Dawson.”
“You look…” Words failed him. For a moment, he thought his heart might fail him, too. The woman should come with a cardiac arrest warning.
“This works for the occasion, right?” She did a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn that made him wish he had a defibrillator handy. “I wouldn’t want to stand out.”
“You’ll stand out, but for all the right reasons,” he replied with more honesty than he’d intended.
Her smile bloomed again. “That’s quite a compliment. You look pretty good yourself. It’s a sin there are so few places for a man to wear a tuxedo nowadays.”
“I doubt you’ll get many men to agree.” He pulled at his collar as he said it. The damned thing seemed to have grown too tight.
Eve laughed. It was a husky sound, entirely too provocative for the mere reason that it wasn’t intended to be. “Come on, a tuxedo can’t be as uncomfortable as my shoes. My arches are going to hate me by the end of the night.”
Dawson allowed his gaze to skim down, which he regretted almost immediately. He’d already known she had a pair of killer legs. Tonight they were accentuated by black pumps that added a good three inches to her already respectable height. His pulse took flight along with the little butterfly tattooed on her ankle. He didn’t particularly care for the reaction. Business, he reminded himself.
“Ready to go?” he asked. “While I have no problem arriving fashionably late, my mother is a stickler for punctuality.”
“Ah. Right. So, exactly what have you told her about me?”
“Your name.”
“A man of few words,” she said on a laugh. “Just let me get my coat.”
He glanced around while she did so. Her apartment was a loft in a former commercial building that had been converted to residential use. Its exposed ductwork, distressed wood floor and battered brick walls gave it an almost industrial feel. It was small, its total square footage probably not equal to that of his master suite, but Eve certainly had made the most of every inch.
Her taste was as bold and uncompromising as the woman. Vivid colors were splashed against neutrals and a rather eclectic mix of artwork adorned the walls. At the far end of the room, he spied a slim staircase that led to the sleeping loft. A horizontal chrome railing defined the space up top and allowed a tantalizing glimpse of a platform bed beyond. He saw more bold colors there, rich crimsons, plums and golds. For a moment, he allowed himself to wonder what one might interpret from her decorating choices.
“Dawson?”
He turned to find her standing directly behind him. She held a small clutch in her hands and was already wearing her coat, a long wool number that was cinched in at the waist with a belt. Even covered up with not so much as a scrap of red showing, she still exuded far too much sex appeal for his comfort.
He glanced away and cleared his throat. “Nice place you have here.”
“Thanks. I like it.”
“Excellent location given your job.” He made a circular motion with one hand. “Close to shops and all.”
“Yes.” She smiled. “But work wasn’t the only reason I chose it. I like being in the thick of things.”
She would. Though he didn’t know her very well, he’d already figured out that Eve was the sort of woman who grabbed life with both hands and held on tight, even when the ride got wild.
“Well, we should be going.” As he followed her out the door, Dawson wondered why he felt both eager to leave and disappointed that they couldn’t stay.
He knew the answer to at least half that question when they arrived at the Wilmington Hotel twenty minutes later. The large ballroom could accommodate seven hundred guests. Only a fraction of that number had arrived, as it was early yet. But his mother gave him a pointed look when she spied him. Dawson sent her a wink and purposely steered Eve in the opposite direction. He needed a little fortification before he faced his family and began fielding their questions. He also needed to clue Eve in on a few pertinent facts.
“How about a glass of wine?” he suggested.
“I suppose that even though this is technically a work function for me a nice glass of Chardonnay wouldn’t be out of line,” she replied.
“Not at all.”
As he ordered their drinks from a bar that had been set up in one corner, Eve said, “I guess you weren’t kidding when you said your mother doesn’t believe in doing things halfway. I wasn’t expecting the party to be quite this large. This room must be set up for at least a few hundred people to dine.”
“Seven hundred, actually.”
She blinked in surprise. “Is everyone in Denver on the guest list?”
“Sometimes it feels that way,” he said. He swept an arm out to the side. “But what you see here are the people with the deepest pockets. My mother’s specialty is getting them to reach in, grab a wad of bills and make a donation.”
“She sounds like a formidable woman,” Eve said.
He merely smiled. She could be, he thought, recalling the previous day’s conversation. At times, Tallulah could be downright relentless. The bartender handed them their wine.
“So, is your family here?” Eve inquired, taking a sip. “I’m eager to meet them.”
“Some of them are, I believe.” He cleared his throat. “Before I introduce you, though, I need to ask a favor of you. I would prefer that they didn’t know what it is you do for a living.”
“Ashamed of me?” She tilted her head to one side, sounding more amused than insulted, although he thought he saw something akin to vulnerability flicker briefly in her dark eyes.
“Of course not. It’s just that I don’t want them to feel…” He groped for the right word.
“Like you brought in a designated hitter because you couldn’t be bothered to shop for their gifts yourself?” She smiled sweetly before taking another sip of her wine.
Because his conscience had delivered a swift kick to his nether region, he replied, “You know, you can be annoyingly blunt at times.”
Her shoulders lifted in a delicate shrug. “I know. It’s a gift.”
“It’s something,” he muttered. “Maybe you should sign up for a Dale Carnegie course.”
“I already took one. Passed with flying colors, as a matter of fact. A star pupil.” She smiled at him over the rim of her glass. “So, who exactly do they think I am?”
Dawson felt as if he had been dumped back into junior high school when he admitted, “They think you’re my date.”
“Ah. Your date.” She was enjoying his embarrassment. Of that much he was sure. “And how long have we been an item?”
“We’re not an item,” he groaned.
“First date. Got it.” She grinned. “Well, I promise I’ll try not to be obvious while I’m plying them with questions to get an idea of their likes and dislikes.”
Eve wouldn’t be the only one with questions, Dawson thought. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted his mother. She was homing in on them with the precision of a heat-seeking missile, not even stopping to chat with the people who greeted her along the way. There would be no avoiding her this time.
He put his arm around Eve, leaned close and whispered, “My mother is headed this way.”
“Uh-oh. Should I bat my eyelashes at you or something?” she asked.
“This was a bad idea,” he mumbled, not quite sure if he felt that way because of her glib reply or because he’d caught