“How’s Billy doing, Walker?” Tony asked, referring to Walker’s father. “Last I heard, he was living with Zach in Truckee.”
“My dad died last year,” Walker said quietly.
Madeline’s head swung around. When he saw the expression on her face, regret swept through him for being so abrupt. Madeline had adored Billy when she’d been a teenager, and Billy had loved her back.
“No! ” Tony exclaimed, and Walker’s regret deepened.
His father had always been great with kids. He’d left his mark on Tony and Madeline. “What happened?” Tony asked.
“A stroke,” Walker said. “It happened the day after Christmas last year. It was in his sleep . . . Quick.”
“Zach was there?” Madeline asked throatily.
Walker nodded. “Yeah, and my nephew Kale.”
“He . . . he didn’t suffer? Billy, I mean?” she asked shakily.
He held her gaze and shook his head. Her lips—pink and full and naked of all makeup—parted. Walker suspected she thought of her own father’s abrupt death eleven years ago. He saw her throat convulse as she swallowed.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” she said softly. She cast her gaze back to the lake.
“I loved Billy. I’ll miss him,” Tony said, sounding a little lost. Tony’s brain was hardwired with brilliant equipment, but he responded so frankly at times, so genuinely, it was like he was a simple child. The paradox of Tony wasn’t lost on Walker. He guessed many women found that contrast between quirky genius and sweet boy-man endearing. Factor in a face and body worthy of a European playboy, and Walker supposed he could understand Tony’s appeal for Madeline.
Sort of.
Not really, but that just might be jealousy talking, Walker admitted to himself as he covertly studied the clean lines of Madeline’s profile set against the topaz jewel of the lake. Madeline had a mind like a steel trap. He just couldn’t see her being wildly attracted to Tony—couldn’t see it when they were kids, still couldn’t see it now.
Madeline remained thoughtful and quiet as Hal and Kitty drew Walker into a conversation about what it had been like to be a Secret Service agent. Tony seemed relaxed and content as he listened, the prince in his castle, occasionally asking a few questions and joining in laughter. Madeline’s gaze remained on the lake as it deepened in color with encroaching nightfall. She didn’t participate in the conversation, but Walker sensed she listened with avid attention.
Or maybe he thought that because he was so hyperaware of her.
After a few minutes, Alessandro, Tony’s engaging assistant who did everything from running errands to organizing parties and dinners, came onto the terrace and announced that he’d serve their meal indoors.
Late June days in Tahoe could sizzle, but the evenings cooled considerably. Dinner was served in a glass sanctuary on the west side of the house. Alessandro had set the table with a white tablecloth and several flickering pinecone candles. Tony took the seat at the end of the table and the Margraves sat side by side to the left of him. Madeline gave Walker a repressive glance when he pulled back her chair to seat her. Her sun-gilded back was bare in the halter dress she wore. She wore her long, dark hair in a sleek twist at the back of her head. He could tell by the stiffness of her spine she was miffed when he sat down next to her. He unobtrusively moved his chair nearer to her when he pushed himself toward the table.
He felt her start when he placed his hand on her dress-covered thigh beneath the table. For one second . . . two . . . three, he waited on edge. He barely had attention to focus when Alessandro approached, showing Madeline the label of the wine.
“This is the wine you requested, Ms. Sayer. Would you like to taste it?”
Walker waited, an expression of polite indifference plastered on his face. He’d made it clear to his director at the Secret Service, Mark Eldridge, that he wasn’t impartial when it came to this investigation. He’d even warned Eldridge it wasn’t a good idea to include him if Madeline was going to be involved. Walker had thought it only fair to tell the truth.
Eldridge had considered all the advantages Walker’s inside position offered and sent him anyway.
Walker had convinced himself seducing Madeline could serve a dual purpose. He wasn’t entirely being selfish by coming on to her with Tony sitting six feet away. Having an inside position with Madeline could only help matters—both personally and professionally.
Of course, all she had to do was react with insulted outrage at his bold move and Tony would kick him out for good.
Forget playing with fire. This was Madeline. This was tossing lit matches on a cache of dynamite.
Madeline’s dark eyes remained fixed on her wineglass as Alessandro poured. She held herself unnaturally still. Walker shifted his hand higher on her thigh. The fabric of the dress she wore was thin. He felt the shape of her perfectly. His cock jerked in arousal.
She picked up the glass and tilted the amber liquid toward her lips.
“It’s lovely, Alessandro. Thank you,” she murmured.
Walker forced his mouth not to tilt into a small smile of triumph. Slowly, he began to gather fabric in his fist, lifting her dress, keeping his arm as immobile as possible. Hal bemoaned the fact that he and Kitty had to leave the following day. Hal and Tony began to discuss a future trout-fishing expedition on the Truckee River. Kitty asked Walker where he’d set up his offices in the North Lake Tahoe area, which started a casual conversation about the status of Lake Tahoe real estate. Since Madeline was a successful real-estate agent of luxury properties in the Tahoe area, her silence seemed a little strange. Walker hastened to talk more, coveri
ng her preoccupation.