Worth Any Price, page 22
“And she saves the prince, too, don’t forget. From the gypsies.” That was her second favorite part of the movie. Danielle de Barbarac had been one tough lady. Fictional character or not, she admired the heck out of her.
“Right.” He shot her a wry look as the black-suited driver opened the rear door for them. “It was actually a pretty good movie.”
“I’m glad you liked it. Wait, can you unclip my wings? I don’t want to crush them.” After she was free, she carefully gathered the fabric of her beaded skirt and slid gingerly into the limo with a smile and a thank you to the driver, who smiled and nodded in return.
The rear of the limo was huge. She did her best not to stare like a country rube, but it was tough. There were even two televisions, for Pete’s sake. Not to mention enough room for about eight more people. For just the two of them, it seemed a little too much.
Rick followed her in. After the driver retook his seat up front, the glass panel between the two spaces quietly slid into place, leaving them in dimly lit privacy. Rick took her hand in his and kissed it.
“I neglected to do that upstairs. Forgive me?”
“O-of course.”
Being enclosed in the back of the limo with him, the light aroma of warm sandalwood and spice wrapped around her senses, making her think things she shouldn’t be thinking. Not if they were going to get to the ball with both their costumes still intact.
Desperate for a distraction, she blurted, “I can’t figure out who you’re supposed to be.”
Grinning, probably because he knew exactly how much he was affecting her, he reached on top of the mound of black fabric on the curved seat she hadn’t noticed when he’d put down her wings. He picked up a distinctive white half-mask and held it to the right side of his face.
“Oh! Phantom of the Opera!”
Rick tossed the mask back. “Not that I’ll be wearing it long. Damn thing makes my face sweat.” He placed his index finger under her chin and studied her for a moment. “Is there any way I can kiss you without messing up your makeup?”
“You can try.” She held her breath as he lowered his lips to hers. It was the softest, gentlest kiss in the world, and then it was done. She opened eyes she didn’t remember closing and blinked up at him.
Something passed between them. She didn’t know what, but she felt something shift inside her, something that went way beyond lust and attraction.
Before she could ask if he’d felt it, too, the driver’s voice piped in over the intercom. “We’re here, sir.”
Rick held her gaze for a few more seconds. “Thank you, Les.”
The spell, or whatever had just happened, was broken.
Rick gathered up their costume pieces and got out when Les opened the rear door, handing everything to the driver so he could reach back and help her from the limo.
Getting out with the gathered mound of heavy material was a lot harder than getting in. Careful not to catch her heel in the back hem that fell in a tiny train behind her, she looked around the underground parking garage in surprise. “Oh! Is this right?”
“I know you weren’t exactly comfortable with the media blitz at Max’s party,” Rick said as he helped her clip her wings in place. “The ball attracts the whole red carpet paparazzi element, which is a lot worse, so I thought a stealth entrance might be more to your liking.”
“Oh! Yes, thank you.”
Especially when the last set of pictures had brought Hunter out of the woodwork. Showing up on Rick’s arm would only give him a new target for his dirty schemes.
But as they rode the elevator up to the ballroom level of the hotel, a tiny niggle of doubt wormed its way into her head.
Had he really thought about avoiding the photographers for her? Or for himself? Was he worried what being publicly linked to her would mean despite his talk of wanting a relationship with her?
Then the elevator doors opened and there wasn’t any time left to pick at the problem. There were several people in costume roaming the marble-floored hallway between them and the oversized doors to the ballroom. Each of them nodded in greeting at Rick as they passed, which he returned, but none stopped to engage in conversation. That struck her as odd until she realized why.
They weren’t guests. They were security.
And one more unnerving reminder of the rarified air she was about to breathe.
Lord, please let me get through this evening without making a fool of myself.
When they got to the closed doors, Rick sighed in resignation and slipped the mask on. “Ready?”
Oh, how she wanted to say no.
But she gave him her best smile instead. “You bet.”
He nodded. The man dressed in old-fashioned livery at the side of the door pulled it open, and they stepped…
…into a magical realm.
At least, that’s what the decorations made the enormous ballroom feel like. Round tables with crisp white linen circled the room, decorated with fresh wildflowers and glowing centerpieces of frosted glass. Fairy lights were strung everywhere, looking like thousands of fireflies filling the night.
The lights projected on the slightly domed ceiling looked like stars against a dark twilight sky. Despite the crush of people milling about talking, the faint sound of music filled the air, soft and ethereal, as though it came from everywhere and nowhere all at once.
Since she’d seen the plans during her one truncated day at the Foundation, she knew the orchestra was hidden away in a musician’s gallery up above the ballroom floor. Just like she knew all the other little theatrical tricks used to achieve the desired effects.
But knowing didn’t stop it all from really feeling as though they’d somehow been transported to a meadow out under the night sky.
“Your mom sure knows how to put on a shindig,” she said softly as she soaked it all in.
“You know, she really does. Sometimes I don’t give her enough credit for how much effort she puts into these things. Probably because I’m always too busy trying to figure out a way to avoid attending them.” The chagrined tone seemed aimed at himself.
“You don’t like parties?” That was a surprise, considering how many pictures of him attending them over the years she’d found online.
Not that she’d Googled him or anything.
Okay, she totally had.
“Going to them, yes. But not the ones where I have to play host, working the crowd for donations.”
“It can’t be that bad. It’s clearly billed as a charity ball. People have to know they’re going to be asked for money when they come. Isn’t that why they’re all here?”
“You’d think so. But you’d be wrong. Most people are here to see and be seen. Make deals. Get their name and picture in the news. For them, being philanthropic is only fashionable when there’s some profit on the back end.”
“That’s really sad.”
Rick shrugged. “That’s life. Ah, here.” He lifted two champagne flutes from a passing waiter and handed her one. “Forget about all of that for now. Let’s concentrate on us. To a magical evening.”
Since the only two times she’d ever drank champagne before—once at a retirement party at work and once on New Year’s Eve—it tasted like fizzy vinegar, she gamely took a small sip to seal the toast. The lovely flavor that exploded over her tongue was a pleasant surprise.
Evidently, she’d been drinking the wrong champagne.
Of course, she’d probably have to sell a kidney to afford a bottle of whatever this was, so she hummed her appreciation and took another sip. No sense getting used to it, but she could enjoy it while it lasted.
“Richard, you made it. Finally.”
The sudden sound of Mrs. Beaumont’s voice behind them almost made her snort the bubbly liquid out through her nose. Without missing a beat, Rick handed her a handkerchief before turning to greet his mother, dutifully kissing her offered cheek.
“I told you I’d be here.”
“I know, but no one told me you’d arrived.”
“By no one, you mean whatever spy you have watching the front door of the hotel.”
Mrs. Beaumont smoothed the sleeve of her gorgeous gown. “I don’t have spies. I have very capable employees.”
“Who report everything they see to you. Something I’ll be discussing with you at a later date, by the way, about your collusion with the inestimable Mrs. Gandy to meddle.” He was grinning as he said it, though. He slipped his arm around Amber’s waist below the wings and drew her closer to his side. “Mom, I believe you remember Amber Lovett?”
That was when she realized his little moment of banter had been on purpose, to give her a few extra seconds to recover. It was almost enough to make her smile despite her mild case of stage fright.
“Of course, I do. How lovely to see you again, dear.”
“And you, too. Mrs. Beaumont, I just wanted to apologize again for—”
“No need for apologies. I would never expect you to stay someplace you felt uncomfortable. And I know exactly who’s to blame for that.” Mrs. Beaumont shot Rick a glare which had him rolling his eyes.
“Well, I’m still sorry I didn’t help out. This”—she spread her hands to encompass the room—“is incredible.”
“Thank you. I’m rather pleased with the way it came out myself.”
“You truly outdid yourself this time, Mom. It’s amazing.”
His mother sent him a startled look before turning a blinding smile on Amber. “I don’t know what you’ve done to him, dear, but please, keep right on doing it!”
Cheeks bursting into flame beneath the makeup, she stuttered something unintelligible before burying her face in her champagne glass. If the woman only knew what she’d been doing to her son!
Not to mention what he’d been doing to her in return.
Rick, bless him, came to the rescue again. “So, Mom, why aren’t you wearing a costume? I thought it was mandatory.”
“Oh, but I am.” She flipped up the hood of the red cape Amber hadn’t noticed she was wearing over her burgundy gown before letting it fall again.
“Let me guess. Dad’s the Big Bad Wolf.”
“What else?” She gave him a critical look. “And where is the rest of your costume? I know that tuxedo isn’t part of what I had sent over.”
“I’m wearing the mask and cape, aren’t I? Everyone knows who I’m supposed to be.”
She fussed at his bow tie. “But it looked so much better with the period clothing.”
“Mom, men stopped wearing frilly shirts and cravats for a reason.”
With a hmph as reply, Mrs. Beaumont shifted her attention to Amber. “You, on the other hand, look absolutely exquisite.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Beaumont.”
“Oh, please, call me Patricia.”
The offer felt like she’d passed some kind of test. A lingering sense of guilt nagged at her, though. “If there’s anything I can do to help tonight, please let me know.”
Mrs. Beaumont patted her arm with a smile. “Thank you, dear. You’re already doing it.” She glanced around with the look of a general surveying a battlefield. “Well, time to mingle. I’ll see you both later.” With a wave, she was gone.
Amber let out a whoosh of air. Okay, that hadn’t been as bad as she’d imagined. Mrs. Beaumont—Patricia—didn’t seem at all annoyed with her for being there as her son’s guest.
In fact, she’d almost seemed…pleased.
Not the reaction she’d been expecting. But it gave her hope the night might end up being less stressful than she’d worried it would be.
“Well, I think we’ve just been given our marching orders.” The smile Rick gave her looked odd under the half mask. More like a grimace.
Or maybe that’s because it really was one. She couldn’t tell.
He offered his arm again, placing his hand over hers possessively when she took it. “Now, we mingle.”
Chapter 17
They spent the next twenty minutes slowly working the room. She tried, but it was impossible to remember all the people Rick introduced her to. Thankfully, she didn’t think she was expected to. She just needed to smile and make small talk, which always came around to the charity portion of the charity ball. Once Rick had secured a promise of a donation, they talked a little more before moving on to start the process over again.
He was right. It wasn’t very much fun. But the fact the money raised would go to keep the community center running for another year made the discomfort bearable.
It might have been the champagne’s doing, but as the minutes ticked by and no one ignored her or, worse, questioned her being with Rick, the rest of the tension that had been riding her slipped away.
Rick steered them towards a clump of people occupying a corner of the ballroom. One of them, a tall man who looked so much like Rick they could almost be twins, grinned as they approached. He stuck his hand out, palm up, to the man beside him.
“Told ya he’d still be wearing it.” The other man, who also had the Beaumont stamp on his features despite his much broader build, scowled as he slapped a bill into it. The petite woman with a pixie haircut just rolled her eyes and shook her head, while the dark-haired man at her side kept his expression neutral and watchful, especially when it came to Amber.
Holy crap on a cracker.
The tension came roaring back as realization hit. This was his family!
Something Rick confirmed when he glared at the two men. “Seriously? You fu—freaking bet on me? And where the hell are your costumes? No way Mom let you in here without one.” When the first man corked a thumb over his shoulder to the nearby table, Rick muttered something under his breath and stripped off the mask and cape, adding them to the assorted pile of discarded costume pieces.
Seeing all of his gorgeous face again stunned her enough that she almost missed his introductions.
“Amber, this is my brother, Theo”—he indicated the man who’d won the bet—“my youngest brother, Peter”—the brawny one—“my sister, Lillian”—the little kewpie doll—“and her fiancé, Rafael Delgado.” The last was drop-dead gorgeous, and clearly in love with the woman he was hovering somewhat protectively over. It was weird—they didn’t look like they matched, and yet, they matched perfectly. “Everyone, this is Amber Lovett. My girlfriend.”
Girlfriend.
Hearing the word fall from his lips with such satisfaction stunned her for a second.
It seemed to have the same effect on everyone else as well. There was a brief silence, followed by an explosion of greetings and smiles that almost knocked her back a step with their enthusiasm.
“So, you’re the one!” Lillian’s exclamation as she grasped Amber’s hand in both of hers sounded both amazed and intrigued, making her immediately wary.
“What one?”
“That Richard borrowed the picnic hamper for. I hope he took you someplace nice. Did you have fun? I know when Rafe and I go on picnics, it’s always so relaxing to get away from the rest of the crazy world and just be on our own for a little while. Where did you go? We found the most adorable spot. I’d share, but I kind of want to keep it private, you know? There’s nothing less romantic than having a brother show up when you’re trying to have sexy time with your guy. Am I right?”
“Um…” She blinked. “Sure.”
Rafe pressed a kiss to Lillian’s temple. “Querida, remember how we talked about letting people actually answer a question before asking them five more?” The look on his face was exasperated yet indulgent. Clearly, this wasn’t a new struggle for them, because Lillian just grinned at Amber, unrepentant.
“You went on a picnic?” That was Theo, who eyed Rick with something akin to a scientist discovering a new species. “Mister I Hate Dirt and the Outdoors?”
“I don’t hate the outdoors. I just don’t feel the need to throw myself at every cliff and rockface out there like some deranged Spiderman, unlike some other people.”
“Deranged Spiderman?” Theo sounded caught between amused and insulted.
“Hey, if the rock-climbing shoe fits, bro.” Dimples popped on both sides of Peter’s mouth when he grinned, making him more boyishly good-looking than his more classically handsome brothers.
Talk about hitting the gene pool jackpot. No family should produce this many good-looking people in one generation.
“Oh, and pumping weights at the gym is a better use of recreational time?” Theo asked with a scoff.
“It’s a hell of a lot less dangerous than hanging off a mountain by a rope and a prayer.”
“A hell of a lot less fun, too.”
“How is it fun to risk life and limb every time you go up?” Lillian asked, crossing her arms, toe tapping. “You’ve already broken a leg and an arm. What’s next? Your stupid head?”
“Don’t exaggerate. It was only a fractured ankle and a dislocated shoulder.”
Lillian made a noise that sounded like a hiss. “Only.”
“Plus, it wasn’t my fault. Accidents happen. Baby bro here could pop a nut when he’s lifting—”
“Oh, nice language.”
“—or Richard could wrap one of those sexy speed machines he drives around a tree, so stop making it sound like I’m some crazy danger junkie, because I’m not.”
Feeling more than a little uncomfortable at the argument that ignited seemingly from nowhere, Amber eased herself a few steps back as the four siblings continued to snap and snarl at each other. She started when Rafe appeared at her elbow. It seemed he, too, was distancing himself from the fray.
“Did I cause that somehow?” she asked in a low voice.
“Nah. Needling each other is a time-honored tradition among the Beaumont brood. It’s how they show they love each other.”
“I see.” No, she didn’t. But she didn’t have any brothers or sisters, either, so who was she to judge?
The argument shifted with no rhyme or reason from dangerous hobbies to costume choices, with Peter getting the brunt of the ragging over his Sherlock Holmes getup. Evidently because he was studying to take the police detectives exam in real life.
She turned to Rafe to ask how long these “loving” discussions usually lasted, only to catch him giving her another of those intense, dissecting looks. Her hackles went up. “What?”
