Wilde for Him (17 page)

Instead, she watched Ben eat his dessert, and when he finished he glanced at her uneaten pastry, then at her, his expression etched with concern. He stretched an arm across the back of her chair and leaned in close to her.

"Are you doing okay?" he asked, his voice a low, husky murmur.

She shivered as his thumb stroked down the nape of her neck in a soothing, but equally sensual, caress. "I'm just getting a little restless. I'll be fine once I'm done with my speech."

He glanced at his wristwatch. "You've got about another half an hour before it's time to face the crowd, so in the meantime why don't we walk around and try to calm your nerves?"

She appreciated his suggestion, and decided that his idea had merit. If she sat there at the table she'd do nothing but think about standing up at the podium and how not to panic while over two hundred people watched her speak.

Ben got up from his seat, pulled her chair back, and she stood, too. Hooking her arm through his, she strolled around the ballroom, as other men and women were beginning to do now that the meal portion of the party was over. The hired band began to play upbeat music, and some couples headed toward the dance floor, while others went over to where the silent auction was set up to see what kind of items there were to bid on.

Ben placed his large, warm palm over the hand she'd rested on his arm, the touch subtly possessive and inherently intimate, making them look like the couple they were posing to be. "Would you believe I actually see someone I know here?"

"Really?" She glanced around, trying to figure out who he might be acquainted with at a swanky charity event such as this one. "And who is that?"

"My good friend's brother. Come on and I'll introduce you."

Grateful for the distraction, she let him escort her toward two couples who were engaged in a conversation. One of the women, who was pregnant, looked vaguely familiar, but Christine couldn't place where she'd seen her before. As they approached, one of the men glanced toward them, his blue eyes first widening in shock. Then a big, friendly smile transformed his striking features.

"Hey, Ben." The good-looking man reached out and shook Ben's hand in a firm grip. "What a surprise to see you here."

Ben grinned. "You, too, Scott, though I did see your name on the guest list. I just didn't think this was your kind of thing."

The other man gave a slight wince. "Trust me. I could do without all the formal attire and hoopla, but Ashley is a big supporter of the foundation, so what's a husband to do but tag along?"

"I completely understand. My date is involved in the charity auction portion of the event," Ben said, then went on to introduce her. "This is Christine Delacroix. Christine, meet Scott Wilde and his wife, Ashley St. Claire-Wilde. Joel Wilde, my partner at ESS, is Scott's brother."

"It's nice to meet both of you," Christine said with a smile.

Now Christine knew how she'd recognized Ashley St. Claire, heiress of the St. Claire Hotel that was hosting tonight's gala. She'd met the woman a few years ago at another event, but hadn't seen her since, though she'd heard that she'd gotten married. Judging by the adoration on Ashley's face as she gazed up at her husband, and the soft pink glow of her complexion that complemented her pregnancy, it appeared that the two were still in the throes of wedded bliss.

Ashley indicated the other couple standing with them. "These are my good friends, Matthew Carlton and his wife, Faith. Matthew is a pediatric surgeon at Children's Memorial, so this foundation is very important to him, as well."

Matthew tipped his head as he studied Christine curiously. "Is your father Nathan Delacroix?"

She nodded. "Yes, he is." The question was always a loaded one that usually led to some kind of political statement. Whether the comment was a positive or negative one, she never knew. It all depended on which candidate the person supported.

"Well, he certainly has our vote for governor," Matthew said sincerely as he wrapped an arm around his wife and drew her close to his side. "Faith and I really respect what he's doing with the whole gentrification issue. It's nice to see a politician stand up for the less fortunate and push for inner-city rejuvenation, rather than destroying so many people's lives to make a quick buck," he said, obviously referring to Charles Lambert, Nathan's opponent.

"Delacroix has our vote, too," Scott added for himself and his wife, Ashley.

Christine was glad to have the positive feedback. "Thank you, I appreciate your support, and I know my father will, too."

Ashley placed a hand on her rounded belly, which was draped in black silk. "Ben mentioned that you're in charge of the charity auction for tonight. Scott's sister, Mia, donated one of her stained glass designs for the auction."

"Yes, she did." What a small world it was to discover how everyone was related. "Mia was incredibly generous and offered up a custom-made design of the winner's choice. Considering the beautiful work she does. I'm sure it will be one of the more popular items that people bid on."

"Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen." A female voice came over the ballroom's speakers. "In about five minutes. Christine Delacroix will be coming up to the podium to talk about the silent auction, so if she could have everyone's attention to give you all an explanation of how it works, that would be great."

Christine smiled. "Well, that would be me." She drew a deep breath to calm the flutters already hatching in her belly. "I'd better go ahead and make my way to the front of the room."

Right after the announcement, the guests in the ballroom started shifting toward the small staging area, and she let Ben guide her in that direction. It was difficult at times to get past the crush of people, but eventually they made their way to the raised dais, where a few people were milling around—including Leanne and Craig.

The event coordinator ushered the guests away from the platform, then came up to Christine. "Your notes are on the podium as you requested, and there's a glass of water on the shelf beneath if you need it."

Her mouth was already dry and she knew she'd need that water to moisten her lips and throat. "That's perfect. Thank you."

"I'll be right over here," Ben pointed out, and stepped off to the right side—far enough away so that he wasn't hovering over her, yet close enough to make her feel secure.

Lifting the hem of her dress so she didn't trip on her way up to the stand, she maneuvered the two steps and crossed the short stage without any problems, if she didn't count the rush of anxiety that swept over her. Before addressing the room, she took a big gulp of the cool water beneath the podium and took a moment to gather her composure.

As soon as she spoke into the microphone to welcome everyone to the gala, the entire ballroom fell silent and all eyes focused on her, and her aversion to public speaking immediately kicked in. Her heart beat faster in her chest, and she glanced down at her notes to keep her speech on track. Otherwise, she knew she'd babble and wouldn't remember a thing she'd written.

She began her presentation by praising the Children's AIDS Foundation and their cause, as well as how far they'd come over the years thanks to the selfless and altruistic donations that went toward research, grants, and advocacy programs. A little more than five minutes into her talk, she felt her skin flush warmly, and her arms and legs began to tingle.

Pausing between the points she'd outlined—as her speech coach had taught her if she needed a quick break—she took another drink of her water, letting the cool liquid soothe her throat and hopefully settle her queasy stomach.

She continued, first thanking all the various businesses for their gracious contributions to the silent auction, which included signed artwork, designer jewelry, autographed sports memorabilia, and a plethora of other coveted items. She assured the crowd that there was something for everyone, and encouraged them to bid generously, and often, since every dollar they spent went directly toward the foundation.

Her head began to spin, as did the room and the occupants, and when she glanced back down at her notes the words on the page were blurred and disjointed. She blinked to clear her vision, took another drink of her water that finished it off, and tried not to panic.

Clutching the edge of the podium so that she didn't sway, or God forbid pass out from the light-headed sensation enveloping her, she explained the bid sheet that accompanied each donated item, and how each person interested in an item would be assigned a bid number so as to keep their identity private. As she went over the rules for the silent auction, her dizziness increased as did the heart palpitations, adding to the growing pressure in her chest.

A wave of nausea churned in her stomach, and knowing she wasn't going to last up at the podium for much longer without embarrassing herself, she wrapped up her speech sooner than she'd intended, then tried to remember where Ben said he'd be waiting for her, but couldn't think beyond the desperate need for fresh air.

The crowd around her started to disperse, which only added to her confusion and her feeling of disorientation. She couldn't breathe. She only knew she had to get out of the room before she either collapsed or threw up.

Where was Ben?

She stumbled off the platform to the left, and somehow Craig was there, his expression filled with concern. Suddenly, the room started to spin in earnest.

"I've got to get out of here," she rasped, and nearly lost her balance as her legs seemed to grow weak. She felt so lethargic, her mind so muddled—like no other anxiety attack she'd ever had. "I need fresh air."

"Come," he said, and with his arm supporting her around her waist, he guided her through the throng of people and toward the double doors leading outside.

"Where's Ben?" she asked.

Craig didn't answer.

She looked around for Ben, but her vision was so unfocused and everything around her seemed to be moving in slow motion, and she hated the helpless sensation sweeping over her. She felt so tired. So sluggish as she tried to put one foot in front of the other. Craig was talking to her, but she couldn't decipher what he was saying because his voice was so garbled.

And then she felt a rush of cold air on her bare skin as they stepped outside to the front of the hotel, but it wasn't enough to snap her out of her stupor. It was as if she were drunk, yet she'd only consumed one cocktail a few hours ago. Was she still walking? Or was she standing still and everything around her was moving? She no longer could tell.

She wanted Ben. She needed Ben. But when she opened her mouth to tell Craig to go and get him, only a soft moan escaped. And somewhere in the back of her fading thoughts she knew that when Ben did find her he was going to give her hell for not staying put.

Chapter Nine

AS Ben stood off to the side and kept an eye on Christine up at the podium during her presentation, he instinctively knew that something was wrong. She'd explained how nervous she was about public speaking, but she wasn't showing the typical signs of anxiety. Rather, she seemed increasingly out of sorts and confused, as if she couldn't think clearly even though she had an outline right in front of her.

He watched her take another drink of her water, emptying the glass of the clear liquid, and then to finish her spiel on the silent auction. Her breathing grew labored, and a frown furrowed her brow as she stared out at the crowd with a dazed look on her face. Abruptly, she finished her speech and headed down the platform away from him.

He called out her name, but she didn't seem to hear him.

"Son of a bitch," Ben bit out furiously and moved fast, but as the thick crowd around him started to separate and head in different directions, men and women inadvertently cut him off in his attempt to get to Christine. It was like swimming upstream through a sea of mud, and it was all he could do not to push and shove his way through the mass of people getting in his way.

Ben's gaze never left Christine as a man he realized was Craig ushered her toward the exit. He swore again, and once they disappeared through the double doors and Ben could no longer see them, a swift kick of adrenaline surged through his entire body. As he ran out of the ballroom, he resisted the urge to grab the semiautomatic he'd holstered beneath his jacket, because he knew that would cause a huge scene and chaos, and until he saw an actual threat he had to keep his weapon secured.

He burst through the main doors of the hotel that led outside, and he immediately caught sight of Craig guiding a wobbling-on-her-high-heels Christine along a path leading around to the far side of the building—where it was dark and very secluded.

Ben reached Craig before the other man had a chance to realize he was even nearby. He stepped in front of him and Christine, bringing them both to a stop. Craig looked startled by his sudden appearance, while Christine appeared bewildered and confused.

Instantly, Ben gently took Christine's arm and pulled her away from Craig. Once he had her safely by his side, the fury that had been building within Ben exploded in a blast of outrage. "Stay the fuck away from her, Crosby!"

"What the hell, man!" Craig retorted just as angrily. "She was obviously dizzy and sick, and I was just taking her to the courtyard right over there so she could sit down and get some fresh air!" He waved toward an area sectioned off by plants and trees, with benches to sit on.

Ben clenched his jaw. While Craig's story was completely plausible and most likely true, Ben wasn't about to back down from his stance. "Stay away from her," he said, enunciating each word.

Craig narrowed his gaze. "I don't know who the hell you think you are, but I'm getting damn tired of your continual harassment."

Before Ben could respond with a scathing remark, Christine fell against his chest, and he caught her around the waist to help keep her upright. She looked up at him, her eyes glassy and a semblance of a smile on her lips.

"Ben," she sighed, drawing out his name on a slur of sound.

It was as though she was drunk, yet Ben knew for a fact that she'd only had one cocktail, and that had been before dinner. The only other explanation for her uncharacteristic behavior was that she'd been drugged somehow. Had someone put something in her food or her soda at their table? And what about the water at the podium? It could have easily been tampered with before she'd arrived to make her speech.