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"I was afraid you wouldn't be here in time."
Josh lifted Margo's hand to his lips, then angled his wrist to look at his watch. "Fifteen minutes to spare. I figured if I made a fashionably late entrance, you'd kill me in my sleep."
"Good guess. What do you think? Does everything look right?"
"You really expect me to look at anything but you?"
She laughed even as her pulse jittered. "Boy, I must be in bad shape when a shopworn line like that hits the mark."
"I mean it," he said and watched her smile fade. "I adore looking at you." Laying a hand on her cheek, he leaned down and buckled her knees with a long, slow, thorough kiss. "Beautiful Margo. Mine."
"Well, you're certainly taking my mind off my… kiss me again."
"Glad to."
Deeper this time, longer, until everything but him drained from her mind. When she eased away, his hand remained gentle on her cheek. "It's different," she managed.
"You're catching on."
"It's not supposed to be." New nerves, different nerves, jittered. "I don't know if it can be."
"Too late," he murmured.
There was the panic again, spurting up through mists of pleasure. "I have to—" She nearly shuddered with relief when the door opened.
"Thought we'd beat the rush," Thomas claimed. "Take your hands off the girl, Josh, and give someone else a chance." When Margo rushed into his arms, he wiggled his brows teasingly at his son. "She was mine first."
First didn't mean a damn, Josh thought as he leaned negligently on the counter. Last was what counted.
At least, he was trying to believe that.
By ten, two hours after the doors opened for Pretenses' First Annual Reception and Charity Auction, Margo was in her element. This was something she understood—beautifully dressed people chatting, bumping silk-covered elbows as they sipped wine or designer water.
It was a world she had focused her life on entering. And this time, they'd come to her.
"We thought a week or two in Palm Springs would do the trick."
"I don't know how she continues to turn a blind eye to his affairs. They're so blatant."
"I haven't seen him since the last time we were in Paris."
Small talk among the privileged, Margo thought, and she knew how to chat right back. Entertaining had been one of her hobbies in Milan. She knew how to juggle three conversations, keep an eye on the roving waiters, and pretend she had nothing on her mind but the next sip of champagne.
She also knew how to ignore, when necessary, the catty and sly snippets that came to her ears.
"Imagine having to sell everything. I mean, darling, even your shoes."
"…just last week that Peter asked her to file for the divorce so that she could save face. The poor thing's frigid. The doctors haven't been able to help her."
Margo wouldn't have ignored that one, if she could have found the source, but before she could ease away and try to locate it, there was more.
"So clever, the way it's all set up like some interesting European flat. And I simply adore the collection of compacts. I must have the little elephant."
"There's a Valentino in the other room, darling, that just screamed your name. You really should see it."
Let them talk as much as they wanted, Margo decided and pasted a smile back on her face. And let them buy. "Great party." Judy Prentice slipped up to Margo's side. "Thanks."
"I guess Candy had a prior commitment."
