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At five-eight, Frankie had never considered herself dainty but walking next to Eli made her feel delicate and very feminine. He was not only much taller, he was broader, bulkier and outweighed her by what must surely be at least a hundred pounds. Additionally, he exuded a protectiveness that made her feel safe. Cherished.
He handed her into her car, bending to say he’d see her on Saturday night. As she drove away from the lot, she glanced in her rearview mirror. He stood motionless, hands shoved into the front pockets of his jeans, the faint breeze ruffling his dark hair as he watched her leave.
She wondered briefly if she’d made a mistake. She wanted to put a stop to Harry’s matchmaking so she could go on with her life, unimpeded by marriage-minded suitors. She’d purposely picked Eli because she was convinced he had as little interest in matrimony as she did.
But after spending more than an hour in his company, she was having second thoughts.
Not about Eli—about herself. She was definitely attracted to him. Could she keep that attraction from complicating their plan to distract Harry?
She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully as she left Ballard and headed back to the university campus.
Of course I can, she concluded after several moments. Granted, Eli Wolf has the power to send my hormones crazy, but that doesn’t mean I have to act on the feeling.
She’d remain levelheaded and keep the end goal in mind, she decided firmly. Eli would only become a problem for her if she allowed him to distract her. She just had to remember that he wasn’t a man interested in a long-term relationship—that irrefutable fact should be enough to keep her from falling foolishly in love with him.
Braking for a stoplight, she used her cell phone’s speaker feature. “Mom? I’m so glad I caught you—can you get me two tickets for the fundraiser on Saturday night? And can we join your table?” She paused. “Yes, Mom, I’m bringing a date. Oops, have to go—I’m driving back to campus and the light just changed. See you Saturday!”
Later that evening after showering and donning pajama bottoms and a pink tank top, Frankie brewed a cup of green tea and climbed into bed. She loved her bedroom—it was her favorite room in her Queen Anne condo. Aided by her sisters, she’d painted three of the walls in a buttery cream color, but the fourth was a warm shade of red-gold pumpkin. Her bedstead was antique mahogany and had a matching nightstand. After months of searching, she’d found a tall chest of drawers that nearly matched the bed at an antique shop in Greenwood.
The lamp on her nightstand was a rare antique Tiffany, a Christmas gift from Uncle Harry, while the fluffy white comforter that covered the bed’s wide mattress had been a birthday gift from her mother.
In a corner near the window, a huge Boston fern sat atop a tall wicker floor stand, just to the left of a low base holding a medium-sized TV, its plasma screen now dark.
Frankie plumped the pillows and tucked them against the headboard behind her, then picked up the remote control and switched on the television. The eleven o’clock news was airing video of local trash collectors’ union members marching outside city hall with picket signs. The mayor’s comments on the status of union negotiations accompanied the video.
Frankie leaned back and sipped her tea as her thoughts drifted to her meeting with Eli that morning.
After spending time alone with him, she certainly understood how he’d earned a reputation as a man adored by women. No wonder he was reputed to date a lot. He was undeniably handsome, but there was something else, some indefinable element that made a woman feel as if she were the only female in the room. When he’d stared at her mouth, his eyes going dark, she’d felt the intensity of his gaze as if he’d reached out and touched her.
She shivered. This morning’s encounter with Eli had erased any doubts—she was still attracted to him. And that scared her.
Frowning, she sipped her tea and pondered why that should be. She’d dated off and on since she was sixteen; she’d known Eli longer than that. She wasn’t afraid of him in any rational way.
And yet, she was wary on some deep, primal level.
But wouldn’t any reasonable woman be cautious of a man who could break her heart?
No. She instantly rejected the possibility he could break her heart. I had a schoolgirl crush on him. That’s the only reason I’m feeling this way. I can’t possibly be in love with him, therefore, he can’t break my heart.
She was twenty-nine years old, not sixteen, she told herself. And she was eminently practical and well educated, having earned a doctorate in English lit, a master’s degree in mathematics and a second master’s degree in science. She was light-years away from that foolish sixteen-year-old who had dreamed about Eli Wolf.
But maybe the timing was wrong back then, a small voice said. And maybe now, with Eli unattached and you available, too, the stars are aligned and the time is right.
Frankie ignored the voice, burying it under a determined analysis of the details of the plan to fool Harry.
Yes, she thought firmly, this will work. I just have to remember we’re both playing a part, pretending to be attracted to each other.
Unbidden, the memory of his eyes staring at her mouth swept over her.
Pretending to be attracted to Eli wasn’t going to be the problem, Frankie realized. The real problem might very well be convincing herself not to truly fall for him.
Saturday dawned wet and chilly. The sky over Seattle was gray and lowering, the clouds seeming to hover around the top of the Space Needle. Rain fell intermittently, but the weather cleared late in the afternoon, giving Frankie hope that the evening might be nicer.
Before heading for the shower prior to her date with Eli, Frankie selected a small emerald green envelope purse from a chest drawer. She tucked the two tickets to tonight’s fundraiser, a condo key, lipstick, a twenty-dollar bill for emergencies and several tissues into the bag. Then she slid her favorite evening coat from its padded hanger in her bedroom closet and carried both items into the living room, dropping the purse onto the seat of an upholstered wing chair and draping the coat over the back. The long black coat reached almost to her ankles and, with its round collar and loose sleeves, was perfect for protecting an evening gown from the winter wind and rain.
Back in her bedroom, she laid out underwear and chose a pair of black stiletto heels to pair with her gown. A half hour later, fresh from her shower, she smoothed scented lotion over her skin and slipped into a lacy strapless bra with matching celery-green bikini panties and garter belt.
Justin’s wife, Lily, was a lingerie designer and kept Frankie in fabulous underwear. Everything feminine within her delighted in the silk and lace creations—in fact, walking into Lily’s shop, Princess Lily’s Boutique, in Ballard, never failed to make her smile with delight.
She sat on the edge of the bed to carefully don sheer, delicate stockings before stepping into her dress. The emerald-green satin gown was strapless, with a zipper up the back. The bodice was snug, fitted to closely follow the outward curve of her breasts and inward curve of the narrow waist. A wide band of crystal beading in glittering jet black covered the upper edge of the bodice.
Frankie slipped into her shoes, fastening the narrow black straps around her ankles, and rose to cross to the antique mirror standing next to the closet doors. She twisted to look at the zipper closure, checking to ensure it was fastened, then took jet black drop earrings with their matching necklace and bracelet from the jewelry case atop the high chest. It was the work of a few moments to fasten the earrings and bracelet, but the necklace clasp was difficult. After several tries, Frankie left the room with the gold-set jet beads cradled in one hand, switching on the bedside lamp as she went.
The doorbell rang just as she entered the living room, and a quick glance out the peephole revealed Eli in the hallway outside. He wore a classic black tuxedo, the white collar of his shirt a sharp contrast against the tanned skin of his throat. He stood with casual ease, his hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks.
The quick little zing of anticipation that sent her heart racing wasn’t quite as startling this time. Maybe she was simply growing accustomed to the increase in heartbeat and the adrenaline rush she felt each time she saw him, she thought. She slipped the dead bolt free and pulled the door open.
“Hi, Eli. Come in—I’ll just be a moment.”
“Hey,” he said lazily, his gaze slowly moving over her face, hair, and lower to her toes before returning to meet hers once again. Male appreciation heated his blue eyes. “You look great. I like the dress.”
Frankie’s toes curled in her black stilettos, and the heat that arced between them had her lowering her eyes from his and turning away to a small oval mirror. The glass hung on the wall next to the coat closet, only feet from the door.
“Thank you. I won’t be long—I just have to fasten my necklace.” She frowned at the clasp. It wasn’t the usual hook and eye, nor did it have a sliding lock. The mechanism was one Frankie hadn’t seen before.
“Problems?” Eli asked, walking closer.
“I’m not sure how to close this clasp.” She held up the necklace, narrowing her eyes over it. “It belonged to my great-aunt Francine. This is the first time I’ve worn it, and I’ve never seen a fastening quite like this.”
“May I?” He held out his hand, and Frankie dropped the web of gold-set jet beads into his palm.
He lifted the necklace, the delicate feminine settings dangling from his calloused fingers as he inspected the lock.
“I think I’ve got it. Turn around and hold up your hair.”
Frankie obeyed, waiting until he draped the necklace around her throat before she bent her head and lifted her hair up and away from her nape. The mirror on the wall allowed her to see his frown of concentration as he bent his head. The backs of his fingers brushed against her skin as he fastened the intricate clasp. Each warm touch heightened her senses, making her vividly aware of his taller, broader body only inches from hers. Her heart beat faster, her breathing shallower and more swift.
“Done,” he said with satisfaction. He looked up, his gaze unerringly finding hers in the mirror’s reflection.
Frankie caught her breath. For one long moment, time slowed.
Heat flared in his eyes, the curve of his mouth suddenly sensual, fuller. Frankie’s heart fluttered wildly. She was suddenly unsure how she would react if he turned her into his arms and kissed her as he had in her dreams.
Then his thick lashes lowered, effectively screening his eyes. He stepped back, and the spell was broken as he turned to lift her coat from the nearby chair.
He held the black evening wrap, and, wordlessly, she slipped her arms into the sleeves. His hands rested lightly on her shoulders for a brief, electric moment before he handed her the tiny green purse from the chair’s cushion.
“Got everything?” he asked as she turned toward the door.
“Yes.” She smiled up at him, determined to match his cool calm.
They left the condo, chatting about the weather as they rode downstairs in the elevator to the quiet lobby.
A long, black limousine stood at the curb, and Frankie had barely cleared the lobby’s doorway when the driver appeared to pull open the back door.
Eli cupped her elbow and hurried her across the sidewalk to tuck her into the backseat, sliding in behind her. The door closed smoothly, sealing them into the warm, dry, leather-scented interior.
“How lovely to have curb service,” Frankie said with appreciation. “Especially since it’s started raining again.”
“Not to mention the driver is the one who’ll have to negotiate the traffic downtown,” Eli added dryly.
“Yes, that, too.” Frankie nodded. “Very wise of you not to drive tonight.”
Eli stretched out his long legs. “I would have driven, but my Porsche is in the shop and I didn’t want to pick you up in my work truck.” He grinned, amusement in his eyes. “I’d hate to get grease on that pretty dress you’re wearing.”
“Good call.” Her voice was dry. “You should have told me about your car. I would have been happy to pick you up.”
He lifted an eyebrow in pretend shock. “And risk having my grandfather find out I’d made a date and had the lady drive me?” He shuddered. “I’d rather be caught running naked on Denny Way. He’d never let me forget it.”
Frankie laughed. “Your grandfather sounds like fun.”
“He is,” Eli answered promptly. “Don’t get me wrong—I love the old guy. If he hadn’t taken me and my brothers in after our folks were killed, we might have been split up and sent into foster homes. But he still thinks he should meddle in our lives, just like he did when we were kids.”
“And you can’t tell him to butt out, because you love him and don’t want to hurt his feelings,” Frankie guessed aloud.
“Exactly.” Eli looked at her, his gaze searching her face. “How did you know?”
“Because that’s how I feel about Uncle Harry,” she replied. “I adore him, but he’s got to stop interfering in my life.” She shrugged. “Oh, I know we’re both adults and I could just tell him to stop. I could be blunt and tell him I hate knowing he’s actively trying to dragoon men into dating me, as if no guy would ever think of asking me out unless Harry strong-armed them.” She lifted her hands in frustration, then let them drop to her lap. “But I know he’d be hurt, so I don’t say the words. Which is why I came up with this scheme.” She gestured between Eli and herself. “You and me.”
“If Harry finds out you’re trying to trick him, he’ll be hurt anyway,” Eli cautioned her.
“I know.” Her mouth drooped. She glanced sideways and found him watching her with an oddly tender expression. “Which is why we have to be very convincing,” she said firmly.
“Agreed.” The car slowed, and he glanced out the window. “Here’s the hotel—put on your best I’m-so-in-love acting face, honey, because the curtain is about to go up.”
Chapter Four
The Grand Sylvania’s portico roof shielded the car from the rain as Eli stepped out and turned to take Frankie’s hand. The well-lit area did nothing to hold the wind at bay, however, and the two hurried into the hotel lobby, joining other guests to ride an escalator to the second floor. The muted rumble of crowd laughter and conversation underlaid an orchestra’s rendition of a Broadway tune as they stepped off the moving stairs and neared an open ballroom door.
A hotel employee greeted them, taking Frankie’s coat before passing it on to a young woman in a white evening gown, a Children’s Hospital ribbon pinned to her bodice.
“May I have your tickets, please?”
Frankie quickly located the lavender cards in her small evening purse and handed them over.
“Ah, yes. This way, please.”
“Thank you.” Frankie smiled at their hostess and followed her. Close behind her, Eli’s hand rested on the curve of her waist, his palm and long fingers warm and faintly possessive. Frankie was vibrantly aware of his broad bulk at her back; the very air separating them seemed alive with electricity.
They wound their way between tables toward the front of the big room. Frankie scanned the guests, locating Cornelia seated with Harry and another couple at a table for six on the edge of the polished dance floor.
Cornelia looked up, her lips curving in a welcoming smile as she raised a hand to beckon with a wave. Then her gaze moved past Frankie, her eyes widening as she saw Eli. She quickly looked back at Frankie, her eyebrows lifting in silent query just as the two reached the table.
“Hello, Mother.” Frankie bent to kiss Cornelia’s cheek and paused to say hello to Marcia Adkins.
Harry and Jonathon Adkins stood, greeting Frankie and Eli as he drew out a chair for her. She murmured her thanks, smoothing her skirts as Eli settled into the chair next to her.
“I didn’t know you were bringing Eli,” Cornelia said with a smile. “But I’m glad you did. It’s lovely to see you, Eli. I hardly got to say more than hello to you the other evening at Harry’s house.”
“I’m sorry, Cornelia. Justin and Lily promised Ava she could have a pet rabbit for her birthday. We spent most of the evening discussing the proper size of the hutch we’re going to build.” Eli’s eyes twinkled.
“That’s my Ava,” Harry said with a fond pride. “You’ll notice she went straight to a professional builder,” he said to Jonathon.
“Not to mention choosing a man most likely to give her whatever she wants,” Eli said dryly, earning him a soft, approving smile from Cornelia.
“You’ve got competition for the title,” Harry told him. “From her dad, me and her three uncles.”
Eli laughed. “True. She’s a charmer, that little girl.” He turned to speak with a waiter, and Cornelia leaned close to murmur in Frankie’s ear.
“You didn’t tell me Eli was your date for tonight.”
“It was a last-minute thing,” Frankie whispered back.
“I didn’t realize you two were dating.” Cornelia’s comment held a question.
“We’ve seen each other a few times,” Frankie said. It wasn’t really a lie, she told herself. She and Eli had seen each other recently—once at Harry’s house and then again at his office. That qualified as seeing each other, didn’t it?
Cornelia’s expression was intrigued, but before she could question Frankie further, two waiters arrived with bottles of champagne and began pouring.
“Oh, how wonderful. I love champagne,” Frankie said with delight, accepting a flute from Eli. “How did you know?”
“You had champagne at your last birthday party.”
His gaze met hers, and Frankie’s heart skipped a beat. The memory of her birthday party and the kiss they’d shared was in his eyes, and Frankie was suddenly back there, his mouth on hers, his arms warm and hard, wrapping her tight against the powerful muscles of his chest and thighs….
“How nice that you remembered.”
Cornelia’s warm voice broke the spell that held Frankie, and she tore her gaze from Eli’s, looking down at the bubbles rising in the gold liquid filling her flute.
Eli relaxed in his chair, a glass in one hand, the other arm stretched out along the back of Frankie’s chair. His fingers brushed the bare curve of her shoulder before closing warmly, lightly, over the nape of her neck.
“I remember everything about Frankie.” His voice was deeper, huskier.
Frankie glanced sideways, and their gazes meshed. She tried to remember he was only playing a role. But his blue eyes were darker, smokier, and the heat within seemed so real Frankie felt herself melting, her body unconsciously softening, easing toward his.
“I don’t recall seeing you at Frankie’s last birthday party,” Harry said.
Frankie glanced up, alerted by Harry’s tone, and saw his eyes narrow over Eli.
“I wasn’t there long,” Eli said without missing a beat. “I’d barely recovered from a second leg surgery and stopped in for a few minutes, looking for Justin. I didn’t know you were having a party until I got there and only stayed long enough to say hello and toast the birthday girl before leaving.”
“Ah, that must be why I don’t remember—I probably didn’t see you in the crowd,” Harry mused.
“There were a lot of people at the house,” Eli agreed.
His fingertips absently stroked the curve of Frankie’s shoulder, almost as if he was savoring the tactile pleasure of her skin against his. Despite knowing he was only touching her because Harry and Cornelia were watching, Frankie still shivered inwardly, her skin heating beneath his touch.
“Oh, Jonathon,” Marcia exclaimed, her eyes lighting as the orchestra played the opening notes of a classic Burt Bacharach tune. “I love this song—come dance with me.” She held out her hand to her husband.
“Excuse us, folks,” Jonathon said as he rose and took his wife’s hand.
Eli leaned closer, his lips brushing Frankie’s earlobe.
“Let’s dance.”
She nodded silently, and he stood, pulling back her chair.
“Harry, you should dance with Mom,” she said as Eli took her hand, threading her fingers through his.
“I think we’ll sit this one out and finish our champagne,” Harry replied.
Frankie thought she caught a fleeting frown cross her mother’s features before Eli tugged her gently out onto the gleaming floor.
He turned her into his arms, tucking her close. Her temple rested against his cheek, and each breath she took drew in the subtle scent of his aftershave, warmed by body heat. She loved that smell, she thought, leaning closer.
“Did you see Harry’s face?” Eli’s voice was a low rumble. He chuckled, his breath ghosting against her ear. “He can’t decide whether to demand we tell him why we’re here together or pretend it’s not happening.”
Frankie laughed. “I’d give anything to hear what he’s saying to Mom right now.”
Eli’s arms tightened around Frankie. “Heads up,” he whispered in her ear. “Harry and your mom are heading this way.”
Frankie tilted her head back and looked up at him. “Do we have a plan?” she asked, even as she reveled in the muscled strength of his arm at her waist, his warm fingers threaded through hers and the press of her increasingly sensitized body as it lay against his from breast to thigh.
His lashes lowered, his eyes going darker as the moment stretched. Then he swung her in a slow circle, his steps sure as he swept her into a secluded corner, behind a tall column with baskets of ferns and flowers widening its base.
Her skirts swirled around his legs as he stopped, easing her backward against the column’s support.
His gaze didn’t leave hers as he bent his head and brushed his mouth against hers.
It was like touching a live electrical wire. Frankie started, her hands curling into fists over his lapels as she caught her breath.
“Shh,” he murmured against her lips. Then his mouth fitted carefully over hers, changing the angle of the kiss as it lengthened, stealing the oxygen from her lungs until he breathed for her.
Frankie forgot that a roomful of people danced and laughed only feet away from where she stood, locked in Eli’s arms, concealed behind the column. The world faded away, narrowing to hold only Eli.
When at last he lifted his head, she was breathless. If she hadn’t been supported against his solid strength, she knew she would have wobbled, her knees weak.
Eli’s hooded gaze searched hers, his breath coming too fast. His fingertips moved reflexively against the bare skin of her back above the low-cut gown as if unable to keep from stroking, and a muscle ticked along the line of his jaw. Whatever he saw in her eyes had his lips curving upward in a slow, sensual half smile that made Frankie yearn for the feel of his mouth on hers again. Then he wrapped her closer and swept her out from behind the column, back into the crowd, the music a slow swirl of sound around them. Frankie let him guide her, her feet automatically moving to the rhythm as she struggled to clear her head.
She was every bit as shaken now as she’d been by that first kiss all those months ago at her birthday party. No question about it, she thought with faint dismay, when she’d felt the earth move during that first kiss, it hadn’t been the result of drinking too much champagne on an empty stomach.
Because it had just happened again.
Harry and Cornelia, with half the dance floor now separating them from Eli and Frankie, were each trying to digest and interpret what they’d just seen.
“I haven’t purposely spied on any of my daughters since they were teenagers,” Cornelia told Harry. “I feel guilty.”
“We didn’t spy on them on purpose,” Harry protested. “We just happened to be dancing near them when he pulled her behind that column. It’s not as if we were using binoculars.”