Finding Isadora (4 page)

Ponytails weren
’t the norm for successful businessmen, and his was the only one I’d seen here tonight. But of course, if he was a Greek billionaire, he could afford to be unconventional.

Too bad I was a sucker for long hair on men.

He turned quickly, staring straight at me, and somehow I knew he’d felt my gaze just as I, a few minutes earlier, had sensed his. There was no logical explanation but it seemed we had a connection, an invisible lightning that arced across the room and burned when it touched. He tilted his head and stared at me, his lips curved in a knowing smile.

I should turn away, but I couldn
’t. He was hypnotizing me, drawing me toward him with the intensity of his gaze. It took a physical effort to hold still.

Before I knew it, I
’d flashed him a quick smile. Then I whirled, dismayed and appalled, pulse fluttering wildly at my throat. This was crazy. What was I doing? I had never, but never, flirted with a stranger. I’d never let myself be picked up in a bar, never even gone on a blind date. But now, I, Isadora Dean Wheeler, who was engaged to be married and believed firmly in fidelity, had… What?

Smiled? Good lord, it was just a smile. I was over-reacting. My heart raced like it did when I inadvertently got a dose of caffeine.

I grinned. That’s it, the panther-man was caffeine in a tux, and he’d flashed me a jolt of it across the crowded room.

The smile died as I thought of another old song my mother loved, saying it described how she and Jimmy Lee had felt when they first met:
“Some Enchanted Evening” from
South Pacific
. That’s what it had felt like for me tonight, for a few seconds. I’d seen a stranger across a crowded room, and wanted to fly to his side.

Absurd. And this was excellent practice for when I was married. I wasn
’t so naive as to believe I’d never be attracted to anyone but Richard. What I did believe was that attraction could be resisted. My parents, who shunned marriage, had what they called an open relationship and didn’t believe in monogamy, but I did. Fervently. That meant resisting temptation, and this man was pure, sinful temptation.

Jostled along by the crowd, I moved past a few more displays. Whoever had organized the silent auction had done a fabulous job of soliciting donations. There were train trips, dinners out, original art, home entertainment systems, jewelry, even two flights to Paris. Reputedly the most romantic city in the world.

Maybe the stranger was French. Did he have an accent? Accents were so sexy.

After all, if I was going to resist temptation, I might as well resist a man who had not only wealth, good looks, sex appeal, and charm, but a delicious accent to top it off. Cautiously I snuck another glance over my shoulder.

He wasn’t there.

I turned all the way around and studied the room. There was Richard, his back to me, shoulders stiff and head nodding as he spoke to someone I couldn
’t see. But the stranger had disappeared. I’d never know whether he had an accent, nor discover the color of his eyes. It seemed my power of resistance wasn’t going to be put to the test after all.

I checked out a few more displays, then heard Richard
’s voice from behind me. “Isadora, there you are.” His voice was formal and constricted, and he never called me Isadora. “I’d like you to meet my father.”

His father? I froze. Damn, was that the other person he
’d started to tell me about earlier? I was going to kill my fiancé for not warning me his semi-estranged dad might be attending. I should have combed my hair, put on lipstick, used more hand lotion.

Oh well, Mr.
DeLuca would have to take me the way I came. Lifting my chin high, I swung around.

“
Oh!” It was him. The panther-man.

I could see his eyes clearly now. The rich brown of
… oh yes, dark chocolate truffles. Sinful and tantalizing. A couple of shades darker than Richard’s hazel ones, but with the same dark lashes and brows.

My god, my stranger across a crowded room was Richard
’s father. But how could he be? He didn’t look older than his mid thirties, yet he must be … what? My brain couldn’t make the calculation.

He shook his head ruefully, apologetically, then smiled. It was forced, nothing like the sexy one he
’d flashed me earlier.

Richard shoved his glasses up his nose, even though they were already perfectly positioned.
“Gabe, this is Isadora. Iz, this is, uh, my father. I, uh, may not have mentioned that he’s on the Board of the Multicultural Center.”

On the Board? I shot a disbelieving look at Richard. If his father was on the Board, surely there
’d been a good chance he would attend this fundraiser.

My fiancé
’s guilty expression confirmed the fact, and that he’d chickened out about warning me.

“
I’m pleased to meet you, Isadora,” his father was saying. He did have an accent, just the trace of one. Italian? No, not exactly. Whatever it was, it went perfectly with his Mediterranean coloring. The lingering way he spoke my name—my full name—turned my legs to jelly. His accent turned the usual buzzing
Iz
sound to a softer, lilting
Ees
, and for the first time I heard the word “adore” in my name.
Adore?
Oh god, what was I thinking?

I had come close to flirting with Richard
’s father. Words, much less poise, had utterly deserted me.

My embarrassment and confusion must have been obvious to both men. Richard frown
ed and his father looked concerned.

“
Find anything you’d like to bid on, Iz?” Richard asked, clearly searching for an innocuous topic.

I darted a quick glance around the room, a kaleidoscope vision of ice wine, romantic weekends, chocolate truffles. Chocolate eyes
… Richard’s father. Suddenly, I couldn’t stand there a moment longer.

“
I have to go to the…” I turned and rushed away.

Thank heavens for ladies
’ rooms. I scurried through the door like a mouse fleeing a cat.

Bracing myself against the marble counter inside my mouse
-hole, staring at my flushed face in the mirror and waiting for my heart to stop racing, I told myself I had no reason to be embarrassed. I’d misread the signals. Mr. DeLuca hadn’t been flirting, he’d just given me a friendly smile. And I’d returned it.

Friendly. Then why had my toes curled?

I splashed cold water on my burning cheeks. Then I stared sternly into my own eyes. All right, I’d found the man attractive. That wasn’t a sin. Nor was it a sin if, by chance, he’d been attracted to me too. Past tense. Now that we’d been introduced, we’d begin an … appropriate relationship. How childish of me to run away. Should I make some explanation?

Probably not. The men would be polite and not ask. They
’d put it down to nerves over meeting Richard’s father. I took a deep breath, forced my shoulders back and my head up, and strode briskly out the door.

Straight into Gabriel
DeLuca. If he hadn’t taken a quick step backward, I’d have ended up in his arms. “Oh!” I squeaked—mouse emerging from mouse-hole to be confronted by cat—then promptly cursed myself. Was
oh
the only word I could say to this man? “Sorry, you surprised me.” I glanced around. “Where’s Richard?”

“
People are heading in for dinner and I told him to go ahead. I said I’d find you and bring you along.” He was frowning, studying my face much too carefully.

“
Well, here I am. Let’s go.” Being alone with this man wasn’t high on my wish list.

“
I want to talk to you first. About earlier. I had no idea you were Richard’s fiancée.”

Was he admitting that he
’d been flirting? Or only referring to the smile I’d tossed his way? Damn the man, couldn’t he pretend nothing had happened? Well, I could. Shaking my head vigorously, I said, “It was just a smile. It didn’t mean a thing.”

I expected him to nod in relieved agreement, but to my astonishment he gave me a sexy grin.
“So you’re not interested in following up on that smile?”

My eyes opened wide, wider, until they were in danger of popping out of my head.
“No! Of course not! Richard and I are engaged. I love him, I’m committed to him.” Richard had certainly been right in saying this man was a terrible father. I glared at him. “I’m shocked you’d suggest it.”

Mr.
DeLuca smiled again, but now it wasn’t in the least flirtatious. It was eye-crinkling and seemed genuine. “Sorry, Isadora. Just checking. I needed to know if you were the kind of person who would—”

He
’d actually thought… “Cheat on Richard?” I hissed in a low whisper, aware of people drifting past, heading in to dinner.

“
Yeah.”

Guilt warred with indignance. I wasn
’t about to admit to Richard’s father that I’d actually felt attracted to him, even though I’d had no intention of doing anything about it. Continued denial was the safest course of action. “No, I wouldn’t cheat on Richard. I’m insulted you’d think it. Look, it was just a smile. I was feeling … out of place here, and it was nice to, uh, connect with someone. But it’s not like I’m, uh…”

“
Attracted to me?”

Damn, but he cut to the chase. I summoned another glare.
“Good heavens, you’re Richard’s father.”

I was afraid he
’d notice I hadn’t actually answered his question, and call me on it. Instead, he nodded slowly. “Yes. Yes, I am Richard’s father.”

For the first time I studied his face for traces of Richard. Richard
’s skin was lighter, his features less pronounced—tempered no doubt by Diane’s English genes—but I could see similarities in the shape of the nose, the firm jaw line. I got a sense of how Richard might, with luck, look as he grew older. Noting the resemblance between them didn’t, unfortunately, do the slightest thing to counteract the fact I still found Mr. DeLuca attractive. Damn, this was a nuisance. Why couldn’t Richard’s father have been fat, balding, and ugly?

Why couldn
’t he at least look his age? I remembered Richard saying his parents had been in second year university when they had him. Richard was now twenty-five, so Gabriel had to be in his mid forties. He looked ten years younger.

He might look the opposite of fatherly, but it occurred to me that he
had
shown concern for his son, in worrying I might cheat on Richard. I hadn’t expected that. “It’s nice of you to be protective of Richard.”

His face tightened.
“You’re surprised.”

“
I…”

“
Never mind. You don’t have to answer. I’m sure Richard’s told you what a bad father I am.”

No tactful response occurred to me, so I remained silent.

He smiled slightly, without humor. “Let’s start over. I’m pleased to meet you, Isadora. Please call me Gabriel. Or Gabe. I answer to both.”

Names are significant and, though Richard called him Gabe, I didn
’t think the name suited him nearly as well as Gabriel. The angel Gabriel? More like the devil. Still, I said, “I like Gabriel,” then winced at the unintended double meaning.

The corners of his smile tilted wryly.
“Not so much at the moment, I’d guess, but maybe I’ll grow on you.”

“
I meant your name.” Damn, he knew that. Why was I acting so gauche?

“
I like Isadora.” He paused. “Your name.” His eyes were twinkling, but with humor rather than flirtatiousness.

He held out his hand and I glanced down. Like the rest of him, it was dark and well-shaped. I had to force myself to lift mine to meet it. When we shook, his clasp was firm and warm and made my skin tingle. I snatched my hand back.

“Richard tells me you’re a vet.” His voice sounded a bit gruff and I wondered if he, too, had felt that disconcerting tingle.

“
Yes. In the West End. I’m a small animal vet.” Another stupid comment. “Not that there’d be much market for a large animal vet in the West End,” I added, compounding my idiocy.

“
Police horses?”

The thought brought a smile.
“They do stop by regularly, but for social, not professional, visits. We feed them carrots.” The Vancouver Police Department had a Mounted Unit that, among other things, patrolled Stanley Park and the West End.

“
I’ve seen them a few times. Beautiful animals.”

“
They’re gorgeous. And such a mix. Standardbreds, Quarterhorses, a Clydesdale/Appaloosa cross, a Percheron/Morgan and—” I shook my head. “Sorry, too much information.”

“
No, it’s interesting. They were bred for police work?”

“
No, they all have different histories. Pal-o-Mine was a cattle horse, Sunset Bay did show jumping and dressage, Tomboy was a harness racer.”