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“I’m so sorry, Stephanie. I don’t know what got into him. Just cold feet. But he shouldn’t have done that to you.”
The same plastic smile remained on my face as I faced the Markums, the man a noteworthy judge, his wife the kind of woman who volunteered for several charitable organizations. They were a powerful couple, not the kind Gregory would want to go up against. Maybe karma would eventually bite him in the ass. “I think you know Gregory almost as well as I do, Maggie. The truth is that he’s a jerk, the kind of bastard that I certainly wouldn’t want your daughter to become involved with, although sadly, I suspect that’s already happened.”
Yes, my words were caustic, but I was finished with pretending that what I’d shared with Gregory had been anything but another powerplay for his benefit.
Maggie gasped, Jefferson grabbing onto his wife, both staring at me as if I’d just grown two heads. I smiled, touching her on the arm. “Don’t worry. I’m certain he’s moved on from her by now. You know how it goes. The flavor of the week.” I quickly moved off before I said anything else I might regret, moving through the crowd of people and swaying to the music.
At least the band Gregory had hired was damn good, their selection of music lively. I stood on the outskirts of the dance floor, pretending I was having a good time. Maybe a small part of me was, the feeling of freedom from the tight reins forced around my neck exhilarating.
However, a small part of me was sad that it had come to this.
I’d have my say with Gregory, ensuring he knew that if he ever bothered me again, I’d ruin him. Suddenly, a surging bolt of electricity stymied my breath.
“Such a beautiful woman standing alone on a dance floor is a crime.”
The deep voice from behind me penetrated my ears, sliding straight to my core. Sultry. Seductive. The slight accent was one I couldn’t place. I remained where I was, allowing his velveteen voice to wrap me up like a soft blanket. “I’m not technically on the dance floor.”
When an arm stretched over me, taking the glass of wine from my hand, I didn’t resist.
“That’s easily taken care of.”
The moment he wrapped his long fingers around mine, a part of me knew I should resist. After all, he was a stranger, but the slight touch was powerful, leaving me tingling inside. The mystery man moved in front of me, pulling me only a few feet until we were both on the edge of the dance floor. The moment he turned around, taking my other hand into his, a strange sense of knowing filtered through me even though I’d never seen him before.
I’d been around gorgeous men all my life, those exuding power simply by the way they walked into a room. However, nothing had prepared me for the man’s stunning, chiseled face and strong jaw. Dark, wavy hair kissed the edge of the crisp white shirt that was mostly hidden under the guise of his perfectly tailored tuxedo, the fit unable to hide his sculpted physique. I could only imagine the solid mass of muscle hidden beneath the expensive suit.
As he pulled me closer, his scent assaulted me, musky and potent, the fragrance filtering directly into my inner core. The way he held me was possessive, his fingers tightly wrapped around mine.
“Stephanie Morgan.” He stated my name as if he’d known me for years, only the husky tone was less about familiarity and more about his hunger. I could feel myself falling into a dark fantasy, sinful and filthy yet more satisfying than any I’d had before. I wanted to ask how he knew my name, but it was obvious given I was the unlucky bride.
“You have the advantage of knowing my name. It’s only proper if I know yours.”
“Are you really about being proper at this moment?” His question was laced with insinuations regarding the next few moments or even longer, his words holding an edge of raw passion.
“Hmm… You entice me with mystery; however, you don’t know me.”
“Perhaps that should change.” There was something utterly carnal about the way he gazed down from my face to the bodice of my dress.
“Perhaps,” I repeated, butterflies tickling my insides as his hot breath created goosebumps dancing along several inches of skin. As he swept me around the dance floor, it became easy to feel comfortable in his arms, allowing him to lead when I normally hated the primitive notion.
He kept his heated gaze locked on me, his voluptuous lips forming a slight smile. There was no reason for me to become breathless or nervous around him, but I remained jittery from the delicious experience. He was tall, towering over me even in my four-inch heels, his physicality indicating his strength and power. His features were well defined, his strong jaw so attractive I envisioned sliding the tip of my index finger from one side to the other.
Even though there was no reason for me to sense danger, everything about him screamed of power and darkness, both extremely attractive for no other reason than they seemed forbidden. I was the girl who followed all the rules, never allowing an attraction to anything or anyone to derail me.
He remained silent as one song turned into another, the choices the band made far too romantic. When he drew me in even closer, our bodies pressed against one another, I realized I was digging my fingers into his forearms. Being locked in his arms gave me the fleeting feeling of being his prisoner, but I had no desire to escape. He lowered his head just enough our lips were inches apart, the slight action building a level of hunger I didn’t even know I had.
The stranger radiated heat, white hot and suffocating, my breath catching as he moved easily around the dance floor. As I stared into his eyes, I realized they were the color of black opals, yet there was a slight shimmer around his irises, golden in color. They were also soulless, an indication the man was indeed dangerous.
I pressed my hand against his chest, taking shallow breaths as the touch ignited a fire deep within. I’d never felt this way about any man upon a single meeting, yet the blind understanding that two people could be attracted without knowing anything about the other remained a powerful draw. When the song finally ended, I was lightheaded, uncertain of what to say.
“Have a drink with me,” he stated, not as a question but as a clear demand. While the stranger let go of one hand, he kept his fingers wrapped around my other, leading me away from the dance floor, not bothering to grab my glass of wine. When he led me to one of the smaller tables near the floor-to-ceiling windows, a part of me knew I should object, but the other wanted to find out more about the man.
Almost instantly, a waiter approached, acknowledging the stranger before giving me a respectful nod.
“Chto vam prinesti gospodin Kozlov?” the young man asked. I found it fascinating that he was nervous.
“Cabernet. Caymus from your special reserve,” the stranger answered, barely looking at the waiter.
Caymus. The cabernet from Napa was extremely expensive and certainly on the menu. I recognized the dialect as Russian, yet my illustrious companion spoke English. I found that curious, although it added to the mystery. The fact he didn’t want me to learn his name should send up red flags, but I sensed he was playing a game to entice me. Perhaps to pull me from my own level of darkness given the afternoon’s occurrence. Why not play along?
