The next morning Virginia debated over phoning Spinelli and calling the whole thing off. She could feign sudden illness, but that would look cowardly. She could claim she had a prior commitment, but he'd know she was lying. She even called her parents, but they told her to go, offering to stay with Janine until Virginia got home. Thanks, Mom, Dad, so much for that excuse.
The deliberations continued until she finally decided it was only one evening, so she grabbed her purse, ignored her doubts, and headed to the address listed on the slip of paper.
She spent an hour in the store, finding a dress with the help of a very attentive salesman. Luckily, it didn't need any alterations. When she took a look at the price tag, she almost passed out. Noticing her reaction, the salesman was quick to reassure her that Mr. Spinelli would cover it.
Somehow, she didn't feel all that reassured.
Hair and makeup appointments were next. Then she added a nail appointment to the pampering. It was blowing her budget, but she wanted to do justice to the dress.
By five o'clock she was back in her room, standing in front of the mirror, marveling at the transformation. That salesman sure knew his stuff; the dress was incredible. It was sleeveless, skintight, and had side-slits that came all the way up her legs, almost to her hip bones. Small, white, star-shaped appliqués had been hand-sewn onto the skin-colored material, each one outlined—also by hand, the salesman had assured her—with tiny crystal beads. It gathered slightly at the shoulders, then flowed down into a plunging v-shaped neckline, showing off just enough cleavage to let everyone know she had it without throwing it in their faces. It drew in at the waist, hugging her body, flattering curves she didn't even know she had, before falling softly to the floor.
"Wow," Virginia muttered as she moved and watched her reflection, the overhead light catching the crystal beads so that they sparkled like diamonds. It was as if the stars were twinkling. With the color being so close to her skin tone, it looked like someone had come along and painted them onto her naked body.
She made her way to the living room and looked out the front window just in time to see the limo pull into the driveway. "Calm down," she whispered as her heart started to pound.
Louis got out of the car carrying a stuffed turtle. She laughed, but her mirth faded away when he opened the back door. Shiny black shoes were the first thing she saw before Spinelli stood tall in a black tuxedo. He smiled at his driver as he ran a hand through his hair.
She sucked in a breath. "Not fair. How can I compete with that," she moaned.
Both men approached the house.
She started to hyperventilate. "What the hell are you doing, Virginia? That man out there is Mark Spinelli," she muttered. For a moment she considered not answering the door but knew she couldn't do that if she wanted to keep her dignity. Hearing the tap, tap, she took a few deep breaths . . . then walked over and opened it.
There he was, Mr. Gorgeous, looking right at her.
She thought she heard a muffled "wow" come from Louis, but it was hard to tell who said what with all the "wowing" going on in her own head.
The two of them stood riveted, each concentrating on the other.
Louis was the one to break the spell by clearing his throat and holding up the turtle. "I'll just put this in here." He skirted past Spinelli and into the house.
Good manners prevailed when Virginia pulled her eyes from that blue stare to give Louis a smile. "You don't need to buy her something every time you come over, Louis."
"I know. I don't have any other kids to buy for." With a shrug he placed the toy on the couch and then retraced his steps. Passing his boss on the way out, Louis reached up and patted him on the shoulder. "I'll wait in the car."
Spinelli nodded and turned his attention back to Virginia. "You look beautiful." He stepped into the house and reached for her hand.
Such an innocent, simple touch, yet it felt like her body temperature instantly rose two degrees. You give me fever, flashed in her head like a commercial's jingle and she giggled. "Thank you, so do you."
He smiled a little and turned her hand in his, bringing it up to his mouth to caress the inside of her wrist with his lips while his eyes stayed locked on hers. It was unbelievably erotic. She held her breath, unable to move. Two more degrees up on the thermometer, but there was no more giggling. Who does that? she wondered, trying to control the sudden weakness in her knees. Hello, he's Mark Spinelli—ladies' man extraordinaire. She decided there and then that she needed to keep her guard up for the rest of the evening.
"Ready? I have champagne in the car if you would like some."
"I'll get my purse."
He let her go and she walked to the living room, hoping she was pulling off some semblance of grace she didn't feel as the slits of the dress shifted, giving him a show of legs.
He offered her his arm as they headed out, and she gratefully hung on.
Once they had settled into the back seat, she took a lengthy look around the inside of his limousine. The last time she had been in one was her wedding day. This was an opportunity to override that memory, replace it with a much better one, thank you very much.
He watched as she fidgeted with the dress. No matter how she adjusted it around her legs, the slits allowed the material to slide away like an unveiling. A mini dress would have provided more coverage. Giving up, she crossed her legs and angled them in toward the seat.
"You're not nervous, are you?"
"No . . . Maybe."
He reached for a package beside him. "Here, put this on." His other hand found hers and a rectangular box was placed in her palm.
Feeling a little apprehensive, she opened it slowly, expecting something too extravagant. But nothing in her imagination could come close to the diamond choker and matching earrings sitting in the velvet trough inside. "I can't take this." She shook her head. "I've probably already crossed some line with this dress." She handed it back, annoyed that her job was stuck between them like a disapproving adjudicator.
He grinned. "It's a loaner from a jewelry designer I know. You wear it, he gets some publicity . . ." He took the necklace out of the box and held it in the air, the diamonds flashing their brilliance.
And she thought the dress was impressive. Holy crap.
"I guess that's okay," she murmured, twisting in her seat to give him better access. The touch of his fingers on her neck sent shivers down her body. His hands came to rest on her shoulders, and she had to concentrate to hold back the gasp she felt rise in her throat.
"That is one hell of a dress," he whispered.
"It should be for twelve hundred dollars." She watched for his reaction as she exchanged her gold earrings for the diamond ones out of the box.
"Worth every penny." Not even a flinch. "Champagne?"
"I'll have a little."
He leaned forward and grabbed two glasses while pulling a bottle from a crystal bucket sitting on the bar. Ice chinkled as it shifted to fill the now-empty spot. Holding both glasses in one hand, he managed to pour the bubbly and return the bottle to its ice bed without spilling a drop. After passing one to her, he touched them together and said, "To tonight and a lot of slow dancing."
She raised the glass to her lips and downed its contents in three large gulps.
Dark brows lifted with surprise, a broad smile spreading across his handsome face. "Don't worry, I'll watch out for you."
He thought she was anxious about attending the party, having no clue that it was his proximity that had her all flustered. Let's try to keep it that way, she said to herself. Declining his offer of more champagne—figuring tipsy was much more embarrassing than a bad case of nerves—she settled back against the soft leather of the seat, willing herself to calm down and enjoy the drive. By the time Louis was pulling up to a curb, she thought she had succeeded.
Until she looked out her window.
Bright lights drew her eyes to the circling group of paparazzi by the front doors of a unique building. With its obtuse angles and shiny metal tiles, the structure looked more like a piece of artwork than a functional space. Gawking out the window, she muttered into the glass, "Spinelli, what the heck have you brought me to?"
"The Governor's Arts Awards. We donated the funds for this building to the state. It's the Johnson Center for the Arts, named after Augustus's wife."
Louis put the limo into park and disappeared out his door.
"Okaaaaay . . . now I am nervous."
Spinelli brought a hand to her chin and turned her head from the window toward him. He swept his eyes over her face before he leaned in and kissed her. "Try to focus on that . . . to be continued later."
Sitting there, staring into each other's eyes, the air felt electrically charged between them. And even though she had given herself a whole list of warnings to maintain a strong defense against his charismatic offense, she felt herself leaning back in, wanting the play to continue. Fortunately, Louis stepped in as referee, swinging the door beside her wide and letting the noise of the crowd rush in, bringing her back to reality.
END OF CHAPTER THIRTY
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