the art of flirting. Since entering her teens, she’d only had to look at a male to have him cross the room to meet her. Sometimes she’d hated the kind of attention her features brought. To deal with it, she’d cultivated a polite manner with no hint of flirtatiousness. The facade had served her equally well in her dealings as public relations director of the Kincaid Group. So why on earth was she adding an item like Flirt with a stranger?
Maybe she should’ve made that Kiss a stranger. The renegade thought startled her.
“You’re blushing. Is it a man? Is that the reason for the red lips?” Kara’s voice broke into Laurel’s musings. “Is that the reason you won’t let me ask Eli to introduce you to Rakin?”
“No man,” Laurel denied, wishing that her complexion didn’t color quite so dramatically. “The red lips are for me alone.”
For one mad moment she was tempted to tell Kara all about the List. Then she cringed and the impulse passed.
Telling Kara would be insane. And Kara would start fretting again about Laurel exposing herself to danger—and the last thing Laurel wanted was to cause her sister to worry on her wedding day.
She drained the last of the champagne, then set her glass back down on the dresser. She caught another glimpse of her lips in the mirror above the dresser.
What would it be like to kiss the gorgeous dark-haired man from the church?
The shocking visual of crushed red lips sent a frisson of heat coursing through her.
Laurel came to her senses. What if he turned out to be Eli’s friend? How trashy would that be? She’d always been the good eldest sister … the one to do as she was told. To study hard for excellent grades. To obey her curfew. She’d always set an example for her sisters to follow. No mini skirts. No ear studs and torn jeans. No shameless behavior with boys. No wild flings.
No trashy makeup …
She turned away from the mirror, intending to say something light and funny to her sister.
Only to find Kara had risen to her feet and was still watching her.
“I have to admit red suits you, Laurel. Makes you look like a movie star. Glamorous. Sexy. You always wear beiges and creams. I take back all my cautions, you should break out more often.”
Laurel’s heart lightened as she followed her sister to the door. “Careful! I might take that as permission to do something reckless.”
Kara halted in the doorway, looked over her shoulder and smiled. “Why not? Start today. No time like the present.”
Now? Tonight? Laurel’s hands turned cold and clammy as Kara vanished out of sight with a whisper of French fabric.
It was one thing to talk about loosening up a little; it was another thing altogether to actually do it and let go. The sense of being poised on the edge of a precipice swept Laurel.
Should she take that first step into the unknown and walk on the wild side? Or should she stay in her safe world and risk never feeling quite satisfied?
The answer came quickly, so quickly it took her aback. She was tired of missing out. She wanted to feel more of that pulsing energy that she’d experienced earlier. That flutter of rebellion brought a surge of illicit pleasure.
Laurel drew a deep breath and felt her lungs fill, and resolve spread through her. Kara was right—there was no time like the present. She headed for the door.
Tonight, she’d flirt with a stranger.
Two
In the elegant, embellished salon downstairs, a twelve-piece jazz ensemble was playing blues, a smoky, elegant sound. Perfect for what had to be one of the high-society weddings of the year.
Laurel hummed and did a little dance step in Kara’s wake and almost skipped into Alan Sinclair, who’d materialized in front of them, holding two glasses brimming with pale, bubbling gold wine. By some miracle he managed to keep the glasses upright, while Laurel apologized effusively.
“Major catastrophe averted,” he joked.
All three of them laughed.
“These were intended for you, beautiful ladies.” Alan held out the brimming glasses, his hazel eyes alight with good humor.
“Only a sip for me. I’m going to need my wits about me—I need to make sure I get all the guests’ names right,” said Kara with a gracious smile.
Laurel took the remaining glass. “Thank you.”
“I didn’t get a chance earlier to give you my very best wishes,” Alan told Kara. “Eli is a lucky man.”
“Why, thank you, Alan.” Kara beamed at him. “I certainly hope you meet the woman of your dreams soon—maybe even tonight.”
Alan laughed. “I can live in hope. But maybe we should wait a while—give you time for a honeymoon—before handing you another wedding to plan.”
“I’d be thrilled to do another wedding. And, for once, that’s not the businesswoman in me talking. I’m so happy, I’m ready to marry everyone off.”
“He’s a nice man,” Laurel observed as they walked away, holding their glasses.
“Thoughtful, too,” Kara agreed. “He’ll make some lucky woman a good husband.”
They’d reached the bridal table by now, and Eli leapt up to welcome his bride, his eyes warm and devoted as he seated her.
Feeling a bit like a third wheel, Laurel slipped into the vacant seat beside her mother and set her glass down on the white damask linen sprinkled with pink and crimson rose petals. A waiter appeared to fill it up.
“Where’s Cutter?” Laurel asked her mother, aware that she was sitting in his seat. The whole world had paired up—even her mother.
Everyone except her.
A wave of loneliness swept her; then she shook it off. All the more reason to follow the List and find a stranger to flirt with—and where better than a wedding?
“He spotted Harold Parsons and Mr. Larrimore and went over to greet them.” Elizabeth fluttered a hand in the direction of the bar. Following where her mother indicated, Laurel could see the white-haired lawyer talking to the head of Larrimore Industries, which had recently begun doing business with The Kincaid Group, making up a little of the losses TKG had suffered when several customers defected to Carolina Shipping. Why, only this week her brother Matthew, TKG’s director of new business, had heard rumblings that Jack Sinclair was trying to outbid them on an important shipping contract through backdoor channels.
Speak of the devil.
Jack Sinclair had pulled out a chair to seat himself at a table right on the edge of the dance floor. How boldly arrogant. He was behaving like he owned the Kincaid mansion. Laurel supposed inheriting forty-five percent of the stock in The Kincaid Group was responsible for some of that arrogance. She hadn’t managed to get a handle on Jack yet. Dark, unsmiling and perpetually brooding, he made her
