A slow smile spread across his face as he came closer. "Let me guess. You were expecting some penthouse condo bachelor pad."
She nodded. "I thought I heard my father mention a while back that you had a place somewhere downtown."
"I gave up the penthouse a couple of years ago." He shrugged. "I was looking for a change. And this place allows me to entertain on a larger scale. It's still a work in progress, though."
"Two years ago?" she asked. "Wasn't that around the time you got your promotion to CEO of Tremont REH?"
She was being contrary by implying Tremont money was the reason he could afford a fancy Pacific Heights address, but she couldn't help herself.
Anything to divert the heat of his gaze from her. She felt as if she could go up in flames right here on the pavement.
"Let's just say, the real estate market was doing well at the time," he returned easily. "For Evkit Investments as well as Tremont REH."
"I just assumed a penthouse would be more your speed," she said in a more conciliatory tone. "You must be lost in all this space."
An enigmatic smile played at his lips. "Hoping for evidence in my choice of real estate that I'm not the settling down type? Sorry to disappoint."
"Actually," she parried, "I thought you'd enjoy the view from up high in a penthouse, looking down at us lesser mortals."
He chuckled, and then murmured, "I don't think you have a clue what I'd enjoy, Evangeline."
Eva realized they were no longer talking about real estate—or even the seriousness of his marriage proposal.
A vision of the two of them ha**ng s*x on tangled sheets sprang into her mind.
Reflexively she shook her head to clear it.
"Is something wrong?" he asked, his expression amused and too knowing.
She whirled away. "I need to go supervise in the kitchen since there's not much time. I'm here to plan a party, remember?"
"Of course," he murmured as she turned away. "Why else would you be here?"
His cryptic comment almost broke her stride, but she forced herself to keep going.
His question echoed in her head. Why else would she be here?
Seven
S o far so good, Eva thought, as she made sure plates and utensils continued to be well stocked on a sideboard set up in Griffin's living room.
It dawned on her that she didn't feel like a professional party planner tonight, or even a guest.
Instead it felt as if she and Griffin were joint hosts, acting in easy, unspoken harmony. She'd helped welcome his guests, many of whom she happened to be acquainted with, and Griffin had come back to the kitchen to assist several times. It was almost as if they were husband and wife, a voice in her head whispered before she could silence it.
Earlier in the evening, she'd been just as charmed by the inside of Griffin's house as by the outside. The chef's kitchen—with its top-of-the-line stainless steel appliances, granite countertops, double sink and two cooking ranges—was a dream. The layout of the other rooms on the ground floor lent itself to the easy flow of traffic. French doors and a large number of windows also brought in a nice breeze to the party.
There was no doubt about it, she reflected as she straightened up the sideboard. Griffin had chosen well when he'd purchased the house. But then she supposed she shouldn't be surprised he had a keen eye for real estate.
She'd also had to concede tonight that Griffin was far wealthier than she'd imagined.
It wasn't just the impressiveness of his home. From snatches of conversation among the guests, she'd discovered just how successful Evkit Investments had become in the last few years—years during which she'd purposely refused to pay attention to anything Griffin was doing.
Many guests had heaped praise on Griffin's investment savvy. She'd learned that Griffin owned prime residential real estate—condos and rental units, alike—all over San Francisco.
Union Square. Russian Hill. Bernal Heights. Fisherman's Wharf. And, of course, Pacific Heights. His acquisitions ran the gamut of San Francisco's exclusive and hot neighborhoods.
Under other circumstances, the guests' conversation may have driven her crazy. Tonight, however, it didn't bother her. She was more consumed with Griffin's effect on her pulse whenever he was nearby.
She stole a look at him now across the room, where he stood by the mantel chatting with a middle-aged couple and holding a wineglass by the stem.
He'd changed into an open-collar white shirt and black pants for the party, but even in casual attire, his seductive allure made her heart trip over itself.
"Eva."
Startled from her reverie, she turned and noticed Griffin's sister coming toward her.
"Monica! I haven't seen you in ages."
Monica gave her a relieved smile. "I'm just glad I'm here. Ben had to be in San Fran for a business dinner tonight, but we thought we'd stop by Griffin's afterward for the end of the party."
Eva knew Griffin's sister had gotten married a couple of years ago to a Hollywood film producer and now spent most of her time in L.A.
She hugged Monica, and felt an unmistakable bump below the other woman's baby doll top. Pulling back, she said, "You're—?"
Monica nodded, her face glowing. "We're thrilled."
"Griffin didn't say a thing," she exclaimed. Though she was happy for Monica, her heart did a sad little clench over the fact that her own dream of a family had lately become more elusive.
Monica smiled again. "I told Griffin a while back, but you know, sometimes he can be so…What's the word I'm looking for?"
"Arrogant? Irritating? Unbearable?"
Monica laughed. "You know him so well!"
And even better lately, Eva thought.
Monica looked over at her brother. "I just hope he's okay. He spent so many years watching over me and Josh that I wonder whether he's feeling a little adrift these days."
She knew the story of Griffin's parents' untimely death, of course, but for as long as she'd known him, Griffin had always seemed strong and invincible.
"I can think of many words for your brother, but adrift isn't one of them," she said. Where she was concerned, at least, Griffin was all too confident about what he wanted.
She glanced over at Griffin, and when his eyes met hers across the room, she sucked in a breath.
Deliberately she turned back toward his sister.
"I'm serious," Monica continued. "Sometimes, I wonder whether restlessness is the reason Griffin bought this house. He was paying tuition bills and dealing with orthodontist appointments at a time when many college guys are only thinking about the next keg party. Now he doesn't know what to do with himself."