Nanny to the Billionaire's Son. Barbara McMahon

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      He glanced around. “Will your date know where to find you?” he asked.

      “I came alone. I think Fred—Boozer—picked up on that.” Did that make her sound odd? Should she make up something about her date getting sick at the last moment or something?

      “So did I. If you are ready to find your table, I’ll escort you,” he said genially.

      She smiled, suddenly feeling like anything could happen tonight. Taking another sip of her champagne, she wondered why a man who looked like he did had come alone. Maybe his date really had got sick.

      “Your wife was unable to attend?” she asked, fishing for an answer without being too obvious—she hoped.

      “I’m not married.” His demeanor changed, instantly becoming somber.

      Bad topic. She swept her arm toward the dais. “Mine is table twenty-one. The doorman said it was near the dais.”

      He paused for a moment, staring at her. “How interesting. That’s my table also.”

      She went on alert. For a moment tension rose. Surely he didn’t think she had deliberately set out to sit at his table? He had rescued her after all. Yet his reaction had definitely been odd. She still had the ticket out and showed it to him. He inclined his head slightly and gestured for her to walk toward the front of the large ballroom.

      “My friends call me Mac,” he said, placing his hand at the small of her back as they wound through groups of guests chatting and laughing with enjoyment of the evening.

      “Mine call me Sam. Short for Samantha,” she murmured, her heart pumping wildly—from his touch, or adrenaline, or just plain old fear of exposure, she wasn’t sure. No one had challenged her so far. She should feel safe. But she couldn’t help glancing around to see if anyone was paying special attention to her. Apparently not.

      “Mac and Sam, sounds like a rock group or something,” he responded. Twice he spoke to people as they wound through the conversing groups, but he didn’t stop to introduce Sam.

      The tables were set for eight. A couple was already seated at table twenty-one when Mac and Sam reached it. Everyone introduced themselves with first names as Mac seated Sam then took the chair beside her. It was obvious the others thought they had come together. She waited for him to deny it, but he ignored the assumptions.

      By the time the salad was served two others had joined them. Conversation became general and Sam relaxed as the meal progressed. It looked as if her gamble had paid off. She could give herself up to the sole purpose of enjoying the evening and no longer worry about discovery. How long had it been since she’d gone out for fun and nothing more?

      Longer than she cared to remember, thanks to Hurricane George.

      Mac was a perfect partner for dinner. He spent his time talking with her and the woman on his other side. Two places remained empty at the table. How odd that those people had not used their tickets. Or had they, too, been trashed? The sponsors of this event had declared it to be a sellout. Was that just hype, or had something at the last moment prevented some ticket holders from attending?

      When the final dinner plates had been removed and coffee served, the waitstaff quietly vanished and the night’s speaker was introduced. The speech was short and poignant, urging everyone present to take up the cause of the Children’s League and to be generous in support for disadvantaged children.

      Then the wall to the right began to fold into panels and open revealing the dance floor and the orchestra providing the music. Along one wall a buffet table lavishly displayed desserts of all types. Two large open bars flanked the buffet tables. The rest of the room sparkled beneath the crystal chandeliers that illuminated the space, dimmed slightly to provide a sense of intimacy in the huge ballroom.

      The music began and Mac turned to Sam. “Care to dance?”

      She nodded, her heart kicking up again. She had hoped to have a chance, but hadn’t expected such a dashing partner. As they walked to the dance floor, she noticed the covert glances given them. All for Mac, she knew. She smiled, delighted to be in the company of the best-looking man in the room.

      In seconds they were on the dance floor moving to the waltz the orchestra played so well. So far so good. She’d enjoy her dance and then leave. It wasn’t so awkward eating with a group but once dancing began, couples would rule the event.

      As Mac continued to sweep her around the dance floor effortlessly, she forgot about the fear she’d be exposed and escorted from the ball. She could only see Mac, smell the enticing scent of his aftershave, relish the strength of the muscles beneath his jacket. He danced divinely and Samantha felt like a kid in a candy store. She loved to dance. With a sister confined to a wheelchair, however, she cherished it even more, though she rarely went to dances. Which made tonight especially delightful. Closing her eyes, she moved with the music, relishing the sensations that seeped in. Mac was an excellent partner. It had been far too long since she’d gone out for the sole purpose of enjoying herself. Perhaps it presaged a better year in the offing. She hoped so.

      “You’re very quiet,” Mac said midway through the waltz.

      “I’m enjoying myself immensely,” she said with a quick glance up. His dark eyes were mesmerizing. Seconds spun by. She wanted to trace that slight dimple in his left cheek. Wanted to shift her hand from his shoulder to his neck and feel the warmth of his skin. She wanted to learn more about the stranger with whom she danced so superbly. The night was full of magic and she savored every moment. All too soon it would end and she’d be back to her day-to-day routine.

      She knew she was on borrowed time, but a few stolen moments of dancing with Mac were worth any risk. If anyone official made a beeline toward her, she’d dash out of one of the doors and vanish into the night.

      “There aren’t many New Year’s Eve parties these days that have a full ballroom and the music to go with it,” Mac commented.

      She nodded and murmured in agreement. She knew the ball’s primary goal was to raise money, but more than anything else, it provided an elegant evening to all who attended. What a way to end the old year and usher in the new.

      “Are you from Atlanta?” Mac asked.

      “Born and bred,” she said, giving up the quiet to respond. He was trying to talk and she was acting like a tongue-tied schoolgirl. Get with it, Sam. “You?”

      “Born in Savannah, came here a decade ago.”

      “Savannah has a lot of charm. Atlanta is the New York of the South—dynamic and exciting—but perhaps it’s not as charming as Savannah.”

      “It suits me to a T,” he said.

      Sam smiled and wondered what he did, where in the city he lived. What part of living here he liked best.

      She wished she could say Atlanta suited her. She glanced over his shoulder, feeling the sudden aching longing for the path she once thought she’d take. Her dream of becoming a national park ranger and living in some of the western parks with wide-open spaces and nature’s bounty evident everywhere had ended with the car crash that had changed her life.

      Instead she was surrounded by glass and concrete and heavy traffic. And she hated almost every moment.

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