you going?” she asked, admiring the black tuxedo he sported.
Eden reached to adjust the patriarch’s bow tie and collar. “You look quite dashing, Daddy,” she said.
Edward grinned. “Why thank you very much! And, I’m joining you for dinner,” he said to Marah as he extended his elbow in her direction, his palm pressed flat against his abdomen. “Shall we?”
Marah smiled back, her eyes wide with surprise as she pressed her arm through her father’s. “I’d be delighted, Mr. Briscoe,” she answered as she allowed him to guide her out the front door to the waiting vehicle. “Simply delighted!”
Chapter 4
The drive to the magnificent Preston Hollow estate on Audubon Avenue would have taken Marah’s breath away had she been breathing. But Marah felt as if she’d been holding her breath since she and her father stepped into the vehicle, the patriarch chatting away as if this was something that they did every day. Edward didn’t seem to notice that Marah was twisting her fingers together nervously, anxiety flushing her face with color. She was nervous and excited about seeing John Stallion again and she couldn’t ever remember being nervous or excited about any man.
The driver stopped at the entrance to the grand home. Constructed of Austin stone with copper accents and a tile roof, the European-style residence easily encompassed some fifteen thousand square feet of living space. It sat on some sizeable acreage as well, and Marah took in the expanse of landscaping that boasted a putting green, an Olympic-size swimming pool and tennis courts. It didn’t, however, begin to compare to the ranch.
Edward barely blinked as they made their way to the iron-and-glass entrance, moving as if this was all an everyday occurrence. At the door he depressed the button for the doorbell, tossing Marah a quick wink as they waited for someone to answer.
Their wait was brief as the receptionist Marah had encountered that morning at the entrance to the Stallion conference room opened the front door. The woman smiled warmly as she greeted them both by name and then leaned to kiss Edward’s lips.
The gesture took Marah by complete surprise, and the expression across her face showed her displeasure. In all her life she had only seen her mother kiss her father like that and so the moment did not sit well with Marah at all. She could feel herself bristle, tension adding to the stress she had already been feeling.
The other woman’s voice intruded on Marah’s thoughts.
“It’s very nice to finally meet you, dear. I’ve heard a lot about you and your sisters.”
Imagine that, Marah thought to herself. We’ve never heard anything about you. Marah forced a smile onto her face. “Thank you,” she said. “How do you know my father?”
His eyes avoiding hers, Edward answered the question, clearing his throat before he spoke. “Juanita and I are old friends.”
It was on the tip of Marah’s tongue to ask how old “old” was, but the moment passed as Juanita Hilton escorted them into the formal living space of the home, her arm now looped through Marah’s father’s arm.
Conversation stopped as Marah and her father stepped from the foyer into a handsome study that was complemented by Brazilian cherrywood floors, wall-to-wall built-in bookcases and a beamed ceiling. The four Stallion men had stood in deep discussion, debating the merits of a mutual fund portfolio when their attention was diverted in her direction. Those four pairs of eyes were appraising her for the second time that day. And Marah stared back, meeting each gaze one by one, noting the expensive tuxedos each wore to perfection. Black suits adorning picture-perfect, rock-hard physiques. She suddenly felt like a kid with a sweet tooth in a candy shop.
Matthew Stallion greeted them first, extending his hand toward her father before formally introducing himself to Marah.
“We’re glad you and your father could join us this evening, Marah.”
“Thank you,” she responded politely.
Edward shook hands with each of them in turn, an easy camaraderie obvious between them all. Marah suddenly had a long list of questions she intended to ask the old man before the evening was over.
John Stallion was the last brother to step forward to greet them.
“Let me take your wrap for you,” he said as he stepped behind her, his fingers grazing hers as she allowed the garment to slip from her shoulders.
The man was awestruck. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Marah. He was held hostage by bare skin, her attire screaming for attention. Her entire back was exposed. She wore just the hint of a forest-green silk dress, a triangle of fabric that draped into a valley of deep cleavage and stopped mere inches past her southern quadrant to wrap around the shelf of her buttocks. The halter-style dress was tied with a wisp of silk ribbon at the neck and waist.
John found himself dazzled by the expanse of tattoo that painted the woman’s back. Starting just below her hairline, an intricate depiction of scrolls and flowers was detailed in magnificent color against her warm complexion, seeming to stop somewhere past the curve of her buttocks. He marveled at the tattoo’s intricacy, having never seen such a display of artwork on a woman before. Not one other blemish marred her skin, the tone so smooth and even that one could only imagine how soft and sweet she might be in a man’s arms. He resisted an urge to draw his finger against her bare flesh.
He wasn’t used to the sensations sweeping through him, his blood surging as it simmered through his veins. Since their brief encounter in the elevator and their abrupt introduction in his boardroom, John felt as if his whole world had changed and John wasn’t one to like a whole lot of change. But everything felt different. He felt different, as if some piece of that woman was crawling just beneath the surface of his skin, pleasant but irritating. With her suddenly in his presence, standing so close that the fragrant scent of her perfume was teasing his nostrils, it was almost too much for him to take. He suddenly pondered whether or not a shot or two of straight scotch might calm his frazzled nerves. John shook his head, trying to clear the rush of confusion that threatened to consume him as he still stood staring like he’d lost his mind.
Marah could feel his eyes burning over her flesh and she smiled slyly. Working her assets came naturally and she paused just long enough for him to get a good look before she spun slowly in his direction to face him. She shifted her weight from one hip to the other, accentuating the curve of her buttocks and the narrow line of her thin waist. “Cat got your tongue, Mr. Stallion?”
John blinked, forcing his focus back to her exquisite caramel-colored eyes, the forest-thick lashes batting in his direction. “I’m sorry. You were saying…?”
“I was admiring your home,” Marah said, a soft smile brightening her face. “Have you lived here long?”
“We built the house back in 2002, right after the company started doing well.
Marah’s smile widened. “And you all live here?” she asked, her gaze skating from one to the other.
Mark shook his head, the appendage waving from side to side. “Not anymore. Luke and I are the only two still here at home. John and Matthew both have their own places.”
“Interesting,” Marah said, nodding slowly.
John shrugged. “Not really. We entertain clients here and occasionally a business associate or two might stay here if they need to
