“Sorry about that,” he almost growled.
“Please don’t apologize,” she replied, playing along.
“It won’t happen again, I can assure you.”
Her heart skittered. She hated to admit it, since he’d rejected her on the fling front, but she was disappointed. And yearning for more. Of Alex. Or Jago. Whichever.
Cassandra’s eyes burned. They practically scorched Maggie’s skin. A jazz band started up with the first lively bars of a can’t-help-but-dance tune. Couples spontaneously headed to the dance floor. “May I borrow my son?” The words in the older woman’s deep, actressy tones were more of an order than a request.
“Of course.” A polite smile of resignation sat on Maggie’s lips.
The strains of breezy jazz filled the room and a voluptuous singer’s dulcet voice drew more people to their feet. Cassandra’s partner led Ella onto the floor. Maggie looked up at Nick, hopefully. Tonight, he seemed quite different from the love rat she’d thought she met on the plane. It was hard to believe that he and Ella were faking it for the sake of convenience. Perhaps, since he was channeling his gentlemanly side, he’d ask her to dance. It was the least he could do to make up for his “old flame” remark to the press. Instead, he excused himself and disappeared, leaving her feeling like a wallflower left to wilt in a corner. Five minutes later she couldn’t help smiling when she spotted him admiring the wildly out-of-sync disco moves of the cougar he’d saved his brother from in the auction.
“Magenta Plumtree? Sylvestro Salvadori.” She recognized the Italian silver fox instantly. He was a big name in special effects, some sort of CGI wizard. His wife had hired her to style their family’s Christmas photograph about a year ago. The woman had more money than sense. She’d been a very exacting employer.
It was a second marriage, a blended family, three children that were his, two hers, and a little cutie that was theirs. Styling the family to the second Mrs. Salvadori’s taste had been quite a task. It was energetic chaos. She’d pitied the photographer. They were a handful to keep still long enough to get everyone looking gorgeous – no grimaces or eyes closed.
Sylvestro sat down next to Maggie, chatting charmingly about New York, the weather, the charity event. Maggie glanced around. “Is Mrs. Salvadori here tonight?”
He gave a low chortle. “Leonora and I are no longer together.” Maggie was about to express some kind of sympathy, but he cut her short. “The divorce came through last week. Dance?”
He was on his feet, leading her to the dance floor by the hand. Before she knew it his snake arms were locked around her body pulling her close. Oops. How did that happen? Her technique for fending off the advances of Sylvestro types needed some work. He was very seductive. But she wasn’t looking to be seduced. Not by an over-sexed Casanova type, at any rate.
Luckily the music stopped almost as soon as they began to dance. Maggie was about to seize the moment, free herself from Sylvestro’s arms and flee the dance floor when he cut to the chase.
“Let’s skip the dancing. No pun intended.” A predatory leer spoiled his otherwise handsome features. “My hotel’s a couple of blocks away. How about we take this back there?”
She cringed. Whatever “this” was, she had no intention of taking it anywhere.
As if on cue – thankfully – Alex butted in. He dwarfed Sylvestro, tall and imposing, with a look of grim skepticism on his face. “The next dance is mine.”
Reluctantly the silver fox released her, muttering something smarmy about hoping to catch up with her later. The music struck up again and she melted willingly against Alex’s chest.
“What the hell were you doing with him?”
Maggie made a stab at a withering look. “I beg your pardon? This isn’t the eighteenth century. I can dance with whomever I choose.” She wasn’t about to admit how relieved she’d been that he’d stepped in and rescued her from the lascivious Italian. “Have you got a problem with that?”
“Sylvestro’s the problem. He’s a Lothario looking for wife number three.” Maggie rolled her eyes and a little smirk of disbelief twisted her lips. Was Alex jealous? “Or a temporary mistress before wife number three comes along.” Her smile grew a bit wider. “Or a one-night stand until he finds a temporary mistress.”
“You’re very cynical all of a sudden.” The truth was she’d sensed right away that the guy was looking for more than just a dance. “What’s wrong with a one-night stand?” she challenged.
“Nothing as long as there are no feelings involved and everyone’s on the same page.”
Since when had Alex become her protector? Her guard might have been down when Sylvestro had whirled her onto the dance floor. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t perfectly capable of looking out for herself. No longer clear if this was about Sylvestro or Alex, she tipped her face up to his. “What page is that?”
“The page with The End written on it. A one-night stand is exactly that. One night. End of story.”
His words catapulted her back to the night they’d spent together. What they’d had in London belonged to a place in time that they could never get back to, even if they wanted to.
“Guys like that are short on commitment. You don’t need one of those.”
“And you know what I need?” she countered, keeping her cool.
“Tonight,” he drawled, so whisperingly quiet that she had to tilt her head closer to hear his words. “I want you to need me.”
If no-strings sex was what she desired she could have it with any available commitment-phobe. What she was feeling for Alex was more than that. Like it or not, her emotions were tangled up in knots and that was dangerous territory.
The music started up again, conveniently cutting through the conversation. Alex swung Maggie out on one arm and then pulled her back in close, as they realized that in spite of the spirited intro it was actually the start of a rhythmic slow dance. Her body moving against his, Maggie had never felt so sultry in her life. The attraction she felt for him was devastating. Alex might be a celebrity crush to millions, but right now she was the only woman he was interested in and the heart-stealing feeling that gave her was incredible.
All around them couples moved in tandem. She loved every second of dancing with him, and even so she couldn’t wait to break the contact, distance herself from him. These feelings would go away. They had before. For sure and certain they couldn’t lead anywhere. She needed to get out of the heavenly circle of his arms.
Arrows of desire speared through her body. An untidy mess of contradiction, she recognized with frightening certainty that Alex’s bone-melting powers meant only one thing. She didn’t just want him in her life. She wanted this place locked in his hold to be hers. His heat. His strength. His sexy gorgeousness. All hers.
Her head and her heart told her she couldn’t have those things. They’d spent a few great days together. It was nearly time to go back to their own lives.
When the music ended Alex and Maggie remained locked like two magnets. People noticed. Alex reluctantly relaxed his arms and let her go. “Come on.” He took her by the hand and entwined her fingers in his.
“Where to?”
“You’ll see.”
Outside, away from the prying eyes of the other guests, he took something out of his pocket. He unfolded it. Maggie let out a gasp, suddenly recognizing the pretty multi-colored scarf from the fashion shoot at the beach. “What’s that doing here?” Her heart sank. Had Alex begged, borrowed or stolen it? “I’m going to be in so much trouble.”
“Relax. I acquired it.” He paused and looked at her for a long moment, as if inspecting her for damage. “For you.” He twisted the beautiful silk and stretched it between his hands. “Turn,” he instructed. Automatically she did as she was bid. Facing away from him, the bare length of her back exposed to his view, a frisson of electricity crackled between them. He placed the soft silk over her eyes and gently blindfolded Maggie, tying the scarf in a tight knot at the back of her head.
&n
bsp; “What the …? Alex, what are you doing?”
“Shh. No questions,” he warned her. He turned her back to face him. The warmth of his hands scorched her skin like branding irons. “Do you trust me?”
“Implicitly.” It was true. Her heart did a little leap. “Although it’s not every day I get kidnapped by everybody’s favorite vampire. Where are you taking me?”
He placed a firm finger on her lips. “Watch it. I might have to gag you if you’re not careful.” There was humor in his tone. The blackness of the blindfold should have made her uncomfortable, out of control. But trusting Alex to take charge didn’t faze her.
He turned her again, put strong hands either side of her waist and moved her gently forward. Next thing she knew they were in an elevator. She had a weird sense of moving upwards, fast. Her stomach flipped, like a bubble in a lava lamp – only faster.
“We’re going to the top, aren’t we?” With fake petulance she made a deliberate attempt to spoil his surprise. He was way ahead of her on tactics. His arms were wrapped around her from behind, holding her against his statuesque body. He dipped his head and placed his mouth in the curve of her neck, feathering his lips sensuously across her skin. Sweet hot lust shot to her core. Not seeing him, but feeling Alex – hard against her – thrilled her.
Powerfully erotic, he feathered kisses across her shoulders, his scent of male spice making her high on hot man. When he traced his famous Mercy of the Vampires figure of eight symbol onto her bare back in big sensual curls, with his finger pressed on her skin, and his hardness pressed against the jut of her bum, she was undone, sensitized to the aching, soaring heat he’d triggered inside her. She’d never desired anyone like this before in all of her life. Only him.
When the elevator arrived at the eighty-sixth floor he walked her out onto the observation deck. The night air enveloped her, cooling, soothing – a welcome contrast to the boiling point she’d reached in the elevator. His hands at the back of her head as he started to untie the scarf made her quiver. Impatient for him to undo the knot she raised her hands and pushed the fabric up from her eyes.
“Wow.” All the breath in her lungs escaped with that one word.
New York City was a magic carpet of light below. A gazillion twinkling pinpricks spread all around. A saxophone was playing a haunting melody, evocative, beautiful. The scarf unknotted, Alex placed the rainbow silk over her shoulders. He waited in silence while she took in the awesomeness of Manhattan by night from the top of the Empire State Building. She barely noticed the other people: dark figures, milling, chatting, laughing, looking.
Seemingly blasé about being seen, or worse, photographed, Alex turned Maggie to face him. Their eyes locked. He gave her tingles, hands gently hovering on the layer of silk between his skin and hers. A cool waft of air made the scarf flutter, rippling the kaleidoscope colors. His fingers tightened on her shoulders. She sucked in a breath. He brought her close and her heart beat faster. One arm slipped from her shoulders to circle her waist and gather her against his body. Instantly fragile, his hold turned her bones to jelly and filled her with contrary, demanding need at the same time. Alex’s magnetism rocked her world. He mesmerized her.
Tortured, hesitant, she tensed as he lowered his head, his mouth so close. Right then she crumbled, spinning like a meteorite into blissful, wanton, urgent submission. Her lips parted, dead set on a collision course with his kiss. He angled his head and his mouth took possession of hers, gentle and determined, deepening the kiss, plundering, tasting, teasing her into flames of desire. Heavenly heat swirled at her core. She wanted him. Badly. Fiery pleasure swept through her. She luxuriated in the strength of his arms, his tight hold, the warmth of his breath on her neck. She practically inhaled him, craved his masculinity with fierce need.
His mouth was divine. It was a never-ending champagne cocktail of a kiss. Long. Lovely. A moment suspended in time. He drew away slowly, leaving them both reeling, drugged on the inevitability of too-long ignored potential.
No two ways about it. Alex Wells had an intangible power over her. And she knew one certain thing. She wanted him more than anything she’d ever wanted. She needed to touch him, hold him, feel him inside her.
She searched the dark for something to fix on, picking out splashes of neon – green, red, blue and the Brooklyn Bridge – a string of light over the black East River. Sounds rose up out of the night, a foghorn, the wail of a police car’s siren. Thousands of feet up in the sky butterflies turned somersaults in Maggie’s stomach.
“Let’s get out of here.” Urgency had turned Alex’s rumbling, voice hoarse.
Anticipation with the weight of pure lead hung in the air around them. Alex summoned his driver. They descended in the elevator, packed in with other people whose presence heightened their impatience to be alone together. They went straight to the waiting limo and slipped into its interior of soft, smooth leather.
In silent expectation, primed, as if on a pre-determined path, they sat apart from each other in the dark. There wasn’t a whisper of a touch between them. Even so, they both knew exactly where they were headed.
Maggie trembled. Impatient desire for Alex held her in thrall. She couldn’t regain control even if she wanted to. A tide of emotion crashed through her. The sexual energy that blazed between them amounted to unfinished business. An ending, not a beginning, for one night only; it had no future.
There was only one sure-fire way she could do this and survive. She wouldn’t make love to Alex. She’d have sex with Jago. If she pretended that Alex was his vampire character, if she could fabricate the perfect fantasy in her mind, there was a chance that she could revel in her one-night stand and still walk away emotionally unscathed. Falling in love was out of the question. She’d been here before with this man. He didn’t do “lasting”. This time she needed to say goodbye without being doomed to be hooked on the “what if” factor of Alex Wells for the rest of her days.
The limo moved slowly along through the New York streets. Inside Maggie and Alex had slipped into a tinted-glass time warp. There was no need to speak.
He ached with desire. He imagined an invisible line between them – a force field that couldn’t be crossed, preventing him from touching her. The snarl of traffic slowed their progress towards the hotel. The ache consumed him. He’d been suppressing the yearning, ignoring her allure. So much for sticking to the strategy he’d come up with on the plane. He’d blown it when, instead of wishing her luck and waving goodbye, he’d invited her to New York. It was a big fail.
And about to get bigger. He had a deep need to finish what they’d started all that time ago. His barriers were down. Could he be what she needed for longer than one night? Absolutely not. Would she want him to be? No. They’d reached boiling point. Hot love was better than the lasting kind.
He sat with his back pressed hard against the leather of the seat and told himself to cool it. Tempting as it was, he wouldn’t jump her in the back of the limo like an adolescent on testosterone overload. Tonight would be his last chance with Maggie. He intended to savor every moment. Make it last.
He turned and looked at her profile. She was so pretty; the line of her nose, the tilt of her chin, silhouetted in the shadows of the night. No matter how badly he wanted to he couldn’t let himself touch her again, not yet. There were things that needed to be said. He wanted to be sure that they were both on the same page. No strings. Whatever this was – this infuriating electric hell that crackled between them – it would be a one-off. One night in bed together and they’d both get this unfinished thing of theirs out of their systems.
Maggie turned and looked at him, her hazel irises glimmered, green-brown flecked with amber, around bright, dilated pupils, their beauty quixotic. A mischievous smile quirked her lips and suddenly she was in his lap. Her thighs straddling his, she pressed against his erection.
“I want you. Now.”
He choked out a raucous half-laugh, half-groan as she tangled her fingers in his hair, sendi
ng delicious spirals of sensation echoing through him. She lowered her head to his, shaking loose her hair, letting it fall like a curtain around their faces. Her lips, plump and soft, found his, probing, teasing, until he kissed her back, deep and hard, sinking his tongue into her mouth. He slid his hands up and down her silken back.
Hell. So much for good intentions.
He twisted her in his arms pressing her down against the black leather. Outside the-city-that-never-sleeps was a muffled symphony of constant activity. The car wended steadily through the streets of Manhattan, its driver discreetly screened from the couple behind.
Alex broke the kiss and drew back. He placed one hand beneath the gossamer-light fabric of her dress and deftly moved upwards to the apex of her thighs. With gentle precision he pushed aside the scrap of lace and slipped his finger inside her.
“Like this?”
She moaned. Her reaction told him that she wanted more of him than he was prepared to give her, right here, right now – even though he burned to take her, enter her completely. She writhed, his rhythmic touch eliciting a response that was instant and potentially explosive. She was a whisper away from shattering. His fingertip circled, exciting her body’s sensitivity, reading her expertly, decoding her responses, heightening her pleasure, until, with perfect timing, he applied precisely enough gentle pressure to make her come. Shudders rocked her body. Her orgasm tortured him with urgent want.
If he didn’t have her tonight, he’d burn in hell.
The limo drew up in front of the hotel. Maggie smoothed her dress back down to its proper ankle-skimming length. Lips swollen from his kiss, face sexily flushed, she forked fingers through her hair, pushing flyaway wisps behind her ears.
Alex took on board a painful thought. If he did have her tonight, he’d burn in hell.
He had feelings for Maggie he couldn’t quantify. She’d crashed through his defenses. When he’d seen her with that sleazebag Italian it was as if a switch had been flicked. What he felt was deep and strong and protective; and so much more than jealousy, or the need to prove that if anyone was going to seduce her it should be him.
The Little Shop of Afternoon Delights Page 17
