unzipped it, and took out Smitty's reproduction of Carol Borian's little black dress.
It was simple and understated, not exactly boring but far from the spangly numbers Angelina was used to. She sighed and laid it out on the bed, wondering how she could spice it up and still stay true to the part she had to play.
Then a wicked, slow smile eased over her. She had just the thing.
* * *
Finn paced outside Angelina's closed bedroom door. What the hell was taking her so long? He pulled at the bow tie and tuxedo shut strangling his neck and caught Mike's amused glance.
"What are you laughing at?"
Mike shrugged, all innocence. "I don't know. What are you growling at?"
"Borian will have gone home by the time she finishes primping." A sharp jab of his head indicated Angelina's closed door.
"Uh-huh." Mike's eyebrows rose in a picture of doubt. "I thought maybe you were nervous. You've had a wild hair up your butt all afternoon."
Had he been so transparent? "Don't be an ass."
"You should be kicking your heels up at this party thing. If what you said about Borian's reaction at lunch is even half true, the ball will cinch everything."
Hell. Mike was right. But as time for the Governor's Ball drew near, the knot in the back of his neck had grown tighter. He recalled Angelina's heady laughter that afternoon, the excited light in her green eyes. And in his mind that picture was replaced by the shocked, covetous look on Borian's face at lunch, as though he wanted to devour her.
Christ, he knew the feeling. He could almost feel sorry for Borian, if he wasn't such a slug.
And if exposing Angelina to him didn't put her in danger, he could almost sit back and watch the show.
Almost.
Finn checked his watch again. Damn the woman. She was a survivor. She didn't need him worrying about her. She'd be fine. Who was he kidding? She'd be great. This was right up her alley.
Right up her goddamn alley.
The door opened, and he swiveled his head to look as Angelina stepped out.
Jesus Christ.
Finn's mouth dried up instantly. Mike's jaw gaped open. Angelina smiled and pirouetted in front of them.
"What's the matter, boys? Never seen black before?"
"Oh, I've seen it," Mike said. "It just never looked this good."
Amen. She transformed the simple cocktail dress Smitty had finished that afternoon. Black as a nun's habit but not as concealing. Not that it revealed a whole lot, either. The clean, smooth lines clung sedately to her curves, and a scoop of a neck skimmed her shoulders, partially exposing them without revealing her heart-shaped birthmark. In keeping with her pose as the demure Mrs. Montgomery, the dress stopped just below her knees. But the modest length didn't hide the rest of her long, shapely legs, which ended in a pair of black heeled pumps that added three inches to her height. Around her neck a single strand of pearls lay luminous and creamy as the skin it caressed. She looked expensive and elegant. And sexy as hell.
Finn nearly melted where he stood.
Mike whistled, low and admiring. "You look fantastic."
"Thank you." She turned to Finn as if she expected a pat on the head. Damned if he'd tell her she looked good. She always looked good, and she knew it. The trouble was, so did everyone else. He pictured Borian dancing with her, his hands on her arms, her shoulders, places where Finn had touched her the other night. His chest tightened for the hundredth time that day.
"I'm ready." She picked up the velvet stole draped over the back of the couch.
"Not quite." Her brows arched inquiringly, those sea-green eyes daring him to argue with her. "We need to wire you up."
"I am wired." She ran a hand over her breasts and torso, causing him to repress a groan. "Unless the TCF is going into the lingerie business?"
Mike wagged a finger at her. "Behave." And held up a thin, snaggly black cable with a tiny microphone attached. "We need a record of everything Borian says to you."
She lifted the cable with an indolent finger. "And do
It was simple and understated, not exactly boring but far from the spangly numbers Angelina was used to. She sighed and laid it out on the bed, wondering how she could spice it up and still stay true to the part she had to play.
Then a wicked, slow smile eased over her. She had just the thing.
* * *
Finn paced outside Angelina's closed bedroom door. What the hell was taking her so long? He pulled at the bow tie and tuxedo shut strangling his neck and caught Mike's amused glance.
"What are you laughing at?"
Mike shrugged, all innocence. "I don't know. What are you growling at?"
"Borian will have gone home by the time she finishes primping." A sharp jab of his head indicated Angelina's closed door.
"Uh-huh." Mike's eyebrows rose in a picture of doubt. "I thought maybe you were nervous. You've had a wild hair up your butt all afternoon."
Had he been so transparent? "Don't be an ass."
"You should be kicking your heels up at this party thing. If what you said about Borian's reaction at lunch is even half true, the ball will cinch everything."
Hell. Mike was right. But as time for the Governor's Ball drew near, the knot in the back of his neck had grown tighter. He recalled Angelina's heady laughter that afternoon, the excited light in her green eyes. And in his mind that picture was replaced by the shocked, covetous look on Borian's face at lunch, as though he wanted to devour her.
Christ, he knew the feeling. He could almost feel sorry for Borian, if he wasn't such a slug.
And if exposing Angelina to him didn't put her in danger, he could almost sit back and watch the show.
Almost.
Finn checked his watch again. Damn the woman. She was a survivor. She didn't need him worrying about her. She'd be fine. Who was he kidding? She'd be great. This was right up her alley.
Right up her goddamn alley.
The door opened, and he swiveled his head to look as Angelina stepped out.
Jesus Christ.
Finn's mouth dried up instantly. Mike's jaw gaped open. Angelina smiled and pirouetted in front of them.
"What's the matter, boys? Never seen black before?"
"Oh, I've seen it," Mike said. "It just never looked this good."
Amen. She transformed the simple cocktail dress Smitty had finished that afternoon. Black as a nun's habit but not as concealing. Not that it revealed a whole lot, either. The clean, smooth lines clung sedately to her curves, and a scoop of a neck skimmed her shoulders, partially exposing them without revealing her heart-shaped birthmark. In keeping with her pose as the demure Mrs. Montgomery, the dress stopped just below her knees. But the modest length didn't hide the rest of her long, shapely legs, which ended in a pair of black heeled pumps that added three inches to her height. Around her neck a single strand of pearls lay luminous and creamy as the skin it caressed. She looked expensive and elegant. And sexy as hell.
Finn nearly melted where he stood.
Mike whistled, low and admiring. "You look fantastic."
"Thank you." She turned to Finn as if she expected a pat on the head. Damned if he'd tell her she looked good. She always looked good, and she knew it. The trouble was, so did everyone else. He pictured Borian dancing with her, his hands on her arms, her shoulders, places where Finn had touched her the other night. His chest tightened for the hundredth time that day.
"I'm ready." She picked up the velvet stole draped over the back of the couch.
"Not quite." Her brows arched inquiringly, those sea-green eyes daring him to argue with her. "We need to wire you up."
"I am wired." She ran a hand over her breasts and torso, causing him to repress a groan. "Unless the TCF is going into the lingerie business?"
Mike wagged a finger at her. "Behave." And held up a thin, snaggly black cable with a tiny microphone attached. "We need a record of everything Borian says to you."
She lifted the cable with an indolent finger. "And do
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