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When she slept.
It was almost amusing how she’d blocked herself from them. It would have been amusing if it didn’t piss Sebastian off so damned much.
Forcing his gaze from her, Sebastian let it travel around the room, as he watched the lustful stares that followed her. Every man watching her imagined she belonged to them. How could they help but to lust after her? She was every man’s fantasy. A wet dream walking. She sure as hell had his unruly flesh reacting despite the invisible Do Not Touch sign he could feel guarding her virtue.
She might be untouchable, but the male eyes there were definitely enjoying the view, Sebastian thought, as he shot the middle-aged tycoon eyeing her ass as she passed, a glare. The bastard was older than her father. He should be ashamed of himself.
The look on Grandpa’s face wasn’t one of shame, though. It was pure appreciation and wishful thinking. That was one treasure the graying grandfather of eight would never have a chance to touch. A sweet the bastard would never have a chance to taste.
She did have a fine ass, though. Nicely curved and pert, it bunched and flexed with graceful movements, the toned muscle shifting beneath her dress and drawing the eye without being in the least overt.
Every move she made whispered come-hither, while every look from her cold gray eyes sent the chill of rejection. And she could have had damned near any man in the ballroom and many of the women as well if that was what she wanted.
The cream of Alexandria’s social set had turned out for her father’s birthday party, thrown by none other than one of the most popular widows among the political elite. Rumored to be occupying the senator’s bed after his wife’s death two years before, his soon-to-be-announced fiancée, Landra Collier, had thrown a lavish celebration.
Aunt Landra was the queen of parties as far as Sebastian was concerned. Imaginative decorations, always with the utmost taste and style, and a guest list that had the political elite vying for invitations.
Champagne flowed from crystal fountains; a buffet of the choicest tidbits was offered as well as sweets so elaborately decorated they look
ed more like confections of art. Several box-office stars were in attendance, as well as a couple of Billboard’s highest-ranking musicians. Music drifted through the ballroom, seducing those who ventured out to dance and making brave even the most timid of guests. And occasionally those Billboard stars stepped to the stage to croon to a rapt, appreciative audience.
The party was also rumored to be a preliminary step to establish backing for a presidential bid for the senator as well. After eight years serving as senator, Davis Allen Hampstead was said to be ready to make his move on the White House. And there were those who believed he had an excellent chance at succeeding.
Though that rumor hadn’t been confirmed among Sebastian’s sources. And his sources were some of the best, even among this crowd.
“Would you explain why you’re watching Ms. Hampstead-Stanhope make her rounds?” Khalid Mustafa questioned him from where he had stepped to Sebastian and leaned against the white marble pillar near the foyer entrance.
Stanhope. Her married name was guaranteed to have him gritting his teeth. Why she’d kept it after the death of her husband he had yet to figure out. Harvey Stanhope had died, along with Alyssa’s mother, only days after Shane and Sebastian had rushed to reach Alyssa. The certainty that Alyssa was dying had nearly driven them crazy before they reached the United States.
They had nearly lost her, twice. Her husband’s attempt to murder her had nearly succeeded. Margot Hampstead’s plan to ensure Alyssa’s husband never harmed her again had succeeded, though. She’d killed Stanhope, even as she’d ensured her own death, according to Summer.
“I don’t consider this your business, Khalid,” Sebastian informed him softly, never taking his gaze from Alyssa. “Go play with your wife.”
Khalid didn’t often need an invitation to get nosy, though, Sebastian had learned, especially when it came to his sense of protectiveness where certain women were concerned.
“It would appear Marty is rather busy at the moment,” Khalid sighed. “But I’m fairly certain I have warned you that Ms. Hampstead-Stanhope wasn’t a woman I would be pleased to learn you and your cousin were attempting to seduce, though. You’re about to make us enemies, De Loren.”
Yeah, that one really worried him into the deepest hours of the night.
“I think perhaps I might not have been paying attention then,” Sebastian murmured, not in the least interested in dragging his attention from Alyssa to the half-Saudi onetime bastard prince. “I’ll try to do better next time.”
He probably wouldn’t but sometimes it was best to pacify Khalid, just to shut him up.
“Ignoring such warnings isn’t considered advisable, Sebastian,” he drawled. “It wasn’t given casually, as you should know.”
Sebastian was getting tired of the warnings too. As far as he was concerned, Khalid could go to hell. Neither Alyssa nor his interest in her was anyone’s business but his and Shane’s.
“Isn’t it getting close to your bedtime, Khalid?” Sebastian asked. “Why don’t you hurry along so your pretty wife can tuck you in?”
A tense silence filled the air around them for long moments. Not that Sebastian paid much attention to it.
“Marty will wait for me.” Khalid’s brooding glare was ignored by Sebastian, his attention remaining on Alyssa as she stopped to chat with none other than Khalid’s wife, Marty.
His siren.
She’d shut herself down so completely that the laughter and warmth that had been so much a part of her seemed to have evaporated.
Eight years ago she’d walked through this same ballroom, laughing with friends, Summer Bartlett and Gia Bennett. She’d been young, more innocent than they’d imagined, and so very open. Now she was cool, distant, and mysterious.
