“He’s not married.” James hesitated. “I think she’s his girlfriend. Supposedly he wants to marry her but she’s not interested.”
“Don’t believe everything you hear,” Sara said dryly. “Remember when that one tabloid had us getting married in Las Vegas on Valentine’s Day?”
James grimaced. “Don’t remind me.”
Sara linked her arm through his and patted his shoulder. The episode had almost put James over the edge. Thankfully the furor over the article and the implication that they were marrying because there was a baby on the way had died a quick death. They never had discovered who’d started the rumor. Or why.
She knew that incident had been partially to blame for his overreaction to the notes. Even though time had shown that the pregnancy and marriage rumors were pure fabrication, James worried that the bad publicity had still affected her career.
“Mr. Comstock.” James tapped the younger blond man lightly on the shoulder.
Stephen Comstock looked much too young to be a patron of the arts. Sara guessed he couldn’t be more than thirty-two or thirty-three. The gaze he fixed on them was cautious. “Have we met?”
“I’m James Smith with Sara Michaels Enterprises,” James said smoothly, shaking his hand. “We met at a golf outing last year.”
“Of course.” Stephen nodded and recognition filled his gray eyes. He slanted a curious glance at Sara. “Now I know I haven’t met you before.”
Sara smiled and extended her hand.
Introductions were completed in short order. The man’s dark-haired companion had disappeared.
“Stephen, I’m sorry I took so long.” The breathless feminine voice sounded behind Sara.
“There you are.” Stephen’s voice filled with genuine warmth and he reached out to pull the woman to his side.
Sara’s eyes widened. “Raven!”
“Sara? I don’t believe it.” Raven’s arms opened and they exchanged a quick hug. “You look fabulous.”
Sara graciously accepted the compliment but it was the woman before her who looked fabulous. Raven’s hair was pulled back in a low twist and her artfully applied makeup accentuated her high cheekbones. The white dress clung to her like a second skin.
“You two know each other?” James’s incredulous gaze shifted from Sara back to Raven.
“Sara and I met through a mutual friend.”
She noticed Raven carefully avoided saying Crow’s name. Sara wondered if what James had heard was true. Maybe Raven didn’t want Stephen because she wanted Crow.
After the introductions were completed, the two men started talking, and Sara decided this was her chance. If she was going to alert Raven, she’d best do it now.
“Crow’s here.” She kept her tone low enough for Raven’s ears only.
“Where?” Raven replied, not even trying to keep her voice down. Her gaze swept the room. “I don’t see him.”
Either Raven didn’t care if Stephen knew about her “friend,” or the woman hadn’t a clue how to whisper.
“Over there.” Sara gestured with her head.
Raven’s eyes lit up just as they had this afternoon. She turned to Stephen and squeezed his arm even as her gaze remained fixed on Crow. “I’ll be right back. There’s someone I need to talk to.”
Without waiting for a response, Raven headed across the room.
Sara couldn’t keep her gaze from following Raven. Her eyes widened with disbelief when Raven flung her arms around the handsome bodyguard’s neck and gave him an effusive hug.
“She knows Crow?” James’s shocked voice matched the look on his face.
Sara swallowed hard.
“Who is he?” Stephen asked, taking a sip of his champagne.
“Sara’s bodyguard,” James said.
“You have a bodyguard?” Stephen’s brow furrowed in a frown and he shifted his gaze to Sara.
Stephen seemed more concerned about Crow’s vocation than the fact that his arm now rested companionably around Raven’s shoulder.
“Just as a preventative measure,” James said smoothly. “We thought it wise after the incident involving that singer in Nashville.”
“I can understand that,” Stephen said.
Sara could almost hear James expel the breath he’d been holding. When he launched into the history of her career, Sara knew they were back on track. Five minutes more and James would be asking for a contribution.
Sara shifted her gaze to the back of the room where Crow and Raven stood talking.
Crow threw back his head and laughed.
Sara’s heart clenched.
She liked Raven, she really did. But she didn’t like the way the woman was hanging all over Crow. And she really didn’t like the fact that Crow didn’t seem to mind.
Chapter Seven
“I thought we’d stop somewhere and eat.” Crow slanted a sideways glance at Sara.
She opened her mouth, ready to say she’d already eaten, but then realized with a start she’d been so busy getting ready for the party, she’d skipped dinner. “I guess I am sort of hungry. What do you have in mind?”
It was after eleven and most of the places she could think of were already closed.
“There’s a little café I know across town.” He kept his gaze focused on the road but a hint of a smile softened his normally stony expression. “The food is good, but don’t expect anything fancy.”
An image of a ramshackle diner with cockroaches on the counter and a fly trap over the cash register flashed instantly to mind. “I don’t think I’m hungry after all.”
Crow’s smile widened as if he knew the direction of her thoughts, but surprisingly he didn’t try to change her mind. Sara relaxed against the seat and tried to recall if there was enough cold roast beef left in the refrigerator for a sandwich.
Her stomach growled in anticipation and Sara glanced at Crow, half expecting to see a knowing smile. But his eyes were firmly fixed on the road ahead, and if he’d heard the hungry rumblings it didn’t show.
They drove in silence until he turned unexpectedly off the main highway.
“This isn’t the way to my house.” Sara sat upright, more puzzled than alarmed. “Where are you going?”
“I told you. To get us something to eat,” he said matter-of-factly.
“I said I’m not hungry.” Unfortunately her stomach chose that moment to emit another loud growl.
She lifted her chin and dared him to say anything.
He raised a dark brow and stared.
“Well, maybe I am a little hungry,” she said finally. “But I’m not going to eat in any greasy spoon.”
“Think you’re too good for that kind of place?” There was no judgment in his dark eyes, just a curious intensity.
“No,” she said. “I just prefer my burgers without cockroaches on the side.”
To her surprise, he laughed. “Me, too. But seriously if you don’t want to eat, don’t eat.”
“But I—”
“Listen.” He cut her off. “We’ll eat and leave. Don’t tell me you can’t spare a half an hour?”