Page 77 of Trap ’N’ Trace

He reached for the handle, not opening the door. “Give me a few seconds to look around.”

She nodded and slipped on her pink silk wrap.

He stepped out, and cameras flashed. Most of the reporters still didn’t know who Dayne was, but they saw what she saw—an extremely authoritative-looking man whose raw good looks would turn heads. So they took his photo anyway.

Seconds later, he held out his hand. His fingers closed around hers as he assisted her onto the runner. More cameras flashed, one after the other. She pasted on her smiling, public face, preparing for the inevitable and repetitive questions.

“Miss Vandenburg, is this your date for the evening?”

“Who is he?”

“What’s your name, sir? Are you an FBI agent?”

“Miss Vandenburg, is it true someone tried to kill you?”

Yes, she wanted to scream. Then a microphone appeared in front of her face, so close to her nose she flinched. Dayne knocked it away, then his arm came around her shoulders and he ushered her quickly to the front door.

As soon as they were inside, he cut loose with a string of fascinating words she’d never heard before, finishing with, “I still don’t know how you put up with those animals.”

She patted his arm then placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. “You get used to it.”

“Maybe you do.” He guided her to the elevators where a building security officer held one open for them. “That’s something I could never get used to.”

Emptiness filled her soul because that was something any man would have to get used to. If they wanted to be a lasting part of her life.

The elevator whisked them to the top floor. The doors parted, and they were greeted by orchestra music, laughter, and the clinking of fine crystal. An enormous chandelier, hand-picked by her mother, hung over the floor where nearly fifty couples danced.

As soon as she handed her wrap to the coat-check person, Dayne leaned closer. “How long do we have to stay?”

“Unfortunately, too long. This is my charity gala, so it would be rude and inappropriate for me to leave early.” Although it would have been nice to stay home with Dayne’s friends, especially Tess. She and Eric’s fiancée were about the same age, and when Tess came to the Haven a month ago to pick out a dog, Kat had liked the other woman and wanted to get to know her better.

Worried he’d bolt, she tightened her hand around Dayne’s arm. He might not be anything more than her bodyguard, but she was proud he was her “date” for the evening. Even if it wasn’t a real date.

A waiter appeared, holding out a silver tray loaded with slim, delicately cut champagne flutes. “Thank you.” She accepted a flute, and when Dayne didn’t take one, she handed him her glass and took another from the tray. “Drink it,” she said when the waiter moved off. “You’re too stiff.” She held back a snort. He certainly had been earlier. Stiff, that is.

“I’m on duty.”

“You’re always on duty. Try breaking the rules this once. It might make you feel better to have a little drink.”

“I don’t drink champagne.”

Aside from that one beer at his parents’ house, she’d never seen him drink alcohol. “Do you drink anything other than beer?” She guided them to the far side of the ballroom where Senator Graham chatted with several other wealthy New York businessmen. All wore tuxedos, but none held a candle to her date.

“Occasionally, scotch.”

She held up her champagne flute, signaling to a nearby waiter who sprinted over. “Yes, Miss Vandenburg.”

“Please find Mr. Andrews some of that Chivas Regal Royal Salute. The fifty-year-old bottle.”

“Fifty?” Dayne’s brows shot to his hairline.

She rolled her lips inward, trying not to giggle at the shock on his face. “Technically, it’s pushing seventy years old now. The Chivas brothers bottled it in 1953 as a tribute to Queen Elizabeth II on the day of her coronation. There were only two hundred and fifty-five bottles vinted.”

“Would you like ice, sir?” the waiter asked.

Dayne made a scoffing sound. “Neat,” he said, and when the waiter disappeared in search of the Royal Salute, added, “No self-respecting scotch drinker would dare water down liquid gold with ice.” He deftly deposited his champagne flute on another passing waiter’s tray.

“There are people I’d like to introduce you to.” She took his arm and serpentined through the couples milling about, stopping occasionally when one of the hired photographers took their picture.