A Long Hot Christmas. Barbara Daly
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Sam bowed slightly. “Phil. This is Hope Sumner.”
“I’m sorry about the circumstances that brought us here,” Hope said, looking properly funereal, “but thanks for letting us join you at the last minute. Sam has told me so much about you.”
Sam gave her a look. Where did she learn to do that, get all the right words into one receiving-line sentence?
“We’re delighted that you were willing to join us on such short notice,” said Charlene. A pair of huge blue eyes shot daggers in Hope’s direction, then Cupid arrows at Sam. He pretended not to notice, but it was hard not to notice that Charlene’s dress went down to here and came up to there, and that she was as voluptuous here as she was slender there.
Silicone at the top and liposuction at the bottom? He’d ask Hope what she thought.
“Please come in,” Charlene went on. “Make yourselves comfortable. You know almost everybody.”
“Yes, yes,” Phil murmured. “Sad time for all of us, but I know Thaddeus would have wanted us to go on with our—Harry!” he said, putting a manicured hand forward. “Great to see you. How’s the golf?”
Sam gripped Hope’s elbow and propelled her forward into the Carrolls’ magnificent reception room, a marble-floored space with twenty-foot ceilings and fifteen-foot windows. They ran directly into Cap Waldstrum. “Cap,” he said heartily. “This is Hope Sumner.” He paused. “You remember Hope.”
“No,” Cap said, “and I promise you I would’ve.” The caressing gaze of Sam’s colleague—his opposite number in the Corporate Department, the man who might edge Sam out of the partnership—slid down to Hope’s cleavage. This drew Sam’s gaze in the same direction, toward creamy breasts just barely peeking out above the lace.
He had a brief, satisfying daydream of socking Cap in the jaw. And not merely because Cap was apparently an early invitee to this dinner party while he, Sam, was just filling in. This was bad news.
He’d decided to try bluffing Cap about Hope, but as direct as lawyers were, subtlety was out of the question. He’d have to hit Cap over the head with the message to back off.
“I’ll get you a drink, darling,” he said.
“I’d love some sparkling water, angel,” she answered him, giving him the sappy smile he’d thought he was supposed to use. “With lime. I do better if I start out slowly,” she was explaining to Cap as Sam made a beeline for the bar, “especially during the holidays.”
The bar being a mano-a-mano scene, he barely got back to Hope in time to hear her say, “Pipe. I’m in pipe.”
“Not Palmer,” Cap said, sounding amazed. “What a coincidence. Our firm—”
“She knows,” Sam said abruptly. “Small world, huh?”
“So how did you two meet?” Cap was looking increasingly interested.
“I met Sam through…” Hope began.
“…mutual friends,” Sam interjected smoothly. “And for once, the friends had heads on their shoulders.” He gave Hope a replay of the sappy grin she’d blatantly stolen from the script they’d agreed on.
“Well, so nice to meet you.” Cap The Snake slithered off into the crowd to offer his apple to someone more vulnerable. Sam The Shark decided to let him go…this time.
“Two down,” Hope hissed. “Who’s next?”
“Not a new player,” he hissed back. “Charlene’s coming back for a second match.”
“Sam,” Charlene purred, “you’re my dinner partner this evening. Your friend…”
“Hope,” Sam supplied. “Hope Sumner.”
“Hope Sumner,” Charlene said, “will sit across from you between Cap—you’ve met Cap—” her gaze flitted briefly in Hope’s direction “—and Ed Benbow.”
“So it’s time to go in to dinner?” Sam said, relieved that Charlene hadn’t yet invited him to dally with her in some “private” location until the soup was on.
She gave him a mischievous look. “Soon, you impatient boy. Ed,” she said, “come and meet…”
“Hope,” said Hope.
“Sumner,” said Sam.
“Sad occasion we’ve got here,” said Ed. He did some appropriately lugubrious head shaking.
Hope turned suddenly to Sam, “Daring, I didn’t ever meet…”
“Thaddeus,” Sam supplied.
“Fine man,” Ed rumbled. “Salt of the earth.”
Sam slid a possessive arm around Hope’s shoulders. “We poured him into our opponents’ wounds,” he murmured.
It was important, of course, to behave as if he and Hope were lovers. About to be lovers, at least. But when she leaned into him, when he felt her shiver of pleasure, he wondered if putting his arm around her and whispering so directly into her ear, a small, very pretty ear, had been a good idea. That shiver had been disquieting, had awakened the sleeping monster inside him again. Except it wasn’t inside him. It was right out there in front for all the world to see. And for all he knew, Hope was just ticklish.
“How long have you known our boy Sam?” Ed asked Hope.
“Just a few weeks.” Hope smiled prettily. “Long enough to know all he does is work.”
“That’s Sam, all right,” Ed agreed.
Sam had let his hand begin to move against Hope’s shoulder in the most natural lover-like way—just testing for signs of response from her—when to his annoyance he felt something tugging at his other arm.
“Sam,” Charlene said, “I want to show you my new orchid.” She dug her spiky little heels into the floor and tightened her death grip on his elbow. “We can give Ed and…”
“Hope,” said Sam, sending a desperate glance in her direction as he slid away from her.
“Hope a chance to get acquainted.”
“I’d love to see your orchids,” Hope said warmly. “You, too, Ed? You interested in orchids?”
“My wife is,” Ed said. “Tanya?”
A stunning blonde half Ed’s age left the group she was visiting with and came over to him. “What, honey? Hi,” she said, holding out her hand to Hope, “I’m Tanya Benbow. Hey, Shark! What’s up?”
“We’re going to see Charlene’s orchids,” Ed said. “Knew you wouldn’t want to miss that.”
The merry party set out for the conservatory, led by Charlene. Earlier, her slim hips had swung seductively inside her lace sheath. Now she gave the impression of a woman on a forced march.
Sam caught Hope’s eye and winked.
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