Guarding Suzannah by Norah Wilson

  Chapter 2

  That did it.

  Suzannah plunked her champagne glass down with enough force to bring a server scurrying to assure himself of the health of both the Waterford flute and the Chippendale sideboard.

  John Quigley. Not only was he here at this exclusive New Brunswick Day bash, but he was standing there beneath the chandelier, flirting shamelessly with the Lieutenant Governor.

  Dear God, he was good looking when he smiled like that.

  Not that he didn’t look pretty good all the time. Not handsome—no one, even at their most generous, would call him that. His face was way too strong. And his clothing always looked so ... disheveled.

  She studied him under the brilliant lights. His close-cut hair, a kind of sandy color that was neither brown nor blond, sprang back from a high forehead. His hairline had begun to recede just the slightest bit, but it seemed to Suzannah that it only served to offset the brutally masculine planes of his face, all taut skin stretched over strong bones. Eyes that were more grey than blue, straight nose. Really, really good mouth...

  Her lips thinned as she realized the detour her thoughts had taken. From all appearances, this man was practically stalking her, for goodness sake, and here she was mooning over his mouth.

  “Another champagne cocktail, madam?”

  She didn’t lift her gaze from the pair under the chandelier. “No, thank you. I have to be going, actually.”

  “Then let me fetch your wrap.”

  She smiled at the server then. “Thank you.” Digging a coat check from her tiny evening bag, she handed it to him. He melted away with the grace of a professional who took pride in his job. When she looked up again, her gaze collided with Detective Quigley’s.

  A third party, an older man, had joined them beneath the chandelier, and was currently monopolizing the Lieutenant Governor. Detective Quigley nodded agreeably at something the man said, but he held Suzannah’s gaze for long seconds.

  Suzannah’s breath stalled in her lungs. Good Lord! She swore she could feel the brush of that gray-blue gaze on the sensitive skin of her shoulders, left bare by the Donna Karan sheath she’d chosen. Then he shifted his attention back to the Lieutenant Governor, who was speaking to him.

  Suzannah let her breath out in a rush.

  To hell with waiting. She was going in search of her wrap.

  Two minutes later, she handed her keys to the valet and pulled her shawl closer around her shoulders. The heat wave still hadn’t broken, but with the slight breeze from the river, it was cool enough tonight that she was grateful for the cobweb-thin material.

  “Leaving so soon?”

  She didn’t start at his voice. On some level, she must have known he’d follow her out here. She turned to face him, an odd sense of exhilaration revving her pulse rate.

  “Are you following me, Detective?”

  Good Lord, was that her voice? It sounded way too sexy, too sultry.

  “I liked John better.”

  She felt her face heat at that velvet-voiced reminder of her parting shot the last time they’d spoken. “Answer the question, Detective.”

  He loosened his tie and undid the top buttons of his white shirt, then cricked his neck one way, then the other. “Ah, that’s better. Now, what makes you think I’m following you?”

  Her mouth suddenly dry, she swallowed, keeping her gaze on his face, away from the rumpled sexiness of his shirt. What in God’s name was wrong with her?

  “Hmmmm, let me see—maybe because after not laying eyes on you outside a courtroom until the other day in the parking lot, I’m now seeing you everywhere I go.”

  He slid his hands in his trouser pockets and leaned back against one of the building’s impressive pillars. “Everywhere? Surely not.”

  “The theater?”

  He grinned. “Good play, wasn’t it?”

  “The exhibit opening at the art gallery?”

  The twin grooves on either side of his mouth deepened. “What, you don’t take me for a fan of art?”

  She snorted. “Of the poker-playing-dog variety, maybe.”

  He laughed, a deep, surprising rumble that made a sensation flutter in her stomach. Dammit, she was supposed to be lambasting him for trailing around after her. Except it was a little ... flattering.

  “Madam?”

  She glanced up to see the valet had returned, without her car.

  “I’m afraid you have car trouble,” he said, handing her the keys.

  She closed her eyes, exhaling. “Tires?”

  “Yes,” he replied.

  “Wonderful. Just bloody wonderful.”