Nanny to the Billionaire's Son. Barbara McMahonЧитать онлайн книгу.
others thought they had come together. She waited for him to deny it, but he ignored the assumptions.
By the time the salad was served two others had joined them. Conversation became general and Sam relaxed as the meal progressed. It looked as if her gamble had paid off. She could give herself up to the sole purpose of enjoying the evening and no longer worry about discovery. How long had it been since she’d gone out for fun and nothing more?
Longer than she cared to remember, thanks to Hurricane George.
Mac was a perfect partner for dinner. He spent his time talking with her and the woman on his other side. Two places remained empty at the table. How odd that those people had not used their tickets. Or had they, too, been trashed? The sponsors of this event had declared it to be a sellout. Was that just hype, or had something at the last moment prevented some ticket holders from attending?
When the final dinner plates had been removed and coffee served, the waitstaff quietly vanished and the night’s speaker was introduced. The speech was short and poignant, urging everyone present to take up the cause of the Children’s League and to be generous in support for disadvantaged children.
Then the wall to the right began to fold into panels and open revealing the dance floor and the orchestra providing the music. Along one wall a buffet table lavishly displayed desserts of all types. Two large open bars flanked the buffet tables. The rest of the room sparkled beneath the crystal chandeliers that illuminated the space, dimmed slightly to provide a sense of intimacy in the huge ballroom.
The music began and Mac turned to Sam. “Care to dance?”
She nodded, her heart kicking up again. She had hoped to have a chance, but hadn’t expected such a dashing partner. As they walked to the dance floor, she noticed the covert glances given them. All for Mac, she knew. She smiled, delighted to be in the company of the best-looking man in the room.
In seconds they were on the dance floor moving to the waltz the orchestra played so well. So far so good. She’d enjoy her dance and then leave. It wasn’t so awkward eating with a group but once dancing began, couples would rule the event.
As Mac continued to sweep her around the dance floor effortlessly, she forgot about the fear she’d be exposed and escorted from the ball. She could only see Mac, smell the enticing scent of his aftershave, relish the strength of the muscles beneath his jacket. He danced divinely and Samantha felt like a kid in a candy store. She loved to dance. With a sister confined to a wheelchair, however, she cherished it even more, though she rarely went to dances. Which made tonight especially delightful. Closing her eyes, she moved with the music, relishing the sensations that seeped in. Mac was an excellent partner. It had been far too long since she’d gone out for the sole purpose of enjoying herself. Perhaps it presaged a better year in the offing. She hoped so.
“You’re very quiet,” Mac said midway through the waltz.
“I’m enjoying myself immensely,” she said with a quick glance up. His dark eyes were mesmerizing. Seconds spun by. She wanted to trace that slight dimple in his left cheek. Wanted to shift her hand from his shoulder to his neck and feel the warmth of his skin. She wanted to learn more about the stranger with whom she danced so superbly. The night was full of magic and she savored every moment. All too soon it would end and she’d be back to her day-to-day routine.
She knew she was on borrowed time, but a few stolen moments of dancing with Mac were worth any risk. If anyone official made a beeline toward her, she’d dash out of one of the doors and vanish into the night.
“There aren’t many New Year’s Eve parties these days that have a full ballroom and the music to go with it,” Mac commented.
She nodded and murmured in agreement. She knew the ball’s primary goal was to raise money, but more than anything else, it provided an elegant evening to all who attended. What a way to end the old year and usher in the new.
“Are you from Atlanta?” Mac asked.
“Born and bred,” she said, giving up the quiet to respond. He was trying to talk and she was acting like a tongue-tied schoolgirl. Get with it, Sam. “You?”
“Born in Savannah, came here a decade ago.”
“Savannah has a lot of charm. Atlanta is the New York of the South—dynamic and exciting—but perhaps it’s not as charming as Savannah.”
“It suits me to a T,” he said.
Sam smiled and wondered what he did, where in the city he lived. What part of living here he liked best.
She wished she could say Atlanta suited her. She glanced over his shoulder, feeling the sudden aching longing for the path she once thought she’d take. Her dream of becoming a national park ranger and living in some of the western parks with wide-open spaces and nature’s bounty evident everywhere had ended with the car crash that had changed her life.
Instead she was surrounded by glass and concrete and heavy traffic. And she hated almost every moment.
The music ended, but Mac kept hold of her hand.
“Since you came alone, as did I, would you care for another dance?” he asked.
“Thank you, I’d like that.” She felt a tingling in her hand where his clasped hers. For a second or two she could almost imagine they were on a date together. That he was interested in her and wanted to see her again. They’d ring in the New Year together and then slip away to a quiet place just for the two of them.
But even if he asked her, she’d have to say no. Before long it would be midnight and time to leave. Even if they did spend some time together, once he met Charlene, he’d pull back like the others. The perfect man who would sweep her off her feet, loving her as no one ever had before, and committing to a life together forever, just didn’t exist.
Forget commitment, she admonished herself. Until it was time to leave, she should squeeze out every last bit of fun.
When the music began again it was a faster beat. The dancing wasn’t as conducive to conversation, which suited Sam. She liked dancing with Mac, but knew it was a night out of time. Monday morning she’d be back at her desk at the Beale Foundation and that night working with the cleaning crew at the towers.
When the song ended, Mac once again touched her, this time at the small of her back as he guided her from the floor. He was a sensuous man, and she felt cherished and feminine. She hadn’t been touched like that in a long time and she’d never felt this way before.
“Want something to drink?” he asked, nodding toward the bar.
“As thirsty as I am right now, the only thing would be water,” she said.
“Iced sparkling water it is,” he said as he escorted her toward one of the large bars serving the guests. The line moved quickly. Sam watched the dancers on the floor, glancing back to the dining tables. More people were standing around talking than dancing. She would have taken advantage of the orchestra and not merely talked with friends. She didn’t want to miss a beat.
“Here you go,” he said, handing her a tall glass of ice and sparkling water. She drank quickly, glad for the refreshment. He’d also asked for water and finished before she did, guiding them to where a tray for empties stood. Sam drained her glass and put it down beside his.
The lights dimmed and another slow song began.
“Another dance?” he asked.
She hesitated. But temptation proved too strong.
“I’d love one more,” she said.
Once they were circling the floor, Sam wondered if her imagination was playing tricks or if Mac held her even closer than before. Not that she minded. She rested her forehead against his jaw and closed her eyes again. Dancing like this was pure heaven. The shimmering feelings that swept through her only added to the magical feel of the night.
“Having fun?” he asked softly.
“The best time,” she