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Story: You'll Find Out

The celebration had taken place on a private yacht harbored in San Francisco Bay near Tiburón. The owner of the yacht, a rich widow of an insurance broker and friend to the California racing set, had been more than delighted to host the gala event on her late husband’s gleaming white vessel. Brig Chambers wasn’t often on this side of the continent, and rarely accepted invitations to posh gatherings, but this night was different.

Becca caught her first glimpse of him when he was ushered through the door by Mrs. Van Clyde. The short woman with the perfectly styled white hair and sparkling blue eyes looked radiant as she escorted Brig through the crowded, smoke-filled salon. He was taller than Becca had imagined . . . with a leanness that Becca hadn’t expected from the spoiled son of an oil baron. In his sophisticated black tuxedo, Brig Chambers looked more than a pampered only son of wealth; he seemedhungryanddangerous,exactly the antithesis of the image he was attempting to portray in his conservative black suit. Becca had heard him referred to as “stuffy”; she didn’t believe it for a moment.

Nina Van Clyde, in a swirl of rose-colored chiffon, introduced him to each guest in turn, and though he attempted to give each one his rapt attention, Becca noticed a restlessness in his stance. It wasn’t particularly obvious, just a small movement such as the tensing of his jaw or his thumb rubbing the edge of his first finger, but it clearly stated that he wasn’t comfortable. His smile was well-practiced and charming, a brilliant, off-center flash of white against bronze skin, but his eyes never seemed to warm to the intensity of his grin.

Becca studied his movements over the rim of her champagne glass. He reminded her of a caged panther, waiting for an opportunity to escape, watching for just the right prey. He definitely intrigued her, and when his dark head lifted and he met her unguarded stare, the corners of his mouth turned downward in amusement.

After a brief apology to Mrs. Van Clyde, he advanced on Becca, ignoring any of the other guests.

“You’re Rebecca Peters,” he said coldly.

“And you’re Mr. Chambers.”

“Brig.”

Becca inclined her head slightly, accepting the use of first names. Perhaps he didn’t like to become confused with his famous father.

“I guess I should thank you for all this,” he stated, cocking his head in the direction of the other guests and the well-filled bar.

“It was my brother’s idea.”

He seemed to relax a bit, and his gray eyes softened. “You may as well know, I’m not crazy about this sort of thing.”

Becca’s full lips curved into a smile. “I could tell.”

He answered her smile with one of his own. “Shows, does it?”

“Only to the practiced eye.”

“Were you watching me that closely?” His eyes traveled over her face, lingered in the depths of her green gaze, before trailing down her body and taking in all of her, the way the sea-blue silk dress draped over one of her shoulders to hug her breasts before falling in soft folds of shimmering fabric to her ankles.

Becca felt the heat of her embarrassment burn her skin. “Of course I was watching you,” she admitted. “You’re the center of attention.”

As if to give credence to her words, several men Becca recognized as San Franciscan breeders came up to Brig and forcefully stole his attention.

Becca wandered through the crowd, politely conversing with several other California breeders. She sipped lightly at her champagne, never once losing her feel for Brig’s presence in the room. Presently he was talking with a reporter from a San Francisco newspaper. Though Becca didn’t openly stare at him, she knew where he was in the throng of elegantly dressed people dripping in jewels.

The music from a small dance band was nearly drowned in the clink of glasses and chatter of guests. A hazy cloud of cigarette smoke hung in the salon where knots of people congregated while sipping their drinks from the well-stocked bar. Becca was alone for the first time and she took the chance to escape from the stifling room.

Once on the deck, she took in a deep breath of sea air and tried to ignore the muted sounds of the party filtering from the salon. A breeze caressed her face and lifted the wisps of hair that had sprung from their entrapment in a golden braid pinned to the back of her neck. Water lapped against the sides of the slowly moving vessel, and Becca could see the glimmering lights of San Francisco winking brightly in the moonless night.

She leaned her bare forearms against the railing and smiled to herself, glad to be free of the claustrophobic crowd in the main salon. She felt Brig’s presence before he spoke.

“I should apologize for the interruption of our conversation,” he announced, leaning next to her on the railing. He didn’t look at her, but rather concentrated on the distant city lights and the sounds of the night.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she replied with a sincere smile. “I’m willing to bet it will happen again.”

“I don’t think so.” He sounded sure of himself and his opinions.

“You underestimate the persistence of we Californians, especially the press.”

“I’m used to dealing with the press.”

“Are you?”

Brig smiled and clasped his hands together. “I’ve already had the . . . pleasure of meeting a few reporters tonight. Were they your idea?”

Becca shook her head and her smile faded.