The MacGregor Grooms Read Free Page A

nervous and impressed from meeting the president to notice much else. But she’d heard of him off and on over the years.
    An artist, she reminded herself as she started downstairs. Of the modern school, which she didn’t pretend to understand. Layna preferred the classics in all things. Had there been some scandal about him and a ballet dancer a few years back? Or had it been an actress?
    Ah well, she thought. She supposed the son of a former president would make news over trivialities. And being the grandson of Daniel MacGregor would only intensify the spotlight. Layna was much happier working backstage herself.
    And obviously the man couldn’t be such a hit with the ladies if he couldn’t even get his own date on a Saturday night.
    Putting on her company smile, she opened the door. Only years of education by Swiss nuns, and the discipline they’d instilled, kept her mouth from dropping open.
    This man—this very dangerous-looking man in black tie, with hair the color of her prized dining-room table and eyes so blue they burned—needed his grandfather to find him a date?
    “Layna Drake?” He had to have the wrong house, was all D.C. could think. This shimmering willow stem in white silk was nothing like the spindly little girl he remembered. Rather than dandelion fluff, her hair was spun gold curved sleekly around a face that might have been carved from ivory. Her eyes were a soft and misty green.
    She recovered, her how-do-you-do smile never faltering as she offered a hand. “Yes. Daniel MacGregor?”
    “D.C. Daniel’s my grandfather.”
    “D.C. then.” Normally she would have invited him in, played hostess for a short time and given them both an opportunity to get somewhat comfortable with each other. But there was something not quite safe about him, she decided. He was too big, too male, and those eyes were far too bold. “Well.” Deliberately she stepped out and closed the door behind her. “Shall we go?”
    “Sure.” Cool, his grandfather had said, and D.C. decided the old man had hit the mark. Definitely an ice princess for all her glamorous looks. It was going to be a very long evening.
    Layna took one look at the ancient and tiny sports car at the curb and wondered how the hell she was supposed to fold herself into it wearing this gown.
    Aunt Myra, she thought, what have you gotten me into?

Chapter 2
    She felt as if she were locked inside a mechanical shoe box with a giant. The man had to be six-four if he was an inch. But he seemed perfectly content to drive the toy car—at high rates of speed—through the swirling Washington traffic.
    Layna clamped a hand on the padded handle of her door, checked the fit of her seat belt and prayed she wouldn’t be crushed like a bug on the windshield before the evening even started.
    Small talk, she decided, would keep her mind off that particular image.
    “Aunt Myra tells me we met some years ago when your father was president.” The last word came out in a squeak as he threaded the little car between a bus and a limo, then careened around a circle.
    “That’s what I hear. You just relocated in Washington?”
    “Yes.” Realizing she’d squeezed her eyes shut, Layna lifted her chin and courageously opened them again.
    “Me, too.” She smelled fabulous, D.C. thought. It was mildly distracting, so he opened his window and let the air whip through the car.
    “Really?” Her heart was in her throat now. Didn’t he see that light was turning red? Wasn’t he going to slow down? She bit back a gasp, nearly strangled on it as he zoomed through the yellow just as it blinked to red. “Are we late?”
    “For what?”
    “You seem to be in a hurry.”
    “Not particularly.”
    “You ran a red light.”
    He cocked a brow. “It was yellow,” he said, downshifting, then screaming past a slow-moving compact.
    “I was under the impression one slowed for a yellow light in preparation for stopping.”
    “Not if you want to get where you’re going.”
    “I