Jared's Love-Child. Sandra Field

Jared on the arm.

      Jared bit his tongue. Bad enough that Devon had made a fool of him; he didn’t need his father rubbing it in. But he’d get even, he thought, if it took him the rest of the day. Devon had used her sexuality—not to mention that blue dress—to get at him; he just might use his own sexuality in revenge. God knows enough women had made it clear how attractive he was.

      He would show Devon Fraser she shouldn’t play with fire. And what enormous pleasure that would give him.

      “You’re very quiet, Jared,” Alicia said provocatively.

      Jared gave himself a mental shake, pasted a smile on his face, and with impeccable good manners congratulated his new stepmother and his father on their marriage. An ordinary observer couldn’t have faulted him. But Devon, attuned to him in a way that disconcerted her, could see the stiffness in his shoulders and hear the reservations in his voice. He was playing to the audience. And he didn’t mean a word of it.

      The four of them then formed an impromptu receiving line. The faces passed in front of Devon in a blur, Jared’s manners irreproachable as he said, time after time, “May I introduce Alicia’s daughter to you?…Miss Devon Fraser.”

      Aunt Bessie stood out from the crowd. Aunt Bessie was wearing orange shantung and a lime-green hat; her fingers were so cluttered with diamonds Devon was amazed she’d been able to play any notes at all, right or wrong. She kissed her nephew and said in a piercing voice, “Time you got yourself hitched, Jared. You’re not getting any younger.”

      “You married Uncle Leonard instead of waiting for me,” Jared said. “It broke my heart.”

      Aunt Bessie chuckled, looking from him to Devon. “Now this young lady looks like she’d be your match,” she remarked. “You must be Alicia’s daughter.”

      “I’m Devon, yes.”

      “Don’t let him fool you with that big-businessman act. Heart of gold.” She gave another raucous chuckle. “Pockets full of gold, too. You after his money?”

      Devon said crisply, “I’m not after him at all. Despite your recommendation.”

      “That’s what you need, Jared, a woman who’ll stick up for herself.” Jared’s aunt leaned toward Devon. “Too many of ’em let him walk all over them. Not good for him.”

      “Aunt Bessie,” Jared said, “you’re holding up the line.”

      “I’ll talk to you later, dear,” Aunt Bessie said, squeezing Devon’s fingers meaningfully. Then, with some determination, she waddled off toward the nearest tray of champagne.

      Not if I can help it, thought Devon, and smiled at the next guest, whose name totally escaped her. She had the beginnings of a headache and a whole bottle of champagne was starting to seem like a very viable option.

      Then a female voice said warmly, “Darling—I’m so sorry I missed you before the wedding.”

      Devon blinked as the owner of the voice pulled Jared’s head down and kissed him explicitly on the lips. Ownership, Devon thought intuitively. A public display of ownership, that’s what this kiss is all about.

      So why wasn’t she feeling relieved that Jared Holt was already spoken for?