everything else,” Emilio added with a smile that looked more like a sneer.
Parker gave them both venomous looks, then muscled past to walk Anna through the Ritz lobby. They didn’t speak until they’d been whisked through the doors and cocooned into a waiting limousine.
“That was the perfect way to handle them,” Parker said as he handed her a bubbling glass of champagne the driver had just poured.
Anna accepted it, and tilted her head. “Why, thank you, Mr. Garrison.”
She’d used the name on purpose, he had no doubt. Flashing her a victorious grin, he leaned closer and brushed her lips with his.
“Next time,” he whispered against her lips, “it’s a French kiss.”
“Thanks for the warning.” The crystal clinked. “Parker.”
He sipped the champagne, admired his beautiful date and imagined just how many times he could get her to call him Mr. Garrison in the next few hours.
* * *
In no time at all, Anna surrendered.
How could she not? No woman could resist the magic of a magnificent, historic banquet hall shimmering with a million candles and a thousand elegantly dressed guests. She just gave in to the music, the moment and, of course, the man. The sounds of a full orchestra reverberated off the carved stone walls of Guildhall and echoed from the grandiose stained glass windows. Laughter, tinkling glasses and chatter vibrated around the well-dressed guests gliding across the glasslike marble floor.
From the moment they’d arrived, Parker teased, flirted, danced and introduced Anna as if she were his most prized treasure, keeping one possessive hand on the small of her back.
As they danced to a ballad, he whispered tidbits about the guests, making her laugh with his insights, impressing her with how well he knew so many of the people in his industry.
“That’s Davis Brookheiser, the owner of that new line of spa resorts out in California,” he said, tilting his head toward an older man who slowly—very slowly—waltzed with an attractive young woman.
“And that’s Davis’s daughter?” Anna asked, letting just a little sarcasm tinge her voice.
He laughed. “That would be the third Mrs. Brookheiser.” Then he frowned a little at the couple. “Maybe the fourth. I’ve lost track of Davis’s trophies.”
As the couple danced by, Anna caught Mrs. Brookheiser staring at Parker over her much shorter husband’s shoulder. But he ignored the obvious attention, keeping his focus on Anna.
“She hasn’t lost track of you,” Anna teased.
He applied a gentle amount of pressure to her back, easing her closer so she could feel the steel muscles of his body and the unmistakable message of desire in his touch.
“No thanks. I’ve got my hands nicely full at the moment.”
Blood rushed through her veins, firing up her nerve endings, making her boneless and light-headed. If he had any idea how many nights she’d put herself to sleep with this very scenario in her imagination. Parker, holding her and making promises with his eyes. Parker, inches from her mouth for a kiss.
Parker.
She took a slow, steadying breath and forced herself to admire the pageantry around her. She had to remember why she was dead set against acting on her attraction. She had to remember why he was all wrong for her.
He’s your boss, dummy.
Yeah. Right. She was having a very difficult time remembering that. At the moment, she could barely remember her own name.
“Just imagine how many royals and prime ministers have danced on this very floor,” she said, leaning away, striving for casual conversation even though the music and the movement were anything but casual.
But her gesture just gave him an opportunity to lower his gaze to her throat, study the V in her neckline and eventually return for a good, long examination of her mouth. Only then did he politely follow her glance around.
“Many, since Guildhall has been hosting high-end affairs since the fourteen hundreds.”
“I guess the association can’t hold this event at a hotel,” she mused. “That would be like playing favorites.”
“Exactly,” he agreed. “This has to remain neutral ground for all the members. See that gray-haired matriarch under the arch? Genevieve Dufresne.”
“The Swiss resort Dufresne?”
He gave her a satisfied smile. “You do pay attention to the business, don’t you? Yes, she is the head of the mighty Dufresne family. So, believe me, there might be a spirit of shared camaraderie since we’re all in similar businesses, but there’s competition in the air.”
“Like in the elevator.”
He made a distasteful face.
“Why do you hate them so much?”
The music ended and he guided her toward the table, where she picked up her handbag.
“Let’s walk outside,” he suggested, pausing to snag two crystal champagne flutes when a white-tailed waiter walked by.
She took hers, but didn’t sip. The atmosphere and company were intoxicating enough. They wandered through one of the dozens of soaring archways that led to various halls, a museum and crypts housing centuries of folklore, legends and art.
On a wide stone veranda, where a number of partygoers dallied at tables and benches to enjoy the evening air, they found a cozy bench, blocked by a large planter and secluded from the other people.
“Perfect,” he said, taking her hand and tugging her next to him.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Anna said after a moment. “Why do you hate the Jefferies brothers?”
He gave her a wry smile. “You could ruin a perfectly awesome night with that line of questioning. Truthfully, I don’t hate anyone, but if I were going to, Jordan and Emilio would head the list.”
“Why?”
“They’re ruthless, cutthroat empire builders.”
She stifled a smile. “And you’re not.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but then let out a soft, self-deprecating laugh. “Not ruthless.”
“Yes, ruthless.”
“Not cutthroat.”
“Yes, cutthroat.”
“Not… All right.” He grinned. “But not underhanded. And I think they are and I don’t want that womanizer Jordan around my sisters.” He inched closer and draped a possessive arm around her. “Or you.”
“Me?” The champagne tickled her nose, mixed with the
