Our Little Secret Page 13

  Lauren allowed herself to be swept off without as much as a backward glance. Drew frowned, grabbed a drink from a passing waiter, and found a spot where he could watch from the sidelines.

  She was easy to keep track of on the dance floor. His eyes were drawn to her smooth, flowing movements no matter how many couples came between them. He wasn’t the only one watching, either. Word of Senator Creighton’s new wife passed quickly through the room, and Drew noticed several heads turn her way. Or maybe they were as mesmerized by the attractive, laughing young woman as he was.

  She looked more relaxed every second. What had happened to no-nonsense, sensible Lauren? He took a long drink of champagne and clenched his jaw, noting which people seemed most interested in Lauren.

  After watching several minutes of close dancing and Senator Pierson’s hand sliding down Lauren’s back to rest irritatingly close to her swaying bottom, Drew left his glass on a table and crossed the dance floor.

  “Excuse me, Senator. I’m afraid I promised to stick close to Meg tonight.” He forced his way between Lauren and Pierson, pulling her close and continuing the dance. Senator Pierson acquiesced, but leaned close to Lauren and said, “If you ever get tired of the old man, Meg, you know where to find me. Just be sure to ditch your babysitter here first.” He clicked his tongue twice while winking at Lauren, punched Drew on the arm, and left.

  Lauren watched him go with a bemused look. “Are you sure he’s a good friend of your dad’s? He sure put the moves on me.”

  “Did he?” Drew aimed a hard stare at Pierson’s back. The man was probably no more than fifty, young and handsome enough to be a serious threat. “He’s probably all talk, but only because he values my dad’s friendship. Otherwise you’d be fair game.”

  “But I’m married! That is, Meg’s married—”

  “Meg Sutherland!” a woman interrupted. “But I hear it’s Meg Creighton now. How very romantic, the secretary marrying her boss.” Drew turned in time to see the woman give him a head-to-toe glance that could have chilled a blowtorch before addressing Lauren again. “I suppose your husband isn’t able to fulfill his obligations tonight,” she said, leaving no doubt that she was referring to more than accompanying his wife on the dance floor.

  Anger gathered inside Drew, but before he could let fly with a nasty retort, Lauren moved closer to Drew and said, “Isn’t it wonderful that my stepson is so willing to help out? He’s such a good—” She hesitated as she fixed Drew with a coy look. “—dancer.”

  Just when he thought she was going to be able to pull this off. Drew whirled her away before she could say more.

  “Do you have any idea what you’re doing? That woman is the president’s chief advisor on domestic affairs,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “Really? Good for her. She seems to hate my sister.” Lauren darted evil looks over his shoulder in the woman’s direction. “Why is that?”

  “I don’t know. She’s too old to have been one of my dad’s former lovers. Maybe she just hates beautiful, young women like Meg who take a shortcut up the power ladder. Especially if they belong to the other party.” He took a close look at Lauren’s gray-green eyes, still flashing with aggression. “And where the hell did this other side of you come from?”

  “I don’t know.” She gave him a bemused smile that made his heart skip a beat. “I was nervous, but then I just started being Meg. My sister has an outgoing personality. Effervescent.”

  “I’m sure Paul Pierson found you effervescent. Doris Atherton probably thinks you’re a bitch.”

  Lauren shrugged. “She already did. Besides, I kind of like speaking my mind. Where can I get another drink?”

  Drew wasn’t sure she needed to loosen her tongue, but he couldn’t complain. For the most part, Lauren was following the script, being conspicuously social and provocative. He just hadn’t expected her to be so good at it. It should have confirmed his suspicion that she was just as phony as all the others, but Lauren’s phoniness had nothing to do with flirting. He was beginning to think the phony part of Lauren was the controlled, practical woman who met all her parents’ expectations. The woman who was engaged to the ever-so-sensible Jeff.

  Drew steered them to the side and snagged two champagne flutes. He took a hearty gulp, but Lauren only had time for one genteel sip before a medallion-covered Romanian dignitary demanded an introduction. He appeared to be at least a couple decades older than the man they were looking for, the one Lauren described with an irritating smile as sounding “cultured and sexy.”

  “Ahh, Mrs. Creighton,” the man said. “I thought this was you. I saw you and your new husband on the news.”

  “Did you?”

  Lauren sounded genuinely charmed by the fact that the man watched TV. Drew nearly snorted at her lame attempt to flirt but was surprised to see that she was on target. The man beamed like a full moon. “I must hold such a beautiful woman in my arms, if only for a few short minutes,” he said. “Immediately.”

  “Gag me,” Drew muttered, but Lauren smiled at the dignitary. She tossed back the rest of her champagne and handed the empty glass to Drew. “I’ll be right back,” she assured him happily. Drew was left holding two empty glasses as Lauren glided off in an embrace that held her conspicuous cleavage far too close to the Romanian’s chest.

  Drew stuffed down hors d’oeuvres and exchanged quick greetings with his father’s friends while keeping an anxious eye on the dance floor. Just when he’d had enough of the Romanian’s snug hold on Lauren, the dance ended and she was appropriated by a handsome, dark-haired man who held her even closer and executed moves that made Lauren’s dress flair and flip alluringly as he spun her across the floor. Drew moved closer. If that was their sexy Romanian, he seemed to have recovered from his concern for Meg. By the time Drew cut in, Lauren’s face was flushed with pleasure and her partner’s was alive with interest.

  “Hi, Mom,” he said, surprising the man into releasing Lauren to Drew’s waiting arms. “Thanks for keeping my stepmother entertained,” he told him. “I’ll take over now.” The man offered Lauren a gracious, if confused, bow as Drew danced her away.

  He remembered to hold her at a respectful distance, despite the possessive feelings that made him want to crush her to him. He frowned at the sparkle in her eyes and the exposed swell of her breasts that rose and fell with each excited breath. Looking at them, he became a bit excited himself, which only irritated him more.

  “Enjoying your new social life?” he asked dryly.

  “Very much. Why, aren’t I supposed to?”

  “You’re supposed to be getting information, not whisker burns from tangoing cheek-to-cheek with every Don Juan on Embassy Row.”

  She laughed. “How can I do that if you keep cutting in? Is my stepson jealous?”

  The fact that she’d hit it exactly on the head didn’t make him more cheerful. “Was that him?”

  “No, David’s an attaché with the British Embassy, and he’s not a Don Juan, either. He was very sweet.”

  Sweet David made his jaw clench. “And I suppose the Romanian field marshal was holding you close so he could whisper state secrets in your ear?”

  “His medals were cold,” Lauren giggled. “I thought that long dangling one was going to drop right down my dress.”

  “So did I,” Drew grumbled.

  “Mrs. Creighton!”

  Lauren released him as she turned, and a large, florid man pumped her free hand with both of his own. Draping an arm over Drew’s shoulder, he said, “And you must be Harlan’s son. Glad to meet you, boy.”

  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 o
f 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.”