A Risky Affair (18 page)

Daniela laughed. “Oh, pay him no mind. One thing you'll learn about your new boss is that his bark is much worse than his bite. Don't worry, you're going to learn a lot from him. He won't be able to stop himself from teaching you, whether he calls it ‘mentoring' or not. Making everyone around him smarter, better—that's just what he does. Caleb is the same way, which makes him a natural in the classroom.”

Solange smiled a little. “Why doesn't he work at his father's law firm?” she asked curiously. At the look of mild discomfiture that crossed Daniela's face, Solange said quickly, “I'm sorry. Was that too personal? I shouldn't have—”

Daniela waved a dismissive hand. “Don't worry about it. I get that question all the time, so I should be used to it. Caleb did work at the firm for five years and was hugely successful as a defense attorney. His reasons for leaving make for a long, complicated story, the details of which I won't bore you with at this time. Suffice it to say that he loves being at the university and plans to continue teaching one or two classes even after we open our practice. What field of law are you interested in studying, Solange?”

“Family law.”

“Really? That's what Caleb and I are going to specialize in!”

“I know. Dane mentioned that, too.” Solange smiled hopefully. “Think I could come work for you when I graduate from law school?”

Daniela gave her one of those warm, irrepressible grins. “Consider yourself hired.” She picked up her water and took a long sip, her eyes calculating above the rim of the glass. “Tell me, Solange. What about family law appeals to you?”

“Well, the firm I worked for back home was a family-law practice, and I really enjoyed interacting with our clients and helping the attorneys prepare for trial. Many of the cases we handled were difficult—child custody cases could be downright heartrending. We always wished we could do more, especially whenever we felt a judge's ruling wasn't in the child's best interests. Having to stand by and watch in helpless frustration as a child is returned to an abusive home is one of the worst feelings I've ever experienced.” She paused for a moment, slowly shaking her head. “Another reason I think family law appeals to me is that I was adopted, and every time I meet a particularly dysfunctional family, it makes me think about how lucky I was to have such kind, loving adoptive parents. At the risk of sounding like a cliché, I want to help make a difference in the lives of others who haven't been as fortunate.” When Daniela remained silent, she ducked her head over her food and mumbled self-consciously, “Sorry. I'll get off my soapbox now.”

Daniela chuckled. “Don't be silly. You have no reason to apologize. That's the kind of passion and conviction Caleb and I will be looking for in any associate we hire. So hurry up and get your law degree so we can hire you!”

Solange smiled. “I'm working on it, believe me.” She picked up and absently toyed with a pair of chopsticks that had been resting untouched by her plate. “One of the other things I'd really like to do is become a court-appointed special advocate for children. I always wanted to just show up at the local CASA office and volunteer, but between attending college, working full-time and helping my parents around the farm, there just never seemed to be enough hours in the day. And I didn't want to give anything less than my all to those children, who would come to depend on me.”

Daniela nodded. “That's perfectly understandable. Maybe you and Crandall can work out some type of arrangement that allows you to volunteer and still work for him.”

“Oh, that would be wonderful. But I figured I'd wait a few more months, prove myself first, before I approach him with the idea.”

“Good thinking. You know,” Daniela said thoughtfully, “hearing you talk reminds me of the way Dane feels about his involvement in the Big Brothers Big Sisters program. He takes his responsibility very seriously, and let me tell you, the kids positively adore him. And not just the ones that are assigned to him, either. He's chauffeured vanloads of them to the zoo, museums, SeaWorld and to Spurs basketball games, and he really takes a genuine interest in how they're doing at school and at home. Everyone—the children, parents, teachers and program coordinators—loves him.”

Solange listened with a combination of fascination and incredulity. The man Daniela was describing didn't sound like a scheming, heartless womanizer. He sounded like an honest, caring and sensitive man, a man who gave freely of himself and asked for little in return. He sounded…Well, he sounded too good to be true. Which meant he probably was.

Solange had stopped believing in the existence of Mr. Perfect a long time ago, but if everything Daniela was telling her about Dane was true—in addition to the things Solange had experienced for herself—then that's what he was: Mr. Perfect.

A magnificent lover, a hard worker, a man cherished by his family and friends and a veritable hero to neglected children.

Definitely too good to be true.

“Maybe you should talk to Dane about participating in the Big Brothers Big Sisters program,” Daniela cheerfully suggested. “That's something you could do on the weekends that Crandall wouldn't object to. May I?” she asked, pointing her fork at Solange's plate.

“Of course. Help yourself.” Smiling, Solange watched as Daniela speared a shrimp and popped it into her mouth, chewing in blissful silence for a moment.

“Absolutely delicious,” she pronounced. “I could eat here every day. Well, at least on the days when I'm not eating at my mother's. There's nothing like my mama's home cooking. I'll have to invite you over sometime for Sunday brunch so you can experience what I'm talking about. Crandall's personal chef Ms. Gloria ain't no slouch, either. I can't wait to see what's on the menu for dinner tonight.” She chuckled ruefully. “Girl, listen to me, carrying on and on about food. Can you tell I'm eating for two?”

Solange grinned. “The way you cleaned your plate seconds after the waiter set it down on the table tipped me off.”

Daniela laughed. “You and I are going to get along just fine, Solange Washington.”

“Yeah,” Solange agreed, her lips curving into a lopsided smile. “We'll get along even better if you promise me this is the last time I'll ever have to go shopping with you.”

This time Daniela laughed so hard Solange was half afraid she'd go into premature labor.

It was three o'clock by the time they left The Shops at La Cantera. Instead of returning to her downtown penthouse, Daniela asked the driver to drop her off at St. Mary's University so she could catch a ride home with her husband.

As the limo pulled up in front of the law center, a tall, broad-shouldered man wearing a black turtleneck and dark jeans that rode low on his lean hips emerged from the main building and started purposefully down the steps. As he drew nearer to the Rolls Royce, Solange slowly lifted her head from the back of the seat and stared. With skin the color of toasted walnut, strong, masculine features and dark, piercing eyes, Caleb Thorne was stunningly handsome.

Solange's jaw dropped.

Noticing her reaction, Daniela chuckled softly. “I know. I felt the same way the very first time I met him. And even after being married to him for the past four years, I still catch myself ogling him every now and again.”

Solange grinned sheepishly. “Sorry. Didn't mean to ogle your husband.”

Daniela laughed. Not waiting for Mr. Bailey to come around and let her out of the limo, she reached for the handle just as Caleb pulled open the door. He reached down for her, and she launched herself into his arms with a speed and agility that belied her protruding belly.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Caleb murmured, gazing down at her with an intimate little smile. “How was your day?”

“Wonderful,” Daniela replied, her arms curved around his neck as she returned his smile. “Solange and I had a great time. Although if you ask her, she might beg to differ, poor baby.”

Caleb chuckled dryly. “My father should have warned her she'd need the stamina of three Olympic gold medalists to go shopping with you.”

“That would have been nice,” Solange agreed, sliding across the backseat and stepping out of the limo.

When Caleb Thorne glanced over at her, Solange wondered if she'd only imagined the flash of startled recognition that filled his eyes, eyes that reminded her of his father's. And, come to think of it, hadn't Crandall given her that same odd, startled look when she'd first arrived for the interview?

As Daniela performed the introductions, Solange said politely, “It's nice to meet you, Mr. Thorne.”

He inclined his head. “The pleasure's all mine. And please, call me Caleb.”

Solange smiled. “All right. Thank you for loaning Daniela to me for the day.”

“You're welcome, though I'm probably the one who should be thanking you for being brave enough to put up with my father. How's everything going so far?”

“Can't complain. He's been nothing but kind to me. I've been wondering when he's going to give me some real work so I can actually earn my keep.”

Caleb smiled, albeit distractedly. “Give him time. He'll crack the whip eventually.” Those dark, appraising eyes narrowed on her face. “Do you have any family living in San Antonio, Solange?”

“Not that I know of. Why do you ask?”

“No particular reason. You just…look familiar. Anyway, welcome to San Antonio. I hope my father won't drive you too crazy. Ain't that right, Mr. Bailey?”

Solange watched in astonishment as the old chauffeur, wearing the same stoic expression he'd worn all morning as he stood ramrod straight by the limo, suddenly broke into a wide, toothy grin. “Now, son, don't you be putting no ideas about your father in the young lady's head. You know he's always been very good to me. Wouldn't be right for me to imply otherwise.”

Daniela laughed. “That's right, Mr. Bailey. Don't let this one—” she poked Caleb in the ribs “—get you into trouble.”

Caleb grinned, pulling his wife closer and kissing her forehead. Solange smiled at the mischievous wink he sent her, but she was remembering Dane's own warnings to her about Crandall. He, too, had called her brave for wanting to work for Thorne. Not for the first time since accepting the job, Solange wondered what was
really
in store for her as Crandall's personal assistant.

“And speaking of trouble,” Daniela said, addressing Solange, “you'd better get back to the ranch and start getting ready for tonight. The dinner party begins at seven, and we all know how Crandall feels about promptness.” She frowned. “Which reminds me, I haven't even decided what to wear yet.”

“You're going home to take a nap,” Caleb told her in a firm tone that brooked no argument.

Daniela tried, anyway. “But I need to pick out something—”

“Nap,” Caleb growled. “No way are you going to be on your feet all day, only to turn around and stay out all night at my father's dinner party. Either you take a nap, or we're not going.”

“Oh, all right.” Daniela heaved the dramatic sigh of a martyr and shook her head at Solange. “You see what I have to put up with?”

Solange grinned. She could think of far worse things to contend with than a strong, loving, slightly overprotective husband.

Caleb Thorne could be a lot worse.

He could be Mr. Perfect. Too good to be true.

T
he first of the guests began arriving at the ranch at six-thirty. Although the invitations had been issued just the day before, everyone had eagerly accepted. No one was crazy enough to turn down an invitation to one of Crandall Thorne's lavish affairs, which had become increasingly scarce over the years. And no one was audacious enough to risk his displeasure by showing up a minute late.

At Crandall's request, Solange served as hostess for the evening, which afforded her the privilege of standing beside him to greet guests and direct them to the living room for champagne and hors d'oeuvres before dinner.

Although Crandall had billed the evening as a small, intimate gathering, the number of guests that arrived suggested otherwise. Solange counted at least twenty people in attendance, among them some of Crandall's closest friends, employees, business associates and, of course, Caleb and Daniela, who showed up looking as fabulous as if they'd just stepped from the cover of a glossy magazine in which they were featured as the couple of the year.

Crandall, beaming with pride, grabbed his son in a quick bear hug and bragged about his beautiful, expectant daughter-in-law to everyone within earshot.

When Daniela's gaze landed on Solange, her eyes widened as if she were seeing her in the dress for the first time. “Wow, you look stunning! I knew that dress had your name written all over it the moment I saw it. Work it, girl!”

Solange smiled. “I'm definitely trying.” She had never worn anything as glamorous—or expensive—as the little black cocktail dress with spaghetti straps, a ruched bodice and a soft bubble hem that flared slightly above her knees, courtesy of Chanel. Heeding Daniela's instructions, she'd arranged her hair into an elegant chignon that exposed the graceful column of her throat and drew attention to the scooped neckline of her dress, where a simple diamond pendant dangled low enough to accentuate the modest glimpse of cleavage. Completing the overall effect was a sexy pair of black stiletto sling-backs.

She'd hardly recognized herself in the mirror when she'd finished dressing. She looked and felt like a million bucks. Even Crandall had smiled and given her a nod of approval as she'd descended the staircase to join him before the guests began arriving.

Just as she was about to compliment Daniela on the gorgeous silk sheath she wore, she was distracted by the arrival of an unexpected guest.

Dane Roarke.

He stepped through the front door in an impeccably tailored dark suit worn with a crisp white shirt open at the collar—the living, breathing embodiment of raw sex appeal.

Solange's breath snagged in her throat. She glanced away quickly, but not before Daniela caught her eye. Her expression was openly speculative.

Dane greeted Crandall, who managed not to snarl at him—most likely out of respect for Daniela. Solange wagered that Daniela alone was responsible for her cousin's presence at the dinner party that evening.

She pasted a smile on her face as Dane came to a stop in front of her. “Good evening,” she said politely, as if she were greeting any other guest instead of the man who'd taken her mind, body and soul to unparalleled heights of ecstasy the day before.

“Good evening,” he said in a low, husky drawl that did dangerous things to her heart rate. As his lazy gaze ran the length of her, she fought to ignore a thrill of pleasure that swept through her at the frank male appreciation that filled his dark eyes. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you. You look nice, too.” It was the understatement of the year, which had been her intention. After calling him every name in the book for the way he'd deceived and manipulated her at the meeting yesterday, Solange had decided that the next time she laid eyes on him, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing how hurt or angry she was. Instead she'd play it cool and collected, let him see just how little he mattered to her in the grand scheme of things.

“They're serving champagne and hors d'oeuvres in the living room, if you want to help yourself,” she told him.

Dane inclined his head, those fathomless eyes probing hers. If he found her behavior strange or unsettling, he refrained from commenting.

Daniela, who'd been conversing with Caleb along with the ranch foreman and his wife, returned at that moment. “Dane, will you go with me to get some hors d'oeuvres in the other room? I'm starving, and dinner won't be served for another twenty minutes.”

“Of course.” With one last lingering look at Solange, Dane started away with his cousin, who slipped her arm companionably through his, then threw back her head and laughed at something he leaned down to murmur in her ear.

Solange watched their departure, wondering if Dane had made a joke about her, then telling herself she shouldn't care.

Crandall's voice interrupted her musings. “Solange, I'd like you to meet an old friend of mine.”

Solange turned to offer a perfunctory smile to their newest arrival. This time it was an elegantly coiffed woman of ageless beauty with supple, golden-brown skin and eyes the color of sable. She was stylish grace in a beaded, deep plum top and black satin pants worn with pearl teardrop earrings and a matching choker clasped around her sleek throat.

“Solange, this is Mrs. Tessa Philbin,” Crandall said with a congenial smile. “Tess, this is my new personal assistant, Solange Washington.”

Solange automatically thrust her hand forward. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Philbin.”

The woman hesitated a fraction of a second before taking her hand. “Hello, Solange,” she said in a smooth, cultured voice, her eyes gently tracing Solange's features. “It's very nice to meet you.”

Crandall said, “Tessa and I go quite a ways back, isn't that right, Tess?”

The woman nodded as she slowly released Solange's hand. “All the way back to grammar school,” she murmured with a soft, nostalgic smile.

“Really?” Solange divided a surprised look between the two. “And you've kept in touch all these years?”

When they exchanged quietly amused glances, Solange realized her faux pas. “Not that I'm saying you're old or anything,” she hastened to clarify. “I just meant…I mean, I think it's great that you've remained friends for so long.”

With a gruff chuckle, Crandall came to her rescue. “It's all right, Miss Washington. We both understood what you meant the first time. And you're absolutely right,” he added with a meaningful look at Tessa Philbin. “It is great that we've remained friends for so long.”

Solange watched with interest as Tessa flushed and hastily withdrew her gaze from his. It was enough to make Solange wonder whether the couple shared more than a long history of friendship.

“I trust you found the ranch with no problem,” Crandall said to Tessa. “It's been some years since you were last here.”

“Yes, it has,” she agreed. “But I had no trouble finding my way.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Tessa glanced down the walkway toward the large living room, where most of the guests had converged for champagne and exotic tidbits served on silver trays. “You have quite a gathering here,” she said to Crandall with the barest hint of censure in her voice. “I was expecting something a bit…smaller.”

Crandall gave a hearty laugh. “Tessa, darling. Compared to the fancy shindigs I used to throw, this
is
small. Now why don't you accompany me to the living room for some of those canapés you used to love so much? I had them specially prepared just for you.”

For the second time since her arrival, Tessa blushed like a schoolgirl. “Why, thank you, Crandall. That was…awfully sweet of you.”

“Nothing to it.” He held out his arm with a gallant flourish. “Shall we?”

“All right,” Tessa murmured, accepting his proffered arm with a trace of reluctance. As they started away, she glanced over her shoulder at Solange. “Aren't you coming, Miss Washington?”

“In a few minutes,” Solange answered with a smile. “We're still expecting a couple more guests, then I need to check on the status of dinner.”

“Of course.” Tessa gave her a small, tentative smile. “I hope we'll have a chance to get better acquainted at dinner.”

Deciding that the woman was just being polite, Solange responded in kind. “I'd like that very much, Mrs. Philbin.”

After welcoming the last of the arrivals, Solange made her way to the large gourmet kitchen where Rita had been supervising dinner preparations—much to the obvious displeasure of Crandall's longtime personal chef Gloria Valdez, who felt she'd catered more than enough of her boss's headlining dinner parties over the years to not need someone looking over her shoulder.

When Solange appeared in the kitchen doorway—she didn't dare cross the threshold—the two women were arguing about something as inconsequential as whether or not a bowl of potato-and-leek soup needed more garnish.

Solange cleared her throat, hoping vainly to be heard above their bickering and the cacophony of clanging pots and pans, running water and shouted commands as members of the hired catering staff bustled about with last-minute dinner preparations.

Solange cleared her throat again, louder this time. Two pairs of eyes swung in her direction, and softened at once.

“Hey, baby,” Rita cooed. “Don't you look pretty as a picture this evening.”

“Absolutely gorgeous,” Gloria agreed.

Solange grinned. “Thank you, ladies. I, uh, just wanted to make sure everything is on schedule.”

“Of course,” the two women chorused in unison, then turned to glare at each other.

“You tell Mr. Thorne that the first course will be served promptly—no thanks to his meddlesome housekeeper,” Gloria groused.

Indignant, Rita demanded, “Who're you calling meddlesome?”

As they began quarreling again, Solange backed out of the doorway, chuckling softly to herself as she headed down the corridor to the living room.

Pausing at the entrance, she took in her surroundings—the soft music drifting through the spacious room; the lively din of conversation and laughter; the tinkle of wineglasses; the fragrance of expensive perfumes mingling with the inviting scents of apple wood and pine from a crackling fire in the hearth; and the festive beauty of the Christmas tree that soared fifteen feet high in front of the tall living room windows, aglow with lights and festooned with silver, porcelain and sparkling glass ornaments. Several people had gathered around the giant spruce, their murmurs of admiration making Solange's chest swell with pride and satisfaction.

She and Rita had decorated the tree last night in preparation for the dinner party. With Christmas hymns playing in the background and frothy mugs of hot chocolate cooling on the mantel as they worked, Solange had been transported back to her childhood, awash with memories of decorating the family tree with her mother while her father was busy outside, hanging lights on the farmhouse and setting up the nativity scene on the front lawn.

In the middle of sharing one of these reminiscences with Rita, Solange had glanced over and found Crandall framed in the doorway, watching her with an expression of such tender warmth she nearly dropped an ornament she'd been unwrapping. Seeing her reaction, he'd frowned, coughed into his hand then quickly retreated from the room, muttering something about an important phone call he had to make. It was the last she'd seen of him for the rest of the evening.

“I don't think my father's ever had a more beautiful tree in his home.”

Solange turned her head to find Caleb Thorne standing beside her in the doorway, one hand thrust casually into his pocket as he gazed across the room at the brightly lit tree.

She smiled at him. “Thanks, but I can't take all the credit. Ms. Rita did as much work as I did.”

Caleb chuckled softly. “She must really like you, then. Usually she just supervises the work.”

Solange grinned. “Well, she
did
get a little bossy at times. She has very specific ideas about what should go where, and she's not afraid to say so.”

“Not her fault. Her father was a career military man. Ms. Rita had a very regimented childhood.”

“Yeah, she told me. Actually, we have a lot in common. We both grew up on a farm, but at least
she
had siblings to help with all the daily chores.”

Caleb grinned down at her, and she was struck once again by how handsome he was. “I feel your pain. I grew up an only child, too, and I always prayed for a brother or a sister.”

“To share the chores with?”

“Nah. To take the blame for stuff I broke around the house.”

Solange laughed, shaking her head reproachfully at him. “In that case, maybe it's best that you remained an only child.”

“Yeah. You're probably right.” Sobering, he studied her face for a prolonged moment. “Have you had a chance to meet Tessa Philbin?”

Solange nodded, smiling. “She was very nice. Classy. She and your father go back pretty far, don't they?”