A Dash of Temptation

The painting in question was a Monet, and she’d be willing to bet the house that it was real. No regular prints for the Nicklebys. Every piece, from the secretary under the mirror to the wall sconces were perfect and gorgeous. And so were the flower arrangements.

She headed over to the nearest pedestal, one of six that lined the room. Whoever did the flowers was a master. They were gorgeous and lush and perfectly suited that space. The central focus was calla lilies, her personal favorite, and the way the florist had used the stargazers was nothing short of exquisite.

“I should have known that’s where you’d be.”

She turned at Dash’s voice. “They’re fabulous.”

“Certainly no more beautiful than the arrangements at the office.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“I’m counting on it.”

She flushed a little at his rejoinder as he handed her the martini. He’d gotten himself a drink, too, more of what he’d had in the limo from the looks of it. “This house is amazing.”

He looked around. “There is a certain art to ostentation, isn’t there?”

“Indeed.”

He took a sip of his drink and met her gaze. “Think you’re ready for the ballroom?”

“Why not?”

He held out his arm. “Let’s do it.”

She linked her own arm with his, praying her trembling wouldn’t spill her drink all over the floor. They headed toward the sound of live music and the murmur of a great many voices. She sipped her martini a little too quickly, but dammit, she needed the courage.

The second they passed the doorway, she was struck still at the size and scope of the party. The music she’d heard was from an honest to God big band, like Tommy Dorsey’s or the Eddy Duchin Orchestra from the forties. They began “Moonlight Serenade” as Dash guided her through the beautiful people.

The ballroom itself reminded her of the one from Beauty and the Beast, including the domed ceiling. Hundreds of sparkling lights dotted the dome and it felt as though it was raining stars.

“Wow,” she said.

“I know what you mean.”

She caught the humor in his voice and sure enough, when she looked at him he wore a gentle smile. “It must be old hat for you.”

He shrugged. “Being with you is remarkably refreshing. It’s like seeing the place for the first time.”

“I’m glad I can keep you entertained.”

“Oh, there’s no problem with that. In fact…” he plucked her martini out of her hand and put it, along with his drink, on the tray of a passing waiter. “…come with me.”

His arm went around her waist again, and nope, the last time hadn’t been a fluke. Her tummy did that strange little dance and her breath caught as the heat of him warmed her.

He led her to the dance floor, and the panic rose again. She was about as good at dancing as she was at bullfighting. The band was playing another Glen Miller song, “String of Pearls,” and the other couples on the dance floor swayed easily to the music. Maybe if you’re rich enough, you could buy rhythm.

Dash grabbed her hand and swung her into his arms. They touched from chest to thighs, but by the time she opened her mouth to tell him she couldn’t dance, they were.

His hand on the small of her back steered her with gentle caresses. Moving with incredible grace, he made it seem so easy. When she didn’t step on his feet after the refrain, she relaxed. As much as she could, that is.

She smiled into his handsome face, and he rewarded her with a grin and a slight lift of his right brow. “You okay?”

“Yes,” she said. “But don’t get all excited and start doing a tango or anything.”

“I promise. No tangos.”

She thought of that film, The American President, when Annette Benning dances with Michael Douglas for the first time. When he tells her everyone in the room isn’t looking at him, but at her.

If Tess didn’t look around, she’d be okay. Of course it was no hardship to keep her gaze on Dash. The longer she stared at him, the more she liked his face. The more real he became.

They danced as if they’d danced a hundred times before, as if the music was made to order. He held her close enough for her to catch his spicy hint of cologne.

“So, what do you think, Ms. Norton? Is the ball to your liking?”

She thought a minute, wanting to get her answer right. “It’s a nice place to visit, but I’m not sure I’d want to live here.”

He smiled. “No one really lives here. Even the Nicklebys are putting on the dog. It’s a fantasy.”

“Like our date?”

“On the contrary. It may have started out as a favor, but it’s turning into my lucky night.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think you’re going to be that lucky.”

His laughter pleased her way too much. “Touché.”

“I am grateful, though.”

His smile faded. “You don’t think I’m expecting anything in return, do you?”

“I don’t know. I barely know you.”

“Good point. Rest assured. I expect nothing.”

She struggled to keep the disappointment from her face. “Thank you.”

The song ended, but he didn’t let her go. They stood, his hand still on her back, while couples shuffled around them. “Don’t look now,” he whispered, leaning in so only she could hear. “But there’s Cullen.”

She instantly tensed as she followed his gaze. Cullen stood by one of the bars, the one farthest from the band. He looked elegant and easy in his tuxedo. She’d met him only once before, and that was at a crowded restaurant. He’d seemed pleasant enough, but he hadn’t been terribly interested in her. His willingness to look at her business plan was more of a favor to Brad than due to any excitement on his part.

He sipped some champagne as he canvassed the room. She watched him nod to a burly fellow, then again to a startlingly tall woman in a see-through blouse.

Tess figured he must be in his sixties. He had a thick mane of white hair with bushy matching brows. She wondered if he even remembered that they were supposed to meet here.

“Come on,” Dash said.

“Wait.”