One Blazing Night (11 page)

The limo pulled up in front of Sam's building, and the chauffeur started to get out of the car. “Bill, I'll just get out, but I think my friend would like it if you opened the door for her.”

His chauffeur nodded respectfully. “Sure thing, Mr. Wilkinson.”

The path to the doorway looked very different at night. He knew the lights were all about security, but they were artfully placed. When he rang the bell, he took a couple of steps back, wanting to get the full impression of Sam all dressed up.

He was unprepared.

She looked like a 1940s movie star, her red hair parted on one side, cascading in lush curls past her shoulder. The dress was something else. Pure white and covered with crystals or sequins on top but with a slit down the center that showcased her perfect pale skin and just a hint of the breasts he knew very well.

The bottom was all silky and sheer, really sheer. He could see her thighs, those fantastic legs, but the whole package was elegant as hell.

“You're a showstopper,” he said, trying hard not to just let his jaw drop and stare. “You look so beautiful.”

She turned around, and the back view was just as arresting. When she faced him again, it was with her familiar blush. “You think I'll fit in?”

“No way,” he said, moving in to steal a kiss. “You'll be the most stunning woman in the room.”

“Right,” she said. “I'm a lot of things, but the belle of the ball isn't one of them.”

He pulled her close. “You are to me,” he said, then kissed her fresh pink lips.

When she pulled back, he was reluctant to let go. “You know we don't have to go to the gala. We could just go back to the apartment. Let me find out how to take off this sensational dress.”

“Are you kidding? Do you have any idea what it took to get me looking like this? We're going.”

He laughed, but part of him had been serious.

Escorting her to the car meant walking slowly. The pavers weren't all that even and she was in heels. Bill opened the door and held it for her as if she were royalty.

“This is quite fancy,” she said when they were both seated and on their way. “Champagne?”

“Would you like some?”

“Sure.”

He uncorked the bottle, and she asked, “Tell me more about the fund-raiser. I know it's for the Boston Children's Hospital, and I'm very impressed with that, but why did you guys choose it?”

“My great-grandfather was born with a heart problem. They fixed him up, and from that time on, the family has hosted a fund-raising gala. Most of Boston's elite will be there. We'll see a few politicians, some lobbyists, lots of rich people.” He poured her a glass and waited until she took a sip before he poured his own.

“That's very cool. I didn't know it had a personal connection.” She used her free hand to pull up a tiny silver purse. From it, she took out a check. “I want to make a donation, but usually my accountant handles that. So, is there, like, a donation jar at the party or something?”

He nearly spilled his drink as a laugh burst out of him. “Nope, no jar. But how about I take care of it for you?”

“That's fine,” she said, handing it to him.

He nearly spilled his drink again when he saw the check was drawn for half a million dollars. “Sam. This is a hell of a donation. Are you—”

“Of course I'm sure. It's a great hospital. They do wonderful things.”

“You'll make my mother's night.”

“Okay. Remember, you promised to stick with me. Especially when we're meeting your family.”

“I promised, and I will. It's so boring doing all the expected schmoozing, but with you there? Well, let's just say this promises to be the best gala I've ever attended.”

Sam smiled and downed her champagne in one big gulp.

11

I
T
TOOK
S
AM
a while to get over Matt's reaction to seeing her at the lab. The security lighting had made it very easy to see his eyes, and she truly believed he was telling her the truth. That to him, she was beautiful.

Her appearance hadn't been something she'd ever paid much attention to. Too many other things interested her. But like most little girls, she'd read fairy tales, and besides Matt, she'd had a couple of other crushes on guys—mostly movie stars—so nights like this were stored in her hard drive, but they weren't anything
real
.

Of course, he looked like a dream in his tuxedo. He would have looked at home on any magazine cover. All that handsome in one place. It was no surprise that people stared at him. He was better-looking than anyone else she had ever seen, and he was a Wilkinson, after all. And she knew he was the company's senior counsel, but she had no idea what it meant to be part of a dynasty.

The gala was in the main ballroom, and it was like walking into another world. Sam wasn't a total rube. Before she'd started sending checks to worthy causes, she'd been to a few fund-raisers, but nothing on this scale. This was extravagant squared. The orchestra was very large, larger than most ballrooms could accommodate. Above the musicians hung a large-screen monitor playing a continuous slide show of hospital promo pics. All around them were round tables, with fall-themed centerpieces. There were the ubiquitous white-jacketed waiters and waitresses carrying trays of champagne, but there were also strategically placed cocktail stations. Made sense if your goal was to raise money. Get 'em wasted and go for the big bucks.

They hadn't made it very far into the room when the first couple approached them. The man was older than the woman by at least one wife, and he looked Sam over as if she were a brand-new car.

“Matthew,” the man said, holding out his hand. “Good to see you. We only seem to connect at these parties, don't we?”

Matt was very cordial. Introduced her with her full name. The husband, Culver Gordon, didn't offer Sam his hand. “I'm a lobbyist,” he said. “American Hospital Association.”

“I didn't realize hospitals had lobbyists.”

The wife, Georgia, added, with a slight eyeroll, “Everything's got lobbyists.”

“I suppose so.”

“Sam's in computers,” Matt said, which was accurate.

“Oh, I just got one of those Apple Watches,” Georgia said, “but I can't seem to do anything but tell the time on it.”

Sam smiled. “I know. I swear you need an advanced degree to figure them out.”

Georgia smiled and nodded.

“I hope you two have a wonderful evening,” Matt said. “We'd stay and talk, but I haven't even said hello to the folks yet.” His arm hadn't left its place around her shoulders, and Sam beamed inwardly at the thought.

They continued on their way through the room, being stopped every few paces. It was ridiculous how many people Matt knew. It had literally taken them ten minutes to make it a few feet. He knew most of the guests, at least by name, but had to be reminded of one couple's last name in order to introduce Sam.

She could see it had embarrassed him, so when the same look flickered on his face the next time, Sam took control of the situation. “Hi, I'm Sam O'Connel,” she said, extending her hand to the woman.

“Toni Baxter. This is my husband, Alan.”

When they were done making small talk, Matt squeezed her close. “What happened to that socially challenged girl I used to know? That was a slick move. How'd you know I couldn't remember her name?”

“You have a tell, Mr. Wilkinson,” she whispered close to his ear. “I would advise you to stay away from poker tables.”

He brushed her earlobe with his lips. “Great save. You really have come a long way.”

“Okay, but you can't do that anymore.”

Matt smiled. He didn't ask what she meant. The shiver must've been her tell.

As they moved on, she thought about what Matt had said. Jumping in as she had was not her way. Maybe Matt was right and she had changed a lot since college. Or maybe she was simply willing to do just about anything for Matt. The thought unnerved her.

Finally, they got close enough to get champagne, but also for Matt to point out his parents. Mr. Wilkinson was a good-looking-enough man—tall and lean, with perfectly trimmed silver hair. But Matt's mother was beautiful. She wore an elegant lavender gown and her dark hair was cut into a flattering bob. What Sam noticed most about her was her smile, which was easy and gracious.

Matt's sister was there, too, sheathed in a long red gown with her dark hair swept up. Not surprisingly, she was stunning, also.

Sam watched his family members moving through the crowd as easily as she wandered through a Best Buy, making nice with everyone.

“Those are my uncles, Frank and Peter.” Matt pointed out two older men who were standing apart from the big crowd. They were having a private conversation and looked very serious.

“Your father's brothers?”

“Yep. They're also board members. I need a real drink—how about you?”

“I could do with a martini. I should also have an elegant cigarette holder and a lady pistol in my purse.”

Matt winked at her. “You make a wicked-good dame.”

Sam laughed as they headed for the nearest cocktail station. “You don't even talk like a real Bostonian. But you fake it well.”

“Drummed out of me before it had a chance to take hold. Speaking of taking hold—incoming.”

It was his parents. They were headed their way when someone who had a microphone announced that dinner would be served.

Sam's heart raced at the prospect of meeting Matt's parents. There was no reason to be so nervous, but she was.

“Samantha O'Connel,” Matt said, his hand an anchor on the small of her back. “May I introduce Charles and Bette Wilkinson, my parents.”

Sam nodded. “Very nice to meet you.”

They both smiled. “And you, as well,” his mother said. “Tell me, Samantha, are you from Boston, or just here for the gala?”

“I live here,” Sam said, sliding a glance at Matt, who was smiling at her. “I went to school with Matt and I've always wanted to tell you what a remarkable son you raised.” She focused on his mother when she felt him shift beside her. He probably wanted her to shut up. Too bad. “Matt helped me a great deal when I was at MIT. I was very young and he became my protector and friend. I don't know what I would have done without him.”

His mother frowned slightly. “All right, yes. I remember him speaking about you,” Bette said. “He mentioned you were a prodigy.”

“Yeah, that was me. The designation gets taken away as soon as you reach eighteen.”

“Culver Gordon tells me that you've made quite a name for yourself.” Matt's dad looked straight into her eyes. “He spoke very highly of your company. I'll have to look it up on the exchange.”

“SOC is privately owned, but thanks.”

“Dad, you're about to be called up to the dais,” Matt said. “We'll catch up with you later, okay?”

“I look forward to it,” Bette said. Her husband simply smiled and headed toward the orchestra area.

“You weirdo,” Matt whispered. “You didn't have to say that to my folks.”

“Yes, I did. They should know how terrific you are.” She blushed when his arm tightened around her shoulders. “But I guess they already do.”

Matt just kept smiling at her.

“What?”

“Have I told you how beautiful you look?” he whispered, his warm breath tickling her ear.

“About a thousand times. You should've warned me to bring a calculator and a bigger purse,” she grumbled but couldn't stop smiling herself.

He laughed, and he might've kissed her hair—she wasn't sure—as he steered them toward the tables.

They found their assigned seats—Matt explained that the Wilkinsons were purposely spread out—and ordered drinks, and then the lights went down before they even had a chance to meet their tablemates.

Charles began his speech. It was more casual than Sam had expected but very earnest. He spoke of the family tradition, why they raised funds for the hospital—all the things she had expected.

When the lights came back on, the servers descended on the tables, and after they had received their first course—a Boston Bibb salad sprinkled with truffles—Matt started in on the introductions.

Among the others seated at their table were a distant cousin of Matt's and his wife and a woman named Kelly Sutter, who'd recently snagged a major security contract with the state. She recognized Sam from a presentation she'd done at a security conference earlier in the year.

Sam was used to being recognized at places like Comic-Con or the Consumer Electronics Show, but at a fund-raiser for a hospital? It was flattering and a little nerve-racking.

Kelly wanted to know more about Sam's inventions, and Sam answered her questions as the servers came around with their second course: bisque and lobster rolls. Talking to Kelly was easy; this was Sam's wheelhouse, and she was feeling surprisingly relaxed. But then Matt's cousin, who had seemed exceedingly bored by the conversation, said, “Matthew, isn't Sam too smart for you? I thought models and movie stars were more your speed.”

“Actually,” Sam said, putting down her fork and leaning forward, “Matthew and I met at MIT. He was Phi Beta Kappa. And when he went to Harvard Law, he was made editor of the
Law Review
when he was just a second-year—”

Matt put a hand on her thigh and whispered, “It's okay.”

She smiled, holding back the rest of her objections to the guy's so-called joke. “I'm sorry. I suppose you already know all that. I just get carried away sometimes.”

At least Rude Cousin looked a bit chastened. Across the table, Aaron something-or-other turned to his wife and said, “How come you never jump to my defense like that?” Everyone at the table laughed—except Rude Cousin—and Matt found her hand and gave it a squeeze.

Once dinner and the speeches were over, everyone went back to mingling, much as before. Matt was always within arm's reach. One of Matt's uncles was suddenly in front of Matt, looking at him with those serious eyes. He introduced himself, then asked Sam if he could steal Matt away for a moment.

“Are you sure we can't do this later?” Matt asked, his voice laced with that firm edge that had taken Sam by surprise when he'd been on the phone a few days earlier.

Uncle Frank shook his head. “It won't take long, I promise.”

Matt turned to Sam. “I'm so sorry. I won't be gone longer than five minutes. Will you be all right?”

“Of course. Go. I'll just wait for the champagne to come by.”

He kissed her briefly on the lips. “Five minutes.”

Which gave her just enough time to scope out Vanessa, Matt's ex-wife. A wave of tension went through Sam as she watched Vanessa work the room. The woman was stunning. She was far more beautiful than anyone else in the room, her dress hugging her curves perfectly. Then Vanessa caught sight of Sam, and from the snooty once-over she gave her, it seemed she was aware that Sam was Matt's date.

It was easy to see that Vanessa didn't understand what Matt was doing with Sam, but that just made Sam stand taller and move closer to Matt when he returned to her side. Screw the ex.

Matt introduced Sam to his uncle Peter and Simon, another board member, and they were all standing around, sipping their drinks and making idle chitchat, when a man walked up to them.

“Excuse me, but are you Samantha O'Connel, the inventor?” he asked.

The other three people in their group stopped talking and stared, not at Sam but at the man speaking.

“That's me, yes,” she said.

He held out his hand. “I'm Greg Hayes, CEO of Untied Technologies. My employees who attended the June security conference had a great many positive things to say about you. In fact, we placed a sizable order with your company, and so far, we've been very pleased. You're very, very clever, Ms. O'Connel. I'm just sorry you own your own company, or I'd steal you away. Maybe next year I'll attend the conference and come to hear your presentation.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I remember Walter and Toby.” Because they were techies like her. “They were great. But if I were you, I wouldn't bother coming to my presentation. To be honest, you probably wouldn't understand most of it.” Oh, God.

Why hadn't she just stopped when she was ahead? But then Greg Hayes laughed. Pretty damn loud and hard. So did the rest of the group, including Matt and the members of the board. She breathed a sigh of relief.

“You're probably right,” he said. “But I have a feeling it would be worth it just to see you in action.”

“Well, then, good. We'll meet again.”

“Could you excuse us for a moment?” Matt said, taking her hand. “I'm being summoned.”

Their getaway was swift and filled with purpose. Matt led her straight past his folks to an alcove near the orchestra and the kitchen.

“I shouldn't have said what I did to Greg,” Sam said, burying her face in her hands. “His company is in the Fortune 500.”

“Come on—you were great. I didn't bring you here because I was angry. I just wanted to do this.” His hands, so large and strong, skimmed under her hair to the nape of her neck as his thumbs caressed her face. A second later his mouth was on hers. He kissed her hard, passionately, possessively.

It made her knees weak. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he put one hand on the small of her back and pulled her in tighter. They kissed as if there were no party around them, no orchestra. As if it were just the two of them.

Inevitably, a waitress interrupted their private moment. She clearly hadn't expected them, and they were just lucky she wasn't carrying a full tray as she nearly crashed into them. They stepped out of the alcove, and Matt leaned down so he could whisper “Come dance with me” in her ear.