with. You know, so it would be easier to change my lifestyle–more exercise, less alcohol, maybe cutting back on my client list.”
Jason was smiling again. This time he leaned down to kiss her lingeringly on the lips. Sometimes he seemed more demonstrative in public than he was at home. Stacey relaxed a bit, noticing for the first time the tanginess of his aftershave. She sniffed. “Is that a new cologne?”
Her husband laughed. “Mmm. Yes. Do you like it?”
She shrugged. “It just seems different.”
He glanced around the room once more, almost as though he were searching for someone. “I hope a lot of things will be different, Stacey, better.”
She looked at him in some confusion, but the approach of an old friend of the family prevented her from questioning what he meant.
* * * *
Mason ground his teeth as he watched Winchester laughing with his wife. If what he suspected was true, Stacey Barlow-Barrett–oops, Winchester–was in for some serious disillusionment, but he wouldn’t be the one to burst her bubble of domestic bliss. In fact, he’d already dropped too many hints over the last couple months on those occasions when running into her at the gallery had been unavoidable. It would be better all the way around if he put her where she belonged–in the past–and moved on with his life. So why was it so damn hard to do?
When his date, an aide for a senator he counted among his clients, stepped off the dance floor, he handed her a fresh glass of champagne and set his arm around her waist. If the gesture was more intimate than their first date called for, he wasn’t ready to apologize for it now. That could come later when he dropped her safe and sound at her door with a peck on the cheek and returned to his penthouse alone.
There was only one woman in this room he’d had the urge to make a commitment to, and she was taken. Mason sneaked one last look at Stacey. How many people were truly aware what passion lurked beneath her cool, blond exterior? He seriously doubted her husband was one of them.
Mason turned his gaze to the bride. Lucy Cameron danced, a bit stiffly, in the arms of her father-in-law, Alexander Barlow-Barrett. Only the elder Barrett could make a professional dancer appear ill at ease. The guy was the poster child for puritanical American capitalistic dynasties. It amazed Mason that already three of Barrett’s children had found their own ways to rebel. Brandon had just married Lucy, a former exotic dancer. The eldest Barlow-Barrett, Seth, had quit the family’s newspaper empire to run his own small town paper on the Delaware coast, and the sister, a couple years younger than Stacey, had beaten them all–bearing a child out of wedlock, becoming a veterinarian and finally settling down with a horse-trainer husband. Mason discounted the two youngest siblings. Phillip was too focused on his legal career and the girl apparently wasn’t old enough to instigate her own rebellions yet, so only Stacey remained–the dutiful daughter. God damn her.
Mason could still feel her hips arching against his and hear her crying out in passion. Fuck. He set his drink aside and nabbed his date’s, setting it aside too. “Let’s dance,” he growled. It was a fast number, which suited the hell out of him. Maybe if he worked up a sweat, he could work out the lust he still felt for the eldest Barlow-Barrett daughter, lust he no longer had a right to feel.
“Are you having a good time?” he asked his date.
She nodded, her glance darting around the room. “This is like being at a who’s-who of Washington powerbrokers. God, Mason, how did you get to be friends with people like the Barlow-Barretts?”
Mason laughed. “Trust me. I’m no friend of theirs. Lucy Cameron, the bride, is one of the artists my gallery represents. Most of the time her husband is torn between punching me in the face or thanking heaven for me.”
His date’s only reaction was a slightly puzzled smile. Just as well. He didn’t want to go into explanations of his not-so-willing role as cupid. He still kicked himself for that, but then anyone could look at Lucy and Brandon and see there would never be anyone else for either of them. When the song ended, another male guest claimed his date. He glanced around the dance floor and saw Winchester escort his wife onto the floor. Mason felt only relief, but when he saw Winchester’s friend take over on the next song, a slow number, the only thing he could think was fuck no.
* * * *
Stacey had hoped to dance the slow song with Jace. She needed to feel him next to her, needed reassurance that everything was all right with their world. Now she was in the arms of Justin Worthington, one of Jace’s closest friends. She hadn’t realized who it was when she’d seen them together earlier. Jace had mentioned Justin a lot, but it had always seemed to her there was an edge of tension to him when he did and, until today, she had never met him.
“I’m so happy to meet you,” Justin told her now. “Jace talks of you constantly.”
Stacey gave him a look she was sure must be slightly puzzled. “Really? He’s mentioned you too. I can’t believe we haven’t met before now.”
His grip on her hand tightened slightly. “I’ve been working out of the country until recently.”
She nodded. “I hate you missed our wedding. I know Jace wanted you there. It must have been a disappointment not to be able to share the celebration.”
Justin smiled, his green eyes twinkling. “Now I’m in the area, maybe we’ll be able to remedy that.”
Was it her imagination, or had he pulled her slightly closer? As he turned her in time with the music, his thigh brushed against hers. Now she was uncomfortable. By no means did she consider herself a prude, but she could have sworn more than his thigh had touched her. Just about to open her mouth to ask him to hold her less closely, the sight of Mason tapping her partner on the shoulder had her clamping her mouth shut. She wouldn’t mind a rescue, but exchanging Justin for Mason was like jumping from a campfire into a forest fire.
“May I cut in?”
Justin smiled graciously, but something in the way the two men eyed one another made Stacey catch her breath for an instant.
“Certainly.” Justin smiled at her and said, “I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other, Stacey.”
It was only when Mason spun her back into the crowd on the dance floor, and she caught a whiff of the spicy bite of Justin’s cologne, that she realized Justin wore the same scent her husband did. Stacey shook her head slightly. Maybe that was how Jace had discovered it. After all, it was obvious the two men had re-established their long-standing friendship.
“Are you all right?” Mason’s rumbled inquiry caught her off guard so she nearly stumbled. He caught her, his hand on her hip where, to her chagrin, he left it. The tingling it sent along her nerve endings filled her with guilt.
“Yes. Get your hand off my ass.”
He moved it to the small of her back, his thumb stroking her spine through the silk of her evening dress. “So exactly why I love you. You appear to be such a lady, but you have a mouth like a sailor.”
“Mason,” she muttered. “Please don’t. This one night, can’t we have a ceasefire?”
“I didn’t start this war, Blondie, but I’m willing to negotiate terms.” His expression was inscrutable.
“There are no terms, Mason. I’m married. I won’t be unfaithful to my husband.”
“How old-fashioned of you. I hope your spouse is equally reciprocative.”
“Stop it.” Stacey felt as though he took her heart and twisted it in his grasp. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out between us.”
Mason put his mouth next to her ear. “Don’t be sorry, baby. You were one of the best fucks I’ve ever had…and had…and had.”
She couldn’t control the gasp, the hurt stabbing through her, nor could she control the way she jerked away from him. Aware their sudden cessation of dancing would attract attention, Stacey put