Party Crashers

were from New York.
    The woman who had complimented her on the jumpsuit was talking to a man half her age, the man who had laughed at her joke talking to a woman half his age. Of course, they'd never recognize her in this getup.
    Everyone, it appeared, had adhered to the suggested dress code. Most of the men wore silky pajamas—striped or paisley—and short robes or smoking jackets. The women, on the other hand, put a tad more skin on display. Teddies, tap pants and camisoles, shortie nightshirts, long gowns with high slits, gossamer robes. Breasts and Botox abounded. There were a few elaborate caftans (adult onesies), but for the most part, Jolie felt overdressed. Still, when the lower part of her robe gapped and air rushed over her bare legs, she shivered and pulled the robe closer around her.
    "Please, don't obstruct the view," a man said next to her.
    Her nipples knew that voice.
    Jolie turned to find Beck Underwood smiling down at her legs. He wore a plain black cotton robe a la Target that hit him mid-shin, and flip-flops that looked to be on their last flop. In one hand, he held a champagne flute that looked diminutive between his big fingers; in the other he held a bottle of champagne by the neck. The V of his belted robe revealed dark chest hair with golden ends. She'd bet her last dollar that the man had never worn a robe in his life. Obviously, he wasn't a pajama man. Jolie's gaze dropped lower and she couldn't help but wonder what, if anything, was underneath the robe.
    When she looked up, Beck was staring at her as if she were his personal party favor.

Chapter Sixteen

    BECK UNDERWOOD WALKED CLOSER, his mouth pursed in an ironic smile. "I had a feeling you might be here."
    Jolie glanced around. Carlotta and Hannah were standing a few feet away, their heads close in conversation. Sammy was greeting more guests. Jolie looked back to him and shook her bewigged head. "How do you always recognize me?"
    He shrugged, then leaned in. "Did you crash?"
    She crossed her arms, then nodded sheepishly.
    He threw his head back and laughed. "That's great. Someday you're going to have to tell me how you do it."
    Jolie bristled at the thought of being the man's entertainment.
    "Who are you tonight?" he whispered.
    Feeling more foolish by the minute, she mumbled, "Gwen."
    "Ah. Well, Gwen," he said, picking up a lock of her long fake, red hair, "I've always had a thing for blondes, but in your case, I might make an exception."
    Her heart fluttered irrationally until she realized that he was probably well on his way to emptying the bottle of champagne that he held. "You really shouldn't flirt with the person who might become your real-estate agent."
    His teeth flashed white against his tan. "Why not?"
    Jolie managed a watery smile that she hoped passed for coy. "Because she might take advantage of you."
    He lifted one eyebrow. "Careful, Gwen, you give a man hope."
    Her heart skipped a beat, and she told herself he was teasing her, maybe looking for a rendezvous after the party...or during the party. And while she couldn't deny that she was incredibly attracted to the man, she wasn't about to put herself in the position of being one of Beck Underwood's groupies. She'd had casual sex before, but this situation was different. Besides the fact that she needed the man's business, she was dangerously close to caring what he thought of her. A caution flag rose in her mind, warning her that there might be more at stake here than a missed commission.
    "Is your sister here?" she asked, to change the subject.
    He nodded. "Della's by the pool."
    "Ah, yes, the pool."
    "I suppose you've been here before."
    "No, but Sammy talked about the pool, um... occasionally at the office."
    "Ah. Then allow me to take you on a tour. It's quite the place." He winked. "Sammy gave me the full treatment earlier."
    Jolie hesitated, then glanced over his shoulder and saw Sammy watching them with a proprietary eye on Beck, a warning eye on her. Revenge sparked in Jolie's chest and she looked back to Beck. "A tour would be nice. Maybe you can point out some things you do and don't like."
    His gaze raked over her. "I like short, silky nightgowns and silly house shoes."
    She was suddenly grateful for the ten-pound velvet robe. "I meant what you like in a house," she added quickly, then nervously licked her lips. "Do you think I could have some of that champagne?"
    His mouth curved into a grin and he flagged a passing waiter. "You, interesting lady, can have