Into the Fury (BOSS, Inc. #1)(72)
A pair of white-jacketed valets hurried to open the limo doors. Ethan and Dirk climbed out first to assess their surroundings, then Val, Meg, Carmen, and Caralee stepped out with the help of the valets.
Towering like a Renaissance castle behind a sea of colorful, perfectly tended flowers lit by spotlights and surrounded by vast manicured lawns, the mansion was unlike anything Val had ever seen.
Patterned after an Italian villa, the sprawling two-story home had turrets and chimneys and tall arched windows with balconies out front. The exterior was the soft gold of a Tuscan sunset, and dozens of lights inside glowed through the windows.
Val couldn’t resist a glance at Ethan, who walked behind her as she and the other women headed up the curving path to the massive carved front doors. The man looked amazing in a T-shirt and jeans. In a perfectly tailored tuxedo with gleaming black satin lapels and a crisp white shirt with rows of tiny tucks down the front, he was magnificent.
When she caught a hint of amusement lifting the corners of his mouth, she figured he must have read her thoughts. She tossed back her hair and kept walking. So what if she liked his looks?
In her long gold-sequined, formfitting gown with its sexy slash up one side and gold spike heels, she looked pretty damn fine herself.
As they walked inside, Paul Boudreau and his wife, Marie, were standing in the entry next to the man Val assumed was their host, Peter Latham.
On Latham’s arm was a woman with smooth dark skin and long jet-black hair that hinted at a Hispanic heritage. She appeared to be in her late forties, but with a little face work to hide the years, could actually be older. Though her curves were more voluptuous, her breasts a little fuller, the woman could hold her own with any of the models.
Latham was in his fifties, tall and athletic, a handsome man with silver threads in his wavy dark brown hair. Next to him stood a younger man, taller than Peter but clearly his son, handsome, with his mother’s thick black hair and a leaner but no less athletic build than his father’s.
Jason Stern stood beside his boss, David Klein, a man Val had met several times in Seattle. Jason’s eyes came to hers and a cool smile touched his lips. Val felt a chill, offset by the heat of Ethan’s gaze burning into her in subtle warning. She prayed Stern was smart enough not to challenge Ethan or make some kind of scene.
Paul Boudreau, black-haired and handsome in his sixties, stepped forward to make the introductions to their host and hostess, giving them each of the women’s names.
Then, “Ladies, I’d like you to meet Peter Latham and his wife, Alessandra. They were kind enough to sponsor this marvelous affair.”
“A pleasure, I’m sure,” Caralee drawled.
“I am pleased to meet you,” Carmen said with the sexy smile she was famous for.
“Thank you for the lovely party,” Val said.
Peter Latham smiled. “Nonsense. This affair is only a small gesture of appreciation for the hard work you ladies have done to make the fashion show a success.”
Meg glanced around the massive entry with its Italian mosaic floor and the gilded dome rising more than two floors above them. “Your home is quite beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Somewhat garish, Val thought, but undeniably impressive.
“Thank you,” Peter said. “My wife came up with the concept. She’s worked very hard to make it as special as it is.” He turned. “And this is my son, Julian. He flew in from Miami just for the occasion.”
Julian made a faint bow of his head. “It’s a pleasure to have you here. Welcome to my family’s home.”
Peter Latham smiled. “You’re the last of the models to arrive, so why don’t we join the others out by the pool?”
Julian offered an arm to Meg and another to Carmen. Val and Caralee fell in behind him, followed by the rest of the group, including Ethan and a scowling Dirk.
Crossing the marble floor past rooms filled with heavy, carved Renaissance-style furniture, they moved toward the back of the house, then walked out into the warm Atlanta night.
The U-shaped home was centered around a massive swimming pool, the gorgeous blue set off by underwater lights. As Val studied the arched corridors that framed all three sides of the home, she figured it had to be thirty thousand square feet.
A white-jacketed waiter appeared with a silver tray. They all accepted glasses of champagne, and the group gradually dispersed, giving her and Caralee a quick moment to themselves, though Ethan stood not far away.
Jason Stern immediately approached Caralee, who began an amiable conversation. Val almost smiled. Caralee was madly in love with her husband and baby. No way was Stern getting anywhere with her.
As Val sipped from a tall crystal flute, enjoying the orchestra playing on the far side of the pool, she felt Ethan’s presence beside her. She flicked him a sideways glance. With his dark, cop-short hair and clean-shaven jaw, combined with his broad-shouldered build, in the elegant tuxedo, he was the best-looking man at the party.
Dirk also looked amazing in his black evening clothes, though he seemed a little less comfortable in them than Ethan did. And in a different, more GQ way, Julian Latham was downright movie-star gorgeous.
She took a sip of her champagne. “What do you suppose Peter Latham does to make the kind of money it takes to own a place like this?”
“I don’t know,” Ethan said. “I haven’t looked at his financials. I didn’t know he was associated with Klein until Carlyle mentioned it.” His lips edged up. “Latham’s kid lives in Miami. He’s half Hispanic. I hate to go for the usual cliché and think the family could be running drugs, but it’s worth checking out.”