a four-year-old daughter and Jennifer had to make a conscious effort to keep from sharing stories about Annie at that age. The husband was a TV producer and his wife was a local Boston news anchor. Jennifer often watched her on the late-night broadcast and was delighted to learn that she was every bit as nice in person as she seemed on television.
When dinner—which was truly delicious—was finished, the doors were opened into the adjoining ballroom. Lush music filled the high-ceilinged room from the orchestra seated on a dais, edged with potted palms, at the far end of the polished floor.
Shoulder propped against the wall, his hands thrust into his pockets, Chance waited at the edge of the ballroom while Jennifer disappeared into the ladies’ room.
“Hey, Chance.”
The tap on his shoulder had him straightening from the wall. Behind him were Paul Armstrong and his siblings Derek and Lisa.
“Evening, everybody,” Chance smiled at the twin brothers and winked at the petite, dark-haired Lisa. The two men wore traditional black tuxedos with pristine white shirts and bow ties, while Lisa’s dress was clearly a designer gown, the oyster-and-bronze-colored dress held up by a collar of jewels. It left her back and shoulders bare and Chance reflected idly that both she, and her brothers, looked every bit the society powerhouses they were. “This is quite a party.”
“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” Lisa said with a smile of satisfaction, her gaze sweeping over the crowded ballroom. “Everyone seems to be having a good time.”
“I’d say so,” Chance agreed. He flagged down a passing waiter and took champagne flutes from the tray, handing one to each of the Armstrongs. “Congratulations, you three. I’m guessing the institute’s coffers will grow after tonight.”
Chance lifted his glass in salute and they all sipped.
“Is the whole family here?” He glanced past the trio to briefly scan the crowd for their sister and her husband. “I don’t think I’ve seen Olivia and Jamison.”
“Oh, yes, they’re here,” Lisa assured him. “We were just talking with them.”
“Yeah,” Paul said with a shake of his head. “They were telling us about their adoption plans.”
“Adoption plans?” Chance echoed, surprised. “I didn’t know they were thinking of adopting a child.”
“Children—plural,” Derek told him. “Two brothers. The younger one is autistic.”
“Really?” Chance wasn’t sure what to say. Adopting an autistic child was a noble action but a very big challenge for the parents—especially when one parent was a busy junior senator with one eye on the White House. “That’s quite an undertaking.”
“I agree,” Lisa said, worry underlying her tone. “I can’t help but wonder if they’re truly prepared for the impact of a special-needs child in their lives.”
“I think Olivia is determined,” Paul said with a shrug. “Only time will tell but my money’s on her and Jamison.”
“Excuse me, sir.” A woman, carrying a clipboard and wearing a unobtrusive “Staff” button on her green evening gown, interrupted them with an apologetic look. “Senator Claxton would like to introduce all of the Armstrong family members to a friend of his.” She lowered her voice to murmur, “The senator asked me to tell you the friend is a potential donor to the research program at the institute.”
Derek slipped his arm through Lisa’s and clapped Paul on the shoulder. “Then we’d better go meet-and-greet.”
“Duty calls. See you later, Chance.” Paul let his brother urge him into motion.
“Have fun,” Lisa called over her shoulder as the three followed the clipboard-carrying woman into the throng.
Chance lifted his half-empty flute in farewell.
“Who are they?” Jennifer asked, having returned in time to see the Armstrongs leave.
Her voice stroked over his senses, lush, sensual, and when he turned, the sight of her did the same.
“My bosses—and coworkers,” he answered, dismissing them with a wave of the champagne class before deftly depositing the flute on a passing waiter’s tray. “They were called away to meet potential donors. For them tonight is both business and pleasure. I’d like you to meet them—hopefully we’ll see them later and I’ll introduce you.” He held out his hand. “Dance with me?”
She smiled shyly. “I’d love to.”
Chance swept Jennifer onto the floor. They circled the room amid the crowd of dancers, moving gracefully to the strains of a waltz.
“I feel like Cinderella,” Jennifer murmured.
Chance tucked her closer, his leg brushing between hers as he executed a turn. “Does that make me the prince?” he asked.
She tilted her head back to look up at him. “I’m not sure,” she said. “I think the jury’s still out.”
“Damn.” His smile was wry. “And I’ve been on my best behavior tonight.”
His eyes twinkled, inviting her to laugh.
“After listening to you and the senator tell stories about the pranks you and his son pulled on your friends in school, I’m not sure you grasp the concept of ‘good behavior,’” she teased.
“Isn’t there a statute of limitations on being a dumb kid? Dave and I did most of that stuff in high school and college,” he protested.
“Nothing recently?” she pressed with a smile, unconvinced.
“No,” he assured her. “We had a lot of fun in school but my days of setting up practical jokes are over. I wish I had time to see more of the senator’s family,” he added. “But for the past few years, Ted and I have been too busy with our research.”
Her gaze softened. “You work too hard. Lately when you come into the diner, you seem exhausted.”
“There have been a few weeks when sleep was a rare commodity,” he admitted.
“What exactly do you do at the institute?” she asked, insatiably curious about every aspect of his life.
“I treat women with fertility issues,” he told her. “Part of my day is spent with patients in one-on-one appointments and procedures. The rest of the day is spent in the lab with my partner. We’re searching for a way to increase the success rate of implanted embryos, among our other projects.”
“That’s marvelous.” Jennifer couldn’t help but think about how difficult it must be for couples who wanted children but couldn’t conceive. Annie was the most important thing in her life—what if she couldn’t have gotten pregnant? “I can’t imagine doing anything more important.”
“That’s how I feel. How I’ve always felt.” His voice deepened, eyelashes half-lowering over dark eyes. “You understand and you’ve only known me a few months. I started bandaging the neighborhood dogs when I was eight years old but my parents still can’t understand why I want to be a
