A tuxedoed waiter stopped in front of them, carrying a tray of fine crystal champagne flutes. Peter plucked one of the flutes from the tray and handed it to Tessa, shaking his head when the waiter began to hand him a second.

“Just the one, thanks,” he replied lightly. “I’m the designated driver tonight.”

Tessa rolled her eyes as the waiter walked away. “We’re taking a taxi home, as you’re well aware. And I don’t need to drink this. You know I don’t mind.”

He shook his head. “I know you don’t. But it’s your holiday party and you deserve to enjoy yourself. Relax, I won’t let you get tipsy. And it honestly doesn’t bother me to see you have a drink once in awhile. Just because I abstain doesn’t mean you always have to.”

With two alcoholics for parents, as well as at least one grandparent, Peter continued to fear that he’d inherited the gene for the disease. And since he already had far too many emotional issues to deal with, he wasn’t prepared to take the risk that he, too, could very easily fall into the pits of alcoholism.

“Okay.” Tessa relented, taking a small, dainty sip of the champagne. “Mmm, this is definitely good stuff, though. Not like I’m any sort of expert, that is.”

Peter smiled. “I can almost guarantee that it’s pricey stuff. I mean, look at this place, would you? I would wager a guess that no expense has been spared tonight.”

This place was the grand ballroom at the Gregson Hotel on Nob Hill, one of the priciest and most elegant pieces of real estate in the entire city. The huge room was decorated in gold striped wallpaper, with polished oak floors, high ceilings, and glittering crystal chandeliers. The dozens of round tables had been set with cream linen covers and gold brocade runners, with settings of fine china, crystal, and silver at each place. Each table held a lavish floral centerpiece, and the entire room reminded Peter of something out of the Gilded Age – the sort of extravagant social event that would have been held in a Newport, Rhode Island mansion, and attended by the cream of society.

Tessa nodded as she took another tiny sip of champagne. “I can vouch for that. All of us helped with organizing the party and I saw some of the invoices that came through. You wouldn’t believe how much all of this cost. We certainly didn’t have parties like this back in Tucson.”

The Gregson resort in Tucson where she’d worked for three years was admittedly very different from this grand, majestic big city hotel. The Arizona property was exceptionally posh, but overall it had a more casual vibe to it. Guests had flocked there for sun and leisure, making use of the resort’s world renowned golf courses, tennis facilities, and spa. It had been very much a vacation and convention destination, whereas the San Francisco hotel seemed to be patronized by many of the local residents as well as travelers, and had a more sophisticated feel to it.

Tessa proudly introduced him to the other five members of her team, and Peter didn’t miss any of the appraising looks her co-workers gave him – ranging from disbelief to derision to outright amusement. And he also didn’t miss the jealous glare directed Tessa’s way by the haughty, rather nasty blonde who had been introduced as Alicia. In the years he’d known her, Tessa had had very few girlfriends, something she blamed on her almost crippling shyness. But Peter suspected that most women would feel threatened by someone as beautiful as his wife, would not want to exist in her shadow or be unfavorably compared to her, and he wasn’t the least surprised that most of her co-workers weren’t especially friendly.

In his work as a reporter, Peter relied on his instincts and powers of observation, and a few minutes before dinner was served he became aware of someone watching him – or rather, watching them. But each time he glanced around to see who it might be, there didn’t appear to be anyone looking their way. He wasn’t able to shake that niggling little feeling, however, that someone was observing them very closely, and he fought off the urge to shiver in reaction.

“Tessa. A pleasure to see you here this evening.”

Peter didn’t miss the look on Tessa’s face at the sound of the deep, precise British accent – a combination of surprise, uncertainty, and pleasure. Still clutching his arm, she urged him to turn around and face the owner of that voice – easily the most compelling yet intimidating man Peter had ever seen before.

He was wearing a tuxedo, like many of the other men here this evening, and even though Peter knew next to nothing about clothes and fashion he could recognize the quality of this man’s evening attire, guessing that it had been custom made. The dark haired man virtually towered over Peter – and Tessa as well, since she was wearing flats tonight. His upper crust accent didn’t seem to fit with his broad-shouldered, muscular frame – a body that seemed as though it would belong instead to a professional athlete or dedicated weight lifter.

He had classically handsome features – a strong jaw, firm mouth, intense hazel eyes – and thick, expertly cut dark hair. He practically radiated power, as well as a bucketload of charisma, and Peter had never been more miserably aware of his own physical shortcomings as he was at that moment. But then, he consoled himself, just about every man in this room tonight – hell, in this city – would come up short when compared to this man.

“Mr. Gregson.” Tessa’s voice was respectful, soft, more than a little awed. It was obvious that she, too, felt the pull of this man’s attraction. “Yes, um, you too, sir. Um, this is my husband, Mr. Gregson. Peter – this is ah, my – my boss.”

It all made perfect sense now, thought Peter as he reached out a hand towards the other man. The reason this man gave off such an aura of wealth and power was because he was wealthy and powerful. Soon after Tessa had started working at the Gregson resort in Tucson, Peter had done quite a bit of research on the company. He knew that the luxury hotel chain was worth billions, and that the company was a private, family-owned one. As one of the heirs to the company, Ian Gregson’s personal fortune had to be staggering. His wife – if he had one – would never have to buy her clothes from a discount store, or scrimp and save to buy a replacement toaster, or worry if there would be enough money in the checking account to cover all their bills that month. Someone like Ian Gregson would cherish a woman like Tessa, would lavish her with everything her heart desired – including a normal, healthy sexual relationship, and the baby that Peter knew she longed to have one day.