Fucking hell, she was magnificent. I never thought I’d find a woman who could out-frost Elizabeth, but Violet had cut her to pieces with a few elegantly phrased words. The impotent fury, the helpless embarrassment on Elizabeth’s face—I’d be savoring that memory for a while.

Gage was right; on the surface, Elizabeth and Violet were cut from the same cloth. I wouldn’t deny that with both I’d been attracted to their cool elegance. But at twenty-four I’d been too immature to realize that there was nothing beneath the surface with Elizabeth.

Elizabeth was the imitation.

Violet was the real thing.

I’d had my mouth on hers. One kiss and all that ice had melted into heat. Just for me.

Violet had it all.

The frost and the fire. Intelligence and a sense of humor. I’d barely cracked the surface with her, but I’d seen enough to know I needed more. Cooper had almost finished his investigation and I knew all I needed to know about Miss Violet Westbrook.

Westbrook, not Hartwell. Hartwell was her mother’s maiden name.

I knew that she was a bookkeeper and not a project manager. I knew her last job had been for CD4 Analytics before Winters, Inc. acquired it. The only thing I didn’t know was why she’d gotten a job essentially working for her old company under an assumed name. And in the wrong department. She was, by all accounts, an excellent bookkeeper.

I could have sent Cooper digging further, but I wanted the rest from her.

I wanted Violet to trust me enough to tell me the truth on her own. I could have come clean and ended this farce, but I had a feeling if I did that, she’d run. I watched her drain her third glass of champagne and considered letting her get a little bit drunk and seeing if I could pry her secrets from her.

I considered it, and then tossed the idea out the window. I didn’t want to get her drunk and trick her into telling me the truth.

I wanted her to trust me.

I needed her to want me.

I was getting somewhere with her. The way she’d looked up at me before she’d cut Elizabeth to pieces, the press of her hand to my chest, the possessive affection in her eyes—Violet wasn’t that good of an actress.

She hadn’t needed to protect me from Elizabeth. I’d been taking care of myself for a very long time. I could deal with my ex-wife. Whether she’d be willing to admit it or not, Violet had stepped in because she liked me.

It wasn’t enough, but it was a start.

We wandered toward the dining room and found our seats at a table just in front of the podium. This was the boring part of these events. A speech, polite applause, and a mediocre meal. Abigail had tried to step up the quality of the food but it was never as good as what Abel served us at Winters House. I seated Violet and took my place beside her, leaning in to brush a hand over her smooth shoulders and inhale her warm, sweet scent.

The dress I’d chosen suited her to perfection. She probably would have picked something more sedate, less fairy princess and more queen of the realm. But I’d seen the daisies on the back of her car, hadn’t missed that she’d chosen bright blue and not gray or black. A Beetle instead of a sedan.

The deep blue of her dress brought out the lavender in her eyes, and the gold starburst was the perfect mix of elegance and whimsy. Exactly like Violet herself.

Abruptly, I wished we were anywhere but the ballroom of the Intercontinental. I didn’t want to share her with three hundred other people. I wanted her to myself. And as much as I loved that dress, as stunning as she was wearing it, I wanted to pull down the zipper and free those lush breasts, to taste all that creamy skin, to find out if she smelled of sweet peas everywhere.

It was my good luck we were at the table. If we’d been standing up there was no way I could have hidden my erection. I had to kiss her again. I would. As soon as it was humanly possible to get her alone and away from this crowd, I was putting my mouth on hers.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had to resort to my hand over a flesh and blood woman, but I’d lost interest in anything female that wasn’t Violet since the first time we’d shared an elevator.

I’d stroked my cock more than once since that day, thinking of her, but since we’d kissed…let’s just say I was wearing myself raw with fantasies of what might have happened if we’d been anywhere but my office.

I had to keep myself in check. She hadn’t talked much about her personal life but, my gut told me Violet was fairly inexperienced. She had an air of innocence, even when she was rolling her hips into mine and moaning into my mouth—there was surprise mixed in with all that passion. A hint of shock, as if she wasn’t quite sure what was happening, why she was so overwhelmed.

It was tempting to push her, as much to keep her off balance as to satisfy my own desires. I slid my hand under the tablecloth to her lap and tangled my fingers with hers. The man next to her was closing in on eighty and had occupied them both with a long, detailed explanation of his hobby. Birdwatching. I rubbed my thumb over the side of her hand and watched a faint blush rise in her cheeks.

Innocent.

The couple to my right took a seat. I knew them socially. The wife was a talker, and I listened with half an ear as she rambled on about their recent vacation. This dinner was going to last an eternity. Hidden by the tablecloth, Violet’s right leg nudged mine, her foot rubbing the inside of my calf. I shifted in my seat, trying to make room for my swollen cock.

What was it about this woman? We were holding hands for fuck’s sake. It wasn’t like she was on her knees under the table.

Don’t imagine Violet on her knees under the table, you asshole.

Don’t imagine Violet on her knees at all.

I must have been insane to think this was a good idea. I’d wanted Violet out of the office and on my arm, but not in the middle of a crowd.

Abigail took her place behind the podium and introduced the speaker, a literacy advocate who ran one of the programs the Winters Foundation supported. I believed in literacy. I was 100% supportive of the Winters Foundation. I was the one who wrote the checks to fund the damn thing. I should have been paying attention, and I didn’t hear a word either of them said.

The only thing I paid attention to was Violet’s hand in mine, and I was unreasonably annoyed when I had to drop it to cut into my steak. I didn’t want food. I wanted to stand up, throw Violet over my shoulder, and carry her off. Somewhere. Anywhere. My imagination hadn’t gotten that far.

Back to Winters House? Winters House which was crowded with family? Not just Gage and Sophie, who lived there full-time, but my cousin Annalise and her fiancé Riley were there, using the rooms that had been hers as a child while they waited for their house to be rebuilt after a fire.

Winters House was over seventeen thousand square feet, plenty of room for everyone and way too crowded to bring a woman I wanted to make love to for days.

That was all fantasy. I’d get Violet in bed eventually, but it wouldn’t be tonight. It was too soon, and we had too many lies between us.

I glanced to my left and saw Violet’s eyes were glazed over. The octogenarian beside her was still talking about birdwatching. He hadn’t noticed that Violet’s murmurs of interest had grown flat. The woman beside me had finally turned her attention elsewhere and I leaned into Violet to whisper, “There’s dancing after dinner.”

She tipped her head towards mine and whispered back, “I haven’t danced in years. I’m not sure I remember how.”

“It’s like riding a bicycle,” I promised. “Just put yourself in my hands, and let me take care of you.”

Her eyes dropped to my mouth and lingered, sending another rush of blood to my cock. Seriously, this woman was going to kill me. She accepted a glass of champagne from a waiter, and looked away, taking a long sip. That delicate pink flush was back in her cheeks. Yeah, she was thinking exactly what I was thinking. Another long sip of champagne told me she wasn’t nearly as comfortable with those thoughts as I was.

Finally, the interminable meal ended. In an act of sheer will, I got my cock under control enough to stand up and lead Violet to the dance floor. Abigail typically planned for formal dancing at the start, followed by more popular, faster music as the evening wore on and people had a chance to loosen up.

That suited me just fine. I had no interest in dancing to the latest pop songs, but pulling Violet into my arms for a foxtrot or waltz? I could do that all night. Every single one of the Winters children had been forced into years of dance class at the country club. We’d hated it at the time, particularly the boys, but I had to admit the lessons had paid off. Women loved a man who could dance.

Violet may have been a little rusty, but she let me lead and halfway into the first song we moved together as if we’d been dancing for a lifetime. In her heels, she was only a few inches shorter than me. Her body fit perfectly to mine. The music came to a stop, and so did we.

“Another dance?” I asked as the opening bars of the next song began.

Violet’s eyes were soft and dark, almost purple when she said, “Please.”

“Anything you want,” I promised. I led her into a waltz and she followed easily, surprising me. When I turned her in a spin she flowed back into my arms, not resisting as I took the opportunity to draw her closer. The waltz was a perfectly appropriate dance when the partners kept their distance, but when you pulled a woman in close it became something completely different.

That waltz was followed by another. By the end Violet’s eyes were dark as night, her cheeks flushed. I was getting closer and closer to the edge, almost at the point where throwing her over my shoulder seemed like a reasonable way to end the evening. The band changed tempo and started up a Glenn Miller classic.

“Can you?” I asked. The foxtrot and waltz were one thing, but swing dancing—real swing dancing—was different. I’d learned. We all had. I wasn’t expecting Violet to raise an eyebrow and challenge, “Of course, but can you?”

I didn’t bother to answer but pulled her into the fast-paced dance. A wide, unaffected smile split her face and she moved in my arms as if she’d been waiting her entire life for this one dance. I spun her, dipped her, and held her against me until we were both breathless and laughing.

I noticed out of the corner of my eye Jacob and Abigail on the dance floor, holding their own. Gage had coaxed Sophie into the dance, and she bit her lip in concentration as she tried to keep up.

The music faded away and Violet said, “Champagne. I hate to say it, but I’m thirsty.”

We made our way off the dance floor, heading for the open doors of the terrace. Passing a waiter carrying a tray, I took two glasses of champagne and handed one to Violet.

“Dance class?” I asked.

Violet laughed, her eyes sparkling as she took a deep drink of the champagne. I wasn’t going to tell her to stop. I’d get her home safely, and I liked her with her guard down.

“Five years,” she said. “You, too?”

“My mother’s command. All of us went. Even Charlie, though I practically had to drag her in.”

“Us too. I never minded, but Ch-, my brother, hated it. He only went for a year before he quit.”

“But you liked it?” I probed, letting the brief mention of her brother go without comment. If I probed, she’d clam up. This was the first time she’d talked about herself. I wanted to hear more.

“I did. I loved it—the music, learning the steps.”

“And the boys?” I teased.

I still remembered the girls from dance class, their starched dresses and shiny shoes. The flirtatious smiles. Those first few years of dance class none of us thought much of the girls. We were all still thinking about video games and secret clubhouses. I’d hated dance class right up until my hormones kicked in, and it became an exquisite torture.

I was moving Violet back as we talked, guiding her along the edge of the terrace where tall potted plants in the corner created a private nook. On the way, I snagged another two glasses of champagne and exchanged our empties.

“You know how it was,” she said. “Lined up on each side of the room. The boys with their sweaty hands. Waiting for the instructor to pair us up. I was shy, and the boys made me nervous.”

“And now? Do boys still make you nervous?”

She stared up at me, her lips parted, breath held, as if frozen on a precipice. I waited for her to choose, my own breath tight in my chest. After an endless moment, she looked away, took the champagne glass from my hand, and lifted it to her lips. In one long sip, she drained it and set it on the railing of the terrace.

Those deep lavender eyes met mine. “Only you. Only you make me nervous.”

Her confession was the most honest thing she’d ever said to me. I closed my hands over her shoulders and ran them down her arms, her skin warm and impossibly soft. She leaned into me and raised her mouth to mine.

Every moment of the evening, of the last few weeks, had been leading to this. I drew her hands up, leaving them to rest on my shoulders, and cupped her face in my palms, feeling her frantic pulse beat under my fingertips.

It started in a whisper of touch, my lips brushing hers, her breath mingling with mine, tasting of champagne. Her lips opened, inviting, and I didn’t hesitate. Her hands moved up, fingers burying themselves in my hair, pulling me against her as the kiss turned abruptly hungry.

Carnal.

Her mouth under mine was hot and eager, her tongue sliding against my own, her lips falling apart as I slanted my mouth into hers over and over again, drinking in her barely audible moans.

I turned her, pressing her back to the wall, crowding her, needing to feel her against me, to keep her still. To keep her exactly where I wanted her as I kissed her again and again.

I was barely aware we had company, too caught up in Violet to care about anyone else until she went stiff in my arms and let out a sound of distress. Angling my body to shield her from whatever had caused her to tense, I turned to see Gage standing behind me, his arms crossed over his chest, his face like thunder.

Glaring back at him, I stepped fully in front of Violet, pulling my phone from my pocket and sending a quick text to my driver. There was no way we were going back into the ballroom after that kiss.

First, I had to get rid of Gage.

“What?” I asked, impatient. For all the times I’d walked in on Gage and Sophie in all manner of compromising positions, everywhere but in their own rooms, you’d think he could keep his fucking nose out of my business. A kiss in the corner wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t like I had anything to hide.

“Can we talk?” Gage asked stiffly, looking past me to Violet, his blue eyes hard with dislike.