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her’s to his
mouth, pressing his lips just a little too long and touching her
skin lightly with his tongue.
    Sara pulled her hand back and smiled, saying,
“And you’re just plain fresh.”
    “You’re quick.” Nick turned and looked at the
portraits. “Great-looking family, don’t you think?”
    “Who is everyone?”
    “Eric is my brother. He’s the married one.”
Nick pointed at the picture of a dark-haired version of himself.
“That’s Eric Jr. He’s three. Cute kid. Takes after Uncle Nicholas.”
Nick flashed another toothy grin. “And the brunette who now has
dyed red hair, which my brother hates, is the gold-digging Edie
Winthrop, my wonderful sister-in-law.”
    “You sound like the brother scorned. Did Edie
pick Eric over you?”
    Nick shook his head, wisps of blonde hair
falling across his forehead. “She’s not my type. Besides, she’s
several years older than me.” He flashed Sara his boyish grin
again. “I don’t like old ladies. She’s like a horse that’s been
ridden hard.” He casually draped an arm around Sara’s shoulder.
    “This is your mother?” Sara pointed at the
photo with the two sons at the resort.
    Nick’s boyish grin faded. “Theresa Tyler. She
was the prima donna of socialites. She could throw a party together
in two hours, wrote the etiquette books. And she still had time for
us kids.”
    “You talk in the past tense.”
    “My mother died about nine years ago. Ovarian
cancer. They diagnosed it in the summer and she died right before
Christmas.”
    Sara watched his eyes. A sadness washed over
him for the first time. But he quickly recovered. He flagged down a
passing waiter and retrieved two glasses of champagne, setting his
empty glass on the tray. He handed a drink to Sara. She took a
polite sip. She had never seen so much liquor flowing. Everywhere
she turned there were waiters, even outside the restroom. She found
herself curious about how much of a head start Nick had gotten.
There was a slight slur to his words and a glaze to his eyes.
    She pointed to the most recent wedding
portrait and asked, “So this is your stepmother? She doesn’t look
much older than you.”
    “Oh, yes. That is my stepmom. My mother’s
body wasn’t even cold and my father had to find someone to fill her
side of the bed.” His words were laced with sarcasm. He took
another sip of champagne.
    “She’s beautiful. Almost looks like a
model.”
    “She was. A thousand dollars an hour is what
she earned. That face graced the cover of many a fashion magazine.
I’m surprised you hadn’t heard of the great Rachel. She used only
her first name. Her full name was Rachel Liddie, rhymes with
tittie.” Nick grinned again and gave Sara’s shoulder a squeeze,
stroking her skin with his fingers.
    Sara stared at his roaming fingers. “Could
you practice your drumbeat elsewhere?”
    Nick removed his arm from her shoulder.
“Sorry about that.” He turned his attention to the individual
portrait of Rachel. “If you ask me, she could have done a lot
better than my old man. But, hell, when you’re after money, you
shoot for the moon. Right?”
    Sara looked over her shoulder toward the
stairway, down to the ballroom. “Where is your stepmother? It would
be nice to meet the host and hostess.”
    “It’s really quite pitiful.” Nick stifled a
drunken laugh. “Stepmumzey is dead.”

    CHAPTER 8

    “The secret is to never use a lighter, always
a wooden match.” Leyton Monroe blew out the match and held his
cigar out. “And never puff on it to get it going.”
    “It helps to smoke only cigars that cost
fifty dollars or more,” Dagger added dryly.
    Leyton filled out the entire width of the
wing-backed chair. A basket of silk flowers sat inside a nearby
fireplace. The room had a feminine touch to it in its pastel colors
and antique roll-top desk. Dagger had declined the offer of a
cigar.
    “You know that damn wedding was going to cost
me a hundred thousand dollars.” Leyton finally took a