A Night of Living Dangerously (4 page)

Leaving her in the wings, he walked to the microphone at the center of the stage. A hush fell across the ballroom, and Alessandro waited for the hearty cheer of the crowd which quickly followed. He was accustomed to being the center of attention, and far from being nervous, he was bored by it—all of it. There was only one thing that did not bore him right now, one thing that made his blood hum and his body come alive. One thing he wanted.

And he could not let himself have her.

Gripping the podium with his hands, he gave a speech, hardly knowing what he was saying. He could feel Lilley watching from the wings. His heartbeat was quick, his body hot with repressed desire.

“… and so I thank you, my friends,” he finished. “Drink champagne, dance and bid high. Remember every penny raised tonight goes to help children in need!”

The cheer across the ballroom was even louder. With an absentminded wave, he left the podium and went straight back to Lilley, who looked as if she’d recovered her senses and was now staring at her watch, keeping time.

“Six minutes.” She looked up at him with quirked lips. “I’m impressed. Usually speeches given by important men last for at least an hour. You’re fast.”

He gave her a lazy smile, then leaned forward to whisper, “I’m slow where it counts.”

Alessandro had the satisfaction of seeing her shiver. That was some solace, at least—knowing she was as aware of him as he was of her. It amazed him, how Lilley hid nothing of her feelings. So young, he thought in wonder, so reckless and unrestrained. It reminded him of what he’d once been like himself, before he’d been betrayed. Like her, he’d once been young and hopeful, poor and driven to succeed …

Poor? The sparkle of Lilley’s watch caught his eye, and he grabbed her wrist. “What’s this?”

She tried to pull her wrist from his grasp. “Nothing.”

In the background, he could hear the orchestra start a waltz. He was dimly aware of guests going out to the dance floor. “It’s platinum. Diamonds. I don’t recognize the brand.”

“Hainsbury,” she said in a small voice.

Hainsbury’s.
The damned discount jewelry chain that had recently tried—and failed—to execute a hostile takeover of Caetani Worldwide, solely in order to acquire the cachet of his luxury jewelry brand, Preziosi di Caetani. His eyes narrowed. “Who gave it to you?”

She swallowed. “My mother.”

He told himself it was entirely reasonable that someone from the Midwest might own a Hainsbury watch. It was a coincidence, nothing more. His endless battles with the Count of Castelnau, his crafty, vicious French rival, were making him paranoid. He looked at Lilley’s face. Clearly he was losing his mind to be suspicious of a girl like this.

“Nice,” he said casually, dropping her wrist. “I wouldn’t have recognized it. It looks nothing like their usual factory-made junk.”

Looking away, she wrapped her hand around her wrist. Her voice was awkward. “My mother had it specially made.”

He’d embarrassed her, Alessandro thought. Drawing attention to her Hainsbury-brand watch at a ball sponsored by the far more prestigious Preziosi di Caetani. “Whoever made it, your watch is truly exquisite.” He smiled down at her and changed the subject. “Had enough of the ball? Ready to leave?”

“Leave?” Her lips parted. “We just got here!”

“So?” he said impatiently.

She glanced uneasily towards the dance floor. “People are waiting to talk to you.”

“They already have my money.”

“It’s not just a question of money. They clearly want you. Your time and attention.” She gave him a sudden crooked smile. “Though heaven knows why. I’ve yet to see your charm myself.”

He gave her a sensual smile. “Do you want me to try harder?”

Her eyes widened and he heard her intake of breath. She muttered, “I’m no good at this.”

“To the contrary.”

She shook her head. “Forget it. Just don’t try to charm me, all right? There’s no point, and it might … I mean … we’re just using each other tonight. Leave it at that.”

Alessandro’s gaze fell to her trembling lips. “Right. You’re here for revenge. You haven’t seen him yet, have you?”

“No.” Her voice was quiet.

“He will fall on his knees when he sees you,” Alessandro said roughly. “Come.”

Grabbing her hand, he led her off the stage and across the dance floor, tracing through the crowds of swaying, laughing couples. Once, Alessandro would have been the first man on the dance floor. He would have pulled Lilley into his arms and moved her against his body in the music’s seductive rhythm. But he hadn’t danced for sixteen years now. Crossing the floor, he didn’t even pause.

The charity director waited for him on the other edge of the dance floor. She beamed at him, gushing thanks and praise, and Alessandro accepted her gratitude with as much grace as he could manage. He was glad to help the charity, but the long line of guests that instantly formed, people waiting to thank him and shake his hand, seemed endless. Almost beyond endurance. He wanted to grab Lilley’s hand and jump into his car, and not stop until they were completely alone, away from the crowds of reaching hands and yearning eyes.

But there were some duties from which neither royalty nor wealth excused a man. Standing on the edge of the dance floor like a king holding court, he endured the long queue of wealthy donors and powerful people as best as he could. As solace, he pulled Lilley to stand in front of him, wrapping his arms around her as if he were a child with a comforting blanket.

Except he was no longer a child, and Alessandro had a grown man’s idea of comfort. Throughout the endless small talk he found himself distracted by the way her full breasts felt, pressed against his arms. He allowed himself one glance down, and saw that her low neckline barely covered the indecent swell of her breasts. He could see the shape of pebbled nipples though the red knit fabric. It was just as he’d suspected—she wasn’t wearing a bra. And he wasn’t the only man to notice. All the eyes of the male guests waiting to talk to him lingered long upon her, and Alessandro felt an urge to growl at them.

He was long past hard. He had the sudden bright idea of writing the charity a ten-million-dollar check, if it meant he could leave this ball and take her straight to bed.

He shouldn’t. He couldn’t. Sex with Lilley was a bad idea on every level. She was his employee, possibly in love with another man, and she was right—they were using each other tonight for mutual gain. He’d told her that straight out. A cheap one-night stand would only end in her recriminations, tears and perhaps a sexual-harassment lawsuit.

But with every passing moment, his self-restraint was growing frayed. Feeling her in his arms right now he felt oddly alive in a way he hadn’t experienced in years. She made him feel … young again. As if he still had a beating heart.

And
that
was her biggest danger of all. He couldn’t seduce her. He had to send her away. Had to—

Lilley glanced back at him, her lips parted. He saw the tip of her pink tongue dart out to the edge of her mouth and he nearly groaned. He wanted to taste those lips. Plunder her mouth with his. He wanted to rip the clingy red dress off her body, to spread her across his bed, to push himself inside her, to fill her hard and deep—

Basta.
He broke out into a hot sweat. As the ambassador droned on to him about the fluidity of Asian exchange rates, all Alessandro could think was that it was a good thing Lilley was standing in front of him, blocking others’ view of his trousers. Where was his self-control?

In front of him, Lilley stiffened. For a moment, Alessandro wondered if she’d felt his desire for her—how could she not? Then he saw she was looking over the crowd.

“Jeremy,” she said in a low voice.

For a moment, Alessandro couldn’t remember what she was talking about. Then his insides burned. He felt envious of this employee in his jewelry-design department, this man who’d had her at his command and let her go.

“Excuse us,” he said to the people surrounding them. Ignoring their protests, he pulled Lilley to a quiet corner next to a window.

“Where is he?” he said, keeping his expression impassive.

“Over there.”

He followed her gaze. His eyes narrowed in the desire to see this paragon but no one stood out to him at all. He felt irritated.
Irritated
wasn’t a strong enough word.
Jealous?
No, impossible. Jealousy was for the weak, for sad, vulnerable men who served their hearts on platters to be shredded and devoured.

So he didn’t feel jealous. He felt … annoyed.
Sì.
Annoyed.

He’d said he would help Lilley get the man back. Now he regretted his promise. Why should he help another, less-deserving man get what he himself wanted—Lilley in his bed?

But if Lilley truly loved this Jeremy, Alessandro would do the honorable thing. He would step aside with the noble self-sacrifice of a damned saint.

“Va bene,”
he ground out. “If you still want this idiot, this imbecile without a shred of sense or loyalty, I will help you win him.”

Lilley flashed him a grin. “Um. You’re too kind?”

“Just tell me one thing,” he demanded.

“Only one?”

His fingers moved down her shoulders, stroking down the warm, bare skin of her back. He saw her eyes widen, felt her shiver and he fought back the urge to yank her body hot and hard against his own. “Why would you want him back, after he made you weep?”

Her smile fell. She took a deep breath, then lifted her left wrist. “Look at this.”

A change of subject? He looked down at the bracelet on her wrist. He’d noticed it earlier, a pastiche of welded materials—colorful crystals on a brass chain, interspersed with rusty-looking numbers and held together with a tarnished buckle. “What about it?”

“I made it.”

He grabbed her wrist, narrowing his eyes and tilting his head as he tried to make sense of the bracelet. He pointed to the metal number dangling off the chain. “What’s that?”

“A room number from an eighteenth-century Parisian hotel.”

It seemed strange to him, an artistic hodgepodge of junk. “How do you source the materials?”

“At flea markets and vintage shops, mostly. I create jewelry using old things I find.” She swallowed. “I met Jeremy at San Francisco’s trade show a few months ago, when my employer thought I was visiting my family. Jeremy loved my jewelry. We decided to be partners and open a boutique together. He was going to handle the financials. I would create the inventory.” She blinked fast, and looked away. “When he chose my roommate over me, I lost that dream.”

He could see her eyes were shiny with tears, and his insides gave a little twist. “The man’s a damned fool,” he said roughly. He tried to think of how to comfort her. “Perhaps it’s for the best,” he tried. “Running a business is a huge risk. You might have lost your investment. People don’t want old trinkets. They want their jewelry shiny and new.”

Her lips trembled, curving as she looked up. Her eyes were bleak. “I guess we’ll never know, will we?”

His attempt at comfort was a clear failure. But Alessandro knew words weren’t enough to make anyone forget the loss of a dream. He had no idea how to make Lilley forget her pain. He knew only one way, the same way he used to forget his own.

But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t allow himself to make love to her.

The orchestra started a new song, and the notes of an exquisite classical waltz swirled around them like cherry blossoms tumbling from the sky. Lilley looked out at the crowded dance floor wistfully.

She’d told him she wasn’t a good dancer, but he didn’t believe that for an instant. He’d seen the sensual way she moved. Even walking, her body swayed like sunset against ocean waves.

But he couldn’t dance with her. His hands tightened at his sides. He was helpless to offer comfort.

Unless he made love to her.

What could it hurt? His lust argued against his brain.

One night of pleasure. A few hours of comfort. One night wouldn’t risk making her fall in love with him. It wasn’t as if she were a virgin.

Although she was shockingly close.
Two boyfriends.
He still couldn’t believe she’d only been with two men. She truly was innocent. And yet she’d seemed embarrassed of her number. He wondered what she would think if he told her how many women he’d slept with. Something he would never do, even if he knew the number.

“I’m sorry I don’t dance,” he said slowly.

She looked down. “It’s all right.”

The scent of her hair was like wild roses. He moved closer, fascinated by the swoop of her neck, by the snub edge of her chin. Her cheeks blushed a soft pink against creamy skin as her dark eyelashes fluttered. He asked suddenly, “How old are you, Lilley?”

“Twenty-three.” She furrowed her brow. “Why? How old are you?”

“Ancient to you. Thirty-five.”

“Thirty-five, and still not married?” She sounded as astonished as his shareholders. “Where I come from, most people are married by thirty.”

“Advantageous for farm life, I assume.”

Her brow furrowed. “I don’t exactly come from a—”

“In my world,” he interrupted, “a man marries to ensure his line, to make sure he has a son to inherit his title and estate when he’s dead.”

She flashed him a grin. “Gee, you make it all sound so romantic.”

“It’s not about
romance,
Lilley,” he said sharply. “Marriage is an alliance. My wife will be a leader in society. An heiress with proper lineage, the future mother to my heir.”

Her grin faded. “Like Olivia Bianchi.”

Even hearing her name irritated him. “Yes.”

Lilley’s eyes were huge beneath the glittering light of the chandeliers. “So if she’s the perfect bride for you, why am I here?”

“She threatened to leave if I didn’t propose, so I told her to go.”

Lilley blinked. “I feel sorry for her.”

He barked a laugh. “Do not waste your sympathy on Olivia. She can take care of herself.”

“She’s in love with you!” She swallowed. “It was wrong of me to agree to this—this charade. When you’re just trying to control her.”

“I have no desire ever to see Olivia again,” he bit out.