Love By Association. Tara Taylor Quinn

skin was surprisingly...not as soft as he’d expected, like she did her own gardening or, like Julie, had her hands in turpentine. Still, he wanted to hold on.

      “I’m Chantel Johnson,” she said, pulling her hand back after a brief touch. And then, “Thank you,” with what had to be a heart-stopping smile to the bartender as he slid her wine toward her.

      She took a sip, those glossy red lips managing to caress the edge of the glass without leaving any residual red paint behind.

      “You in town for the auction?” He asked the obvious because for once in his life he didn’t have an interesting conversational tidbit to offer.

      She turned that smile on him, and it was more potent than he’d imagined. The small shake of her head drew his gaze to where the blond curls were caressing her breasts.

      Embarrassed, he immediately raised his gaze. She tilted her head. “Not much of a gentleman, are you, Colin Fairbanks?”

      “I’m sorry.” He was mortified. “I don’t usually... Truth is, I haven’t... You aren’t in town for the auction, then?”

      Some rainmaker he was.

      More like opportunity-blower.

      She shook her head again. His gaze stayed glued on hers.

      “I’m here, tonight, for the auction, but I’m in town to stay. I’ve recently relocated.”

      Hot damn. Chances were, since she clearly had an invitation to the night’s shindig, he’d be seeing more of her.

      “Where are you staying?”

      “In a hotel at the moment. Until I can find a place that suits me.”

      He asked her what kind of place suited her and found out that she wanted something with beachfront—and property—but didn’t need anything overly large as she lived by herself.

      Colin was grinning by that point.

      “So what brings you to California?”

      “I’m writing a book,” she told him. “My family is in publishing, and I want the book to be published, or not, based on its merits. I plan to submit it like anyone else would have to do and, knowing me, it’ll be easier if I’m not right there with everyone, having to make up stories about what I’m doing.

      “Besides, until last week I had an office on the top floor—VP of marketing. If nothing else, that felt like a conflict of interest, though I can’t really say why. Marketing and editorial are separate entities...”

      Publishing. Julie’s children’s books.

      This was getting better and better.

      “You’re from New York?” he asked, then said, “Publishing, and that little bit of an accent...”

      “I was raised in upstate New York,” she told him. Her wineglass was still full.

      “So, since you’re new here, I suppose you don’t know many people.”

      “None, actually. A big black-tie charity event...if it’s anything like home, I figured this was the way to get to know them.”

      He stood, almost full glass of Scotch in hand. “Will you allow me to introduce you around?”

      He’d probably wake up in the morning and find out that he’d had one hell of a great dream.

      “I don’t know, Colin Fairbanks,” she said, taking a step back and giving him a saucy grin. Yeah, that dream was getting better by the second. “If I’m seen with you, will it damage my reputation? For all I know, you could be Southern California society’s bad boy.”

      For a brief moment, he wished he was. Because he had a feeling she’d like him that way.

      “Sorry to disappoint you, Ms. Johnson. I’m the guy others don’t like because I tend to see the world in black-and-white—and aim for the white every time.”

      “No shades of gray for you?” She ran her finger along the edge of her wineglass and then licked it.

      He fought a very strong temptation to bring that finger to his lips but managed to simply shake his head.

      “Disappointed?” he asked.

      She sipped wine and studied him. “I’m not sure,” she told him. “Can I get back to you on that?”

      So she expected to see him again. “Anytime,” he told her, one hand in his pocket.

      His clients were probably watching him by now. Any other night, he’d have been out there with them—mingling, being seen, listening.

      Appearing to enjoy himself.

      Did it show that that night was the first time in a very long time that he actually was enjoying himself?

      “What is it that you do?” she asked, still not moving on into the room.

      “I’m an attorney. Owner of Fairbanks and Fairbanks.”

      “Hotshot corporate lawyer,” she said. Her eyes might have darkened. He couldn’t be sure.

      “You’ve heard of us.”

      “Who travels in this circle and hasn’t?”

      She had him there.

      She was welcome to him anywhere.

CHAPTER THREE

      SHE WAS OVERDOING IT. She’d never be able to pull off the femme fatale flirtatiousness on a longer-term basis. Chantel took the sexy steps she’d practiced across the room at Colin Fairbanks’s side, reminding herself that she had to be patient. To slow down. She was in this for the long haul.

      As long as it took to build a strong enough case against James Morrison. Or to convince herself that, while the man had admitted to beating his little brother to death with a baseball bat, he really wasn’t a wife and family beater.

      She smiled, said hello and shook hands as Colin introduced her around. She’d seen pictures of the Morrisons but had yet to see either of them that night. She hoped Leslie’s absence didn’t mean she had new bruises that she couldn’t bring out in public.

      Always the cop, Chantel couldn’t ever lose her awareness of the darker side of life. Not even in the midst of a life as beautiful as that glitzy ballroom with its linen chair covers and tablecloths, real crystal glasses and more diamonds than she’d ever seen in one place. The flower arrangements were real. She could smell the roses as she passed.

      And felt the heat as Colin’s tuxedoed arm brushed against the skin left bare by her halter-top gown.

      “How long have you been in town?” he asked as they left a group of investors in conversation with a lawyer Colin had just discreetly motioned over.

      “A week,” she told him. Wayne had gone over her story with her umpteen times. She’d delivered it without a hitch. He’d come up with the idea of her living in a hotel. It was easy enough for her to get picked up and dropped off from a hotel lobby. To take the hotel’s limousine service to functions and then to drive home in her older model Mustang to her small one-bedroom apartment across from the beach.

      An added benefit to the plan was that Wayne had done a favor for the night manager at the hotel. If anyone asked about her using the hotel’s car service, or asked about her hanging around, she’d have an alibi.

      The writing...that had been her stroke of genius. A job she could “do” without anyone ever seeing her. She had a maternal aunt by marriage whose family was in the publishing business. And their name was Johnson.

      She saw Commissioner Reynolds tipping glasses with another man almost straight ahead of them, close enough that she heard their laughter. Colin was going to lead her right to them.

      An awkward