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Abruptly the hallway opened out into a room that faced the lush, discreetly lit garden. A white grand piano stood near the windows, a woman in a silver gown seated at it, playing.
Grouped around the room were yet more of those long white couches, with people—women mostly, in beautiful dresses—sitting on them.
In the middle of the room was a big white armchair and sitting in the armchair was a man.
He had a woman curled in his lap while another draped herself over the arm of his chair, and he looked like a king on his throne. Or maybe a pasha sitting at his ease surrounded by his harem.
Glory stopped short in the doorway, transfixed.
He wore tailored black trousers and a white shirt open at the neck and he was quite simply the most beautiful man—no, person—she’d ever seen.
It was him. It was Castor Xenakis, and he was even more incredible in person than he was in his pictures.
His hair was a dark tawny colour, like a lion’s pelt, and artfully tousled, his skin golden. His features looked like they’d been hand carved by Michelangelo himself, with an Attic profile, high cheekbones and a beautiful, sensual mouth.
His eyebrows were dark, his lashes thick and silky and streaked with gold, and his eyes were the same dark golden brown of fine brandy.
He was like an exquisite Renaissance sculpture that had been feathered with gilding and then given a light scatter of gold dust.
Glory quivered at the beauty of him.
He sat back in the chair, smiling at the blonde in his lap and curling a lock of her hair idly around one finger, while the brunette sitting on the arm of the chair leaned down to say something in his ear.
He laughed in response, the sound low and sexy, making a curious heat prickle all over Glory’s skin.
Her breath caught, her stomach dropping right down into the red patent stiletto sandals that she’d picked up from a cheap chain store the day before, as something she’d already thought about but hadn’t fully taken on board became clear.
He might be dissolute, dissipated and morally bankrupt, but he was also beautiful. Stunningly, heartbreakingly so, and she... She was not.
He was a Greek god while she was a small, brown church mouse, and there was no way—no way—in the world he’d ever consider her pathetic little offer. Not only did he possess a charisma that burned like a forest fire, he was also surrounded by the most beautiful women Glory had ever seen.
Why on earth had she ever thought he’d look twice at someone like her?
But what about Annabel? She needs treatment.
Oh, she did. But Glory was going to have to think of some other way of getting money because this obviously wasn’t going to work. And as for her own secret obsession and her even more secret desire...well, she could forget about that too, because that wasn’t going to happen.
She needed to leave now, before she made an utter fool of herself.
On the point of turning around and heading straight for the front door, Glory froze as a pair of heavy hands came down on her shoulders, gripping her lightly, and she was aware of someone standing behind her. A man wearing an overpowering aftershave that didn’t do much to mask the odour of stale sweat, cigarette smoke and another, musky smell that made her shiver with distaste.
‘Ah, there you are, Red Riding Hood,’ the man said, his accent thick and Eastern European–sounding. ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere.’
Fear iced her veins, her heart beating suddenly very loudly in her ears.
You’re an idiot coming to a party like this on your own, looking for the biggest womaniser in the world. What did you think was going to happen?
Okay, so yes, she’d been naive and being desperate hadn’t helped either. And now some horrible man was going to drag her off God knew where and no one here would help her, she already knew that much.
Still, she wasn’t going to stand there and let herself be taken. The stilettos might have been cheap, but she was betting that the man holding her wouldn’t like it if she drove one of her heels into his foot.
Glory tensed, preparing to bolt. Then the breath stuck in her throat as Castor Xenakis’s gaze locked on hers and she was held captive by a pair of golden-brown eyes, the distaste she’d felt at being grabbed by the man behind her scattering in a shower of bonfire sparks.
An expression she couldn’t name rippled over Xenakis’s beautiful face before his gaze shifted to the man behind her. He smiled. ‘Dimitri,’ he said, his voice deep and rich and warm as melted honey. ‘I think Red Riding Hood might be a bit too tame for your tastes. How about I find you someone more interesting, hmm?’
Castor was furious, though he didn’t let even a hint of his fury escape. He prided himself on no one being able to tell what he was thinking, still less what he was feeling, especially in the middle of one of his parties.
Most especially not when that party was turning into a complete failure.
