If he were to guess, he would say her age was mid-thirties. He was forty-four and usually didn’t date a woman more than five years younger. However, he would definitely make an exception for her. Besides, what were rules for if you couldn’t break a few now and then? That said a lot, coming from an attorney.
After the so-called “family meeting” with the Westmorelands, he’d asked Dominic about her. He was told her name was Iris Michaels, and she was the best friend of Pamela Westmoreland, who was married to Dillon, the oldest member of the Denver Westmorelands.
He’d also learned she was a widow and lived, of all places, in Los Angeles. It was hard to believe they resided in the same city, yet their paths had never crossed. But then, LA was a very large place.
Since she stood alone staring out the window, he decided to walk over and introduce himself.
* * *
Iris didn’t come to the nation’s capital often. But when she did, she was always in awe of the Lincoln Memorial. This was the first time she had ever seen it at night, and it was beautifully lit, stunning.
Just like this hotel, she thought, shifting her gaze from the view outside the window to the ballroom of the Saxon Hotel, reputed to be the most luxurious hotel in DC. She glanced up at the ceiling and admired the huge crystal chandelier. She bet not a penny had been spared for this space. The carpet was so plush her shoes sank into it whenever she walked. She then glanced around, admiring every inch of the decor. When her gaze shifted to her right, she saw him. Again.
She had seen him the moment he arrived, and for a brief moment, their gazes had met—and held. He was holding hers again, and for some reason, like before, she couldn’t look away. When she had asked Pam to tell her more about Dominic Saxon’s best friend, Matt Caulder, she was told he was an attorney in LA. Since Pam had lived in LA while they’d attended college together, and a few years after that, and knew how large it was, there was no surprise their paths had never crossed.
Now he was headed toward her, and she couldn’t help but continue to watch him as he approached. Matt Caulder was indeed a very handsome man, probably in his early forties. He was tall with a sexy walk that seemed to glide effortlessly across the rich, plush carpet, projecting both confidence and good posture.
He had black hair, chestnut-colored skin, nicely arched brows, a mustache above a pair of luscious-looking lips and an angular jawline covered in a neatly trimmed beard. His blue suit accentuated a well-built physique, and she knew his shoes and tie were of the highest quality. And those were designer cufflinks on his shirt. He was obviously a man who didn’t mind spending money to look good. She appreciated that since she was a woman who didn’t mind doing so as well.
Okay, Iris, she said to herself.Remember Warren. Although you aren’t happy with him tonight, you are still in a committed relationship.
But then there’s nothing wrong with admiring a good-looking man when you see one.
When Matt stood directly in front of her, he extended his hand and said, “Iris Michaels, how are you? I’m Matt Caulder.”
He was direct. She liked that. She also liked the sound of his voice. It was deep and husky. “Matt, I’m fine. It’s nice meeting you,” she said, placing her hand in his. Immediately a warm sensation flowed through her body. There was no need to ask how he knew her name. It was probably the same way she had gathered information about him. He had asked someone.
“And how are you doing, Matt?”
He released a deep breath and said, “At the moment, I need a little escape.”
She fully understood. News had quickly spread around the party that he was Sid Roberts’s long-lost son. Discovering such a thing had to be overwhelming, and to find yourself an honorary member of the Westmoreland family, even more so. She, of all people, should know.
When Pam married Dillon, as Pam’s best friend, Iris had become an honorary family member. The Westmorelands were good people. There was a slew of them, scattered throughout Denver, Atlanta, California and Montana. With cousins living in Alaska, the Outlaws. Then Bailey Westmoreland, who for years had been the youngest of the Denver Westmorelands, had moved to Alaska when she married Walker Rafferty, a close friend of the Outlaws.
“So, you need to escape?” she asked, with a twitching smile. “I’ve been called Houdini a few times,” she said. “You want me to work my magic?”
He chuckled. “Please do.”
“I was just admiring the decor,” she said. “Would you like to take a stroll around the hotel and see other parts of it?”
Matt smiled, and the way his lips curved when he did so, Iris thought they looked too dang sexy.
“That sounds like a good plan to me,” he said.
* * *
“I understand you’re also from Los Angeles, Iris,” Matt said, adjusting his long stride to keep up with her. She was friendly, and he liked that. As they strolled through various parts of the hotel, she pointed out several paintings on the walls naming each artist before they approached. She’d explained that visiting museums was one of her favorite pastimes.
“And how do you know where I live, Matt?”
He gazed at her and thought that up close, she was even more beautiful. Long lashes, a beautiful pair of brown eyes, a perky nose, a cheeky grin and lips he could only describe as sensuous.
“I asked Dominic. However, he would only tell me your name, marital status and where you lived. Dom said anything else I wanted to know I had to find out for myself.”
“Some best friend he is,” she said, grinning. “At least I got more information about you out of Pam.”
He appreciated that she had no problem letting him know she had inquired about him, as well. “As a best friend, she sounds like a keeper.”