The Best Way to Lose by Janet Dailey

surprised when they all remembered appointments elsewhere and cut short the idle talk that usually followed the formal gatherings.
    Pride refused to allow her to join the stampede from the room. There was calm deliberationin the time she took, saying her good-byes to her late husband’s business friends while she worked her way slowly to the door. Yet her senses were always alert to Trace, warning her that they would ultimately meet at the door.
    The Italian handbag hung from a strap over her shoulder. Pilar paused to put on the black kid gloves, conscious that Trace was finally beside her. Ebony combs swept the midnight sleekness of her hair away from her face and revealed the pearl studs piercing the lobes of her shell-like ears.
    “I guess I should thank you for voting for me.” The sound of his low voice vibrated over her skin.
    “You’re welcome,” she replied smoothly and kept her gaze downcast while she fitted the soft material between her fingers.
    His arm crossed in front of her vision as he leisurely braced a hand against the wall and blocked her path to the door. Her glance made a darting lift to his face before she returned to the task of drawing on the other glove.
    “Everyone waited to follow your lead. With their support, you could have made a fight of it,” he pointed out, tilting his head downward and to one side to probe curiously at her expression.
    “You obviously came looking for trouble. I’m sorry I disappointed you.” She arched him a cool smile, aware of the straining tautness of her nerves.
    His earthy virility was a physical presence in front of her, the bronzed column of his throat and the wisps of chest hairs springing into view where his shirt collar was unbuttoned. She was conscious of his rough good looks and the firm line of his mouth. There was a thready awareness that she missed the contact with a man’s body—Elliot’s body.
    “I don’t think you’re sorry,” he mused.
    “Does it matter?” Pilar countered with forced indifference. “You own the majority stock. And you’re Elliot’s son, so why shouldn’t you take over now that he’s gone?” It was her reason for not attempting to block his takeover of control. “Besides, as you pointed out, the company hasn’t been paying any dividends, so I didn’t have anything to lose.”
    “That’s true.” But his eyes continued to probe.
    “The company is yours to do with as you wish.” There was a curtness in her voice. “That’s what you wanted. I don’t know what you intend to do with it—probably ruin it the way you’ve blackened everything else in your life. I’m sure you tore all your toys apart when you were a child. Now you have a bigger toy that you can destroy. I don’t particularly care.”
    His jaw hardened at her coolly aloof condemnation. He made an unhurried push away from the wall and shifted out of her path to the door. “I’m going to be making a lot of trips back and forth between Natchez and NewOrleans these next few months. I’m sure you’ll understand if I’m too busy to call on you when I’m in town.”
    “Of course.” Briefly Pilar inclined her head, nodding to him before she moved smoothly to the door. Her flesh tingled with the sensation of his gaze, observing her departure.

Chapter Five
    T he cuffs of the white shirt were rolled halfway back on his forearms. The dove-gray jacket to his suit was hooked on a finger and slung over his shoulder, a multistriped gray tie sticking out of a side pocket. The top buttons of his shirt were unfastened to invite the evening breeze onto his damp skin.
    Without that stirring of air, it was sticky and sultry, but the ice cream cone was refreshingly cold. Trace strolled along the street in the general direction of the riverfront park atop the bluff and took his time eating the melting ice cream, licking it and letting its coldness glide down his throat.
    There was already a small gathering of people in the park. Some were lounging on the grass