“Kit” Barton Atkins, daughter of wealthy CHAIM leader Gerald Barton and his wife, Sally Mae Barton, childless widow of State Senator Jacob Atkins, and CEO of the Barton Atkins Foundation. Old Texas money and all the perks and responsibilities of also inheriting her husband’s newly minted money to boot.
According to the information he’d been given, the young widow wasn’t a typical socialite. She believed in the causes she worked so hard for, even if it meant she had to attend such stuffy affairs as this one. And even if it meant she had to go out into the field and make her points with photo ops and highly opinionated, impassioned speeches. Plus, she didn’t seem to mind getting down and dirty or going into the fray. He’d seen pictures of her holding dying infants in third world countries; he’d seen pictures of her walking through storm-littered villages. And he’d seen an unauthorized shot of her standing in a corner, turned slightly away from the glare of the spotlight, her hand to her face, all alone and wearing exquisite white pearls and a severe black dress, just after they’d buried her husband.
But she hid her grief behind her work and that was why he was here. Her father was very concerned about her. Which made Shane concerned, too, and intent on protecting her. If he could keep the woman in his line of sight.
She moved through the crowd with a grace that reminded Shane of ballerinas and swans and all things lovely. Her whole persona exuded cool, blond elegance. Her evening gown was almost severe in its cut and color—shimmering and sleeveless but with a discreet beaded beige portrait collar and a skirt that flowed all around her in soft, folding wisps of designer-cut silk. And she was wearing what looked like the same pearls she’d worn to her husband’s funeral. Other than a pretty glittering watch on her left arm and her wedding band, the pearls were her only decoration. He wondered if she’d chosen this dress and jewelry on purpose—to set her apart from all the standard but predictable black and red formal dresses, festooned with sparkling jewels, fluttering all around her. Or had she just reached into her closet and come up with a winning combination of classic proportions? Either way, it worked for Shane.
Shane had always admired attractive women and he could spot a phony a mile away. Katherine was the real thing. Purebred and gracious, perfectly attired and perfectly serene. She seemed untouchable, unruffled and unconcerned, until she glanced up and straight into his eyes. Then she just looked determined and defiant.
Shane smiled to himself and put on his best game face. Kit was coming to greet him, at last. But she did not appear happy to see him.
“You’re becoming a nuisance, Sir Warwick,” she said as she walked up to him, a soft smile belying the dare in her pretty green eyes.
“Oh, really?” Shane took her hand and held it to his lips for the briefest of kisses. “And how’s that, Mrs. Atkins, since you have yet to even acknowledge me. I was beginning to think I’d lost my touch.”
She put a hand to her throat, diamonds twinkling on her finger. “Where are my manners?” Her smile didn’t change, but the expression in her cat-like eyes certainly did. “I thought it wasn’t proper for a woman to acknowledge the man her father hired to watch out for her, or was I wrong in that assumption?”
Shane adjusted his black tie. “Your father warned me about your attitude. And that you’d spot me the minute I entered the room.”
“Did he now?”
“He did indeed. Warned me about a lot of things. And told me not to let you out of my sight.” He leaned close and gave her a smile that had reportedly melted feminine hearts all across the globe. “And I must say, I don’t mind keeping my eyes on you at all. Your pictures don’t do you justice. You are quite beautiful.”
She inclined her head, pretending to enjoy being with him, even laughing for the benefit of those standing all around them. “Hmm. Let me see if I can get this straight. A dashing British secret agent in a precision-cut tux and a seemingly interested American woman in an overpriced evening gown. Their eyes meet across the crowded room, they walk toward each other, smiling and cordial…and the rest is written in the stars. Except I know how this ends. I’ve seen the movie. Your charms won’t work on me, Sir Warwick.”
Shane laughed out loud then looked into her eyes. She was actually very refreshing. Scary, but refreshing. “Ah, but you forgot the beautiful part.”
She touched the pearls at her throat. “Excuse me?”
“The beautiful interested woman,” he replied, smiling at his own cleverness. “And you are beautiful.”
She smiled, too. That was a good sign, at least. Then she stopped smiling. “And you forgot the seemingly part, you know, as in the seemingly interested woman. Only this woman is not interested—so cut the charm, Warwick. I’m on to you and I don’t like it one bit that you’d use charisma to try and win me over to allow you to hover around me. Get off my back, and give me some room here. I’ve got a full evening ahead of me and you’re in the way.”
Shane Warwick had to heave a surprised breath. There was a bit of fire underneath all that coolness, after all. “Your father also warned me that you’d try to lose me. But that, dear lady, isn’t going to happen.” There was only one way to handle such a bundle of bemusing contradictions and do his job at the same time, so he took her hand and whirled her out onto the dance floor. “I suggest we make the best of it…and dance.”
He was rewarded with a gasp of surprise followed by a tight smile that told him only the most practiced rules of decorum were keeping her from slapping him across the face.
And because of that, Shane grinned down at her and reveled in the way she flowed right into his arms. This waltz might prove either to win her over, or do him in. He’d lay odds on the last scenario. He needed to do some serious praying for patience and control, and that God would allow him to do his duty and protect this woman.
So things would turn out differently this time.
Putting those dark thoughts out of his mind, Shane held her tight, and after taking some time to look into her brightly mad green eyes, he moved his gaze from her pretty face to the other faces in the crowd.
And he wondered the whole time if someone in this VIP crowd had been sent here to murder her.
TWO
Kit breathed in the fresh soapy smell of Shane’s rich chocolate-colored hair. This wasn’t fair, the way he held her in his arms with an aloof possession. This wasn’t fair, the way her heart hurt from missing Jacob so much, the way her heart fluttered to life each time Shane bent his head and held her gaze with icy blue eyes, while he tried to search for all her secrets.
She wished her father hadn’t hired this particular man, wished her husband was still alive to dance with her, and wished she could just run away to some quiet island and grieve, really grieve, for all she’d lost the day her husband had died. But a Barton had to be strong; a Barton showed no grief. And so she was expected to carry on. Duty called. And only manners kept her from doing exactly that—up and running out of this room. And away from this man.
“Am I making you uncomfortable?” he asked, his British accent precise and crisp in her ear.
“What do you think?” she shot back, looking up at him. “People are staring.” Even her parents had stopped chatting to watch them move around the dance floor.
He dipped his head, his breath tickling against her earlobe. “We could go somewhere more private so we can discuss my concerns for your
