Christmas Star (Contemporary, Romance) by Roz Denny Fox

Harrison would expect her to throw him offtrack. To erect roadblocks. Denial, however, stuck in Starr’s throat, making breathing next to impossible.
    “I thought you said you didn’t know this man,” Stanley accused as he speared a huge radish rosette.
    Starr’s breath escaped like steam from boiling water. “He’s no friend, believe me,” she managed at last. “Ignore him, Stanley. Maybe he’ll take the hint and leave.” She deliberately picked up her sandwich and took a bite.
    Clay smiled benignly, stuck out a broad, tanned hand and clasped the doctor’s smooth, pale one in a bone-crushing grip.
    Stanley’s eyes bugged behind his glasses. Then both men turned to look at Starr. Stanley’s gaze was hurt and challenging; Clay’s slumberous and faintly mocking.
    “This—” Clay arched a brow “—is Stanley Stud?” His amused voice caused diners all around to stop eating and stare.
    Stanley issued an ill-concealed oath.
    Starr felt truly skewered on a barb of her own making—or rather, her daughter’s making. Too late she realized she shouldn’t have lied to Stanley.
    His glare swung from the intruder to Starr and back again. Angrily he threw his napkin across his salad plate. But his tie got tangled in the folds and ended up landing in the Russian dressing, too.
    Starr’s eyes widened as she watched an oily red stain seep through the fine linen napkin into the elegant silk of Stanley’s tie. Her colleague was nothing if not fastidious about his attire. She winced.
    Stanley gingerly untied the offending article and let it drop. “I’d say you know him, all right,” he growled. “It’s not enough that you let that wretched, uncivilized little wharf hoodlum insult me to my face. Now you allow her insolence to be passed on to your...friends.”
    “SeLi is not a hoodlum.” Furious, Starr struggled to stand, but Clay’s large body didn’t allow it. “Stanley, wait,” she said when he started to slide from the booth.
    “Let him go,” Clay advised. “I’ll give you a lift back to the office.”
    A waitress arrived just then with Stanley’s main course.
    “Stanley, this is silly,” Starr hissed. “SeLi knows exactly how to jerk your chain. If you didn’t react, she’d quit doing it. Come on, finish your lunch. The spinach fettuccini here is to die for.”
    “Oh, here you are!” Another waitress, the bubbly one Starr had seen fawning over Clay, rushed up and handed him his steak plate. Stanley was more or less hemmed in. “How nice,” the young woman cooed, her eyes only for Clay. “You found someone you knew. And to think you’re only visiting San Francisco. It’s a small world, I always say.”
    The woman’s Pollyanna sweetness grated on Starr’s nerves, as did the way she gushed over Clay. Oh, he made a show of nonchalance, but Starr knew he loved every minute. “Sit, Stanley,” Starr snapped. “You’re making a scene.”
    “Me?” he sputtered.
    Clay calmly cut into his very rare steak and carried a piece to his mouth.
    Stanley turned a sort of puce green. “How can you even watch this...this cannibal eat?”
    “Don’t rush off on my account,” Clay said around a winsome smile. “Finish your tie, er, your lunch.” His grin spread.
    Stanley pulled back, looking miffed. “I can’t believe you’re friends with someone so uncouth, Starr.”
    Clay gestured with his fork. “Oh, we’re not friends. It’s more of a fraternal affiliation, I’d say, given her close association with my brother.”
    “And who might your brother be?” Stanley tore his gaze from the meat and sneered. “Dracula?”
    Clay’s smile faded. “Harrison McLeod. Senator Harrison McLeod. The rules are simple while he’s in office. What’s his is mine, and what’s mine I keep.” His cool blue gaze raked Starr.
    She seethed.
    Clay sat back. Under the table, his thigh brushed hers.
    She went hot, then cold, then hot again.
    “That does it!” Stanley hailed his waitress and asked her to box