When You Are Mine(2)

"Well, yes, but she's special," Kristeene said, something approaching  pride in her voice. "She's driven and determined. Just a good girl."

"Let me guess. She has a great personality?"

"Well, yes, she does." His mother pressed her lips together, but Walsh  knew laughter could spill from the sides at any minute. "Come on. Time  to announce the awards."

Walsh took a seat across from Cam and Jo.

"Where is she?" Cam twisted around, scanning the crowded room. "She should've been here by now."

"She'll be here." Jo took a quick sip of her white wine and toyed with  the studded bangle wrapped around her wrist. "She's probably just  running late, and I'm sure there's an excellent reason for it. God  forbid she'd do anything wrong."

"She did mention she was taking her mentee home after school." Worry  pulled Cam's dark brows together. "But that would've been hours ago."

Was this really Cam? Walsh couldn't believe all this concern. For a  girl? Cam barely remembered the names of the girls he'd slept with over  the years, usually referring to them by distinguishing characteristics.

The girl with the belly-button ring.

That chick with the tramp stamp.

The one who did that trick with her tongue.

Now Cam was worried because this girl was late?

"Thank you all for being here tonight," Walsh's mother said from the  platform, her warm gaze skimming each table. "My great-grandfather  married a girl who never knew her mother or father. A girl who lived in  an orphanage throughout her childhood. Her story compelled my family to  start the Walsh Foundation, and we've been helping kids without parents  or homes all over the world ever since."

Polite applause from the donors. The college students who had grown up  in foster homes and been able to attend college because of the  foundation offered a less reserved response, cheering and whistling  until Kristeene held up a staying hand.

"Speaking of all over the world." Kristeene turned a bright smile in  Walsh's direction. "I'm going to have a proud mother moment and welcome  my son, Walsh, home. He's finally back from visiting our orphanage in  Kenya. Help me convince him to stay for the summer. Stand up, baby."

Walsh stood, offering a brief salute before quickly sitting, feeling as  self-conscious as he had at six years old when she'd forced him to play  the piano for company.

"We're so proud of him." Her eyes lingered on her only child. "He's been  working with the Walsh Foundation ever since he graduated from NYU, and  he helps out his father in New York when he can."

Walsh nearly smirked, thinking of how disgusted Martin Bennett would be  to hear about his son "helping out" in New York. Like training to run a  multibillion dollar enterprise was his side gig. His father wanted Walsh  to work all of what he liked to call this "philanthropy crap" out of  his system with his mother's do-gooder family.

"And that brings us to our final award, the Scholar of the Year," his  mother said, regaining Walsh's attention. "This young lady has impressed  us all. Not only did she graduate last week with a four-point-oh GPA,  but she also serves as a mentor at Walsh House in Raleigh, where we  serve at-risk teens. I interviewed her myself for the scholarship last  year. I was blown away by her strength of will, determination, and  compassion. Please welcome Kerris Moreton, our Scholar of the Year."

Everyone applauded. After that grand introduction, Walsh wondered if  this girl would ascend to the stage flanked by cherubim and seraphim and  accompanied by harps. Walsh envisioned everyone genuflecting when this  paragon finally decided to bless them with her presence. His hands stung  from clapping, waiting for her to show up.

Where the hell was she?                       
       
           



       

His mother scanned the room, obviously looking for the little  scholar-cum-saint. She shielded her eyes against the glare of discreetly  lit chandeliers.

"I guess promptness isn't one of her virtues," Walsh said.

Cam surprised him with an irritated look. What? Did the little saint  have him under her spell, too? Wonder what his new girlfriend thought of  that. Then Cam's face lit up.

"Here she comes."

She rushed through the door and down the aisle toward the stage. Walsh  blinked, thinking she would be less lovely at a second glance. She was  not less of anything. No less blinding. No less stunning. No less  captivating. She rushed past their table, but not before he got a good  look at her.

She was tiny. Probably no more than an inch over five feet, but softly  curved in the places a woman should be. He would stand more than a foot  taller. Her hair waved around her shoulders and streamed down her slim  back, dark brown, spiked with lighter red streaks, as if the tresses had  trapped rays of sun. Her cheekbones curved high, a perfect setting for  eyes that tilted a little, glinting with green, amber, and gold. And  that mouth.

Damn, that mouth.

It was full and wide. Lush, like raspberries at peak season.

And damned if she wasn't wearing a scarlet dress and a flower behind her ear.





Chapter Two



He was a mountain. Insurmountable. Stark against the backdrop of the  glittering ballroom like peaks against a feather-clouded sky. His  unwavering stare scrambled her thoughts.

Kerris knew she should be used to the stares by now. People could never  label her ethnicity. A little bit of this, a little bit of that. She'd  never know what genetic cocktail had been shaken or stirred to get this  face that made people take a second look, trying to place her. She'd  always struggled to find her place. Hard to do when you were practically  born on a doorstep and passed around like an old library book everyone  keeps returning.

She got the impression this man wasn't used to waiting for people and  things, but he didn't seem impatient. If anything, he was completely  still. He seemed to be waiting for her.

After the awards had been given out, Kerris tried to focus on several  well-wishers offering congratulations. With her undignified sprint to  the stage, she was just glad to have made it. Old ladies and kids. She  could never say no.

Kerris managed to nod and smile at Jenni, the Walsh Foundation's program  coordinator, but she really just wanted to drag her weary bones home,  wrap up in her thrift store kimono, and sip her Earl Grey.

"Excuse me, Jenni." His voice was dark and rich and strong like a shot of espresso.

"We didn't know you were coming tonight." Jenni's back straightened and  her hand flitted to adjust an already-perfectly-straight collar.

"Surprise." He smiled, and Jenni couldn't seem to look away. Neither  could Kerris. "I wanted to congratulate Miss Moreton personally. Would  you excuse us?"

Jenni scurried off without a word. Had he been rude? Kerris couldn't  tell. She wondered if charm like that wrapped around such a steely will  left people feeling they should thank him when he stepped on their feet.

He watched her with the focus of a jaguar considering a particularly  scrumptious prey. That look should have frightened her, but it wasn't  fear unfurling inside. She didn't know this feeling, but she was certain  she had never felt it before.

"Congratulations." He slid his hands into his pockets and cocked his  head to one side, his casual stance belying the barely checked energy of  a hunter. "I don't know which was more impressive. The award, or your  good deed earlier taking the old lady home."

Kerris's jaw nearly gave in to gravity and dropped.

"How did you … when did you … huh?"

Wow. Stellar articulation. She gave her mental processes a second to catch up. Let's try this again.

"How did you know about the lady?"

"I was in the parking lot across from the hotel, running late for the awards ceremony, and overheard."

The room narrowed to the width of his smile, and Kerris felt herself leaning toward him, on the verge of toppling.

"Most people wouldn't have helped her out."                       
       
           



       

"She was a sweetheart. It was nothing."

One hand went to her throat. The other touched the silk orchid nested  behind her ear. A succession of twitches she couldn't control. Butterfly  wings brushed the lining of her belly. She willed the triple time tempo  of her heart to slow, but he inundated her senses, and they would not  be soothed.

Kerris watched him catalog every detail about her, his eyes surveying  each limb and curve. Her fingers plucked at her thrift shop dress, a  scarlet tunic with gold embroidery edging the sleeves and collar,  stopping just above her knees. Under his scrutiny, her toes curled in  the scarlet leather mules. She shifted her weight from one tanned leg to  the other. And then back again, like an uneven scale, grappling for  balance.