Beauty and the Wolf (4 page)

Eli cupped her elbow and hurried her across the side walk to tuck her into the backseat, sliding in behind her.

The door closed smoothly, sealing them into the warm, dry, leather-scented interior.

“How lovely to have curb service,” Frankie said with appreciation. “Especially since it's started raining again.”

“Not to mention the driver is the one who'll have to negotiate the traffic downtown,” Eli added dryly.

“Yes, that, too.” Frankie nodded. “Very wise of you not to drive tonight.”

Eli stretched out his long legs. “I would have driven, but my Porsche is in the shop and I didn't want to pick you up in my work truck.” He grinned, amusement in his eyes. “I'd hate to get grease on that pretty dress you're wearing.”

“Good call.” Her voice was dry. “You should have told me about your car. I would have been happy to pick you up.”

He lifted an eyebrow in pretend shock. “And risk having my grandfather find out I'd made a date and had the lady drive me?” He shuddered. “I'd rather be caught running naked on Denny Way. He'd never let me forget it.”

Frankie laughed. “Your grandfather sounds like fun.”

“He is,” Eli answered promptly. “Don't get me wrong—I love the old guy. If he hadn't taken me and my brothers in after our folks were killed, we might have been split up and sent into foster homes. But he still thinks he should meddle in our lives, just like he did when we were kids.”

“And you can't tell him to butt out, because you love him and don't want to hurt his feelings,” Frankie guessed aloud.

“Exactly.” Eli looked at her, his gaze searching her face. “How did you know?”

“Because that's how I feel about Uncle Harry,” she replied. “I adore him, but he's got to stop interfering in my life.” She shrugged. “Oh, I know we're both adults and I could just tell him to stop. I could be blunt and tell him I hate knowing he's actively trying to dragoon men into dating me, as if no guy would ever think of asking me out unless Harry strong-armed them.” She lifted her hands in frustration, then let them drop to her lap. “But I know he'd be hurt, so I don't say the words. Which is why I came up with this scheme.” She gestured between Eli and herself. “You and me.”

“If Harry finds out you're trying to trick him, he'll be hurt anyway,” Eli cautioned her.

“I know.” Her mouth drooped. She glanced sideways and found him watching her with an oddly tender expression. “Which is why we have to be very convincing,” she said firmly.

“Agreed.” The car slowed, and he glanced out the window. “Here's the hotel—put on your best I'm-so-in-love acting face, honey, because the curtain is about to go up.”

T
he Grand Sylvania's portico roof shielded the car from the rain as Eli stepped out and turned to take Frankie's hand. The well-lit area did nothing to hold the wind at bay, however, and the two hurried into the hotel lobby, joining other guests to ride an escalator to the second floor. The muted rumble of crowd laughter and conversation underlaid an orchestra's rendition of a Broadway tune as they stepped off the moving stairs and neared an open ballroom door.

A hotel employee greeted them, taking Frankie's coat before passing it on to a young woman in a white evening gown, a Children's Hospital ribbon pinned to her bodice.

“May I have your tickets, please?”

Frankie quickly located the lavender cards in her small evening purse and handed them over.

“Ah, yes. This way, please.”

“Thank you.” Frankie smiled at their hostess and followed her. Close behind her, Eli's hand rested on the curve of her waist, his palm and long fingers warm and faintly possessive. Frankie was vibrantly aware of his broad bulk at her back; the very air separating them seemed alive with electricity.

They wound their way between tables toward the front of the big room. Frankie scanned the guests, locating Cornelia seated with Harry and another couple at a table for six on the edge of the polished dance floor.

Cornelia looked up, her lips curving in a welcoming smile as she raised a hand to beckon with a wave. Then her gaze moved past Frankie, her eyes widening as she saw Eli. She quickly looked back at Frankie, her eyebrows lifting in silent query just as the two reached the table.

“Hello, Mother.” Frankie bent to kiss Cornelia's cheek and paused to say hello to Marcia Adkins.

Harry and Jonathon Adkins stood, greeting Frankie and Eli as he drew out a chair for her. She murmured her thanks, smoothing her skirts as Eli settled into the chair next to her.

“I didn't know you were bringing Eli,” Cornelia said with a smile. “But I'm glad you did. It's lovely to see you, Eli. I hardly got to say more than hello to you the other evening at Harry's house.”

“I'm sorry, Cornelia. Justin and Lily promised Ava
she could have a pet rabbit for her birthday. We spent most of the evening discussing the proper size of the hutch we're going to build.” Eli's eyes twinkled.

“That's my Ava,” Harry said with a fond pride. “You'll notice she went straight to a professional builder,” he said to Jonathon.

“Not to mention choosing a man most likely to give her whatever she wants,” Eli said dryly, earning him a soft, approving smile from Cornelia.

“You've got competition for the title,” Harry told him. “From her dad, me and her three uncles.”

Eli laughed. “True. She's a charmer, that little girl.” He turned to speak with a waiter, and Cornelia leaned close to murmur in Frankie's ear.

“You didn't tell me Eli was your date for tonight.”

“It was a last-minute thing,” Frankie whispered back.

“I didn't realize you two were dating.” Cornelia's comment held a question.

“We've seen each other a few times,” Frankie said. It wasn't really a lie, she told herself. She and Eli
had
seen each other recently—once at Harry's house and then again at his office. That qualified as seeing each other, didn't it?

Cornelia's expression was intrigued, but before she could question Frankie further, two waiters arrived with bottles of champagne and began pouring.

“Oh, how wonderful. I love champagne,” Frankie said with delight, accepting a flute from Eli. “How did you know?”

“You had champagne at your last birthday party.”

His gaze met hers, and Frankie's heart skipped a beat. The memory of her birthday party and the kiss they'd shared was in his eyes, and Frankie was suddenly back there, his mouth on hers, his arms warm and hard, wrapping her tight against the powerful muscles of his chest and thighs….

“How nice that you remembered.”

Cornelia's warm voice broke the spell that held Frankie, and she tore her gaze from Eli's, looking down at the bubbles rising in the gold liquid filling her flute.

Eli relaxed in his chair, a glass in one hand, the other arm stretched out along the back of Frankie's chair. His fingers brushed the bare curve of her shoulder before closing warmly, lightly, over the nape of her neck.

“I remember everything about Frankie.” His voice was deeper, huskier.

Frankie glanced sideways, and their gazes meshed. She tried to remember he was only playing a role. But his blue eyes were darker, smokier, and the heat within seemed so real Frankie felt herself melting, her body unconsciously softening, easing toward his.

“I don't recall seeing you at Frankie's last birthday party,” Harry said.

Frankie glanced up, alerted by Harry's tone, and saw his eyes narrow over Eli.

“I wasn't there long,” Eli said without missing a beat. “I'd barely recovered from a second leg surgery and stopped in for a few minutes, looking for Justin. I didn't
know you were having a party until I got there and only stayed long enough to say hello and toast the birthday girl before leaving.”

“Ah, that must be why I don't remember—I probably didn't see you in the crowd,” Harry mused.

“There were a lot of people at the house,” Eli agreed.

His fingertips absently stroked the curve of Frankie's shoulder, almost as if he was savoring the tactile pleasure of her skin against his. Despite knowing he was only touching her because Harry and Cornelia were watching, Frankie still shivered inwardly, her skin heating beneath his touch.

“Oh, Jonathon,” Marcia exclaimed, her eyes lighting as the orchestra played the opening notes of a classic Burt Bacharach tune. “I love this song—come dance with me.” She held out her hand to her husband.

“Excuse us, folks,” Jonathon said as he rose and took his wife's hand.

Eli leaned closer, his lips brushing Frankie's ear-lobe.

“Let's dance.”

She nodded silently, and he stood, pulling back her chair.

“Harry, you should dance with Mom,” she said as Eli took her hand, threading her fingers through his.

“I think we'll sit this one out and finish our champagne,” Harry replied.

Frankie thought she caught a fleeting frown cross
her mother's features before Eli tugged her gently out onto the gleaming floor.

He turned her into his arms, tucking her close. Her temple rested against his cheek, and each breath she took drew in the subtle scent of his aftershave, warmed by body heat. She loved that smell, she thought, leaning closer.

“Did you see Harry's face?” Eli's voice was a low rumble. He chuckled, his breath ghosting against her ear.

“He can't decide whether to demand we tell him why we're here together or pretend it's not happening.”

Frankie laughed. “I'd give anything to hear what he's saying to Mom right now.”

Eli's arms tightened around Frankie. “Heads up,” he whispered in her ear. “Harry and your mom are heading this way.”

Frankie tilted her head back and looked up at him.

“Do we have a plan?” she asked, even as she reveled in the muscled strength of his arm at her waist, his warm fingers threaded through hers and the press of her increasingly sensitized body as it lay against his from breast to thigh.

His lashes lowered, his eyes going darker as the moment stretched. Then he swung her in a slow circle, his steps sure as he swept her into a secluded corner, behind a tall column with baskets of ferns and flowers widening its base.

Her skirts swirled around his legs as he stopped, easing her backward against the column's support.

His gaze didn't leave hers as he bent his head and brushed his mouth against hers.

It was like touching a live electrical wire. Frankie started, her hands curling into fists over his lapels as she caught her breath.

“Shh,” he murmured against her lips. Then his mouth fitted carefully over hers, changing the angle of the kiss as it lengthened, stealing the oxygen from her lungs until he breathed for her.

Frankie forgot that a roomful of people danced and laughed only feet away from where she stood, locked in Eli's arms, concealed behind the column. The world faded away, narrowing to hold only Eli.

When at last he lifted his head, she was breathless. If she hadn't been supported against his solid strength, she knew she would have wobbled, her knees weak.

Eli's hooded gaze searched hers, his breath coming too fast. His fingertips moved reflexively against the bare skin of her back above the low-cut gown as if unable to keep from stroking, and a muscle ticked along the line of his jaw. Whatever he saw in her eyes had his lips curving upward in a slow, sensual half smile that made Frankie yearn for the feel of his mouth on hers again. Then he wrapped her closer and swept her out from behind the column, back into the crowd, the music a slow swirl of sound around them. Frankie let him guide her, her feet automatically moving to the rhythm as she struggled to clear her head.

She was every bit as shaken now as she'd been by that first kiss all those months ago at her birthday party. No
question about it, she thought with faint dismay, when she'd felt the earth move during that first kiss, it hadn't been the result of drinking too much champagne on an empty stomach.

Because it had just happened again.

Harry and Cornelia, with half the dance floor now separating them from Eli and Frankie, were each trying to digest and interpret what they'd just seen.

“I haven't purposely spied on any of my daughters since they were teenagers,” Cornelia told Harry. “I feel guilty.”

“We didn't spy on them on purpose,” Harry protested. “We just happened to be dancing near them when he pulled her behind that column. It's not as if we were using binoculars.”

Cornelia leaned back against his arm and looked up at him. “Even you can't believe that excuse, Harry,” she admonished him, shaking her head. “You know very well you asked me to dance solely to keep an eye on Frankie and Eli.”

“All right,” he admitted. “It's true. But in my defense, I'm having a hard time believing she's suddenly interested in Eli. They've known each other for years, and I've never seen a hint of anything romantic between them.”

“Maybe that's precisely why,” Cornelia pointed out. “Sometimes two people can be too close and not realize they're perfect for each other.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Harry scoffed, dismissing the concept. “If a man and a woman are thrown
together often enough, sooner or later they'll realize they're attracted. Probably happen sooner rather than later,” he added.

“Perhaps,” Cornelia conceded. “But some people are
so
obtuse, they wouldn't see the perfect partner if they tripped over them.”

Her voice held an underlying snap, but Harry didn't notice.

“Well, I still think Nicholas would make the perfect man for Frankie.”

Cornelia's eyes widened, then narrowed over Harry's face. “Please tell me you're not matchmaking again, Harry.”

Her voice held an ominous tone. Harry winced. “Now, Cornelia,” he said persuasively, “what makes you think I'd do that?”

Cornelia wasn't entirely convinced but let the subject drop as the orchestra left the bandstand for a break and they returned to their table.

Three hours later, after dinner followed by more champagne and dancing, Eli handed Frankie into the back of the limousine once more.

The car moved smoothly away from the hotel portico.

Outside the tinted windows, the glow of downtown Seattle's neon signs, bright car headlights and red taillights blurred into rivers of moving color in the rain.

Frankie sighed and relaxed, turning her head against the buttery soft leather seat to look at Eli. “I think we were a success tonight. Harry was clearly surprised to
see you with me, although I'm not sure he's convinced yet that we're a couple. What do you think?”

“I suspect it's going to take more than one appearance to make Harry believe we're involved. He needs to be convinced you're crazy about me and unlikely to be interested in someone else if he's going to stop trying to hook you up with Nicholas.” Eli's half smile was wry. “Harry's like a dog with a bone. Once he gets an idea in his head, it takes major evidence to get him to change his mind. He's stubborn.”

“Then we'll just have to be even more determined—and outlast him. Are you up for that?”

Eli shrugged, his eyes glinting at the challenge. “I told you when we first talked about this that I didn't expect Harry to be easily convinced.” He shrugged. “Tonight was just the opening salvo in a campaign—but in the end, we'll win.”

Frankie stared at him, arrested. “You sound like a character out of the
Godfather
movies. I suppose next you'll be telling me we need to go to the mattresses.”

He laughed out loud. “We might reach that point, knowing Harry.”

“I know,” Frankie murmured, distracted by the flash of his smile in the shadowy interior of the limo. “I confess, when I came up with this plan, I thought we could be seen together a couple of times and Harry would abandon his matchmaking schemes. I should have known he wouldn't give up so easily.”

“Not to worry.” Eli picked up her hand, threading her fingers through his before resting their joined hands on
his thigh. “We're partners, right? The two of us together are a match for Harry.”

The car slowed, pulling to the curb and stopping. Eli glanced out the window. “We're home.” Before their driver could exit to open their door, Eli stepped out and opened an umbrella as he turned to lend Frankie a hand.

Rain pattered on the umbrella, but beneath it Frankie was warm and dry, tucked into the curve of Eli's side, his hand at her waist. They hurried up the sidewalk to the shelter of the condo building's wide overhang. The lobby was empty and quiet when they entered, the elevator and third-floor hallway equally hushed.