Free A Grand Seduction by Lisa Logan Page B

finished the center group. “Now that would be a new experience.”
    Ridelle was straight across from him when the words halted her trek. Their eyes met over tongues of dancing flame. Did she dare? “I find a ‘new experience’ good for the soul, every now and again.”
    The pause was brief, weighted with an undecipherable flash in his eyes. “You too, huh?”
    Smiling to camouflage the panic she swallowed on route to her throat, she broke contact and wandered to the far end of the table. He followed on his side and together they lit the last of the candles. Her hand wavered as the last wick erupted in flame, and her chest heaved under a watchful gaze that made little pretense of not noticing.
    “ Are you all right?” he asked.
    “ What? Why?”
    “ Your face is flushed.”
    Her hands flew to her cheeks, which were indeed burning. “Standing over too many candles, I guess.”
    Her wild swings between shy and slut were no doubt confusing him as much as they did her. She forced herself to meet his measuring gaze and to do it with a smile.
    He hesitated for a moment. “You know, I hope—”
    Whatever Bruce might have hoped was interrupted by a series of chimes in the front hall. His guests had arrived.
    Ridelle glided around the head of the dining table with as much grace as she could muster in unaccustomed heels. She wandered behind him to retrieve the waiting cocktail. “Don’t forget your Tom Collins.”
    Their fingers brushed as it changed hands, and a bizarre tingle shot up her arm. His gaze traveled up from the glass, lingering on her breasts before landing on her eyes. His were glazed with the shimmer of candlelight. “‘Collins flambe’, you mean.” He sipped at it, closing his eyes as though judging a fine wine. “Perfect. Thank you.”
    “ My pleasure.”
    She followed him to the edge of the dining room, where he paused to slide a dimmer switch on the wall to halfway. The room softened to a mesmerizing glow, with sparkles of starlight shooting off lead crystal facets on the multi-tiered chandelier over the table.
    “ Oh,” she whispered. “It’s so lovely.”
    “ Very.”
    Her head whipped around at the word hanging in the air to find Bruce gone, sauntering down the hall toward the door while ice clinked in his glass. The echo of his wingtip shoes drumming away from Ridelle followed her as she made a hasty retreat to the kitchen.

Chapter Seven
     
     
     
    The evening found the women rocketing back and forth from their kitchen launch pad to keep twenty guests supplied with fresh appetizers for the first hour, followed by dinner at eight o’clock. There was salad with raspberry vinaigrette, followed by chicken and mushrooms in red wine, mushroom quiche Lorraine, asparagus, and tender new potatoes. Wines were mildly aged and fragrant, moods were high, and conversation animated. Topics centered around financial debate, peppered with bawdy jokes, gossip, and even the occasional limerick.
    Bruce played simultaneous host, barkeep, and entertainer, and he and Ridelle’s respective duties kept them at a distance during her many trips through the room. No matter how distracted she was, however, she couldn’t help but feel his presence. It tugged like an invisible cord that pulsed between them, heightening her awareness of his location in the room. She thought she felt his smoky topaz eyes burning her skin, though she found them focused elsewhere when she risked a glance. She dared to catch his eye a couple of times, never with Fran in the room and hopefully without raising any eyebrows. When their eyes did catch, the reward was a quick and ready smile from him, followed by the slight gnaw of indigestion.
    If nothing else, she had to admit the man juggled his roles with impressive aplomb. Laughing and lighthearted as he appeared, Bruce Myers took the job of client-rubbing and back clapping seriously. All that expenditure of charm was no doubt why he had zip left for his wife at the end of the day.