Her mind wandered back to the only interesting part of the evening thus far. Where had he gone? She stood on her tiptoes looking over the heads of the well-heeled crowd. There was no sign of him. What a shame! What she needed now was an unobstructed view of that mysterious guest. He was a dashing figure to be sure – and a possible diversion. He had not only captured her attention, he had intrigued her. She concentrated on the bird in hand – her champagne. She quickly got her head back in the game by making chitchat with Fairfield’s best – biding her time until the next time her mystery man bobbed up for air in the sea of cultural junkies.
After the obligatory introductions to Fairfield’s movers and shakers were through, Miranda felt a hunger pang strike her in almost the same spot Jake had been kissing a few hours earlier.
“And what do you think, Miranda?”
Jake’s voice floated to her over the din of the party. Her own thoughts were still occupying the greater part of her time, but then what did she expect from a party thrown in a cornfield?
She realized her pretentiousness was showing. She would have skewered Reginald if he had said anything that smacked of pomposity and royal derisiveness. Reginald. What was he doing? She could well imagine him wandering in Weatherly Hall, candle in hand, looking for ghosts. She hoped one with chains wrapped its metal encumbrances right around his neck – being careful to pull nice and tight. She still hadn’t forgiven him for giving her a bad case of the willies. She just knew it was Reginald to blame for her nightmares.
“I think you’re right,” she blithely answered as she set her empty glass down and grabbed another from a passing tray. It was the answer that was always appropriate. “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” she said departing before a reciprocal answer could be sounded. She expertly wove herself into the fabric of the partygoers, disappearing like an invisible seam in pricey Parisian couture.
She headed for the buffet table and filled a clean white plate with a sampling of the bite-sized delicacies. She spotted a far corner that was unoccupied by people or art, and headed straight for it. She needed to load-up and refuel. The barrage of sexual misadventures with Jake had made her ravenous. She set down her plate on a pedestal and wolfed down the miniature treats that teased her appetite rather than satisfied it. They weren’t at all bad and she thought perhaps she had misjudged the outer fringe of society by thinking that nothing cultural resided in the midst of a cornfield. Good food seemed to be alive and well.
Her hunger somewhat satiated, she decided to seek out one object in particular. It was the one she’d drawn on the sheet of paper – the one she’d kept silent about. She wanted another look.
She wandered into the exhibit hall. Jake had done a wonderful job with the remodeling. He’d replaced the old lighting, with a LED micro-track lighting system. It lent a cool modern look to the room and display cases. She passed the glass casings looking casually at the captured items inside. They looked much like pinned butterflies only waiting to be set free. She saw the one she was looking for. While the other exhibits had anxious onlookers, this was left alone with its thoughts. She posed stationary and expectant before the red egg. The closure was opened to reveal what lay inside. She wished the egg could speak. She stared at the ruby heart wondering if it could beat out its message.
“I can see someone has the right idea,” came the full-bodied, deep voice. It had a slight vibrato and resonated with a tone much like an organ being played in church. It was the voice of a schooled Shakespearean actor.
“You’ve picked the perfect spot,” it continued.
Miranda was caught off guard by the remark. She hadn’t realized someone had encroached upon her personal space. Usually her radar was activated long before someone entered into close proximity. This person had slipped through the defense she’d cultivated. Whoever it was stood in front of her. She looked up, delighted and surprised to see the face of the intriguing stranger she’d glimpsed across the room.
This close, he was shockingly beautiful. Blindingly so. It was the kind of beauty that could hold you spellbound and Miranda reacted to it with a quickened pulse and slight flush. His skin was eerily smooth. It was tautly stretched over an exotic bone structure that more resembled a woman than a man. It was the jaw that delivered the truth. It was square and firm. It set the face within its footprint, and turned what would have been only beauty into a wild fierceness. The kind found in nature or in feral animals. There was something else that exuded from him. It was an intoxicating kind of magnetism that Miranda could feel all the way into her loins. Like it or not, her genitalia began throbbing with an intensity only achieved through considered, skillful foreplay.
Miranda was rocked by his appearance and that smoldering sexuality that promised illicit nights of sinful pleasure. She couldn’t take her eyes off him because of the added ingredient – danger. Within him lay the element of danger, and when beauty is intermingled with it, it always produces an incendiary mix. Miranda well knew what it meant – that this man was one giant red flag. Even four feet away, she felt too near. In her imagination, she could easily picture him leaping forward over the square of glass and devouring her whole without batting a beautiful icy blue eye. She didn’t know why she felt so intimidated. She was completely safe in the museum. And there was nothing demonstrable in his movements – he hadn’t strayed an inch from where he was standing. Nonetheless the threat was implicit and hung in the air.
Miranda wondered if it were the anomaly of light that was playing into it. The spotlight trained on the egg was casting a glitter of red light upon his face. Logically, she knew that it was only light reflecting off the red ruby heart, but reason didn’t help calm her restive heart. The red was splayed down one delicious corner of his full, pink lips. It resembled an ever so faint trail of blood from a victim laid waste – and tasted like fine wine. She idly wondered if that same mouth were capable of delivering scandalously rich, delicious kisses all night long. She would bet on it.
She nervously collected her thoughts. Even this random encounter left her a jumble of nerves. She gripped her glass of champagne in one hand as if it were the controlling rudder setting the direction her conversation would take. Was it simple chance that caused him to be standing alongside her? Or had it been planned? Was it possible that he wanted to talk to her? And if he did, was it because she was Miranda Perry or because he found her appealing?
The scales weighed heavily in favor of him merely recognizing her. Her photo had appeared in any number of local newspapers and magazines that Jake had used to promote this exhibit. What did it matter? She had wanted to meet him and he was here. As for the course of conversation, she could certainly handle any direction it took. She’d met enough powerful people while working in her father’s empire to commander this encounter.
Before replying, she reminded herself one more time to calm down. Her brain finally kicked in and determined not to be one of those women. She could well imagine that because of the way he looked, that he received weak-kneed responses from throngs of women ready to lick his bootstraps on that basis alone. Well, she wasn’t a redundant schoolgirl and wouldn’t be prey to his devastating charms. She wasn’t about to consent to a one-night stand just so he could keep an overblown ego intact. It wasn’t hard to imagine that he thought a little too well of himself, but it wasn’t entirely his fault. It was the fault of the nameless conquests that surrendered to desire. Most likely, it was the legion of women that dropped to their knees – and not for the purpose of prayer – that had inflated it. If he were interested, she was ready. However at this point, it wasn’t a certainty that he was. He might just want a pleasant conversation. Either way, she was not a pushover – not even for men that carved their way into the jellied hearts of women going soft from the full on assault of a strutting male peacock. She fired an opening shot.
“I’m glad you’re so admiring of my perch. You must realize that I had selected it not only for the view, but for the solitude.”
An almost imperce
ptible shift in one of his superbly shaped brows occurred. Miranda knew the money women wasted to handcraft their own misshapen, sparse brows – all to end up with meager approximations of the ones this man possessed naturally. While she knew he’d heard her, there was an equally long pause before he responded. Perhaps he wasn’t used to a gentle rebuff – or perhaps he was as taken aback as she had been. While she waited for a response, she assessed her opponent.
The frock he wore added an Old World thrust to his façade. It gave him a timeless quality. If you transported him back in time, and placed him in any century, he would have fit in without a ripple of being out of place. Very few men she knew could have pulled off wearing his costume without looking like a caricature or actor ready for the stage, but this man did so effortlessly. The attire complemented him and his bearing, in part because while the textures and materials were elaborate, its design was simple. She’d learned at a very young age that complicated designs date themselves, while shapes masterfully and deceivingly pure were the ones that never gave their age away. That was what this man must have understood. The ¾ jacket looked pure haute couture. While nothing like it had been produced in this century, it looked right at home in the midst of this event. The opulence of the velvet and the way it shaped this man’s body made it a worthy addition. It was black in color and trimmed in a gold brocade. Underneath its matching vest, he wore a black satin shirt with cravat. The buttons running down the front of the jacket matched the color of the egg. They shone red in this dark corner, glinting as real jewels and perhaps they were. Rubies worn as buttons? With this man, anything was possible. The effect was extravagant and bespoke of him occupying an elevated station in life – one that no longer existed.
He shifted his weight while smoothing back his hair – it was truly his glory – both in texture and color. His hair seemed to reinforce the entire premise of what she found so appealing about him. Its length was extreme – falling easily over and down one shoulder. It was far too long to be fashionable, yet Miranda didn’t find it disturbing at all. It seemed a reflection of his persona. Perhaps his impeccable grooming made it palatable. She wondered what he’d looked like when his hair was not trapped by the single black ribbon tied at the nape of his neck. More than that, she wondered what it would be like to run her fingers through it.
“Then I’ll leave you to your private thoughts,” he said, bowing his head to take his leave. It was the last thing Miranda wanted him to do. She chided herself for giving him the cold shoulder. She wasn’t ready to throw him back into the lake of women that would give their right arms for even a miniscule bit of his attention.
“Don’t be silly. It is a social event. If I had really wanted to be alone there are always caves. Are their caves in Ohio? I didn’t see any flying in,” she giggled.
“I think there are always caves. They hide what nocturnal sins we pretend not to see.”
He was trying to appear elusive and dodgy. She doubted he believed a word of what he had just professed. However, having him espouse even sullen prose was a chance for Miranda to note the radiant whiteness of his teeth. She wondered if that was their natural color or whether they were porcelain veneers.
She decided to ignore his attempt at appearing high-risk and moody. Her snap judgment told her he wasn’t. She also quickly deduced he was no intellectual either. If he had been either, he wouldn’t need to prove it and that’s what he seemed to be trying to do. Why he felt it necessary to have Miranda think he was, she didn’t know. It would be the height of insanity to think it was insecurity.
She supposed that what was more disturbing to her was that he showed such obvious disdain for what was readily available – and by available, Miranda meant women. She was betting on the fact he hadn’t talked to any of the women at the event – even though they would trip over their strappy stilettos to do so. Miranda was gathering her haunches under her. Her confidence was streaming back into her as bees saturated with pollen returning to their hive. She pushed her shoulders back and eyed him. She may be available, but not to him – not yet. She had been weaned on the knowledge not to trust things coming too fast or too easily. Miranda was determined not to be another pair of designer shoes placed under his bed. He would at least know her name.
She crossed her arms. She decided to leave the burden of making polite conversation up to him. She returned her gaze to the egg in question to try to ascertain authenticity. She wished she could have a little closer inspection, but there would be time enough after the exhibit. She could arrange for it to happen before that, but why? She’d still need an expert on hand.
“I see the card says that it is a replica of a Fabergé. I’d say the card is wrong.”
She glanced up at him. The red had spread to just under his eyes. The streak of color added more prominence to his already haughtily high cheekbones. He lowered his head moving it upward. The irises of his eyes mixed with the color like paint on a pallet. They took on an odd shade of violet.
“Would you? Are you very experienced recognizing such treasures?”
“Quite. I have a discerning eye for beauty in all forms.”
“And you are?”
“Peter.”
He licked his lips and began walking around the boundary established by the clear glass. Miranda’s pulse was flushed out as a rabbit hiding in the underbrush. She felt it beating against the areas of her body where the skin is thinly stretched – her wrists, her temples, her throat.
“Peter what?” she asked in a hushed tone. He rounded the first corner taking his time in making the journey. It brought to mind the subject of sex. Was he maddeningly slow in that also? Or did he use it as a device to heighten pleasure?
“Just Peter.”
He rounded the second corner, narrowing the gap between them. He was even taller than she suspected – he seemed to tower over her, but then everyone was the same height in bed. She knew her hips would fit squarely against his. She looked down and noted his tight thighs and slim waistline. He was in peak physical condition. She wondered if he ran.
“It’s a week for men with one name,” she conceded, not willing to be sucked under.
He stopped just before her.
“Does that mean you’ve met another?”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” she fired off, somewhat annoyed with his question. A strong offensive is always an effective defense. She wouldn’t succumb to this man’s lethal charm.
“I can assure you that I didn’t mean it that way Ms. …?”
“Miranda.”
He cocked an eyebrow. She couldn’t resist.
“Just Miranda,” she added with more than a touch of sarcasm.
He smiled appreciative of the dry humor. Miranda reconsidered her negative opinion of him. Perhaps he wasn’t as bad as she thought. Extreme good looks sometimes cause others to judge possessors of such beauty too harshly. Miranda was willing to allow that she’d done this. Maybe she shouldn’t concentrate on fighting him and concentrate instead on fighting herself.
“Miranda is a very lovely name.”
“Thank you,” Miranda replied finding the doorway to her heart opening just a tiny bit more in response to the compliment. She thought about the heart in the casing to her right. She wondered if her heart were shining as brightly. He was trying. She’d meet him halfway.
“What brings you here tonight?” she said, taking a small swallow of champagne.
“I assume the same reason as you. I’ve come to see the collection.”
“And now that you’ve seen it, what do you think?”
“I think it’s one of the finest collections I’ve ever seen. Although it should be.” He stopped and scratched at his chin. “You were quite right in choosing the Lagerfeld. It’s stunning on you.”
Miranda moved another inch into Peter’s camp. Not too many men attending this affair would have been able to recognize her dress’s designer. Then there was the compliment tossed to her dear deceased father. Miranda swelled with pride at
the flattery given to her father’s eye. Everyone knew her belated father’s reputation, but it was nice to hear the praise. She felt her guard drop.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For the compliment you gave to me and to Arthur Perry.”
Since he didn’t seem to recognize her, there was no use in revealing who she was. Jake! She suddenly remembered Jake. She needed to be on her way. She didn’t trust herself to be around Just Peter anymore. She was yielding to his lethally handsome looks and weird animal magnetism. The music swirled as the quartet changed from Mozart to Verdi.
“Ah, The Four Seasons. It’s always been one of my favorites.”
So he knew music as well.
“Yes, it’s lovely.”
Peter fell strangely silent.
“What is it?”
“You. I was just thinking something, but … never mind …”
“Now you have to tell me,” she replied coyly. She wondered if he was flirting with her. He said he had an eye for beauty in all forms. Was that a hint that she hadn’t gotten the first-time round? Was it a compliment meant for her? It would be too absurd meeting someone like this, but stranger things have happened.
Adduné (The Vampire's Game) Page 27