As Jaci made her way across the ballroom, the dark red evening gown she wore swished over the toes of the expensive shoes that had been delivered with it. She had to admit, Cam had excellent taste in women’s clothes. Even the lacy panties and thigh-highs were silk, and fit perfectly. She felt like a carefully banked flame, and she knew that was the impression the evening gown gave.
“Oh, you are in so much trouble.” Courtney laughed as Jaci grew close, her brown eyes both wickedly amused and chiding. “Cam has called twice from the hotel. He swears you’re hiding in your room.”
She was aware of Chase drawing his cell phone from his pocket and putting it to his ear.
“Traitor,” she accused him lightly.
He was calling Cam, and she knew he was. Brotherly loyalty, no doubt. As he informed Cam she was now at the party, she had a feeling Chase was eagerly anticipating the fireworks.
“You are a dangerous woman,” he told her, his lips quirking at her daring, while he pushed the cell phone back into the inner pocket of his jacket. “He’s not happy with you right now.”
“I’ve not been happy with him all day.” She shrugged her bare shoulders, aware of Chase’s gaze slipping over the rounded tops of her br**sts, revealed by the snug design of the dress.
Her back was bare to the top of her hips, where the skirt smoothed over her curves, snug and almost revealing. It was one of the most exquisite dresses she had ever worn. It was definitely one of the most expensive.
“Would you like to dance before he arrives?” Chase invited, glancing to the dance floor where the band had drawn several couples out to enjoy the slow, haunting music.
She smiled as she shook her head. “I think I’ll wait.”
“You might not get the chance to dance later.” Courtney laughed lightly. “Cam is going to be all about asserting that wonderful male dominance I’m certain he possesses.”
She kept her voice low enough that her words carried no farther than Jaci, but her laughter drew several admiring male gazes.
“Then I’ll just have to be all about asserting my own dominance,” Jaci informed her.
She was brave. She was courageous. She could stand against the Robertses and she could stand against Cam. It was all in the proper illusion of strength, she decided. She was all about illusion. She had carried the illusion of unconcern and restraint for almost seven years. Five years definitely, ever since the night the Robertses had nearly destroyed her.
Speaking of the devils—she caught a glimpse of Annalee Roberts from the corner of her eye. The woman’s falsely concerned expression as she talked to Margaret Brockheim was a warning in and of itself.
She knew the routine. She’d been asked to leave more than one party because of the Robertses. It was one of the reasons she had resisted attending this party.
“The rest of us should be taking notes,” Chase teased, distracting her. “I don’t think anyone has ever so blatantly defied Cam. He could be going into shock.”
Jaci rolled her eyes. “I think Cam is a bit more resilient than that.”
“I don’t know,” he mused. “That boy’s sense of humor hasn’t been right for a while now, but it was coming around. You could have caused a setback.”
Jaci’s lips pursed as she fought a smile. She glanced toward Margaret Brockheim, saw the frown that threatened her brow as Annalee moved away to join another of her cronies. The older woman’s expression was troubled now, her lined face heavy as she turned to her husband and daughter.
“Excuse me a moment,” Jaci said to Chase as she turned and moved the short distance to the Brockheims.
She had expected this. She had known Annalee would be quick to attempt to force the Brockheims to ask her to leave. And Annalee had complete confidence in her ability to frighten Moriah and force her to take her side in doing so. Oh, how the mighty would fall soon, Jaci thought.
“Moriah. Mr. and Mrs. Brockheim. I hope you’re still enjoying the cabin.” She extended her hand, seeing the surprise on their faces, the flicker of indecision before Margaret Brockheim took her hand, albeit weakly.
Mr. Brockheim’s handshake was firmer, and Moriah’s held an edge of anger. Her hazel eyes were blazing with ire, though her features, her expression, was perfectly composed.
“We’re glad you could make it, Ms. Wright.” Harold Brockheim nodded stiffly, his gaze flicking over her head. “And the cabin is wonderful, as always. We were just there last month.”
“Daddy loves the deck,” Moriah injected softly, her composure perfect. “Especially the hidden ashtray you incorporated for his cigars. Mother doesn’t fuss at him nearly as much now.”
Harold Brockheim’s enjoyment of his cigars on the back deck, his daughter had told Jaci, had been the cause of several disagreements between the couple. Incorporating the hidden smoker’s niche had been easy enough.
“The cabin is lovely, Ms. Wright.” Margaret smiled stiffly.
“You’re close friends with the Sinclairs, then? And the Falladay twins?” Moriah stepped around her parents, the soft, gold material of her evening gown swishing around her.
Her parents watched her worriedly, meeting each other’s gazes, as indecision seemed to shadow their eyes. They didn’t want their daughter’s perfect reputation smeared. Moriah was their only child, their pride and joy, from what Jaci understood.
“Courtney and I have been friends for years, and I’ve known Chase and Cam most of my life,” Jaci revealed.
Moriah’s gaze appeared curious now, her head tilting to the side, as the soft fall of sable hair slid over her pale shoulder. But Jaci could see the anger inside her—a hatred, a gleam of desperation that she knew was caused by the Robertses.
“Chase and Cam are good men,” Harold stated, as though daring anyone to refute the statement.
“They’re very good men.” Jaci smiled in return. “And they were quite determined that I attend your ball. I hope the last-minute invitation didn’t cause any problems.”
“Oh dear, of course not,” Margaret twittered nervously. “Courtney is a lovely young woman, and, why, Ian is almost family. I knew his parents quite well. We were so pleased you could attend.”
The social lie was smooth and gracious, but Margaret’s gaze was concerned. This was her ball, a social event that could turn around and slap her, if the wrong people were offended.