Son Of Scandal. Dani Wade

Ten

       Eleven

       Twelve

       Thirteen

       Fourteen

       Fifteen

       Sixteen

       Seventeen

       Epilogue

       About the Publisher

       One

      “Dance with me?”

      Ivy looked at the outstretched hand, surprised and nonplussed at the same time. Her own fingers clenched over the itch in her palm. The itch that told her to reach out, to take what she coveted.

      After a year and a half of carefully keeping Paxton McLemore at arm’s length, did she dare step in close for a waltz?

      They were at a masquerade ball, after all. The most glamorous charity event of the year, planned by her sister Jasmine Harden, Savannah’s most noted event planner. Dancing with Paxton would be a natural action. One that wouldn’t be judged by those around them, even though he was her employer. But she would know. Could she successfully hide how she felt when she was that close?

      Though he wore a traditional black mask, she’d recognize his brilliant amber eyes anywhere—not just because of the intense color, but also the ever-present flash of intelligence and intuition she observed every day as his executive assistant.

      It was just a dance... Why did she hesitate?

      Suddenly he wiggled the fingers of the hand she had left dangling by her indecision. She smiled; the silly gesture was a charming reminder of the lighthearted moments they shared every day at work.

      Ivy finally reached her hand out to his.

      “You know, there’s been a change in my office,” Paxton said as his warm fingers curled around hers. “This new assistant came to work for me, and she makes me smile every day.”

      A glow warmed Ivy’s core as he lifted her hand to graze her knuckles with his sculpted lips. She glanced down at their clasped hands as Paxton led her toward the dance floor in Keller House’s renovated ballroom.

      Though she should be focused on doing her part to make sure the incredible masquerade ball her sister had orchestrated ran smoothly, Ivy let thoughts of caterers and fund-raisers and responsibility fall away. But with a single touch, the struggle to breathe became real. It took her a moment to realize the truth—Paxton had never touched her before this.

      Oh, she went out of her way to make him smile at the office, to soften the strain of his intense focus on work. Though her crush had intensified since she’d been working for him, she’d kept her actions and words strictly professional.

      No touching. Until tonight.

      Before she could register what was happening, they’d moved onto the dance floor and Paxton had turned to face her. He opened his arms, inviting her in. Ivy blinked—once, twice.

       This is dangerous.

      She chose to ignore her mind’s warnings. Ivy stepped forward, and they took the waltz position, but didn’t move. Instead Paxton’s eyes widened at the initial contact, as if he, too, could feel the electric shock as they embraced.

      Then his eyelids lowered to half-mast, taking on a slumberous, sexy look. A look she’d only seen in her fantasies.

      Her heartbeat sped up, thrumming at the base of her throat. He took the first step, leading her in a modern-day version of the traditional dance.

      Even though the warning bells she’d been silencing for a year were back full force, Ivy let his arms close around her, pull her closer. As they danced under the crystal chandeliers, amid dozens of other couples in the impeccably restored ballroom, the moment felt surreal. Out of time. His black tux was classic. The striking contrast between it and her emerald-green ball gown caught her eye as they glided past the wall of ornately framed mirrors.

      The decadent illusion was dangerous—just like him.

      She’d tried hard since her parents died to be practical, independent. But a small, hidden part of her still clung to the fantasy of fairy tales and Prince Charming.

      Tonight, that part of her refused to be denied.

      So she let him lead her, turn her, bend her to his touch. The touch that she’d fantasized about for the last year and a half she’d worked for him. During their daily routine, she’d resisted the pull of attraction, attempted to distract herself with clients and travel arrangements and meeting preparations. She’d thrown herself into the busy schedule of the head of the manufacturing division of his family’s shipping conglomerate. But at the most unexpected of moments, she’d find herself immersed in far more intimate thoughts than she should have about her boss.

      Tonight, he was that dream come to life. His touch and the intensity of his gaze made her feel beautiful, wanted. Her body tingled whenever he pressed close. This far surpassed her simple fantasies. The feelings were intense. Impossible to ignore.

      They moved through the sea of people as if alone. The way her heart raced and her skin tingled with every brush of his hand was pure magic.

      Every time logic attempted to assert itself, the intensity of his stare pushed it back. She wanted nothing more than to be his entire focus and let reality melt away.

      He drew her closer, cocooning her in his arms. His gaze turned hungrier. His body grew harder.

      Somewhere in the intensity, Ivy’s resistance evaporated and she knew she’d go wherever he led her.

      Even when the song was over and she had left him to do her hostessing rounds for her sister, she caught glimpses of him nearby. No matter how close or how far away, she could sense exactly where he was in the crowd. And it wasn’t long before they found each other again in the muffled quiet of the front foyer.

      Ivy held her breath, uncertainty washing over her. “Paxton...”

      “I know,” he said, reaching out to rub a finger over the velvet ribbon that held her mask in place. “I didn’t expect this either. But I can’t deny that I want you...very much.”

      He leaned into her, his mint-scented breath making her mouth water.

      “We shouldn’t...” she whispered, though her eyelids were already fluttering closed.

      “I know...” He groaned.

      Then his mouth covered hers and all protests were lost.

      His kiss was just this side of demanding. Her body melted in acquiescence. He pressed closer, as if to absorb her surrender and claim his victory.

      She knew how the night would end, and couldn’t find an ounce of hesitation in her mind or body. Not even when he had paused, giving logic an opening to fracture the fantasy.

      “I know I shouldn’t ask you, that I have no right,” Paxton said, the intensity