A Night To Remember Read online

  “But you don’t.” It wasn’t a question.

  He shrugged. “I used to follow my father’s example and make an appearance at several parties during the evening. I quit when it no longer seemed worth the extra effort.”

  She studied him, making him grow a little uncomfortable. Her dark eyes were so intense that he could almost fancy she was looking straight into his mind. Not that he was the fanciful type, of course. Feeling the need to keep the conversation going, if only to distract him from the way she felt moving so lightly, so gracefully, against him, he cleared his throat. “What about you? Are you enjoying this party?”

  “Yes, it’s very nice,” she said after a moment. “Not quite what I’m accustomed to, but I was curious.” She smiled suddenly. “I’m often curious.”

  He wondered why the innocuous comment should sound suspiciously like a warning. “Are you?”

  “Yes.” She didn’t elaborate, merely continued to smile in that enigmatic way that aroused him as much as it unnerved him.

  He was determined to learn more about her. She looked perfectly at ease in their elegant surroundings, as comfortable as anyone else in attendance. Her hair was right, her clothing was right, her manner was right; yet there was something...something different about her. Something he couldn’t quite put a finger on.

  Something that was driving him crazy.

  “What are you accustomed to?” he asked her.

  Her attention had apparently wandered to a portly matron who was all but dripping in multicolored gems. She brought her gaze back to his face. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  He frowned. He wasn’t accustomed to working so hard to hold someone’s interest.

  Apparently he’d become spoiled to having others hang on his every word—whether because they were genuinely engrossed in what he had to say, or because they just didn’t want to risk offending him. He would have preferred the former from Nicole Holiday; he’d never tried to use his wealth or social position as bait to attract women. He’d always figured that women who were only interested in those things would not be his type anyway. Unfortunately most of the women he’d met lately seemed rather obsessed with those assets.

  “You said this party isn’t exactly what you’re accustomed to,” he reminded her. “I asked what type of entertainment you generally prefer.”

  Her smile returned. “Oh, this and that.”

  The song ended. Nicole seemed prepared to return to her friends, but Andrew didn’t let her go. Instead he moved with her into the steps of a new dance when the band began another number.

  “Yes, I’d love another dance, thank you,” Nicole murmured, sounding more amused than annoyed.

  He forced a smile. “Do you live around here or are you just visiting?”

  “I grew up in these parts. I’ve been living in Minneapolis for the past year, but I’ve recently moved back to Memphis.”

  “What do you do?”

  “As in career?” she asked for clarification.

  He nodded, noting that the soft light from the crystal chandeliers gleamed in her lustrous near-black hair. He wondered how her hair would look down, whether it fell to her shoulders or below, whether the curls were real or temporarily set, whether it could possibly feel as soft as it appeared. And he wondered how it would look spread over the snowy white pillowcases on his bed.

  “I’m between jobs at the moment,” she explained without apparent concern. “And what do you do?”

  He forced his thoughts away from the wayward fantasies. “I’m president of DataProx.”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “DataProx?”

  Surely she’d heard of the company, even if she didn’t know his name. DataProx ranked second in the nation in the production and sale of business-oriented computer software. Their newest payroll program was rapidly becoming the industry standard. “Computer software,” he prodded.

  “Oh, yes.” She nodded, but he wasn’t entirely convinced that she recognized the name.

  He was ruefully amused at his offended reaction. He hadn’t quite realized how arrogant he’d become in the past few years, to expect everyone he met to recognize his name and to be suitably impressed and properly respectful. Odd. He’d always acknowledged his tendency toward stuffiness, but he hadn’t intended to turn into an egotistical boor, like some notable others around him this evening. He’d have to watch that.

  Nicole’s gaze had drifted again, this time toward a tall, debonair man and his equally exquisite wife. “Isn’t that—”

  Glancing that way, Andrew nodded a greeting to the couple, who smiled in return. “Senator and Mrs. Burton. Do you know them?”

  “No. I’ve seen them on TV.” She looked back up at him with a smile. “Very distinguished crowd you move with, Mr. Tyler.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve known most of them since childhood.”

  “I understand now why Norvell and Joyce were so persistent that I should come with them this evening.”

  “And why is that?”

  Amusement gleamed in her dark eyes. “They think I need a rich husband,” she confided.

  Andrew swallowed. It was obvious that she was teasing, but he couldn’t help asking, “Do you agree with them?”

  “I haven’t decided. What do you think?”

  Taken aback, he blinked. “I, er—”

  She laughed. “Am I confusing you, Mr. Tyler?”

  “Please call me Andrew,” he said stiffly. She was laughing at him, he decided. And he didn’t like it. But he still found her utterly fascinating.

  The music ended a few moments later. Andrew slid Nicole’s hand through his arm. “Would you like some champagne?”

  Her polished fingertips rested lightly against the sleeve of his tux, and she nodded. “Yes, that would be nice.”

  They were detained on their way to the champagne fountain by Senator and Mrs. Burton, who’d been joined by the mayor and his wife, all of whom greeted Andrew by name, and were obviously curious about his lovely companion. He introduced them to Nicole, noting that she chatted easily and unselfconsciously with them. If she were particularly impressed, she certainly didn’t show it.

  Andrew wondered if she would be equally at ease in a meeting of the world’s heads of state. She didn’t act at all like a woman who claimed to be in between jobs and in need of a wealthy husband.

  He and Nicole had just taken a sip of their champagne when Andrew heard his name called out again. He turned to find his mother bearing down on him, her silver hair waving softly around her face, her blue dress swirling around her still-trim figure. “Are you having a nice time, dear?” she asked, her bright eyes focused eagerly on Nicole.

  Andrew swallowed a sigh. His mother had been after him to get married for years, and especially since he and Ashley split up. He suspected that she was afraid he would settle comfortably into bachelorhood, the way his late uncle had, leaving her without grandchildren to boast about. Now he’d danced twice with a beautiful brunette and set his mother all aquiver with hopeful expectation.

  “Mother, have you met Nicole Holiday?”

  She nodded. “Joyce McClain introduced us. I’m Lucy Hester,” she reminded Nicole.

  Nicole smiled. “Yes, of course, we met earlier this evening. I didn’t realize that you were Andrew’s mother.”

  “Different last name. I’ve remarried since I dumped his worthless father,” Lucy said in an overly sweet tone.

  “Mother.” Andrew sighed.

  “Speaking of the cad, I haven’t seen him yet this evening. Do you think he’ll forgo his usual appearance with his bimbo du jour?” Lucy asked Andrew hopefully.

  “I’m sure he’ll show up soon,” Andrew answered repressively. “He always does. And you will behave yourself, won’t you, Mother?”

  Lucy’s smile was sweet enough to cause cavities, her expression perfectly—and suspiciously—innocent. “Of course, darling. Don’t I always?”

  Andrew thought maybe he’d better end this conversation before his mother em
barrassed him further in front of Nicole. Not that Nicole seemed at all put off by Lucy’s barbed comments; judging from her expression, she was highly entertained. Andrew had already decided that Nicole had a rather wicked sense of humor lurking beneath that demure-looking exterior. What else would he learn if he spent more time with her?

  He turned to her with carefully concealed determination. “Have you tried the dessert buffet in the other room yet?”

  “No, but I’ve been told there are some positively sinful dishes on it.”

  “Want to find out if those rumors are true?”

  She smiled. “I can resist anything but temptation,” she murmured.

  He almost groaned. Instead, he took her arm. “If you’ll excuse us, Mother—”

  “Of course. You kids run along and get acquainted.” Lucy watched them leave with an eager hopefulness that Andrew noted ruefully. He only hoped Nicole hadn’t noticed. The way his mother was acting, one would think he’d never managed to get an attractive woman’s attention before.

  Apparently she, too, had concluded that Nicole Holiday was unique.

  2

  AT ELEVEN FORTY-FIVE, Nicky Holiday stared into a gold-framed beveled mirror in the elegantly appointed ladies’ lounge and reminded herself that Cinderella had never been her favorite story. She’d always been one to take charge of her own life, rather than wait for some rich, handsome prince to come along and free her from her problems. She took care of her own family because she wanted to, not because she was ordered to. And she was the one who tended to do the rescuing.

  So what was she doing whiling away the evening with a rich, handsome prince?

  She’d joined the McClains this evening on a lark. They’d invited her to accompany them when they learned that she had just returned to town and hadn’t yet made plans for New Year’s Eve. Since she’d never been to this exclusive club, curiosity had propelled her to accept their invitation. Her decision certainly had nothing to do with their broad hints that she could use a wealthy husband to take care of her.

  Joyce, of course, considered herself speaking from experience. A distant cousin of Nicky’s late father, Joyce had been raised with little money and fewer social connections. She’d met Norvell when she was a nurse and he a patient in the hospital where she worked. She’d had him all but roped and tied by the time he’d left his sickbed. Joyce hadn’t worked a day since she’d married thirty-five years ago, except to further her climb up the social ladder.

  But when Nicky married, it would be for true love, not money. She hoped to marry someday, and loved the idea of having her own family. Family was very important to Nicky. But she’d never found anyone with whom she could envision spending eternity. In fact, she’d broken off her last serious relationship simply because she’d abruptly realized that she couldn’t imagine looking at his face across the breakfast table every morning for the rest of her life.

  She’d begun to accept the possibility that she would remain single—and that was okay, too, she’d told herself. She was definitely not angling for a rich husband—not even one as attractive and intriguing as Andrew Colton Tyler III.

  Touching her lips with a fresh coat of smudgeproof scarlet lipstick, she thought about the man who had stayed so close to her during the past hour and a half. She’d found him a pleasant enough companion for the evening. Easy on the eyes, a good dancer, an interesting enough conversationalist, if a bit stiff.

  And the dazed expression in his eyes when he looked at her was certainly flattering. A much-needed boost to her ego, which had taken a few direct hits during the past couple of years.

  Joyce had drawn Nicky aside for a moment to whisper that Andrew was considered the hottest catch in this part of the country. Single, rich, successful. He’d inherited his position with his company, had climbed the ladder of power with a speed that had been granted him initially because of his name and lineage. And yet he’d earned respect and admiration from his associates. He’d worked very hard, made the company even more successful than it had been when he’d taken over. And he’d gained international attention with his uncomproanising brilliance and competence.

  Andrew, Joyce had suggested with less than subtlety, could prove to be the solution to all of Nicky’s problems. Nicky had only laughed and allowed Andrew to lead her back onto the dance floor.

  It was obvious that he was taken with her, but Nicky didn’t try to delude herself that it was anything more than physical attraction. She knew she looked her best that evening. She’d deliberately dressed to fit in with the upscale crowd. Only she—and Cousin Joyce, of course—knew how deceptive her sophisticated, restrained, high-brow facade really was.

  She told herself she really shouldn’t string the poor guy along any further that evening. She’d almost be willing to bet that once he got to know her, Andrew Tyler would take to his expensively shod heels. She harbored no illusions about where this chance encounter was headed. Nowhere. And she didn’t really mind, since Andrew wasn’t exactly her type, anyway. A bit too stuffy and regimented for her taste. Too predictable.

  Even if he did have absolutely beautiful sky-blue eyes behind the lenses of his practical, executive glasses. And, oh, could he fill out a tux!

  She checked her appearance one last time, and wrinkled her nose as she glanced at the primly upswept hairstyle of the woman in the mirror. Definitely not her usual style. And then she glanced at her watch. Ten more minutes until midnight. She supposed she should rejoin the festivities.

  Andrew was waiting only a few feet from the door to the lounge. He smiled when he saw her. She’d noted earlier that his smile, attractive as it was, didn’t particularly soften the somewhat stem lines of his handsome face.

  She’d bet that most of his employees found him rather intimidating. She didn’t—but then, she wasn’t easily intimidated.

  “How about another dance before midnight?” he asked her. His voice was deep, beautifully modulated, and he had a confident way of making requests that probably made it difficult for most people to say no to him. She would have no particular problem turning him down, of course. If she wanted to. But she wouldn’t mind sharing one more dance with him before she tactfully sent him on his way.

  She stepped into his waiting arms.

  Andrew rarely glanced away from her when they danced. That was another thing she found flattering; she never doubted that she had his full attention. It felt, at times, as if he were trying to see inside her head with that intense, direct gaze of his. She couldn’t help but smile as she imagined what his reaction would be if he really could read her thoughts.

  “What have I done now?” he asked, sounding almost resigned.

  She lifted an eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You smiled. Have I amused you in some way?”

  “Maybe I just felt like smiling.”

  He nodded in that rather haughty way that she was beginning to find oddly endearing. “I see.”

  She had a sudden, almost irrepressible urge to pinch his cheek and tell him how cute he was when he was being stuffy. She wondered what he would do if she tried it.

  Before she could give in to temptation, he glanced across the room. A muscle tightened in his jaw. “I see Dad made it, after all.”

  Following the direction of his gaze, Nicky spotted the couple who had just entered the ballroom. Andrew Tyler, Jr., could easily pass as Andrew’s older brother rather than his father. His hair was thick, only lightly frosted with gray, and his waist was still slim, though he looked a bit softer than his son.

  He was accompanied by a woman, but she was hardly the “bimbo” Nicky had expected after hearing his ex-wife’s gibes. The woman was lovely, but not in an artificial or ostentatious way and was younger than her escort, but the difference was probably less than a decade.

  She looked rather nice, actually, Nicky decided. Andrew’s father had that slightly stiff posture that hinted at a deeply ingrained touch of arrogance. Maybe it came naturally to those born into money and power.
>
  She looked up at her dance partner. “Do you and your father get along?”

  He seemed a bit surprised by the question. “Well enough,” he answered after a moment. “Since he retired a year ago, I haven’t seen as much of him as I did before. I have to admit, we get along better now than we did when we worked together every day. He’s...not an easy man to please.”

  Nicky wondered if Andrew had intended to add that last part. He seemed to regret the words almost as soon as they left his mouth. She wondered if he realized that they revealed more of him than he’d probably wanted her to see just yet.

  She glanced again across the room, studying Andrew Tyler, Jr.’s smile—which didn’t quite soften the stern lines of his face. His son must have studied that smile.

  She was becoming even more convinced that Andrew’s interest in her would plummet once he got a glimpse of the real Nicky Holiday. She doubted that she’d have to put that theory to the test; the chances were slim that she would ever see him again after this celebration ended.

  “It’s almost midnight,” Andrew said, as though unwittingly counting down their remaining time together.

  Almost on cue, the crowd began to stir, the laughter rose, the anticipation built.

  “Thirty seconds,” someone called out, pointing to the large gilded clock prominently displayed high on one wall. Everyone looked that way, watching as the second hand swept away the remnants of the year.

  The bandleader began the countdown, speaking into his microphone and encouraging the revelers to join in. “Ten. Nine. Eight...”

  Andrew slid his glasses into his pocket and draped an arm around Nicky’s shoulders, looking down at her in a way that made her knees weaken, until she stiffened them by reminding herself that the evening was rapidly drawing to an end. This wasn’t real, she reminded herself. Only make-believe.

  “Six. Five...”

  His fingertips slid over the bare skin of her upper arm, which felt deliciously cool in contrast to his heat. She shivered, hoping he would attribute the reaction to the excitement of the moment, rather than what it really was—a bolt of sheer, unadulterated, unwonted lust.