The Grooms

The Drive

An artist she reminded herself as she started walking down the stairs. Of the modern school, which she didn’t pretend to understand. Lin preferred the classics in all things. Had there been some scandal about him and a ballet dancer a few years back? Or had it been an actress.

Ah well she thought. She supposed the son of a former president would make news over trivialities and being the grandson of Damon Wilson would only intensify the spotlight. Lin was much happier working backstage herself.

And obviously the man couldn’t be such a hit with the ladies if he couldn’t even get his own date on a Saturday night.

Putting on her company smile, Lin opened the door. Only years of education by Swiss women and the discipline they’d instilled, kept her mouth from dropping wide open.

This man—this very dangerous looking man in black tie, with hair color of her prized dining room table and eyes sparkling green they burned—needed his grandmother to find him a date?

“Lin benson?” He had to have the wrong house was all Armstrong could think. The shimmering willow stem in white silk was nothing like the spindly little girl he remembered rather than dandelion fluff her hair was spun gold curved sleekly around a face that might have been carved from ivory, her were a soft and misty blue.

She recovered her how do you do smile never flattering as she offered a hand. “Yes. Wilson Armstrong ?”

“Wilson Damon is my grandfather”

“Armstrong then”. Normally she would have invited him in, played hostess for a short while and give them both an opportunity to get somewhat comfortable with each other. But there was something not quite safe about him, she decided. He was too big, too male, and those eyes were far too bold “well” deliberately she stepped out and closed the door behind her “shall we go?”

“Sure”. cool his grandmother had said, and Armstrong decided that the old woman man had hit the mark. Definitely an ice princess for all her glamorous looks, it was going to be a very long evening.

Lin look one look at the ancient and tiny sport car at the curb and wondered how the help she was supposed to fold herself into it wearing this gown.

Aunt Rose ,she thought, what have you gotten me into?

She felt as if she were locked inside a mechanical shoe box with a giant. The man had to be six feet if he was an inch. But he seemed perfectly content to drive the toy car-at high rates of speed-through the swirling Washington trafic.

Lin clamped a hand on the padded handle of her door, checked the fit of her seat belt and prayed she wouldn't be crushed like a bug on the windshield before the evening even started.

Small talk, she decided, would keep her mind off that particular image.

"Aunt Rose tells me we met some years ago when your father was president." The last word came out in a squeak as he threaded the little car between a bus and a limo, then careened around a circle.

"That's what I hear. You just relocated in Washington?"

"Yes." Realizing she'd squeezed her eyes shut,Lin lifted her chin and courageously opened them

again.

"Me, too." She smelled fabulous, Armstrong thought.

It was mildly distracting, so he opened his window and let the air whip through the car.

"Really?" Her heart was in her throat now. Didn't he see that light was turning red? Wasn't he going to slow down? She bit back a gasp, nearly strangled on it as he zoomed through the yellow just as it blinked to red. "Are we late?"

"For what?"

"You seem to be in a hurry."

"Not particularly."

"You ran a red light."

He c****d a brow.

"It was yellow," he said,

downshifting, then screaming past a slow-moving compact.

"I was under the impression one slowed for a yellow light in preparation for stopping,"

"Not if you want to get where you're going."

"I see. Do you always drive like this?"

"Like what?"

“a bank robbery?"

"Like you're at the wheel of a getaway car after a bank robbery?”

"Yeah.""

He thought about it, smiling at her description.

He made the turn to the hotel and pulled in with a cocky squeal of brakes. "Saves time," he said easily, then unfolded those long legs and climbed out of the car.

Lin sat where she was, catching her breath, offering up her gratitude that she'd arrived in one piece

She hadn't moved a muscle by the time Armstrong rounded the hood, passed the keys to the valet and opened her door.

You're going to want to unhook your seat belt." He waited while she did so, then took her hand to help her out. It brought them close, made him aware of her scent again, the texture and shape of her hand.

She was a looker, all right, he mused. Sea-siren eyes in a cameo face. An intriguing contrast. Though portraiture wasn't the heart of his work, he sometimes sketched faces that interested him.

He imagined he'd be compelled to sketch hers.

Her legs were still weak, but she was alive Lin drew one deep, steadying breath. "People like you shouldn't be issued a driver's license and should never be allowed behind the wheel of a car for any reason, particularly that soup can on wheels."

"It's a Porsche." Because she didn't seem inclined to move on her own, he kept her hand and pulled her into the hotel lobby. "If you'd wanted me to slow down, why didn't you just ask?"

"I was too busy praying."

He grinned at that, a quick flash of humor. It didn't detract from the danger of his face by a whit.Lin would have said it only added to it.

"Looks like your prayers were answered. Where the hell are we going here?"

Setting her teeth, Layna turned to the bank of elevators and jabbed the button. Then she stepped in ahead of him and jabbed the proper button for the proper ballroom, simmering.

Behind her back, Armstrong rolled his eyes.

"You know..." What the hell was her name? "Lin, if you're going to sulk, this is going to be a very long, tedious evening."

She kept her eyes trained straight ahead and kept a choke hold on her temper. She knew it was a bad one, tending toward blasts of sarcasm if she didn't maintain control. "I don't sulk." Her voice had as much warmth as winter in Winnipeg.