Faith Ivory still hadn’t quite recovered from her previous encounter with Holt McClellan when she ran into him again a few nights later, at a glittering fund-raiser in the glorious Crystal Ballroom of the glamorous Brown Hotel. She was decked out in a teeny-tiny black dress she spent hours working up the nerve to put on, and her discomfort was only compounded now by the fact that she was surrounded by high rollers, captains of industry, society matrons, and Junior Leaguers. All night long, she’d felt as if she were fighting against the undertow in the sea of upward mobility. Now, having spied Holt McClellan dressed in elegant black and white—who, thankfully, hadn’t spied her—she felt as if someone just threw a killer whale into what was already shark-infested waters.

Fortunately, she was on the opposite side of the ballroom, where there was no way he would ever notice her. Not unless he lost interest in what appeared to be a very intense discussion with his father, and not unless he looked up from the drink he clutched brutally in his hand. She was certain there was no way he would ever do—

He glanced up then and spied her immediately.

—that. She might as well have just shouted her thoughts at the top of her lungs, so focused was he on the exact spot where she stood. She was about to look away, to search for the nearest hasty retreat, when something strange happened. Holt McClellan smiled. Not so much at her, but as if he suddenly just felt very happy about something. A warm ripple of excitement shimmied up her spine at his expression, and before she knew it, Faith was smiling, too, the same kind of smile, she was certain. Because suddenly she felt very happy about seeing Holt McClellan.

In spite of the warm fizzy sensations popping inside her, however, her instincts urged her to hurry home and hide under the blankets, lest the big, bad wolf blow her down. But even when Holt excused himself from his father without looking at him, even when he began to make his way slowly across the crowded room, even when he was only a few scant feet away from her, Faith was helpless to do anything but stand fixed in place and stare at him.

She had thought him handsome before, but now she saw how badly mistaken that thought had been. Business attire made him look too officious, too conservative, too conventional. Tonight, dressed in a black tuxedo, the sapphire cufflinks winking from the white shirt sleeve extending from his jacket nearly identical to the color of his eyes, Holt was quite…

Oh, my.

“Hi,” he said, his voice scarcely audible in the din that surrounded them.

“Hello,” she replied automatically.

“So we meet again.”

“So we do.”

“Three times in one week. This could become habit-forming.”

“Oh, no. I don’t think so.”

Their conversation stalled there, and she wished she were anyone else. Anyone else would know what to say to a man like him. Anyone else would feel comfortable amid all this beauty and wealth and power. Anyone else would be dazzling and witty and charming. Anyone else would be having a good time.

“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked, jerking a thumb toward the bar, surprising her.

She gaped at him. “You’re joking, right? Have you forgotten who I work for?”

He expelled an exasperated sound, but his smile diminished its effect. “Ginger ale, Mrs. Ivory? Club soda? Water? And no, I haven’t forgotten who you work for. Believe me—I could never forget that.”

She relented some, but couldn’t quite banish the reminder that he wasn’t someone she should be chatting with, however superficially. If anyone from the Temperance League saw them together…

Well, of course they’d think she was lobbying him to shut down his business, she thought. Which wouldn’t be a problem, if that were, in fact, what they were discussing. But the goals of the Temperance League were as far from her mind at the moment as the earth was from the sun.

She shook her head in response to his offer. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

Another awkward moment ensued, until Holt rallied the conversation. “What brings you here tonight?”

Oh, good, she thought. Bland small talk. Even she could handle that. “The Temperance League is a big sponsor for the Boys and Girls Clubs of Kentuckiana.”

He nodded. “So is Hensley’s.”

Well, that was certainly a surprise. “You can’t be serious.”

He smiled again, this time a bit uncertainly. “Why can’t I be serious?”

“A distiller? Sponsoring a juvenile charity? That doesn’t make sense.”

He seemed honestly mystified by her objection. “Why not? It’s a wonderful organization.”

“But a distiller? What are you doing? Trying to get kids hooked while they’re young? It’s not enough that people abuse alcohol as adults?”

He emitted an impatient sound. “Look, contrary to what you think about us, Hensley’s isn’t some monster intent on turning the world’s inhabitants into a bunch of drunks, all right? We’re regular contributors to a variety of local charities. Virtually all corporations are. We give money to support the arts, education and the beautification of the city. We even contribute regularly to MADD. Why is that so hard for you to believe?”

“It’s just that…”

“What?”

She scrunched up her shoulders and let them drop, suddenly feeling silly for speaking. “Well… It’s just that the Boys and Girls Clubs of Kentuckiana seems an unlikely choice for Hensley’s, that’s all.”

His expression hardened as he spoke. “Mrs. Ivory, if we can’t get to at-risk kids when they’re young, then they’re goners.”

His vehemence surprised her. “You sound like you know what you’re talking about.”

He dropped his gaze back into his drink, but only swirled the liquor around in the glass. “Let’s just say I’ve seen one or two people get into trouble in their lives, trouble they could have avoided if someone had just taken half an interest in them when they were kids.”

Faith couldn’t imagine how someone like Holt McClellan would understand about such things. He’d grown up wealthy and wanted, privileged and pampered. What could he possibly know about the lives of troubled kids?

“Well…”she tried again. But she had no idea what to say.

He seemed to detect her uneasiness, because he glanced up at her again and smiled reassuringly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to sound the way it did. This is just something I feel rather strongly about. Obviously. Let me make it up to you.”

“How?”

“Let me take you to dinner tomorrow night.”

Immediately, she shook her head. “Thank you, but I have plans,” she replied, the lie rolling effortlessly off her lips. It was her stock-in-trade answer, one she invariably invoked whenever anyone asked her out.

“Later in the week, then,” he said. “Friday maybe?”

“I can’t. Truly. Thank you, anyway.”

He met her gaze pointedly. “Is it that you can’t, or that you won’t?”

She shook her head more adamantly. “I can’t,” she repeated.

He nodded, but seemed no more convinced of the truthfulness of her response than she was herself. For a moment, she almost backpedaled, almost told him she’d be more than happy to alter her plans, change her schedule, rearrange her entire life, anything to spend a little time with him. Fortunately, she wasn’t so far gone that she would do something as foolish as that. Not yet, anyway. A few more minutes in his presence, however, and she wasn’t sure she could be held responsible for much of anything she did.

“I have to go,” she said suddenly.

He didn’t seem surprised by her admission, but he asked, “So soon? The evening just started. I think the mayor’s going to make a presentation of some kind.”

She nodded quickly. “I know, …but, um…”

“But what?”

She scrambled for an excuse. “I forgot to feed my cat.” Some excuse, she chastised herself. She didn’t evenhave a cat.

“Okay, Mrs. Ivory,” Holt said softly. “I get the message.”

“What message?” she asked, feigning ignorance.

He only inhaled a deep breath and released it slowly. “Where are you parked? If I’ve managed to chase you off, then the least I can do is walk you to your car.”

Ignoring the part about him chasing her off, she replied, “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. I’ll be fine on my own.” She had, after all, been fine on her own for six months now, right? Well, except for that big gaping wound inside her that nothing seemed capable of healing. Oh, but, hey, other than that…

He shook his head. “Absolutely not. I won’t let you leave here alone. It’s not safe this time of night. Did you check your coat?”

He obviously wasn’t going to be put off by her objections, and a quick glance around told her no one else was available for her to draft as an escort. So she opened her little black cocktail purse and extracted her coat check, handing it to him without comment.

“I’ll just be a minute,” he said.

Would but that were true. Unfortunately, Faith was pretty sure that even if she never saw him again, it would be quite some time before Holt McClellan left her completely.

As she watched him go, she tried not to linger too long on the broad shoulders that strained against his tuxedo jacket, or on the long legs that cut a swath easily through the packed room, or the blond head that passed well above the crowd. Thank heavens his jacket covered his fanny, she thought wryly. The last thing she needed was to be caught ogling that part of him.

“Faith, darling, there you are.”

Especially by Miriam Anderson, the director of the Louisville Temperance League, who emerged from the crowd nearby.

“Miriam, how nice to see you. I was wondering where you were.”

The plump redhead smiled, her green eyes sparkling brightly enough to vie with the emerald sequins of her gown. “We just now arrived. George was held up at work. I hope we haven’t missed anything.”

Oh, only me making a complete fool of myself by telling lame lies to a gorgeous man I have no business speaking to anyway, Faith thought. “Not a thing,” she assured her companion. “Though I understand the mayor’s going to be speaking.”

“Wonderful. I was hoping I hadn’t missed that.”

“Mrs. Ivory?”

The summons startled her, and she scrambled for an excuse to explain why Holt McClellan, of Hensley’s Distilleries, Inc., would be standing behind her, holding her black velvet coat open for her to step into. Fortunately, she was spared trying to come up with something plausible, because Holt took it upon himself to greet Miriam.

“Mrs. Anderson,” he said, dipping his head toward the other woman in acknowledgment. “Nice to see you again.”

Miriam roused herself to her full five-feet-zero inches and snorted. Actually snorted. How rude.

“I doubt that,” the other woman said haughtily. “I can’t imagine that you or your kind would ever find it nice to see someone of my kind.”

Faith turned to Holt to see how he would react. But he only smiled mildly. “It’s not like we’re matter and anti-matter, Mrs. Anderson. We can both occupy the same room without the world coming to a fiery Armageddon.”

“That’s a matter of opinion,” Miriam replied coolly.

Holt turned his attention to Faith once again. “If you’re ready?” he said, holding up her coat.

Sheepishly, Faith smiled at Miriam as she moved the few steps necessary to don the garment he held with far too much familiarity. Holt settled it around her, brushing his hands over her shoulders momentarily before releasing her. The simple touch was harmless, meaningless. But for some reason, Faith’s heart began to hammer hard in her chest.

“Thank you,” she managed to whisper.

“You’re welcome,” he told her, his gaze never leaving hers. “Shall we go?”

“Faith?”

She turned to her boss, having known she wouldn’t get off easily. “Yes, Miriam?”

The other woman inclined her head toward Holt. “Is everything all right?”

Faith nodded. “Mr. McClellan just offered to see me to my car. He didn’t think I should go alone.”

Miriam pulled her head back to eye Holt, not bothering to hide her contempt. “Are you so sure you wouldn’t be safer alone?”

Until recently, Faith would have assured anyone who asked that question that, yes, by all means, she would undoubtedly be safer alone. But suddenly, she was hesitant to feel so certain. And of course, she wasn’t with Holt McClellan, not really. A brief walk to the car did not a relationship make. Nevertheless, she couldn’t help but feel as if each step she took with him was leading to something. What exactly, she couldn’t quite say.

“I’ll be fine,” she assured Miriam.

“I could ask George—”

“It won’t be necessary,” she interrupted her employer. “I’ll be fine.”

Beside her, Holt chuckled, but there wasn’t an ounce of merriment in the sound. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Anderson,” he said. “I don’t bite until the third date.”

And before Miriam had a chance to respond with anything other than an open mouth, Holt spread his fingers lightly over the small of Faith’s back and steered her toward the exit. Maybe it wasn’t their third date, she thought as she allowed herself to be led away, but it was their third encounter.

Oh, dear.

Holt honestly hadn’t expected to see Faith again for the rest of his life, and he’d been cranky as hell all weekend as a result. Then, as if by magic, she materialized like the proverbial stranger across a crowded room, dressed in a skimpy little black dress that roused him faster and more fiercely than he’d ever been roused before. But as quickly as he found her again, she was leaving. And that, he decided, was a fact he was going to have to change. Immediately.

They strode in silence through the Brown’s elegant lobby, then Holt held the door for Faith, inhaling deeply of her sweet perfume as she passed through. When he followed her out into the crisp night air, he couldn’t resist drawing near her, hooking her hand lightly through his arm, covering her fingers harmlessly with his.

“Where are you parked?” he asked her again, unable to tolerate the silence any longer.

“Not far,” she replied, her words emerging from her mouth amid a wisp of white fog. “I found a place on the street near Ninth and Broadway.”

“That’s five blocks away.”

She nodded, but didn’t look at him. “Like I said. Not far.”

“Maybe not during the day, but at night—”

“I made it to the hotel just fine, didn’t I?” she pointed out. “And it was dark when I arrived.”

“You were lucky,” he told her.

“I’m fully equipped to take care of myself, Mr. McClellan.” Her tentative tone of voice, however, belied her certainty, as did the tremor that shook her when she slid her fingers from his arm and shoved both hands into her coat pockets.

“Keep saying it like that,” he told her, “and you might believe it yourself someday.”

She glared at him. “What makes you think I don’t believe it?”

“Could be the way you glanced down at the ground when you said it,” he told her as they continued walking. “Or it could be the way you didn’t sound anywhere near convinced. Or maybe it’s the simple fact that I just don’t believe you.”

She hastened her step as they approached Fifth Street, crossing quickly just as the light changed and an LG&E van lurched forward. It was as if she wanted to be free of his company as quickly as possible, even if it meant getting plowed down by a utility truck.

“I see,” she murmured when they made it to the other side. “And, of course, whatever you believe about a person must be the way of the world, mustn’t it?”

“No,” he responded, matching her stride effortlessly. “But I’m a pretty good judge of people.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Why?”

In direct contrast to her haste to be rid of him, she stopped dead in the center of the sidewalk and spun around to face him. “Because you’re completely removed from the masses, that’s why. You don’t even know any normal people, so how could you begin to be a judge of them?”

She strode quickly forward once more, so Holt hurried alongside to keep up. “Who says I don’t know any normal people?”

“How could you? You come from one of the state’s most prominent families,” she reminded him. “You’ve had nothing but privilege, nothing but advantage, since day one. And you’ve worked for none of it. You’ve earned none of it.”

This time Holt was the one who stopped dead in his tracks. Faith kept walking for a half-dozen paces before she realized she had proceeded alone, then she, too, stopped and turned, her expression a silent question mark.

“I haven’t earned it?” he asked. “Says who?”

She blinked at him, but said nothing in response. Slowly, Holt began to walk again, covering the distance between them with measured, deliberate strides.

“There are a lot of different ways to earn things, Mrs. Ivory,” he said as he approached her. “There’s starting at the bottom and working your way to the top. There’s paying your dues in less tangible ways, through life experience. And there’s simple day-to-day survival.”

When he stood face to face with her again, he halted, gazing down into her eyes, nearly drowning in the eddy of emotions he saw there.

“Yes well I’m familiar with all of those,” she said, her tone colder than the wintry air that surrounded them. “But I find it hard to believe you’ve experienced any of them.”

“You might be surprised what I’ve experienced,” he told her.

In response, she turned and began to walk away, this time with a less hurried pace. Holt followed, staying even with her. Yet neither said another word until they slowed to a halt at the corner of Ninth and Broadway.

When Faith spoke again, it was after pointing to an older model sedan parked alone across the street. “There’s where I’m parked.”

The traffic on Broadway was surprisingly heavy for a Monday night, so they waited at the corner for the light to change before crossing. As they did, Holt realized his last chance with Faith was quickly slipping away. He didn’t know why it was so essential that he see her again. He only knew that it was. So while he had her captive on the corner, he turned to her again.

“Have dinner with me this week,” he said softly. “Tomorrow night. Please.”

He could see she wanted to decline, but she said nothing right away. Instead, she only watched the signal opposite them, a red flashing hand that seemed to be urging her, Don’t do it…don’t do it…don’t do it… For several moments, she remained silent. Then the signal changed. “Okay,” she said softly. “I’ll have dinner with you tomorrow night. Call me at work in the morning.”