Back Where She Belongs(9)

“How’s your dad doing?” Candee asked him.

“Not great. He’s on his third whiskey.” Abbott always had the good stuff, his father had said, downing the first glass of Pinch in one swallow, holding out the glass for a second while people behind him waited to be served. A few minutes later, he’d gone after the drink he now held. His father rarely drank, so this was proof of his deep distress at the loss of his friend.

“I wanted to skip the reception, but he insisted.” I’m not running off with my tail between my legs. “I’m afraid he’s going to get into it with somebody from Wharton.” During the service, his father had fumed when the mayor mentioned Abbott’s integrity and generosity. Integrity, my ass, he’d muttered. He’s a robber baron. And generous? He stole my company for a song.

“He needs to eat something,” Candee said. “I’ll fix him a plate.”

“That’d be great. He listens to you. See if you can talk him into leaving. His car’s at Auto Angels.”

“Will the shop be open?”

“Tony gave him a key, since he’s always tinkering on something or other.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Thanks, Candee.” He watched her head for the dining room.

When he turned back, he saw his father was talking to Joseph Banes, leaning in, intent. Joseph’s face was bright red.

Dylan headed over, arriving just as his father said, “You don’t know a thing about it, Joe,” jabbing a finger at Joseph. People around them fell silent. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Rachel approach, Tara behind her.

“Don’t expect us to hold to an unreasonable contract with a company about to fall apart,” his father said.

“You are speaking out of turn,” Joseph said. “In fact, you’re in no condition to be speaking at all.”

“That’s enough.” Rachel said in a low voice. “I will not have you squabbling like children at my husband’s funeral.”

Dylan’s father looked stunned by the reprimand.

Candee lunged into the group with a loaded plate. “Wait until you taste the crab puffs, Sean.” She thrust the food under his nose. Humbled by Rachel’s sharp words, he took the plate. “Let’s go sit and eat.”

Dylan mouthed thank you to Candee as she led his father away. When he turned back, Rachel was gone and Tara was taking a crab puff from a waiter. “You need to control your father,” Joseph snapped.

“Abbott’s death has been difficult for him,” Dylan said, wanting to ease the moment, but feeling protective of his father.

“That’s no excuse for unprofessional conduct in a room full of my employees. As to the contract, rest assured we’ll be taking another look.”

“Excuse me?” Was that a threat?

He opened his mouth to say more, but Tara said, “She’s right about the crab puffs. Yum. Here.” She thrust one at Joseph and shot Dylan a look. Chill.

He chilled.

Joseph frowned, but her move had flummoxed him and he took the puff and ate it.

“Good, huh?” she said. “Judith made me a plate or I’d have passed out. Go fill one for yourself. You have to be starving. Your nerves must be shot.” She half turned him and he walked toward the dining room, clearly not certain how that had happened.

“Thanks,” Dylan said. “I was about to make it worse.”

“He’s been at the hospital every night late, so he’s edgy.”

“Understandable. Though the man’s edgy period. I’m not sure how he stays upright with the size of the chip on his shoulder.”

“He’s got a home gym. That way he can carry the weight of the world, too.”

He laughed, feeling the old rapport click in. “Good to know.”

“What were they arguing about anyway? What contract?”

“Ryland Engineering makes the drive assembly for the new Wharton batteries.”

“You’re kidding! Our fathers made peace?”

“They were getting there. I wish they’d had more time.”

A silence fell between them as she absorbed his meaning. The feud had troubled them both. For that moment, he and Tara were old friends sharing a sadness that went back years.

Abruptly her eyes widened at something over his shoulder. “Was that your ex-wife who kept your dad from slugging Joseph?”

“Yes. Her name’s Candee.” The topic change startled him.

“She wants you.”

“Excuse me?” He jolted at Tara’s conclusion.

“Behind you.”

He turned to see Candee motioning toward the door where his father was already headed. She made her fingers walk, miming leaving. He nodded and mouthed his thanks.

“Nicely done,” Tara said.

When he turned to her, he caught a glimpse of pure exhaustion before she slapped on her smile.

“You look worn out,” he said.

“I feel that way. Too much smiling and nodding, too many back-in-the-day tales. I feel like I can’t catch a breath. I need a hummingbird break.” She put a hand to her mouth, realizing she’d used their code for making out on her back terrace where hummingbirds crowded the flower trellis. “I mean a real break, not a...” She blushed, which made her look more beautiful than ever.

“I know what you meant,” he said, his body flooded with lust all the same.

Her lips parted and she took a quick breath, feeling it, too, he guessed.

“Just say the word,” he said. “Need me to run interference?”

Tara looked around the room, her gaze pausing at her mother, standing with their housekeeper. “No. Mom’s okay. The guests are content. I can duck out. Ask the bartender for the bottle of Patron Silver and meet me.”

Tequila had been their drink—usually shots or over ice, once in a while in a margarita. Maybe it had been Tara’s drink and he’d grown to love the bitter tang and kerosene burn because he loved her.

When he got to the terrace, Tara lay on a chaise lounge in just her blouse and skirt, the blouse open low, sleeves rolled, her arms folded behind her head.

“You look...comfortable.” She looked sexy as hell. Her skirt ended mid-thigh, exposing long, tan legs and bare feet, toes painted as red as the flowers that lined the trellis before them. One tug on that slippery-looking shirt and it would slide right off her shoulders.

“I am.” She gave him a lazy smile.

He made himself stop staring and sat at the table, setting the glasses, lime and tequila on the wrought-iron table.

“You always knew what I needed,” she said, sitting sideways on the lounger to reach the table, her knees bumping his and staying there.

“This was your idea, not mine, remember?” he said, pouring tequila over the ice and lime, the smell alone taking him back.

“Yeah, but I was reading your mind.” She grinned and picked up her drink.

“You think so?” He tapped her glass with his. If she had read his mind, she’d have slapped him or kissed him, he wasn’t sure which.

Their eyes met over the drinks and he felt a flash of connection, like heat lightning slicing a summer monsoon sky. Just like that, ten years evaporated. They were together again.

They both dipped into their drinks and sipped. The sharp taste filled his mouth, his throat, burning a path to his stomach, bringing back the heady excitement of being with Tara, anticipating her naked body against his, the pleasure of knowing that she needed him, that he made her happy, the glory of sinking into a place that consisted of the two of them alone.

That was a lot to get from one sip of tequila, but those months with her had been branded into him, vivid as an acid etching in his head.

“Yum,” she said, licking her lips in a way that almost stopped his heart.

“Yeah,” he said. “I haven’t had tequila in a while.” Ten years to be exact. Too many associations. Stupidly sentimental of him, he realized, but he’d done it automatically.

“Me, either.” Had she done the same thing? He doubted that. She’d cut all ties with him. That had to include the pleasant memories.

“It’s nice out here,” she said, looking out at the terrace. The marble fountain splashed peacefully, the arbor was thick with flowers—bloodred with dark green leaves, the stamens stabs of gold.

She settled her eyes on him. “You look good. More, I don’t know, filled out, I guess.” She dipped into her glass, as if embarrassed she’d noticed.

“You look the same. Still beautiful.” He cleared his throat, hoping that hadn’t been too sappy.

“The same? No way. It’s been ten years.”

“Your hairstyle is new. You seem more...mature.” He wasn’t about to mention her being curvier. No telling how she’d take that.

“Is that a polite way of saying older?”