Body Heat (Vintage Category Romance) (20 page)

Blaire stepped back and smoothed out the creases in her own clothing.
The sleek black dress hugged her body, the white strip of fabric that folded over her breasts and laid low on her shoulders only accented the classy and sophisticated, high-maintenance look Mastin referred to. The slit up her left calf only added to the effect. She grimaced as her hand slid across her belly, realizing that she wouldn’t be wearing the dress much longer. Her doctor had confirmed that afternoon what she’d already suspected.

Shaking off that thought, she turned looked up to her father.
She’d hash that all out later. Not that she hadn’t hashed it out over and over again too many times already. “I am not high-maintenance, Mastin. I wish you’d quit saying that. I’m more comfortable in blue-jeans and sweat pants than an outfit like this any day.”

He smiled at her.
“Maybe so. But you look damn pretty in that dress, young lady, your hair all swept up away from your face, diamonds at your throat and earlobes. You’re a knock-out.” Then he frowned. “Just don’t sell yourself short. So you’ve had a few mishaps in your day. A few men who’ve wronged you or disappointed you. That’s not likely to happen all your life. Sooner or later you’ll find the man of your dreams.” Then he looked at her rather oddly and cocked his head to one side. “Unless you already have.”

I already have.
Blaire looked away. She felt her father’s gaze on her.
He just doesn’t want me.

“
Blaire?” She turned back to face him. “I want to say something.” He took her hands in his. “I know I haven’t been around for you for a good many years. I know I’ve criticized many of the things that were important to you. I was demanding and, well, I guess, at times, it probably seemed that you were unimportant to me. But you are…you always have been. It’s just sometimes you look so much like….” He shook his head and stared at the floor for a moment and then brought his gaze back up to hers. “I guess I’ve not been around enough to get to know my daughter the way I should. I guess we don’t really know each other. I want that to change.”

Blaire studied him.
The expression on his face and the inflection of his voice made him seem sincere enough. What had brought on this conversation? She patted his hand and smiled. “I know I haven’t been the model daughter, either.”

He laughed.
“Oh, hell, you’ve been one of a kind, Blaire. One of a kind.”

She leaned into him, placed her hands on his arms, and kissed his cheek.
“I’ll be a good girl tonight, Daddy,” she whispered into his ear.

When she drew back to look in his face, she thought she almost glimpsed a tear, but he quickly pulled away and swiped at his eyes.
“Just stay away from the salsa senator, okay?”

Hands on hips, Blaire grimaced.
“He’s going to be here?”

“
Afraid so. I think he’s after a second chance.”

Blaire groaned.
“Back me up?”

He nodded.
“Absolutely.” He turned and looked toward the entranceway as the doorbell rang and then back to her. “Oh, and Blaire, you did see The Sun yesterday, didn’t you?”

She shook her head.
“I’ve been really busy. I don’t think I took time out to read it. Why?”

“
It’s that case you were working on, the MacGlenary case. There’s a write-up on it.”

Blaire felt her frame freeze solid.
“What? What did it say?”

“
I think it’s in the den.” He stepped toward the door. Sylvia and Arman Abercrombie were being welcomed by the butler. “Why don’t you go read it?” He waved to the Abercrombies and sidled toward them.

Stunned, Blaire stepped past the guests entering the house and across the hall to the den.
It didn’t take her long to find the newspaper, and the article, in the small town’s chatty-catty social column.

Long Lost Heir Returns for his Fortune,
the headline read. Blaire brought the paper closer to her face and plopped down, most unladylike, on the sofa. She continued to read:

Eighteen years ago Darian MacGlenary left his affluent Oxford home and never came back.
For years, his grandfather and his aunt, socialite Reva MacGlenary, his guardian, searched for him, offered rewards for information as to his whereabouts, and prayed for his return. After seven years, Reva had him claimed legally dead, but his grandfather never gave up hope that he would come home.

As we all know, in late September of this year, Maximillian MacGlenary died, leaving his entire estate to his grandson.
Darian, much to Reva’s dismay, some say, returned last month to claim his estate and toss his aunt, the woman who lovingly took care of him from the time of his parents’ deaths until he unscrupulously abandoned his family, out on her ear. Rumor has it that he left her penniless, to live in a shabby apartment somewhere in the bowels of New York City, while he wiles away the hours in luxury at the MacGlenary estate.

It has also been brought to this reporter
’s attention that Darian has fired all employees at the estate and is turning into an eccentric recluse. Some far-fetched reports state that he may possibly be turning the estate into some type of commune or Hare Krishna retreat.

Sources also insist that local private investigator Blaire Kincaid, daughter of Vermont Senator Mastin Kincaid, hired by Reva MacGlenary, initially located the missing heir and is somewhat enamored of the man, but Miss Kincaid refuses to comment on the matter.

It would seem that Darian has just been waiting in the wings for his grandfather to die so he could simply step in and take over, anxious to spend his millions, but that is not for us to speculate. And we’re still trying to figure out what part Miss Kincaid plays in the picture. Ah, well, time will tell.

The only other question this reporter has is this:
Where in the world has Darian MacGlenary been all these years?

Blaire jerked the newspaper away from her face.
How dare they print this garbage.
Enamored?
Where had that come from? And had they called her? No! And she wouldn’t have answered their damn questions anyway
. Was this what her father referred to? Did he think she was enamored with Darian?

Standing, she let the paper slide to the sofa as she stared off into the room.
Had Darian read this? It certainly doesn’t put him in a good light, does it? So, what do I care? It’s nothing to me.

Would he think she put someone at the paper up to that article?
Who else knew about her, about him? He would think it, wouldn’t he? She was going to have to talk to him, to explain she had nothing to do with it. To tell him that she was indeed
not
enamored with him. Enamored, hell! She hardly even thought about him anymore.

Stepping across the room toward the entra
nceway, she tried to dismiss the article. Yes, she hardly did think about him anymore. She glanced from right to left at the crowd mingling toward the larger room at the end of the hallway, the party room, her father called it. She mingled, her mind on things other than the party, shuffling along with the crowd, greeting her father’s cronies, until she stepped over the threshold and into the din of the crowd. And still, that one phrase kept resounding through her brain.

I hardly ever think about him
anymore.

It was large room, with a buffet of food and a bar set up on one end, a rise for a small orchestra on the other, the carpets removed for dancing if some wished.
Crystal chandeliers sparkled. Highly polished wood furnishings shone. And the people in attendance accented the mood graciously. All around Mastin Kincaid was elegance.

But the room
fell silent around as she stepped into the crowd. For when she did, her eyes were met from across the room by the one man she never expected to see at one of her father’s affairs. Darian MacGlenary, outfitted in a black tuxedo and crisp white shirt, stared back at her with steel gray eyes that penetrated her very spirit.

I hardly ever think about you anymore,
she repeated as she watched him take a step closer.

She turned then and walked away, knowing full well that she was a liar.
I think of you all the time.
And she hated herself for it.

****

Darian fully expected that if he ever saw Blaire Kincaid in make-up and a gown, outfitted in jewels and emanating expensive perfume, that she couldn’t be any more beautiful than she was that night in his bed. But this was close. Damn close. She was a goddess. And it was almost more than he could stand.

Involuntarily, he drifted
toward her. His heart tripped faster in his chest. And he felt the pain as she turned her back on him and walked out of the room. Damn! What did he expect?

This was a mistake.
A foolhardy mistake. He should have followed his instincts and ignored the invitation Mastin Kincaid had had delivered to his home this afternoon. But something had told him that Blaire had sent it, and he wondered, was she trying to tell him something? Did she want to talk? Was she willing to let him talk to her? The last few weeks had indeed been lonely. Lonely enough for him to think about the precarious position in which both their lives had been placed.

No.
He could tell by the look on her face when their eyes met that his presence was a total surprise. Yes, he could tell. And now there was only one thing to do. Go home. It was obvious, he’d run Blaire off. She didn’t want him anymore.

So he continued across the floor, dodging couples dancing or mingling, servants with trays of food and drinks, and made his way toward the door.
He was nearly there, when someone grabbed his arm.

“
Aren’t you Darian MacGlenary?” the soft voice purred. He glanced toward the voice and viewed the body attached to it, an essence of fluff in a cloud of cologne, with ruby lips and a Snow White complexion. Her dark hair hung long and straight down her back, a style too young for her age, he thought, which was probably a few years older than his. A cigarette dangled from the red manicured fingertips of one hand, her other still rested on his arm. She smiled broadly at him, her lips stretched across large white teeth.

“
Yes,” he gruffly spat back at her. “I am.”

“
I thought so,” she returned, still smiling. “Where are you going in such a hurry?”

“
I was just…” he lifted his gaze down the hall to a doorway that led to the left and saw Blaire step out. Again, their eyes met. He glanced back to the vision in pink fluff, a color that was definitely not her, and smiled. “I was just looking for someone to dance with. Is your dance card full?”

She turned and tucked her arm in the crook of his elbow.
“Darling, I threw away my dance card years ago. And it was always full—but then again, I always made room for one more.” She winked and Darian grinned back, chuckling under his breath. They turned and walked to a spot near the orchestra and just as Darian took her into his arms, he saw Blaire enter the room—with a look that could kill flashing over her face.

Blaire had had enough.
Enough!
She had endured his treating her like scum after they’d made love. She had survived after he’d left her alone in the cabin. She’d made it through the initial pain of him believing she’d tried to seduce his money out of him and then the audacity of his trying to pay her off to stay out of her life! She’d even handled her present crisis, bearing the burden alone of carrying his child, well. But now—
now
—she was not going to endure the humiliation of his dancing at her father’s party, in her father’s home, with the woman who had slandered both his and her names in the Trenton Sun the day before!

Had he no integrity?
Didn’t he know what she was doing? Could he not realize that come tomorrow morning he would be front and center of Emiline Harris’ society page? On Sunday, at that?

Serve him right, she thought, her eyes narrowing as she watched them.
It’s none of my business. I should stay out of it. She turned to step across the room to her father. She’d be damned if he’d run her out of her own party. To hell with him. He’s a big strong man. He can fend for himself.

But as she took a step, she heard the high-pitched giggle that echoed off the walls from their direction and she slowly rotated her head toward the noise.

Emiline’s head was thrown back, her hair fanning out in waves behind her as she laughed, her milk-white throat thrust up at Darian. And him, he was playing the utter fool. Disgusted, Blaire turned her entire body toward the scene and placed her hands on her hips. He was laughing right along with her! And his eyes, his eyes were playing along the ridges of her neck and trailing down to the cleavage between her breasts, which jutted out between the pink feathers floating around her bodice. She saw him draw her closer as Emiline pulled her head upright and wistfully stared into his eyes. Then she reached up and touched the close-cropped beard, letting her fingers linger at his earlobe.

Blaire took a deep breath.
Enough. She stalked across the room. Enough, damn it! He’s made a fool of me one too many times. She took a step in their direction….