Another Woman's Man (5 page)

“No, I'm not marrying her. I'm just on a-a fact-finding mission for a client of mine.” He cleared his throat. “So Dawn was wife number . . .”

“Number two. I started dating her around the time I was divorcing my first wife.” Parks smirked. “She was quite the beauty back then.”

She still is,
Xavier was about to say, but stopped himself. He knew that comment was inappropriate coming from someone who was supposed to be strictly on a “fact-finding mission.”

“She was on staff at a museum . . . one of the assistants. We met at a party one night in D.C. I thought I had spotted her across the room first, but it turns out, she spotted me
long
before that.” He laughed. “I didn't find out that important fact until much later—
too
late, if you want to know the truth.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that she had already tracked me down before I met her. She knew who I was. I think she might have even planned to meet me that night. She came with a mission and she accomplished it.”

Xavier's brows furrowed in confusion. “Which was?”

“To get me to marry her and for her to take most of my money,” Parks declared bluntly before finishing the last of his drink. “I wasn't anywhere near as wealthy back then as I am now, but . . . my wallet definitely took a hit when she filed for divorce.”

Xavier was taken aback. “How do you know all of this was her intention from the beginning?”

“Because I had my lawyer dig up stuff on her for the divorce proceedings. He found out about her background, about her family. How her mother and all her sisters were a bunch of merciless, conniving gold diggers. I also found out that Dawn had been married before to another rich man.” Parks shook the ice in his glass. “She hadn't mentioned anything about that in the eight years we were married.”

“So your lawyer shared all this in court?”

Parks nodded. “He did. But it didn't make a bit of damn difference.”

“Why not?”

“Well,” Parks evaded Xavier's gaze, “her lawyer introduced some . . . some evidence in court that didn't . . . show me in the best light.”

Xavier sat silently, waiting for Parks to elaborate.

“Before Dawn and I divorced, you see, I had . . . I had already started dating my third wife. Dawn caught wind of it. She and that son-of-a-bitch lawyer of hers got . . . they got pictures of us . . . together. The judge ruled in her favor.”

“I see,” Xavier said quietly.

As the lunch wore on, the more Parks rambled, the more uneasy Xavier felt. He had no pity for a man like Parks, who seemed to see women as sexual conquests or merely objects to collect. Dawn had taken advantage of Parks's shallowness and robbed him blind. So what? But did Dawn see all rich men as potential marks? Maybe Constance's fears about Dawn taking advantage of Herb to gain his money weren't so far-fetched after all.

Xavier left the restaurant that afternoon in a quandary over what to do next. He could tell Constance exactly what he'd found out, but it would only further raise his fiancée's alarm. He didn't want her to judge Dawn simply on the word of a bitter ex-husband. No, when he talked to Constance tonight, he would stay vague. Before he broke the news to her about her half sister, he wanted to talk to Dawn Gibbons first.

T
he first thing Dawn noticed when she entered her father's mansion in Windhill Downs was the giant family portrait in the foyer.

Dawn had debated back at her apartment whether she should go to the Allen family dinner. She considered calling and making some half-assed excuse for why she couldn't attend. Finally, guilt over disappointing the man who seemed to be so eager to build a relationship with her tipped the scales. She put on her big-girl panties and arrived at her father's home fashionably late.

When Dawn was escorted through the doorway by one of the servants, who asked to take her coat and gloves, she looked around her. The two-story foyer was decked out in a colonial-style Christmas décor with real garlands that had a zesty smell that burned her nose, pinecones, a cornucopia of dried apples and oranges, and so many candles that the room was filled with their hazy glow. An eight-foot-tall Christmas tree sat near the staircase that led to a west and an east wing.

Her eyes instantly gravitated to the six-foot portrait hanging over the stone mantel where a wood fire crackled. In it was her father, Herb, who sat in a leather wingback chair, smiling. He looked younger and healthier and quite handsome in the painting. He even had some hair on his head. Behind the chair stood a tall, light-skinned redhead—even lighter than Dawn's eldest sister, Cynthia—who wore a strapless blue gown. Dawn assumed the woman was her stepmother, Raquel. Raquel was certainly as beautiful as Herb had described, but her green eyes and expression looked cold. Beside Raquel was a young woman in her late teens who Dawn could only surmise was Constance. Constance seemed to favor Raquel in looks, but was closer to Herbert in skin tone. Her smile was perky. Her long hair looked bouncy. She wore a flouncy pink taffeta dress with a bow at the waist.

Dear God,
Dawn thought wryly as she gazed at the portrait,
it's black Malibu Barbie.

“Well, this is a surprise,” Dawn heard a deep voice say behind her. “I didn't expect to see you here.”

Dawn turned to find Xavier standing on the other side of the foyer. He had just handed off his wool coat and gloves to the same servant who had taken hers. He quietly thanked the man. Xavier was wearing another suit and tie today, but he quickly undid the button at his collar and loosened the tie knot at his throat.

At the sight of him, her heart skidded to a halt then picked up again.

He was as good-looking as she remembered—maybe even better. He confidently strode across the room toward her. She was sucked in by his striking features and the pale gray eyes that were framed by long lashes. Dawn usually found men like Xavier way too pretty, but there was something about him that she couldn't put a finger on, that she couldn't resist.

“Same here,” she finally said breathlessly. “I wasn't expecting to see you here either. I didn't know corporate counsel made house calls.”

“We don't, generally, but I make an exception for the Allen family.” He turned to the man standing a few feet behind him. “Carl, don't worry about escorting Miss Gibbons to the dining room. I'll show her there myself.”

Carl nodded and silently walked away with Xavier's coat in hand.

“So you're on a first-name basis with the help,” Dawn remarked as Xavier led her out of the foyer and down a dimly lit hallway, “
and
you know where the dining room is? You must come around here often.”

“You've got me there. I'm probably here more than I am at my own home. Luckily, Herb hasn't kicked me out yet or changed the locks on the doors.”

“You guys really are close, aren't you?”

“Since I was seventeen,” he remarked before turning a corner and leading her down another corridor.

They had been close since he was seventeen years old? That was a long damn time. She eyed Xavier more discerningly. Was something romantic going on between him and her father? Were they secret lovers?

Nah,
she thought, inwardly shaking her head at that one.

Though it wasn't unheard of for powerful old men to get young boy toys and put them on the payroll, she didn't think that was the case with her father and Xavier. Her father seemed crazy in love with his wife, and Xavier seemed totally straight. But she still found their relationship confusing. What could Xavier and her father possibly have in common to warrant such a strong connection between the two?

“So you got an invite to the family's annual pre-Christmas dinner?” Xavier asked casually.

“Looks like it. Makes sense since I'm family now. Guess Herb wanted to officially welcome me to the Allen clan.”

Xavier suddenly paused. He turned to her. “You know, Herb is a very special guy. He's very compassionate . . . very kind.”

“I know. He seems very kind.”

“Some people see that kindness as a weakness, as something they can take advantage of.” His face suddenly became stern. “But they're wrong. Herb's no pushover. He can see through people. He'll know whether they have good intentions.”

Good intentions? What the hell is this about?

“Is there a reason for this speech?”

“No reason. I just wanted to let you know what type of man Herb is. That if he's reaching out to you, take it as a gift . . . and appreciate it.”

“I do. Why else would I be here tonight? Why else would I have agreed to have dinner with them?”

Xavier tilted his head. “I don't know. Some people can have different motivations for what they do. I don't claim to be a mind reader.”

“Here goes those ‘some people' again.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Look, why don't you just come out and say whatever the hell you want to say.”

“Fine.” He took another step toward her so that they were merely inches apart.

She glared up at him, meeting his gaze.

“I'm very protective of Herb and his family,” he began, “and when I get wind that someone isn't what they claim to be, that that person
may
take advantage of them, I'm no pushover either. I'll see that it doesn't happen again. So just make sure your intentions are good here.”

“Duly noted,” she said tightly. “But you can save your warnings. No one has to protect my own father from me—including his lawyer slash bodyguard!”

Xavier nodded. “I guess I'll have to take your word on that.” He abruptly turned and continued to walk down the hallway.

She followed him, but for a fleeting moment she contemplated going back to the foyer, getting her coat, and going home. She didn't need a warning or a lecture from Xavier. And to think, she had been finding herself attracted to his anal-retentive, sanctimonious ass. But she reminded herself that she had told her father she would come to dinner tonight, and she was already here. Plus, she didn't want to give Xavier the satisfaction of hightailing it out of there. He'd only think his suspicions about her were right. She might as well see this through.

A few seconds later, she and Xavier stepped through a doorway and into a cavernous dining room.

“Pumpkin!”
a woman suddenly cried, startling Dawn. “I wondered when you'd finally show up! I was worried about you!”

The woman, who looked to be in her mid to late twenties, then bounded in her stilettos across the room toward Xavier. She closely resembled the girl in the foyer portrait, so Dawn guessed she was Constance.

Constance leapt into Xavier's arms and planted a warm kiss on his lips. She draped her arms around his neck and grinned. “You bad boy!” Constance cooed, gazing into Xavier's eyes. “Where were you? Why didn't you call to say you'd be late?”

Xavier slowly tugged Constance's arms from around his neck.

“Sometimes I have to work late, baby,” Xavier said softly to Constance. “You know that.”

“I told her that you were probably busy and time got away from you, Xavier,” Dawn's father called from across the room with a laugh. He grabbed his cane as he slowly rose from his chair at the head of the dining table. He walked toward them. “But you know how your fiancée is.”

Fiancée?
So that explained why Xavier was so protective of the Allen family.

Dawn had rightly guessed that Xavier was already taken, but she had no idea he'd be taken by her half sister. She hadn't recalled during their “date” at the tea shop her father saying anything about the two getting married.

“But you cut him off. Remember?” a voice in her head reminded her. “Every time he tried to talk about the wedding, you'd change the subject.”

That was true. She had tired of hearing about darling Constance's nuptials. But sharing the name of the groom seemed like an important detail that her father shouldn't have left out.

“So you two are engaged?” Dawn said, feigning a smile. “Congratulations!”

Constance turned toward Dawn, finally acknowledging her presence. She leaned her head against Xavier's shoulder. “Yes, we are! We're getting married in early May!” Constance showed off her princess-cut diamond ring, extending a hand toward Dawn. “It's a custom design.
Three
carats!”

“Well, it's . . . it's lovely,” Dawn murmured, glancing at the engagement band.

“I'm Constance!” the woman said. “You must be Dawn.”

“Yes, I am.” Dawn shook Constance's hand awkwardly since the younger woman kept her fingers dangled like Dawn should curtsy and kiss her ring instead. “It's great to meet you. Herb has told me so much about—”

“We were wondering if you had gotten lost,” a woman said, breaking into the conversation.

She was sitting to the right side of the head of the table with a glass of red wine in her hand.

“Dawn, let me introduce my wife, Raquel,” her father said, gesturing toward the woman.

But her father didn't have to make introductions. Dawn knew instantly that she was Raquel. The auburn hair in the family portrait was a lot grayer now, but the cold green eyes were the same.

“Did you have trouble finding the property?” Raquel asked. She glanced at the watch on her thin wrist. “You're a bit late.”

“No, I just got held up at the gallery,” Dawn lied. “My apologies.”

“Ah, yes!” Raquel rose from her chair and joined everyone on the other side of the dining room. “Herb mentioned that you run a quaint little gallery in D.C.” She laughed. “How sweet!”

Dawn eyed her stepmother.

Though Raquel was acting as if she was paying her a compliment, Dawn could tell from her tone that the comment was really a put-down. So it looked like everyone was pulling out the daggers tonight.

Quaint little gallery, my ass,
Dawn thought indignantly. That “quaint little gallery” had pulled in almost two million in sales last year!

“It's actually a fairly large gallery, Raquel,” Xavier said, clearing his throat. “And judging from the last time Herb and I were there, they do a lot of business.”

Dawn turned toward Xavier with surprise. He was lecturing her to not take advantage of Herb only a few minutes ago. Now he was coming to her defense?

Make up your mind, honey. Either you hate me or you like me.

“Oh, I'm sure they do, Xavier!” Raquel cried, her bleached grin faltering slightly. “I'm sure they do! And no doubt, Dawn does a wonderful job!” She waved everyone toward the dinner table. “Well, now that everyone is here, I suppose we can begin dinner.”

The family dinner was awkward at best. When Dawn wasn't trying to ignore her stepmother, who seemed hell-bent on making demeaning little comments, she was trying not to stare at the two lovebirds on the other side of the table.

Xavier and Constance held hands throughout the evening. Constance kept whispering in his ear and giggling. Occasionally, she kissed him on the cheek. At some point after they finished the soup course, Constance even took one of the dinner napkins and dabbed at the corner of Xavier's mouth.

Are you going to cut his food too?
Dawn thought dryly.

To Xavier's credit, he tried to put a little distance between himself and Constance, but his fiancée wouldn't hear of it. That was her man and she was letting everyone at the table know it.

“So how is the Spencer situation settling out, Xavier?” Herb asked as one of the servants began clearing the table in preparation for dessert.

“Slowly, unfortunately. Byron and I are working on it, but I don't think it's something that'll be resolved overnight.”

“At least Byron is working on it too!” Constance piped, patting Xavier's shoulder. “I'm sure he'll definitely help you fix it, pumpkin.”

Pumpkin?
Dawn didn't think she would ever get used to Constance's nickname for Xavier.

“Yeah, Byron is always incredibly helpful,” Xavier said sarcastically.

“What do you mean?” Constance frowned. “What do you have against Byron?”

Xavier shook his head. “Nothing . . . nothing at all. I'm sure he'll . . . lend a hand when he can. There are a few issues at the community center that have to be resolved too that I haven't been able to pay attention to,” he said, changing the subject. “Once this Spencer thing is settled, I can focus more on that community center stuff.”

“Oh, please, not the community center
again!
” Constance exclaimed with a loud groan as she glanced around the table. “I am
so
tired of hearing about Xavier's street kids! I swear he talks about them
constantly
.”

“They aren't street kids.” Xavier looked and sounded offended. “Some of them don't come from the best homes, but that doesn't mean they—”

“Be that as it may,” Raquel said, speaking over him, “you donate so much time and effort to that center and those poor children, Xavier, and you aren't paid a dime for it! What little free time you do have could be better spent doing something more useful.” She raised her wineglass to her lips. “It isn't
your
job to save the world!”