Chapter 10

DAKOTA

ANYTHING YOU want. Sam’s words echoed in my head as a limo drove me to the gala. What I wanted was him, a seemingly unattainable wish. Between the time zone discrepancy and our conflicting work schedules, I’d barely spoken to him since the call regarding the condo. After what seemed like forever apart, I craved his company.

Wings of anxiety twittered in my stomach when the limo reached the line to the entrance of the Seraphim Theater. Curious onlookers crowded the red carpet, pushing against the velvet rope barriers, jostling for a peek at the celebrities and richest of the rich. The butterflies doubled at the sight of television camera crews. I closed my eyes and drew in a succession of deep breaths. In through the nose. Out through the mouth.

You can do this, Dakota. I glanced at my phone, resting on the leather seat to my left, willing it to vibrate with a text or call from Sam. Where was he?

Not only was this my first official public appearance as Sam’s wife, it was also my first event as a partner in our new company. Sure, I’d attended dozens of charity functions over the years, but never anything on this grand of a scale, never alone, and never with the paparazzi watching my every move. The car inched forward another few feet, bringing me closer to the melee.

The partition lowered between the front and back seats. From the passenger side, Chandler turned to face me. In keeping with the event’s dress code, he wore a black tuxedo instead of the usual jeans and baseball cap. His brow furrowed as he glanced from me to the sidewalk and back again.

“There are lots of people here tonight. Security’s tight,” he said. “You’re next in line to get out. I’ll open the car door for you and follow you into the gala. Stay at least an arm’s length from the velvet ropes. If anyone bothers you, give me a nod. I’ll take care of it.”

“Okay.” His calmness soothed a few of my anxieties. “Where is Sam?” Rockwell had picked him up from the airport less than an hour ago. After a delayed flight, Sam was running behind schedule, a hiccup guaranteed to ruin his mood.

“Rockwell’s about ten minutes behind us with your husband. Mr. Seaforth will meet you at your table.”

Annoyance replaced my nervousness. I hadn’t spoken to Sam since this morning, and I hated getting messages from my husband through a third party. No matter how busy he might be, surely he had time to send me—his wife—a quick text.

Another dozen yards, and the car came to a halt. Within seconds, the toes of my silver sandals hit the carpet. Cameras whirred and clicked. I sucked in a breath to flatten my stomach, erasing the tiny swell of the baby, squared my shoulders, and tried to appear relaxed. Flash bulbs exploded, leaving blind spots in my vision. I blinked and trained my gaze on the double front doors at the end of the walk. Someone called my name. On instinct, I turned toward the voice. One of my four-inch heels caught in the hem of my gown. I pitched forward and would have planted my face in the sidewalk, but Chandler snaked an arm around my waist.

“Thanks.” I placed a hand on his chest and pushed away to put distance between us.

“No problem, ma’am,” he replied.

At the doors to the ballroom, I paused to take in what had once been a turn-of-the-century opera theater but now served as a venue for balls and weddings. Chandeliers glittered from three stories above tables draped in snowy-white linens. From the balconies of the second and third floors, attendees peered over the railings. The quiet hum of voices underscored the music of an orchestra. I scanned the sea of strangers for one familiar face. Finding none, I headed toward Sam’s table at the front of the room.

“Good evening, Dakota.” The voice at my shoulder lifted the hairs on the back of my neck.

“Good evening, Maxwell.” Of course, he was here. His first wife, Sam’s mother, had founded this benefit gala, and tonight was meant to celebrate her contributions. I’d hoped he might forgo the event, considering his controversial financial troubles, but as always, he was impervious. I glanced around for someone—anyone—to rescue me.

“You’re looking lovely tonight,” he said, his tone mild and pleasant.

“Save it,” I replied.

His cold gaze drifted down the length of my body and lingered on my still-flat belly. “I hear congratulations are in order.”

“You couldn’t possibly know that.” The blood in my veins turned to ice. Given the opportunity, he’d spoil our blessed event. I placed a protective hand on my tummy. Determination surged through my body. As long as I lived, Maxwell would never come in contact with my child. I’d do anything and everything to make certain of it.

A waiter passed, a tray of champagne balanced on one hand. Maxwell took two glasses and handed one to me. “My apologies. What was I thinking?” He returned the glass to the tray and spoke to the waiter. “Could you bring Ms. Atwell—I mean, Mrs. Seaforth—a glass of sparkling grape juice, please?” The corners of his lips curled upward like commas when he turned back to me. “Samuel let the cat out of the bag about the baby. We had a nice chat in New York. Didn’t he tell you?”

“Oh, of course.” Sam hadn’t mentioned any meetings with his father. I tried to school my features into ambivalence while swallowing down a mixture of hurt and confusion. We’d vowed a policy of honesty in all things concerning Maxwell. Then again, we hadn’t spent more than a few waking hours together in a very long time.

Maxwell studied my face, searching for signs of weakness. In his world, knowledge equaled power. If he had any idea about my true feelings, he wouldn’t hesitate to use them against me or Sam.

He regarded me over the rim of his champagne flute. Diamond cufflinks winked when he lowered the glass. “I suppose you think you’re quite proud of yourself.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” I turned my back to him. The crowd had thickened exponentially, blocking any chance of a graceful exit. My temper surged. I held it in check and adjusted the side seam of my gown while pretending to study the orchestra.

“My family has dealt with your kind for generations. You think that once you’ve had Sam’s baby, you’ll have a permanent spot in his life and his bank account. Assuming it is Sam’s child.” The sinister mixture of mirth and cruelty in his tone reminded me of all the reasons I hated him. “I spent a lifetime raising Venetia as my own. I have no intentions of allowing another bastard into the family under any pretense. I’ll make sure this kid never sees a dime of my money.” 

I’d endured too many years as a pawn in Maxwell Seaforth’s demented games to listen for another minute. With a sweet smile, I met his gaze. “You mean, if you have any money left. From what I gather, you’ve been playing fast and loose with the Seaforth family fortune.” Beneath the tailored fabric of his Armani tuxedo, he flinched. I took aim at his ego and went for the kill. “Don’t look for us to visit you in prison. I wouldn’t want my children exposed to your kind.”

“Dakota, there you are! Hello, Maxwell.” The smooth, cultured tone of Fran Barrett brought the conversation to a halt. 

“Franny, so nice to see you,” Maxwell said. “Aren’t you a beauty? I don’t know what Sam was thinking when he let you get away.”

I ignored the slight and gave Fran a grateful smile. She’d become one of my favorite people. The only thing more extraordinary than her beauty was the immense kindness of her spirit.

“Maxwell, behave. Sam’s the luckiest man in the city. He hit the jackpot with this girl.” She winked while toying with a loose tendril of her auburn hair. “Dakota, you look fantastic.” The tips of her fingers brushed over my shoulder as she adjusted the strap of my gown. “I told you that dress was right for you. The fit is perfect.”

Because I’d been too busy to shop, Fran had provided the gown from her boutique, and I’d accepted it, sight unseen. I didn’t usually wear such revealing clothing, but she’d assured me that it was perfect for this event. As one of Sam’s longest friends, Fran had earned my trust and respect. Besides, it had been too late to return the dress for anything else.

“How’s your father, Fran?” Maxwell’s laser focus honed in on Fran’s classic features. He shifted his stance to cut me from the conversation.

“Stubborn, overbearing, and arrogant. Just like you,” she said as I took a sip of sparkling grape juice. I nearly choked. She smiled serenely. “But you already knew that. He and mother are somewhere around here.” She hooked an arm through my elbow. “You won’t mind if I steal Dakota for a minute? I want to introduce her to a few friends of mine.” Without waiting for his reply, she expertly guided me through a break in the wall of bodies and away from my father-in-law.

“You showed up in the nick of time,” I said. “We were about to throw down, I think.”

Fran’s bell-like laughter tinkled through the air. “I’m sorry I showed up so soon then. I would love to see someone put that arrogant bastard in his place.”

“I think you just did. You need to give me a few lessons.” We paused at the hors d’oeuvre table. I gazed longingly at a tray of forbidden sushi. My stomach quivered and a wave of nausea rolled through me. I turned away and drew in a deep breath.

“Good evening.” A tall man with windswept brown curls and intense blue eyes moved into my personal space. The top button of his collar was undone, and his tie was missing from an otherwise immaculate tuxedo.

“Hello, Blackwood. Nice to see you.” Fran leaned forward and air-kissed the gentleman on each cheek. In her heels, she stood eye to eye with him.

“Please introduce me to your beautiful friend,” he said in a smooth baritone and turned to me.

“No.” Fran arched an eyebrow at him then gave me a blinding smile. Her eyes twinkled with mischief. “Blackwood is a thief among thieves. Hang onto your purse, Dakota. He’ll lull you into a false sense of security then steal you blind when you’re not looking.”

He placed a large hand over the crisp white linen of his shirt. A plain silver band encircled his thumb. “You wound me, Fran. That’s not fair.” To me, he said, “Don’t listen to her. She’s got me all wrong. I’m really very harmless.”

Something in the depths of his clear eyes suggested the exact opposite. Still, I found his smile engaging and friendly in a room teeming with hostility. Yes, I’d noticed the sideways glances as I’d crossed the room with Fran. I was unwelcome, an interloper, a commoner among royalty.

“Oh, dear. The hounds are circling my date,” Fran said with a frown.

“And who’s your beard tonight?” Blackwood asked in a confidential tone. I bit my lower lip and glanced at Fran. The last I knew, her sexuality had been a closely guarded secret.

“It’s okay, Dakota. He knows.” She lifted a shoulder in a nonchalant shrug then nodded in the direction of a handsome young man surrounded by a circle of older women at the corner of the dance floor. “I’ll be back. Blackwood, be nice.”

“I’m always nice,” he replied, his gaze still locked onto me. I blamed the damn dress for his fascination. I never should have worn it.

“I’m Dakota Seaforth,” I said. Rough callouses brushed my palm as he shook my hand.

“I know who you are,” he said. “And I’m Cameron Blackwood. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I haven’t seen Sam here tonight. Surely he didn’t send you into this pit of vipers alone?”

“He’s running a little late. He should be here any minute.”

Blackwood caught the note of uncertainty in my voice. “Well, all the better for me,” he replied.

The tips of his shoes touched mine in the crush of people. I shifted away from him. A man pressed through the crowd at my left, nudged me with an elbow, and launched me forward until my breasts flattened against Blackwood’s hard chest. Heat climbed into my face. A photographer snapped our picture.

“Excuse me. I’m so sorry.” Recovering my dignity, I took a step back to put distance between us. Twice in one night and both times captured by the paparazzi. People would think I was a clumsy idiot.

“Don’t be. I’m not.” One corner of his mouth tilted upward.

A twitter of interest swept around the room like a wave, distracting me from my companion. Heads turned toward the entrance. I strained to locate the disturbance. Even from a distance, I recognized the sun-streaked blond hair, broad shoulders, and square jaw of my husband as he strode through the doors and across the dance floor. Our gazes collided. My pulse stuttered. He paused for no one, ignoring outstretched hands of eager businessmen and friends, and made a straight line to where I stood. In a room teeming with powerful people, Sam stood out from the rest.

The closer he came, the faster my heart beat. Would it never end, this all-encompassing thrill at the sight of him? I pressed dry lips together and tried to gather my composure. Now that I carried his baby, my body seemed intensely aware of him. His presence excited a rush of hormones and heat into my deepest core.

“Wow,” the woman next to me murmured to her female companion.

“Blackwood.” Sam’s deep voice vibrated all the way down to my panties. His tone carried a distinct edge. The two men didn’t shake hands.

“Seaforth.” They eyed each other. Tension lifted warning hairs on my forearms. After a beat, Blackwood bowed his head to me. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Seaforth. I look forward to seeing you again. Perhaps you’ll save a dance for me later.” He took a step backward and melted into the crowd.

Sam took my elbow and began to thread his way through a sea of formal gowns and black tuxedos to a less crowded area on the perimeter of the room. Once there, he released his grip and stared down at me, eyes turbulent.

 “Hi,” I said, feeling as nervous as a schoolgirl who’d just come face to face with her secret crush.

“Hi,” Sam replied, his tone warm but tense. His gaze crawled along the length of my gown, from shoulders to toes and back up again, lingering on the deep V of the neckline and the high slit at my thigh.

“I thought you weren’t going to make it.” I pressed a hand over my heart to calm my breathing.

“What were you doing with Blackwood?” he asked. A muscle ticked below his cheekbone.

“Talking.” Something about the hardness of his jawline put me on the defensive. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, really?” I arched an eyebrow. “Well, that’s what you get for making me come here alone.”

The hard furrow between his brows softened the tiniest bit. “I don’t have a problem with you. I have a problem with Blackwood and this—this—” His gaze raked over me once more. “This dress.”

“What’s wrong with my dress?” I bit the inside of my cheek to hold back a laugh.

“It’s indecent. You look naked.”

“Everything’s covered,” The dress skimmed over my curves and clung to my breasts. The snug fit of the thin material left little room for undergarments. I smoothed a hand down my hip, taunting him.

“Yes, but it’s the way it’s covered.” His eyelids lowered to half-mast, heavy with lust. My nipples, familiar with this look, puckered in anticipation. “What color is that exactly?”

“Fran called it nude. I’d say it’s more of a beige.” The hue exactly matched my skin tone and added to the illusion of nakedness. “You don’t like it.”

“I like it fine. I just wish there was more of it.” He slid a hand down my bicep to my elbow and squeezed. An ache unfurled deep between my legs.

“Mr. Seaforth?” A stranger’s voice sliced into our interlude.

“What?” Sam held my gaze, ignoring the interloper.

“I’m Ed Edwards from Edward & Sons? We met at the country club last summer? I was hoping—” Through my peripheral vision I saw a short, bald man wearing thick glasses. Nervous sweat beaded on his brow.

“Not now,” Sam said.

“Um, I only need a minute,” the man said. Someone always wanted a piece of my Sam. I often forgot how powerful he was, how many lives he affected on a daily basis.

“I said later,” Sam replied. He tightened his hold on my elbow. “I need to have a moment alone with my wife.”

“If I could just leave my card with you?”

“Give it to one of my people,” Sam replied. We were never truly alone unless we were in our home. He was always surrounded by a team of assistants. He lowered his voice until only I could hear him. “Now, Mrs. Seaforth, I’d like to see exactly what is or isn’t under that dress.”