. Did he know how long she'd been gone that day? Would he take one look at her and figure out what she'd spent the afternoon doing, and with whom?

Would he decide he'd made a mistake by hiring her?

There's only one way to find out.
“Please tell Mr. Thorne I'll be there in a few minutes,” she said weakly.

Crandall didn't like to be kept waiting.

Others attributed his impatience to an entitlement complex he'd developed because he was a multimillionaire, but Crandall knew better. He'd been this way for as long as he could recall. He remembered being angry as a child when he had to wait too long for dinner, because his mother was off tending to the uppity white family whose house she cleaned and maintained six days a week. And he remembered the seething irritation he'd felt in college when one of his professors had been habitually late to class.

When Crandall began practicing law, he'd made a point of always being on time, whether it was to a meeting with a client or to a court hearing. And when he became successful and wealthy enough to call the shots, he'd vowed never to accept tardiness from any of his employees.

It had been fifteen minutes since he'd sent Rita to fetch Solange.

Where the hell was she?

Just as he rose from his chair to go in search of his wayward granddaughter, the phone on his desk rang. He snatched it up and barked impatiently, “Thorne speaking.”

“Well, hello to you too, Crandall,” said a coolly amused voice.

His pulse quickened. His hand tightened on the receiver, gripping it as if it were a lifeline. “Good afternoon, Tessa,” he said, striving for a calm, measured voice. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”

She hesitated. “I wanted to know if you've learned any more about Solange Washington.”

“Not since the last time we spoke,” Crandall lied, without an ounce of guilt. “I told you I would keep you informed of any new developments in the investigation.”

“I know. I…I just thought I'd call and make sure.” There was another pregnant pause, then Tessa blurted, “I want to meet her, Crandall.”

He fell silent for a prolonged moment, then said, “I don't think that's such a good idea,” though inwardly he was rejoicing. His plan was working!

“Maybe it's not a good idea,” Tessa agreed, “but it's what I want.”

“It's too risky. What if she takes one look at you and realizes she's seeing a future version of herself? And besides, I thought we decided to wait until my private investigator confirmed her identity before you'd be introduced to her.”

“We did, but I've changed my mind. Are you going to allow me to meet her or not, Crandall?”

Instead of answering, he paced to the French doors that overlooked a small courtyard. The stucco walls were covered with a network of brown vines and the black wrought-iron table and chairs were covered with a light film of dust. During the warmer months, he and his son liked to sit outside and play chess, but since getting married, Caleb hadn't had time to visit the ranch as often as he used to.

“Crandall?” Tessa gently prompted.

He heaved a sigh. “What about your husband? If I arrange a meeting between you and Solange, how would you keep it from Hoyt?”

“He's not here. He left this morning for a political convention in Boston. He won't be back until Wednesday.”

“How convenient for you,” Crandall drawled sardonically. “So while the cat is away, the mouse intends to play.
Tsk, tsk,
Tessa.”

She made an impatient sound. “I don't need
you
to berate me for sneaking around behind my husband's back. God knows I feel guilty enough.”

“Yet you're willing to do it, anyway.”

“Yes.” Her tone softened, turned almost imploring. “I want to see my granddaughter, Crandall. You of all people should understand how important this is to me.”

He did. For as long as he'd known Tessa, she'd always wanted children. As high-school sweethearts they'd talked about getting married one day and having a brood of their own. The oldest of seven siblings, Tessa couldn't imagine a home that was devoid of the laughter, joy, bickering and running feet of children. When she married Hoyt Philbin, it was with the assumption that he shared her desire for a large family. But Hoyt had other plans. His promising political future took precedence over Tessa's need to become a mother. When she gave birth to Melanie, who was a little too dark-skinned for Hoyt's liking, he'd forced Tessa to give the baby up for adoption, promising her that they'd have other children when his political career was more established. But as the years wore on and he kept putting her off, Tessa began to realize he'd never wanted children in the first place. He'd used his career aspirations—and her own infidelity—as excuses for not keeping his promise to her. By the time some of his closest political advisors convinced him that having a large family would bolster his public image, it was too late. He and Tessa were unable to conceive, and adoption, as far as Hoyt was concerned, was out of the question.