Tara stared at the text, her stomach twisting in a knot. Her first thought was to question how he’d gotten her personal telephone number. But given how casual their office was, she conceded any of the Gazette secretaries would have gladly given the raffish Mr. Black any information he requested. Even if it allowed him to invade her privacy. Deciding that the damage was done, she forced herself to focus on the message. “I’m hosting a reception at the Oaks Country Club Friday evening. I hope that you will attend—as my guest.”
Tara struggled with her emotional reaction. God, she’d almost gotten to the point where the hideous elevator experience wasn’t front and center in her mind. She’d actually been able to focus on the series of guest editorials she was preparing to publish. The presumptuousness of Black’s invitation startled her. Clearly, he was rubbing it in her face what a fool she had made of herself. She snorted. Just because she’d acted like a first-class freak didn’t mean that she didn’t have any pride. But apparently, the arrogant Mr. Black thought that he had thoroughly compromised her and he now had the upper hand in their challenging relationship. When she allowed herself to think back on the devastating experience in the elevator, she had to admit she truly might have gone out of her mind if the compelling man hadn’t been there. In her more charitable moments, she even conceded that he’d been kind.
Glancing at the text, she knew that, no doubt, Black had told his haughty office staff what a loon she was. They must have decided why not have a little fun with the crazed editor. All the better to go after her in public. And at a high-level event attended by the state’s bigwigs who were all but begging to get down on their hands and knees to kiss the conceited man’s ass. Struggling with her myriad emotions, Tara finally broke through her machinations and decided that she would take him up on his dare. It wasn’t as though she wasn’t accustomed to being the odd man out—the rabble-rouser that everyone steered clear of, hoping to avoid getting caught in her wild conspiracy theories.
“Hey, Ethan, how would you like to go to a party with me?”
Tara had the decency to be embarrassed when the soft-spoken man eagerly responded to her underhanded invitation.
“My goodness, Tara, you know I would never refuse the opportunity to go anywhere with you. Thank you for the invite. What party and where?”
Tara tried to downplay how threatening the party was to her well-being, not wanting to admit that she needed a foil to protect her from the man who was determined to challenge her at her core.
“Apparently, the arrogant Mr. Black is throwing a high-level bash at the Oaks on Friday night. No doubt to flash his wares with the local folks and underscore how lucky we are that he has chosen our town to invade.”
“And we’re invited?”
Not able to be more duplicitous than she already was, Tara said, “Well, he sent me an invitation, but I’m sure it was intended for the Gazette staff. As our attorney, you’re obviously included.”
Ethan smiled at her, then said in a skeptical tone, “Hmm, I’m not so sure about that, Tara. Hank mentioned that he’d heard about the party, but he’ll be in Los Angeles. I think you’re the only one Black invited.”
Tara sniffed. “Obviously, he is taunting me, but who cares? Free booze and snotty hors d’oeuvres, why the heck not? And of course you are invited. Besides, you are more polite than I am. Maybe you can keep me from making a bigger fool of myself than I already have with the arrogant Mr. Black.”
Ignoring Ethan’s questioning frown, Tara quickly ended the conversation, wondering if she’d made a mistake thinking that she could pull off an event with Black, even with Ethan as a foil.
Three days later, she conceded that “mistake” didn’t begin to describe the self-inflicted mess she was in. Glaring at herself in the mirror, she wished she had a rock to throw at the glassy traitor. Smashing her reflection was the only act that would quiet her roiling nerves. Dear fucking God, what had she done to herself? Why couldn’t she have just ignored his text or, better yet, come up with a clever “shove it up your ass” response? Instead, she’d put herself in an untenable position and dragged the unassuming Ethan into it with her.
Glancing at the mirror, she forced herself to accept that her strapless black sheath dress was the only thing she owned that might come close to being suitable for the country club event. Not that a dress that showed off her hourglass figure to perfection was likely to be a hit with the Sierra Vista mavens, who would likely show up in polyester pantsuits. But it wasn’t her Sierra Vista neighbors she was concerned about. It was Black’s sycophantic troupe of beautiful young women who, no matter their status, would be wearing clothes eons more tasteful and unquestionably more expensive than her simple black dress. A dress that, until this moment of rioting self-doubt, she’d loved. God, she hadn’t even called on Tanya or Tatiana to help her. Frankly, she hadn’t wanted them to know she was going to the party. Face it. Particularly Tanya, the perspicacious deputy sheriff, was too skilled at piecing together evidence. If Tara weren’t careful, Tanya might get her to inadvertently blurt out the truth of what had happened in the elevator. Something Tara’s shattered psyche wasn’t up to revealing—ever.
****
Griffin sucked in a deep breath, willing his errant staff to settle the hell down. Conceding that it would be a challenge for his obviously engaged dick, he could only hope that his pared-down Nathan Bogle slacks had enough give not to be embarrassing. He’d acknowledged from the first time he saw her at the Whispering Pines Motel that the editor of the local paper might be one of the most beautiful and sexiest women he’d ever seen. It was the last thing he’d expected to find in the unassuming southern Arizona town. And in an antagonist at that. Her low-rise, skinny jeans had only served to emphasize her mile-long legs and curvy ass. And her leather bomber jacket couldn’t hide the noteworthy swell of her impressive breasts. Her sun-streaked hair pulled up in a casual ponytail underscored her dark brown eyes, lush lashes, and arched brows. High cheekbones accentuated her rosy cheeks, but it was her sensuous mouth that caught his attention. Her pouty, bee-stung lips were an open invitation to delve into the moist recesses and explore what he was certain would be a welcoming space.
As caught off guard as he’d been by her at their first challenging meeting, he was still struggling to deal with their elevator encounter. He had accurately captured his reaction when he told her father that he’d been humbled by her fear—make that her terror. But after repeatedly reliving the experience, in addition to being challenged by her hysteria, he couldn’t forget how it had felt to hold her sensuous body in his arms. The more she had fought against him, the more he had longed to hold her tighter, to press her luscious curves against him. Knowing he should be ashamed of taking advantage of her panic attack, he couldn’t help but revel in the scent of her feverish body as she clung to him, begging him to help her breathe.
All of his remonstrations to himself about how shabby it was to have even thought about accosting her when she’d been in such agony were tossed into the dustbin of reality when she sauntered into the Oaks Country Club. Swallowing hard to keep from groaning, he acknowledged that if he’d chosen a dress for her that would have every red-blooded man between the ages of fifteen and seventy-five struggling to control his arousal, it would be the miniscule black sheath dress she was wearing. Clearly, it wasn’t the scant yards of clingy fabric that was the showstopper. It was the body that was wearing it. If anything, the simplicity of the dress only served to underscore the wearer’s luscious curves. He’d already felt her bodacious breasts and curvy ass when she’d clung to him in the elevator. Now, for better or worse, those succulent curves were on view to any and all of the men present. Who, he was confident, if they were not gazing at her dumbfounded, were surreptitiously copping a glance from behind their frowning spouses’ glares.
She’d chosen to wind her long, golden hair in a careless twist on the top of her head, allowing errant curls to fall against her cheeks and neck. The wispy tendrils begged for a knowing man’s hands to loosen the clip holding the sunshiny mass in place so that he could bury his nose and mouth in the luscious curls. What caught Griffin’s attention when he forced himself to look at her face was not its perfection, but rather the unease he saw in her eyes. If he didn’t know better, he’d think that she was anxious, even nervous. That challenged expression hardened when she saw him. Instead of the apprehension she’d revealed in an unguarded moment, her eyes narrowed and her chin tipped up in its customary confrontational attitude.
Nodding to him, she leaned against the man who was standing next to her and overtly reached for his arm. That the pleasant-looking fellow beside her looked surprised by her familiar gesture should have reassured Griffin. But it didn’t. Instead, he reacted as he might have expected he would. He was furious that she’d brought a date to the party. His party. Particularly when he’d made a point of asking her to be his guest. Even knowing that she’d done it intentionally to provide a buffer between them didn’t assuage his potent response. Deciding to take matters into his hands, he strode toward them.
He purposefully addressed her by her first name. “Good evening, Tara. I’m pleased that you accepted my invitation. You look lovely.” Turning to the sandy-haired, bespectacled man beside her, he said, “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Griffin Black, and you are?”
Given his abrupt greeting, Griffin wasn’t surprised when the clearly chagrined fellow stepped back and said carefully, “Yes, Mr. Black, I know who you are. My name is Ethan Westbrook. I’m the in-house attorney for the Sierra Vista Gazette and a colleague of Ms. Trouble’s.”
At that moment, Jia Yanlin walked over to them. Casting an up and down glance at Tara’s abbreviated dress, an openly sardonic smile curved her lovely lips. Her sweet greeting didn’t obviate her disdain of the sultry dress—or its wearer. “Good evening, Ms. Trouble. What a lovely dress. I’m impressed. I could never get away with wearing a dress like that. I’m too skinny.”
Seeing the rosy flush that stained Tara’s cheeks, it was clear that she’d heard Jia’s intent in her catty remark. Griffin was impressed when Tara notched her chin an inch higher and replied in kind. “Thank you, Ms. Yanlin. Your dress is amazing. And you don’t look skinny, you look beautiful—and well cared for.”
When Jia flushed, clearly understanding that Tara had implied that she was a kept woman, Tara tightened her grip on her colleague’s arm and turned to go. Directing a hard glare at Griffin, she said, “This looks like it will be an auspicious event for you. Thank you for inviting us.”
Turning on her heel, she was halfway across the room, her luscious hips swaying from side to side before either Griffin or Jia could respond. Watching her stride away, Griffin wasn’t surprised when Jia muttered, “What a bitch.” If he wasn’t so angry with Tara, he might have been amused at the catfight he’d witnessed. He was impressed by Tara’s acerbic comeback. Even though she was completely off base by implying that Jia was his paramour, he was glad that she’d responded as cuttingly as she had. It was good to know that she was a strong woman. She needed to be, given that she soon would be tangling with him.