“Takes one to know one,” a voice parried back. Finn hadn’t even realised she’d been standing close enough to be overheard, but a handsome man with unmistakably German tones to his voice was smiling at her. His hair was fair and his eyes glittered with blues and greys. “Cristoff Muller,” he extended a hand.
“Seraphina. James,” she tacked on for good measure.
“Can I get you a drink?”
She scanned the crowd for her date, but Caradoc had been locked in conversation with two other men for the better part of an hour. Her independence and pride had taken quite a beating.
“Sure, thanks.”
The hand on the small of her back was purely polite, but Caradoc looked up at that exact moment. Almost as if the winds of warning had whispered across to him.
He didn’t like to see someone else touching Finn. Anyone else, even someone as unimpressive as Muller.
“Champagne?” Cristoff prompted, as they approached the bar.
Finn wrinkled her nose. She wasn’t a big drinker, and she’d already had a glass of bubbles. But she nodded anyway, reckless spirit firing her blood.
“Thanks,” she murmured, when furnished with the flute.
“I’m more of a scotch man myself,” he grinned. “How do you fit in to this shindig?”
“Oh, um,” she sipped her champagne. What the hell was she meant to say? I’m sleeping with Caradoc? She shied away from such an admission. “I’m a family friend,” she hedged in the end, though it was such a poor explanation for what she really was that she felt an unwelcome sense of having lied. “And you?”
“My old man was husband number three,” he said with a self-deprecating shrug. “Sasha was my step-mummy for a time,” he laughed.
“And Caradoc your step-brother?” She asked hurriedly.
“Yeah,” he nodded, and Finn knew she wasn’t imagining the way his face clenched with emotion.
“Let me guess,” she prompted, well aware that she was being intrusive. “You didn’t get on?”
“Hardly,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “Caradoc was always too serious for me. For anyone, really.”
Finn looked across the crowd, and her eyes clashed with her date’s. It was like being sparked with a thousand volts of live wire. Her whole system charged to a new level of awareness. Her cheeks flushed; she looked away, giving the impression that she was far more interested in speaking to Cristoff than she actually was.
“When was this?”
“Oh, years ago,” he waved a hand through the air as though it was unimportant. “Just before all that drama.”
Drama? Curiosity barbed inside of Finn, but Cristoff moved conversation on before Finn could work out a reasonable way to subtly interrogate him further.
Cristoff seamlessly navigated their conversation onto matters that were far more interesting to him, and Finn went along with it. She was grateful, truth be told, to have someone to talk to while Caradoc was otherwise distracted.
Without realising it, she finished her champagne.
“Hey, why don’t we dance?” Cristoff suggested nonchalantly, and a ridiculous sense of loyalty brought Finn’s eyes once more towards Caradoc. But now, a beautiful woman with hair as dark as night had joined him. The woman had skin like snow and lips like blood. She was a real-life frigging Snow White, and Caradoc’s smile seemed to glow with the light of the moon as he looked at her. Finn was beyond annoyed.
“Come on, I’m more coordinated than I look.”
“I don’t doubt it,” she said with a forced smile.
She wanted Caradoc to look at her, but his attention was completely transfixed.
She stood close to Cristoff as the music began to slow down. He wrapped an arm around her waist and she put a hand on his shoulder on autopilot. “Who’s that?” She had been aiming for disinterest but feared she was rather wide of the mark.
“Talking to Caradoc?” Cristoff sought clarification.
Finn nodded, her smile as breezy as possible.
“That’s Marlena. An ex.”
Her heart was racing. “Oh?”
“Not that he ever stays with them for long enough to call them relationships,” Cristoff said with barely-disguised contempt. “Caradoc’s always been more of a wham bam thank you ma’am kind of asshole.”
“Has he?” Finn’s voice was weak. Her chest was tight.
“Surely you’ve come across men like him before? Frankly, I don’t see why any woman would fall for it, but then again, I guess money talks and God knows he’s as rich as Croesus.”
No, that wasn’t it, Finn argued mentally. She wasn’t someone to be impressed by something as inconsequential as wealth. Perhaps the nous he’d shown in doing so well for himself, but not the wealth for its own sake.
“Marlena seems to have more staying power than most, though. He bounces back to her when he’s between flings, and she’s always waiting, ready to welcome him back with open arms.”
Finn felt hot and cold. She had never experienced a panic attack before, but she was pretty certain one was threatening to engulf her.
“They’ll probably get married one day. I mean, look at her. She’s just about gorgeous enough for that arrogant prick. No one less than a supermodel trophy wife will do for him.”
Finn swallowed but her mouth was dry and her tongue was heavy.
“I don’t think he’s as bad as that.”
Cristoff’s laugh was genuine. “I thought you said you were a family friend? Everyone knows what Caradoc’s like. He’s the last man on earth to deny it, too. He’s almost proud of his chauvinism.”
Finn’s fingers dug into Cristoff’s shoulders, and the gesture seemed to penetrate the man’s soliloquy on Caradoc’s failings.
“Are you okay? You look really pale.”
“I’m sorry,” she shook her head, and tears were shimmering in her eyes. She blinked furiously, hating the betraying gesture. “I think I just need some fresh air. Excuse me.”
“Of course; come. I’ll help you.” He put a hand around her waist and led her expertly from the floor. Though couples danced everywhere, their departure was noticeable, at least to one person. Caradoc watched Muller lead Finn out of the ballroom and his gnawing sense of displeasure became a full-blown anger.
“Excuse me,” he said to Marlena, without looking in her direction. He emerged from the ballroom just in time to see the fluffed skirts of Finn’s dress disappear through the rotating door that led to the prestigious streetscape beyond.
What the hell?
“You’re German?” She said numbly, when they emerged onto the cold street. Christmas lights sparkled overhead, and she was dimly aware of a suited footman just to their left.
“Ja,” he grinned. “At least, I grew up there.” He put an arm around her for warmth as they walked down the steps.
Finn switched effortlessly into his language, “Where exactly?”
“My family has a chateau on the Rhine – just outside of Basel.”
“How beautiful,” she said truthfully, though a large part of her brain was still trying to process this man’s description of Caradoc. But why did it bother her so much? That he had a history, and with someone like Marlena, was inevitable. Caradoc was gorgeous, sexy, rich, handsome – he was like a drug, and there was no way Finn was the only addict on earth. In fact, she’d put money on any woman who’d been in his arms feeling exactly the same crushing need she did.
So what came next? What came after the inevitable, crushing departure of this larger-than-life man?
“And you’re full of surprises! You speak German very well. Your accent is excellent.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, her green eyes staring down the street. If she had been asked to describe what she thought Manhattan would be like, it would have matched this scene perfectly. Hundreds of yellow cabs beetled haphazardly down the wide boulevard and the buildings glowed with golden warmth on the wintry night. As if just remembering it was cold, Finn wrapped her arms around her waist
and thought longingly of her coat, checked safely in the elegant hotel.
“Did you study there?”
She angled her face back to Cristoff. Did she study where? “Oh, in Germany? No.” A dark figure strode out of the hotel room and without looking left or right, moved towards them as though he had a censor on her or something. Finn watched him approach with an ache deep in her gut.
“Are you sure you’re okay, Seraphina? You look very pale.” He employed his native language out of convenience.
“I’m fine,” she assured him.
Caradoc’s face gave little away. An expert negotiator, he found it easy now to disguise the torrent of emotion that was flooding him. “Muller,” he spoke with a firm dismissiveness. “I see you’ve met Finn.”
His words were a warning, but to whom? Finn or Cristoff?
“Caradoc,” Cristoff held a hand out and the men shook, but it was a gesture that was devoid of any warmth or affection. He dropped Caradoc’s hand almost immediately, then turned back towards Finn with a smile meant solely for her. “Yeah. You could say she caught my eye.”
Finn’s skin prickled with a sense of danger. Though Caradoc didn’t react in any way, she felt a charge of feeling from him, and she knew that he was battling a sense of antipathy. Oh, not over her! She meant nothing to him –certainly if Cristoff’s reports were to be believed – but it was obvious that these two men had a history rich with dislike and enmity.
“She would catch anyone’s eye,” Caradoc dismissed, and though it should have been flattering, Finn didn’t feel that it was a compliment. “Thank you for keeping my place warm, but I’m here now, and I’d like to take my date home.”
“Your date?” Cristoff’s lip curled in a small twist of derision. “Oh, dear.” His eyes flashed towards Finn, and she knew what he was thinking. What he must be experiencing! He’d said far more than he should have, and yet now, confronted with the truth, he looked pleased rather than abashed.
“A problem?” Caradoc asked smoothly. His eyes roamed Finn’s face and drifted lower to her exposed décolletage. With a small frown he shrugged out of his jacket and placed it around her shoulders. The gesture jarred Finn’s sense of reality, for it was kind and thoughtful, and Caradoc most certainly was not.
“No,” she shook her head, and her smile came easily when she faced Cristoff. “It’s fine. Everything’s fine.”
Cristoff opened his mouth to say something, perhaps to impart a cheap shot at Caradoc and make him sweat a little, but he evidently thought better of it. Putting Finn in the middle of their dislike would achieve nothing. “It was a pleasure meeting you tonight, Finn,” he said, returning to German.
She responded in kind. “Likewise. Thanks for keeping me company.”
His eyes glowed, and again, Finn had the impression he was about to say something. But he shrugged and turned, moving back towards the hotel with an elegant gait.
They were alone. At least, it felt that way, though cars were zipping past and people were everywhere. Finn stared at Caradoc, and her heart sunk to her toes. Because she knew then that, with all his faults, he was a man unlike any she’d ever known, and unlike any she’d know again. She knew that her body wasn’t the only part of her that was engaged in this affair. It was her heart. Her damned foolish heart had fallen headlong into love with him, and Finn was powerless to ignore it.
“Do you want to go home?”
His eyes were dark, they glowed like the night sky. His grey hair was silver ink in the moonlight. His chest, broad and muscled, his body so virile, everything about him was fuelling her need.
“Finn?” His eyes flickered, for the briefest moments, with something akin to worry. Doubt. Caution.
She swallowed. So what if he had an ex? So what if he did still love the beautiful Marlena? That was nothing to do with Finn. Caradoc had never made her any promises. Well, not beyond this week, at least. One week was all he’d invited her to Manhattan for. And she was glad for that. At least, she should have been. After all, she had a life back home. And a job!
But suddenly, the thought of one week with Caradoc was suffocating her. If she thought of it as a finite length of time, a piece of string rather than an elastic with endless give, she wanted to curl up into a ball.
“Has that jackass upset you?” Caradoc demanded finally, his voice laced with impatience.
Finn shook her head. She knew that if she spoke, her words would be stained with tears.
“Finn? Damn it, what’s going on?”
She had to answer him. Caradoc didn’t suffer fools and her muted silence was obviously foolish. “Nothing,” she shook her head jerkily.
He was far from convinced, but all he wanted was to get Finn back into his apartment. Alone. It had been a stupid idea to bring her to something as banal as this party. “Good. Then let’s go.”
“Caradoc, it’s your mother’s birthday. We’re not going anywhere.”
His eyes moved beyond Finn to the hotel beyond. “My mother will be fine. I’ve had about as much as I can take of that group tonight.”
“But … your absence will be noted.”
He shrugged. “So?”
Finn didn’t know why she was pushing him so hard. After all, she didn’t relish the prospect of returning to the event. “I don’t want you to leave just because of me.”
Caradoc reached over and stroked her cheek. “I don’t do anything for anyone, Finn. I do what I want. And all I’ve wanted to do since I slid that dress over your beautiful body is to remove it again.” He dropped his hand to the stitching of the bodice, running an insolent finger along her flesh, to the valley of her breasts. Her intake of breath showed her surprise, and he smiled slowly.
“How can I spend any more time making small talk when you are waiting for me?”
Her heart was racing so hard that she could hear blood pummelling her ears like waves against the shore. Persistent and greedy, it was overtaking every other sense in her body.
When you are waiting for me.
That was how he viewed her, and worse than that? He was right.
She had spent the evening watching him and waiting for him, and he knew it.
He would click his fingers, and she would come.
Pride was a foolish inclination, she thought with a grimace, as she curled her fingers around his hand. She lifted it to her lips and kissed it gently. But it was a kiss of sadness and resignation.
Finn was Caradoc’s prisoner. There were no bars, and no guards, yet she was his for as long as he wanted her, and the knowledge sent a rush of fear into her gut. Because Caradoc wouldn’t want her forever, and Finn would be the stupidest woman on earth to hope for more than he’d offered.
“Yes, let’s go.” And with those three words, she’d sealed her fate by accepting it so completely. Any choice she’d had in the matter was now lost – she loved Caradoc Moore, and that was most definitely not a good thing.
* * *
Caradoc had said nothing on the drive home, and he said nothing still as he stood before Finn with the lights of Manhattan twinkling beneath them, and two glasses of wine between them. The colour was that of blood.
His silence had begun to make her skin tingle.
His silence was brooding.
It was watchful.
It was contemplative rather than companionable, and with every beat of noiselessness that passed between them, Finn had felt her nerve endings pulse and quiver.
His eyes were heavy on her face. Was she imagining the faintly mocking speculation she saw there? Was she being too sensitive?
The not-speaking was killing her. She could no longer bear it. “Is that for me?” She arched a brow and flicked her gaze towards the wine.
Caradoc’s smile was autocratic as he passed the drink to her. She didn’t want it, especially, but she wanted him to say something. She bit down on her lower lip, in a gesture of distracted uncertainty, and sipped the wine. It was excellent.
Where was her pride? Why was it always wai
ting in the wings around this man? After all, if he was going to stand there like a silent statue, she didn’t have to stay. The enormous dress swished as she moved away from him, towards the imposing lounge suite across the room. It was far from comfortable-seeming, but she sat with unconscious grace into the white leather armchair.
Caradoc watched her with a small frown on his handsome face. Finn was not vain. He knew she had no idea how stunning she looked, with her red hair and pale skin, the green of the dress and eyes that sparkled like emeralds, set against the cream of the chair.
And she was speaking to Cristoff.
Of all the men in the room, he was the last one Caradoc would have wished her to spend time with.
Seeing them together had sent a furious river of resentment coursing through his veins. And despite the fact Caradoc prided himself on mental toughness, he found now he couldn’t put the image of the two of them from his mind.
“You speak German,” he said finally. It was a small detail, and therefore a suitable place to begin his interrogation.
“Ja,” She said with an obvious air of sass.
He laughed softly and came to stand in front of her. He didn’t want to sit in the armchair across the room. He wanted to touch her. To feel her.
“Stand up.”
Why did she obey his rude request? By then, Finn was beginning to see that her acquiescence to him was a sign of her love, and she didn’t welcome it. She stood automatically, and Caradoc replaced her position on the chair. He held a hand out to her, his meaning clear, and Finn settled herself on his lap with relief. She had been craving this. Not just physical contact, but the semblance of intimacy that was so rare in their fledgling relationship.
She sipped her wine simply for something to do. His body was hard and firm beneath her, but the dress made it hard to feel him as she wanted.
As if she’d spoken her frustration aloud, his free hand toyed with the zip at the back, lowering it very, very painfully slowly, by degrees.
“You speak it fluently?”
“Huh?” She murmured, her eyes huge in her face as she stared at him. Her throat hurt and her heart was aching.
“German.”
The Terms of Their Affair Page 10