The Gate (Dark Path Series) (2 page)

When the crowd applauded, she did also. He zoned in on her long, elegant fingers. Not a touch of paint on the nails. When she embraced Walsh, she stared at someone at the foot of the stage and her entire body relaxed. A smile transformed her face.

Who is she?
He tipped his chin up over the sea of heads, trying to locate the person who’d put the striking vision at ease. Even at his height, he couldn’t locate anyone. Before he could spot her again, she’d vanished from the stage.

“Who was the woman on stage with Walsh?” He scanned the room for her.

People swarmed around them. Alden shifted closer and snorted, his spittle spraying Max’s nape. “That’s Walsh’s daughter, Erin or Emmy something. She’s a major homebody. Also Daddy’s little princess. The dress she’s wearing looks like a prom dress, don’t you think? She has a pretty hot bod even with being bottom heavy. I bet most of the men here wouldn’t mind tapping that ass.”

He stepped away until there was a good foot between them. He didn’t want to hear about any man tapping her ass, least of all his assistant’s opinion about her or how she looked in her dress—which brought to mind weddings and the exchanging of vows. With a shudder, he looked at the stage again as if the virginal woman in white with the amazing pair of tits would appear again.

“Hey, M.L., still up for a shot or are you leaving?”

He checked his watch. Things at The Gate didn’t get exciting until after eleven. He had a few hours to kill until then. The anxious feeling left him, and something much like exhilaration, a buzz of energy he hadn’t experienced in months, overtook him, running up his legs and settling in his groin. He didn’t make any excuses for his sudden arousal or bother to hide his erection.

He slipped an arm around Alden’s waist. The man smiled, his eyes too bright. If he was so inclined, he could seduce him. But it wasn’t the time or the place for such things. He kept his professional and personal life separate—most of all that secret part of his life a select few knew about but never judged.

“Let’s have a shot together. Better yet, how about another beer? You can tell me more about Walsh, what you think his plans are for his company when he retires, and all you know about his daughter.” Giving his assistant’s back a light tap, he ushered him out of the room.

Chapter Two

The wall of the bathroom stall felt cool against her clammy forehead. Erika inhaled deeply, already benefiting from the inhaler puffs. She deserved a pat on the back for not having an attack on stage. It wasn’t until she hugged her father, who whispered how proud he was of her and of Chris, who’d made funny faces at her, that she could find a quiet place to restore her confidence. She’d exited the stage and rushed into the bathroom. Her panties were somewhat damp from an instant of fear leading to her releasing a drop of pee before she’d joined her father on stage. But she didn’t smell anything sour. Opening her purse, she grabbed a small canister and sprayed lavender body mist to cover the possible acid stench of her miniscule accident. Next time she went to a big event, she would remember to bring an extra pair of underwear just in case.

She brushed over her dress to get rid of the wrinkles and then boosted her bodice up. She frowned, noticing how hard her nipples were—another reaction due to nervousness. It wasn’t too conspicuous, or so she hoped. Maybe she should wait a few more minutes before she joined the world again.

She eyed her leg. The run in her stocking had traveled up to her knee. “Shit.”

She should have stuck with her biggest clothing splurge—besides the dress she wore tonight—her over-the-top, expensive, French silk thigh highs that never ripped. Of course she would have terrible luck when she tried something different, thinking control top panty hose would make her look slimmer. Sighing, she removed the ruined hosiery. She would have to go bare legged.

After flushing the toilet, she left the stall. She threw the stockings in the garbage and washed her hands. Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she patted her cheeks with one of the towelettes she always carried. Her skin was a little damp, but it gave her a nice…glow.

The curls framing her face had more of a bounce than normal. Straightening her hair took forever, so she left it natural. At least it didn’t frizz too often. It was something she shared with her mother who had the most beautiful hair she’d loved playing with as a child.

“Miss you, Mom.” Kissing her fingertips, she raised them up to the ceiling.

Taking another deep breath, she exited the bathroom. Her cell phone pinged. Tapping the screen, she opened the envelope showing the text message.

Where are you? Are you okay? Call or text me ASAP.

What a sweetheart.
Maybe she could lure Chris outside for some air to get away from all the people. They could then talk about the next step in their relationship.

Stopping in the doorway to another room, she typed him a message. Pausing, she glanced up. In the corner, a man played a piano. The laid back atmosphere was more her style, not at all congested or busy. She wouldn’t have one of her attacks here.

Approaching the bar, she asked for a glass of Merlot—her favorite wine. While she finished sending her text, the bartender set a glass in front of her. As she reached for her wallet to pay the bill, someone appeared at her side.

“I’ll take a glass of whatever the lady’s having.”

The first thing she noticed about the man standing next to her was his fingers. The nails were blunt, the thumb nail shorter than the others. Based on the state of his ragged cuticles, he chewed on them. His hands looked rough and were at odds with the owner’s refined voice. She went to peek at his face but stopped when he held out a twenty-dollar bill.

“I’m paying for the lady’s drink also. Keep the change.”

“Hey, you don’t have to pay—”

He sat next to her, causing her breath to catch. His face was tanned, his eyes almost purple with specks of gold. Wrinkles lined his eyes and forehead, but the odd thing was, not much lay around his mouth—as if he didn’t smile enough. A dusting of dark scruff covered his upper lip, chin, and cheeks. She eyed his chest through the open section of his unbuttoned shirt.
Hmm, no hair. Maybe he waxes?
She almost giggled. How naughty of her.

“If you’re finished inspecting me, why don’t you introduce yourself?” The man granted her a beautiful smile.

Wow, he’s hot
. Even though he slouched in his chair, he seemed tense. His bearing, although inviting, clashed with his piercing stare.

“You like wine?” she asked, not volunteering her name.

Her companion swirled the liquid, sniffed then took a healthy swallow. “I love all types of wine, but I’ll always choose a red over a white or a blush. How about you?”

“Ah, I like red wine also. But if there’s nothing else, I’ll drink white or a blush. Actually, I’m an equal opportunity wine drinker.”

He laughed, a deep galvanizing chuckle that had her locking her knees together. “That’s good to know.”

Good to know? Why, for the next time we meet?
She bit down on her bottom lip but then released it.

“You’re annoyed. Would you prefer I leave you alone?” Instead of standing, he shifted toward her, his slack covered leg brushing her bare one.

“It’s not you. I just thought of something silly. Don’t mind me.” Goosebumps rose on her arms, and she smiled to hide her nervousness.

He moved again, bumping her thigh with his. Heat lodged in her belly.

“No stockings. You must be cold,” he murmured and drank his wine.

She twisted to face him, her knee inadvertently wedging between both of his. If he locked his legs together, she would be captured.

“I had a run and threw them out. I hope that’s not considered too gauche.”

The man snickered. “Not to me. Hey, I’m wearing red among a sea of black and white.” He indicated his handkerchief.

“Red suits you. Is it your favorite color?”
Maybe his underwear is red?
Heat stole up her cheeks as she considered his possible answer.

He leaned toward her. “I’ll tell you my favorite color if you tell me your name.”

A giggle erupted from her, a small sound—thank God. When a woman started singing near the piano, she looked away. The vocalist had a pleasant voice, not too loud or overbearing.

Something brushed over her arm, causing her to scrutinize the man.
Did he just touch me?
His forehead wrinkled and lines appeared around his mouth as if he concentrated on something, or perhaps he was in pain. “I’m Erika. My father is Roger Walsh, the man who received the Lifetime Achievement award.”

His eyebrows rose. “Roger Walsh was a visionary. I’m honored to be sitting here talking with his beautiful daughter.”

“Why thank you. Correction…he
is
a visionary. Dad might retire, but he has many years left in him.”
Oh my God, he thinks I’m beautiful!

“You’re correct, my apologies.” Dipping his head, he waved at the bartender. “Have another glass with me? Unless you have somewhere to be or people to see?”

“Not really. I’d rather stay here. I’m enjoying our conversation.” Finishing her wine, she set down her glass, nodding at the bartender in thanks when a full one replaced her empty one. “What’s your name?”

“It’s Max. A pleasure to meet you.”

She took the hand he offered, giving it a pump. Before he released her, he brushed his thumb over her knuckles.

“You have beautiful hands. These must be ones of a writer.” He lifted her fingers to his mouth.

She withdrew from his grasp. “I don’t allow a man to press his lips on my skin until he buys me dinner,” she said with cheek, the alcohol giving her the courage to flirt.

“Am I correct?” He sipped his wine.

“Bingo. I write under a pseudonym. Have you heard of the Tammy and Whiskers series?”

His eyes lit up. “Yes I have. You’re the author of those books?”

“Yup, I’m Rosie Harper.” She gave a slight bow.

“I’m in the presence of a celebrity. In celebration, I’ll have to buy another round.”

“We haven’t even finished our second glass, and you already bought two. I should buy the third, but I might have to pass because three glasses in under an hour makes me sleepy.”

“Just sleepy?” His eyelids drooped while the corner of his mouth tilted up in a playful leer.

“You’re a big flirt, aren’t you?”

He sat up, his gaze losing its softness, changing back into an unflinching focus. “Not really. It’s just you. I like the verbal bantering.” His finger swiped down her arm.

She dug her nails in her leg when all she wanted to do was push her legs together to stop the buildup of pressure between her thighs. She couldn’t do that without him noticing. He seemed like the type who would catch her reaction and comment about it.

“What do you do?” she asked, ignoring her body’s out-of-control response.

“I work in publishing, including television and movies. I’m a jack-of-all-trades.”

“You’re a freelancer? You must do well for yourself. Most of those jobs have dried up since the downfall in the economy.”

He tapped his glass and said nothing.

Did she cross a line? How stupid could she be? She was a rich CEO’s daughter and a bestselling author who made more money than he did.
Smooth move, Erika Rose!
“I didn’t mean—”

“I do well for myself. I also own a side business that supplements my income.” He took a swallow of his wine. “I’ll let you in on a secret. My mother left me a nice inheritance.”

An ache squeezed her lungs. “I know it might not mean much, but I’m sorry for your loss. When did she pass?”

“She died of breast cancer when I was twelve.”

“Oh my God.” She covered her mouth. “My mother died of breast cancer when I was in college.”

“It looks like we have something in common.” His grip tightened around his glass.

She was unsure how to break the tension between them without coming across as too flighty or silly. She set her palm on his wrist. “We’re three for three.”

“Huh?” He shook his head a little, giving her his attention.

“We like wine, we both work in creative fields, and we had mothers we lost too soon.”

She waited for him to say something, but he just studied her until she looked away. A flash of heat crackled through her body, landing low in her stomach. She’d never been so turned on by a stranger, albeit a magnetic, suave gentleman like the one next to her. She withdrew her hand, but he latched onto it. Her tummy somersaulted, her breathing quickened. She melted under his penetrating stare.

“You’re exactly what I need.”

Her cell rang. She jerked in her seat, knocking into his legs. Pulling her hand away, she answered her phone.

“Where you are?” Chris sounded agitated.

“I’m in the bar down the hall. I’ll come find you.” Ending the call, she stood. “I need to go.”

Max also stood. His height dwarfed her, causing her to tilt her head back.
Wow, he’s tall.
“It’s been a pleasure chatting with you. I would love to—”

“Erika?”

Chris stood at the entrance. When he spotted her, he grinned.

“I better go. Perhaps I’ll see you in the ballroom?”

Max nodded.

She walked to the doorway. “What’s the matter?” she whispered to Chris, peeking back at the handsome man she’d left at the bar.

He dragged her out of the room and down the hall, the smile on his face disappearing. When they reached the main ballroom, he guided her over to the French windows near the balcony where it wasn’t as congested.

She wrenched her arm away. “Why did you drag me away? What could Max be thinking?”

“Max?” he growled. “You know who he is?”

She’d never heard him so snappish. He thrust his bangs away from his forehead. His mouth twisted into a grimace.

“He’s some freelancer I had a drink with. By the way, you need a haircut and some color to your face. You’re too pasty. How hard is my father working you?” she joked to lighten the mood.

He rolled his eyes. “Honey, the man you shared a drink with isn’t a freelancer. That’s M.L. Crawford. His first name is Maxwell. He’s the owner of Crawford Media and one of your dad’s biggest competitors in publishing.”

She winced. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Chuckling, he rubbed his hands up and down her arms in a comforting gesture. “I’m sorry for being rude, but I got worried when I couldn’t find you. It was a shock seeing you consorting with the enemy.”

“Enemy, really? Max…
M.L.
was a gentleman the entire time. He didn’t press me for any trade secrets that could take down the company.” She ran her tongue across her bottom lip. “He looked a bit sad, lonely even.”

“Lonely?” He snorted. “The man is never alone. He has a new flavor every week. He just broke up with one of the hottest supermodels in the U.S. A few months prior to that, he was fuc– um, dating some Broadway star. He’s a real prick. Doesn’t care who he hurts.”

His harsh tone was baffling. “Kim told me you and Max had some altercations while you were in school together. What did he do?”

His hold tightened. “What did she say?”

“I’ve been looking all over for you two.” Sidling up to them, Kim took a sip of her martini then rattled on about all the cute men she had talked with.