3
VERENA GLANCED AROUND the posh Polo Lounge at the Beverly Hills Hotel, eager to find her friends. After she’d finished eating, Lance had walked her here to make sure she found them.
“Johnny said they’re waiting for you,” Lance said, lightly touching her elbow. He’d changed from his chef’s jacket into a white open-collared shirt and draped his sports coat over her shoulders when she’d mentioned she was a little chilly.
His jacket was still warm with the heat of his body and it held a citrusy, musky scent in its lightweight woolen fibers. Verena inhaled and drew it closer around her shoulders, drinking in his lingering aroma.
She couldn’t remember when she’d felt more relaxed and comfortable with a man. Even after the shock of Marvin’s death, Greta’s bombshell news, and Derrick’s warni
