Calculated Risk Read Online Free

at the Opry, attend one of the many
parties she had always avoided and have the time of her life. She
deserved it.
    Her anxious finger pressed
against the doorbell. When the chimes played the first four bars of
“Tara’s Theme” from Gone With The
Wind, Stevie’s calculated hauteur bubbled
into laughter.
    “Welcome to our open house.” Quintin
Ward’s jubilant greeting and beaming smile slowly disappeared once
his dark gaze connected the arresting side tumble of gold-laced
auburn curls and attractive, winter-flushed features with a name –
Stephanie Brandt. “What the hell are you doing here?”
    “Tut, tut, Master Ward –“ a titian
brow lifted in sardonic condemnation “—where’s the chivalrous charm
that goes with the courtly southern trappings?”
    “I’m from Rhode Island,” came his
clipped rejoinder.
    “Then I guess your manners are
appropriate for a carpet bagger.” Her eyes glittered with an unholy
light. Stevie had noted Quintin Ward’s initial reaction of
masculine appreciation. She found herself indulging in a bold,
purely feminine appraisal of her own.
    The foyer chandelier created a glowing
nimbus around dark-brown waves that framed strong, Roman features.
The brief smile she had witnessed bestowed appealing warmth that
softened the planes and angles of his weathered face.
    Quintin’s broad-shouldered,
narrow-waisted, slim-hipped body, which had looked so disturbing in
denim work clothes was even sexier in the European-style tuxedo.
Stevie didn’t stop to evaluate the rush of adrenaline that made her
act the coquette rather than her normal sedate self. The toes of
her black evening sandals crossed the threshold; her hands lifted
to straighten his bow tie. “I came to talk about your
son.”
    Brown eyes blinked into tawny irises
that were level with his own. “This … this is hardly convenient.”
For some inexplicable reason, Quintin found himself short of breath
and stammering.
    “It was hardly convenient when you
interrupted my dinner.” Her palms flattened against the smooth
material of his lapels and gave a warning push. Glossed lips formed
each word with care. “Now it’s my turn to talk and your turn to
listen.”
    He stared at the feminine hands on his
jacket; a muscle worked in his cheek; his voice was tight. “I’m
having a party. I have guests.”
    The heels of her hand dug into his
chest. “I’m sure your guests will excuse you.” Stevie’s manner and
tone were unyielding.
    “Look. I –“
    “Shut up, Mr. Ward. You had your say;
now I get mine.” Her hands pushed again. “Make your apologies to
your guests and then you can make one to me.”
    “Stevie!” An adolescent male voice
squeaked out her name in dual octaves. “I knew you’d come. I just
knew you’d accept my invitation.” Bobby Ward’s lanky evening-suited
frame sidled next to his father. “Dad, this is my boss, Stevie
Brandt.” An oversized grin stretched his lips. “Oh, wow. I can’t
believe it.” His childish face grew mottled with his excitement.
“This is wonderful!”
    Her smile was feeble. For the life of
her, she couldn’t remember being invited to the Ward’s open house.
And even if she had, she certainly would never had made an
appearance.
    “Rob, you never told me Miss Brandt was
to be our guest tonight.” Quintin’s congenial voice belied the
rough hands that aided Stevie out of her coat. “I don’t recall
getting your RSVP.” The question was expelled through even white
teeth.
    Bobby shrugged the answer. “I’m
surprised Stevie even found the card I left under her calendar. Her
desk looks like the after effects from an A-bomb! It’s always piled
with demos, discs, tapes, folders, posters…” His brown gaze shifted
to his red-haired employer. The soft architecture of intricately
embroidered, layered, hush-hued chiffon flowed and defined her
womanly contours; the dress’s plunging neckline was saved from
total impropriety by layers of tulle. “Oh, wow, you