Page 107 of The Girl Who Knew Too Much

“You look lovely tonight,” he said.

She smiled. “Thank you.”

Oliver frowned. “Any sign of Tremayne and Enright?”

“That’s what I came to tell you,” Luther said. “They just arrived. I’ve arranged for them to be seated at one of the star booths that borders the dance floor.”

“Star booth?” Irene said.

“We reserve the tables around the dance floor for patrons we know want to be seen,” Luther explained. “You’ll have a good view of Tremayne and Enright. If either of them leaves the club for any reason, one of my security people will keep an eye on him. Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Thanks,” Oliver said, his tone a little gruff. “We’ll do that.”

Luther’s mouth kicked up in an amused smile. He moved on to greetanother couple in a nearby booth, playing the gracious nightclub host to the hilt.

Irene glared at Oliver. “He’s not flirting with me, you know. He’s just being polite. I’m sure he tells all of the women who come to his club that they look nice.”

“Probably.” Oliver did not sound convinced. “Here come Tremayne and Enright.”

“Fine. Change the subject. See if I care.”

His jaw tensed.

“I was just teasing you,” she said.

“I know,” he muttered.

He wasn’t really jealous, she thought; he was just feeling a little possessive. Men got that way when they were sleeping with a woman. It was a perfectly natural, perfectly temporary, perfectly superficial masculine response. It didn’t imply a deeper, more abiding emotion.

It occurred to her that she would be irritated if one of the glamorous women in the room happened to stop by to tell Oliver that he looked very attractive tonight. A perfectly natural, temporary, superficial female response. It didn’t imply a deeper, more abiding emotion.

Heaven help her if it did.

Before she could reflect on that realization, she saw Nick Tremayne and Julian Enright.

“You were right,” she said. “Here they come, and it would be hard to miss them.”

The two men were escorted down an aisle by the maître d’. A subtle beam of light appeared as if by magic. It lingered lovingly on Nick Tremayne. Enright was careful to remain a few steps behind the star, as if he didn’t want to steal the scene, but he managed to catch the spotlight for a brief moment. In those few seconds his hair glowed gold and his square-jawed profile drew the eye. Irene heard a low buzz of excitement rise and fall in the shadows as the crowd became aware of the new arrivals.

“So that’s him,” Irene whispered.

“Yes,” Oliver said.

“He looks—”

“Handsome? Polished? Sophisticated?”

“Actually, I was thinking that he looks like a movie star.”

The pair was seated in one of the booths that ringed the dance floor. The maître d’ raised his hand in a signal. A cocktail waitress arrived with a tray of drinks. She set the glasses down on the table in front of the men and gracefully departed.

The spotlight dimmed but there was no doubt that everyone in the club knew that Nick Tremayne and his friend had arrived.

“Now what?” Irene said.

“Now we wait,” Oliver said.

He fell silent.

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