Party Crashers

He stopped suddenly and pulled back, and before disappointment could settle in, she realized from the look in his eyes that he was surprised...but at her response or his own, she couldn't tell. Regardless, a split second later he was kissing her again, this time with hands-on features and sound effects.
    And then slowly she began to grasp the fact that the sounds were coming from someone other than the two of them. They parted and Jolie looked up to see their hostess, Sammy, standing in the doorway of the bedroom with her arms crossed, looking, frankly, somewhat inhospitable.

Chapter Seventeen

    "WHY, BECK, I SEE YOU’RE having a good time."
    "Great party, Sammy." Either Jolie was imagining things, or Beck inched even closer to her side. Was he afraid Sammy was going to recognize her?
    She was afraid enough for the both of them, Jolie decided. At that exact moment, her left contact lens decided to revolt, folding onto itself and obscuring her vision. Jolie blinked liked mad and the thing finally righted itself, to bring Sammy back into view.
    In her minuscule leopard-print teddy, severe makeup, and killer high-heeled mules, the woman looked ready to bare her fangs and pounce. "I'm sorry, what did you say your name was again?"
    "Gwen," Jolie murmured, trying to disguise her voice.
    "I didn't get your last name, Gwen."
    Jolie's mind raced and came up with, "Yarborough."
    "Gwen Yarborough," Sammy said, then shook her head. "When did we meet?"
    "Gwen was at the media reception last night," Beck broke in. "The two of you must have met there."
    "That's right," Jolie said. "You were wearing the most lovely pink dress."
    Sammy's expression eased a smidgen. "Gwen, dear, you spilled champagne on my rug."
    Jolie looked down in horror to see a wet spot next to the tip of her burgundy satin mule. In truth, though, she was relieved she hadn't spoiled the expensive shoes.
    "I did that," Beck said quickly. "My apologies, Sammy."
    The woman gave a dismissive wave. "I'll send someone to soak it up. That's why I don't serve red wine at my parties. Things tend to get a little...out of hand."
    She stared at Jolie and she took a half step forward. "Are your eyes two different colors?"
    Jolie's palm felt sweaty against the glass she held. "Uh—"
    "Yes," Beck said. "Isn't that something? I'd heard of people having different-colored eyes, but I'd never met anyone who did, until Gwen."
    Sammy was still staring at her and Jolie couldn't look away, like prey prior to being caught and eaten. Sammy's mouth parted slightly and something flickered in her eyes, then vanished. Suddenly, she smiled, then straightened. "Enjoy the tour, then come down and join the rest of the party around the pool. The games will begin soon."
    "Games?" Beck asked
    "What's a party without games?" Sammy wet her lips, then turned on her five-inch heels and strode out, her sheer robe floating out behind her like a cape.
    Jolie shivered, and the bad feeling she'd had when they'd first arrived descended over her again.
    "Whew," Beck muttered. "That was close."
    Jolie nodded absently, then glanced down. "I don't suppose you could help me find my contact lens?"
    "Don't move. It's probably on that fuzzy robe that's covering practically every inch of you," he teased, setting down his glass and bottle. "This might require a little hands-on search." He lifted his eyebrows, waiting for her permission.
    She pressed her lips together, then gave a curt nod. Why hadn't she worn a bra?
    He took her glass of champagne and set it next to his. Then he gave her a sexy grin and skimmed his hands over her neck and shoulders in a slow sensual caress that made her wish the heavy garment wasn't between her skin and his hands. She swallowed hard against the pull of him, the memory of his kiss still on her lips. Longing pooled in her stomach, thighs. He must have felt it too, because his grin faded when he brought his hands down over her breasts, and his breathing increased.
    Her nipples budded and she closed her eyes briefly. He continued to stroke his hands down the robe, spanning her waist and smoothing his hands over her hips, then down her thighs. When he crouched to lift the flowing hem of the garment for a closer inspection, cool air hit her exposed legs.
    He took advantage of the opportunity to peek, grunting in satisfaction. She gave into a little thrill of pleasure, thanking God that she'd shaved. "Did you find it?" she asked.
    "Find what?" he said, still peeking.
    Exasperated, she