Cornelia’s expression was intrigued, but before she could question Frankie further, two waiters arrived with bottles of champagne and began pouring.
“Oh, how wonderful. I love champagne,” Frankie said with delight, accepting a flute from Eli. “How did you know?”
“You had champagne at your last birthday party.”
His gaze met hers, and Frankie’s heart skipped a beat. The memory of her birthday party and the kiss they’d shared was in his eyes, and Frankie was suddenly back there, his mouth on hers, his arms warm and hard, wrapping her tight against the powerful muscles of his chest and thighs….
“How nice that you remembered.”
Cornelia’s warm voice broke the spell that held Frankie, and she tore her gaze from Eli’s, looking down at the bubbles rising in the gold liquid filling her flute.
Eli relaxed in his chair, a glass in one hand, the other arm stretched out along the back of Frankie’s chair. His fingers brushed the bare curve of her shoulder before closing warmly, lightly, over the nape of her neck.
“I remember everything about Frankie.” His voice was deeper, huskier.
Frankie glanced sideways, and their gazes meshed. She tried to remember he was only playing a role. But his blue eyes were darker, smokier, and the heat within seemed so real Frankie felt herself melting, her body unconsciously softening, easing toward his.
“I don’t recall seeing you at Frankie’s last birthday party,” Harry said.
Frankie glanced up, alerted by Harry’s tone, and saw his eyes narrow over Eli.
“I wasn’t there long,” Eli said without missing a beat. “I’d barely recovered from a second leg surgery and stopped in for a few minutes, looking for Justin. I didn’t know you were having a party until I got there and only stayed long enough to say hello and toast the birthday girl before leaving.”
“Ah, that must be why I don’t remember—I probably didn’t see you in the crowd,” Harry mused.
“There were a lot of people at the house,” Eli agreed.
His fingertips absently stroked the curve of Frankie’s shoulder, almost as if he was savoring the tactile pleasure of her skin against his. Despite knowing he was only touching her because Harry and Cornelia were watching, Frankie still shivered inwardly, her skin heating beneath his touch.
“Oh, Jonathon,” Marcia exclaimed, her eyes lighting as the orchestra played the opening notes of a classic Burt Bacharach tune. “I love this song—come dance with me.” She held out her hand to her husband.
“Excuse us, folks,” Jonathon said as he rose and took his wife’s hand.
Eli leaned closer, his lips brushing Frankie’s earlobe.
“Let’s dance.”
She nodded silently, and he stood, pulling back her chair.
“Harry, you should dance with Mom,” she said as Eli took her hand, threading her fingers through his.
“I think we’ll sit this one out and finish our champagne,” Harry replied.
Frankie thought she caught a fleeting frown cross her mother’s features before Eli tugged her gently out onto the gleaming floor.
He turned her into his arms, tucking her close. Her temple rested against his cheek, and each breath she took drew in the subtle scent of his aftershave, warmed by body heat. She loved that smell, she thought, leaning closer.
“Did you see Harry’s face?” Eli’s voice was a low rumble. He chuckled, his breath ghosting against her ear. “He can’t decide whether to demand we tell him why we’re here together or pretend it’s not happening.”
Frankie laughed. “I’d give anything to hear what he’s saying to Mom right now.”
Eli’s arms tightened around Frankie. “Heads up,” he whispered in her ear. “Harry and your mom are heading this way.”
Frankie tilted her head back and looked up at him. “Do we have a plan?” she asked, even as she reveled in the muscled strength of his arm at her waist, his warm fingers threaded through hers and the press of her increasingly sensitized body as it lay against his from breast to thigh.
His lashes lowered, his eyes going darker as the moment stretched. Then he swung her in a slow circle, his steps sure as he swept her into a secluded corner, behind a tall column with baskets of ferns and flowers widening its base.
Her skirts swirled around his legs as he stopped, easing her backward against the column’s support.
His gaze didn’t leave hers as he bent his head and brushed his mouth against hers.
It was like touching a live electrical wire. Frankie started, her hands curling into fists over his lapels as she caught her breath.
“Shh,” he murmured against her lips. Then his mouth fitted carefully over hers, changing the angle of the kiss as it lengthened, stealing the oxygen from her lungs until he breathed for her.
Frankie forgot that a roomful of people danced and laughed only feet away from where she stood, locked in Eli’s arms, concealed behind the column. The world faded away, narrowing to hold only Eli.
When at last he lifted his head, she was breathless. If she hadn’t been supported against his solid strength, she knew she would have wobbled, her knees weak.
Eli’s hooded gaze searched hers, his breath coming too fast. His fingertips moved reflexively against the bare skin of her back above the low-cut gown as if unable to keep from stroking, and a muscle ticked along the line of his jaw. Whatever he saw in her eyes had his lips curving upward in a slow, sensual half smile that made Frankie yearn for the feel of his mouth on hers again. Then he wrapped her closer and swept her out from behind the column, back into the crowd, the music a slow swirl of sound around them. Frankie let him guide her, her feet automatically moving to the rhythm as she struggled to clear her head.
She was every bit as shaken now as she’d been by that first kiss all those months ago at her birthday party. No question about it, she thought with faint dismay, when she’d felt the earth move during that first kiss, it hadn’t been the result of drinking too much champagne on an empty stomach.
Because it had just happened again.
Harry and Cornelia, with half the dance floor now separating them from Eli and Frankie, were each trying to digest and interpret what they’d just seen.
“I haven’t purposely spied on any of my daughters since they were teenagers,” Cornelia told Harry. “I feel guilty.”
“We didn’t spy on them on purpose,” Harry protested. “We just happened to be dancing near them when he pulled her behind that column. It’s not as if we were using binoculars.”
Cornelia leaned back against his arm and looked up at him. “Even you can’t believe that excuse, Harry,” she admonished him, shaking her head. “You know very well you asked me to dance solely to keep an eye on Frankie and Eli.”
