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amusing her? Boring her? Antagonizing her?
    The de Graffens came up and were duly introduced. Patrice, brilliant with huge sapphires from her husband's jewelry assortment, murmured in accented English, “Scarlet? How American. I've heard mothers hope their children live up to their names. What do you suppose your mother had in mind for you?”
    Scarlet didn’t blink. “Running a sawmill. Patrice translates to Patsy in the south. What do you think your mother had in mind for you?”
    Patrice stepped back, flushing. “There’s someone we absolutely must see. Come, Miles.”
    “Yes, my love.” Miles shrugged at Cal and followed.
    Scarlet gazed after them. “She's a walking jewelry store.”
    “I suspect Miles married her so he could have a place to exhibit his collection.”
    “She makes a good backdrop. I thought she was his daughter.”
    “No, Patrice is not his daughter. But his daughter was in the box with us tonight.”
    “The girl over there? The cute one in yellow?”
    He looked in time to see Lynette beam as Sonny Kirkman caught her up and whirled her onto the dance floor. Sonny was too experienced for Lynette, but Miles had noticed and scowled after the dancing couple.
    No need to worry about Lynette. Miles would take care of his daughter.
    Good thing Scarlet wasn't a sheltered innocent.
    As he introduced her to the singers he'd promised and several local officials he hadn't, he laid on the charm. Later, when he reached for more champagne, her hand covered his.
    “We both need clear heads.” She looked him straight in the eye, pulling him into green depths he was more than ready to experience. “Let’s leave the bubbly for later.”
    So there would be a later. He set down the flute and took her hand, soft and warm, a sign of what was to come. “Whatever you say, Miss Scarlet.”
    When acquaintances stopped them, he held onto her. Across the room, Sonny had abandoned Lynette for Robert, and the two men looked at him and Scarlet. Cal maneuvered her in the opposite direction. He didn’t need any interference from them, not when he and Scarlet were getting along so well.
    He told her about a painting hung prominently in the ballroom before closer inspection revealed a knight’s armor unfastened over a strategic area best left covered. “Unfortunately, an early open house for a Baptist youth group brought it to light.”
    She told him about a friend who was supposed to come to the opening with her, but fell down a spiral staircase and broke both legs. “So I had to come by myself.”
    Her pretty pout begged him to kiss it away. “I won’t say I’m glad, but if he’d been with you, I’d never have met you.”
    “Did I say it was a he?” Lowered lashes didn’t hide the gleam behind them. The sensuous black dress shifted and clung and sighed with each tiny movement.
    How the hell could a dress look so demure and reveal so much? “For you to bring a woman friend would be a crime.” As the orchestra began a slow number, he turned his back to someone vaguely familiar marching their way. “Dance?”
    He didn’t wait for an assent but pulled her close and moved into the forest of suits and tuxedos, silks and satins. She didn’t resist. Against his chest, her breasts and hips beneath the fabric were supple and unbound. Images of white skin and tangled red hair against his naked body clogged his throat.
    The old craving surged.
    He pushed his need against her, murmured into her hair, “I could dance this way the whole night, but I'd rather be alone with you.”
    “Alone?” The throaty voice hinted at moonlight and candles, crisp-sheeted beds perfumed with orange. She tilted her head, amused, understanding, expecting what was to come.
    Exactly like all the others.
    Disgust threatened to sabotage the evening's sweet obliteration, but he pushed it aside. “Alone. I have a nice suite upstairs. Ten minutes away in a lovely glass cage with twinkling lights that floats us away to wonderland.”
    Her head