The perfect opportunity to do some snooping.
* * *
The food was excellent, the wine beyond compare, the music perfect…and the woman at his side lovely enough to garner envious looks from men in every direction.
Given all of these assets, Gideon should have been having a wonderful time. However, he detested political fundraisers as a rule, and attended them only under duress. This one was a big one, however—for the governor—and his duress tonight was in the form of the very lovely Rachel Backley, principle at The Marage Group.
While she did not hang on his arm, for Rachel Backley was in no way a clinger, she did hover near him. That made it quite evident to the other men that the slender, elegant beauty was with Gideon and quite happy to be so.
He sidled his glance over the black dress with the plunging neckline, down past the table to admire her shapely legs, and back up to the chestnut hair pulled into a neat chignon at the nape of her neck. There it would stay—those shiny strands of honey-brown a sleek cap until late tonight when she—or he, if he were in the mood—would loosen it into the straight, heavy curtain that fell to her shoulders.
Rachel laughed at a joke made by an elderly man—one of the biggest political contributors to the party—who was drooling down her décolletage. She brushed her arm against Gideon’s shoulder in a casual manner, sending a waft of the expensive, woodsy scent she wore. No florals or sweets for Rachel. Only fragrances that hinted of the Orient, or the subtleties of sophistication. She glanced up at him, her red lips glistening and blue eyes dancing as she shot him a look that suggested she was not interested in going home alone tonight.
Warmth slid over him at the blatant heat in her eyes and he responded with a subtle curl of his lips. It had been awhile, and he had been feeling rather on-edge lately. Ever since he’d fallen into Fiona Murphy’s dank, dusty closet.
Before he could push it away, the stubborn thought of Fiona Murphy—the one that had been hovering in the back of his mind since yesterday, when she’d practically chased him out of her shop in Wicks Hollow—descended upon him and planted itself in the forefront of his mind. Along with the image of her wild eyes and strange babbling about lights and unplugged lamps came the searing memory of the kisses they’d shared in that musty old shop.
Sex only complicates things.He frowned at the memory of her words, her lame excuse for not pursuing what they obviously both wanted. He didn’t want complications any more than the next guy, but, hell, he was attracted to her—that sexy, sensual, fruitcake of a woman who was always giddy and shamelessly honest. He hadn’t been able to keep from thinking about her all week; which was why he’d made an excuse to visit Wicks Hollow again.
For Christ’s sake, she’d even intruded in one of his memos. He’d written the name Fiona instead of Finley.
Claire had returned the memo for his review with a quirked eyebrow and a knowing look that annoyed him so much that he made the required edits himself and filed it away without letting her see it again.
He was irritated by the amount of energy he’d spent tryingnotto think about her over the last week—and the fact that she had turned him down flat yesterday, when he’d finally given in and sought her out.
Truth be told, his pride was more than a bit wounded, and, if he were to be honest himself, showing up at this fundraiser with a beautiful, powerful, sophisticated woman on his arm was a balm to that bruised ego.
To placate himself further, he tried to picture Fiona here, at a black-tie event such as this, surrounded by some of the richest, most powerful conservatives in the state. She, with her unruly cinnamon hair, fey manner, and unabashed openness would be nothing if an anomaly in this urbane environment. She’d be a fish out of water—fruit punch mixed in with champagne—at a function as conservative as this.
She would smile and chatter and ask interesting, naïve questions, and look up at a man like he was the only person in the room as he expounded on everything she wanted to know…
With a grunt of disgust, Gideon brought the glass of wine to his lips and tasted it. She would make a fool out of herself, he thought, and turned his attention to Rachel.
But as he shifted to look at his date, his gaze wandered past her, glancing randomly over a cluster of people across the room…and then jerked back in disbelief.
Impossible, he told himself, staring without trying to be too obvious at a figure with a mass of crazy, curling auburn hair. He almost rose from his chair before catching himself. Settling back into it, he slid a hand over to cup Rachel’s cool fingers.
She turned a smile on him, which he answered absently, still scrutinizing the clique of people that seemed to be surrounding the auburn-haired woman. He had made a similar mistake before, he reminded himself. What was wrong with him, seeing Fiona wherever he happened to be?
“What is it, Gideon?” Rachel asked in her well-modulated, even tones—a voice that, while pleasing to the ear, had little inflection or emotion, and seemed always to carry the stiffness of a cold-blooded businesswoman.
“I believe…” Gideon began, then paused when the woman shifted and he could clearly see her face.Hell.“I just noticed that a client of my grandfather is here.”
“Shall we go speak with him?”
He nodded, rising to his feet before he could think twice about it. It wouldn’t be a bad thing for Miss Fiona Murphy to see that he hadn’t slunk off like a dog just because she wasn’t interested in pursuing matters with him. “Her. Yes, I think I will—would you like to join me?”
Rachel rose gracefully to her feet, retrieving her small, beaded black bag from the table, and smoothing her very short dress. “Please excuse us,” she said with a smile. “Duty calls.”
As they drew nearer, Gideon noticed that the cluster of people seemed to be formed around Fiona, who appeared to be examining the hand of a senior partner of Laslow, Yonke and Greiber—one of the oldest and largest accounting firms in Grand Rapids. She said something that caused the small group to explode with laughter while she merely looked up at the distinguished, white-haired man and grinned a meaningful grin.
The man withdrew his hand, still chuckling, just as Gideon and Rachel approached the crowd. “So thereismore than one meaning to having your left hand knowing what your right hand is doing, eh, my dear?”
“Absolutely.” She nodded once, emphatically, and just then, noticed Gideon and Rachel. A flare of surprise lit her face, then receded immediately as she gave them a friendly smile. “Why, Gideon, I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Words stuck in his throat when she turned to face him.Jesus.Someone—probably an engineer—had taken on the task of piling that glorious mass of coppery curls at the crown of her head, leaving thick, corkscrew wisps trailing down the nape of her neck, and a few locks framing her face. Her features were flawless, colored faintly by all shades of cinnamon and nutmeg, peaches and cream, with thick, dark lashes and gracefully-winged brows. The silky halter dress she wore—a simple black affair so different from Rachel’s elegant, sexy, short-skirted one—revealed alabaster shoulders and arms dusted generously with tiny, pale freckles. The bodice sleeked over her curves, then fell in graceful folds from hips to floor.
Then, to top it off, he noticed for the first time that Bradley Forth stood behind her, watching her with a possessive demeanor.
