Her eyes were a deep ocean-blue—he could tell even at this distance.
Claudia took an immediate interest in the object of his attention. “She’s a friend of Jillian’s, a sorority sister, I think. Can’t remember her name.”
Hudson stole another glance at her. She was on the move now. Walking. Toward him.
Billy punched him on the arm. “Dude, she’s coming over here.”
And she did. She came right to their table, striding boldly like a runway model. But she switched her gaze from Hudson to Claudia. “Hi, you’re Claudia, right? I remember you from the bridal shower. I’m...Liz.”
“Hi, Liz, it’s good to see you again.”
“Would you all mind if I joined you? My date seems to have gone missing.”
“Sure, here’s a chair,” Billy said, nearly spilling his special beer as he pulled out the fourth chair for her. A waiter stopped by to see who needed drinks, and Billy insisted he bring Hudson a Fishhead, or whatever the hell the beer was called.
Hudson would have objected. But the woman had so gobsmacked him, he’d been struck speechless.
“This is my husband, Billy,” Claudia said, “and our friend Hudson.”
“Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” Hudson said with his best polite Southern-boy manners.
The brunette took a sip of her martini, then somehow fished the olive out with just her tongue in a way that was totally sexy and classy at the same time.
Hudson’s mouth went dry.
When the waiter brought his beer, he chugged down a third without even tasting it.
“You knew Jillian in college?” Claudia asked, trying to get the conversation rolling.
Hudson wasn’t that interested in conversation. He just wanted to look at Liz, though her voice was a pleasing blend of smooth honey over six miles of rough road.
“I did, but we weren’t good friends until more recently when we worked on a charity event together.”
So, Liz obviously came from high society. Ivy League college, sorority, charity events. She oozed class. So not his type. Or rather, not the type who gave a sheriff’s-department detective a second look. A suspended detective, accused somewhat convincingly of police brutality.
So why was she staring at him?
“Have we met?” he asked bluntly.
“I don’t think so. I’d remember.”
Then she’d probably seen his picture in the paper or on TV. His case had drawn much too much unwanted publicity. The Mandalay name had a lot of cachet in the Houston area.
Claudia gasped. “Oh, Billy, I love this song. Let’s dance.”
Hudson recognized a ploy to leave him and Liz alone, but he didn’t object. He’d just keep staring at her until she got tired of it. It wasn’t as if he had anything to lose. He’d probably never see her again after this night.
“How about it, Hudson. Want to dance?” Liz raised one eyebrow playfully.
“Me? Not much of a dancer.”
“Oh, come on. Anybody can dance.”
“Sure, right.” He let her drag him to his feet. What the hell. Didn’t matter, really, in the grand scheme of things, and holding her in his arms didn’t sound like such a bad deal. All he had to do was move his feet a little, or at least pretend to try to dance.
A parquet floor had been laid out over the flagstone patio for dancing in the shadow of the band, which had switched from country-western to big band. Hudson dredged up some long-ago memories of a ballroom dance class he’d taken to please an old girlfriend. He’d forgotten her name, but maybe he could at least remember how to get into hold.
He took Liz into his arms. As other couples twirled and dipped around him, he shuffled his feet back and forth.
Amazingly, she moved right along with him, graceful as a swan. In her tall heels she met him eye to eye. Now he could examine those amazing inky-blue eyes up close. Little gold flecks shimmered in the irises like rays of sunshine on the surface of the ocean, and a pleasurable tingle wiggled down his spine.
“Are you a friend of the bride, or the groom?” she asked.
“I know both of them, but only slightly. I guess Claudia got me the invitation. She thought I’d be interested in seeing the Logan place.”
“It’s pretty amazing. And if there’s one thing Jillian knows how to do, it’s throw a party. What do you do for a living?”
He knew the question would come up. “Cop. You?”
“Social worker.”
Not what he expected. If she worked at all, he’d been guessing something glamorous—fashion editor, commercial real estate. “Enjoy it?”
“Immensely. You?”
“Usually.”
“Aren’t you scared?”
“Most of the time I’m just too busy to be scared.”
“Ever been shot?”
“No. That sort of thing is very rare.”
“Ever shot anyone?”
“Also very rare. I’ve hardly ever unholstered my weapon, much less shot at someone.”
“Still, it’s got to be dangerous at times.”
“I imagine your job has its dangers, too. You probably deal with all segments of society. Lowlifes.”
“Well, pretty troubled people, anyway. I wouldn’t call them ‘lowlifes.’”
The song switched to a slow number. Hudson thought the dance would be over, but she made no move to leave the dance floor. He pulled her close, resting his cheek against her hair and inhaling the scents of something clean and fruity. This was ridiculously pleasant.
But odd.
An unwelcome thought appealed to him. “Are you trying to make your date jealous, by any chance?”
She laughed. “Hardly. I think he’s in the cabana banging one of the bridesmaids. It was just a casual date. I don’t care.”
“You need a ride home?” The words slipped out.
“I might.” She tickled the back of his neck with her fingertips.
Was this exotic creature coming on to him? He wasn’t exactly a troll; he knew some women found him attractive. Some liked the whole idea of dating a cop—it was a power thing. Others liked his surfer-boy looks, or they found out he had a house at the lake and a boat and thought he had
