A sea captain at the end of the Civil War built Drake’s home in Georgetown. Close to the narrow street, it sported a mellow-pink brick front, double entrance doors of stained oak and a large, well-polished doorknocker. His living room and library had retained its original dark walnut paneling. It was there that the fifty or so guests, some that Drake even knew, mixed, drank, gossiped and eavesdropped.
Eric saw Jill Warren before she saw him. Leaning against the wood paneling in the front hallway, he watched her sip from her glass, her rich dark brown hair cascaded to her shoulders framing her porcelain-colored, perfectly oval face. Physically she had changed little since their college days. Eric noticed the thin line at the corners of her full, sensitive lips and thought it made her look even sexier. She was talking to one of the local studs, who obviously thought he was getting lucky. Eric knew he would change that misperception.
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