He had stopped having interest in his party guests well over an hour ago, about the time when the degree of Taylor’s lateness had gone beyond being fashionable. He glanced at the front gate, the entrance to the party, once again.

“I don’t think she’s coming.”

Jason glared at Jeremy, who stood next to him on the balcony. To think this was one thing, but for Jeremy to actually vocalize the sentiment was pure treachery.

“She’s coming,” Jason assured him, sounding far more confident than he felt.

“I don’t know . . . it’s getting late,” Jeremy said, shaking his head skeptically.

Jason checked his watch. Four minutes since the last time he had looked, and still no sign of Taylor.

“You actually look anxious.” Jeremy sounded both surprised and amused by this.

Jason threw him another cautionary look—he was not in the mood to be trifled with that night—when he spotted something at the front gate. Or rather, someone.

Seeing the expression on Jason’s face, Jeremy turned and followed his gaze. Both men watched as Taylor walked into the party.

For a moment, Jason was speechless.

She wore a dress that would have no place inside a courtroom—a black strapless dress with a slit up to there that molded perfectly to her every curve. Her hair was long and wild and wavy, and her eyes were smoky. He had never seen this side of Taylor before, so overtly . . . hot. He vaguely heard Jeremy’s voice in the distance, telling him to pick his jaw up off the floor before someone tripped over it.

Jason swallowed, then turned to his friend. “I told you she was coming,” he said confidently. Then he quickly headed down the steps that led from the balcony and worked his way through the crowd. As he approached Taylor, her eyes met his and did not break away. He slowed as he drew near and stopped before her.

“You’re here.”

“I am.”

Jason boldly took in the way she looked.

“I take it you don’t often wear that dress in court.”

“Probably not a good idea.”

He grinned. “Yes, I can imagine it would be somewhat awkward standing before a judge who has a huge hard-on.”

“Is that the effect this dress has?”

Taylor’s eyes traveled downward, to the zipper of Jason’s pants, and he was momentarily caught off guard by her bluntness.

Her eyes sparkled, amused.

“You’re blushing, Jason. That’s cute.”

He smiled at her sassiness, then grabbed her hand. “Come on. I’ll show you around.”

He led Taylor through the crowd, past all the people who stared, and the two of them headed inside the house.

AS JASON GAVE her the grand tour, Taylor couldn’t help but be impressed by his passion for and sizable knowledge of architecture, which appeared to be mostly self-taught. As he pointed out one detail after the next—everything from the teak floors up to the intricate crown molding—she learned that he had personally overseen the design of the 12,000--square-foot French Normandy-style mansion when he had built it five years ago.

Jason led her through the six guest bedrooms, master suite with two separate sitting rooms, vaulted glass foyer, screening room, private wine cellar, spa, steam room, and two-story reading studio/library. At several points along the way, Taylor couldn’t help but think how she had never before seen wealth like this. She was not someone who was particularly impressed by money—her firm paid her over a quarter million dollars per year and that constituted a far greater income than any other Chicago Donovan had ever seen—but being in that house with Jason was so far out of her league it was downright dizzying.

After the tour, Jason took her outside to one of the bars that had been set up on the first-floor terrace. As he handed her the French martini she had ordered (getting into the spirit of the Normandy style of the house), he gave her a coy look.

“So . . . is there any reason you waited until after midnight to finally show up?”

“Sorry. I had to stop at a party at Jack Nicholson’s along the way.”

“Actually, Jack is sitting about ten feet behind you, smoking a cigar in that lounge chair.”

As Taylor turned to look, Jason pressed on. “Seriously, I know you debated whether to come tonight. What made you decide?”

She shrugged nonchalantly. “It sounded like fun.”

“But I know how busy you are. So I’m touched by the gesture.”

Dismissing this with a wave, Taylor moved away from the bar. Jason followed her. Slowly they weaved through the crowd, going back and forth.

“You’re reading too much into this. I just thought I needed to get out for a few hours.”

“And you chose to spend those few hours with me.”

“I chose to go to a party. You just happened to be the host.”

“You chose to wear that dress.”

“Surely you’re not suggesting that a woman’s attire is an indication of her intentions?”

“No, but when this woman spends the little free time she has with me, I start to get curious.”

Taylor came to a stop in an alcove that was set off from the rest of the party. She leaned against the wall, holding her martini with one hand.

“Going to Las Vegas with you was part of the deal we made,” she said casually.

Jason moved in close and rested one hand on the wall next to her. He stared down into her eyes.

“But coming here tonight wasn’t—you did that on your own. Why?”

Taylor avoided the question. The truth was, she wasn’t exactly sure what she was doing there. On an impulse, she had hopped in the PT Cruiser and driven over—a totally last-minute, spur-of-the-moment decision.

After twenty minutes spent doing her makeup.

And thirty doing her hair.

And four dress changes.

Totally spur-of-the-moment.

Avoiding Jason’s gaze, Taylor gestured to the party. “You probably should get back out there. You’re ignoring your other guests.”

“Screw them.”

“I’m sure that many of them, you already have.”

She regretted the words the instant they came out.

Jason cocked his head with a knowing grin. “Hmmm . . . now that sounds a little bit like jealousy. How intriguing.”

Taylor could have smacked herself for making the comment, for giving him any ammunition. He was standing too close to her, that was the problem, she realized. It was . . . distracting. She needed to quickly extricate herself from the situation.

She stared him in the eyes defiantly. “Whatever you’re trying to get me to admit, Jason, it’s not going to happen.”

And, having gotten in the last word, Taylor slipped under his arm and walked away.

JEREMY HADN’T MOVED from his position on the balcony. It was the only place in the crowded party where he could safely drink his beer without being jostled by some drunken early twenties asshole threatening to throw his scantily clad date into the pool, or accosted by a hopeful starlet who believed that flirting with him would get her that much closer to Jason.

Frankly, Jeremy disliked the whole Hollywood scene, but he tolerated it not only as a sometimes-necessary part of his life as a screenwriter but also as an always-necessary part of Jason’s life. It was one of those things that anyone close to Jason inevitably had to accept, for better or worse, like the constant presence of the paparazzi.

He was not particularly surprised when Jason rejoined him on the balcony that evening, in a huff and alone. He personally thought Jason was approaching this thing with Taylor in entirely the wrong way. But once his friend set his mind to something, it was nearly impossible to steer him in a different direction.

“Any luck?” Jeremy asked as Jason pulled up alongside him at the balcony’s ledge, where they had a good view of the party below.

“Maybe . . .” Jason mused. He looked over with annoyance when he saw that Jeremy was smoking so close to the house. But he said nothing, as smoking was a necessary part of Jeremy’s life and something that anyone close to him inevitably had to accept.