A Pregnancy Scandal. Kat Cantrell
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mixed with the elite of both Dallas and Washington.
“No, of course not. You couldn’t pry that title away from the mayor with a crowbar.” And then she groaned, which made him grin. “I mean, I’m not avoiding the mayor. And he’s not a bore. Neither are you! I’m not avoiding anyone.”
Was it wrong that he enjoyed flustering her so much? It was so easy to do and she always said something outrageous that never failed to make him smile. He needed to smile, especially tonight. And she was the only person in attendance who had managed that feat. The only person he’d met in a long time who seemed unimpressed by his position or wealth. He liked that.
“But if you were hoping to avoid someone, this would be the opportune spot.” He leaned against the wall and crossed one ankle over the other. “No one would know you were back here unless they were already watching you.”
The shadows weren’t deep enough to cover her blush. “You were watching me?”
“Oh, come now.” He tsked. “When a woman wears a dress like that, surely it’s not a shock that a man would spend a great deal of time looking at her.”
She glanced down and scowled.
“It’s just a dress,” she mumbled.
No, it was anything but. The off-white dress had a hint of gold sparkle that caught the light when she moved, and the fabric draped over her curves in a way that announced she had some. That was news to Phillip and he’d call that a front-page story, because she was an amazingly beautiful woman already, even before this evening’s transformation.
But with the transformation...well, she’d captured his interest thoroughly, because he hoped it meant she wasn’t averse to the occasional dress-up event. Politicians attended a lot of those and Phillip had a huge void in the plus-one category.
Maybe he’d found a potential candidate.
“Yet I’ve never seen you in a dress.” He raised one eyebrow in emphasis, which she did not miss. “I’ve come by Fyra for FDA meetings, what, like three or four times? And you, my dear, have reinvented the concept of casual wear. Cass, Trinity and Harper always wear suits, but you’re most often in jeans.”
The other three cofounders of Fyra dressed well and without regard to price tags. Phillip appreciated a woman who knew her way around a stylist, and normally he would have said he preferred a sophisticated woman. Gina had never met a rack at Nordstrom she could leave untouched, and the small handful of women he’d preoccupied himself with after Gina died could only be described as high maintenance. He’d lost interest in them pretty quickly.
But Alex...well, Alex intrigued him. She’d instantly stood out from her three counterparts when his cousin Gage had introduced Phillip to the founders of Fyra Cosmetics.
He couldn’t ignore the demure, brown-haired woman clad in a T-shirt, hair scraped back into a ponytail. It was baffling to walk into a meeting with Fyra’s executives and see the chief financial officer’s face bereft of makeup. It would be like introducing himself to someone as Senator Phillip Edgewood and then claiming he had no interest in the laws of the United States.
He was intrigued. He wanted to know her better. Understand why he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Why she was so different from any woman of his acquaintance. But he had to tread carefully with the opposite sex for so many reasons, not the least of which was his aversion to scandal. And then there was the other thing: he was on the lookout for a permanent plus one. Only the right woman would do for that role and his criteria were stringent.
No point in getting a woman’s hopes up unless she filled them. He didn’t know if Alex fell in that category or not, but he planned to find out.
“Don’t you have guests?” she asked and glanced over his shoulder. “I’m keeping you from them.”
“Seventy-eight, if I recall.” Yes, he should be doing host-type things, definitely. He didn’t move. “And you’re one of my guests, as well. I’d be remiss if I didn’t see to your welfare as you skulk about behind this very large statue.”
“My dress is...uncomfortable.” She waved at her torso. “None of this stays in place like it’s supposed to.”
Naturally, his eye was drawn to the area in question. “Looks like everything is in order to me.”
“Because I just adjusted it all,” she hissed fiercely.
The image of Alex ducking behind his statue to dip her hands under her dress to adjust things flooded through his senses, unchecked. He couldn’t unsee it. Couldn’t unexperience it. And now this small space in the corner wasn’t nearly big enough to hold a senator, a CFO and the enormous attraction sizzling between them.
He stopped himself from asking if she needed help adjusting anything else. It was right there on the tip of his tongue. But United States senators didn’t run around saying whatever they felt like, no matter how badly he wanted to flirt with her. Among other things.
Phillip’s life was not his own, never had been, nor would he have it any other way. He was an Edgewood, born into a long line of statesmen, and an even longer line of Texas oilmen, and his family was counting on him to be the first one to make it to the White House.
To accomplish that, he needed a wife, plain and simple. A single president hadn’t been elected in the United States since the eighteen hundreds. The problem was that his heart still belonged to Gina, and he’d met few women willing to play second fiddle to another woman, even one who’d passed away.
The catch-22 was brutal. Either he’d marry someone in name only and make his peace with loneliness for the next fifty years or hope that he magically stumbled over a woman who was okay with his ground rules for marriage—friends and lovers, sure. But love wasn’t on offer. It would feel like a betrayal of the highest order.
It wasn’t fair; he knew that. But Phillip didn’t believe in second chances. No one got lucky enough to find their soul mate twice. But if Alex was the right woman for him, she’d understand.
Instead of the dozens of other offers he’d have rather issued, he asked, “Would you like a glass of champagne?”
“Do I look that much like I need a drink?” she asked wryly. “Or are you a mind reader?”
He grinned. “Neither. I thought it was a shame you were stuck back here in the corner with your dress problems and couldn’t enjoy the party.”
Tucking an errant lock of hair behind her ear, an escapee from her upswept hairdo, she rolled her eyes. “It’ll take a lot more than champagne to get me to enjoy a black-tie party.”
There she went again with her outrageous statements. He smiled. “Should I be insulted that my party isn’t up to par?”
A horrified light dawned in her expression. “No! Your party is perfect because, well...you’re you and your house is amazing and the guests are great. I’m just clumsy with small talk. Obviously.”
She blinked up at him from under her lashes. On any other woman, that look would have been coquettish, designed to convey blatant invitation, and he would have walked away without regret. On her, it was a hint of vulnerability, of uncertainty. And together, they unexpectedly whacked him in the heart.
Hadn’t seen that coming. His attraction had deepened over a simple look.
“Not clumsy,” he corrected smoothly. “Honest. That’s refreshing.”
“I’m glad someone thinks so.” She scowled, but it was cute on her. “Numbers people like me are not usually sought out by party hosts. We tend to skulk about behind statues and embarrass ourselves with wardrobe problems.”
“Why did you come to the party if you don’t like dressing up?”
Obviously she hadn’t morphed into someone who liked black-tie affairs, which was a shame. She was looking less and less like a candidate for his permanent plus one. The problem was, the more he stood