by Jami Alden
She watched him, stationed up on the gallery like a sentry on a battlement. His weight shifted from foot to foot as he surveyed the crowd, looking ready to spring into action at the slightest provocation. The jacket of his suit pulled tight as he folded his massive arms across his chest. His gaze slid back to her, and even from across the room and one story down, she could feel its heat. It unknotted the tension in her neck, slid down her spine, and made a warm glow shimmer down her thighs.
This time he didn’t break the stare, and it was she who reluctantly turned away. She continued to work the room, shilling for silent auction bids on the small fortune in diamonds that adorned her wrists, fingers, and ears. Through it all she could feel him looking at her, his gaze like firm, warm fingers tracing over her skin.
Being stared at wasn’t new. She’d lived in a fishbowl her entire life, first, thanks to her mother’s, then to her own publicity-attracting antics. Yes, sometimes it chafed, never more than recently, but Alyssa had grown so used to being looked at, watched, and judged that she was almost immune to it.
“…disgusting. Mindy is sixteen, and because of Alyssa Miles she thinks it’s okay to go around dressed like a whore and sleeping with everyone in sight.”
The snippet of conversation pierced Alyssa’s warm glow. Almost immune.
Alyssa turned and gave the woman a guileless smile as though she hadn’t heard a single barb.
She blocked the woman’s comments out, instead focusing on him and his stare, sliding over her like a hot flame. He wanted her. She could feel it. That, too, was nothing new. Not because she was extraordinarily beautiful. But she knew she had her appeal and had played up her image as a sultry, playful sexpot in the press. Now it was all but guaranteed that men looked at her and thought of only one thing.
But this was different. Derek was different.
He had no idea who she was.
A delicious thrill had shot through her the moment realization had dawned in the study. When he walked into the room, all of her senses had gone on high alert. Not only was he a strange man, he was an attractive strange man. No. Scratch that. A smoking-hot, set-the-skin-of-your-inner-thighs-on-fire man. The last thing she wanted was for him to notice her reaction to his dark, sun-streaked hair, chiseled jaw, and acres of muscles.
So when he’d tried to hustle her back to the party, she’d put on her “don’t you know who you’re dealing with” act and tried to shoo him away like the insignificant insect she pretended to think he was.
But he wasn’t having any of it. He didn’t care who she was. Because he didn’t know who she was.
He hadn’t so much as quivered an eyelash when she told him her name. She couldn’t remember the last time that happened.
Derek, who was already a blatant ten, shot up to fifteen on the hotness scale. When he shook her hand her arm felt scorched all the way down to her red-tipped toenails.
And he felt it too. She could see the surge of awareness in his eyes, the blast of desire, quickly shuttered by his dark gaze. But he couldn’t hide it. Not completely.
The thrill shot through her again and it was all she could do to keep still as another socialite held Alyssa’s arm so the woman’s husband could admire the diamond-encrusted cuff on her wrist. He wanted her. And not like other men wanted her. He didn’t want the crazy, sexy party girl or the notorious heiress.
He didn’t want to fuck her so he could brag to his friends and the media about how he’d nailed Alyssa Miles and it really wasn’t all that great after all.
He didn’t want to fuck her so she could introduce him to a producer, a director, or a record label executive.
Derek Taggart looked at her and saw a gorgeous girl he met at a party and wanted to get with. As simple as that.
Sure, he probably saw her as a spoiled brat—her initial response pretty much guaranteed that. But a little flirting and a wide smile would go a long way in getting past any bad first impressions. The monster of her public persona was another beast entirely. The image of the fun-loving, ditzy chick whose lifestyle was funded by her father’s bottomless bank account wasn’t an image she’d purposely cultivated, but once established she used it to her advantage. She had thought she’d made peace with the fact that it would forever taint every interaction she had with another human being.
But the gut-deep thrill she got from knowing a man like Derek wanted her and not the image, made her realize she’d been craving that kind of honest chemistry more than she’d realized.
There was nothing to be done about it, though. As the night wore on, Alyssa didn’t have another opportunity to speak to Derek, even though she knew he tracked her every move. She considered sneaking back to the study, just to see if he’d chase her down, but as the silent auction drew to a close she was surrounded by guests who all wanted one last look at Van Weldt Jeweler’s exquisite designs.
“I’m going to walk Mother and Daddy out,” Kimberly leaned down to speak quietly into Alyssa’s ear.
Alyssa nodded. “I can’t leave until the auction’s over.”
“I know,” Kimberly replied, her voice lowering so no one else could hear. “But I’m afraid Mother is about to lose it.”
Alyssa looked across the ballroom, where Grace clung to Oscar’s arm. As Alyssa watched, Grace weaved, barely noticeable to the untrained eye. Her social smile was gone and her mouth was pursed tight. A pang of sympathy tightened Alyssa’s stomach as she watched her father struggle to maintain his oblivious smile. She didn’t envy him one bit, knowing her stepmother would explode with a vodka-fueled, venomous tirade as soon as the limo door slammed shut.
“I called Bryan,” Kimberly said. “He’ll pick you up in the back by the servant’s entrance so you won’t have to deal with the photographers.”
Alyssa nodded, grateful her sister had remembered to remind the Van Weldt’s regular driver of that detail. In the past six months, as she’d struggled to clean up her image and Alyssa had done a complete one eighty when it came to dealing with the press. No more calls from her assistant to alert the paps she was on her way to shop on Melrose. No more “anonymous” tips that she might show up at the Chateau Marmont with the lead actor from this season’s hottest new TV series. Now, unless she was making an official appearance with her family or doing publicity on behalf of the company, she avoided reporters like the plague.
Which only served to make her a hotter target. She knew that along with the hired photographer there were dozens of paparazzi outside the Bancrofts’ mansion in Atherton, waiting for a glimpse of Alyssa. No doubt praying she’d do something stupid like slip and fall and lose her top, or show her underwear and give them a money shot to sell to Us Weekly or OK magazine for six figures.
Finally the auction was over and most of the guests were milling around the front door, waiting for their cars and limos to arrive.
Alyssa did another scan of the room, tamping down her disappointment when she didn’t see Derek. Stupid. What do you think is going to happen?
She closed her eyes, memorizing his face, taking that memory of desire in his eyes and curling it close.
She retrieved her coat from the coat check and slipped out the back entrance, down the short driveway that let to the street on the side of the house opposite the front door.
And waited. She looked at her watch, shivering at the chilly bite of the October evening. It was still early, not even ten. Before she’d moved from Los Angeles, she wouldn’t have even had dinner by now. But the crowd at these charity things always skewed older, and Alyssa figured they all needed to get home and tucked into bed before midnight.
Another ten minutes passed, and the driver from the car service still wasn’t there. Annoyed, she flicked open her cell phone and called.
Bryan’s town car had been clipped on the freeway. Another car was en route, but it would be at least half an hour before it arrived.
Alyssa bit back a curse and pulled her coat tighter around her, wishing she’d brought something heavier to wear over her
short, backless dress.
“What’s up with you going where you’re not supposed to?”
The deep gruff voice slid around her, grabbed her, and wouldn’t let go. She couldn’t have held back her smile if she wanted to.
His eyes were hidden in shadow, but his mouth curved into a half smile. His lips were firm and full and she knew they’d be hot against her skin.
“Do I even want to know why you’re hanging out at the servant’s entrance looking like you’re about to stick your thumb out for a ride?”
“I didn’t want to have to deal with the crowd on my way out. And now my driver got into an accident, so it looks like I’m stranded for a while.”
He was silent for several moments, and though his eyes were shadowed she could feel him studying her.
Ask me.
“Can I give you a ride home?”
A thrill of pure triumph shot through her and she didn’t hesitate for a second. “Sure.”
He looked a little surprised at her enthusiasm but quickly hid it, and left without another word to get his car. As she waited she shifted on her sky-high heels, restless, alive with anticipation. After so many months on her best behavior, a reckless urge was pulsing through her. Uncontrollable, unstoppable. She needed to forget the consequences and do something outrageous.
But this time it wouldn’t be for publicity or her father’s attention. This time it would be all for herself.
A silver Audi rumbled up to the driveway and Alyssa wasted no time sliding into the passenger seat. The leather was cool against her bare thighs, and the interior of the car was full of his cedar and soap scent.
He backed out of the driveway and turned the corner, passing the snarl of limos and guests crowding the circular driveway of the Bancrofts’ estate.
“Where to?”
Nerves warred with desire. It had been a long time since she’d had to make the first move. Alyssa rummaged in her bag and dug out her lip gloss, slicking on a coat to give herself something to do.
Derek stopped at a stop sign. “Where are we going?”
She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly bone dry. What she was about to do was crazy. Stupid.
Necessary.
“You know, it’s so early,” she said, and turned to face him. She kept her eyes locked with his and placed her hand deliberately on his thigh. “And I’m not quite ready to go home.”
He stared at her hard for what felt like an eternity. His thick, dark brows drew together in a faint scowl.
Her stomach bottomed out as she realized he was about to turn her down.
“You want to get a drink somewhere?”
The moment of truth. She slid her hand farther up his thigh, delighting in the swells and ripples of rock hard muscle hidden beneath wool gabardine. “I’m not much for crowds. Why don’t you cut to the chase and take me back to your place?”
BRAVA BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
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New York, NY 10022
Copyright © 2008 by Jami Alden
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
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ISBN: 0-7582-3651-4
