A Glimpse of Fire. Debbi Rawlins
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stare. Forced his gaze up to the slender column of her neck, to her lush peach-tinted lips, the cute upward tilt of her nose and then to dive headfirst into eyes so sexy and blue, he thought he might have to loosen his collar to breathe.
He cleared his throat. “It’s nice to see a new face at one of these parties. They get pretty stale after a while.” He stopped, swore under his breath. “Tell me you aren’t the Webbers’ niece.”
She smiled and shook her head.
“Or in any way related.”
This time she laughed, the simple innocent sound seductive as hell. “No, you’re safe.”
Eric exaggerated a sigh of relief and then smiled. Up close he realized the scar on her jaw wasn’t that old. Maybe a year or so. At least he knew she was a real live person.
God, he was losing it. He had to talk to Tom. Or then again, maybe he shouldn’t. His friend was likely to have him committed. “How do you know the Webbers?”
Dallas looked blankly at him for a moment. And then her gaze shifted past him. “Would you get that waiter’s attention, please? I’d really like a glass of wine.”
“Of course.” Damn, he should’ve brought the champagne Chuck had poured.
Eric snagged the waiter’s attention. On his tray he had both white and red wine and flutes of champagne. Eric turned back to her to ask which she preferred and was surprised to find her nibbling nervously at her lower lip.
Their eyes met, and her lips immediately stretched into a smile, her expression one of utter composure.
“Red, white or champagne?” he asked.
“Red, thank you.”
He lifted the glass off the tray and handed it to her. He thought about having another drink himself but decided he needed a clear head to survive the twilight zone.
“At the risk of sounding tedious, have we met before?” he asked and then waited for her to finish her sip.
She lowered the glass, and a tiny droplet of wine shimmered from her upper lip. Battling the urge to lick it was bad enough, but when she pursed her mouth, her lips forming a tempting pout, he totally lost his train of thought. What the hell had they been talking about?
“I’m sure I would remember,” she said finally.
“Oh, yeah, right. Me, too.” He should have had another drink. Never had he been so tongue-tied or at such a loss for words with a woman. “I mean, Dallas is an unusual name.”
“Not in my family. My sister’s name is Dakota. My brother’s name is Cody.”
“I’m sensing a pattern.”
Her lips curved in a wry smile. “Very astute.”
He smiled back. “Cody isn’t so unusual.”
“Not now. Thirty-three years ago it was, and he hated it with a passion.”
“Ah, he must be your much older brother.”
Laughter sparkled in her eyes. “Much older.”
He guessed she was in her midtwenties, not that it mattered. “Where do you fall in the pecking order? Middle?”
Her eyebrows rose, and she seemed a little annoyed. “Does it show?”
Eric shrugged. “I haven’t been around you long enough to know.”
She didn’t say anything but sipped her wine, still looking a little put off.
He understood her touchiness, which he wisely didn’t point out. As far as he was concerned, whoever had come up with the “middle child syndrome” theory was on to something. He knew firsthand. “I’m right smack in the middle myself. A brother three years older and one three years younger. Both pains in the ass.”
Her smile returned. “But you love them anyway.”
“Yep, though I admit I don’t always like them.”
“Amen.”
“We have something in common then.”
Her voice lowering to a husky pitch, she said, “I wonder what else we have in common.”
He took another sip of scotch. This had to be a joke. She was too perfect. And she’d just handed him the perfect opening. “How about we find out over dinner sometime?”
She blinked, uncertainty flitting across her face.
Eric silently cleared his throat. Had he misread the signal? Had he screwed up? It wasn’t as if he’d been pushy. “Look, I—”
The lights flickered once, twice.
The room quieted for a few seconds, until the tinkling sound of metal meeting crystal broke the silence.
“May I have your attention?” Mrs. Webber stood with a crystal goblet in one hand and a silver spoon in the other. “I’d like you all to return to the table. We have a special dessert we’re about to serve.”
Great. Just how he wanted to spend the next hour. Eric turned back to Dallas.
She was gone.
3
AFTER EVERYONE WAS SEATED, the lights went out and two waiters carried trays of flaming Baked Alaska high above their heads into the dining room. Several people clapped, and during a chorus of oohs and aahs, the lights came back on.
Across the long table, where Tom had made sure Dallas was seated with him and his wife, Eric’s eyes bored into hers as if the lights had never gone out. As if even in the dark he’d been drawn unerringly to her. And like a deer caught in the headlights, Dallas held his gaze, totally powerless to look away.
“This is rich. This is just too friggin’ rich,” Tom murmured, drawing her attention. “I should have brought a damn camera.”
Thankfully the waiters began serving the Baked Alaska, and Dallas used the distraction to pull herself together. If she were smart, she’d excuse herself from the table and leave the party. Between his staring and the other guests’ curiosity, she was bound to trip up. Make a fool of herself.
She’d purposely come after dinner so that she could flit about the room just out of his reach, engage in some harmless flirting, make him a little crazy and then disappear. The last thing she’d wanted was to be stuck at the table. Damn, she didn’t even like Baked Alaska.
Her gaze drew back to him. Sitting beside him, a slim fortyish woman wearing too many diamonds on her fingers and an unhealthy tan had managed to monopolize his attention. Dallas used the opportunity to give him a once-over. Watch the way his mouth quirked up on one side in a sort of lopsided smile.
He really was good-looking in a conservative way. She’d like to see his hair a little longer, but that was cosmetic. The basics—the structural stuff, like the strong square chin—were there. Great lips, too. Nice and full on the bottom.
Then again, the clean-cut look wasn’t bad for a change. Many of the guys she worked with had hair long enough to tie into a ponytail. Except for her best bud Tony, and even his dark, shaggy mop rested on his collar.
Tom made an odd gurgling noise behind his napkin, trying to stifle a laugh. “Look at him. He’s in a daze talking to Miriam Lancaster. Doesn’t even know what hit him. Did you see when he was trying to get my attention earlier? Do I have a poker face, or what?”
“Tom, stop it.” Serena’s warning voice was low, but both Dallas and the woman next to her heard. Serena’s voice dropped a few pitches. “Besides making an ass out of yourself, you’re going to blow it.”
“Okay, okay.” He stared at his plate until he was able to compose himself. It lasted three seconds before he started to chuckle again. “Did you see his face when—?”
“Tom,