When Megan Smiles. Mary Anne Wilson

and looked her in the eye again. “Yes, late, and it’s your fault.”

      “I don’t think laying blame is the best idea, so why don’t we get past that and you tell me what you think I should do to be polite and make life simpler for you…without losing my job in the process?”

      He was so composed that it only made her more annoyed. She frowned at him. “Call someone,” she said. “That won’t jeopardize your job, will it?”

      “I don’t know until you tell me who to call.”

      Damn him. She crossed her arms on her breasts and kept her gaze level with his. “Your boss.”

      He shook his head. “Not on a Saturday night. Not a good idea. That would jeopardize my job. Give me another person to call.”

      She was tall, probably five feet ten inches without the flimsy silver heels she was wearing, and she kept her gaze locked with his as she nibbled on her full bottom lip. Damn, she was gorgeous in that shimmery dress, which did nothing to minimize her high breasts and the flare of her hips. Or legs that looked as if they could go on forever. Drop-dead gorgeous, and a royal pain. Whoever had given her the huge diamond flashing on her finger would have his hands full.

      “Wayne Lawrence,” she said suddenly. “Call him. He’s the one I’m meeting inside.” She cocked her head to one side, and even in the dim light, he could see the way she arched one finely defined eyebrow. “And don’t tell me he’s not on your list.”

      Rafe had never liked women like this, women who felt as if they were entitled to have everyone bow and scrape before them. And he’d had enough of being ordered around by her. He’d make the call and get her out of here, one way or the other. “Okay,” he said, and moved to the call box on the security pad. As he picked up the house phone, he thought he heard her sigh. A soft sound, not one of anger or exasperation, but one that meant she was tired or worried. It touched something in him, and he didn’t want that at all.

      He didn’t turn, but grasped the phone and pushed in the number they’d given him for contact with security in the house. He identified himself and said, “Find Wayne Lawrence and ask him to confirm a Megan Gallagher as his guest.”

      “Where is he?” the voice on the other end asked.

      “How would I know where he is?” Rafe practically snapped.

      He felt a touch on his arm at the same time he heard Megan say, “He’s waiting on the lower terrace by the ballroom.”

      He looked down at her, at her hand on his sleeve— the hand with the huge diamond on it—then at her. She drew back, breaking the contact quickly. “That’s where he is?”

      He saw her put her hand behind her back. “That’s where he said we should meet,” she murmured.

      He gave the information to the man on the other end, then waited while he found Wayne Lawrence. Rafe was more than aware that Megan was still close to him, her delicate flowery scent touching the evening air. He knew it was her scent without even checking, but it didn’t match her. The aroma was soft and very feminine, and she was definitely not soft. Feminine? Hell, yes, she was that in spades.

      “Yeah, she’s confirmed as his guest,” the other guard said as he came back on the line. “He wants her let in and escorted to the lower terrace right away. So bring her on up.”

      “But I’m on the gate.”

      “Brad’s coming down. He’ll be there any minute. You come on back here with Miss Gallagher as soon as Brad gets there.” Brad, another guard, had accepted Rafe as a co-worker with no idea who he really was. Only Zane knew Rafe’s true identity and that he was using a fake last name.

      Rafe put the phone back in its nook, then turned to Megan and finally put two and two together. Wayne Lawrence and Megan Gallagher? He didn’t like the way that added up at all. He’d seen the photos of Mr. Lawrence. The man was sixty, maybe five-eight or so, almost bald, with a rumpled look about him. But he was high up in LynTech, a mover and a shaker. And you never knew about women. Maybe the power or the money or both were an aphrodisiac. But the idea of Megan Gallagher with this man brought a bitter taste to Rafe’s mouth.

      He turned to Megan, who had backed up a few paces while he’d been talking, a slender figure in the darkness. He tried not to notice any more about her, especially not the way the ring sparkled on the hand that held the forgotten invitation, which she’d picked up. “Well?” she asked.

      “Wayne Lawrence is waiting,” he murmured.

      “So, you’re going to open the gate for me?”

      “Sure,” he said. “And that’s not all.”

      She hesitated before asking, “What does that mean?”

      “You’ve got an armed escort.”

      “I what?” He could see her eyes widen. He wondered what color they were, and if it was just the night that made her lashes look so long and lush.

      “He requested that you be escorted up to the house and taken to him on the lower terrace.”

      “No thanks, I can find it,” she said quickly. Too quickly.

      “I wouldn’t bet on that. That house up there is the size of a small country.”

      “I’ll take my chances,” she said, then got back in her car. “Now, if you could just open the gates?”

      She was making her escape, and he was inclined to let her go and find her way on her own. And he probably would have, but Brad McMillan, his replacement, came through the side gate right then. “Hey, Rafe, you can get going now.”

      “Okay,” he said, then pushed the code for the main gates and went around in front of her car to get in on the passenger side. If she took off, she’d have to run him down to do it. Thankfully, she waited until he opened the door, and she even reached out and picked up her purse and cell phone to clear the seat for him. She dropped them on the center console along with the invitation before she put the car in gear.

      “You all get going,” Brad said through the open window. “Mr. Lawrence is really anxious for her to get up there.”

      “You didn’t have to come with me,” she said, as they eased through the open gates.

      “I told you, I don’t want to lose my job, and those were the orders—to deliver you up to Mr. Lawrence.” She darted him an angry glance, and he said quickly, “Sorry, bad choice of words.”

      “Sure you’re sorry,” she muttered, and even though she was angry now, it didn’t stop his body tensing when he noticed the way her dress was riding up her thigh. This had been a mistake. But he was in it now and he’d get out as soon as he could.

      “I really am sorry,” he said.

      “You’re just sorry that I really do have a right to be going to the ball.”

      “Well, you’re no Cinderella,” he said.

      She cast him a quick look. “I’m not wearing glass slippers, true,” she said before she turned back to the driveway ahead of them.

      “Can I make a suggestion?” he asked.

      “Could I stop you?”

      “No, you couldn’t. I was just going to say that the jewelry doesn’t work with that dress.”

      Very casually, she took her left hand off the wheel and rested it on her thigh, effectively hiding the ring from him. “What about my jewelry?”

      “That earpiece just doesn’t do anything for you.”

      She reached for the device connected to her cell phone and tugged it free, then dropped it on the console with her other things. “I forgot,” she said. “I got distracted.”

      He found himself smiling. He was distracted, too, by a woman who was thoroughly stuck-up and bossy.