Marilyn said, “Don’t worry your pretty head over our silly squabble. You have enough to do, young lady.” She swooped in and gave Ciara a quick peck on the cheek. Then said, “I’m grabbing a martini before Catherine tells me they’re only meant for the guests.”
Ciara laughed. “Snag me one, too. Extra dirty, please. Preferably downright scandalous.”
“Oh, you wicked girl!”
“You don’t know the half of it.” Ciara winked. Then she went back to ensuring every single detail in the dining room was seen to, including supervising the arrival of the mouthwatering Italian food from Venti’s.
Ciara finished her work and polished off the martini as the doorbell rang. Once. Twice. Then no more, and she figured it’d become a free-for-all.
Feeling the warmth of the fires in the hearths and the vodka in her veins, she left the dining room and greeted guests in the main portion of the house. She didn’t have any trouble with being “on.” She did it all the time with the webcasts.
She smiled and laughed and engaged in conversation. The atmosphere was inviting and lively. Cozy and intimate, yet still vibrant. Precisely as she’d hoped. Planned. Obsessed over.
She was completely in her element and on her second martini.
Then Scout walked through the oversized archway.
Ciara lost her breath.
All sensible thought fled.
All purpose for the evening and sound reasoning escaped her.
All she could do was stare.
He was gorgeous. He was perfect. And he couldn’t take his eyes from her.
He did the polite, professional thing. Shook hands with and chatted up those in the room as he gradually made his way toward her.
Ciara sipped her cocktail. Her heart thumped outrageously hard. Loud? Were those beats echoing in her ears? Her pulse? Could others hear?
Oh, God.
Breathe!
Scout accepted a crystal tumbler of scotch from his mother as well as a quick kiss. Then she slipped away to attend to more sponsors. Scout met Ciara at one of the tall fireplaces. His gaze slid over her from the tips of her five-inch heels to the top of her elaborately pinned-up hair. Not missing anything in between.
Heat flared in his eyes… And sparked deep in her core.
“That’s one hell of a dress,” he told her, his tone low and sensuous. Sending tingles along her warm skin.
“Thanks. I thought you might like it.”
“Pick it up in Paris?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.” It wasn’t anything over the top. A little black dress. Little being the operative word. It was a tight, curve-hugging number that sat off her shoulders. The sleeves were long and covered a portion of her hands, just beyond her wrists. One of which was adorned with Tilda’s favorite diamond bracelet. She’d left everything to Ciara, since Delaney had OD’d two years before Tilda had passed. Painful memories and emotions that Ciara couldn’t afford to give into tonight.
This was Tilda’s big to-do, even if only recreated through her granddaughter.
She took a sip of martini to steady herself, then said, “That was a fantastic dedication earlier at the arena. I really wish your grandma and grandpa could have been there. Tilda, too. You do know she was nuts about you, right?”
He nodded. “I spent more time here than I did at my own house. It being so close to the rink. Not to mention, Tilda was always baking cornbread and cookies. And, well…there was you…”
“Too bad we were always two ships passing in the night.”
“Not always.” His grinned mischievously.
A familiar blaze ignited in her belly. Between her legs.