His self-control was losing the battle as the sun lowered behind Monique, the breeze bouncing those tendrils. His testosterone pumped his heart harder and threw his brain out of the ring, but then his professionalism tagged in and reminded him of the red flag flickering in the same breeze that rustled Monique’s hair. But then over the top, his indignation kicked in. This was his house.

Monique leaned back on the railing and crossed her ankles, a thin line of gold catching his eye. “By the way, I’ve got news about the friend I told you about. She’s decided that if she’s found the right man for her, she’ll do something about it.”

Daniel threw a glance over his shoulder at the happy team enjoying his happy home. Indignation or not, there was a price to pay, and it was too high. He reached deep into his well of self-control to save his future from the mire.

“This friend of yours should talk to someone if she needs some formal advice. I have to get back to my guests.”

Monique smiled. Those ruby-red lips. Her eyes flicked over Daniel’s shoulder, and his eyes followed hers. Kelly stood openmouthed, half-empty platter in hand.

“Daniel, can I get your help inside at your own function, please?” A staccato monotone, flint in her voice, quavering with seething anger.

“Yes. We were just finishing up.” His mind arranged the cue cards it would need for tomorrow’s inevitable defense.

Monique’s voice floated over his shoulder. “Daniel is just enjoying himself . . . at his own function.”

Kelly marched past Daniel, first thrusting the platter into his chest. She stood in front of Monique, hands on hips, a living, breathing example of what the psychology textbooks referred to as an attack position. He had to step in.

“Kelly, nothing was—”

Kelly breathed ragged and hard. “Listen here. You think you have something Daniel wants, but you will not break up my home or my marriage.”

Monique sagged for a moment but then stood tall in defiance. “That’s Daniel’s decision, isn’t it?” Her champagne glass gripped in trembling fingers, she shouldered past Kelly.

Daniel dropped his head. “When we don’t have a houseful of guests, I will tell you what did—and did not—happen. We need to talk about this.”

Kelly looked out at the low sun, a golden thumbprint in a reddening sky. “We need to talk about a lot of things. I want us to see someone. Together.”

“Well, for the sake of our guests, can we just put it to one side and talk about it tomorrow?”

A timer beeped in the kitchen—a siren call to a caterer—and Kelly stormed back into the house.

Daniel stewed in frustrating bitterness. He had handled Monique well, but the same phrase screamed at him on a loop from deep within. I have done nothing wrong. But Kelly would never buy it.