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The beat changed to a slow song. The couples partnered off, leaving Lark and Omar at the center of the circle. Lark made to step back, but Omar caught her hand. Though he held her, he felt as though he'd been caught.
She didn't come to him immediately. He struggled not to tighten his hold. He wanted her to come willingly. He wanted her to give him the green light.
After the longest second of his life, Lark stepped into his hold. His body sighed into hers, putting itself into Park.
Though he swayed idly on the dance floor, he was raring to go. It had been a long time since he wanted to pursue a woman. Right now he was prepared to throw down his checkered flag and floor it.
"Would you like to be my plus one to the royal wedding?" he asked.
"No, thank you."
The screech of the brakes called him up short. The smell of burnt rubber made him wince. It was the first time he crashed and burned in hot pursuit of the opposite sex.
Chapter Six
It was her own fault.
Lark had easily evaded the unwanted advances of the other men at the party. She'd smelled them each coming a mile away. Entitlement was permanently mixed in their cologne. Their incisors blinded her with the brightness of their misogyny.
Omar walked in those same circles, but somehow, she found herself walking right into the marquis’ arms. His big broad arms. He smelled wonderful like always; like fine wine, exotic spices, and a hint of musky, male sweat that only came from a hard day’s work.
He held her lightly but securely. His hand wrapped around hers felt strong and capable. She felt the power of him in the tip of his pinky finger, but he didn't force her.
She could've escaped but not without his permission. He gave her a choice. She could run if she chose. The crook of his brow, the question in the lift there instead of a demand, that’s what brought her into his loose embrace.
Lark realized too late that she was in a trap. She, a master escape artist, decipherer of illusions, queen of tricks, was caught. And then he dropped the blade down that would slice her in half.
"Would you like to be my plus one to the royal wedding?"
Her answer burst out of her without thought. She'd already sworn never to mix business with pleasure. Even more so not to date the boss.
Omar al Shariff was a real boss. Not a man she needed to prop up like Piers or any other magician she’d worked for. Omar stood tall and proud like the nomadic ancestors of his heritage.
His brow lifted when she declined. He spun her around, and for a moment she worried he might cart her off into his desert kingdom. She worried because she wasn't sure she'd protest her abduction.
Instead of sweeping her off her feet and tossing her over his shoulder, he dipped her. Turning her world upside down. She didn't get dizzy. She kept one foot on the ground.
She expected an argument when he set her to rights. She prepared for an ultimatum. What she got was a delighted grin that brought to mind an amused lion with a wide grin that could swallow her whole.
"You keep surprising me," he said. "I really like that about you."
"Because I don't bow to your wishes?"
She was sure that would wipe the grin off his face. It didn't. It widened.
Omar threw his head back and laughed. The sound was like rolling thunder on a dark night. The kind of night with a fire warming the room and a thick blanket thrown over her legs. Oh, this man was dangerous. If she wasn't careful, he'd pick his way past all her defenses.
"Do you know that an invite to the royal wedding is the one thing everyone in this country wants to get their hands on? Yet you turn it down because you don't want to bow.”
"I didn't turn down the invitation," she said. "I turned you down."
His brow arched, like an archer readying his weapon.
"I am going."
That brow lifted higher, like a bow pulling taught. She couldn't bob and weave to avoid it. She was the only one in its path. Why was she toying with him?
"Going with whom?" His words were clipped and precise. The humming of the M sent a shiver through her.
