Carl Bridges had handed over his caseload to another circuit court judge three days ago, the day after Dylan arrived in Mission Creek. It was that one gesture, probably more than anything else, that showed Dylan the extent of his father’s love for him. He could waste time regretting the past, but he preferred to savor the present. After all, his father wasn’t getting any younger and Dylan suspected Carl had problems of some sort to deal with these days. He’d noticed his dad ate antacids as if they were candy. And every time the phone ran, Carl tensed. Was he expecting news from the doctor? Dylan had tried to broach the subject of what was bothering his father, but every time he did, Carl simply dismissed his suspicions as groundless.
For some crazy reason, this evening Dylan felt like a teenager getting ready for his first date. He’d been nervous all afternoon. Whenever he thought about seeing Maddie Delarue again, he reverted to a testosterone-driven sixteen-year-old. It had been years since his body had controlled him so completely.
Dylan inspected himself in the mirror on the back of the bathroom door. Not bad, if I do say so myself, he thought. He’d had his housekeeper FedEx one of his Armani tuxedos, along with accessories. He looked exactly like what he was—a rich, successful businessman who knew how to dress well. Gone were any remnants of the long-haired bad boy whose attire had been faded jeans and a white T-shirt. He bore only a vague resemblance to that rebellious hellion. He’d stopped wearing an earring when he was twenty-two, and over the years the hole in his ear had closed. He’d grown a few inches taller and now reached a solid six feet, and he’d put on enough weight that his once lanky frame was now toned muscle.
He doubted anyone would recognize him tonight, not even Maddie, but for the fact that he’d be showing up with his dad. How tongues would wag. What would the good townspeople be saying behind his back? Once Carl started bragging about Dylan’s success, he suspected that more than one former naysayer would be surprised. He grinned at the thought. A perverse part of him wished that Jock Delarue was alive. Would Jock still think Dylan wasn’t good enough for Maddie?
“Son, you certainly look handsome.” Standing in the hall, just outside the bathroom, Carl surveyed Dylan. “I wish your mother were here. She’d be so proud of you.”
Carl still wore his everyday clothes, a pair of khaki slacks and a short-sleeved cotton shirt.
“Dad, you aren’t dressed,” Dylan said. “You’d better get a move on or we’ll be more than fashionably late.”
“I…uh…I’m not feeling very well tonight,” Carl said. “Nothing serious. I think I’ve picked up a bug of some sort.”
“Have you called your doctor?” Dylan asked.
“No. There’s no need for that. I just need to stay close to home, get a little rest. I should be fine by tomorrow.”
Dylan whipped off his bow tie. “I’ll change out of this tux and we’ll—”
“Don’t change clothes,” Carl said. “I want you to go to the country club and enjoy yourself. Tell everybody there tonight who you are. And explain that you and I have reconciled our differences and the reason I didn’t show up tonight is because I’m just a bit under the weather. I don’t want you to miss out on the fun.” Carl offered Dylan a feeble smile. “Besides, if you stay here, you won’t get to see Maddie.”
“What makes you think I want to see Maddie?” Dylan grinned.
“Just a calculated guess. It seems her name has come up in our conversations more than once these past few days.”
Dylan shrugged. “Okay, so I’m curious about her. After all, Maddie was my first love.” He laughed, but a bitter inner voice reminded him that Maddie had been his only love. The only girl who’d ever gotten under his skin.
Maddie buzzed around inside the Lone Star Country Club, issuing orders, greeting guests and double-checking everything, down to the most insignificant detail. Her detail-oriented personality lent itself well to planning and executing grand affairs. Dinner had been planned for the Empire Room, for those who came early. The Mystery Gala would be held in the ballroom on the third floor, and Maddie had assigned her new assistant, Alicia, to be in charge of the event itself, leaving Maddie free to greet guests and make sure every aspect of tonight’s extravaganza went off without a hitch. An elaborate buffet table had been set up to accommodate those who hadn’t dined in the Empire Room and for those wanting to snack throughout the evening.
Dressed in her simple yet elegant black gown, diamonds dripping from her ears and wrists, Maddie stood several feet from the entrance to the grand two-story, pink granite foyer. Using the tiled, granite fountain in the middle of the lobby as her backdrop, she smiled and spoke to each new arrival. From her vantage point in the lobby, she could see the cars lined up outside the club. Jaguars, Porsches, BMWs. Tonight, the elite of Mission Creek would take part in a fun and games party, and the proceeds from the event would be given to the Red Cross. Maddie especially enjoyed putting together charity events like this one, knowing that her efforts not only entertained the club’s members and their friends, but also provided assistance to those in need.
Joan O’Brien, the manager of Body Perfect, the ladies’ spa at the club, entered the lobby on her husband Hart’s arm. Such an attractive couple, Maddie thought, and so lucky to have found each other again. Their love story was one right out of the pages of a fairy tale—or a romance novel. During the past half dozen years or so, Joan had become one of Maddie’s best friends and she adored the O’Briens’ nine-year-old daughter. Although she wasn’t officially Helena’s godmother, she adored playing the role of “Aunt” Maddie to the hilt.
No sooner had she and Joan started chatting when Hart whisked his wife away before the onslaught of the Carson clan. The big daddy of the family, Ford Carson, a robust, belly-over-his-belt type of man with a shock of white hair and bushy eyebrows, led his plump, blond wife Grace into the lobby. Following the patriarch came Flynt and Josie, Matt and Rose, then Fiona and Cara.
Seven o’clock passed quickly, turning into seven-fifteen and finally seven-thirty. Preparing to leave her post in the lobby to go upstairs to the ballroom, Maddie noticed a sleek, black Porsche pull up under the canopied entrance to the club. She wasn’t sure exactly what it was about the man who stepped out of the car that attracted her attention. From this distance she couldn’t make out his features clearly, but there was something about the way he carried himself, a self-confidence in his stance and walk that proclaimed to one and all that he was a man to be reckoned with. Maddie shook her head. Where had those thoughts come from? She wasn’t prone to fanciful musings about perfect strangers.
Without taking another look at the intriguing man, Maddie hurried to her destination. Although the gala event didn’t start until eight, the ballroom and the open-air aisles that surrounded the main area were filled with guests and busy employees. The ballroom ceiling rose two floors, and a large balcony lay directly over the two-story entrance portico. The jazz band played cool, melancholy tunes.
Maddie checked with Alicia, who assured her that she was ready, and with Harvey Small, the annoying club manager, who seemed to have his areas of expertise under control. Just as she began mingling, ever watchful for any sign of a problem, she caught a glimpse of three waitresses she now knew by name—the soft-spoken, friendly Daisy Parker, the tough-as-nails and highly efficient Ginger Walton and the irritatingly syrupy-sweet Erica Clawson. All three young ladies were attired in the white shirts and black slacks that were de rigueur for the waitstaff at the club.
While she was inspecting the buffet table, Maddie heard a discernable rumble, a soft murmuring at first that quickly turned to a loud hum. What was happening? she wondered, and turned around just in time to see the attractive man from the black Porsche standing at the entrance to the ballroom. It seemed the debonair stranger in his tailor-made tux and emitting an aura of power and success had gained the attention of almost everyone in the ballroom. Maddie’s stomach flip-flopped; her nerves zinged. The guy was drop-dead gorgeous. Broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped, with short-cropped, dark blond hair and a rugged, movie-star handsome face.
Who is he? Maddie asked herself and realized that everyone here tonight was wondering the same thing. Well, whoever he was, his presence seemed to be disrupting the gala before it even began. Doing her duty, she sailed across the room and made her way directly to the man who was now watching her approach. His hot gaze raked over her, searing her with its intensity. She suddenly felt as if he’d stripped her naked. Since vulnerability was not a word Maddie allowed in her vocabulary, she returned his gaze head-on. As she drew nearer, she realized he was grinning—at her. Was he someone she should know?
“Hello, I’m Maddie Delarue. Welcome to the Lone Star Country Club.” Her heart beat an erratic rat-a-tat-tat as she extended her hand. “I’m the club’s events manager and your hostess for tonight’s party.”
The moment he touched her, a tingle of electricity zipped up her arm and radiated throughout her body. Oh, dear, this wouldn’t do. She’d never had this type of reaction to a man.
“Well, hello, Maddie Delarue,” he said, his voice deep and husky, a definite baritone.
Maddie realized that people were still buzzing with speculation and many were staring directly at them. Defuse this situation, she told herself. She boosted her courage with determination and laced her arm though the stranger’s. “This is a private party, Mr.…er…” When he didn’t supply a name, she continued. “By invitation only. I assume you aren’t a party-crasher.”
“Oh, no,” he replied. “I’m a lot of things, beautiful Maddie, but a party-crasher is not one of them.”
She tingled from head to toe. Get a grip, girl, she warned herself. It’s not as if this is the first man who’s ever tried to sweet-talk you. You’ve heard insincere compliments before, numerous times. But oddly enough she believed this man really did think she was beautiful.
As she led him into the ballroom, she asked, “Since you’re not a party-crasher, would you care to enumerate some of the things you are?”
Towering over her five-foot-four height, he stopped suddenly and clasped her hand. Taken aback by his bold action when he brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her tenderly just above her knuckles, she glowered at him. This guy was suave, sophisticated and doing his level best to impress her. She knew his type only too well, and yet this man seemed different from the regular run-of-the-mill Don Juan.
“Let me see, sweet Maddie.” He smiled; she glared. “I’m a connoisseur of fine wine, of artwork that appeals to me, of the ballet and the opera and of—” he paused for effect “—beautiful women.”
“My, how interesting. I’ve known quite a few men who are just that type of connoisseur.” He cocked his eyebrows; she smiled. “That type is usually also a hunter—” she paused for effect “—a fortune hunter.”
The stranger laughed. A hearty, deep-chested rumble. “I can assure you, Ms. Delarue, that I have no interest in or need of your sizable fortune.”
“Is that right?” Suddenly she realized that their lengthy conversation was attracting more attention than the stranger’s entrance had. She followed her first instinct—to take him away from prying eyes. “Why don’t I show you the view from the balcony? You can see for miles. It’s quite a spectacular sight.”
“Lead the way.”
He draped her arm over his and obediently followed her halfway across the room, then abruptly took a detour and all but dragged her onto the dance floor. Had it not been for creating a scene, she would have responded rather sternly to the man’s brazen tactics. Forcing herself not to stomp on his feet, she allowed him to take her into his arms and guide her through the slow, seductive dance steps. His hand drifted down her back to her waist. She sucked in her breath, then released it slowly when he nuzzled the side of her face with his nose.
“Just exactly who are you and what are you doing here tonight?” She managed to speak without her voice quivering, which amazed her since her insides had turned to mush. Her nipples tightened and peaked. Her femininity moistened. This guy was lethal!
“Ah, straight to the point,” he said. “Have you decided that there’s no longer any need to be polite?”
“I’m politely asking you a few questions,” she told him.
His hand strayed lower, coming to a halt at the base of her spine. She lifted her hand from his shoulder, reached behind her and grabbed his wrist. When she tried to move his splayed hand upward, he resisted and instead dragged his hand and hers down and onto one satin-clad buttock. Maddie gasped.
“Let go of me,” she ordered. “Don’t touch me that way. People are watching us.”
Chuckling, he raised his hand back to her waist; she returned hers to his shoulder. “Better?” he asked.
“Yes, thank you, much better.”
“As for who I am and what I’m doing here…I’m an invited guest who came here to enjoy himself, and I’m certainly doing just that dancing with you.”
Maddie rolled her eyes. “We aim to please.”
“Do you indeed?”
“Only in my capacity as your hostess,” she amended her statement.
“Of course.”
Don’t you dare blush, Maddie warned herself. If he saw evidence that his flirting was affecting her, he’d assume she was vulnerable to his charm. She’d dance this one dance with him. That was all. Then she’d dismiss him from her thoughts. But as the dance continued, her body betrayed her by molding itself to his, fitting them together like two halves of a whole.
“Do you really have an invitation?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“May I see it?”
“I left it with the gentleman at the door.”
“Oh.”
The music ended and before the band began the next melody, he took her hand and led her off the dance floor and straight toward the doors that opened up onto the balcony. Her mind warned her to resist, to put a stop to his take-charge maneuver. But her instincts, primed by an odd sense of anticipation and curiosity, kept her at his side. Once on the balcony, where only a handful of guests mingled in quiet, dark corners, Maddie pulled free of the stranger and asked, “What sort of game are you playing?”
He grinned. “Do you like games? You must, to spend your life planning things that entertain a bunch of rich, bored Texans.”
“The Mystery Gala happens to be a charity event, with proceeds going to the Red Cross. If you received an invitation, then you know that you were expected to make a sizable donation for the privilege of participating in tonight’s event.”
“I’m here as a guest of a Lone Star Country Club member,” he told her.
“And just who might that be?”
Before she realized what was happening, he pulled her into his arms. “Still the same cautious yet curious Maddie.”
“What?” She looked up, because even wearing three-inch heels, she wasn’t at eye-level with him.
“You honestly don’t remember me, do you?”
“Am I supposed to know you?”
He lowered his head. She held her breath. His lips brushed hers softly, tentatively. She sighed. You’re insane if you let him kiss you, she told herself. But when his mouth covered hers, she disregarded the warning and participated fully in the experience. His kiss possessed an equal combination of passion and tenderness that ignited a longing within her like none she’d ever known. Strangely enough, the only other kiss that had ever come close to matching this one was the time Dylan Bridges had—Dylan Bridges! My God! Could it be?
Breathless and stunned by the possibility, she jerked away from the stranger and surveyed him from head to toe.
“Honey, you reacted to that kiss the same way you reacted to the one I gave you seventeen years ago.” His smile widened, revealing a set of straight white teeth.
Dylan Bridges! Had she known, subconsciously, who he was? Physically he bore only a slight resemblance to the sixteen-year-old boy she remembered. Gone was the long, pale blond hair, the gold earring, the grungy jeans and tattered T-shirt. He was taller, broader, and an air of alluring self-confidence had replaced the cocky bravado he’d once displayed.
Not giving a thought to her actions, guided by pure feminine instinct, Maddie grabbed the lapels of Dylan’s tuxedo and kissed him. She had to find out if another kiss would affect her the same way the first kiss had seventeen years ago, the way the one tonight had. Pure dynamite. Explosions erupted throughout her body and inside her head as she threw her arms around his neck and deepened the kiss. He took his lead from her and within minutes he backed her up against the brick wall, positioned his erection against her flat belly and devoured her mouth with his. The hunger inside her raged, needing to be fed.
The sound of voices brought Maddie out of the sensual haze that had momentarily overcome her common sense. Taking several deep, calming breaths, she pulled away from him.
“I—I don’t know what made me do that,” she said.
“Don’t you?”
She blushed. Dammit, she hadn’t blushed in ages. “Sexual chemistry, I guess,” Maddie admitted.
“Yeah, we seem to still have plenty of that, don’t we?”
She blew out a long, I-need-to-take-control-of-my-emotions breath. “What are you doing here?”
“In Mission Creek or at the country club tonight?”
“Both.”
“I came home to visit my father,” Dylan told her. “Dad and I decided it was time to put the past behind us and see if we can build a new and better father/son relationship.”
“That’s wonderful. I’m sure your father is very pleased,” she said. “Where is Carl tonight? I know he was on our guest list.”
“Dad wasn’t feeling well. He thinks he might have caught a bug, but he insisted I come to the Mystery Gala without him.” Dylan looked deeply into her eyes. “He knew how much I wanted to see you again.”
Dylan’s statement figuratively and literally took her breath away. “Oh,” was all she could manage to say.
“You’re even prettier than I remembered,” he said. “Maturity becomes you, Maddie.”
“It does you, too. I didn’t even recognize you. You look so different.”
“Thanks. I did some growing up at the Reform Center for Boys and a lot more growing up after I got out and tried to make it on my own.”
She glanced at his expensive tuxedo. “Apparently, you’ve done all right.”
“Well enough. What about you? What’s the richest woman in Texas doing working as the events manager for the Lone Star Country Club? Whatever happened to Daddy’s spoiled darling?”
“The spoiled little princess you knew doesn’t exist anymore. The woman I am today likes her job here at the club. And if I do say so myself, I’m damn good at it.” She glanced into the ballroom. “And speaking of my job—I need to go back inside and see to it that this evening’s party goes as planned.”
“You don’t have a date tonight, do you?”
“No, I don’t, but—”
“You do now.”
Dylan took her arm, escorted her into the ballroom and didn’t leave her side for the next hour while she kept watch over the proceedings. Before the staged murder occurred and the mystery solving began, Maddie introduced Dylan to all the Carsons in attendance, as well as several Wainwrights and a couple he didn’t know—Joan and Hart O’Brien. Dylan had repeated the same explanation numerous times. Carl was home with a virus of some sort. He and his father were in the process of patching up their relationship. Yes, he’d be in town for a while. He lived and worked in Dallas. He was a stockbroker, and yes, he’d turned his life around after his two years in the Texas Reform Center for Boys.
Dylan pulled Maddie aside. “Looks like your assistant can handle things here. How about you and I slip away for a while?”
“Allowing Alicia to take charge of tonight’s gala is part of my training strategy. I believe hands-on experience is the best way to learn. But even though she’s doing a wonderful job, I’m not sure I’d feel comfortable leaving her completely on her own.”
Dylan tugged on Maddie’s arm. “Let’s go. We won’t be gone long. Half an hour.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Come on, Maddie. You know you’re dying to come with me.”
Before she had a chance to reply, he whisked her out of the ballroom, down to the lobby and outside to the covered portico. He asked the valet for his car and while they waited, he watched Maddie.
“Stop looking at me like that,” she told him.
“Like what?”
“Like I’m the first woman you’ve seen in ten years.”
“I haven’t seen you in seventeen years.”
A warm flush spread through Maddie’s body. Why was it that Dylan had a way of saying things that affected her in a sexual way? His words went to her head the way champagne did, producing a similar intoxication.
“Thirty minutes. That’s all,” she told him. “I shouldn’t be leaving the party this way, but—”
“But you couldn’t resist me any more tonight than you were able to when we were sixteen.”
The valet brought the black Porsche to a halt in front of the country club. Maddie eyed the car suspiciously.
“Yours?” she asked.
“Mine,” he replied.
“Not borrowed?”
He chuckled. “Bought and paid for. The bill of sale is in the glove compartment, if you’d like to check.”
Dylan tipped the valet generously, then shooed him aside when he opened the passenger door for Maddie. Dylan assisted her into the car, then rounded the hood and hopped in behind the wheel. He revved the motor, flew down the circular drive and out onto the open road.
The evening breeze assaulted Maddie’s hair, which tonight she’d worn in a sophisticated French twist. Tendrils eased free; some curled about her face and others stuck to her cheeks. She’d look windblown and mussed by the time they returned to the club, but she didn’t care. Lately she’d been daydreaming of a man like Dylan Bridges coming into her life and sweeping her off her feet. Little had she realized that the man himself would re-enter her life and make her experience daring, dizzying feelings that prompted her to throw caution to the wind. A thirty-minute escape wouldn’t hurt her. She could allow herself that much time away from reality, couldn’t she?
Maddie reached up, removed the pins from her hair, shook her head and let her long tresses fall free. In her peripheral vision she caught a glimpse of Dylan stealing a quick glance at her. She tossed back her head and laughed. Leaving behind responsibilities and uncertainties, she raced off into the dark Texas night with a man she’d known only as a teenage rebel.
Dear God, when was the last time she’d felt this good, and so totally alive with anticipation?