Trial By Seduction

“I appreciate your concern,” she said crisply, “but honestly I’m fine. Actually I’d better be getting back to my car.” She brushed her palms together briskly, removing as much of the sand as possible, and held out her right hand. “Thanks again.”

He narrowed his eyes as if her attitude, or perhaps her tone, somehow sparked his curiosity. Taking her hand, he cocked his head and let his gaze slowly rake her face. “You seem so familiar.” He lifted one corner of his lips. “This is an old one, but I have this feeling... Have we met before?”

Not a very imaginative line, but she knew that, for once, it was spoken sincerely. She felt her heart do a two-step and fought to keep her face neutral. She had always known this would be the trickiest part of coming back.

“My name is Glenna McBride,” she said politely. She wouldn’t lie outright—but she could pray that he didn’t remember her real name. Why should he? The teenagers had always simply called her Mouse, Cindy’s pet name for her tiny, timid little sister. “Hey, Mouse, here’s a dollar. Go buy me a Coke, would you? And hurry—I’m dying in this heat.”

Her last name was different now, too. Her parents’ marriage hadn’t survived the trauma of Cindy’s death—they had divorced within two years. Both remarried quickly, as if eager to make fresh starts. Keg McBride, her mother’s new husband, was a good man and he had adopted Glenna right away.

Mark was shaking his head. “Glenna McBride,” he repeated, the name soft on his lips. “No, I guess I’m imagining things.”

He hadn’t let go of her hand. Glenna shifted it subtly, but he ignored the signal to release her. Glenna suspected that Mark Connelly ignored a lot of the signposts in his life.

“Did you say your car? You aren’t leaving, are you? I had hoped you were staying at the Moonbird.”

She took a deep breath. He didn’t recognize her name. First hurdle cleared.

“Well, I am, actually,” she said, plunging ahead. “I’ll be working with Purcell Jennings. The photographer. He’s going to take some pictures of the hotel for a book on old Florida inns.”

Slow down...no babbling, for heaven’s sake. As a member of the Connelly family, Mark would already know about Purcell.

But she plowed on, her confidence growing with every coherent sentence she managed to produce. “Purcell arrives tonight, but I came early to scout around a bit. He’s not as mobile as he once was and he likes me to narrow down the locations for him first.”

Yes, that was better. The half lie sounded fully authentic. She was finding her stride, regaining control.

“But that’s perfect,” he said, obviously pleased, as if complimenting fate for doing such a good job arranging things to his satisfaction. “I’ll show you around.”

Irked, she removed her hand from his with one firm tug. He looked slightly surprised—as if few women ever struggled to make their way out of his grasp.

Well, good, she thought, lifting her chin. An ego like that could use a couple of knocks. And he might as well learn right now that the drooping damsel he’d found weeping on the shore was not the real Glenna McBride.

“I’m sorry, but that won’t be possible. I concentrate better if I’m alone.”

His mouth quirked. He was clearly prepared either to speak or to grin, but she didn’t have time to discover which. Just behind his shoulder, she saw movement along the beach, and a strong voice carried toward them on the clear morning air.

“Mark!” The tones were deep, authoritative. With a jolt of recognition, Glenna knew immediately that the voice belonged to Edgerton Connelly. The oldest Connelly boy, the leader of the pack. Self-important, slightly bossy. How perfect, she had thought when she heard he was running for the legislature. “Mark,” he said now, “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Edge.” Mark turned toward his cousin, who looked impressively elegant but completely out of place here on the beach in his expensive suit. “I’m glad you’re here. I’d like you to meet Glenna McBride.”

Edgerton flashed a smile toward her, a good politician’s smile that warned her he was much too busy to chat but at the same time suggested that he was awfully sorry about it. He also diplomatically refrained from noticing her disheveled state. Apparently even wet, sandy beach-weepers had been known to vote.

“Ms. McBride,” he said with a smooth nod of his well-coiffed blond head. “I’m sorry to have to pull my cousin away, but he’s needed rather urgently up at the hotel.” He angled toward Mark. “The senator’s wife will be here soon, old buddy, and you know she’ll be crushed if you’re not there to meet her.”

Glenna couldn’t see Edgerton’s face, but she thought she heard real irritation lurking under his nicely oiled tones. What the hell, the tone asked, was Mark doing wasting time with a nobody on the beach when The Senator’s Wife was waiting?

Snob, she thought, addressing his Armani jacket.

But Mark either didn’t notice his cousin’s anger or didn’t care. “Sorry, Edge,” he said cheerfully. “Tell Philip to cut the biggest scarlet hibiscus he can find, stick it in a pitcher of sangria and take it to her room. Believe me, in half an hour she won’t even notice I’m not there.”

The Armani jacket stiffened. “Not there?”

Mark patted his shoulder. “Sorry. I can’t. You see, I had just offered Glenna my services as a tour guide.”

Edgerton made a small choking sound, but Glenna broke in quickly. “And I,” she said, “had just refused them. I appreciate the offer, Mr. Connelly, but as I said, I work best alone.” She met Mark’s quizzical gaze steadily. “Besides, I wouldn’t dream of letting you disappoint—” she lowered her tone “—The Senator’s Wife.”

Surprisingly he didn’t try to persuade her. He didn’t even look disappointed. Instead, he looked curious. He lifted one black brow. “Did you say Mr. Connelly?”

“Mark,” she amended indifferently. If he wanted to rush to a first-name basis, she could handle that. She brushed at her skirt one last time. “Well, it was nice to have met you both—”

“But you didn’t.”

She looked up, perplexed. “Didn’t what?”

“Meet me.” He was studying her hard. “And yet you already knew my name.”

She kicked herself mentally, realizing how close she had come to giving herself away. What a stupid move! Honestly, she must have cried her brains right out into the sand.

“Well, after all, there’s no need for false modesty,” she said, forcing herself to smile. “Everyone who lives on Moonbird Key knows the Connellys.”

“But you don’t. Live on Moonbird Key, I mean. Believe me, I’m sure of that.” He held out his hands, palms up. “And, false modesty aside, I don’t flatter myself that my fame extends much beyond the bridge to Fort Myers.”

“Perhaps,” she countered, wondering whether her voice sounded acerbic or flirtatious, “you underestimate yourself.”

Edgerton snorted. “Oh, yeah, sure. Mark underestimates himself. That’ll be the day. Well, come on, we’d better get going.” His voice was more openly irritable now. He took two testy paces toward the hotel and, sensing that no one was following, turned back. “Mark. Ms. McBride said she works alone. We’d better let her get to it.”

Mark didn’t answer him. He hadn’t taken his gaze off Glenna. She met his appraisal as serenely as possible, but the intensity in his eyes made her skin tingle. His curiosity was as tangible as a touch.

“Damn it, Mark. Mark?” Edgerton’s impatient bluster was dissipating, replaced by a thin tremor of anxiety. “Mark, you know I really need you. Please?”

Please? Glenna’s gaze shot toward the older man. Since when did Edgerton Connelly, undisputed leader of the Moonbird boys, have to say please to Mark?

Mark was the poor cousin, the one who lived at the Moonbird on sufferance, the one who hadn’t a penny to his name. “Is that what makes him dangerous?” Glenna had asked her sister. And Cindy had chuckled melodically. “Sort of, Mouse,” she’d said, ruffling Glenna’s hair. “Sort of.”

For a minute she thought Mark might ignore the desperation in Edgerton’s voice. But finally she felt his gaze shift, releasing her like a butterfly unpinned, and he pivoted toward his cousin.

“You’re right, Edge,” he said agreeably. “We wouldn’t want to intrude. Well, goodbye, then—and good scouting.” He started to move away but immediately halted, as if something had just occurred to him. “You’ll be at tonight’s dinner dance, though, won’t you? Purcell will want to come. So I’m sure we’ll see each other there.”

His smile was wicked. He recognized her reluctance to let him come any closer, that smile said. But it also said that he wasn’t so easily thwarted. He was intrigued by her—he wanted more, and he intended to get it sooner or later. That was no surprise.

What did shock her was the small thrill of anticipation that shimmered through her like a silver fish skimming just below the surface of her mind. Dangerous, she thought with an internal shiver. Cindy had been right. This man was damned dangerous.

“Oh, yes,” she said, meeting his laughing eyes, accepting and answering the challenge. “I’m sure I’ll have no trouble finding you. You’ll be the one dancing with The Senator’s Wife, right? The one with the hibiscus between his teeth.”

Actually it was much easier than that.

Even without a hibiscus, Mark Connelly stood out. Suntanned and swarthy as a pirate in his elegant white tails, he was quite simply the sexiest man in the room.

Which was no small feat, because by nine o’clock that night the Moonlight Ballroom was awash with beautiful people. Every adult in Florida who had any pretensions to glamour, power or wealth was here. To miss the grand reopening of the Moonbird Hotel apparently was to declare oneself a nonentity.