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“Have you run into them yet?”
“No.” L.L. sipped some more, steeling herself. “But I’m mere minutes away, I’m sure.”
“Well, I don’t envy you, I’m sorry to say. From what Chip has caustically imparted here and there, Harper Mason rules with an iron fist and wants things the way he wants them.”
“Tague warned me. I won’t make the cut with his parents, but…” She shrugged. “Tague does not strike me as the type of man who lets anyone rule him.”
“One look at him, and I’m inclined to agree.”
“And things are going well with you and Chip?” L.L. wagged her brows.
“He’s positively dreamy. There is something about him that I am so grateful other women have not latched onto. They appreciate his trustworthiness and even temperament, but they have no idea of the passion simmering below the surface.” Helena’s gaze swept over Chip and she smiled. “I’d like to keep that all to myself.” Returning her attention to L.L., she winked conspiratorially.
L.L. laughed softly. “Your secret is safe with me. And let me say, Chip is equally smitten.”
“I hope so. I’ve wanted to believe that was why he brought me here tonight.”
“That’d be my guess. I think he’s interested in a hell of lot more with you than this sexy foot fetish he’s suddenly devel—”
“Good evening,” a refined, cultured feminine voice cut in.
L.L.’s heart launched into her throat. She shot a look over her shoulder. The woman who’d all but snuck up on them was perfection personified—and every fiber of her being told L.L. this was Tague’s mother.
Oh. My. God.
25
She had meticulously styled pale-blond hair—a chic and refined bob not everyone could pull off without the correct bone structure. Just the right makeup to enhance all her aristocratic features, complete with cornflower blue eyes, a slim nose and high cheekbones. Her lips were painted a soft peach. Her dress was a shimmering, satin sapphire. Long-sleeved, wrapped at the waist with a large diamond-encrusted brooch.
“Mother.” Tague stepped away from Chip.
L.L. cringed inwardly.
Oh, Jesus.
Why’d every fiber of her being have to be right?
And…holy hell. How much of her conversation with Helena had Mrs. Mason overheard?
“Son,” his mother said as she offered her hand and Tague kissed it lightly on the top.
A very distinguished looking man in his mid-fifties approached, using a sleek black cane with a gold-accented handle. His appearance held enough of Tague’s dark hair and coloring for L.L. to presume he was Harper Mason.
He shook his father’s hand, then turned to L.L. “I’d like you both to meet my date, Loralai Branson.”
L.L. had to do the dainty handshake thing with Mrs. Mason that always felt pretentious.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” L.L. said.
“Charmed, I’m sure,” Tague’s mother replied in a smug tone as she unabashedly took L.L. in from head to toe.
L.L. did everything in her power to keep from fidgeting under the scrutiny, including turning to Harper Mason and shaking his hand. She didn’t miss the fact that he was a strong presence viscerally, but not physically.
Tague’s words about how difficult it had been for him to see his father weakened by his illness flitted through her mind. But then Mr
. Mason demonstrated the other facet of his personality that had rubbed Tague wrong.
“We didn’t know you were a plus one this evening, son,” the older Mason said. “Your mother invited Brianna to fill the seat next to you.”
