wonderful. I love champagne,â Frankie said with delight, accepting a flute from Eli. âHow did you know?â
âYou had champagne at your last birthday party.â
His gaze met hers, and Frankieâs heart skipped a beat. The memory of her birthday party and the kiss theyâd shared was in his eyes, and Frankie was suddenly back there, his mouth on hers, his arms warm and hard, wrapping her tight against the powerful muscles of his chest and thighsâ¦.
âHow nice that you remembered.â
Corneliaâs warm voice broke the spell that held Frankie, and she tore her gaze from Eliâs, looking down at the bubbles rising in the gold liquid filling her flute.
Eli relaxed in his chair, a glass in one hand, the other arm stretched out along the back of Frankieâs chair. His fingers brushed the bare curve of her shoulder before closing warmly, lightly, over the nape of her neck.
âI remember everything about Frankie.â His voice was deeper, huskier.
Frankie glanced sideways, and their gazes meshed. She tried to remember he was only playing a role. But his blue eyes were darker, smokier, and the heat within seemed so real Frankie felt herself melting, her body unconsciously softening, easing toward his.
âI donât recall seeing you at Frankieâs last birthday party,â Harry said.
Frankie glanced up, alerted by Harryâs tone, and saw his eyes narrow over Eli.
âI wasnât there long,â Eli said without missing a beat. âIâd barely recovered from a second leg surgery and stopped in for a few minutes, looking for Justin. I didnâtknow you were having a party until I got there and only stayed long enough to say hello and toast the birthday girl before leaving.â
âAh, that must be why I donât rememberâI probably didnât see you in the crowd,â Harry mused.
âThere were a lot of people at the house,â Eli agreed.
His fingertips absently stroked the curve of Frankieâs shoulder, almost as if he was savoring the tactile pleasure of her skin against his. Despite knowing he was only touching her because Harry and Cornelia were watching, Frankie still shivered inwardly, her skin heating beneath his touch.
âOh, Jonathon,â Marcia exclaimed, her eyes lighting as the orchestra played the opening notes of a classic Burt Bacharach tune. âI love this songâcome dance with me.â She held out her hand to her husband.
âExcuse us, folks,â Jonathon said as he rose and took his wifeâs hand.
Eli leaned closer, his lips brushing Frankieâs ear-lobe.
âLetâs dance.â
She nodded silently, and he stood, pulling back her chair.
âHarry, you should dance with Mom,â she said as Eli took her hand, threading her fingers through his.
âI think weâll sit this one out and finish our champagne,â Harry replied.
Frankie thought she caught a fleeting frown crossher motherâs features before Eli tugged her gently out onto the gleaming floor.
He turned her into his arms, tucking her close. Her temple rested against his cheek, and each breath she took drew in the subtle scent of his aftershave, warmed by body heat. She loved that smell, she thought, leaning closer.
âDid you see Harryâs face?â Eliâs voice was a low rumble. He chuckled, his breath ghosting against her ear.
âHe canât decide whether to demand we tell him why weâre here together or pretend itâs not happening.â
Frankie laughed. âIâd give anything to hear what heâs saying to Mom right now.â
Eliâs arms tightened around Frankie. âHeads up,â he whispered in her ear. âHarry and your mom are heading this way.â
Frankie tilted her head back and looked up at him.
âDo we have a plan?â she asked, even as she reveled in the muscled strength of his arm at her waist, his warm fingers threaded through