her waist. She shook her head and walked away, straight to the bar.
Will had noticed that, too. The beautiful redhead was putting away the drinks. Not enough yet to have her tanked, but more than was wise if she intended to drive home. And he guessed she’d need to, because he hadn’t seen any sign she was here with anybody, friend or date. In fact, for all the dancing she was doing, she didn’t look like she was having a very good time. Maybe a mistaken impression, but…he didn’t think so.
She took her fresh drink and this time headed for the doors that stood open to the terrace where he currently lurked. Just like he had, the redhead went straight for the dark perimeter where light from the ballroom didn’t reach. She didn’t realize she wasn’t alone until she was almost on top of him.
When she started, Will said, “Hey,” making his voice soothing. Even if he hadn’t been standing in the dark, his size tended to alarm lone women. “Want to hide out here with me?”
She blinked owlishly. “I didn’t see you.”
“I know. That’s okay, I wouldn’t mind some company.” Hers, anyway. To himself, he could admit that he’d been humming with a low level of arousal since he’d first set eyes on her. He didn’t like bony women, and this one had the most luscious body he’d seen in longer than he could remember.
He wished he could make out what color her eyes were. He knew she had a pretty face and a mouth made for smiling. But her eyes, he hadn’t been sure of from a distance. Brown? Didn’t most redheads have brown eyes?
“I don’t want to intrude,” she said after a minute.
Will shook his head. “You’re not. I was watching you dance.”
Her head tilted his way. “You were?”
Some undertone in her voice puzzled him. She sounded surprised. Or even disbelieving.
“You’re beautiful,” he said simply.
His mystery redhead snorted. “Yeah, right. That’s me.”
Oh, yeah. Definitely disbelieving.
He grinned at her. “You think I’m full of hot air.”
The pretty mouth was mulish and not smiling. “I know what I look like.”
He was tempted to end the argument by kissing her, but he didn’t make a habit of grabbing women he hardly knew. And anyway…she wasn’t being coy. The words had been pained, as if pushed through a throat that was raw.
“Did somebody insult you?” Will asked gently.
She took a long swallow of her drink, swayed and clunked it down on the railing beside his. Liquid splashed.
“You could say that,” she said in a small, tight voice.
He was hardly aware of his hands tightening into fists. Partly to keep them off her, and partly because he wanted to slug the bastard who’d hurt her feelings. “Who?”
She blinked at him again.
“Who?” he repeated.
“Oh, it was my own stupid fault,” she said finally. “I guess I was supposed to get the message when he let me know he wouldn’t be bringing me tonight.” She heaved a sigh. “The part I missed was that he was bringing someone else.”
“He thought you wouldn’t come.”
“Bingo.”
Will’s eyes narrowed. “So he’s here.”
“Yes. With Graziella.” She grimaced. “Of course she couldn’t have a name like Ethel.”
Not many women in their twenties or thirties were named Ethel, Will thought with a trace of amusement. But he liked the way she said it, and the way she spit out Graziella.
“I’ll bet you’re nothing as plain as Ethel, either.”
“No,” she mumbled, “I’m Moira.”
“As Irish as your hair.”
She reached up and touched the skillfully tumbled mass of red curls atop her head as if to remind herself what was up there. “I suppose.”
“I’m Will,” he said, and held out his hand. “Will Becker.”
She laid hers in it and they shook with an odd sort of solemnity. “Good to meet you, Will Becker.”
She sounded as if the booze was starting to go to her head, as if she was having to form words carefully. He hoped she’d forget she still had most of a drink.
“Having a good time anyway?” he asked.
Moira sighed. “Not especially. You?”
“No. I’m not a real social guy.”
She stirred. “You probably wish I’d leave you alone.”
“No.” He clasped her wrist loosely. “No. Don’t go.”
After a moment she said, “Okay.” She didn’t seem to notice he was holding on to her. “I kind of wish I could go home, ’cept…except I don’t want him to catch me slinking out. You know?”
“Is he really worth the heartburn?”
“I thought so,” she said sadly.
“Have you been seeing him long?” Will didn’t actually want to know; he didn’t want to talk about the scumbag at all. But he also didn’t want her to go back in, and he couldn’t think of anything else to talk about. Sure as hell not the local building trade, since as of Monday morning he was no longer president of Becker Construction.
“I don’t know,” she said in answer to his question. “A month or six weeks.”
Will slid his hand down and laced his fingers with hers. It was almost more intimate than a kiss, he thought, looking at their clasped hands. There was something about being palm to palm.
She didn’t seem to notice that they were holding hands now.
“I just want to forget about him,” she declared. “And Graziella.”
There it was again, the name as abomination.
Will laughed. “Definitely forget them. Talk to me. Did you grow up around here?”
She turned to look at him instead of the ballroom. “Uh-uh. Montana. Missoula. You?”
“I’m a local boy.”
“So your family is here?” She seemed bemused by the idea.
“Yeah. Not my parents, they’re gone. My mother when I was a kid, and then my dad and stepmom in a plane crash when I was twenty. One of those freak things, a sightseeing flight—” He stopped. Sharing long past tragedy wasn’t the way to get the girl.
Not
