The Ultimate Seduction (15 page)

Ryzard clicked it off as it went to commercial. She collapsed on the foot of the hotel bed, emotionally exhausted. Could it really be over as easily as that?

* * *

Ryzard watched Tiffany as he unknotted his tie and released first the cuffs, then the front buttons of his shirt. As tough as she was, he’d seen what a toll this attack had had on her. She’d been shutting him out as a result, and that infuriated him. Her talk of running away where he couldn’t reach her had nearly put him out of his mind.

He was still beside himself that this incident had happened at all. His captain had warned him that an unidentified boat kept turning up in their radar, but he’d shrugged it off. None of his mistresses in the past had warranted much attention, but he supposed his own profile was elevated to the international stage these days. Tiffany’s family was certainly of a level to feed the appetite of her country’s gossip columns.

And she’s not just a mistress, is she?
The question beat in warning like a jungle drum in his chest, ominous and dark. His plans for his relationship with Tiffany were changing, but he hadn’t wanted to allude to anything more in his interview. The last time his link to a woman had been public and indelible, she’d been used as a pawn in his country’s civil war and the outcome was fatal.

Seeing Tiffany beaten and wounded by words shook loose his nightmare of losing Luiza. He’d grasped at anger to counter his resurgence of helplessness, hating that he couldn’t stem the damage being done to her, but agony and guilt were constant. He should have protected her better. If he could have stopped Tiffany from searching out what they were saying about her, he would have. Humanity’s capacity for ugliness astounded him. His job, the one he’d taken on for his country, for his own sanity, was to push brutality and attacks to the furthest fringes of existence that he could.

And keep himself apart so the pain of life couldn’t reach inside him and wring him into anguish.

It wasn’t easy when Tiffany sat with her spine slouched and her golden hair trailing loose from its neat bun, seeming incredibly delicate, like a dragonfly that had its wings crushed. When she was like this, she stirred things in him that needed to stay in firmer places. The chin-up, spoiled and cheeky Tiffany he could easily compartmentalize as a friendly partner in a game of sexual sport. Like a tennis opponent who gave him a run for his money, athletic and quick.

The vulnerable Tiffany frightened him. She made him feel so ferociously protective he would do violence if he ever found the photographer who’d reduced her image to a commodity in filthy commerce.

Shaken by the depth of his feelings, he tried to pull them both out of the tailspin with a blunt, “Dinner out or in?”

She sighed and looked up at him. Her heartrending expression was both anguished and amused. His heart began to pound in visceral reaction, and he swayed as though struck with vertigo, not sure why.

“My first thought is,
Duh, Ryzard
. Of course I’d never dine in public, but how could I be such a coward when you’ve just defended me so fiercely? No one else has. I can’t tell you how much that means to me.”

A sensation of wind rushing around him lifted all the hairs on his naked chest, as if he was free-falling into space. Her gaze was so defenseless, he couldn’t look away. She reached inside him with that look, catching at things he couldn’t even acknowledge.

“You already know I would only wish away your scars because I hate that you were hurt at all. But I see them as a badge of your ability to overcome,” he heard himself admit. “Your sort of willpower, your deep survival instinct, is rare, Tiffany. You probably don’t realize it because it’s such an integral part of your nature to fight, but not everyone accepts such a life blow and makes herself live through it.”

Luiza hadn’t, he acknowledged with a crash of his heart into his toes. Thinking about her when he was with Tiffany, contrasting them, was wrong. Setting aside Luiza in his mind was like ripping an essential part of him away and abandoning it, but he had to do it. They couldn’t occupy the same place inside him, and right now Tiffany needed him.

“All my life I heard, ‘You’re so pretty.’ Like that was the most important thing to be. You’re the first person to compliment me on having substance. I really thought I’d lost everything by losing my looks.”

Where Luiza had built him into the man he was with vision and belief in him, Tiffany slayed him with honesty and vulnerability. His heart felt as though it beat outside his chest. When she rose and came to him, and went on tiptoe to brush soft lips against his jaw, he closed his eyes in paralyzed ecstasy. Deep down, at a base level, it felt wrong to be this gripped by her, but he couldn’t help it. In this moment, she was all he knew.

“Thank you for wanting me exactly as I am.”

He did. God help him, he wanted her in ways he couldn’t even describe.

They shouldn’t come together like this, with hearts agape and defenses on the floor, but he couldn’t
not
touch her. Pulling her in, he settled his mouth on hers, tender and sweet. The animal in him wanted to ravish, but the man in him needed to cherish.

She drew an emotive breath and kissed him back in a way that flooded him with aching tenderness. The sexual need was there, strong as ever, but it sprang from a deeper place inside him. Hell, he thought. Hell and hell. Lingering feelings of infidelity fell away. This woman was the one he had to be faithful to.
This one.

The rending sensation inside him hurt so much he had to squeeze her into him to stop what broke open, fearing his lifeblood would leak away if he didn’t have her pressed to the wound. Her arms went around his neck, light palms cradling the back of his skull as she fingered through his hair, soothing and treasuring and filling the cavernous spaces in him with something new and golden and as unique as she was.

When they stripped and eased onto the bed and came together, it was with a shaken breath from him and a gasp of awe from her. She gloried in his possession, and he bent his head to her breast in veneration, golden lamplight burning the vision of her into his memory with the eternity of a primordial being caught in amber.

* * *

Twin fingers traced on each side of her scar, the sensation dull on one side, sweet on the other. She stretched in supreme pleasure and reached for him without opening her eyes, finding only cool, empty sheets where he was supposed to be.

“I’m already showered and dressed,
draga,
” he said on her other side. “You said to let you sleep and I did as long as I could, but we have to leave soon. We have a dinner engagement in Zurich.”

“Are you serious?” She rolled onto her back so she could see him where he stood over her, his knife-sharp suit of charcoal over a dove gray shirt set off with a subdued navy tie. He looked way too buttoned-down, hair still damp, chin shiny and probably tasting spicy and lickable. She skimmed the sheet away and invited, “Come back to bed.”

“Your parents are expecting us. I already agreed to see them, but if you’d like to send our regrets...”

“They’re in Zurich?” She sat up, bringing the sheet to her collarbone as if her father had just walked in the room. “How? Why?”

“I left it to our collective staff to work out the how. I simply extended the invitation when I informed him about the photos. He wanted you to come back to America. I said you were accompanying me to Rome and that I had a commitment in Switzerland, but that we’d be pleased if they could meet us there.”

“How delightfully neutral. I guess that explains why they haven’t been in touch. They’ve been traveling.” She threw off the sheet and walked naked to find her phone, pleased at the way he pivoted to watch her.

Sending him a saucy smile over her shoulder, she clicked her screen and tapped in her code, reading aloud the message she found. “‘Staying with the deHavillands in Berne.’ That’s the American ambassador. Mom went to school with her. Longtime friends of the family. ‘Where will you be staying?’” She looked to him.

“At the hotel where the banquet will be held. My people should have sent the details already. I’ll ask them to extend the invitation to include your parents’ friends.” He reached inside his jacket pocket for his mobile.

Tiffany heard only one word and lowered her phone, barely hanging on to it with limp fingers as she repeated, “Banquet?”

He gave her a long, steady look. “Something I arranged months ago. I’ve been trying to ease you into the public eye,
draga.
Don’t look so shocked. It’s not something I can miss since it’s a charity I personally fund. We remove land mines and petition to stop their use completely. They’re an appalling weapon.”

She felt as though she stood on one, but he didn’t coddle her over what attending would mean. Given everything that had happened, she supposed it was time to set aside her fear of being in public. As long as she had him by her side, she’d be okay, wouldn’t she?

CHAPTER NINE

A
FEW
HOURS
LATER
,
she wasn’t so sure. She’d taken an
in for a penny, in for a pound
approach and forgone the one-shouldered gowns that would have disguised a lot of her scarring, deciding instead to let her freak flag fly. Her halter-style gown set off her breasts and hips beautifully and was the most gorgeous shade of Persian blue that glistened and slithered over her skin as she walked.

...snakeskin...

Stop it.
She pretended she was her old self, the somewhat infamous fashionista who had graced more than her share of best-dressed lists. With her trained yoga posture reaching her crown to the ceiling, shoulders pinned back with pride, she entered the lounge and took the druglike hit that was Ryzard in a tuxedo.

“I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me,” he said. His smile was sexy and smug, but held a warmth of underlying approval.

Winded, she dissembled by checking her pocketbook, trying to grasp hold of herself as she reacted to him and the effect he had on her. Did he know how defenseless she was around him? She suspected he did. He was coming to know her very well, maybe too well. There was an imbalance there because he could see right past her defenses, but he remained unpredictable to her.

As if to prove it, he came forward and threaded a bracelet up her marred arm until it wrapped in delicate scrolls against her biceps. It was a stunning piece of extravagant ivy tendrils fashioned from platinum. Diamonds were inset as random pops of sparkling dew, fixating the eye.

“It’s beautiful.”

“When people stare, you can say, ‘Ryzard gave it to me. He thinks I’m a spoiled brat, but wouldn’t change a thing about me.’”

She wanted to grin and be dismissive, but she was too moved. Her voice husked when she admitted, “You do spoil me. I have no idea why.”

“You inspire me,” he confided, then swooped to set a kiss against the corner of her mouth. “Lipstick, I know,” he muttered before she could pull away in protest. “In the future, don’t put it on until I’ve finished kissing you.”

“Then we’d never leave the room, would we?”

“And how is this a problem?” He held the door as he spoke, the light in his eye making her laugh, reassuring her the evening would turn out fine.

* * *

They stopped by another suite on their way downstairs. He’d arranged it for her parents and the ambassador. Her father greeted her with a long hug before he set her back. Then he looked between her and Ryzard, not seeming to know where to start.

She quickly introduced them and included the ambassador’s husband, Dr. deHavilland, using Ryzard’s title as the president of Bregnovia, and heard the crack in her voice as she queried, “Mom didn’t come?”

“The ladies are fussing down the hall,” the doctor said after kissing her cheeks. Taking her chin, he turned her face to eye her scar. “The specialist did wonders, didn’t he? It’s good to see you out, Tiffany. Ryzard, what’s your poison? We’re having whiskey sours.”

He accepted one and she squeezed his arm. “Do you mind if I...?”

“Of course, go say hello, but we need to be in the ballroom to greet the guests in fifteen minutes.”

“Five,” she promised with a splayed hand and hurried in search of her mother, nervous of the confrontation, but experiencing the homesick need to reconnect.

Following voices through a bedroom to the open door of a bathroom, she approached and set her hand on the inner door only to hear a makeup compact click over her mother’s voice. “Are we supposed to believe he’s in love with her? Any fool can see he’s using her for our connections.”

“Any fool except me?” Tiffany blurted, pushing the door farther in while outrage washed over her. It was followed by a stab of hurt so deep she could barely see.

Nevertheless, her vision filled with the flawless image of her mother turning from the mirror. Shock paled her mother’s elegantly powdered cheeks. An automatic defense rose to part her painted lips, but first she had to draw a breath of shock as her gaze traveled her daughter’s appearance and measured the amount of exposure. A trembling little head shake told Tiffany what her mother thought of this gown.

“You won’t be comfortable in that.”

“You mean
you
won’t,” Tiffany volleyed back and turned to leave. A type of daughterly need for her mother’s bosom had driven her in here, and now she wished Barbara Holbrook had stayed home.

“Tiffany Ann.” The strident voice didn’t need volume to stop Tiffany in her tracks. “He told your father he wanted to marry you. You met him last
week.
What are we supposed to think?”

Tiffany spun back, thrown by the statement. “He did not.”

Her mother held her lady-of-the-manor pose, the one that had too much dignity to descend into a did-so, did-not quibbling match. Instead, she gave Tiffany another once-over and asked primly, “How on earth did you come to be his guest? I mean, if he had brought a party aboard, I’d understand you being swept along, but obviously he wants us to believe he has a romantic interest in you. What sort of promises has he made you?”

Tiffany heard the strange lilt in her mother’s voice. Concern, but something else. Something shaken and protective...

She felt her eyes go wider and sting with dryness as understanding penetrated. Her mother genuinely believed she was being used—and was too blind to see it.

If her high school diary had been passed around the football locker room, she couldn’t have felt more as though her deepest feelings were being abused. If only she could have defended Ryzard. If only she believed he had deeper feelings for her beyond the physical and amusement with her “great personality.”

God, maybe he didn’t even feel that much for her. Maybe it
was
all about who her father was. Insecurity nearly drove her to her knees, but she made herself stand proud and state what she’d let herself believe.

“He hasn’t made any promises. He wants me for my body. It’s mutual.”

Dumbly she turned and walked out, floored by what her mother had said about Ryzard wanting to marry her. Was it true? Because if it was, her mother was right. It wouldn’t be love driving his interest in her. They
had
met only ten days ago.

She tried to swallow away the painful lump of confusion that lodged itself high behind her breastbone.

Ryzard set down his drink as she appeared and held out his crooked arm. “Ready? We’ll see you downstairs,” he said to the men.

“Tiffany,” the ambassador scolded, following her with a swish of skirts. “You can’t speak to your mother like that. She’s been telling me how worried she’s been for you, not just because you dropped out of sight with a stranger—I apologize if that sounds rude,” she added in an aside to Ryzard. “But since—”

“I
know.
The accident. I’ve been a great burden on them, but can you understand how sick I am of having that define me? I’m better now. It’s time for both her and Dad to butt out of my life.”

She yearned for everyone to leave her alone so she could lick her wounds in private. It pained her horribly that everyone could see how weakly she’d fallen for this incredibly handsome, indulgent charlatan who had soothed her broken ego and wormed his way toward her heart. All in the name of advancing his own agenda.

“Where is this rebellion coming from?” her father clipped in his sternest tone. “You were never like this before. Your mother and I can’t fathom what’s got into you. Letting you go to work has obviously put too much stress on you.”

“
Letting
me.” She jerked up her chastised head, filling with outrage.

Beside her, Ryzard took her good arm in a warm, calming grip. “If you’ll pardon an outsider’s observation? Every child has to leave the nest at some point, even one who was blown back in and needed you very badly for a time. Your daughter is an adult. She can make her own decisions.”

Despite that statement of her independence, she found herself letting him make the decision for both of them to leave. A crazy part of her even rationalized that even if he
was
using her, he was also helping her find the state of autonomy she longed for.

As they waited for the elevator, a jagged sigh escaped her. “I can’t do this, Ryzard.”

She meant the banquet, the evening, but he misunderstood.

“Don’t let this upset you. Listen, I visited Bregnovia after finishing university. I could have stayed. My mother wanted me to, but I chose to drift across Europe like pollen in the wind. I was making a statement. They had forced me to leave as a child, but they couldn’t make me stay as an adult.”

“And now you hate yourself for not spending time with them. You think I should go back and apologize?” She looked back down the hall, hating the discord with her family even as she dreaded facing them again.

The elevator car arrived and Ryzard guided her into it.

“I don’t hate myself as much as I should. Everyone does need to leave the nest at some point,
draga.
But be assured that your parents are operating from a place of love. Your father had some very pointed questions for me. He is the quintessential father who feels a strong need to protect his baby girl.”

With bloodless fingers clinging to her pocketbook, she lifted her gaze to meet his. “Did you tell him you want to marry me?” Her voice sounded flayed and dead, even more listless than the tone she had used to discuss her prospective marriage to Paulie.

Surprise flashed across his expression before he shuttered it into a neutral poker face. “He asked me about my intentions when I called. I said they were honorable. What else could I say?”

“You told me this relationship wouldn’t lead to anything permanent. When did you decide it could?”

He turned his head away, profile hard with undisguised impatience, then looked back, fairly knocking her over with the impact. “What are you really asking,
draga?
”

The car stopped and she swayed, stomach dipping and clawing for a settled state. “You weren’t ever going to marry, but then you realized exactly how useful my father could be. Is that right?”

“Yes.” No apology, just hardened, chiseled features that were so remote and handsome she wanted to cry.

“We talked about how much I enjoy being used, Ryzard.”

The doors of the elevator opened. His handlers were waiting, one reaching to hold the door for them.

“We need a moment,” he clipped.

“No, we don’t.” Her voice was strangled, but she stepped from the elevator into the bubble that was its own bizarrely familiar shield against reality. Her skin burned under the stares of his people, but she allowed only Ryzard to see how much that tortured her as she turned to glare up at him. “If this is what I’m here for, then let’s do it. I’m probably better on stage than you are. Smile. Nothing matters except how this looks.”

“Tiffany,” he growled.

Arranging the sort of warm, gracious smile her mother had patented, she sidled beyond his reach and asked a handler, “Where would you like me to stand in relation to the president?”

* * *

Talk about land mines. Ryzard felt as though he stood in a field of them as he welcomed his guests and waited for the misstep that would cause Tiffany to discharge. She was the epitome of class though, greeting people warmly as he introduced her, maintaining a level of poise that made his heart swell with pride even as his blood ran like acid in his veins.

We talked about how much I enjoy being used.

He struggled to hide how much his conscience twisted under that. Did she think he couldn’t see what this evening was costing her? He was so deeply attuned to her that he felt her tension like a high-pitched noise humming inside his consciousness, keeping him on high alert. It was fear, he realized with a
thunk
of dread-filled self-assessment. She would run given an opportunity, and that kept him so fixated on her he could hardly breathe, braced as he was to catch her before her first step.

He ought to let her go if that’s what she really wanted, but he couldn’t bear it when she hadn’t even given him a chance to explain. The way she’d thrown her accusation at him in the elevator had been a shock. He’d answered honestly out of instinct, because any sort of subterfuge between them was abhorrent to him.

But distance was equally repugnant to him, and she was keeping an emotional one that didn’t bode well for sifting through things he’d barely made sense of himself.

As for her pithy suggestion that all he cared about was his image, she was dead wrong there. He cared about her. Thinking about how much he cared made him feel as though the elevator’s cable had been cut and he was still plummeting into the unknown.

They didn’t have a chance to speak freely again until they were dancing after dinner. He kept his gaze off her, dangerously close to becoming aroused from holding her. Every primordial instinct in him wanted to drag her into the nearest alcove and stamp her as his own. The way they moved perfectly together no matter what they did seduced him unfailingly.

“Another one bites the dust,” she murmured.

“What does that mean?” he asked with a flash of his glance into furious eyes that scored him with disdain.

“You can’t keep your eyes off my mother. I told you she was beautiful.”

He realized he’d been staring at the distraction of white hair swept in a graceful frame around aristocratic bone structure. Mrs. Holbrook’s blue eyes stood out like glittering sapphires on the sateen of flawless skin as she watched them. Where Tiffany had a seductively full bottom lip, her mother’s was narrow and prim, but that hint of severity lent her countenance keen intelligence. She was the height of elegance when she smiled and scrupulously well-mannered. She had thanked him warmly for inviting them even as her gaze consigned him to hell.

“She’s not the one giving me a hard-on,
draga.
She’s keeping it from becoming obvious. I’m in danger of catching pneumonia from her glare. I take it she doesn’t approve of our affair?”

“I thought we were engaged.” Limpid eyes, as capable of beaming frost as her mother’s, glared up at him.