over now. He’s married to my sister, and that makes him offlimits to you or any other woman.”
Samantha’s cheeks burned. Humiliation and shock fed a searing, swift anger. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!” she said, but her voice shook and she knew she sounded less than convincing, appalled that he’d read her so easily and quickly.
“You do,” he argued. “So watch your step, lady.”
Her head lifting, she steadied herself, regaining a semblance of her normal detached composure, and said precisely, “Whatever might or might not have been between Bryn and me is none of your business.” Damned if she was going to explain herself to this arrogant jerk. “And if you don’t trust your new brother-in-law, you’d better take it up with him.”
“I don’t see him carrying a torch,” Jase Moore replied with infuriating calm. “All the heat was coming from you. The ice princess look is only skin deep. Interesting.”
Inwardly Samantha was quivering, feeling exposed, naked. How could this stranger have divined in seconds her most private, well-protected secrets, without even exchanging a word or a touch? But she wouldn’t crumble under the assault.
She directed her chilliest stare into his watchful, probing eyes. Strong men had wilted under that look. “Either you’re drunk and delusional,” she said, “or you have an overactive imagination. You know nothing about me, and I certainly have no desire to know anything more about you. That you’re a boor and a bully is unfortunate for your sister, but we don’t choose our relatives. For the first time I’m grateful I don’t have brothers. Now, may I have my hat, please? I’d like to go back to the party.”
Something sparked in the dark eyes that maintained their steady regard, and for a moment she thought he wasn’t going to comply. Then a grim smile touched his mouth and he gave a small nod, as if acknowledging an adversary. He stepped aside and held out the hat to her, allowing her to reclaim it.
She restrained herself from crushing the brim in her fingers as she brushed by him and walked away without hurry, resisting the urge to flee in haste, and annoyed that her legs felt shaky.
The nape of her neck prickled. She would not look back to see if Jase Moore was watching her retreat.
A boor and a bully, huh? Jase grinned with sardonic appreciation as Samantha Magnussen, her back straight and shining blonde head held high, rounded a bend in the path that took her out of sight.
Water off a duck’s back, lady. He’d been called worse, though never in such frigidly polite tones. And if the ice princess knew what was good for her, she’d take heed of his warning.
Rachel wouldn’t have thanked him for acting the big brother on her behalf—if she ever found out she’d tear strips off him. But the lifelong habit of looking out for his fiercely independent little sister hadn’t been obliterated by her years away from her family, nor by her decision to marry Bryn Donovan. The uncertainty in her eyes when Samantha Magnussen kissed Bryn and called him darling in that come-hither voice of hers had set all Jase’s protective instincts into overdrive.
And they hadn’t been appeased in the least by the woman’s enigmatic remark about never thinking Bryn would get married, or the measuring glance she’d given Rachel, as if sizing up a rival. After that kiss, which to Jase’s sharpened eye had seemed to last a fraction of a second too long, she’d trailed her hand down Bryn’s body in an almost proprietary gesture. Or perhaps she just hadn’t been able to keep herself from touching him.
Bryn had seemed oblivious, at least on the surface, to the fleeting but unmistakable regret on the blonde’s perfect oval of a face, and he’d have missed the Mona Lisa smile with which she’d turned from the happy couple.
It was the smile that had made Jase pursue her once the photographers had finished with the family. A smile like that could mean anything—and if it meant she wasn’t yet finished with Bryn Donovan, that she had hopes of enticing him away from Rachel, someone had to set her straight.
Chapter Two
THE formal part of the reception over, evening drew in and Samantha meant to quietly leave, and approached Bryn’s mother to thank her and say good-night.
“But you must stay for the dancing!” Lady Pearl insisted. A small, pretty woman, she had a knack of getting her way without seeming at all pushy. The big front room and adjoining formal dining room had been cleared, with a three-piece band set up in a corner, and once the newlyweds had circled the floor it quickly became crowded. “There are some nice young men without partners,” she said. “I’ll introduce you.”
Before Samantha could make a graceful excuse her hostess had laid one light but determined hand on her arm and lifted the other to signal someone. “Let me take your purse. I’ll put it on the hall table for you. Did you leave your lovely hat there?”
Samantha had, along with her jacket, revealing a sleeveless matching separate bodice held by thin beaded straps, the beading continuing around the low neckline and repeated at the hem just below her waist. A woman in a plain black dress relieving guests of surplus jackets and accessories had hung the hat and jacket on a brass coat-stand for her.
Reluctantly she allowed Lady Pearl to take her purse, not realising which nice young man had responded to their hostess’s summons until she felt an instantly recognisable male presence at her side.
“Jase,” the older woman said, “is Rachel’s brother. And Jase, this is—”
“We’ve met,” he told her.
“Oh, good! You know each other.” Apparently oblivious to the abruptness of his interruption, and Samantha’s frozen expression, Lady Pearl benignly ordered, “Well, then, get out there and enjoy yourselves.”
She stood expectantly beaming, and after a moment Jase lifted his brows and held out a hand that Samantha finally took, allowing him to lead her into the crowd.
“You don’t have to do this,” she muttered as he turned her to face him. “It wasn’t my idea.”
“Didn’t think it was.” His free hand settled on her waist and he brought the other, enclosing hers, close to his chest. “I’m doing it for Pearl.”
So was she, not wanting to appear rude. Somewhat to her surprise he led her into a smooth ballroom step rather than the more energetic dancing favoured by the younger guests. Automatically she leaned against his guiding hand as he took her into a smooth turn, his thigh brushing hers, and the slight contact awoke a peculiar sensation deep within her.
As if he’d felt it too, his eyes met hers, then he blinked fantastically long, thick lashes and turned his gaze over her shoulder.
Samantha swallowed, and said, simply for something to fill the silence between them and banish the odd intimacy of that moment, “Where did you learn to dance?”
He shrugged. “My mother, when I was about to attend my first high-school ball. She said the girls would be dressed up and looking their prettiest, and if I was going to step all over their toes it would spoil their evening.”
“I’m sure the girls appreciated it.” She kept her tone light and a little dry. They’d probably appreciated his appearance too. Even in his schooldays he must have had female classmates a-flutter.
She herself had always preferred men to be clean-shaven with neatly groomed hair. Yet on this particular man the unkempt look seemed entirely natural and somehow added to his…charm was hardly the word. To whatever it was that had made all her senses annoyingly spring to full-alert when he’d taken her hand and swept her onto the floor. A reaction so rare that it alarmed her.
He’d discarded the jacket and tie altogether now. In white shirt and grey trousers he looked relaxed, his movements assured and imbued with masculine grace.
“And,” he was saying, a glint of humour—mixed with something else—in the eyes again meeting hers, “it was a pretty