Free Rogue's Revenge by Gail MacMillan Page B

knew, in Canada, in May, on an indoorsy investment banker, had to be a salon-induced tan.
    “Made it?” Allison felt she’d missed a beat. A chafe of annoyance washed over her.
    “Come on, Al. Don’t pretend you’ve forgotten. I told you I’d take you to your mother’s fundraiser if I could get away. And here I am.”
    Jack muttered a deep-throated growl.
    “Stay away from me, you furball,” he ordered the dog. “This is a new tux. I don’t want it despoiled with your sheddings.”
    He crossed the entrance hallway to kiss Allison lightly on the lips.
    “He’s a poodle.” She ignored his attempt to draw her into something intimate and shrugged away. “Poodles don’t shed.”
    Her words brought a quick response. “I’m not into animals. Can’t abide their filthy ways.”
    “Well, we’re delighted you’ve come,” Myra, always the gracious hostess, interjected. “You two can do me a favor. I’ll be grateful if you will pick up another case of Champagne at the Lakeside Liquor Store. I don’t have time. I have to be at the club to greet the guests. You can take a shortcut through the lane that runs along the greenbelt behind Lakeside Drive. The road isn’t paved, but you should still arrive in time for my opening remarks. Believe me, I need all the sympathetic faces I can get in the audience tonight. This is the biggest money raiser of the year. I have to be at my persuasive best.”
    “Normally, I’d be glad to.” Paul turned to Myra. “But I came by cab. I just flew in from Vancouver and haven’t had time to get my BMW out of the garage.”
    “We’ll take my car.” Allison struggled to keep an exasperated sigh out of her voice.
    “Well, that solves one problem.” Paul took Allison’s arm possessively. “But I’m not sure about the wine. This is a new tux, and those cases can be dirty.”
    “Here.” Cameron Armstrong reached into the closet near the door and pulled out one of his white lab coats. His tone reflected the exasperation his daughter had suppressed. “You can cover it with this.”
    “Sure…sure…no problem.” Paul gingerly accepted the smock. “Let’s go, Al. It’s starting to rain and, like I said, this is a new tux.”
    “Good Lord!” Allison breathed as she started her car two minutes later and swung it around the circular drive toward the street. “You’d have thought Mom asked you to bury her father, not just pick up a case of wine.”
    “What are you talking about?” Paul looked over at her. “Your mother wouldn’t ask me to do a thing like that. What’s wrong with you, Al? God, you’re irritable. PMS or something? I thought you’d be glad to see me. It’s been nearly two weeks.”
    “I’m sorry.” Allison braked before turning out onto the tree-lined avenue. She looked over at him and forced a smile. “I’ve got a lot on my mind. Let’s start over and concentrate on having fun tonight, okay?”
    They had picked up the wine and were on their way to the country club through Myra’s suggested shortcut twenty minutes later when a ragged bolt of lightning rent the black night sky, freeing a downpour.
    “Want me to drive?” Paul asked as the car slid in the mud of the dirt road.
    “I’m fine, thanks.”
    “Al, let’s stop for a few minutes. It’s private out here, and I haven’t seen you alone in a fortnight.”
    “I’d rather not, Paul. Mom and Dad are waiting.”
    “Ah, come on, Al. They know you’re in good hands. Pull over…here.”
    He grabbed the wheel. Allison yanked back. The car skidded and lurched into a shallow ditch.
    “Oh, great!” Allison stared out at the beams of her headlights shining into the trees, reversed, spun tires, and gave up. “We’ll never get out of here without a tow.”
    “So use your cell. While we’re waiting to be rescued, we can do some serious making out.”
    “I didn’t bring my phone.” She shrugged off his attempted embrace. “What about you?”
    “In the pants I wore on the flight.