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But I can’t. I can’t.
I’m not here to have a fun time. I’m here to switch a painting. I’m here to save Madison’s life. I hear him end his call and turn to face him in the dim light. He looks at me, then reaches out a hand to touch my hair.
“Is this color real?”
“Yes,” I whisper, my voice hoarse.
He nods. “It’s beautiful.”
“It doesn’t pay the bills,” I blurt out bitterly. It’s too late to take the words back, and in the dim light I see his eyes become wary again.
Shit. What the hell is the matter with me? Can’t I just stick to the plan? I keep making the same mistake again and again.
“Are you a hooker, Raine?”
“No, I’m not,” I deny hotly.
He leans away from me and the shadows make it impossible for me to make out the expression on his face. “What are you then?”
“I’m just a woman you’ll never have to see again after tonight.”
“Do you have many bills, Raine?” he asks softly.
For some bizarre reason, tears burn the backs of my eyes. I blink them away fiercely, and keep my voice dry and sophisticated, the way I imagine the kind of women he hangs around with would speak. “What doesn’t kill you…”
“True,” he murmurs from the shadows.
It’s totally weird, but I can feel the heat from his body. And something else too. Sexual tension. It is almost like a daddy longlegs is walking on my skin, it’s thread-like legs trembling. He is a total stranger, and one that I disapprove of, but I want to reach out and touch his skin, his hair, his lips… his cock. I shiver with the strong desire.
“Cold?”
“Not really,” I whisper hoarsely.
He leans forward and touches a button, and the cool air coming from the air vent stops. He turns to look at me, and the discreet side light illuminates his face. Why, he is beautiful, really beautiful. Never could I imagine him as a nerd. Nerds are pasty faced and socially awkward. He is ruggedly gorgeous, chiseled face, masculine, sophisticated, and utterly confident of the place he occupies in the world.
“What is it?” he asks, one side of his lips curling with dry amusement.
I tear my gaze away from him. “Nothing,” I say, turning my head. I take a deep breath and try to stop feeling gauche and school-girlish.
“Here we are,” he says, as the car comes to a stop.
Before I can compose myself, the door is opened by an expressionless man in uniform. As I get out, he wishes me a cool good evening. Then Konstantin is standing next to me. Together we walk through the grand entrance of a block of apartments in what is one of the best addresses in Manhattan. The elevator is all shiny chrome and tinted mirrors, and smells of sweet vanilla. It transports us soundlessly up to the roof of the building.
The doors swish open and I have to still a gasp at the magnificent scene.
We are on the roof of the high-rise building. And it has been turned into a magnificent garden in the sky. All the miniature trees are hung with thousands of red paper lanterns, and against the night sky full of stars it is breathtakingly beautiful. The air is filled with conversation and laughter of the elegantly dressed guests. I immediately recognize a few celebrities.
A man in a black suit appears in front of us. “Mr. Tsarnov, this way please. The Count and Countess are waiting for you.”
With one hand lightly resting on the small of my back, Konstantin moves us deeper into the party. I realize everyone is fabulously dressed, but in black and white. I am the only one wearing a blood red dress. People turn to stare at me: the men wear expressions that range from lust to amusement and the women unanimously show outright hostility, as if I have stolen their thunder by not following the dress code.
“It’s a black and white party,” I whisper to Konstantin.
“What does it matter? You look great,” he says carelessly.
“Everyone is staring at me.”
“Take it as a compliment,” he says as we reach a couple.
For a second I am struck dumb by the flawless beauty of the man. He is tall and blond, which in itself is unusual, but what is truly amazing about him is his skin. It is so unblemished and pale he seems almost to glow in the light from the red lanterns. His translucent eyes alight on me and his red lips curve into a distant smile.
“Raine Fillander, meet Count Rocco Rosseti, and his wife, Countess Autumn Rosseti,” Konstantin introduces.
“Oh, stop with the Count and Countess,” the woman says to Konstantin. She turns to me and says warmly, “Please, just call me Autumn.”
“Hello, Raine,” the beautiful man murmurs, his voice low and hypnotic.
“Hello,” I mumble, and not wanting to stare at him, quickly move my gaze back to the woman. She is pretty, but there is also something else about her that makes me instantly love her. She grins at me, then looks teasingly up at Konstantin.
