“Yes, sir. Right away,” she replied.
Ten minutes later, I entered the ballroom through a secret panel in one of the alcoves and melted into the throng of guests. I maneuvered through the bodies until I was near enough to smell the mystery girl’s perfume—a heady combination of lavender and spices and soap. God, she was even more intoxicating up close. Full breasts, narrow waist, round hips and an ass carved from the hands of Botticelli.
I had no intention of meeting her, but I could tell by the tilt of Nicky’s head, his possessive hand on the small of her back, that he was interested in more than her company. And I just couldn’t have that. Tales of intrigue and revenge peppered my family history, and I was no exception. He’d done me wrong, and this was my chance to even the score. Yes, I understood the pettiness of my grudge, but I was rich and bored, and I loved nothing more than a good challenge. Something he knew better than anyone.
5
Rourke
When I lifted my gaze, I found the stranger staring at me, eyelids hooded, lips pursed. The breadth of his chest rose and fell with a deep breath. The appearance of this raven-haired mystery man rekindled the desires I’d fought to curb. Sensuality oozed from his pores. I stared into his turbulent eyes and longed to run my fingers along the line of his beard, to place kisses on his mouth. Did the taste of wine linger on his tongue?
I pressed both palms against the wall. My inner voice screamed, Leave now. Run while you can. Nothing good can come from this. But I was tired of lonely nights and long days of work. I deserved a night of fun and sin. After all, it was only one night. Tomorrow, I’d return to the monotony of reality, quiet nights at home with a book, occasional museum visits, and solitude. Tonight, I wanted to live.
“I’ll pay the price,” I whispered.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’m sure.”
His hand traced the neckline of my dress, drifted over the swell of my breast, along my ribs, and came to rest at my hip. I wasn’t a fool or an innocent; there was no mistaking that the price would be personal and intimate. Please, God, let it be personal and intimate. A small smile played on his mouth. He extended a hand, palm up. My natural response was to take it. His smile broadened. “Shall we go for a walk then?”
“What about the price?”
“First we play. Then you pay.” He let the gravity of his statement settle. I got the feeling he was waiting for me to bolt.
Instead, I smiled and met his eyes. “I can hardly wait.”
We began our tour with an exploration of the gardens. Torches lit the meandering walkways. Their flames cast dancing shadows over the foliage. The beat of tribal drums reverberated inside my chest. The sound grew louder with each step. At the first clearing, an enormous bonfire glowed. Its heat burned my cheeks. Naked men and women, covered in neon paint, swayed and writhed to the rhythm. I watched, fascinated, with Prince Charming close at my side.
“They’re performing an ancient Druid rite,” he said. The red-gold firelight sharpened his profile. I tried not to stare at him, but my body thrummed from his proximity. “The nudity is a bit of artistic license, but it works, don’t you think?”
“It’s breathtaking.”
My answer seemed to please him. His lips curled at the corners. In the darkness, his eyes remained hidden, but I had the feeling they’d reveal nothing. “More?” he asked.
“Yes, please.”
Taking my hand, he placed it in the crook of his elbow and led me down the next pathway. On the outside, I fought to appear calm, but my insides whirled in a tempest of conflicting emotions. What was he thinking? Who was he? Was he Roman Menshikov, despite his earlier denial? Cowardice prevented me from asking again. I didn’t want to push him away, not yet. Not until I had to leave.
“Are you in London for long?” he asked after a span of silence.
“A few more days,” I replied. “And you?” A warm breeze carried the scents of earth and smoke and jasmine. Our feet crunched on the packed gravel.
“I’m only here for a short layover before flying home.”
“And where is home?”
“I have houses all over the world.” His enigmatic reply fueled my curiosity.
“That’s not an answer.”
“I spend a lot of time in New York City. I have offices there and a penthouse. It’s a good base, halfway between London and California. It’s as close as I’ve ever come to a real home.” The forthright answer caught me off guard. I hadn’t expected a reply and certainly not a detailed one, one I could sympathize with. “Your turn. Have you always lived in New York?”
“No. I moved there when I was fourteen to live with my aunt. My parents died within a few months of each other, and she was kind enough to take me in until I finished high school.” For a brief moment, I forgot that he was a stranger and that I was trespassing at a party to which I didn’t belong. His easy demeanor and keen interest had almost tricked me into confessing my secrets. I bit my lower lip.
“I’m so sorry for your loss.” He halted and brushed my hair over my shoulder. The graze of his fingertips against the bare skin of my back sent a shiver through my body. “I understand what it’s like to lose your parents. I lost mine when I was very young. It makes a hole in your heart that never quite heals.”
I sucked in an audible breath at hearing my own words thrown back at me, words I’d said so many times. “Yes, I know. You’re still functioning, but a piece of you is missing and always will be.”
“And your aunt—she was very kind to take you in.” Wind and music filled the air, muffling our voices. I nodded. “Were you happy with her?” His dark head bent lower to capture my words.
“Oh, yes. Very happy. She’s a wonderful person.” Suppressed tears stung the backs of my eyelids. I blinked them into submission. I didn’t want to talk about my aunt or the illness threatening to take her from me. “What about you? Were you happy?”
“One of my father’s friends took me in. He raised me as his own when he didn’t have to. I have no complaints.” We’d come to a fork in the path. He gestured to the intersection. “Which way shall we go? Left or right?”
“Which do you suggest?” The left path arched toward a copse of trees. The right path angled down toward the lake.
“Well, to the right is beauty and tranquility and a sight worthy of Monet or Pissarro. To the left is something just as beautiful but much more interesting and very wicked.”
My breathing stuttered. The choice wasn’t a choice at all, but a given. “Left, please.”
“Are you sure?” One of his thick black eyebrows arched.
“Yes. No. Well, now I’m not sure. Why is it wicked?”
One corner of his mouth curled upward like a comma, like he knew a secret, a very dirty secret. “The price for what lies down that path might be higher than you want to pay.”
“Can I pay in installments?” My answer was intended to be tongue in cheek, but Prince Charming cocked his head, considering, face somber.
“That’s an excellent idea.” His gaze dipped to my mouth. He ran his tongue over his lower lip. I mimicked the action, suddenly famished for a taste of him. “I suppose you owe me a kiss for the fire dancers then. Your first installment.”