was stuck at this interminable party for at least another hour. That’s what Portia had told her when Meg demanded to know how much longer she had to stand around like some sort of trophy waiting to be handed off to the winner.
“At ten o’clock the silent auction ends and the live auction begins. That will wrap up by eleven and then there’s another two hours of music. You can slip out maybe by 10:10 or so, if Griffin and Sydney are ready to go.”
She had begged. They would be ready. But first she had to get through the next hour without catching Grant’s eye. She didn’t know how exactly she was supposed to do that, when the Cains had orchestrated this entire evening so that everyone in the room would be talking about her.
And no matter where she stood or whom she talked to, she couldn’t shut off her awareness that Grant was in the same room. She tried not to look for him, but every time she glanced around the room, there he was. With a series of women, each more beautiful than the next, it seemed. She kept an eye out for lovely blonde mother of his child but didn’t see that woman anywhere. Maybe he’d come without her. Which seemed like a real asshole move. Right up his alley then.
There was one woman in particular with whom he spent the most time talking. She had long brown hair and the body of a model.
When Meg couldn’t take another moment of talking to strangers, she practically begged Dalton to dance with her.
“Dalton? Dance?” Griffin had scoffed. “If you want to dance, I’ll dance with you.”
Before she could shoot a pleading look at Dalton, he held out his hand. “No. I’ll do it.”
A moment later, they were dancing to some staid waltz she didn’t recognize. She breathed deeply, letting go of some of the tension in her shoulders.
After a moment, Dalton asked, “Why didn’t you want to dance with Griffin? He is the better dancer.”
“He would have wanted to talk,” she admitted.
“I take it you’re feeling a bit overwhelmed.”
“Wouldn’t you be?”
Dalton nodded briefly and then said nothing for a while, either because he knew she wanted silence or because he did, she couldn’t quite tell. Either way, she was grateful for it. And for the illusion of invisibility that dancing with him gave her. All three of her brothers were tall; surely no one could see her at all when she was hiding behind Dalton.
But then, after what felt like only a few minutes, someone tapped him on the shoulder. “Mind if I cut in?”
At the sound of the man’s voice, everything inside her shuddered to a halt. For an instant, she let her eyes drift closed, pretending that she really could disappear. Even when she opened them, she couldn’t force herself to look at him.
Dalton guided her just to the edge of the dance floor. “Actually, I do mind,” he said to Grant. But he’d stopped dancing and had turned to face the interloper.
“I hear congratulations are in order,” Grant said smoothly, ignoring Dalton’s rudeness. “You’ve found your missing sister.”
Finally, she made herself meet his gaze. And he was looking directly at her, despite the pretense he made of talking to Dalton. But there was no recognition in his eyes. No surprise or question. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he didn’t recognize her. But there was no way in hell that could be true.
“We have,” Dalton said. He increased the pressure at her back. “Meg Lathem, this is Grant Sheppard, CEO of Sheppard Bank and Trust.”
“Pleased to meet you.” He held out his hand to shake hers.
Anger kindled inside her at the sight of his hand extended like that. As if they didn’t know one another at all. As if he hadn’t spent countless nights in her bed. As if he hadn’t been deep inside her.
She forced herself to hold out her own hand, braced herself for the impact of feeling his skin against hers for the first time in years.
Much like his tone, his touch was cold and impersonal. “Welcome to Houston.”
Dalton, supportive and kind, still had his hand at her back. She smiled brightly. “Thanks, but this isn’t my first time here.”
His familiar lips twisted in something that was maybe supposed to be a smile. “The band is starting another song. Do you want to dance?”
She was tempted to refuse, but there were so many people watching and she couldn’t help thinking this was a test somehow. She would never fit in this world. The world of the Cains and the Sheppards. She wasn’t foolish enough to think that.
But for Pearl’s sake she needed to at least convince them that she was a Cain.
No Cain had ever been intimidated by anyone or anything. Certainly not a Sheppard.
“You don’t have to,” Dalton said softly.
“No.” She smiled brightly. “I’d love to.”
She pushed aside her doubts and fears. She pushed aside all her concerns about Pearl and what she might be doing right now. She even pushed aside the memory from a few days ago of Grant standing outside the Sheppard building with his hand on the waist of the beautiful blonde woman. And the one from just a few moments ago of him standing beside the bar with the brunette.
The man was a hound dog.
She was lucky to have him out of her life and as far away from Pearl as possible. And for the first time in years, she felt relief—genuine relief—that he’d left her in her middle of night and broken her heart. Without hesitation, she stepped into his arms and he whirled her out onto the dance floor. And as long she remembered what a hound dog he was, she wouldn’t have to think about how good his arms felt.
“So, Mr. Sheppard, do you enjoy your work in banking?” she asked blandly to keep her hormones distracted.
He stared at her for a second, before increasing the pressure of the hand at her back, pulling her ever so slightly closer. “Is that how we’re going to play this?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You’re going to pretend you don’t even know me?”
She pulled away, not out of his arms entirely, but enough to put a little more distance between them. “I don’t even know you.”
“Meg,” he murmured, dropping his voice to barely a whisper.
“Don’t,” she said fiercely. “Don’t act like you have the right to say my name in that way.”
“What way?”
“That sexy, intimate way,” she said. His lips curved in a hint of a smile—as if he’d taken it as a compliment—and she had the urge to slap him. She didn’t think she’d ever slapped anyone, but she wanted to slap him because he looked so damn confident. As if her words had told him exactly how strongly she still responded to him. As if he knew exactly what was going on in her head, when the truth was, she hardly knew, herself. “Don’t act like you know me. You don’t.”
