Unguarded (2 page)

Even at the party, she'd looked so prim and proper. Long sleeves, long skirt, blouse buttoned up to her throat. He'd wondered at first if she was channeling someone's maiden aunt. But then she'd opened her mouth and that voice—low and smoky and incredibly sexy—had curled around him. And he'd wondered how he could have ever failed to see the fire.

He saw it now, as she turned to the waitress and ordered a glass of water with a twist of lime. Plain, boring, expected—with just a little kick to keep things interesting. It was that little kick, all those tiny contradictions, that had had him calling her in the first place.

Yes, he needed a party planner, but the artist in him—who was he kidding, the
man
in him—wanted to unravel her a bit. To see what was underneath the sensible shoes and simple pearl earrings. To see if she lived up to the promise of that voice, that hair and the incredible body she kept so tightly under wraps.

He ordered a beer, and then settled back to study her while she looked over the menu. He couldn't help himself. She was a series of stops and goes that would probably drive a normal man crazy. But he was a far cry from normal and he'd always loved a puzzle. There was just something cool about piecing together bits and pieces of a person until he had the whole picture assembled.

Rhiannon was one hell of a picture and one hell of a puzzle. It would be a lot of fun finding out how all her contradictions, all her jagged pieces, fit together.
After all, the journey was always so much more fun than the destination.

“See anything you like?” he asked after silence had stretched between them for several minutes. When she didn't immediately answer, he reached out and trailed a finger down the back of her hand.

Those brown eyes flew up from the menu to meet his, a hint of temper flaring in their depths as she very deliberately moved her hand away. He filed away the knowledge that she didn't like to be touched—at least not by business acquaintances—and waited for her to answer.

“I was thinking of the
pollo diablo,
” she answered as she set her menu aside. “It was delicious the last time I came here.”

He couldn't stop the grin that spread across his face. The most buttoned-up woman in the place was ordering the spiciest dish on the menu. Oh, yes, unraveling her layers would be a huge challenge. One he was suddenly looking forward to very much.

A
FTER THEY'D ORDERED,
Shawn watched as Rhiannon made a concerted effort to get the business meeting back on track. There was no more talk about margaritas or spicy food or whether or not she was a responsible person, but that was okay with him. He had time. Planning this party was going to take weeks, and he planned on being
very
involved in the details.

“So, according to their website, the film festival is in town from Wednesday through Sunday of the last week in March,” said Rhiannon as she surfed the Net, no longer even bothering to look at him. “What night were you thinking of having the party?”

He wondered if he should be offended that she appeared to have so little interest in him, when most women went out of their way to attract him—and his Shadeslayer fortune. But he found her attitude kind of refreshing, especially since the thing she was focused so intently on was his party, and therefore still related to him.

He hadn't been joking when he'd said that his parties tended toward the spur of the moment and ultra-casual. The most planning he ever put in was picking up the phone and dialing half a dozen of his friends a couple hours before a game started. Which meant if he was going to do this thing right—the way his agent wanted
it done—he was going to need all the advice she could give him.

“Probably Thursday night. Friday and Saturday nights are booked with premieres and industry parties.” He grabbed a chip, popped it in his mouth.

“Okay.” She clicked a few computer keys, adding that information to some database, he presumed.

“For how many people?”

“I don't know. What do you suggest?”

She raised an eyebrow at him over the laptop screen. “I don't know who's going to be in town or how many of them you want to impress. If you could give me a ballpark figure, I could get an idea of the best way to put the party together.”

“Sure.” In his head, he went over the list his agent had given him and then added a number of his friends in town. “Probably about a hundred people, give or take.”

“Okay. So you said Thursday night, but there are screenings going on until ten o'clock. Do you want a late supper, after the showings are over?”

“That's what I was planning on. But you don't sound all that enthusiastic.”

“No, that kind of party would be lovely—”

“But?”

“But I think that it'll blend into the hundreds of other parties that your VIP guests have been to.”

“That's the last thing I want. I want to do something they'll remember, something that will stand out later from their week here. Something that will really rock.”

“Well, then you're going to have to step outside your comfort zone. Or into it, as the case may be.”

“I like the sound of
that.
” He grinned at her.

She took a sip of her water and went back to perusing the film festival's website, ignoring his smile. Which, of course, only made him more determined than ever to get her attention.

Part of him felt like he was back in elementary school, pulling the pigtails of Mary Louise Elkins, the girl who had sat in front of him every year from kindergarten through fifth grade. It had driven her nuts, but he hadn't been able to help it—negative attention from her had been way better than no attention at all.

He paused at the realization, a chip halfway to his mouth. Maybe Rhiannon was right about his emotional development being slightly arrested. He should probably work on that if he expected her to see him as more than a potential client.

“So you've told me the kind of party you usually throw. What's your favorite kind of party to attend?” Rhiannon asked, finally setting the laptop aside.

“Same thing—beer, chips, football. It's all good.”

“Well, if that's really the case, why are we throwing such a fancy party? Why don't we throw one you might actually enjoy?”

He laughed. “It's March—no football.”

“That's not what I meant. What if you throw a really relaxed party—jeans, casual food, games. It would be totally different than they're used to, and it could be a lot of fun.”

“What, you mean, like a barbecue?”

“I don't know, I haven't gotten that far yet. But a barbecue could work.”

“I know it's a sin to live in the South and say this,
but I'm not a big fan of charred meat and potato salad. The whole barbecue culture gene kind of passed me by.”

“You know, barbecue doesn't have to mean beans and brisket next to an open fire. A good steak could be classified as barbecue.”

He shook his head. “That's not really my point. Changing the type of meat served doesn't change the barbecue culture. I'm not into it.”

“All right then. I get it. No barbecue.” She went back to the computer, clicked a few times. “So are you opposed to the idea of a casual party altogether, or just one that involves ‘charred meat and potato salad'?”

He was about to shoot her idea down in its entirety, though it pained him to do so—in his experience, women weren't at their friendliest after a man told them he thought their plans were less than impressive. And there was little he wanted more than to have Rhiannon in a friendly mood.

But her idea was so far from what he'd been thinking—and from what Anthony expected—that he didn't feel like he had a choice. But then she turned the computer around and pointed to a couple of menus that were as far from a typical Texas barbecue as you could get, but that were a lot more interesting than the fancy hors d'oeuvres he was used to getting at parties like the one his agent expected him to throw.

“You can do gourmet pizzas on the grill?” he asked skeptically.

“Caterers can do just about anything on a grill these days—including dessert. Don't you ever watch the Food channel?”

“I don't, no. I'm more partial to movies myself. Give me a good horror movie and I'm happy.”

Her smile was slow coming, but when it finally arrived, he'd felt as if he'd scaled Mount Everest. It was a real smile, one that warmed her eyes and brought her dimple out in full force, and it made him happy just to watch how it lit up her face. He had a feeling Rhiannon didn't smile much—at least not out of genuine amusement. It felt good to be the one to put a smile on her face.

“I'm partial to slasher films myself.”

“Oh, yeah? Which ones?” He felt his curiosity pique. It was the first personal bit of information Rhiannon had revealed about herself.

She named a couple of movies he'd enjoyed enough to buy on DVD, and they spent the next few minutes talking about them—debating level of gruesomeness and special effects and story line. Rhiannon was surprisingly knowledgeable about the genre, which made him wonder if he'd misread her reaction to his novels. Any woman who liked the films she did also had to be partial to a good superhero story. That same suspension of disbelief was a requirement for any true action movie fan.

He was about to invite her to a movie that was opening on Friday night when she once again steered the conversation back to business. “So, if I come up with a casual menu that is also impressive, will you consider having a less formal event?”

“Sure. If you can come up with a really great idea, one that's fun and casual and impressive all at the same time, we'll try your route.”

“Fun, casual and impressive all at the same time, hmm? You don't ask for much.”

“Oh, Rhiannon.” He shook his head, shooting her a wicked grin. “I've barely gotten started on the list of demands I have for you.”

 

S
HE NEARLY CHOKED
on her water. As it was, the slightly tangy liquid went down the wrong pipe, burning from the back of her throat all the way to her lungs. Her eyes watered and her chest ached, but she did everything she could not to cough—it
so
wouldn't do to let Shawn know how blatantly he affected her. He was already cocky and charming and full of mischief—the last thing she wanted was to encourage him.

Liar,
a little voice inside of her said. There was a small part of her that wanted to do exactly that, that wanted to say to hell with logic and responsibility and fear. God knew, he'd been flirting with her since she'd sat down. Would it be so terrible if she responded in kind? It's not like the world would end if she showed some interest.

The very thought robbed Rhiannon of her recently recovered breath, had her heart beating in a stressed-out syncopation. Who was she kidding? She could barely handle meeting new clients in the middle of a bustling party—how did she think she'd manage flirting with a gorgeous, younger man when the two of them were on their own?

It was too absurd to even contemplate.

And if her baggage wasn't bad enough, trying to step out of her self-imposed cocoon with a man whose event could spark a rush of business for Parties by L.K. was just asking for trouble. When it went bad, when
she quickly made a total and complete fool of herself because she couldn't handle the pressure—and there was little doubt in her mind that she would freak out eventually—how humiliating would it be to still have to see him? To still have to work with him and pretend that she was anything but the basket case she was? Or worse, to run into him at other parties. The upper-crust Austin social scene was a relatively small one, and she really didn't want to spend the next few months worrying about whether or not Shawn was going to be at one of the events she was planning.

She drew a couple discreet breaths in through her nose, praying he wouldn't notice her distress—or the pain that was ripping through her upper torso because she was too stubborn to cough. He didn't say a word as she struggled, and she began to hope he hadn't noticed how he'd affected her. But when she finally made it on the road to recovery, it was to find Shawn watching her with amusement. “You okay there?”

So much for discretion. Was it too much to ask to sink through the floor before she died of total and complete humiliation?

“Fine, thanks.” Her eyes were still watering and her voice was hoarse, but at least she'd gotten the words out.

“Good. I'd really hate for something to happen to you before the big night.” He winked, and as she stared into his wicked blue eyes, she suddenly wasn't at all sure he was still talking about the party.

“I can take care of myself.”

“I never meant to imply that you couldn't.”

“So, Shawn.” Rhiannon took a deep breath and contemplated the best way to steer the conversation
back toward the party. “Have you thought about what venue you want to use? Austin has a number of great places—”

“I just figured we'd use my house. It's plenty big.”

“For a hundred people to mingle comfortably?” Where did the man live? The only houses in Austin big enough for that were on the Lake, and surely his graphic novels didn't pay enough to make that a reality—

“I've got two acres on Lake Travis. I bought it a couple years ago as an investment, but it's a perfect place to entertain. The house is huge and there's a gigantic yard that overlooks the lake.”

Two acres? On Lake Travis? Obviously the graphic novel business was a much better proposition than she had ever imagined—even before the film rights. She thought of her own fifteen-hundred-square-foot condo, of how she'd struggled to pay for it after the divorce a couple of years before. Amazing to think that a man who was so much younger than she was had already achieved so much. Amazing and disheartening. But then, starting over at close to forty often was.

Richard had offered to help her, but by the time the divorce had been finalized, she'd wanted nothing from him. Nothing from any man. It still amazed her that he'd been able to just walk away from their fifteen-year marriage, as if everything they'd built together—everything they'd meant to each other—had never existed. Sometimes when she was lying in bed at night, staring at the ceiling and praying for the insomnia to go away, she wondered if he'd left—if he hadn't been able to deal—because she'd gotten too good at playing the victim. But with family and friends crowding in from every side, it had been hard to be anything else.

“So, do you want to see it?”

Shawn's words interrupted her self-castigation and she looked at him blankly as the words sunk in.

“See it?”

“My house? Maybe it could help you get a feel for the best way to do this party.”

“I thought you said on the phone you didn't have time to run back home today. If you want to take me back to your house, why did we bother meeting here to begin with?”

“So I could buy you lunch.” He reached over and nicked the check the waitress had dropped onto the edge of the table as she passed by.

“You don't have to do that. You're the client.” She held her hand out for the bill. “It's my responsibility to—”

“Do you always play by the rules?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say no, that for long years she'd barely paid attention to the fact that there
were
rules, but instead, said, “Yes. It's safer that way.”

“Safer.” He lifted an eyebrow.

“Better,” she amended hastily. “It's
better
that way.” She tugged self-consciously at the long sleeve of her shirt.

He threw a couple of twenties down on the table, then stood. He held out a hand to her. “Come on, let's go to my place. I'll show you my gazebo.”

“Is that an updated version of the old etchings line?” she asked as they walked toward the front door.

The look he shot her was brimming with laughter. “You caught me.”

“Yes, well, I'm throwing you back. I've got another
appointment in less than an hour, so I can't run all the way out to the lake right now.”

“Another appointment? Are you cheating on me already?”