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“I don’t care.”
“But—”
“If I don’t get a kiss from you this very minute,” he said dramatically, “my death will be on your hands.”
She laughed again. He loved the sound of her laugh, the way her lips curved into an eminently kissable bow. He loved everything about her.
The truth was, he loved—he loved—
Dante bent his head and kissed her.
THEY ARRIVED a few minutes late and found five of their dinner companions already at the table. A well-known real estate agent and his third trophy wife. Dennis and Eve. A used-car salesman turned self-help guru, whose latest feel-good book had just gone into its fifth printing.
Tally remembered them all.
And, clearly, they remembered her. She could almost hear their jaws hit the table when they saw her.
Dante had his arm firmly around her waist.
“Good evening,” he said pl
easantly. “Tally, I think you know everyone here, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she said brightly, “of course. How are you, Lila? Donald? Eve and Dennis, how good to see you again. And Mark. Your newest book just came out, didn’t it? I hope it’s doing well?”
Dante pulled out her chair, whispered, “Good girl,” as she slipped into it. He sat down beside her, took her hand and held it in his, right on the tabletop where everyone could see. Five pairs of eyes took in the sight. Then someone said, “Well, I see we’re going to have chicken for the main course. Surprise, surprise.”
Everyone laughed, and that broke the ice.
People began chatting. Wasn’t the weather particularly cold for December? Was snow in the forecast again? Wasn’t the ballroom handsomely decorated?
I might just get through this, Tally thought…
“DanteDarling,” a woman screeched.
And Tally looked up, inhaled a cloud of obscenely expensive perfume, saw Charlotte LeBlanc swoop down to plant a kiss on Dante’s mouth even as he jerked back in his chair, saw the woman’s hate-filled gaze fix on her before she switched it to a big, artificial smile…
And knew, instinctively, that Charlotte LeBlanc had, probably until very recently, been Dante’s mistress.
“Taylor,” Charlotte said. “What a surprise!”
“Yes,” Tally said, “yes, I—I suppose it is.”
“A wonderful surprise,” Dante said, squeezing Tally’s hand, but he was looking at Charlotte, his eyes cold with warning, and any doubts Tally might have had about her lover’s relationship with the LeBlanc woman vanished.
Conversation swirled around her, the polite stuff people discussed when they were casual acquaintances. Eve talked about her new hair stylist. Dennis said he was buying a new yacht. The self-help guru was also buying one. The real estate agent was too busy eating his shrimp cocktail to say anything. His trophy wife was silent, too, perhaps because her face was frozen in Botoxed bliss.
And suddenly, in a lull in the chatter, Charlotte leaned over, her breasts almost spilling from her neckline, and laid a taloned hand on Tally’s arm.
“Taylor,” she cooed, “you must tell us all where you’ve been the last few years.”
“She’s been in New England,” Dante said smoothly. “Building a successful business.”
“New England. How quaint.” Her smile glittered with malice. “And are you here on business?”
“Taylor’s working on a project of mine.”
“How nice.” Her head swiveled toward Dante. “And you, DanteDarling. Are you and I still on for Christmas in Aspen?”
