Can't Buy Me Love

by Abigail Drake

  When I got up to use the restroom, Nico followed me. There were two other security guards in place, watching over the prince, but of course I’d hoped Nico would be the one to escort me. When he put his hand on the small of my back, to lead me down the hallway, it felt delightfully possessive.

  “Are you having a nice time?” he asked, his lips close to my ear.

  “Yes. Except for the fact I can’t stop thinking of you,” I said. “Would it be bad if I kissed you right here and right now?”

  Nico’s eyes darkened, his seductive lips curving in a smile. “Not here,” he said. “But I might know a place. I’d like to kiss you, too.”

  He brought me to a cloakroom, dark and deserted, and pulled me inside. Once there, I let out a happy sigh and wrapped my arms around his neck as his lips meant mine.

  Tonight, he was playful, exploring my mouth and teasing me with his tongue. But the more we kissed, the hotter it got. Soon, I was panting softly, wanting him closer and running my hands through his silken hair.

  “Mmmm….Chloe. I should take you back. You’re on a date. With Alex.”

  “I know,” I said. “But I can’t seem to stop kissing you.”

  He let out a soft chuckle. “That could be a problem.”

  He kissed me deeply, and I was filled with a hunger I’d never experienced before, but thoughts of Alex sitting out there in that big, fancy restaurant all alone made me pull away. “You’re right,” I said, as I kissed my way across his firm jawline. “We need to get back. It’s not fair to Alex.”

  As we snuck out of the cloakroom, I giggled at Nico’s appearance. His hair had been thoroughly mussed, and he had bright red lipstick on his collar. I was about to tell him as much when a man walked past us wearing a long, black coat. I caught of whiff of him, an aroma of sweat, body odor, and something else, a minty sort of smell, and recognized it immediately. I’d smelled the same thing the day I’d gotten shot, and I recognized the coat as well. I grabbed Nico by the arm.

  “It’s him,” I said. “The shooter.”

  Nico, who’d been a bit dazed by our passionate kissing, snapped to attention. “Are you certain?”

  “Yes.”

  The assassin was headed right for the main dining room. Nico swore, and contacted the other guards with the communication device on his wrist before hustling me out the back door of the restaurant.

  “Is he going to be okay?” I asked.

  Nico gave me a curt nod. “They are leaving now. He’s already in the limo.”

  He hailed a taxi and we jumped in, taking off down the street. “Why didn’t we just go with Alex?” I asked.

  “No time. I couldn’t risk it.”

  He spoke again in his communication device, in Latovian, and got an immediate reply. He slammed a fist on his thigh. “The assassin got away. Again. They are bringing the prince to the consulate for the night. He has quarters there. He’ll be safe.”

  I stared out the window. We were moving away from my apartment, not toward it. “And where are we going exactly?”

  “I don’t think we’re being followed, but the last thing I want to do is lead the shooter to your father and your sister. I’m bringing you somewhere else instead.”

  I swallowed hard. “Are they in danger?”

  He shook his head. “No. I’m being extra cautious.”

  I reached for his hand. “Thank you, Nico.”

  “Don’t thank me. It’s because of us you’re in this mess. It’s the least we can do.”

  Nico led the taxi driver in what felt like circles, and, nearly an hour later, we stopped in front on a ritzy looking apartment building near Gramercy Park. Nico paid the confused cabbie and led me quickly into the building.

  The apartment was a penthouse, with views of the park and a gorgeous balcony. As soon as we got inside, Nico loosened his tie and got on his cell phone, speaking quietly in Latovian. I wandered around the apartment, appreciating the sleek, modern elegance of the interior and the expensive artwork. When he got off the phone, his expression was grim.

  “They spotted the shooter. He was close to the prince’s hotel, but he managed to evade them once again,” he said, with a frustrated sigh.

  “I’m sorry, Nico.”

  “It isn’t all bad news,” he said. “We finally have a definite ID on the shooter. His name is Sergei Paloka. He’s a known dissenter, and dangerous, tied to quite a few militant groups, but not a professional assassin. Which is why Alex isn’t already dead.”

  The thought of Alex dying made my heart ache. Although I’d only known him a short time, he’d become a friend. “What happens after tonight?”

  “I’m not sure. We’ll have to reevaluate in the morning. I prefer he stay at the consulate, but Alex can be rather pigheaded about it. Do you know I caught him sneaking out just the other night? The man is impossible.” He shook his head. “And I hate hotels. They are so hard to manage. Too many people coming in and out. Too many employees. At least, he’s safe for the night, and so are you.”

  I shivered, partly from the cold, and partly from fear. Nico lit a fire in the marble fireplace, which made me feel a bit better. He sat down on the black leather couch and pulled me close. I curled up next to him, resting my head on his shoulder.

  “I’m sorry, Nico. I know this is hard for you.”

  He kissed the top of my head. “If it weren’t for you, the prince might be dead right now. This is the second time you’ve saved his life, Chloe. I’m so happy you recognized the shooter. How did it happen?”

  “Well, it was his smell.”

  “His smell?”

  I nodded. “He had a distinctive odor. I recognized it because I’d been next to him before the light changed at the crosswalk, the day I got shot. Body odor and mint. I remembered the smell and the black overcoat, but it didn’t click for me until he walked past us in the restaurant.”

  Nico threaded my fingers with his. “Sometimes it’s like that. Memory is a multi-sensory experience. You may not have remembered what the shooter looked like, but his smell was buried somewhere deep inside your mind. When you smelled him, it brought it all back.”

  “Maybe.”

  Except for the little fact I’d never actually seen the shooter or the gun. I’d made it up. Not that I could tell Nico.

  “We’ll have to stay here for the night. I hope you don’t mind. It’s safer this way.”

  “Is this your apartment?”

  “Yes. I’m in New York quite often for business. It helps to have a place of my own here.”

  When Nico went to another room make a few phone calls, I called Ella to let her know I wouldn’t be home until tomorrow. “Keep the doors locked, okay? And be careful.”

  “I will,” she said. “Are you alright? You sound…weird.”

  “I’m always weird. Love you. Goodnight.”

  Nico came back, his jacket gone and the top buttons of his shirt undone. In the firelight he looked like a dark angel or a warrior of old. He had just the right combination of beauty and arrogance in his features. He could have pulled either one off. He ran a hand through his hair, the stress of the day apparent on his face and the stiffness of his broad shoulders.

  “Everyone is fine, for now, so I suggest we get some sleep. I’ll bring you back to your apartment first thing in the morning. Would you be okay with that?”

  “Of course.”

  He handed me a soft t-shirt and a pair of sweats, both of which would be enormously large for me. “You can have my room,” he said, indicating a door on the left. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  I nodded, but halfway to his room, I stopped. “No,” I said, and slowly turned around.

  He looked confused. “No? To what?”

  “I don’t want you to sleep on the couch. I want you to sleep in your bed. With me.” My cheeks burned, and it was hard to look him in the eye, but I forced myself. “I got shot last week. That was traumatic enough. Then I came within inches of the man who shot me tonight. We both could have died,
either time. I don’t want to take a chance. If we die tomorrow, I want this to be one thing I don’t regret….that I slept with you tonight.”

  He grew very still, the light from the fire dancing on his harshly beautiful face. “Are you certain, Chloe? Is this really what you want?”

  I nodded. “I’m sure. Of this, and of you.”

  I’d never done anything like this before, and doubted I’d ever do something like this again, but tonight it felt so…right. Nico seemed to agree. In a few long strides, he crossed the distance between us and pulled me into his arms.

  Making love with Nico Mercia was unlike anything I’d ever known. I hadn’t slept with many men, but enough to understand he was different. It was like drinking Dom Perignon. Once you’ve had it, it’s awfully hard to go back to drinking cheap champagne. Nico was the Dom Perignon of lovers, all I’d ever wanted, and more.

  He knew exactly where to touch me, exactly how to whisper in my ear. He kissed every inch of my body, paying special attention to the healing scar on my bottom. And I learned how to please him as well, to make his accent sound thicker with passion and to make him lose control.

  When we came together, in a blur of heat, longing, and hunger, something inside me shifted and changed. I wasn’t the same person anymore. I was marked, forever, as the property of Nicolai Mercia, a man I’d only known a few short days. And, as I fell asleep wrapped in his strong arms, he said the words I needed to hear.

  “I never want to let you go. I want to hold you like this forever.”

  I put my hand on his cheek, stared deep into his eyes, and whispered back to him. “That’s what I want, too.”

  ~

  The next morning I woke up in post-coitus induced bliss, a happy kind of tired. Nico had loved me well last night. Just the thought of it made a slow, satisfied smile curl across my lips.

  Nico stepped out of the bathroom, wearing only a towel, his hair still damp from the shower. When he saw me watching him, he gave me a sexy, knowing kind of grin.

  “Good morning, Chloe. Did you sleep well?”

  I loved how he pronounced my name, in the French way. It made chills go over my skin, like a verbal caress.

  I sat up, holding the sheet close to my breasts. “Oh, yes. Better than I have in a long time.”

  He leaned over and kissed me, tasting of toothpaste and smelling like soap and pure unfiltered man, “Stay here,” he said against my lips. “I made you coffee.”

  I rested against the pillows, a stupid happy smile on my face, waiting for him. When he brought in a tray containing coffee, toast, jam, and the morning paper, I gazed up at him adoringly. “You brought me coffee, you wonderful, perfect man.”

  “And it’s black. The way you like it.”

  I sat and sipped my coffee, watching him get dressed. He had the most beautiful body, all lean muscle and perfect lines. I could look at it all day. His eyes darkened when he noticed me staring at him, and he gave me a grin full of sexual promise, but he didn’t have time to play this morning. He sat next to me on the bed, his hand cupping my jaw as his thumb brushed over my lower lip.

  “I hate to leave you like this, naked and adorable in my bed, but I have to make a few calls. I want to check on Alex.”

  “It’s okay. I understand,” I said with a smile.

  His grin deepened, and his voice grew husky, making me feel warm all over. “I’ll be right back.”

  He kissed my forehead and stepped out of the bedroom. I picked up the paper, feeling happier than I had in a very long time, but my heart slammed to a stop in my chest when I read the headline.

  Poor Little Rich Girl. The True Story of Chloe Burkhart, the Cinderella of Park Avenue.

  My entire life had been laid bare on the pages of the New York Times. The sale of Burkhart Books, the accident, my mother’s death, my father’s disability. They even talked about my terrible job at Wilson Publishing and my struggles to help my sister. The reporter hadn’t missed a single detail.

  My hands shook by the time I finished. Someone had ratted on me. Someone I’d trusted. My circle of confidants had grown smaller and smaller in the last three years, so it wasn’t difficult to name a culprit. I knew exactly who’d done it.

  When Nico came back into the room, I was already dressed. He looked at me in confusion. Gone was the sleepy, love-struck girl he’d kissed nearly senseless. In her place was a bitter, angry, desperately disappointed woman.

  “Chloe. What’s wrong? What happened?”

  I threw the newspaper at him. “This happened. How could you, Nico? I let you into our lives, and you betrayed us.”

  He stared at the newspaper, his brow wrinkling in confusion. “I don’t know what this is. I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

  “I trusted you before, but I won’t make the same mistake again. Goodbye and good riddance.”

  I tried to march out of the apartment, but he stopped me with a hand on my arm. “You can’t go out on your own. It’s too dangerous.”

  I wrenched my arm free. “I’m not afraid of Sergei Paloka, because now I know what’s really dangerous. Falling for a jerk like you.”

  ~

  A second interview with Dirk Deacon took place the following day at the TV station. It was supposed to be a fun, light follow up to our previous discussion, but I felt far from fun or light at the moment. Alex sat next to me, his blue eyes filled with concern. Nico was nowhere to be seen. Other security guys were taking care of Alex today.

  I scowled. I guessed Nico had accomplished what he’d hoped for by ratting me out to the press. More publicity for Alex’s foundation. Yippee. Now he’d gone on his merry way, the slime bucket.

  “I heard about what happened,” said Alex, his voice soft. “Nico called me. He’s distraught.”

  “Distraught?” I had to keep a super fake smile plastered on my face so no one else in the room would know what we were discussing. “Tell me, Alex, were you in on it, too or was it only him?”

  Alex reached out to touch my arm. It took everything in me not to jerk away from him. “Chloe. You have to believe me. There’s been a terrible misunderstanding.”

  I almost burst out laughing. Not a happy laugh. A crazy, woman-on-the-edge kind of cackle. “You’re right. There has been. I should have known better. I was a complete and utter idiot.”

  Alex looked like he wanted to say something else, but Dirk arrived, interrupting him. Norah sat in the corner, head bowed, and her eyes on her clipboard. She looked exhausted, but she’d prepped me well this morning, wiping away my tears and convincing me to be honest about my family’s situation.

  “It’s the only way to go, honey. It’s not like you did anything wrong. None of it was your fault.”

  I’d known Norah for years, enough to suspect there was something she didn’t want to tell me. “What is it? I know there’s something else. I can see it in your eyes.”

  She frowned. “I have no idea what you are referring to, young lady.”

  “Yes, you do. And you always call me ‘young lady’ when you’re hiding something.”

  “I do not.”

  I gave her my best no nonsense look. “Do you remember the night you slept with Jake Jones in high school? And you didn’t want to tell me because you knew I wouldn’t approve?”

  “Yes,” she said. “You had an unreasonable hatred for lacrosse players. I thought it for the best that you didn’t know.”

  “But I did know because I know you. Better than anyone. Fess up, Norah. Who have you slept with now? And if you say Bill from accounting, I’ll slap you upside the head.”

  She chortled. Bill had been hitting on her for months, as well as on everyone else at Wilson Publishing in a skirt. “It’s not Bill. Ew. I’ll tell you all about it later. Promise. But first we need to get you ready for this interview. I have to say, I don’t necessarily think this newspaper article is a bad thing. I know how psycho you are about privacy, but so far the reaction to this has been nothing but a huge outpouring of sympathy.
I looked up at the numbers. Your approval rating is actually up.”

  I raised my eyebrows at that. “I have an approval rating?”

  “Yes, you do,” she said. “It goes up every single time you give an interview, or you’re seen with the prince. And I have more good news. After the article appeared in the paper, Burkhart Books sent you a contract. A really lovely six-figure kind of contract. They want to publish your life story, and they want you to write it.”

  “Me? How do they even know I can write?”

  “I sent samples of some of the papers you wrote in college. You’re good. They know it.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You really are an evil genius.”

  “I am, and you have to trust me on this. Getting shot might have been the best thing that ever happened to you, but that article was probably the second best. I know you hate it, but it’s true. And the more honest you are about everything you’ve been through, the better it will be.”

  I agreed with her, but it was hard to open up about things I’d kept secret for so long. The person I worried most about was Ella. Everyone at her ritzy, exclusive school now knew she was basically a charity case. It made my blood boil. I wondered if the people watching me get interviewed would be able to see how angry I felt at the moment. If so, that could ruin everything. As I waited for Dirk to speak, I started wringing my hands again, and silently chastised myself. What was next? Swooning? I was turning into a character in a regency romance novel.

  “Ms. Burkhart, I’d planned to ask you about the shooting,” said Dirk, “but in light of what has just come out in the paper, is there anything you would like to say to our viewers?”

  I let out a long breath and met his intense gaze directly. There was no going back now. I had no choice. I’d reached the point of no return.

  “Yes, Dirk. I’d like to say that each and every word in that article is completely true.”

  “All of it?” Dirk shook his head. I guess he’d expected something different, like an attempted cover up. “It’s so hard to fathom. One of the wealthiest families in New York, reduced to this. How does it feel?”