Sugar Daddy (Travis Family #1)(91)

One of his hands ran down my back in a restless stroke, as if he were contemplating ripping the dress off me right there. "I can't wait for this damn party to be over with."

I laughed. "It hasn't even started yet." My eyes half closed as I felt his mouth searching the side of my throat.

"We'll have our own party in the limo."

"Aren't..." I caught my breath as he found a sensitive nerve. "Aren't we going to share it with Churchill and the others?"

"No, they've got their own." Gage lifted his head, and I saw the bright, hot flicker in his eyes. "Just you and me," he murmured. "Behind a nice dark privacy screen. And a bottle of chilled Perrier Jouet. Think you can handle it?"

"Bring it on." I said, and took his ami.

Limos were parked three deep on the street outside the Legrand mansion. The building was remarkable in its scale and style; it seemed more a place for people to visit than to actually live in. I started having fun the moment we entered the grand foyer, which seemed like some elaborate European carnival. The crowd of men dressed in black formal wear were a perfect backdrop for the women's colorful evening gowns. Jewels glittered at throats and wrists and fingers and ears, and light scattered like falling jewels from the overhead chandelier. Music from a live orchestra was piped into every part of the house.

Sascha Legrand, a tall, slim woman with frosted hair cut in stylish angles, insisted on taking us through a partial tour of the house. She often paused to plunge us into conversation with one group or another, then withdrew us before the conversation became too involved. I was amazed by the variety of guests...a small group of young actors, producers, and directors who had moved to Hollywood and called themselves the "Texas mafia." an Olympic gymnastics gold medalist, a Rockets guard, the pastor of a nationally known megachurch, some people rich from oil, some people rich from ranching, and even a foreign aristocrat here or there.

Gage was accomplished at this kind of situation, knowing everyone's names, remembering to ask about their golf games or their hunting dogs, or how dove season had gone, or did they still have that place in Andorra or Mazatlan. Even in this high-impact crowd, people were excited and flattered by his interest. With his cool charisma and elusive smile, his aura of breeding and education. Gage was dazzling. And he knew it. I might have

been intimidated, except that I still carried in my mind the images of a very different Gage, not nearly so self-possessed, shivering at my touch. The contrast between our formal circumstances and the memory of him in bed caused a hum of arousal inside. Nothing anyone else could perceive, but I became more aware of it every time I felt the brush of Gage's arm against mine, or the heat of his breath as he murmured in my ear.

I found it relatively easy to make small talk, mainly because I didn't know enough to do anything other than ask questions, and that seemed to keep the conversation flowing. We made our way through the sparkling sea of guests, following a current that led to the terraced exterior at the back of the house. A trio of covered wooden pavilions featured cuisines from different regions of Italy. After filling their plates, people sat at tables covered in yellow cloths and lit with Italian glass oil candles, filled with fresh flowers suspended in clear liquid paraffin.

We sat at a table with Jack and his girlfriend, and some of the Texas mafia, who entertained us with accounts of an indie film they were making and talked about going to Sundance in just a couple of weeks. They were so irreverent and funny, and the wine was so good, I felt giddy. It was a magical night. There would be some opera singing soon, and dancing after that, and I would be in Gage's arms until morning.

"My God, you're stunning," said one of the Texas mafia, a dark-haired young woman named Sydney. She was a director. It was said in a tone of observation rather than compliment, her gaze frankly assessing. "You'd look amazing on film—wouldn't she. guys?—you've got one of those transparent faces."

"Transparent?" I held my hands up to my cheeks reflexively.

"Shows everything you're thinking," Sydney said.

Now my face was flaming. "God. I don't want to be transparent."

Gage was laughing quietly, sliding his arm around the back of my chair. "It's okay," he told me. "You're perfect the way you are." He leveled a narrow glance at Sydney. "If I ever catch you trying to put her in front of a camera—"

"Okay, okay," Sydney protested. "No need to get rabid, Gage." She grinned at me. "I guess you two are in pretty deep, huh? I've known Gage since the third grade, and I've never seen him so—"

"Syd." he interrupted, his gaze promising death. Her grin only widened.

Jack's girlfriend, a bubbly blonde named Heidi, steered the conversation in a new direction. "Jaa-aack," she said with a playful pout. "You said you'd buy me something from the silent auction, and I haven't gotten to look at the tables yet." She glanced at me significantly. "They say there's some cool stuff up for bidding... a pair of diamond earrings, a week in St. Tropez..."

"Shit," Jack said with a good-natured grin. "Whatever she picks out is going to put one hell of a dent in my wallet."

"Don't I deserve a nice present?" Heidi asked, and tugged him up from the table without waiting for an answer.

Gage, who had stood politely when Heidi rose from her chair, saw that I had finished