When Megan Smiles

“You’ve got an armed escort.”

“I what?” He could see her eyes widen. He wondered what color they were, and if it was just the night that made her lashes look so long and lush.

“He requested that you be escorted up to the house and taken to him on the lower terrace.”

“No thanks, I can find it,” she said quickly. Too quickly.

“I wouldn’t bet on that. That house up there is the size of a small country.”

“I’ll take my chances,” she said, then got back in her car. “Now, if you could just open the gates?”

She was making her escape, and he was inclined to let her go and find her way on her own. And he probably would have, but Brad McMillan, his replacement, came through the side gate right then. “Hey, Rafe, you can get going now.”

“Okay,” he said, then pushed the code for the main gates and went around in front of her car to get in on the passenger side. If she took off, she’d have to run him down to do it. Thankfully, she waited until he opened the door, and she even reached out and picked up her purse and cell phone to clear the seat for him. She dropped them on the center console along with the invitation before she put the car in gear.

“You all get going,” Brad said through the open window. “Mr. Lawrence is really anxious for her to get up there.”

“You didn’t have to come with me,” she said, as they eased through the open gates.

“I told you, I don’t want to lose my job, and those were the orders—to deliver you up to Mr. Lawrence.” She darted him an angry glance, and he said quickly, “Sorry, bad choice of words.”

“Sure you’re sorry,” she muttered, and even though she was angry now, it didn’t stop his body tensing when he noticed the way her dress was riding up her thigh. This had been a mistake. But he was in it now and he’d get out as soon as he could.

“I really am sorry,” he said.

“You’re just sorry that I really do have a right to be going to the ball.”

“Well, you’re no Cinderella,” he said.

She cast him a quick look. “I’m not wearing glass slippers, true,” she said before she turned back to the driveway ahead of them.

“Can I make a suggestion?” he asked.

“Could I stop you?”

“No, you couldn’t. I was just going to say that the jewelry doesn’t work with that dress.”

Very casually, she took her left hand off the wheel and rested it on her thigh, effectively hiding the ring from him. “What about my jewelry?”

“That earpiece just doesn’t do anything for you.”

She reached for the device connected to her cell phone and tugged it free, then dropped it on the console with her other things. “I forgot,” she said. “I got distracted.”

He found himself smiling. He was distracted, too, by a woman who was thoroughly stuck-up and bossy. The thing was, he was enjoying it. He hadn’t sparred verbally with a woman for a very long time, and he realized that he’d missed it. Even if she was annoying and what his mother used to call “uppity.” And even if he’d never see her again. Not that he wanted to. But this was a nice distraction for a few minutes.

They were almost up the driveway now, and he pointed ahead to the portico just outside the ballroom entrance. “Pull in there and the valet can park your chariot for you.”

Rafe was shocked when she actually laughed, a soft, sultry sound that seemed to fill the space around him as she pulled up to the nearest valet. That was when he looked at her, and he saw her smiling at him. A simple smile, yet it triggered so many things deep inside him that he found it hard to breathe. “Let me guess. Chariot parking is not part of your job description?”

And responding to this woman on such a basic level wasn’t something he wanted to do. “No,” he said, and the second the car stopped, he got out.

The air was filled with laughter and music and the scent of good cigars, but all he was aware of was Megan coming around the car when the valet let her out, and Megan standing in front of him with her purse clutched to her middle, the shadow of that smile still on her lips. And the gleaming ring on her finger. He looked away out of self-preservation, saw her car being driven off for parking, then said, “Follow me,” without looking at her again. “I’ll take you to Wayne Lawrence. That is in my job description,” he said, and started off without looking to see if she was following.

Actually, he didn’t have to look to know she was there. He could sense her, and he kept going, through the service area, around the side of the mansion, toward the back terraces. They walked along a pathway that cut across grass and through low shrubbery, and as they turned at the back corner of the house, she brushed against him. Rafe moved quickly ahead of her onto the flagstone terrace.

The party had spilled out onto the back lawns, under the draped fairy lights, and with the French doors of the ballroom, the music seemed to be everywhere, mingled with laughter. He stopped at the edge of the terrace, scanning the groups of guests to try and spot Wayne Lawrence. Sensing Megan right beside him, Rafe turned and saw her features softly illuminated in the glow of the lights. Blue. Her eyes were a clear blue, and that damn ring was winking at him. “I can take it from here,” she said. “Thanks for the escort.”

“Sorry for the trouble at the gate.”

“You were doing your job,” was all she said, as loud laughter from the far side of the terrace drew her attention. A group of people stood there—all men, all drinking, he noted—and that was when he spotted Mr. Lawrence. Rafe had only seen him in the picture Zane had provided, but recognized the man immediately. He looked every day of his sixty years, balding as he was, and even though the picture had been head and shoulders, Rafe had guessed right about him being out of shape despite the very expensive tux he was wearing.

“Well, there he is,” he said to Megan, motioning to Mr. Lawrence. “You found him on the lower terrace.”

“Yes, I did,” she murmured.

Right then, another security guard came jogging from the upper terrace, skirting the guests by staying on the lawn. Seeing Rafe, he hurried over and said in a low voice, “A 215 at the Service.”

That was their code for a troublesome drunk—a way of communicating what was going on without the guests knowing. Rafe had started that practice when he’d actually worked the events, the way he was doing tonight. “The Service” meant the problem was at the delivery area.

He nodded to the guard. “I’ll be right there,” he said, and the other man took off while he turned back to say goodbye to Megan.

But she was gone. He looked across the terrace and saw her approaching Mr. Lawrence with her hand out. A big smile was on his face.

There was no backward glance, no hesitation on her part. Rafe was forgotten, a security guard who had bugged her, then escorted her to her date. And that was okay. He didn’t plan on remembering too much of what happened tonight, either. He headed toward the front of the house in a jog to help take care of the drunk.

Chapter Two

Monday

Megan was in her office, one of the dozen or so cubicles just off the main hallway, and right next to the rest rooms for the entire floor. Little more than three partial walls with no door, it was stocked with the usual office equipment, along with a stack of work that had been sent to her that morning. The only good thing about her work area was the window, even if it did look out onto the roof of the building next door.

Not that she had much time to look out the window. She’d been busy since she’d arrived, and was still facing two or three hours of work she’d have to take back to the hotel with her when she left.

“That was certainly a lovely party.”

Megan looked up to find her boss in the doorless entry. The receptionist, Ellen, who sat at a desk directly across from the elevators, had told Megan earlier that Mr. Lawrence liked to keep an eye on “his people.” She’d made a joke about him wearing a bell around his neck so staff would be warned when he was closing in. Megan had thought she’d been kidding, but now she knew the woman had been serious. Megan hadn’t heard the man approach.

“Oh, sir,” she said, pushing back the file she was reading, the details of the day care center incorporation to separate it from LynTech. “I didn’t hear you come in.” She brushed at her hair, which she’d caught in a low knot that morning, and tugged a bit nervously at the cuffs of the simple white shirt she was wearing with beige linen slacks.

“I’m sorry,” he said as he came into the cubicle. But he didn’t sound any sorrier for his actions than Rafe had Saturday night. Now why had she thought of the security guard? “I just wanted to make sure everything was going well for you, and to say it was a pleasure meeting you at the ball.”

“Oh, thank you so much.” She’d left the event as soon as she could, but not before Mr. Lawrence had pulled her from group to group, introducing her to so many people she couldn’t remember any of them. All she really remembered was a glimpse of Rafael Diaz going past the French doors just as Mr. Lawrence had taken her hand to tug her over to yet another group of guests. She’d seen a flash of a frown on the guard’s face, then he’d disappeared for the rest of the evening. “The ball was wonderful.”

Mr. Lawrence, dapper in a solid navy suit, matching tie and gray shirt, came to the front of her desk. “I was very glad you finally showed up.” He hadn’t been annoyed by her tardiness, but seemed to appreciate the guard being so careful with her entry to the ball. “Better safe than sorry,” he murmured soberly.

“Absolutely,” she said, not sure if she should stand or not.

He took that decision out of her hands when he motioned for her to stay sitting, then said, “I just came in to say that we’re glad you’re here, and this month should prove illuminating for everyone.” He tapped at his wristwatch with his forefinger. “It’s seven, and you’re the last one still here. I appreciate dedication, and it will go in your file.”