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He wore long shorts, a Hawaiian-print shirt, and grinned with embarrassment. He was of medium height with an open, affable face. Seeing him for the first time outside a courtroom, Stormy realized he looked like a friendly neighborhood grocer. No wonder he’d been believed on the stand. He looked so honest!
The emcee teased him. “Now, this is a gift from one of your old pals,” he told Foley. “You’ll have to guess who. He said you’d know him if you remember a special Friday night in your college frat house.”
“There were a lot of special Friday nights,” Foley said.
“Whoa!” the emcee joked. “Tell us about one of them.”
Foley hedged. “Can’t. My wife is here.”
The crowd laughed. The emcee gave him the champagne and faced the audience. “Well, old buddy, whoever you are, you’ll have to catch Henry when his wife’s not looking.”
Another laugh.
Foley made his way back to his seat.
Heart pounding, Stormy tracked him with her eyes. When Foley sat down, she shifted her gaze to the woman at the table with him and imprinted the features in her mind. Small-boned, delicate. Chestnut hair piled casually atop her head. She wore earrings that dangled to her shoulders and a bright slash of scarlet lipstick.
“We shouldn’t have any trouble picking her out in a crowd,” Stormy said. “Not if those earrings and lipstick are her trademarks.”
The emcee announced the casino would open in ten minutes, and orientation was over. The audience came to its feet.
As she rose, Stormy slipped her arm through Tyler’s. “That bit with the champagne was brilliant,” she said admiringly. “Let’s go collect the girls.”
Her breath caught in her throat. Tyler’s eyes were following Foley. He had the stillness about him that reminded her of their first meeting—that hard aura that suggested no quarter. She reminded herself that she was no longer his prey.
H. B. Foley, she thought, didn’t stand a chance.
Led to their dining table,they were awestruck by the magnificent ice carvings of swans on display. They chatted with two middle-aged couples, one from Wales, one from Alabama, who shared their table.
Stormy happened to glance up from the menu and spied the Foley family—father, mother, and two sons—bearing down on them. She gasped with involuntary panic.
Tyler followed her gaze. He put his hand on her thigh and murmured, “Steady.”
The maître d’ seated the Foleys at the next table. Stormy judged the boys to be about seven and ten. They were no more than seated when the younger boy jumped up and ran over to Liane.
“Hey, Liane, we’re goin’ to Salt Cay—that’s where they filmed some old TV show called Gilligan’s Island. Are you?”
“I don’t know. Are we, Mom? This is my new friend, Jason. He lives in Kissimmee and gets to go to Walt Disney World all the time.”
Suddenly Foley was on his feet, apologizing and dragging the child away. “So sorry,” he murmured.
Janelle snickered, “Liane has a boyfriend.”
“I do not!”
“Stuff it, you two,” Tyler said in his most authoritative voice, then looked surprised when they quieted down on the spot.
Stormy sipped wine, its chill smoothness an antidote for the hot dryness in her throat. Some of it was from fear but more, she suspected, was from feeling Tyler’s thigh next to hers. The sensation was not only incredibly sexy, but it was also cozy, comfortable…just right.
Once, she reflected, she had thought herself in love with Truman Witney. She had had a child with him. Yet, she’d never really, truly trusted him, she supposed. Not the way she trusted Tyler.
The irony of the thought struck her, and she suppressed a delicious chuckle.
He leaned close to her. “You’re wearing a Cheshire Cat smile.”
“And why not?” she replied lightly. “I’m on a cruise with the most exciting man aboard.”
“Hear, hear,” said the man from Wales, and everyone clinked glasses.
