"I'm sorry," Meredith said, apologizing for asking him to come out here. "Does it hurt?"
A startling white smile swept across his tanned face. "Only when I dance."
Meredith laughed at the joke and felt her own worries begin to fade into the background. They stayed outside for another dance, talking about nothing more meaningful than the bad music and the good weather. When they returned to the lounge, Jimmy brought their drinks. Goaded by mischief and resentment for Jonathan, Meredith said, "Please charge these drinks to Jonathan Sommers, Jimmy." She glanced at Matt and saw the surprise on his face.
"Aren't you a member here?"
"Yes," Meredith said with a rueful smile. "That was petty revenge on my part."
"For what?"
"For—" Belatedly realizing that anything she said now would sound like pity or embarrass him, she shrugged. "I don't like Jonathan Sommers very much."
He looked at her oddly, picked up his drink, and tossed down part of it. "You must be hungry. I'll let you go and join your friends."
It was a polite gesture intended to excuse her, but Meredith had no desire to join Jon's group now, and as she looked around the room, it was obvious that if she did leave Matt Farrell there, no one else was going to make the slightest effort to befriend him. In fact, everyone in the lounge was giving both of them a wide berth. "Actually," she said, "the food here isn't all that wonderful."
He glanced at the occupants of the lounge and put his glass down with a finality that told her he intended to leave. "Neither are the people."
"They aren't staying away out of meanness or arrogance," she assured him. "Not really."
Slanting her a dubious, disinterested look, he said, "Why do you think they're doing it?"
Meredith saw several middle-aged couples who were friends of her father's—nice people, all of them. "Well, for one thing, they're embarrassed about the way Jonathan acted. And because of what they know about you—where you live and what you do for a living, I mean—most of them simply concluded that they don't have anything in common with you."
He obviously thought she was patronizing him because he smiled politely and said, "It's time for me to go."
Suddenly the idea of having him leave with nothing but humiliation to remember the evening didn't seem fair at all. In fact, it seemed unnecessary and .. . and unthinkable! "You can't leave yet," she announced with a determined smile. "Come with me, and bring your drink."
His eyes narrowed. "Why?"
"Because," Meredith declared with stubborn mischief, "it helps to have a drink in your hand to do this."
"Do what?" he persisted.
"Mingle," she declared. "We are going to mingle!"
"Absolutely not!" Matt caught her wrist to draw her back, but it was too late. Meredith was suddenly bent on ramming him down everyone's throat and making them like it.
"Please humor me," she said softly, her gaze beseeching.
A reluctant grin tugged at his lips. "You have the most amazing eyes—"
"Actually, I'm terribly nearsighted," she teased with her most melting smile. "I've been known to walk into walls. It's a pitiful thing to watch. Why don't you give me your arm and guide me out into the hall so I don't stumble?"
He wasn't proof against her humor or that smile. "You are also very single-minded," he replied, but he chuckled and reluctantly offered her his arm, prepared to humor her.
A few steps down the hall Meredith saw an elderly couple she knew. "Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Foster." She greeted them cheerfully as they started to stroll past without seeing her.
They stopped at once. "Why, hello, Meredith," Mrs. Foster said, then she and her husband smiled at Matt with polite inquiry.
"I'd like you to meet a friend of my father's," Meredith announced, swallowing her laughter at Matt's incredulous glance. "This is Matt Farrell. Matt is from Indiana, and he's in the steel business."
"A pleasure," Mr. Foster said genially, shaking Matt's hand. "I know Meredith and her father don't play golf, but I hope they told you we have two championship courses here at Glenmoor. Are you going to be here long enough to play a few rounds?"
"I'm not certain I'm going to be here long enough to finish this drink," Matt said, obviously expecting to be forcibly evicted when Meredith's father discovered she was introducing Matt as his friend.
Mr. Foster nodded in complete misunderstanding. "Business always seems to get in the way of pleasure. But at least you'll see the fireworks tonight—we have the best show in town."
"You're going to tonight," Matt predicted, his narrowed gaze focused warningly on Meredith's guileless expression.
Mr. Foster returned to his favorite subject of golf, while Meredith struggled unsuccessfully to keep her face straight. "What's your handicap?" he inquired of Matt.
"I think I'm Matt's handicap tonight," Meredith interceded, slanting Matt a provocative, laughing look.
"What?" Mr. Foster blinked.
But Matt didn't answer and Meredith couldn't, because his gaze had fixed on her smiling lips, and when his gray eyes lifted to hers, there was something different in their depths.
"Come along, dear," Mrs. Foster said, observing the distracted expressions on Matt and Meredith's faces. "These young people don't want to spend their evening discussing golf." Belatedly recovering her composure, Meredith told herself sternly she'd had too much champagne, then she tucked her hand through the crook of Matt's arm. "Come with me," she said, already walking down the staircase to the banquet room where the orchestra was playing.
For nearly an hour she guided him from one group to another, her eyes twinkling at Matt with shared laughter while she smoothly told outrageous half-truths about who he was and what he did for a living. And Matt stood beside her, not actively helping her, but observing her ingenuity with frank amusement.
"There, you see," she announced gaily as they finally left the noise and music behind and walked out the front doors, strolling across the lawn. "It isn't what you say that counts, it's what you don't say."
"That's an interesting theory," he teased. "Do you have any more of them?"
Meredith shook her head, distracted by something she'd subconsciously noted all evening. "You don't talk at all like a man who works in a steel mill."
"How many of them do you know?"