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He spun her in his arms, and this little sound of surprise left her. The music was soft, hauntingly beautiful, and she couldn’t help but get swept up in it all.
“Have I told you how gorgeous you look tonight?”
She smiled and rested her head on his shoulder. “Yes, but flattery will get you everywhere, so keep it up.” She felt the vibrations from his chest as he chuckled.
“Sorcha.” He said her name softly, and she pulled back to look at him.
The way he had said her name, soft and intimately, had sounded so different from any other time before. And then the way he was staring at her, like he wanted to say something to her, had her feeling her throat close. Was she seeing his emotions for her right now?
He was usually so closed off, but right now he looked almost vulnerable. He cupped her face, and she held her breath. He smoothed his thumb along her cheek. She felt her skin pucker with gooseflesh, and leaned into him closer.
“Sorcha.” He said her name as if he was pained. The feeling of his warm breath moving along hers had her moaning softly. “I want you, but it is so much more than sex.”
Her breath caught, and she exhaled slowly again. “Me too—”
“Rian,” an older gentleman said behind him, breaking up this moment they were having.
Rian closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, and then shocked her by kissing her hard and possessively right in front of everyone. He turned them around so they were facing the man that had spoken. He had gray, thinning hair, wore wire-rimmed glasses, and his eyes were these thin little black beads.
He stopped in front of them, two women—twins—one on each side of him dressed in nothing more than skimpy little gowns.
Their cleavage was all but bursting from the tops of their dresses, and their make-up was caked on. They reeked of money, that or they reeked of wanting money, and knew how to play it well.
“Franklin, I didn’t expect you back from Europe until later this month,” Rian said with a bored tone in his voice.
“Yes, well things came up, and I have been meaning to call you.”
“Have you?” Rian asked, but he didn’t seem like he cared. “You mean you’ve been meaning to call me about the paperwork that you should have signed weeks ago, and how you haven’t been returning my calls?”
“Rian, I told my secretary to forward my messages to you. She didn’t?”
Rian didn’t respond, just continued to stare at this man and drink his champagne.
“I’ll have her fired immediately for her incompetence.” The older man was starting to sweat, and the nervousness in him was very clear.
Okay, this seemed like a tense conversation, and the sound of Rian’s annoyance was becoming even clearer with each passing second. This Franklin man was clearly up Shit Creek without a paddle.
“I’m going to find the restroom,” Sorcha said to Rian, and when he looked like he was about to argue she leaned in and kissed him softly. He got this dark, aroused look on his face. Sorcha smiled, and moved away before he could stop her. She didn’t need to use the restroom, and mainly wanted to gawk at the house, but Rian clearly needed to speak with that man and Sorcha didn’t want to stand there and feel any more uncomfortable.
For the next fifteen minutes she walked around, stopped to look at the paintings that hung on the walls, the vases that had their own spotlights on them, and even the glass cabinets that showcased what she knew had to be Fabergé eggs.
“They’re beautiful, are they not?”
The thickly accented voice came from behind her. She turned and stared up at a dark and handsome man. His black hair was slicked back, his dark suit and shirt, tie, and even his eyes matched the whole “Tall, Dark, and Handsome” thing he had going on.
“Excuse me?”
He pointed to the case. “My eggs, they are beautiful, right?”
She looked at the case again and nodded. “Yes, they are. Breathtaking even.” He moved closer, and the scent of his cologne came through like a warm blanket. He lifted his hand, and it was so close to her that she felt the heat from his body spear through her.
“These are original handmade creations by Peter Carl Fabergé.” He started explaining each of them to her, and she realized his accent was Russian. “These were in my family for the last three generations, and I hold them very dear. They are one of my most prized possessions.”
“They’re beautiful.”
“They’re not the only thing that is beautiful in my home.” He turned her around and gave her this very cocky smile. It was one she had seen plenty of times with Rian. “I saw you alone, wandering the halls and admiring the artwork. You aren’t like the other snobs at the party.” He grinned again.
