“Misha,” he greeted, recognizing the former wife of one of Houston’s many oil executives. “I didn’t know you were in town.”

“Back from Paris last week,” she purred, resting her elegant, manicured hand on the arm of his suit jacket. She was a former model, born and raised in Germany. She’d had a brief but profitable marriage in Houston. Word on the street was that he’d ended up with the sports cars, while she got the Tigers’ season tickets.

“Would you care to dance?” he asked dutifully, even though he’d prefer to spend his time confronting Jeffrey.

“But, of course.” She took his hand and moved to the dance floor.

Misha, it turned out, had spent the past few months traveling, perfecting her tan in Tahiti, visiting a game preserve in South Africa and dedicating a new museum wing in Prague. She offered to show him her all-over tan, but Mitch graciously declined.

His next dance partner was just back from St. Kitts. It seemed she’d bought a little bungalow beside the ocean. She’d taken up snorkeling. She throatily informed him there was a hot tub on the balcony of her hotel suite, and then hinted that she’d like to show him how long she could hold her breath.

Mitch honestly didn’t remember these parties being quite so crass. By midnight, all he wanted to do was head for the hotel, take an aspirin and crawl under the covers.

Alone.

But then his gaze caught Jenny.

She was in the corner talking to Emily, being handed another martini. A green one this time. She seemed to have developed a taste for exotic drinks. And he didn’t know what had gotten into her with the clothes lately.

That short skirt showed off her incredible legs, and their navy silhouette made a man’s mind go all kinds of places. She’d worn her contacts again, and her ornate earrings sparkled whenever she moved her head. His gaze rested on the shimmering peach tank top, making out the rounded curves of her breasts against the slinky fabric. It was obvious she’d forgone a bra.