But I could also tell from the spark of curiosity in her eyes that she was feeling me out, trying to discover just what House Castellano in Spain was doing at this party. Most of the attendees were from House Merrick in the UK. A few from House Richelieu in France. No other Houses had been invited.
“One of my British business associates invited me. We’re negotiating a big deal on some, well”—I purposely acted evasive just like a jackass newbie making shady deals with these people would act—“surveillance software. I think he was hoping this party would persuade me to accept his offer.” I glanced over the masked couples and frowned as I sipped my drink. “Afraid to say, it’s really not all that exciting from where I’m sitting, though.”
She smirked and lifted her glass to her lips. “And what do you find exciting, Mr. Garcia?”
Blood rolled through my veins and gathered in my groin as I pinned my eyes on her. “Very proper British women who eye-fuck strangers across the room and act shocked and dismayed when they’re called out for it.”
For a heartbeat, she didn’t respond, then slowly swallowed what was left in her glass and turned my way. “I wouldn’t dream of appearing shocked and dismayed.”
She stepped in close, and I realized she was much more petite than I’d originally assumed. Even in her four-inch heels, she had to push to her toes so I could feel her breath against my skin.
And holy hell, did I feel it. She breathed so hot over the scruff on my jaw, a blistering need whipped through my body, making me hard in a heartbeat. “And if I was really interested, Mr. Garcia, trust me. I wouldn’t be doing something as boring as eye-fucking you from across the room.” The scent of gardenia melded with the whisky on her breath when she lowered her voice to a sultry note and added, “I’d be dragging you into a back room and literally fucking that dirty mind right out of you.”
Holy mother of God...
She lowered to her heels, pinned me with a steamy look mixed with a hefty dose of trouble, and took the glass from my hand. Tipping it back, she swallowed the last mouthful without breaking eye contact, then set my empty glass on the bar. “Mm. You were right. That was good.”
She pushed away and wove through the crowd. Blood pumping hard, I looked after her, unable to do anything more than stare at her sexy ass and those gorgeous legs.
Fuck. Me. I was as hard as stone and even more determined to make that little siren surrender to me. Screw what my House wanted. Screw what my associates wanted. I had to have her.
I would have her one way or another.
Tonight.
She bypassed couples and men ogling her as she stepped by. Twice, she looked back at me to see if I was watching, which only shot my desire that much higher. On the far side of the room, she stopped near a portly man with a bad comb-over who was only a few inches taller than her. I’d seen her watching him earlier—when she’d been trying not to watch me. She’d been sending him flirty smiles and coy looks all night, but the guy hadn’t taken the bait. My eyes narrowed as she held out a hand and introduced herself. The two exchanged a few pleasantries, then she threw her head back and laughed at something he said, following up the obvious come-on with a suggestive touch down his arm.
The man’s face turned bright red. His gaze kept drifting from her lips to her cleavage on display in the tight black dress. I was sure he missed half—if not all—of what she said to him. In between trying not to drool over her and occasionally come up with some response to her questions, he seemed completely confused as to why a hot number like her was even talking to him.
I was confused too as I watched the awkward conversation. She was up to something, toying with the man and overdoing it with her laugh. I focused on his beady eyes and what I could see of his weathered face above and below the black leather eye mask—he looked to be in his mid-fifties—but I didn’t recognize him. That didn’t mean a whole lot, though. There were men from all different levels of the Entente at this party.
My thoughts were interrupted when she leaned close and whispered in the man’s ear. He drew back with wide eyes, a broad grin, and an enthusiastic nod.
Grasping her hand quickly, the man turned for the hall. The blonde shot me a smirk and a mischievous waggle of her brows before following.
A light bulb went on. He was her mark.
Excitement flared inside me because this was part of the reason I was here. Except... I recognized another emotion bubbling inside me. Not just excitement. Not just lust. But something else. Something stronger. Something all-consuming in a way I’d never felt before.
This sudden, irrational desire to slam my fist through that man’s face, to break his fingers that had touched her came out of nowhere. And it was so strong, so completely not me, it held me up and made me suck in a breath when I should be going after them.
Jealousy was not something I had a lot of experience with. I didn’t get jealous over women, even ones I was hot to fuck. But that’s what I was, I realized. Rolling, roaring out-of-my-fucking-mind jealous.
And just my luck, I was still sober enough to realize that just might fuck up every one of my plans.
Chapter Two
Felicity
The Spaniard was trouble.
Not just light-me-up, set-my-body-on-fire trouble, but the kind of trouble that follows a woman for months. And lingers long after that.
As I let Basile—if that was his real name—pull me down the curved stairs to the lower level of the mansion, I tried not to think about the sexy Spaniard above who’d been distracting me all night from the corner of the ballroom. Bloody hell, the man was built, filling out that dark suit in all the right places, his white dress shirt open at the collar to show off a hint of tantalizing chest hair. He was also gorgeous, with bronze skin, thick dark wavy hair that brushed his collar, and that square, chiseled jaw under a day’s worth of stubble I wanted to run my fingers over again and again. But his deep, spine-tinglingly sexy voice was definitely something I did not need distracting me right now. Nor was the spark of challenge I’d seen in his dark, mysterious eyes. Not when so much was riding on my staying focused tonight.
Tonight, I had the chance to prove I was more than a name, more than a placeholder until my brother came of age, more than a nothing female in this fucked-up world dominated by men. Tonight, I was going to not only help the cause I’d been secretly supporting for months, I was also going to make a difference. A real difference. Not just for the people I planned to save, but for the countless others who’d be saved by them. And I wasn’t about to let some smooth-talking Spaniard get in the way of all my hard work. Not even if he was the greatest lay on the planet.
Do not think about what kind of lay he is. Do not think about sex at all.
Basile pushed a door open and turned to me with excited eyes. “Oui, mon p’tit chaton! This one is empty.”
It was all I could do not to break his fingers for calling me his little kitten as he pulled me into the room. I wasn’t his little anything, especially not his kitten. But instead of lashing out as I wanted to do, I reminded myself of the reason I was here. Forcing a smile I didn’t feel, I let him pull me into the room and close the door at my back.
It was a bedroom suite—big surprise—with an enormous four-poster bed, expensive fabrics, and eccentric furniture including a red velvet lounge chair with a rolled arm on one end, and a giant round ottoman in front of the fireplace that looked as if it could easily seat four.
It probably had. Though I was pretty sure “sitting” was not its primary use. Disgust rolled through me as Basile removed his jacket and carefully laid it on the ottoman. The only plus I could see in the entire situation was that he hadn’t dragged me into one of the raunchier rooms with BDSM furniture. Of course, if he had, I could have taken a flogger to him after I got what I’d come for. Something that was taking on more appeal by the second, and not in any kind of sexual way.
His beady eyes widened with lust as he moved toward me. “My, you are a delight,” he said in his slimy
French accent. “What would you like me to do to you, mon p’tit chaton? Call you a bad girl? Spank you? Make you bark like un chien?”
Ew. Not even.
He grasped my arms and came right in with puckered lips. I cringed and quickly darted to the left, sidestepping his assault. “Monsieur, you’re rushing things. It’ll be over too quickly if you’re not careful.”
He turned my way with a frown. “I do not require foreplay. A true Frenchman always comes prepared to satisfy his lover.”
When he reached for his belt buckle to show me just how prepared he was, I quickly turned away. “Oh, you tease me, Monsieur.” I moved quickly to the sideboard where a selection of alcohol was waiting with a bucket of ice. “How about a drink. Whisky?”
He sighed. “I suppose if I must have something, I’ll have a cognac.”
Of course you will, pussy.
I refrained from rolling my eyes as I poured the golden alcohol into a glass and carefully added my own special ingredient from my clutch when he wasn’t looking. After swirling the glass to make sure it was dissolved, I poured one for myself so he wouldn’t be suspicious. Then I plastered on a smile, came back to him, and handed him his drink.
“Cheers,” I said, clinking my glass against his.
“Santé.” He tipped his glass to his lips. But instead of lowering it and flirting again as I expected, he tossed back the entire thing until there was nothing left.
Smacking his lips, he pushed the glass into my hand. “And now we get on with the séduction.”
I fumbled the glasses in my hands and quickly moved back to the sideboard. After setting them down, I turned, only to gasp and jerk back because he was right in front of me.
“Mm, mon p’tit chaton.” He pressed his nose against my neck and drew in a deep sniff. “You smell so lovely. Like my own little jardin des fleurs. Come, let me inhale the petals of your hidden flower.”
Oh dear God. I was about to vomit. I ground my teeth as he grabbed me and ran his tongue down my neck. His breath stank of alcohol and cigarette smoke, and as he pressed his hips against mine, I felt his arousal—small and surprisingly thin—and instead of being turned on, I was extremely turned off, especially with the way he was groping me.
Just a little while longer, I told myself, looking up at the ceiling as he fumbled for the zipper at the back of my dress.
My gaze drifted to his salt-and-pepper hair as he continued to search for the zipper—that he wasn’t going to find—and he shifted his head so he could lick and nibble at the other side of my throat. The man really needed to just give up on the bad comb-over and accept the fact he was bald.
A knock sounded twice at the door. My gaze jerked in that direction. Basile froze, but when it grew quiet once more, he went back to gnawing at my ear.
Knuckles rasped at the door several times. “Ms. Harrington?”
I had no idea who Ms. Harrington was or who was on the other side of that door, but I jumped at the chance to get away from Comb-Over and give the roofie time to work.
“Mon chaton?” he asked in a truly confused voice as I pushed away from him.
I wasn’t his little kitten anymore? Just his kitten? Wow. I was moving up in the world.
“Patience, lover.” Even though it nearly killed me, I batted my eyelashes his way as I crossed the room. “Let me just get rid of whoever this is, then we can get back to...what was it you said? Making me bark like a dog?”
His eyes took on an excited gleam, then he growled and barked with a shimmy that nearly made me gag.
Bloody Ballocks. I was going to freakin’ kiss whoever was on the other side of this door for saving me from this letch.
I jerked it open and sucked in a shocked breath.
The sexy Spaniard stood leaning against the doorjamb, a smirk on his handsome face, a gotcha look in his wicked eyes.
“You don’t look like a Ms. Harrington,” he said in that low, sex-charged voice I recognized from upstairs.
And he didn’t look a thing like my savior.
He looked like sinful, tantalizing, delicious trouble. And I was dangerously close to grabbing him and sinking my teeth deep for one wicked taste.
A loud thump echoed through the room. I jerked around as Basile’s arm flopped against the carpet, and his body went still.
The Spaniard chuckled, moved past me into the room, and shut the door. “Couldn’t hold his alcohol, huh?”
Moving quickly toward Comb-Over, I checked to make sure the man was breathing. As expected, he was, just totally out from the drug.
“Is he alive?”
“Yes. I guess he had more than I thought.”
“Uh huh,” the Spaniard—Marc—muttered under his breath.
I wasn’t sure what that meant. And I wasn’t sure I wanted to ask. I took my time pushing Basile onto his side so he wouldn’t choke on his tongue or on his own vomit, should that come up, but really I was using the opportunity to run my hands over his pockets and anywhere he could be storing that damn electronic file. They’d told me it would be small—like a memory card—but I couldn’t find it, dammit.
“Done feeling him up?”
My hands froze, and my gaze jerked up to the Spaniard, standing with his suit jacket swept back and his hands in the pockets of his slacks as he peered down at me with an amused expression.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I pushed to my feet and brushed the irritating wig back from my face.
“I think they call that sexual assault in the real world.”
I huffed and stepped over Comb-Over. The file had to be in his jacket on the ottoman. “And gnawing on my ear a few minutes ago like a mouse with a slab of cheese isn’t?”
“I can’t make that call. I wasn’t here a few minutes ago.”
“You didn’t miss anything.”
I moved to step past him so I could check Comb-Over’s coat, but he captured me with an arm around my waist and drew me up against him.
I sucked in another breath—holy hell, I was doing that a lot around this man—and placed my hands against his chest. His very muscular chest. Except I didn’t push away as I intended. I faltered because he felt so good, and his scent—a mixture of something spicy and fresh, like the ocean—filled my senses and completely disoriented me.
“I think you are an anomaly, Ms...?”
“Harrington?” I managed when he let the question lag.
He smiled down at me because we both knew that wasn’t my name, and in the dim light I caught a flash of pearl white teeth and twin dimples in his cheeks.
Fuck. I was a sucker for dimples.
“A complete anomaly.” He fingered a lock of blond hair over my shoulder and whispered, “This color’s all wrong for you.”
For a heartbeat, as he stared at me with those challenging and heated eyes, I was afraid he might tug and pull the wig right off my head. But he didn’t. He only continued to tease with that smoldering look, with those plump lips, with the heat of his sinful body suddenly pressed up against mine from knee to thigh to—mother of mercy—hips, where something very large and very thick was taunting me beneath his slacks.
My mouth grew dry. Between my legs, I grew hot and wet and achy. Fighting against curling my fingers into his shirt and dragging his lush mouth toward mine, I focused on his dark eyes and said, “And what color is right for me?”
His grin widened, and his gaze flicked over my face. “I’m going to guess...auburn. Not dark ginger. That’s not right. More...reddish-brown undertones and honey-blond highlights.”
I stared at him as my pulse sped up, trying not to let my reaction show. I knew I should have dyed my damn eyebrows. But I’d never expected anyone to look past my disguise.
“You think you know a lot about me, Mr. Garcia.”
“I think you and I both know you’re down here with him”—he nodded toward Comb-Over passed out on the floor—“because you’re afraid to be down here with me.”
He was wrong. I was down here for the da
mn file. But he was also right. I was also afraid to be here with him. Because the longer he looked at me with those fiery, lust-filled eyes, the more my mind wandered from the reason I was even in this mansion and zeroed straight on him.
“Hm?” Those lush lips curled on one side, tempting me to kiss that sexy smirk right from his face. “Admit it. I scare you because you already know how good it would be.”
He leaned close to my ear. “Imagine it. My lips on your skin. Kissing. Licking. Biting you gently until you shivered.”
My eyes drifted shut. And as his warm breath sizzled over my neck and down my spine, my fingers curled against his shirt, and I struggled to keep from melting against him.
“I’d start right here.” He brushed his lips against the soft skin behind my earlobe. Not a kiss. A caress of his lips. One I felt everywhere. “Then I’d move to your throat.” He lifted the hand at my hip and gently trailed his finger down the side of my neck to my collarbone. “I’d take my time. Over the hollow right here.” He very softly skimmed the indent between my neck and my shoulder. “And when I got to the strap of your dress...” He fingered the thin strip of fabric, tracing it all the way from the top of my shoulder down to the square neckline of my dress, so low his touch teased my breast and sent tingles straight to my nipples. “I’d tug it off with my teeth.”
My whole body trembled, and my hands slid to his shoulders. Before I could stop myself I lifted against him and rocked my hips against his—against that heavenly erection that was all but calling my name.
“Mm.” His lips skimmed my throat again. And he whispered, “I think you’d like that.”
I knew I’d like it. And I was pretty damn sure this man could make a woman bark like a dog and enjoy every moment of it.
“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” I said, fighting the urge to rock up against him again.
“No, luce dei miei occhi. I don’t want your death.” He kissed me, ever so gently right beneath my jaw, then carefully nipped at the spot. “I want your complete and utter surrender. To me. And every one of my wicked desires.”
Surrender Page 2