Our Little Secret (16 page)

Drew tried to step away, but the beefy hand was locked onto his shoulder, while whiskey fumes indicated that somewhere there were drinks more bracing than champagne. “And you are?” Drew prompted.

“Bud Childers. I’ve known your dad for years. We—hey, smile for the camera!”

Drew turned in time to catch the flash straight on. One of the ubiquitous photographers snapped several shots of the three of them while Bud squeezed the group together and beamed at the camera.

“Always good to be seen with a beautiful lady,” he told Lauren. “Gotta run. You be sure to tell Harlan I said hello.”

Drew scowled with annoyance and directed Lauren to a more secluded corner near the orchestra. It was also close to the kitchen door, and Lauren released him as a young man passed by with a tray of champagne.

“I’m so thirsty! It must be all the dancing.” She selected one, then turned to Drew. “Want one?”

“No, thanks.” He waved the man off and waited impatiently while Lauren took a long sip. He started to speak, but stopped as he saw her face pale and her eyes widened with alarm.

“Hello, Meg,” a cool feminine voice said behind him.

Drew turned and nearly bumped into the protruding assets of a beautiful, tall blonde woman. Her low-cut gown barely confined her cleavage, giving him a close-up view of her firmly rounded breasts.

He raised his eyes to meet a frankly curious stare.

“Callista Featherstone?” he guessed.

The woman’s perfectly fringed eyes blinked in surprise, and red lips opened with a childish innocence completely out of character with the rest of her body. “Have we met? Surely I’d remember.”

“No, I haven’t had the honor.” And if he played it right, he wouldn’t have to. Drew took another deliberate look at her suspiciously large mounds and tried to sound sincere. “But I had hoped to meet you. I’ve heard so many wonderful things about you.”

Callista’s chest swelled proudly. At least he’d taken her attention off Lauren.

“I’m already intrigued, Mr…?”

“Oh, let’s not spoil the mystery so soon,” Drew replied, making sure to let his gaze slip again to the obvious invitation she displayed between them. He smiled. “There will be that much more for us to discover about each other. Perhaps you could meet me near the bar in ten minutes? I would love to buy you a drink and,” he slid another lingering look over her curves, “get to know you better.”

Callista’s eyelids lowered in sultry satisfaction as she flicked a glance past him to Lauren. From the corner of his eye Drew saw Lauren lift her glass and take another quick drink, hiding behind the only thing available.

Callista smiled. “I’ll see you there,” she purred. “Come alone.”

Lauren lowered her drink and watched Callista strut away. “Wow. You’re good with sluts. You must get a lot of practice.”

She looked so genuinely impressed he nearly laughed. “Not that much.”

“How are you with good girls?”

His amusement died in a rush of heat, and he took a closer look at her. He didn’t know if it was the alcohol or the dancing that had raised the pink glow in her face, but he found himself suddenly imagining what it would be like to press his mouth to her flushed skin and lick the champagne off her wet lips. The flirtatious look she was giving him wasn’t making her easier to resist.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he whispered harshly.

“Like what?” The pink tip of her tongue ran over her upper lip and wide eyes blinked innocently at him.

“Like you’re not married to my father!”

“I’m not.” The champagne must have dulled her reactions, because it took a moment for her to wonder aloud, “Exactly how am I doing that?”

Damned if he knew. Maybe it was his overheated imagination, reading something into the lively green eyes—they were definitely green now—that wasn’t really there. He needed to cool off. Fast.

“Come on.” Taking her free hand, he led her behind the orchestra, where French doors opened onto a sheltered patio. Even though the March night was clear and mild, it was still no more than fifty degrees, and the patio was deserted. Perfect. A good dose of cold air might chill his overactive hormones into submission.

Lauren followed willingly, but as soon as the doors closed behind them, she shivered, hugging herself for warmth.

“What are we doing out here? It’s freezing!” She tipped a long gulp of champagne down her throat.

“Alcohol won’t help.” He took the glass from her, setting it on a wide cement ledge. Removing his jacket, he draped it over her bare shoulders and pulled it together in front. Shirtsleeves still felt plenty warm after the heat she’d raised in him.

Lauren stuck her arms into the oversized sleeves and clasped the lapels together. “I don’t see why we have to stand out here,” she complained again.

“We need to reevaluate our plan, and I don’t want to be overheard.” To assure that they weren’t seen either, he led her around a large marble statue of a naked woman garlanded by marble flowers, holding a bowl of marble fruit.

Lauren raised her eyes as they rounded the statue.
“Look, even she’s cold. Her nipples are all puckered and hard.” She snickered at her choice of words. “I guess all of her is hard, isn’t it? But her nipples look like they’re frozen stiff.”

Drew peered closely at Lauren. That comment about nipples sounded a little glib for a woman who’d been reluctant to wear a form-fitting strapless gown. “Are you feeling all right?”

“I feel great. I also feel cold. Why are we reevaluating our plan? I thought people were supposed to approach me, and they are.”

“Yes, and you look like you’re enjoying the hell out of it. You’re going to make it look like my father married a little tramp, flirting with half the men in Washington while your new husband is out of town.”

“Oh, phooey,” Lauren said.

“Phooey?”

“Phooey, as in you’re full of it.” She poked his chest with a finger that barely extended beyond the long sleeves of his jacket. “Meg always flirts with men. All men. Old, young, married, and single, in three languages. I can’t do French,” she said, then lowered her voice confidentially, “but if I meet the German ambassador, I know a few risqué phrases that’ll knock his socks off.” She winked at Drew.

Drew leaned closer.

“Lauren, are you drunk?”

“Nooo,” she explained in slow, carefully distinct words. “I keep telling you, I’m cold.” Before he could figure out how that related to not being drunk, she raised her hands to his face and clasped each cheek with icy palms. “See? I’m cold.”

Drew blinked with surprise as she tilted her head and smiled.

“My, you’re nice and warm.” One hand trailed down his shirtfront and nimble fingers flipped a button open. He made a grab for her hand, but her fingers were already plastered against his chest. “Oh, God, are you ever warm,” she murmured.

He shivered from more than her cold hands. Grasping each wrist, he pushed her hands away and held them in front of her. “You
are
drunk. You have no idea what you’re doing.”

In the space of a second, the innocent eyes grew sultry. “I know
exactly
what I’m doing,” she purred. “I’m not some silly little schoolgirl, you know.”

The schoolgirl analogy puzzled him, allowing her to take advantage of his momentary lapse in concentration. Slipping her hands from his, she reached for his neck and pulled his head toward her.

“Your upper lip has the sexiest little curve, did you know that?” She whispered the information bare millimeters from his startled mouth, then delicately traced the outline of his lip with her tongue.

Drew’s brain stripped several gears as it came to a full stop. There was something he should do here, quickly, but he couldn’t think what it might be. All he could focus on were those sexy, smiling lips and the pink tip of her wet tongue. This was more than any man could be expected to take. When her mouth moved toward him again, he didn’t hesitate. Capturing her full lower lip between his, he pulled her against his chest and melded his mouth to hers.

Lauren was ready for him. She slipped into his
embrace with a hunger seemingly equal to his own, parting her lips and meeting his tongue with a moan.

Drew was nearly staggered by the sensory overload. A hot champagne blow to the head, with undertones of perfume. And cold hands or not, the rest of her was warm and willing. For several incredible seconds, he allowed his entire body to experience the fiery sensations of Lauren’s mouth on his, her body molded against him, and his hand cupping the full roundness of her bottom beneath the maddening folds of her dress.

Their tongue-tangled explorations trailed off to small, lingering kisses before Drew regained enough sense to push her away. He stared at Lauren’s flushed face. She was a temptress. It was all he could do to keep from diving back into another kiss. This was not the time or place, but damn, that had been one hell of a kiss; he was definitely going to find a way to do that again.

Lauren’s dazed eyes focused on his mouth, while her own lips parted in a dreamy smile. “You do that sooo well,” she assured him in tones only the seriously sloshed could manage. “Do it again.”

Lauren’s eyes closed and her mouth aimed at his. Drew’s hands caught her shoulders just in time. “Ask me later,” he said, holding her back and hating himself all the while.

The full lower lip he’d just ravished to perfection pushed itself into a seductive pout. “I’ve waited long enough already. Months and months.” She leaned against his hands, pushing closer and lowering her voice. “Confidentially, it’s been years. I
need
to be kissed like that again.
Right now
.”

Now, there was some truly useful information. If sensible old Jeff couldn’t muster enough passion to ignite this sexy little tinderbox, Drew had no qualms about taking his place. But he preferred his women alert and sober.

“This is an interesting side of you, honey, and I’d love to explore it further, but I can’t take advantage while you’re drunk.”

“Pssht.” She waved away his objection with the swish of a hand. “You have my permission.” Her hands pulled at his shirt, bringing her lips closer to their goal, as her eyes fluttered shut.

“Christ, Lauren,” he groaned, taking a step backward. “I’m not made of stone. You have to stop this. If you don’t despise me two hours from now, I’ll be more than happy to kiss you. In fact, I’ll kiss more than your mouth. I’ll kiss the soft spot below your ears, I’ll kiss the tips of your toes, and I’ll kiss places in between that’ll make you blush to the roots of your hair and melt into a pool of wet desire.”

He had her breathless attention. Her eyes blinked once as she considered it, then once again. “You will?”

“I promise.”

“Oooh,” she said, her voice barely audible as she considered the offer. “Okay.”

God, if she remembered this, she was either going to hate him or give him the most memorable night of his life.

Meanwhile, he had to find a warm, quiet place where Lauren could sober up. They didn’t need someone taking a photo of Senator Creighton’s inebriated new wife doing the town while he was away.

Or doing her stepson, either.

*  *  *

Lauren allowed herself to be ushered along the edge of the ballroom, acutely aware of Drew’s hand on the exposed skin of her back. It was as warm and firm as the rest of him, and she wondered what it would feel like against more sensitive parts of her body. Maybe another drink would give her the courage to find out.

She wasn’t drunk yet. Not drunk enough, anyway.

The light buzz from the champagne had been enough to loosen some inhibitions, to free her from her studied propriety. She’d known exactly what she was doing when she’d kissed Drew. She’d known she shouldn’t do it, known she would lose control if she did, and still couldn’t stop herself. Dancing with him, being held in those strong arms, had been wonderful. But it wasn’t enough. She wanted more.

His kiss had ignited a burst of desire that rushed through her body and settled into a wonderful, throbbing heat in her pelvis. Her arousal slammed into her when his hand gripped her bottom and pressed her against him close enough to know that the feeling was mutual. His promise of more intimate kisses had her head spinning far more than the champagne did. If she was drunk, it was on Drew Creighton, not champagne.

He directed her through an archway into a wide passage, strolling casually along it while testing each locked door they passed. The third one opened just as someone ahead of them called, “Drew Creighton! Is that you?”

He pushed her inside and shut the door behind her.

Alone, Lauren blinked at the black room and felt for a light switch. Her hand connected, and a table lamp across the room flared into a soft, yellow glow.
She barely had time to take in the small sitting room filled with couches and chairs, when a hand spun her around and pulled her into an embrace.

“Meg! Oh, thank God, you’re safe!”

The voice and the body were distinctly male, and the accent was the same as the man on the phone. Lauren was crushed against the silk lapel of his tuxedo jacket, inhaling the faint spiciness of an unfamiliar aftershave. A hand stroked the back of her head while the other held her tightly against a broad chest. She drew her head back to look at the man’s face, but only caught a glimpse of a straight nose, black eyes, and even blacker hair before he murmured, “Megan, you are driving me crazy,” as his lips closed over hers.

Startled, she made a
mmmf
sound against his lips and pushed on his shoulders, but he held her fast. Apparently, Meg knew him well enough to kiss him back. Lauren didn’t, and she froze, not knowing whether she should reveal her identity so soon.

The man’s hand cupped her cheek gently, and stroked a soft thumb along her jaw in a distracting, reassuring way. It wasn’t like kissing Drew, but it wasn’t like kissing Jeff, either. This man’s kiss lacked the crackling heat that Drew emitted with every touch, but was still more thorough and tender than any kiss she’d ever had from Jeff. Either the men of Colorado and Romania knew a different technique they weren’t sharing with the rest of the planet, or Jeff was a romantic underachiever. While her fogged mind struggled to figure out which it was, the man’s lips were jerked forcibly from hers.