by Alison Kent
He’d tried to send subtle signals that he was attracted to her, and she’d responded to him with the same excitement as though he were a numbered company. Her clueless rejection of him was only making him more determined to reach her.
Lately, he’d been obsessing about getting her into bed. Things were getting so bad that the sight of a calculator made him hard.
He watched her cool Scandinavian beauty beside his exotic mother’s and shook his head at the mysteries of attraction. He’d been to Sweden for a sales trip followed by some Nordic ski racing, and Arianne reminded him of the country of her ancestors—cold, remote, dangerous, damn near inaccessible and breathtakingly beautiful.
He knew she could be warm and funny, but her natural element was ice. Just as his was fire. He considered them a perfect combination.
He threaded his way through the partying crowd to his mother and Arianne.
“What are you two grinning about?”
“We were talking about how foolish you and I are, and how much we both need Arianne to keep us in line.”
“I never said you were foolish,” Arianne protested.
“Well, we are. Aren’t we, Rafael?” his mother said, tapping his cheek. She then turned to look at Arianne. “But you know, my dear, a little foolishness would be good for you, too.”
At that moment an older man approached Rafe’s mother, lifted her hand to kiss it passionately and broke into a spate of Italian.
Since his mother’s endless admirers got on Rafe’s nerves in direct proportion to their bombast, he felt the urge to escape.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get out of the passion zone.” He led her away.
A waiter offered a tray of champagne and Rafe took Arianne’s empty glass from her and handed her a full one before taking one for himself.
His companion frowned as she sipped.
“Something wrong with the champagne?”
She shook her head. “What is with everyone tonight commenting on how practical I am? First Isabel and Nat, then you, now your mother? What did you tell her about me?”
“Nothing. She’s got eyes and ears, Arianne. She figured it out.”
She felt blustery and annoyed as she sipped her champagne. Her vintage French champagne. “Well, there’s nothing wrong with being practical. If more people in this world thought things through before they acted, the world would be a better place.”
He appeared to ponder her statement. “More organized, perhaps, but would it really be better? Some of my fondest memories involved something spontaneous.”
“Hmm. You mean sex, I suppose.”
His mouth quivered. “I didn’t mean only sex, but what the hell is wrong with spontaneous sex?”
“Nothing. Nothing.”
“How do you know? Have you ever had any?”
She glanced around and lowered her voice. “Are you asking me if I’ve ever had sex? You think I’m…I’m…”
She couldn’t even complete the sentence. Is that how she came across to people? Virginal? She definitely should have stayed home and watched old movie reruns. Reruns of long-dead band leaders ringing in forgotten New Years. She was a young, single, healthy woman living in one of the most exciting cities on earth, and the most exciting man she knew thought she was a virgin. Depression settled over her like a cloud of gnats, their invisible little teeth biting at her.
He snorted with laughter. “I meant spontaneous sex. Not that there’s anything wrong with being a virgin. I used to be one myself.”
It was her turn to snort. “Back around sixth grade.” She was marginally mollified to discover he didn’t think she was a virgin, just a really boring lover incapable of being impetuous.
Suddenly, it seemed very important to make him understand she was perfectly exciting in bed.
“Well, for your information, not that it’s any of your business, I’ve had many spontaneous sexual encounters.” Hah, so take that, she thought, tossing her head just a little.
He leaned closer, a carnal gleam in his eye, and whispered, “Name one.”
Name one? She couldn’t even dredge up a single sexual encounter that seemed outstanding in retrospect. She could barely recall any past lovers. Rafe’s presence had scared all her memories away.
She took refuge in haughtiness. “Certainly not.”
His laughter was light and teasing and unbearably sexy. “Come on. I dare you.”
“This is completely inappropriate. I’m your employee.”
“This is a party,” he reminded her. “And you’re my guest. I don’t think you have any tales to tell.”
She pulled out the first fantasy she could think of. “The ladies’ dressing room. In Macy’s. I was trying on lingerie and my…um, boyfriend became overcome with lust.” Suddenly she imagined herself wearing a three-thousand-dollar ice-blue camisole and Rafe overcome with lust. The very idea caused heat waves to ripple across her skin and her breath to hitch.
“You were in the change room at Macy’s, overcome with lust. Then what happened?” Was it her imagination or had his tone just become huskier? It sounded soft, erotic and a little smoky, and he was close enough to her ear that his breath caressed her.
She swallowed. “And then, he…followed me into the change room and we, you know…”
“No. I don’t know. You what? Strategized how to get the best discount on the lingerie?”
Her eyes narrowed in a glare. “I do occasionally think of something other than money. We had sex. Right there in the change room of Macy’s.”
For a long moment he gazed at her, and she’d never been so thankful for a mask. She felt the warmth of a blush creep up her neck, not certain how much was the embarrassment of having told such a tale to a man who was supposed to be a business acquaintance and how much was due to his nearness.
After a long, tense moment, he said, “I don’t believe you.”
So she’d made it up. What was he going to do? Ask Macy’s?
“I have hidden depths,” she informed him.
“Now that, I do believe.” And, with an enigmatic glance, he walked away.
She stared after him, at the lean grace of his body, so elegant in the tuxedo, underneath so very animal.
And the way he’d looked at her, the words he’d spoken, it was almost as though…he might be interested.
In her.
Yet he decided that second to walk away from her.
Her lips thinned. Not spontaneous, huh? Too practical, huh?
She was going to do something so spontaneous, so impractical that from now on, when people in general—and Rafe in particular—thought about Arianne Sorenson, practical would be the last word they’d use.
Dance music filled her ears, something with a salsa beat. Her blood began to pound to the same rhythm. She needed to do something daring, wild and risky.
Following the provocative sound, she wandered to the edge of the dance floor and soon saw that Isabel had ditched Mr. Muscles and was now dancing with a dusky-skinned man in a Mardi Gras mask. She was twined around him like ivy on a tree trunk.
Arianne stood at the edge of the dancing couples, eyes beaming into Isabel’s back. Her Latin lover swung her around in the dance and even through the mask she noticed Isabel’s eyes were wide open and blank with boredom. Didn’t look like it was his lucky night.
Arianne signaled to her, then jerked her head, indicating they should meet at the back of the room. She eased away to a less crowded corner and waited. Iz didn’t let her down and was there in a couple of minutes, minus her latest flirtation. She shed them like leaves in autumn.
“What’s up?”
“I need to do something wild and unpredictable,” she said, already wishing she’d gone out this week and bought a brand-new dress. Something in red or gold that showed lots of cleavage and lots of leg. And she wished for one ridiculous moment that she’d paid full price.
Isabel expelled such a gust of air that one of the tiny white feathers on her mask wafted free. “You wa
nt to do something wild and unpredictable?” She was gazing at Arianne as though she’d said her parents were barnyard animals. “Why? Not that I’m discouraging you, but why?”
“I just do. I’m tired of being practical. I’m making my New Year’s resolution tonight. Right now. This second. My resolution is to be spontaneous and fun.” She nodded her head sharply. “And I’m starting tonight. I’m going to do something completely crazy.”
Isabel patted her shoulder. “Sounds like a great plan. Go for it.” She peered into Arianne’s eyes. “Though I am wondering how much champagne you’ve drunk.”
“It’s not champagne. It’s the new me.” Arianne nodded once more, hard. She was so determined to follow her plan she was giving herself whiplash.
Iz cocked her head to one side. “Am I here to give permission?”
“No, you’re here because I can’t think of anything wild and crazy to do!” she wailed.
“Do what I do. Pick out the biggest jackhammer here, turn him on and go for a ride.” Isabel bit back a teasing smile as she reached into her strapless red satin bodice. “Do you need some condoms? I tucked a couple in here for emergencies—”
Arianne grabbed Isabel’s arm and dragged her practically into a wall where they wouldn’t be overheard. “No, I don’t want condoms. Sex is so…private. I want people to notice I’ve changed. I’m looking for something to do in public.”
“Any people in particular?”
Dark-eyed devils that laughed at her and didn’t even believe she’d ever had sex in the Macy’s change room for one. “No. Just people.”
“Well, that’s easy. Have raunchy sex with a stranger and be very, very noisy. And do it where someone might see you.” Iz gazed around and said, “The top of the bar would be good. It’s not very wide, but you’re pretty thin. Or you could climb up there and do a striptease.”
“Are you kidding?”
Isabel just gazed at her with challenge, and Arianne suspected, pity in her gaze.
She blinked. The very idea of sex in public made her queasy. “Never mind. I shouldn’t have pulled you away from your latest conquest.”
“No problem. He wasn’t a contender. I was getting bored merely dancing with the guy. I’d have needed a wake-up call if I actually had sex with him. Tonight I need a man with a little something extra.” For a moment, Isabel looked serious, but then she measured a length with her hands. “Ten inches ought to do it.”
“Happy hunting.”
Isabel shrugged. Maybe I’ll see you later—at the bar.”
“Very funny,” Arianne said, as Isabel laughed and walked away.
She’d go find Natalie. Maybe she had some better ideas.
As Arianne searched out her other friend, she noticed Rafe chatting up a minor soap opera star whose idea of a mask was pink sparkly cat’s-eye glasses and whose dress was everything Arianne’s wasn’t. It had about a tenth the material, all of which sparkled with beads and probably cost ten times as much as Arianne’s restrained black. And she was pretty sure God had no hand in the making of those boobs. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
Rafe caught her staring and sent her a grin that had don’t believe you did it in the change room all over it.
She glanced at his current lady friend and then back at him, making her eyes huge and blinking them like a total ditz. Honestly, for a smart guy, why did he always surround himself with such high-maintenance…flibbertigibbets. She grinned to herself. That was a grandmother word, but it fit. “Flighty flibbertigibbets,” she muttered to herself as she stopped to exchange greetings with one of the Monticello vice presidents.
The man looked delighted to see her, and her squashed feathers opened a little until she recalled he was the vice president of finance. He was all excited to see her because she was as fiscally prudent as he.
Correction, as she was at work. This was a party, and here she was wild, spontaneous, fun, fun, fun.
She excused herself from the VP, knowing that this was a bad place to start being spontaneous.
Natalie. Must find Natalie.
But she was nowhere to be found. The evening was advancing and Arianne’s reputation was still obnoxiously intact.
Oh, hell. Isabel was probably right. So she’d find a guy, have wild, noisy sex—but not too wild or noisy. In fact, maybe she’d be better to select a few possible candidates and plan an attack on Macy’s for next week. With all the January sales on, she could probably have an orgy in the change room and no one would notice.
Her black Monticellos clacked across the marble floor with decision.
She could be as spontaneous as the next person. She just needed some time to plan it, that’s all.
4
IF THE WOMAN WORE a larger mask, Rafe would start to wonder if that babe dancing and flirting with such determination was really Arianne.
But of course it was. Even if her mask had covered her entire face he’d have recognized the turn of her head, the way she stood, shoulders held back, her neck a long, fluid curve. Her breasts were small and perched high above a long waist, slight hips and endless legs.
Even her feet were long and slender. If ever a pair of feet were made for Monticellos, hers were. Not that he ever saw much of her feet or her legs. She tended to go for New York black. Dress pants, longish skirts and tonight’s long dress. He’d love to see her in a short skirt and some color.
What he was going to see her in, if her behavior continued, was the arms of another man.
If he didn’t want her so badly himself, he’d be chuckling at the way she was moving with determination from man to man. It looked as though she were trying to choose one and so far not finding any to her satisfaction.
He’d been joking with her when he challenged her, suggesting she’d never had spontaneous sex in her life. But it looked as if she was now determined to do just that. He should have kept his damn fool mouth shut.
And yet, if he’d done nothing else, he’d captured her attention and by bringing up the subject of sex between them, he wondered if he hadn’t also raised the possibility of sex happening between them in Arianne’s mind. And that had to be a first.
He kept an eye on her as he mingled with his guests, and he had the strong notion she had him in her sights, too.
Oh, yeah. He’d got her thinking all right.
She wasn’t seeing him as her boss tonight, but as a man.
She might not realize it, but she was sending out little zinging signals to him. And he was responding with obnoxious speed.
I can be spontaneous, her behavior seemed to be saying. Ping.
His response was pretty clear. Like hell. Pong.
Now she was dancing as though her mission was to wear her shoes out in one night. Okay, I’ll show you. Ping.
But he could see none of the guys she wrapped her arms around and gyrated with were doing it for her. Not buying it. Pong.
Here I am talking to other men. Attractive single men I might go to bed with, not even knowing their last names. Ping.
He crossed his arms and sent her a disbelieving grin. Pong.
Soon, very soon, he was going to take his own turn holding her in his arms on the dance floor. But for now, he was enjoying her antics too much to interfere.
What was she up to now? He finished dancing with the senator’s wife and returned her to her husband, his gaze searching and finding Arianne, who was in the process of handing her business card to a shady-looking character Rafe doubted was even on the guest list. Ping.
And his move would be…
What the hell was he thinking? What was she thinking? It was one thing to dance and flirt, but if she started giving out her number…the hell with it. The game was over.
He strode toward her. Handing out her business card to some yokel was breaking the rules. Enough.
She appeared mildly startled, but not very surprised when he suddenly appeared in front of her. “You promised me a dance.”
The lump of testosterone currently fingeri
ng her card as though it were her naked flesh didn’t look nearly as complacent. Tough.
“Excuse us,” Rafe said and slid his hand down her arm to catch her hand in his.
“When did I promise you a dance?” she asked coolly, as though unaware of the magnetic force field generated by their joined hands. He went a little light-headed as he contemplated what could happen if they joined completely. He glanced down at her, and she looked up at the same moment, her eyes the clearest blue like fine pale silk.
No, he decided. Not if they joined completely, the question was when.
“I was rescuing you from that deadbeat you were leading on.”
Her eyes glittered colder. “I was not leading him on.”
“You gave him your business card.”
She sniffed. “He’s three years behind on his income tax.”
Rafe started to laugh. He couldn’t help himself. “You’re in the middle of a New Year’s Eve party and you’re talking to guys about their taxes?”
She couldn’t quite restrain the quiver of humor that disturbed the serenity of her expression like a tiny breeze over a still lake. She’d been playing him for a fool.
“You knew I was watching you.”
She inclined her head and didn’t deny his accusation.
They’d reached the dance floor and as they did, the orchestra struck up a waltz. He glanced toward the band and saw his mother step away, grab his uncle Georgio and join them on the floor.
He would have liked his first dance with Arianne to contain a little more bump and grind, but at least they were dancing. He slipped his arm around her waist and decided there was something pretty damned good about the waltz. She laid hers on his shoulder and with their other hands still clasped, they were off.
“You’re a good dancer,” she said after a minute, sounding far too surprised for his ego to be happy.
“Thanks. I’ve had a lot of practice. Italians have big families, and big weddings. I’ve danced at hundreds of weddings. You’re good, too.”
“I took ballroom dancing lessons right before prom.”
