Almost To The Altar Page 4

  “I don’t see him yet, darling,” Parker said. “He must be out of the room.”

  “Must be.”

  “I do see Gleason Archer, however,” he said. She didn’t like the predatory look in his eyes when he pressed his hand to the small of her back. “Come along, I want you to meet him.”

  With the obligatory smile firmly in place, she allowed Parker to guide her through the room. He stopped along the way to charm, to intimidate, to cajole—whatever he felt necessary. The effortless way he played the crowd failed to impress her tonight. Tonight, she found it strangely oppressive. And artificial.

  “Elise!” She glanced up to find Alex Devonshire bearing down on her. “So glad you came.” He pressed a glass of champagne into her hand. “Parker, my boy, good to see you.”

  Parker shook Alex’s hand with a warmth that failed to reach his eyes. “Hello, Alex.”

  It wasn’t, Elise knew, that Parker disliked Alex Devonshire, it was merely that he considered the older man to have little use to him. Parker rarely bothered with people like that. The bitter thought surprised her. Parker wasn’t a calculating man. She knew that. He merely knew what he wanted, determined the best way to get it and allowed little to stand in his way. With a stern reminder that she’d never thought less of him for that—had, in fact, admired it—she slipped her hand through the bend of his elbow.

  Telling herself that her sour mood was merely a hangover from the unsettling encounter with Wil on Friday, and the even more unsettling way it had affected her weekend, she gave Alex a deliberately bright smile. “Thank you so much for inviting us, Alex. You seem to have a great turnout this year.”

  His round face lit up. “We do. We do. With Congress threatening to pull the plug on arts funding, it’s become all the thing. Our attendance is up nearly fifteen percent over last year. I think we’ll be able to make our heftiest contribution ever, and that’s got to be good PR.”

  “How fortunate,” Parker drawled.

  The comment made Elise cringe, but Alex seemed oblivious of Parker’s sarcasm. “Do you mind if I steal Elise for a while, Parker?” he asked. “There are several people here I want her to meet.”

  Without waiting for Parker’s permission—primarily because she didn’t need it, or want it—she took Alex’s arm. “Parker can function quite well on his own, can’t you?” she said.

  His scrutiny told her he hadn’t missed the slight irritation in her tone. “Of course. I was on my way to talk to Gleason,” he told Alex. “Just make sure she saves the first dance for me.” Without waiting for a response, he strode away.

  Elise made a mental effort to shrug off her bad mood. Things had been strained between them since they’d left Wilmette the previous afternoon. Parker had quickly grown irritated with her insistence that his parents disapproved of her, but Elise had known the instant she walked into their home, from the way Cornelia Conrad inspected her mud-splattered clothes, that they considered her in the same vein Parker considered Alex Devonshire: not particularly distasteful, but certainly of little value. The fact that she’d been unable to tear her thoughts from Wil Larsen for the better part of the weekend had only exacerbated the prob-!!lem.

  “Well, Alex,” she said, forcing aside her grim mood, “tell me how things are going with the SYNTEC merger.”

  The next half hour passed uneventfully, with the usual blur of names and faces. The band was good enough to put people in a dancing mood, and after four partners her feet hurt, her head was pounding and she’d had more than her fill of the crowd. She was scanning the room for a glimpse of Parker, contemplating her chances of coaxing him to take her home, when a prickling sensation at her nape arrested her attention. Slowly, almost afraid to look, she turned her head.

  Fog-colored eyes met her gaze from across the room.

  Her fingers tightened on her champagne glass. Wil, clad in an elegant tuxedo, captured her gaze with a look so compelling, she felt her heart miss a beat. If she’d thought him disarming in jeans and a sweatshirt on Friday, there were simply no words to describe what he looked like in his tuxedo. Most men, including Parker, looked elegant, sophisticated, in evening dress. The way Wil’s double-!!breasted jacket hung casually on his broad shoulders, the way his full trousers emphasized his narrow waist, had nothing to do with sophistication. He looked dangerous.

  In the look he gave her were a wealth of emotions: resentment, frustration, desire, and something else, some-!!thing that she couldn’t read but that sent tiny bursts of electricity skittering down her spine. As if he’d said the words, his gaze told her that he’d come for her.

  She nearly fainted in relief when Alex Devonshire appeared at Wil’s side, capturing his attention. Feeling more than a little panicky, Elise set her glass on a passing waiter’s tray, and slowly began to pick her way toward Parker. She’d finally spotted him at the far end of the room, standing just beyond the dance floor. With any luck, she could slip through the crowd before Wil confronted her.

  She managed to curl her fingers onto Parker’s arm seconds before Wil reached her.

  “Hello,” Wil said. “Good to see you again, Elsa.”

  Elise swallowed. Parker, who’d been talking idly with a young man whose name she didn’t recall, glanced at her in surprise when her fingers tightened on his forearm. He frowned briefly, then looked at Wil and his companion. Elise finally managed to drag her gaze from Wil’s eyes long enough to notice the attractive woman. Parker’s ready smile was already in place.

  “Shelley Castelbrooke,” he said, his tone charming, caressing, in a way Elise recognized. Whoever Shelley Castelbrooke was, Parker thought her useful. “How long has it been?”

  “At least five years,” she said. Giving Elise a bright smile that lacked the artifice she’d expected, she added, “and I’m sure I don’t look a day older.”

  Parker laughed. “Of course not. Elise, this is Shelley Castelbrooke, a very good friend of the family. Shelley, this is my fiancée, Elise Christopher.”

  Elise met the knowing look in the other woman’s eyes. “How nice to meet you,” she said, holding out her hand.

  Shelley smiled again, as if some private joke were keeping her amused. “Nice to meet you, too,” she said. Either she actually meant it, or she could act at least twice as well as Parker. “I believe you already know Wil Larsen.”

  Ah, Elise thought, so that’s it. She glared at Wil. He’d evidently already given Shelley an earful. “Yes. We’ve met.”

  “You have?” Parker asked.

  That he couldn’t imagine the possibility added to Elise’s irritation. In a flash of insight, she realized that for the two years they’d dated, he’d controlled their social life. Her friends were his friends. While he had associates she’d never met, the same didn’t hold true for her. The thought made her uncomfortably aware of Wil’s piercing look. “You remember Wil,” she told him. The urge to retaliate against Wil for making her the brunt of the joke between him and Shelley was too strong to resist.. “He’s fixing your car.” Never mind that he was one of the most talented commodities brokers in the city. Never mind that just two years ago he’d been widely touted as the hottest broker on the Merc. Tonight, she’d let him experience the full force of Parker’s dismissal.

  “Oh, the mechanic,” Parker said. Elise almost laughed out loud at the way he tried to mask his surprise. “Of course.”

  To her frustration, amusement sparkled in Wil’s eyes. His lips twitched as he studied Elise’s face. “Of course,” he drawled. “We didn’t actually meet on Friday, I don’t believe.”

  “No, no,” Parker said, still dearly flustered. Elise could just imagine how rapidly his brain was trying to assimilate why Shelley Castelbrooke was in the company of a mechanic. Since Wil hadn’t bothered to enlighten him, nei-!!ther did she. Parker snapped his fingers in sudden recollection. “You were working on that white car—”

  “The Stutz,” Wil supplied.

  “Yes, that’s right. You were working on the Stutz when I arrived
at the garage.”

  “Hmm.” Wil nodded. “Elise must have forgotten to introduce us.” He slid his hands into his trouser pockets with a detached air that belied the current of energy she felt beneath the surface of his cool façade. “You’ll be happy to know,” he told Parker, “that your car’s fixed. I towed it into the city and left it at the office building, per Elise’s instructions.” He produced the keys from his pocket, then pressed them into Parker’s palm. “All yours.”

  Parker stared at the keys. “What was wrong with it?” he asked.

  When Wil’s gaze found hers again, Elise forced herself not to look away. The heat of his body seemed to reach her across the short space. How, she wondered, could Parker be unaware of it?

  “The fuel pump was bad,” Wil said. His gaze slid slowly, in an insolent inspection, down the length of her body. “You had nothing driving the stroke.”

  Elise swallowed.

  “The stroke?” Parker asked.

  Wil shifted his pelvis forward ever so slightly, just enough to make her palms go damp. “The stroke,” he explained. “The pump supplies power to the pistons.” The sultry tone in his voice told her he wasn’t even remotely concerned with Parker’s car. “Without it, the stroke is too short.” He raised one hand to his face to skim the line of his mouth with a fingertip. “Without power, a short stroke causes premature ignition.”

  Elise coughed. Parker, evidently oblivious of the innuendo, continued to stare blankly at Wil. Wil’s heated gaze remained firmly riveted to Elise’s face. She thought about telling him that public mortification was a considerably worse fate than premature ignition.

  Fortunately, Shelley came to her rescue. With a genuine laugh that reminded Elise of the soft sound of rustling leaves, she told him, “Enough, Wil. Can’t you see you’ve lost poor Parker? He doesn’t know his piston from his crankshaft.”

  “I’ll bet,” Wil drawled.

  Shelley glanced at Elise. “Boys,” she told her, in a conspiratorial voice that made Elise warm to her. She abruptly changed the subject. “Wil tells me you’re handling the Collingham auction.”

  Elise seized on the verbal olive branch. “That’s right.”

  “You know, I’m very interested in the inlaid armoire. I’ve always admired it. I wondered if you’d let me put in an advance bid.”

  “Of course,” she told her, trying to concentrate on the conversation, instead of on the way her flesh felt tingly and damp. “I’m preselling most of the estate by silent bid. If you’ll let me know which piece interests you, I’ll be happy to send you the specs.”

  “Are you sure it wouldn’t be too much trouble?”

  Elise laughed. “No. I already handle fifty pages of paperwork a day for this thing. One more set is more or less a moot point.” When Shelley still seemed to hesitate, Elise continued, “Really. I don’t mind at all. Actually, the more I presell, the less work I’ll have to do at auction time.”

  Shelley’s gaze slid to Parker, then back to Elise. “I’ll do that, then. Perhaps I could come by your office and talk with you one day next week.”

  “That would be great. Why don’t you call me Monday or Tuesday and we’ll set up a time?”

  Parker nodded enthusiastically. “Wonderful idea. I’m sure Shelley could be a great help to you, darling.”

  Elise’s spine stiffened. Before she could retort, Shelley gave Parker a look that would have withered most men. “Don’t be obtuse, Parker. Elise doesn’t need any help. I want her to do me a favor.”

  His face flushed. “That’s not what I meant.”

  Shelley rolled her eyes. “You never did master tact as a social skill.” With a knowing look at Elise, she reached for Parker’s arm. “You won’t mind if I steal him for a dance, will you? I see he still has some manners to learn.”

  Before Elise could protest, Shelley led Parker away. Elise felt a sinking sense of dread at being left alone with Wil. The moment Shelley had guided Parker to a safe distance, Wil’s fingers clamped on’ to her elbow, preventing her planned flight. “I want to talk to you,” he told her.

  Dear God, the last thing she wanted to do was talk to him. All she wanted was to get away from him, somewhere, anywhere, away from his overwhelming presence. “What are you doing here?” she asked him.

  “Looking for you.”

  “For me?”

  He reached into his jacket pocket and produced her leather-bound calendar. With a surprised gasp, Elise snatched it from his hand. “You found it.”

  “You lost it.”

  “You fixed it.”

  He pointed to the clasp. “I put a new clasp on it. The old one was worn out.”

  “I—” She made herself meet his gaze. All weekend she’d worried that she’d lost the calender. Now she hesitated to let him know how much its return meant to her. It seemed too revealing, too intimate. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you. I thought I’d lost it.”

  “You left it lying on the seat of my truck. That’s how I knew you’d be here tonight.”

  “Here?”

  “I checked your schedule.”

  She glanced from him to the calendar, then back again. “You read this?”

  “I wanted to see you again. I knew I’d find you here.”

  “You’re here because of me?”

  “Because of you.”

  She stared at him for long seconds. “But, Shelley…”

  “Shelley’s an old friend. When I called and asked her if she’d been invited to this thing, she agreed to let me come along.”

  “I see.”

  “I doubt it.” He placed a firm hand at her back. “Will you dance with me, Elsa? I need to talk to you.”

  Unbidden, the thoughts that had haunted her over the weekend swept through her, potent and overwhelming. She finally understood why she’d been unable to shake the uneasy feeling that had plagued her since she’d last seen him, on Friday. Without realizing it, she’d allowed his memory to strike at her most secret fear. Deep in her heart, where only she knew it existed, lay a kernel of doubt about her relationship with Parker Conrad. More than she needed to breathe, she needed to expunge that doubt. Time and again she’d reminded herself that Parker was everything she’d ever wanted in a husband. He loved her. He valued her.

  But their relationship lacked passion.

  The kind she’d felt only for Wil.

  She respected and admired Parker, cared for him very deeply, but not once in the time she’d known him had she ever felt the consuming fire she’d once felt for Wil Larsen. With time, she’d managed to convince herself that those feelings were merely the memories of youth, that her relationship with Parker was built on more concrete things than mere physical chemistry.

  She’d almost believed it, until she saw Wil again on Friday. Maybe, she told herself, just maybe, Wil had already talked himself out of what had occurred between them that afternoon. If he had convinced himself, perhaps he could convince her, too. Reluctantly she agreed. “One dance.”

  She felt the tension drain out of him as he led her to the dance floor. When he turned her into his arms, she was immediately assailed by the certain knowledge that this had not been a good idea. The feel of his body pressed to hers awakened too many memories.

  Worse, dancing with Wil was an incredibly erotic experience. His scent, slightly musky and all male, enveloped her. Beneath her fingers, the crisp fabric of his jacket seemed to ask for her touch. With his hard, sinewy body fitted to hers, she felt a warm feeling begin to flow through her blood, start to wend its way down through her system until her stomach flipped over.

  His large hand settled in the small of her back, and Elise willed herself not to melt into the floor. “What—what do you want?”

  He bent his head so that his cheek rested against the top of her head. When his thighs moved against hers, a coil of heat formed in her stomach.

  They moved for several moments before he answered her. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since Fri-!!day.”
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  The soft rumble of his voice gave her goose bumps. She tried to concentrate on following his lead, instead of on the way his fingers were rubbing circles at the small of her back.

  “When I saw you that afternoon,” he continued, “it was like laying open an old wound.” He tipped her slightly away so that he could meet her gaze. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

  “I never meant to hurt you, either,” she told him. “We were—friends.”

  “And lovers.”

  “And lovers,” she conceded.

  “I never stopped wanting you, Elsa.”

  She pushed aside an angry retort. His final words to her had seemed more like disgust than desire. “It just wasn’t meant to be.”

  He gave her an odd look. “Is that what you think?”

  When she didn’t answer, he pulled her back against his chest. “You were my best friend’s little sister. When Maks died—” he shrugged, as if reliving the memory of her older brother’s death were too great a burden “—things changed. Everything changed.”

  “Things changed for all of us. I know how much you cared for Maks.”

  Wil shook his head. “It’s not just about Maks, and you know it. It stopped being about Maks a long time ago. Friday, I could see it in your eyes. You were afraid of me. I’ve been haunted by that for four days.”

  “I wasn’t afraid of you.”

  “No? Then what put that hunted look in your eyes?”

  A tight band seemed to be squeezing out her breath. She had to concentrale on her breathing for several seconds. “I wasn’t prepared to see you again. I already told you I was expecting your father.”

  “Fine. I was surprised, too. But that doesn’t explain why you were afraid of me.”

  “I wasn’t afraid of you,” she insisted.

  “What, then?”

  She took a deep breath. “I couldn’t stop thinking about what we’d done to each other the last time we were together. I don’t want us to tear each other apart again.”

  He missed a step. “Elsa—”

  She didn’t let him continue. “I think we’d both be better off if we just forgot what happened on Friday.”