California Caress (34 page)

“Yes,” Drake replied, his hand tightening over Hope’s fingers. “Wait thirty seconds, then announce Mr. And Mrs. Drake Phillip Frazier.”

Drake glanced down at Hope, missing the look the two young men exchanged. “Are you ready?”

Her gaze drifted through the door, over the crush of well-dressed guests who danced, strolled, and mingled with their peers.

“Yes,” she said with a brisk nod. “As ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.”

The polished pine dance floor was shrunken from the ground floor by four steps. Her grip on Drake’s arm tightened and she wondered if her knees would sustain her long enough to reach the bottom. Already their presence had attracted the attention of those closest to the door.

The servant on the left stepped inside the doorway as the music drew to an end. Clearing his throat, he attracted only a small amount of attention. The handsome couple behind him, however, silenced any tongues that continued to wag.

“Introducing Mr. and Mrs. Drake Phillip Frazier.”

Cutting a half-bow, the young boy with the intimidatingly loud voice swept away. All too quickly, there was nothing to block Drake and Hope from the sea of curious eyes that greedily devoured them.

Rage shot through Charles Frazier’s blood. Angry fingers raked through his dark blond curls as his steel blue gaze narrowed on the man introduced as his brother. The fingers encircling the stem of a crystal snifter grew white-knuckled from strain.

Drake had changed severely in the last three years, but not so severely that his finely honed features were unrecognizable. The shoulders were broader. The rigidly sculpted cheekbones that matched Charles’s own, or the long, straight nose that branded him a Frazier.

Charles downed the rest of the brandy in one fiery gulp, then reached for another glass. He could feel the crowd’s attention shifting anxiously between himself and his brother, its curiosity tangible. With dogged determination, he commanded his features to remain impassive, but that did nothing to alleviate the anger festering within him.

Drake was supposed to be dead. Tubbs had wired him from some godforsaken town in California telling him the unsavory job had been completed. Charles had even included a bonus in the money he’d wired Tubbs, for a job well done!

But the bastard wasn’t dead, Charles thought as he tossed back the second brandy. The liquor seared down his throat, settling in his stomach to mix with his ever-increasing ire.

He turned to place the glass on a tray, and scowled when there was none to be found. “Damn!” he muttered as his eyes encountered the orchestra leader’s. He sent the man a curt nod, and the air was quickly filled with the gay notes of a waltz. No one danced.

The ice blue eyes watched as Drake leaned close to the woman by his side and whispered something in the fetching creature’s ear. She gave a vibrant smile and nodded. Together, the two moved as one to the dance floor. Like the Red Sea, the gathering parted to let them pass.

The rustle of skirts reached Charles’s ears a split second before an insistent hand tugged at his sleeve. Turning, Charles found himself looking into the narrow brown gaze of his wife. A shimmer of distaste flickered in his eyes, as he unconsciously summed up a comparison between the woman at his side and the one at his brother’s. Again, Drake had won the prize. Angelique, though beautiful, paled in comparison to the woman who danced so gracefully in the circle of Drake’s arms.

“I was strolling in the garden when I heard—” Angelique stopped abruptly when a servant passed close by her side. She grabbed a glass of fruited wine off his tray and downed the contents, all the while holding on to the lackey’s arm. With trembling fingers, she replaced the goblet, took another, then waved the astonished servant away. “Is it true?” she hissed in her husband’s ear.

Her breath reeked of liquor. Charles wrinkled his nose in distaste and nodded to the dance floor. There was small satisfaction to be had in the way of his wife’s face drained of all color. The grip on his arm became painfully tight as she struggled to remain upright.

“Oh my god,” Angelique sighed, careful to keep her voice lowered in case anyone close by heard. She leaned weakly against Charles, her shocked gaze searching the intense blue eyes she had long ago learned to despise. The color was slowly returning to her cheeks. “You told me Drake was dead,” she spat. “You said he died in an accident in,” she shivered delicately, “California.”

“So I was told,” Charles growled throatily. His eyes glistened like hard, cold slivers of ice beneath his sardonically arched brows. “Apparently, my informant was mistaken.”

“Mistaken?” she gasped. She pulled away from his side as though his sleeve had just burst into flames. Her features were pinched with fury. “Is that all you can say? Good Lord, Charles, how could you be so stupid? The man is hardly dead. Even a fool like yourself can see that.”

Through no fault of my own,
he thought, but did not say. His hand snaked out and grabbed her arm. His fingers bit into her flesh as he drew Angelique hard against his side. Her yelp of surprise brought more than a few inquisitive glances.

“Watch your tongue, wife,” he hissed in her face, “or you’ll find yourself lacking it come morning.”

Her lips turned up in a smile that had no foundation in humor. “Do not threaten me, Charles. Drake is back now, where he belongs. He won’t appreciate you threatening the woman he was once engaged to marry.”

Charles’s face tightened into a mask of pure rage. The powerful grip he had on her arm came threateningly close to snapping the bones in two. “Three years ago,
wife
. A lot has changed since then. You married
me
,” he paused, his nostril flaring with contempt, “and
he
married
her
. Not the act of a man who pines for another.”

Angelique’s jaw hardened as she averted her gaze to the dancing couple. The two seemed as oblivious to the people milling around them as they were to the curious mumbling their presence created. Their self-absorption pierced her heart.

Shaking off his hand, she glanced back at her husband. No attempt was made to conceal the hatred she felt. “He may have married her, but he loves me. Just look at her,” she scoffed, sipping thoughtfully on the fruited wine as Charles snatched another glass of brandy. “I find the reason Drake married her glaringly apparent, even if you do not. Her coloring, her bone structure. Why, she could pass for my sister! Yes,” she stated with conviction, “the woman is a substitute for me—and as a substitute she will be easily overshadowed.”

“You are deluding yourself again, dear wife. Drake won’t care to have you back after the reckless way you treated him. As much as I hate him, even I cannot blame him for that.”

A cold, calculating glint entered Angelique’s eyes as she pressed the chilly rim of her glass against pursed lips. “Would you care to wager on that,
husband
?
”

“Let me put it another way.” His eyes darkened to a rich, vibrant shade of turquoise as he drew a finger across the long taper of her neck. To an observant onlooker, the gesture might be mistaken for a loving caress. To Angelique, it was anything but. “Deceive me once, with my brother or any other man, and I will slit this lovely throat.”

“Is that supposed to frighten me?” she countered with a mocking grin. “Come now, Charles, we both know there is no love lost in this poor excuse for a marriage. You’ve never cared who shared my bed before, so why pretend to care now?” She sent him a bitter glance. “Or are you finally beginning to realize just how pitiful a specimen you are when compared to your brother?”

His hand curled into a claw that threatened to close around her slender neck. Angelique took a quick step back. She knew Charles would not initiate a scene. To do so would only double the attention his brother’s spectacular entrance had attracted.

“Your threats mean nothing to me,” she hissed, shoving her half-empty glass into his solid chest. “I will have Drake back.
You
cannot stop me.”

“I rarely waste my time making idle threats, Angelique. I’d as soon kill you both before allowing you to humiliate me the way we humiliated him.”

Her lips tightened as her gaze hatefully raked his muscular form.
Rugged, but not nearly as appealing as his brother’s
, she thought as she reached out and straightened his blue silk cravat. “Sharpen your blade then,
husband
. You’ll be needing it soon.”

With a rustle of her silk skirt, Angelique pivoted and strolled regally away. Her bearing was straight and proud, As though she hadn’t a care in the world.

The glass splintered in his hand, slicing his palm as Charles watched his wife maneuver herself through the crowd. Trickles of blood dripped down his fingertips, spotting the polished floorboards. He noticed neither that nor the stinging pain of the alcohol as it seeped into the cuts.

“I do not make idle threats, witch,” he spat darkly, stalking in her wake.

She might have been floating on air for all the ground Hope felt beneath her feet. The soft linen brushing against her calves was a luxury in itself. But it was nothing in comparison to the tingling sensations evoked by the strong arms around her waist, and the solid chest that grazed her breasts.

Dancing with no slippers to protect her feet could have been a fatal mistake—were she waltzing with anyone but Drake Frazier. She needn’t have worried. Not once were her fragile toes trod upon as he swept her into his arms and guided her with precision across the empty dance floor.

Who would have guessed that the hardened gunslinger who had taken on Oren Larzdon without blinking would be so familiar with the intricate steps of the dance? Certainly not she. But then, there was a lot she didn’t know about this man. And his list of mysterious attributes was multiplying by the minute.

“What are you thinking?”

The husky voice caused Hope to glance up in surprise. “I was wondering which one of these men is your brother,” she lied, not at all liking the direction her thoughts had taken. It was growing more and more difficult to remind herself she really should hate this man. “Do you see him anywhere?”

The sea-green eyes scanned the room as the dance made an elaborate turn. When his gaze darkened, and his arms tightened, she knew he had found Charles.

“Brace yourself, sunshine; we’re about to run straight into a storm.” He glanced down at her, his face expressionless. “Or more correctly, it is about to run into us. Charles and Angelique are heading this way.”

A strangled “Oh!” was about all she could manage through the sudden dryness in her throat. Although Drake’s attention focused exclusively on her, Hope knew he was aware of every step his brother took. He seemed not to notice her grip tightening with alarm on his shoulder and hand.

Drake waited until Charles and Angelique reached the border of the crowd, then drew a startled Hope hard against his chest. She blushed furiously at the intimate contact and he couldn’t help but smile.

“Kiss me,” he demanded throatily, his lips cutting a hot path to her own as his eyes darkened with passion. “And make it good—your job depends on it.”

Hope didn’t have to make up anything. The first touch of his, warm lips against hers, and she was lost. Her hands crept up around his neck, her fingers instinctively tangling in the rich mane of his hair as she opened up to him like flower petals open to the kiss of the morning sun.

It seemed like an eternity had passed since the last time she had felt his body pressing insistently into hers, his mouth demanding a passion she could not hide. She clung weakly to his broad shoulders, forgetting for the moment where they were, forgetting as well the captivated audience their mutual passion ensnared.

Her fingers ached to peel back the expensive shirt, to feel once again his rippling flesh beneath her hungry fingertips. The fine clothes could not disguise the smell of leather and sweat clinging to his body. It was a familiar scent that warmed Hope to the core, and she drank of it deeply as she surrendered herself to the consuming fire of his kiss.

All too soon, he pulled away. “Sorry,” he murmured, his eyes saying he was anything but. “I don’t think the old biddies huddled in the corner over there would appreciate our showing them what they’ve been missing all these years. Do you?”

She glanced up, her eyelids still heavy with unquenched passion. “Oh, I don’t know. I think they might enjoy it.” She paused, a mischievous grin tugging her lips. “It would certainly give them something to discuss at the next Church Social.”

“Incorrigible,” Drake chuckled. Clucking his tongue he shook his head. “Absolutely incorrigible. You should be ashamed of yourself, Miss Bennett.”

“Mrs. Frazier,” she corrected stiffly. “And I’m not ashamed in the least. Why should I be? I doubt we’re the only people who ever felt this way.” To her surprise, she found she wasn’t lying. She truly wasn’t ashamed of the passion she felt for this man—although she knew by all rights she should be.

His eyes sparkled. “Maybe not,” he agreed with a shrug, slowing his steps as the music drew to an end. “But I’d bet my life we’re the only ones who display it so openly. This room will never be the same again.”