At a quiet, corner table, Royce set their drinks down. He pulled one of the padded armchairs out for her, and she eased into the smooth, burgundy leather, crossing her legs and tugging her gold dress to midthigh.
“Hargrove Alston?” he asked as he took the seat opposite, moving the tiny table lamp to one side so their view of each other was unobstructed.
“He’s going to run for the U.S. Senate.”
“You’re marrying a politician?”
“Not necessarily-” She cut herself short. Wow. How had
“And what do you do?” asked Royce.
Amber pursed her lips and lifted the fresh drink. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
She shook her head. It was, sadly, the truth. “I graduated University of Chicago,” she offered.
“Fine Arts?” he asked.
“Public Administration. An honors degree.” It had seemed like a good idea, given Hargrove’s political aspirations. At least she’d be in a position to understand the complexities of his work.
“You’ve got my attention,” said Royce, with a look of admiration.
“Only just now?” she joked. But the moment the words were out, she realized what she’d done. She was flirting with Royce.
His blue eyes twinkled with awareness. Then they darkened and simmered. He eased forward. “Amber, you had my attention the second I laid eyes on you.”
She stilled, savoring the sound of her name, wrapping her mind around his words as a dangerous warmth sizzled up inside her. The rest of the room disappeared as seconds ticked by, while he waited for her response.
Then his smiled softened, and the predatory gleam went out of his eyes. “I take it that was an accident?”
“I’m not sure,” she admitted.
“Well, let me know when you decide.”
If flirting with him wasn’t an accident, it was definitely a mistake. She needed to get herself back under control. “Tell me about Montana,” she tried. “I’ve never been there.”
He drew back, tilting his head to one side for a second, then obviously deciding to let her off the hook. “What do you want to know?”
“Your ranch,” she rushed on. “Tell me about your ranch.”
“We have cattle.”
A cocktail waitress set a small bowl of mixed nuts on the table and took note of their drink levels as Royce thanked her.
“How many?” asked Amber as the woman strode away.
“Around fifty thousand head.”
“That’s a lot of cows to babysit.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Horses?” she prompted, determined to keep the conversation innocuous.
“Hundreds.”
She plucked an almond from the clear bowl. “I took dressage lessons when I was eleven.”
His wide smile revealed straight, white teeth. “In Chicago?”
“Birmingham Stables.” She nibbled on the end of the nut. “I didn’t last long. I wasn’t crazy about sweat and manure.”
“You’d hate Montana.”
“Maybe not. Tell me something else about it.”
“My sister has a horse ranch up in the hills. It has huge meadows with millions of wildflowers.”
“Wildflowers are nice.” Amber was pretty sure she’d like fields of wildflowers. “What else?”
“She jumps Hanoverians.”
“Really? Is she good?”
“We expect her to make the next Olympic team.”
“I bet she loves it.” Amber tried to imagine what it would be like to be so passionate about something that you were one of the best in the world.
Royce nodded. “Ever since she was five.” The glow in his eyes showed his pride in his sister.
Amber sighed and took a second almond. “I wish I loved something.”
He considered her words for a few seconds. “Everybody loves something.”
She dared to meet his eyes and rest there. “What do you love?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Going Mach 1 in a Gulfstream. On a clear night. Over the Nevada desert.”
“Get to do it often?”
“Not often enough.”
Amber couldn’t help but smile. “Are you good?”
His gaze flicked to the low neckline of her dress as his voice turned to a rumble. “I am very, very good.”
“You are very, very bad,” she countered, with a waggle of her finger.
He grinned unrepentantly, and the warmth sizzled up inside her all over again.
“Your turn,” he told her.
She didn’t understand.
“What do you love?”
Now, there was a question.
She bought herself some time by taking a sip of her drink.
“Designer shoes,” she decided, setting the long-stemmed glass back down on the table.
He leaned sideways to peer under the table. “Liar.”
“What do you mean?” She stretched out a leg to show off her black, stiletto sandals.
“I’ve dated women with a shoe fetish.”
“I never said I had a fetish.”
“Yours are unpretentious.” Before she knew it, he’d scooped her foot onto his knee. “And there’s a frayed spot on the strap.” His thumb brushed her ankle as he gestured. “You’ve worn them more than twice.”
“I didn’t say I was extravagant about it.” She desperately tried to ignore the warmth of his hand, but her pulse had jumped, and she could feel moisture forming at her hairline.
“Try again,” he told her.
“Birthday cake.” She was more honest this time. “Three layers with sickly, sugary buttercream icing and bright pink rosebuds.”
He laughed and set her foot back on the floor.
Thank goodness.
“How old are you?” he asked, scooping a handful of nuts.
“Twenty-two. You?”
“Thirty-three.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. Why?”
She shrugged, hesitated, then plunged in. “Hargrove is thirty-three, and he seems a lot older than you.”
“That’s because I’m a pilot-daring and carefree. He’s a politician-staid and uptight. No comparison, really.”
“You’ve never even met him.” Yet the analysis was frighteningly accurate.
Royce’s expression turned serious. “Why are you hiding out?”
“What?”
“When I first saw you over at the bar, you said you were hiding out. From what?”
What, indeed.
Amber took a deep breath, smoothing both palms in parallel over her hair. She scrunched her eyes shut for a long moment.
She was hiding out from the glowing bride, the happy guests and the pervasive joy of happily-ever-after.
But even as she rolled the explanation around, she knew it wasn’t right. She didn’t begrudge Melissa her
