on the committee that was hosting the party. He cared deeply about his charity work, but how many luxurious dinners and big, sweeping dances could he stand?
The real problem, he decided, was that he couldn’t get the redhead he’d met at the park out of his mind. Mary McKenzie. So wholesome, so cute, so all-American and average. He doubted that she’d ever worn a glittering gown or been to a fancy ball.
“Are you all right?” Doreen asked. She was one of his occasional lovers—a long, leggy brunette and twice-divorced heiress who relied on a carb-free diet to maintain her figure and Botox to keep her frown lines at bay. Tonight she was wearing a set of spidery lashes. Brandon had gotten used to seeing her in them, but he’d never quite grasped the point. He couldn’t imagine gluing something onto his eyelids.
“I’m fine,” he said.
“You seem distracted to me.”
“I’m just sitting here.” And thinking about seeing Mary again—a fresh-faced twenty-five-year-old who worked at a bakery. She was so damned different from his norm. He frowned at Doreen. “Do you ever get tired of the same ol’?”
She gave him a pointed look. “See, I knew something was going on with you.”
“Maybe I’m just going through a midlife crisis and wanting things I shouldn’t have.” That might account for him obsessing about a woman he barely knew.
She turned on the light above their heads. “Did you meet someone who’s got your boxers in a bunch?”
He flinched as if he’d been kicked. “What?”
She raised her delicately arched eyebrows. “You did, didn’t you?”
His stomach clenched. He’d just gotten called out by a savvy socialite. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, believe me, I do. A woman knows when a man has another female on his mind.”
“There’s no one.” He wasn’t about to admit that he couldn’t wait to return to the park on Sunday and reunite with a stranger who made his skin hot. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone made him feel that way. He’d been on autopilot for so long, he hadn’t noticed until now.
Doreen sighed. “It doesn’t matter to me if you want someone else. Because I do, too.”
He turned suspicious. Was she making up stories to try to con the truth out of him? “If you’re mooning over another man, then why are you here with me?”
She removed a gilded compact from her clutch. “You and I made these plans a long time ago. And since we haven’t been together for months, I figured we were just here as friends.”
That was a fair assumption, he supposed. It wasn’t just her that he hadn’t been with in a while. He hadn’t slept with anyone in what seemed like forever. And he didn’t want to, either, until Mary had come along.
Doreen opened the mirror and checked her appearance. “The man I’m hoping to nab is going to be at this party, so I thought—”
“You’d use me to get his attention?” If Brandon gave a crap, he would be mad. But he didn’t care if she was after another guy. It didn’t matter. “Who is he?”
“David Norton.”
“The retail billionaire?” He should have known she would aim high. “Wasn’t he just named as one of the richest people in the States? He came in at number twelve, as I recall.”
She made a duck face, posing as if the compact was a camera. “He was number nine, actually, but who’s counting?”
“You are, obviously.”
She closed the mirror and tucked it back into her clutch. “I don’t need his money. I have plenty of my own.”
That was true. Between her inheritance and her ex-husbands, she was set for life. “Yeah, okay, but isn’t he a little old for you?” David Norton was a good person, a charitable man, but he was also pushing seventy. Doreen was all of forty.
“He appreciates women my age. And in our social circle, that’s saying a lot. Do you know how many twentysomethings have stolen my lovers away from me? I’ll bet the gal who caught your eye is a sweet young thing.”
Maybe too sweet, he thought. Tigresses like Doreen were more his style.
She snared his gaze. “Is your new love interest going to be at this soiree?”
“She isn’t—” He stopped and cursed. He’d just more or less admitted that there was another woman on his mind.
“She isn’t what?” Doreen pressured him to come clean.
He went ahead and said it. “She isn’t part of this crowd.”
“Oh, my.” Placing a dramatic hand against the jeweled bodice of her gown, she gave a ladylike gasp. “You’re stepping outside of your regal realm? That spells trouble to me.”
He hated it when she mocked him. Sometimes she even called him the King of Nashville High Society. “Knock it off.”
“I’m serious, Brandon. Those types of hookups don’t work.”
“I never said I was getting together with her.” Sure, he wanted to, but the only thing they’d agreed on was another run-in at the park. Nonetheless, Mary had seemed leery of him. He could tell that he’d made her nervous. “I don’t want to talk about her, anyway.” He preferred to keep his distorted hunger to himself. “Let’s just get this night over with so you can land a date with David.”
Doreen’s pouty pink lips tilted into a smile. “You’re going to help me with that?”
“Sure. Why not?” He turned off the overhead light that she’d left on. For now, the only thing he wanted was for Sunday morning to roll around so he could see Mary again.
* * *
Mary parked her car on a side street and walked to the park, wishing she didn’t have to figure Brandon out. It would be easier if she was convinced, the way Alice was, that he was a bad person. But for now, she wasn’t sure of anything.
She adjusted the insulated tote bag on her arm. She’d baked a variety of pastries. She’d also brought a thermos of medium roast coffee, and cups and plates and everything else they would need. She was good at packing picnics. Or whatever this makeshift breakfast was going to be.
As she cut across the grass, she searched for Brandon. When she spotted him, her heart jumped to her throat. She continued toward him. By now, he’d seen her, as well, and was heading in her direction with the dog by his side. It was warmer this morning than it had been last week. In keeping with the weather, he was wearing khaki shorts and a pale green T-shirt. But no matter how casually he was dressed, he looked as if he’d just stepped out of the pages of a men’s fashion magazine. He’d obviously gotten his sense of style from his mother. His father always looked like an outlaw, draped in shades of black.
As they got closer, Brandon smiled at her with a quick flash of those perfect white teeth. A shadowy chill ran through her, as if she was about to be bitten by a tall, tanned, play-in-the-daylight vampire. A man with no soul? Or just a man with too much sex appeal? Either way, she sucked it up—no pun intended—and returned his smile.
“Hey, Mary,” he said, as they stood face-to-face.
“Hi.” She adjusted the bag on her arm. “I didn’t bring a book today. I brought goodies for you and Cline instead.”
Brandon seemed surprised. Apparently the possibility of her baking for him hadn’t crossed his mind.
“What kind of goodies?” he asked.
“For you, I made raspberry-and-ginger muffins, chocolate-and-cinnamon scones and crisp apple fritters. For Cline, I whipped up a batch of peanut butter, bacon and pumpkin treats.”
“That’s