Bride By Design. Leigh Michaels

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      Behind him, the doorman suggested, “The Captain’s Table has a lovely steak on the menu tonight, I understand.”

      “Sounds good to me. Eve?”

      She scrambled out of the car and glanced at the uniformed driver. “That will be all, thank you.” She saw David’s eyebrow quirk upward and added coolly, “There’s no sense in keeping the car waiting for an hour or two when I can easily take a cab home later. So you needn’t worry that I’ll accuse you of expecting a simple dinner together at your hotel to turn into anything more.”

      “I didn’t say a word.”

      “You didn’t have to,” Eve muttered. “You have the most sarcastic eyebrows I’ve ever encountered.”

      It was, she realized, the first time she had ever seen him smile. The flecks of gold in his eyes seemed to turn to sparks, and a dimple appeared at one corner of his mouth. The effect on Eve was something like reaching for a coat hanger only to find it wired into the electrical system. Which was utterly silly, of course, when all the man had done was grin at her.

      The maître d’ greeted Eve by name and showed them to a small table in a cozy corner. Eve slid onto the upholstered bench which curved around the table and made a quick survey of the room.

      “Who are you looking for?” David asked.

      “Nobody in particular. Customers or acquaintances. There are usually half a dozen of them in here, but tonight I don’t see any. And since we’re in an inconspicuous corner maybe we’ll be left alone.” She picked up her menu so she didn’t have to look at him. “I don’t quite know what to say, David. I must have come across like—”

      “An alligator,” David said agreeably. “Forget it. Let’s start from scratch. Hi, nice to see you again, tell me about the wedding.”

      “I thought you already knew all about it. Seeing that it was your idea to have one—” She stopped and bit her lip. “Sorry. I’m doing it again, aren’t I?”

      The wine steward approached, carrying a bottle. “Good evening, Miss Birmingham. And sir. The general manager of the hotel asked me to bring you one of our best wines, with her compliments.”

      “I ought to have known we couldn’t sneak in here without being seen,” Eve said. “But I didn’t even spot her.”

      “She called down from her office,” the wine steward said. “I believe the doorman keeps her informed about the comings and goings of her guests.” He expertly popped the cork and presented it to David.

      Eve held her breath, but David was obviously no stranger to the ritual. As the wine steward withdrew, she fixed her gaze on the deep red liquid in her glass. Once more she had underestimated him.

      “That was thoughtful of her,” David said. “Does she do this for all your dates?”

      “Of course not. And it’s not just thoughtful, it’s also good business. The wedding’s going to be here, in one of the smaller ballrooms upstairs. What shall we drink to?”

      “I suppose To us isn’t quite what you have in mind, so how about ‘Here’s to keeping Henry happy’?”

      “Up to a point, I can agree with that.” Eve raised her glass, but she couldn’t quite meet David’s eyes. Instead her gaze focused on his hand. Long, tanned fingers, the nails short and square-cut so they wouldn’t get in his way as he worked with tiny gems and minuscule bits of metal. There was a small scar on one knuckle; it looked as if long ago a tool had slipped and gouged him. His hand curved around the glass, holding it gently, but she could see the strength in his fingers. The stemmed crystal glass he held wasn’t particularly delicate, but she knew he could smash it in his fist as easily as he’d crush a grape.

      Beside her, a woman’s sultry soprano said, “My goodness, if it isn’t little Eve. And who is this, my dear? A new face, surely.”

      Eve recognized the voice. Of all the people they could have run into in the Captain’s Table, it would have to be Estella Morgan. She forced a smile as she turned to face a hard-faced woman in her late fifties, who stood beside the table with one hand raised as if to hold her mink stole in place—as well as to display the inch-wide band of diamonds that surrounded her wrist. “Mrs. Morgan, I’d like to present David Elliot, who’s joining Birmingham on State.”

      Mrs. Morgan’s interest had obviously faded. “In sales, I suppose?” she said dismissively.

      Irritation stabbed through Eve. “Without our sales staff,” she said crisply, “we’d find it hard to keep our doors open. But as a matter of fact, David is the most gifted young jewelry designer in the nation. He’ll be working directly with Henry and eventually taking over.”

      Mrs. Morgan’s expression warmed. “A designer?” she purred. “Working with Henry? I wonder if he’ll turn over my new project to you.”

      “Perhaps,” David agreed. “I hope that wouldn’t disturb you. Henry would of course still be in charge.”

      “Well, as long as Henry’s supervising…” The woman’s gaze slid across Eve’s bare left hand and raised limpidly to meet David’s. “It might actually be better to have you do the project. It’s to be a family heirloom for my daughter, you understand. Not that there’s anything wrong with Henry’s style, but a younger man might be more in touch with what a girl in her twenties likes.”

      Honestly, Eve fumed. She couldn’t be any more obvious if she hit him with a brick.

      “My first task, however,” David said pleasantly, “will be a wedding ring.” He reached for Eve’s hand and raised it to his lips, kissing her ring finger.

      Mrs. Morgan’s lip curled. “What a good catch for you, Eve. Just how did the two of you happen to meet?”

      Eve could feel a cavern opening under her toes. She wasn’t ready for that kind of question—at least not when asked in that particularly insinuating tone—and her brain felt absolutely vacant.

      “Through Henry, of course,” David said. “How else?”

      “How else indeed,” Mrs. Morgan sniffed. “How very convenient for you both.” She pulled her stole higher around her throat and turned toward the door.

      Eve let herself sag in her chair.

      David sat down again, smiling. “Most gifted? Eve, honey, even Henry said I was only one of the top three.”

      Eve ignored him. “How odd that Mrs. Morgan never said anything about wanting an heirloom for her daughter when she talked to Henry about that project.”

      “What kind of project is it?”

      Eve rolled her eyes. “She’s got all these worn-out old rings—”

      “Oh, yes. Henry told me about that one.”

      “Well, she only gathered them up in the first place so she’d have an excuse to call him twice a week for the last two months.”

      He looked startled. “You mean she’s chasing after Henry?”

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