Brandywine that made the woman’s face turn as red as her long, fake fingernails.
While standing in a shadowy corner, nibbling on canapés and sipping her drink, she leaned forward and touched him as often as she could. Laughed at the appropriate moments. Batted her eyelashes like a stupid twit and all in all did whatever one did to try to attract a man. It had been a long time since she’d wanted to.
She didn’t want to consider whether or not she’d have been trying to attract Ryan Stoddard if she didn’t have to bring him down. Because the answer would probably be yes.
“So how do you like our town?” She pursed her lips a bit, inviting him to stare and remember their kiss. “And its people?”
He tilted his head and arched his brow, staring at her mouth for a long moment—as he was meant to. Finally, he shook his head and tightened his jaw before coming up with a reply. “How do you know I’m not from here?”
“I know,” she replied, certain she’d affected him. Men—they were all so utterly predictable. She gave him a warm laugh, inviting him to join in a gentle jibe at her hometown. “This is a small town for a modern city.”
She didn’t bother going into detail about how long her family had lived here, how many local families had ties to hers, and how her great-aunt was the local voodoo priestess who could name nearly every pureblooded Savannah resident.
“It’s interesting,” he said. “Different from New York.”
“Are you from there?” she asked, wanting to know more of his background, in case she needed to use it against him. She knew he’d met Jenny in New York City, but wasn’t entirely sure that was where he lived.
“Yep. Born and raised. Now I live in Manhattan.”
Manhattan. So he probably had money. He carried himself like a man completely comfortable with his finances.
She’d been to New York last month on one of her treasure-hunting trips, when she’d recovered an Impressionist painting from a very nice elderly couple who lived upstate. The painting had already been returned to the original plantation from which it had been stolen during the Civil War. The place now operated as a tourist destination outside the city and they were utterly thrilled to have the portrait back where it belonged.
For a second, she wondered if perhaps she’d spotted Ryan during her trip, and if that was why he’d seemed familiar to her when she’d first seen him tonight. Maybe her subconscious remembered him.
The picture, stupid.
Yeah, the picture of him with Jenny. No, it hadn’t been a great one, and she’d only seen it briefly. But it’d obviously made an impression. As did the man.
“Let me know when you decide you want that glass of wine, okay?” he said, eyeing her empty soda cup.
She knew what he meant. It had already been more than half an hour. No wonder he was getting confident. There’d been no hesitation, no doubt in his voice. He thought he had her. Hell, maybe he did. At least for an hour or so.
Until she could get him naked.
“All right,” she replied. “But for now, maybe we should just dance again.”
“Suits me fine.”
Suited her fine, too. Especially because, when they returned to the dance floor, he moved his cheek close to her hair and inhaled. She knew his head was filled with the special orange-blossom-and-almond conditioner Aunt Lula Mae made for her. His murmur of appreciation told her he liked it. He liked all of it.
Good. The man was making it incredibly easy. He’d sought her out—she hadn’t even had to make a move on him. When he looked back on things later, he’d have to remember that much, at least.
“You truly seem to fit in here,” he murmured as the music continued and they moved as carefully as possible amid the crush of people.
“You don’t.”
He chuckled. “Why not?”
“Blue suit. Genuine smile. Interested look.”
“That makes me stand out?”
“Like a June bug in a bowl of rice.”
He laughed again, looking down at her, eyes sparkling with interest. Dark green. Long lashed. Crinkled at the corners, probably from casting his wicked smile at any woman old enough to be affected by it.
He’s a heart-breaking reprobate! She struggled to remember that as he continued to smile down at her.
“I like Southerners.”
“We don’t particularly care for you-all.”
That made him laugh out loud.
She nibbled her lip, forcing her eyes to focus somewhere over his right shoulder so she wouldn’t get caught up again in his good humor, wouldn’t lose herself in his twinkling eyes and irresistible grin. Maybe dancing hadn’t been such a good idea. Hard to remember silly things like family honor and vengeance when being held closely by a man as fine as this one.
“Honesty. I like that in a woman.”
Well, darlin’, you’re not gonna like me very much, then.
“So tell me, how can I make myself fit in?”
“Got a few million dollars lying around?”
He shook his head.
“Genteel impoverished, but able to trace your lineage back to before the war?”
“Which war?”
She raised a brow and gave him a wounded look. “Whichever do you think?”
Their eyes met and she saw the laughter in his. He’d been teasing her, just as she’d been teasing him.
“I’m afraid I’m an Irish-English-German mutt,” he replied with a mournful-sounding sigh. “Can’t trace my roots further back than Ellis Island, for the most part.”
“But I bet you have good taste in beer. Irish, English, German?”
He nodded, still looking amused.
“Unfortunately, that doesn’t get you in with this crowd.”
“How about with you?”
“Are you offering to buy me a beer?” she asked, leaping on the opening he’d provided. The time had come to get him alone. Now—before her defenses dropped even further and she forgot she wasn’t allowed to like this man. “I doubt they serve it here.”
“I have some in the fridge up in my room.”
Ooh, cutting right to the chase. Trying to get her up to his room. How incredibly easy he was making this. And his smooth way of trying to get her alone reinforced her certainty that he was the creep her sister made him out to be, even though he’d been nothing but charming and friendly—if a bit flirtatious—all
